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Chapter Text

Starscream first knew something wasn't right when he couldn't get up. 

He flicked his optics online, found himself squinting against a flare of bright light. The organic planet's orange sun was bearing down on him. It was still midday. He couldn't have been unconscious long. 

A very rudimentary version of a diagnostic pop-up appeared on his HUD; Reset Complete. There was no option to review recent files and recall what had happened to him, no information on the damage he may have taken. And he must have taken a fair bit if his brain-module had him operating on such a basic system. 

He felt around at the ground beneath him, but didn't have the strength to sit himself upright. Groaning, he rolled onto his side- an unnaturally easy feat to achieve. Had he blown his wings off? 

The Molecular Power-Syphon he'd been working on was standing upright above him, un-exploded and perfectly functional. It's intended purpose was to suck power straight from the planet itself and convert it into energon, but it felt like it had targeted him instead. He had never felt so exhausted, even lifting his head was a struggle. It felt heavy, like it'd been stuffed with osmium and was twice the size it should have been. 

Dizzy and disorientated, he tried to push himself up, but overbalanced and fell with a thunk to his aft. 

Then he saw them. A short, stumpy pair of legs. A sparkling's legs. Attached to him!  

Panic clawed it's way up his intake-vents, constricting, his spark hammering inside his tiny chest. He clutched at his unfamiliar frame; his sleek canopy now a bubble of glass, his fingers were fat and awkward, his pedes un-heeled and flat, his wings-

An unbridled and pathetically weak sounding whine escaped his vocaliser as his search for the command to adjust his ailerons came back with nothing. They, and the wings themselves, were gone, exchanged for a pair of hideous little stumps that could barely flap. 

He grabbed at his face as despairing mortification made it hard to think. Emotions weren't easy to dismiss when the function for controlling them in the first place no longer existed. Everything was felt so much more keenly and he couldn't calm himself down -he was having to endure all the fright and shock of an actual sparkling in an unmanageable situation. 

He grit his teeth and glowered through watery optics at the blasted machine. The control board would be too high to reach, but if he could somehow climb up there, he might be able to-

He heard engines rev in the distance and lifted his head to see a trail dust rising into the air not so far away, kicked up by speeding tires. Another spike of panic shot through him. If the Stunticon's had followed him out here...

He struggled to his feet. Unbalanced and uncoordinated, he only managed two shaky steps before falling to his hands and knees, scraping them on the rocky dried-out earth. A sparkling's armour was hardly armour at all, and sharp stones dug into it the seams of his palm and knee plating. 

Ignoring the pain and the undignified nature of his predicament, Starscream crawled into the nearby bushes, hoping the power-syphon wouldn't be spotted and draw attention. 

Hiding beneath the prickly branches and struggling to control his breathing, Starscream listened as the crunch of tires rolling through the dirt drew nearer. 

"See, beautiful ain't it?" 

Mirage pulled up besides Hound, more concerned by the dust clinging to his windshield than the view. "Stunning," he agreed distantly. 

"...No need to be sarcastic," Hound mumbled dejectedly, slumping with a soft hiss of hydraulics.  

Niggled by guilt, Mirage took a proper look, surveying the great open plains of land and all the... the... natural nothingness they were here to appreciate. He searched the view for something to compliment, but his options were limited. 

"That's an interesting tree," he rolled forwards on his tires to gesture towards a tall, almost metallic structure sticking out of the ground to their left. 

Hound reversed and turned to look at it. There was lengthy beat of silence. "...Do you even know what a tree is?" 

"I thought I did," Mirage muttered. "But your tone is making me doubt myself." 

"You definitely don't," Hound sighed, revving his engine and rolling down the slight incline towards it. "It's not a tree. Looks like some kinda science-y contraption-"

Mirage accelerated after him with a much louder rev, catching up as his tires spat up a huge dust cloud. "If it's dangerous-!"

"Cool your jets, I'd know if it was a trap," Hound reassured cockily, transforming out of alt-mode and skidding on his pedes in lieu of using his breaks. He dropped to a knee on the ground next the strange structure. "Cybertronian, kinda. I think."

"Kinda, you think?" Mirage repeated, transforming himself just to cross his arms judgmentally. 

"Earth parts," Hound gestured to the machine, then pointed to the ground. "Seeker tread-marks."

Mirage onlined his weapon within a beat, assuming a defensive position as he looked up at the air. It was clear blue and cloudless, nowhere for a jet to hide. But out in the open plains, they were in a similar position. No cover. Perfect conditions for an air strike. 

"No scorch marks," Hound was searching the ground, crouched with his nose a bare metre from the earth, studying it like a scholar would an ancient text. "If they took off, it wasn't from here. But there's no tracks leading away..." He rose onto one knee and scratched his head. "Huh." 

"What is it?" Mirage was reluctant to look away from the sky. Whoever had left the machinery here, it was likely they'd be back for it. 

"Something else was here," Hound's fingers hovered over a trail of disturbed dirt, leading towards the bushes. "Don't look like any organic tracks I've ever seen."

Mirage glanced at the bushes as Hound walked towards them on his knees. Hound made to reach for it when the bush suddenly shook with a rustle. Mirage changed tactics, aiming his blaster towards it instead. 

"Wait-!" Hound held out his hand, palm up, as he bent towards the bush. "...Hey little guy."

Mirage adjusted his grip on the blaster, shifting nervously. "What is it?"

"Shh," Hound hushed him gently, waving at him to lower the gun. "Think it's a sparkling-"

"It can't be a sparkling," Mirage protested, but lowered his gun anyway, coming forwards to crouch down behind Hound and get a closer look. "How could it even get-"

Hound slipped his hand under the bush. Branches snapped and leaves rustled violently. Hound winced, grimaced, but ultimately announced a victorious "gotcha!" before dragging out a small, but very belligerent-looking sparkling. 

Mirage stumbled back from them, so surprised his camo-projector malfunctioned and turned him neon green for an instant. 

"Frag me," Hound swore softy, struggling to keep hold on his squirming find without hurting them. 

The sparkling was grasping at the ground, fingers leaving rivets in the earth as they tried to drag themselves back under cover. Hound lifted them and held them at arms length, sitting back in the dirt heavily to give Mirage a good look at what really was a sparkling. 

The little bitlet was covered in dust and leaves and twigs. Beneath the layers of dirt, their armour was a featureless grey, an indication of how young they were.

"Hound, language," Mirage admonished, because they may be surprised but that was no excuse to be uttering vulgarities in the presence of impressionable sparklings. 

"Sorry," Hound grumbled, finally getting both hands securely around the squirming, twisting sparkling and containing all those thrashing limbs. Hound steadily rose to his pedes, his expression shell-shocked. The sparkling was trying to bite his hand. 

"It's a seeker," Mirage pointed to the wing-nubs poking out between Hound's fingers. 

"You don't know that. Could be... Praxian?"

"No, it's a seeker," Mirage helped Hound open his hands up without the sparkling launching himself out of them, and there was the cockpit -or cockpit-in-the-making- to prove it. 

They stared at the little sparkling in silence, the empty plains around them quiet save for the distant calls of birds and the angry huffing of their captive. 

"We can't put him back." Hound suddenly announced, glancing at Mirage with pleading, desperate optics. 

"I-" Mirage looked at the bush, at Hound, at the sparkling, the machine. "He's not ours."

"He was left out here all alone." 

"Maybe they'll come back for him?"

"Who?"

"His- I don't know. His guardians?"

"And if they don't?" Hound brought the struggling sparking closer to his chest, to his spark. A little leg managed to break free from the prison of Hound's hands and started aiming futile kicks at him. 

"I don't think he wants to come with us," Mirage murmured softly. 

"I can't leave him." Hound said, firm now. "I'm not gonna." 

"I know," Mirage shuttered his optics in resignation. 

Then he opened them again and took another look at the sparkling's dishevelled state. 

"...But he's riding back on your upholstery." 

Chapter Text

Starscream was wrong for thinking a couple of sociopathic Stunticons finding him defenceless in the middle of nowhere was his worst case scenario. The worse case scenario turned out to be a pair brainless Autobots dragging him out of his hiding place backwards and bundling him into one of their alt-modes. One small mercy was that they hadn't recognised him- yet. He dreaded to think what he must look like for someone as notorious as him to now be unidentifiable. 

The drive back was bumpy and off-road. He had been fastened in with cruel restrains and the doors were locked. He kicked and slapped and pulled on whatever the straps across his chest would allow him to reach, but to add insult to injury, his captor began playing inane Earth music through the radio in an attempt to calm him. 

It was so utterly humiliating that Starscream forced himself to settle down just so it would stop. He couldn't reach the volume dial to turn it down, so he slapped his hands over his audials and scowled hatefully until the Autobot got the hint. 

"See little guy," the Autobot's gruff voice came through the speakers, "It's okay, no one's gonna hurt you."

Starscream drew a foot back and booted the dashboard one last time in frustration. The Autobot didn't seem to mind. 

They drove straight up to the Ark's crash site, nestled against the side of the volcano. Starscream craned his neck up to try and look through the windows to take note of their security systems, but the restrains seemed to lock in place as they drove up the ramp, keeping his back flat against the seat. 

Once inside the optic-searingly orange interior of the Ark, the sleek tower mech transformed first. 

The green mech didn't transform, instead he sprung open the driver's side door to grant the tower mech access to his captive. Starscream's bid for freedom was again thwarted by the restraints. By the time they released, the tower mech had already bent down to lift him out. Starscream dived for the passenger seat, but it was too late. 

"Unhand me, Auto-scum!" He demanded, but his vocaliser, unable to compose even the simplest of single-syllable words, instead blurted out a nonsensical stream of whines. Starscream shouted again just in pure frustration. 

"He's not happy," his captive noted. 

The dirty green truck transformed and peered down at him. "Uncomfortable, I bet," he murmured, and managed to take hold of one of Starscream's waving hands. Starscream tried to pull away, but the large mech turned his palm over, making sympathetic noises as he rubbed a thumb across the scratches. "Little hands are all scuffed up."

"Ratchet will take care of it. Then maybe a bath-"

Humiliation like he'd never felt before surged through Starscream at the thought of being bathed like some- like some helpless infant!

He had to escape. He had to escape now before he was subjected to any more of this unique brand of torment. He slapped his hands against the tower mech's chest and tried to push himself out of his grasp, but his strength was nowhere near capable of breaking an adult mech's grip. The tower mech frowned and adjusted his position for better stability. Starscream was all but squashed lovingly to his chest, a hand under his aft and another between his ugly wing-nubs. 

"Damn," a new voice called over. "When I heard you through the comms I thought it was a prank."

Starscream, unwilling to be seen by anymore Autobots in his state, and fearful of someone with more processing-power actually recognising him, submitted to the undignified manhandling and hid his face against the tower mech's over-polished chest. 

"Did it sound like we were laughing?" The tower mech responded bluntly.

"Sparklings don't just pop outta the ground, Mirage. What was I supposed to think?"  

"Dunno what to tell ya, Jazz." The green mech sounded more sheepish. 

Jazz. Starscream cringed and tucked himself closer. If anyone would recognise him, the head of Autobot intelligence would. 

"-seeker ?" Jazz was asking incredulously. "You're sure-"

The tower mech began to draw Starscream away from the shelter of his armour to show him off to Jazz. Starscream clenched his optics shut tightly and covered his face with his too-small hands. There was silence. He felt exposed and ridiculous, lying prone in another mech's arms, waiting for the inevitable mocking. 

He jumped when a gentle hand touched his head, "Man, that's the tiniest cockpit I've ever seen."

"It is pretty cute," the green mech agreed, looking over a the tower mech's shoulder with a fond smile.  

Starscream glared through his fingers, hating every last one of them. He made a note to remember their faces. They'd be the first to die by his hand-

"-worry about Red Alert just yet," Jazz was speaking, waving them on. "Something tells me a sparkling'd be exempt from security checks. Prime might check in later though."

Prime? Starscream wanted to throw himself into the volcano the Ark had conveniently crashed into. This couldn't get any worse. 

"Tell him we're gonna take him up to Ratchet. Get him checked out for now." the green mech explained as they passed Jazz. 

As they walked off with him, Starscream stared longingly at the closing entry ramp from the tower mech's shoulder. It sealed with an echoing thunk and series of clangs as blast-proof deadbolts slid into place. Escape was becoming less possible with every step they took. 

Nevertheless, Starscream kept alert and aware of his surroundings, memorising the layout. The Ark felt huge, a labyrinth of identical twisting corridors. Starscream wasn't sure how much his regressed condition was shaping his perception of things, but it felt twice as difficult to concentrate on where he was being taken with the foolish green mech walking a step behind them, distracting him with goofy faces. 

Starscream pulled the ugliest expression he could manage. 

"He's really not happy," the green mech murmured, smiling less enthusiastically at Starscream now. 

"He's scared." 

"Like I'd be scared of you!" Starscream shouted, squirming angrily.

Hearing nothing but aggressive sparkling-babble, a hand rubbed his back, hushing him. Starscream slammed balled-up fists against the tower mech's shoulder. It created a satisfying clang but didn't leave so much as a dent. 

"Here," the green mech's gruff voice was right by his audial and Starscream twisted in fright when he realised he was being exchanged. 

The sensation of being passed between hands was disorientating. He kicked his legs in a panic, getting a glimpse of the ground so far below and envisioning being dropped from such a height with no flight-capabilities to stop his fall. It passed within seconds, then he was being hitched up against a dusty green chest-plate. Earthy scents flooded his olfactory. 

Urgh! Revolted, he tried to pull away. If he had to endure the humiliation of being held, he wanted to be in clean hands. 

He was still struggling when they carried him through a door marked with a medical cross; the medbay. Perhaps now they'd realised who he was, and then the degrading treatment would come to an end and they'd dump him in the brig the same as they would any other dangerous Decepticon warrior. 

He was finally freed from the confines of the filthy mech's hands and placed on a tarp covered examination berth. It crinkled under his aft as he squinted at his surroundings, his sensitive optics half-blinded by the brighter fluorescent lights. 

He spotted an equipment table close by, filled with tools he could use to defend himself. He darted towards it, slipping on the tarp and stumbling to his knees as he made to grab the largest looking scalpel. His fingers only just brushed the handle when suddenly he was weightless.

He cried out in shock, and realised a second later that a hand had cupped him around the front and scooped him up with ease. His torso fit perfectly in the large palm. 

"That could have been ugly," a sardonic voice murmured as a hand pushed the equipment table far out of reach. Starscream looked up, and found he was being dangled by the medic.

He waited for recognition to cross the old mech's expression. 

"Well, he's certainly a seeker." Was all he said. 

"We think he was abandoned." 

Starscream squirmed helplessly, waving his dangling arms and legs, desperate to be put down as he was weighed in the medic's palm. "Hmm. He's a good weight. Well fuelled." 

He gently set Starscream back on the tarp. Starscream rolled onto his aft and tried to scoot away, but hands found him again and held him in place. He grasped at their fingers, trying to pull them off. 

"Alright," the medic murmured softly, stroking a finger down between his wings and applying pressure to a lesser known tension-spot to trick his frame into relaxing - Starscream was stunned that it seemed to work. He started feeling floppy, tired. Some of the fight left him, but not his frustration. 

Heat brewed behind his optics- and if this stupid sparkling-frame cried in front of the Autobots he was going to claw his own optics out!

"You're alright, sweetspark. You're alright," the medic soothed kindly. "Can you hold him?" He asked the green mech. 

Again! Starscream huffed in agitation. He was going to be finding dirt under his plating for weeks.  

"His hands are all scuffed up." 

Starscream tried to hide said hands behind his back but he was overpowered. His servos were presented upfront and turned palm-up for the medic's inspection. Tiny rocks had become imbedded in the seams around the plating, making them ache and cutting the protoform beneath. His knees were in a similar condition. 

He watched the medic's thumb and forefinger transform together to create a pair of tweezers. The medic bent close and began deftly plucking out the rocks. Despite his obvious skill, the sensation stung.

Starscream's already stinging optics began to water. He shuttered them angrily, kicking his heels at the tarp beneath him. 

"Well done, little guy," the green mech gave his cockpit an endearing pat. 

There was only so much Starscream could take. 

He sniffed furiously as his vision blurred out of focus. There were limited ways a sparkling could express such overwhelming frustration. He blinked, and fat tears of coolant escaped the channels beneath his optics and dribbled down his hot cheeks. 

"There," the medic had a damp cloth and wiped it over his hands, cleaning away the dirt, "All better." 

"He's crying, Ratch," the green mech said, shifting nervously. 

"Yeah, sparklings do that," the medic turned around and came back with a glowing cube of pink sitting in the centre of his palm; an energon goodie. "This'll cheer him right up."

He handed the goodie to the tower mech, who smiled when he held it in front of Starscream's mouth. It smelt sweet, and Starscream's juvenile lack of inhibitions compelled him to snatch it out of the Autobot's hand and gobble it up. But he wasn't a sparkling. He couldn't be brought with sweets. 

With a shout of fury (a stroppy squeak) he batted it away. It fell on the floor with a splat. 

The Autobots glanced down at it, "Uhh..." 

"Someone needs a nap," was the medic's next guess, unimpressed brow raised, unsympathetic of Starscream's wet scowling face. 

Starscream had no intention of napping. Not until he was restored to his true and former glory. He slammed his hands down at his sides and shouted as loud as his vocaliser would let him. The Autobots that had kidnapped him stepped back, alarmed. The medic's expression didn't waiver. 

"Well, I see our guest is making his presence known," a low, warm baritone announced. 

Starscream choked on his own shout and flopped over in horror. Optimus Prime was stepping through the medbay doors- majestic, Primely, tall- so tall. His hands looked bigger than Starscream's entire frame. They could crush him like he was nothing. 

True fright gripped him then. He felt himself begin to shake and he shrank back. 

"A seeker?" Prime's electric blue optics fell to quivering wing nubs. 

Starscream ducked down and folded himself into a ball, hiding his face against his knees. Prime would recognise him. Might kill him here and now, if he didn't decide to dangle him in front of Megatron instead, so they could all get a laugh in at his condition, he'd-

"Good work finding him Hound, Mirage." The Prime praised his troops. 

"It was mostly luck, sir," Hound replied. "We couldn't leave him."

"You did the right thing." 

Starscream had to glance up from his hunched position, shooting a look that he hoped translated into an incredulous sneer at how Prime talked to his troops. That wasn't leadership. It was coddling at best. 'Good work'? When had that ever put anyone in line? 

True to their soft-sparked natures, the Autobots seemed pleased and not at all sickened by their leader's fatherly praise. Encouraged, even.  

Unfortunately, the exchange had made Starscream too curious. Once finished with showering unworthy grunts with praise, Prime's kind optics tracked to him. The derma of his facial plating crinkled at the edges of his optics as he smiled under the battle-mask. Starscream hid back behind his arms. 

"Hello, little one," his gentle voice drew closer. Starscream heard gears and hydraulics hiss as the huge legendary warrior bent besides the examination berth to be level with him. 

"I'll have Prowl launch an investigation." Prime addressed his Autobots. "Find out where he's come from."

"Oh, and that'll turn up some huge surprises, I'm sure," Starscream glanced up at the medic's overly sarcastic tone. He was stood smirking at Prime with his arms folded. "I don't know many seekers on Earth who aren't Cons."

Starscream waited for the medic to be put in his place for his sass. Miraculously, or rather, pathetically, Prime seemed to shy away from him.

"We don't know that for sure-"

"No one leaves a sparkling under a bush in the middle of nowhere by accident." The medic's tone turned stern. "And if they did-?"

"Ratchet," the Prime tried. 

"-If they did, they're not fit to have a sparkling in the first place!" 

"So we're keeping him?" Hound, stood with Mirage halfway between them both, piped up. 

"Perhaps." Prime murmured. 

"Yes." Ratchet spoke over him. 

"He'll certainly be staying with us in the mean time. We'll look after him." Prime compromised. And Starscream's sense of dread expanded beyond just his present situation. He was stuck, in this embarrassment of a frame, with a bunch of overbearing Autobots who thought him a real sparkling, and with no way of informing anyone of who he was-

Not to mention that they planned to look after him. What did that entail?!  

As they were distracted working out the finer points of where he would be staying and with who, Starscream began crawling towards the edge of the examination berth, hoping to sneakily escape. But the blasted tarp underneath him crinkled loudly and gave him away. Prime reached for him absently, lifting him up and setting him back in the centre of the berth. 

Attempts at gaining back ground we're thwarted by his big stupid hand around his middle. Trying to prise his fingers off was like attempting to bend durasteel. 

He groaned in frustration, kicking his pedes, but it sounded to the Autobots like a wail. 

He was being lifted and cuddled to Prime's windshields within an instant. It was such a shock to be so close to Prime, The Prime, that Starscream's vocaliser stalled on any protests. Oblivious, Prime bounced him gently, a hand under his aft and the other supporting his back. Starscream clutched numbly at his windshield wipers, not knowing what else to do. 

"-down for a nap," the medic was advising as the Prime was already walking out the door with him. "Don't let him fall off the berth and bring him back this evening for fuel."

"I'll manage," Prime's deep voice reverberated through Starscream's tiny frame. 

Starscream suddenly longed for the filthy yet practical hands of the green mech, but he no longer had the capacity to voice his own wants. He was being carried off by Prime, and Primus help him, he knew it was only going to get more degrading from this point onwards. 

Optimus couldn't recall the last time he had had the opportunity to hold a sparkling, and one so young at that. He felt so small and delicate in his hands that Optimus was worried he'd somehow hurt him, but dared not loosen his grip on the squirming, fidgeting bitlet for fear of dropping him. 

"Easy, easy now," he soothed, bouncing his little frame lightly as he walked. "There's no need to fight me." 

But looking at the sparkling's little face, he clearly disagreed. Optimus had only ever seen so fierce a scowl on the hardiest of Decepticons before. Optics were narrow slits of light, olfactory sensors flared furiously with every huffing breath, his tiny mouth was pressed into a hard, unhappy line. Optimus bounced him again, lightly, to coax a little of that grumpiness away. 

The sparkling bleated an angry noise at him, slapping his windshield. 

"Alright I'll stop," Optimus gave in. "...You'll feel better after a nap." 

Ting-ting-ting-ting- the sparkling's tiny fists started hammering against his windshield. Optimus grimaced. 

They made it to his private quarters, and the change of atmosphere seems to distract the sparkling long enough to pause the incessant attacks. Optimus patted his back in praise as he crossed the room. "You can recharge here," Optimus told him, bending over his recharge berth to gently set the sparkling down. 

He went to pull the covers up and over the sparkling, only for the sheets to be slapped and kicked away. The sparkling rolled onto his front and started crawling away. Optimus sighed and slipped a hand under his front, lifting him and setting him back in the centre of the berth. 

This time he tried to use the covers to tuck the sparkling in tight enough that they restrained him, so he couldn't wander off and cause an unfortunate accident by falling off the berth. Optimus realised he'd need to ask Wheeljack to design something more secure, even if just in the meantime. 

But the sparkling's face twisted up in distress. Optimus could see his arms and legs fighting for freedom under the sheets. Coolant brewed in the corners of his bright, youthful optics. 

Optimus' spark clenched with guilt. "I'm sorry," he soothed, immediately loosening the covers and lifting him out again, ignoring flailing limbs as he brought him in for a comforting hug, "I'm sorry, it's alright-"

The sparkling rambled an incomprehensible stream of hiccuping nonsense at him. Optimus paced with him for a moment, thinking. Sparkling's this young didn't have self-soothing programming, and it was foolish of him to have expected the little one to simply fall asleep on his own. It had been a excitable day for him, and he was in an unfamiliar place...

He sat on the edge of his berth and adjusted his hold so the sparkling was laying in the crook of his arm. His unhappy little scowl deepened and he glared up at Optimus with suspicion and dislike. 

After a moments consideration, Optimus retracted his battle-mask to smile down at him. 

The scowl vanished. Uncomprehending optics blinked up at him. 

"See," Optimus swayed him gently, "There was a mech under there after all." 

The sparkling continued to stare. 

Which was an improvement on the constant fussing, at least. 

Optimus continued to rock him, back and forth. He extended his field so waves of soothing comfort washed over the sparkling. He watched those wide optics grow heavy, blinking slowly. The sparkling would blink rapidly and shake his head as if he was fighting the pull of recharge. 

Patient, Optimus kept it up, watching optics finally flutter shut, vents evening out. The sparkling went limb in his hold, fast asleep. 

A powerful sense of achievement washed over Optimus then. He delayed setting the sparkling down so he could just hold him a little longer, make sure he was deep asleep before shifting him. Little wing nubs twitched every other breath. 

Optimus sighed, his spark aching. 

How could someone be callous enough to abandon such a helpless little sparkling?

"We'll take care of you," Optimus promised softly, stroking a finger down the tiniest cockpit he had ever seen. The glass was smooth and perfect, rising and falling with every deep intake of air. "Don't worry." 

Chapter Text

Starscream couldn't remember falling asleep. But his systems were groggy and confused upon waking. He stirred, optics struggling to come online. The blanket covering him was heavier than it should have been. He fought against it, huffing in exhausted frustration as he blindly sought freedom -when muffled proximity sensors suddenly detected a looming presence. 

He flinched when hands -massive enough to encompass his entire torso- drew the blanket away and lifted him. A shocked noise escaped his vocaliser. 

"There, there, little one. It's only me." A low voice comforted. 

Starscream's blurry optics didn't focus. He knuckled at them clumsily, and found himself staring into a windshield as the huge frame of Prime straightened back up with him. 

It all came flooding back then, as Starscream struggled to escape the gentle hands tucking him close to the warm, comforting armour of his hated enemy; the machine, it's malfunction, his kidnapping -

"No-!" He protested. 

Prime paused, tilting his head down to peer at him. His battle-mask was locked in place across the lower half of his face, now hiding his -surprisingly symmetrical- features from view, but Starscream could still tell he was smiling.

"No?" He repeated, bemused.

"No!" Starscream shouted again, realising with a rush of elation that he could vocalise words after all. Even if only just the one. "No! No! No! No!" 

It should have been enough to convince the Prime to at least put him down, but it had the opposite effect. Prime chuckled lightly and wriggled large blunt fingers between Starscream's wing nubs. An unbearable tingle of something shot through Starscream's frame. He squirmed with a grimace. 

Primus. Had he just been tickled?!

"Sorry to wake you," Optimus carried him towards the doors, ignoring Starscream's increasingly insistent 'no's! (The dense idiot). "Ratchet wants to fuel you-"

"I don't need fuel! I need freedom!" Starscream exclaimed, grabbing hold of Optimus's windshield wiper and pulling it as hard as he could in hopes it was sensitive enough to cause a decent amount of pain.

Gentle as anything, hands brushed him away before readjusting him, lifting him higher up the Prime's torso so he was leaning against Optimus's shoulder, a hand supporting his aft. 

Starscream went for the neck cabling next, summoning every ounce of strength this pathetic frame had to try and rip out the Prime's throat.  

Prime leaned away from the vicious tugging and yanking, but otherwise weathered the onslaught of abuse with surprisingly good nature, patting and stroking him comfortingly as they walked. 

The path was unfamiliar, but Starscream was taken to the same med-bay as before. He couldn't seem to remember even a simple set of directions. It was yet another worry to consider. Either this brain module was more limited than he had realised, or he was slowly regressing in intelligence as well. If he was trapped here, like this, with the Autobots, with no way to change back, would he soon become the drooling, clueless infant he trapped inside? 

He clutched Prime's shoulder at the thought, dread settling heavily in the depths of his tanks. 

The Autobot's med-bay had a distinct smell of cleanser, mech oil, and new metal- a counterpoint to the Decepticon med-bay which he resented frequenting, with it's stench of rust and burnt plastic that seemed to have permeated the walls. 

"See, I said a nap would calm him down," the medic's disembodied voice announced. 

Prime hummed, allowing Starscream to pull away from his shoulder and look around the room. The medic was synthesising something at the chemical station. A discoloured sort of energon.

"There's still some fight left in him, Ratchet," Prime warned. "I'd be careful." 

"Nothing a good full tank won't solve," Ratchet turned with a clear tumbler in hand. He gave it a good shake, before decanting it into a small cube. A straw was added. He came towards Prime with it. 

"Low grade," Ratchet stated, confirming Starscream's worst fears. "You can fuel him?"

"I- well..." Prime adjusted his grip on Starscream and took the cube gingerly. He didn't sound sure. 

"Good," the medic ignored him. "Make sure he drinks it all." 

"No!" Starscream shouted, pushing at the arm around him and shaking his head, making it as obvious as he could to these idiots that he wasn't drinking that vile, watered-down slop. "No!" 

"Ratchet," Prime's optics were bright with concern. 

"Is that the only word you know, sweetie?" Ratchet asked patronisingly, setting his hands on his hips and shooting Starscream a stern look. 

Starscream felt his face heat up. "...No," he said quietly. 

Prime held onto the end of the straw and presented it to him. Starscream turned his head away, straining his neck cables. "No!" 

"Ratchet, he doesn't-"

"Primus help me," Ratchet grumbled, taking the cube off Prime and setting it down. He opened his arms. "Give him here." 

"Nooo!" Starscream howled, kicking his legs, hoping to dent someone. 

But Prime passed him over into the medic's arms. Starscream thrashed against him as best he could, but strong, skilled arms adjusted him into the least convenient position to fight back in. Ratchet sat down on a stool and held him in the crook of his arm, one hand holding both of Starscream's balled up fists, the back of his neck resting on his upper-arm. The perfect position to fuel a fussy sparkling. 

Prime stood over them, adding to the humiliation. He handed the low-grade over. 

"Open," Ratchet ordered him. 

Starscream kept him mouth shut, sealing his lips tight. The straw hovered just in front of his mouth. He glowered with as much hate as he could muster. 

"He's a stubborn little monster, that's for sure," the medic muttered, glaring right back at him. 

"He doesn't trust us," Prime guessed solemnly.

"He's not gonna learn to trust us if we let him starve," Ratchet bounced him a little and after a pause forced himself to smile insincerely. "C'mon sweet-spark," he coaxed. "Open up-"

Starscream scowled and turned his face away, "No!" 

Prime began to shift uneasily, "How often do sparklings need to fuel? Perhaps we wait and try again when he's hungry?" 

"He's hungry now," the medic muttered, and right on cue Starscream's tanks groaned loudly in protest. Starscream didn't care. He'd starve before drinking that tasteless infant fuel-mix. He was a captured Decepticon warrior and he was entitled to energon. Real energon. 

"He's not going anywhere until this whole cube's gone down." Ratchet said firmly. 

"No." Starscream said just as firmly, wishing his tongue and lips had the ability to form the consonants and vowels required to tell the medic to stove that cube up his own tailpipe if he wanted it 'gone' so bad. 

"All right," the medic sighed. "You want to do this the hard way, we'll do it the hard way-"

"Ratchet," Prime protested. 

"Oh, calm down you big fusspot, I'm not going to hurt him," the medic smirked, "But I'm going to get him to drink this cube." 

He released Starscream hands and danced his fingers across his cockpit. Starscream's optics went wide as tingles shot through him. He squirmed with a whine, trying to push the hands away. But he was tickled again, fingers dancing over sensitive spots until a sudden laugh forced it's way out of him. 

The straw was past his lips before he had even realised what had happened. 

"Mmph!" He tried to slap it away but the medic was holding it and him in place. Furious, and absolutely refusing to just drink it down, Starscream blew into the straw. Hard. 

Air bubbles exploded in the low-grade and caused some of it to rise up and spill over the side, soaking the medic's hand. Ratchet cursed and pulled it away, setting the cube aside to shake out his hand. Half of the low-grade had splattered over Starscream's legs as well, but victory was his. 

He laughed, a true laugh. 

Ratchet's expression was thunderous. 

A nervous Prime took him back. "I'm sure I can find some energon-goodies to tide him over-"

"No." Ratchet pointed his wet finger. "No treats. They're too rich for his tanks and needs to fuel properly. It's low grade now, or low grade ten minutes from now when he figures out that's all there is." 

"You said yourself he was already hungry." 

"Don't be such a soft touch, Optimus. He won't let himself starve."

Starscream folded his arms challengingly. But his victory wasn't as sweet as he'd thought it would be. His tank groaned and ached in hunger. An energon goodie would have been well received. Even as a gift from Prime. Anything but low-grade. 

"Well he's all sticky now," Ratchet had begun wiping his hands down. "Take him for a bath and we'll see how good that cube looks when he gets back." 

Starscream stiffened. A bath?!

The sparkling hadn't much enjoyed their attempts to fuel him, but the aloof grumpiness of before would have been dream compared to the behaviour expressed on their walk to the wash-racks. The moment Ratchet had suggested a bath the sparkling's thrashing had returned tenfold. Optimus came close to dropping him twice on the way and had his windshield wiper bent out of shape into a forty-five degree angle. 

Sitting him in a basin of solvent would have been impossible, so Optimus elected to try juggling him and the wash cloth under the shower. Unfortunately, the wash-racks were already occupied when he arrived.

Sideswipe was stood in the open section of the communal showers. He span and fired off a playful salute at Optimus's entrance, his smile dazzling- until he saw what his leader was holding. 

His gasp was loud enough to be heard over the rush of running solvent. "Holy-!"

Sunstreaker's head popped up over the top of a partition in one of the private stalls, "What are you-?"

"We have a foundling," Optimus explained gently, bouncing his charge gently to curb some of the fussing. 

"Where did you find him?" Sideswipe tossed down his wash cloth and came over to get a closer look. He bent down, and only just dodged the fist that flew at his nose. "Wow. Plucky." 

"That's certainly one word for it," Optimus agreed wearily. 

Sunstreaker let the stall door bang behind him as he came striding over, frown on his face. "It's a seeker." 

Sideswipe tilted his head. "It is a seeker." 

"He's an innocent sparkling," Optimus reminded them, hoping their animosity towards the adult Decepticon seekers weren't going to skewer their opinion on this little one. "Mirage and Hound brought him back with them, just this afternoon." 

"Kinda ugly for a seeker," Sunstreaker observed. 

Optimus felt offence on the sparkling's behalf. The sparkling himself responded as if he knew exactly what Sunstreaker had said, and turned red in the face, shouting a stream of nonsense at the golden twin. 

"All seekers are ugly," Sideswipe smirked. "It's just harder to tell on the adults. What with all the flashy colours. They're like peacocks." 

"Enough you two." Optimus told them sternly, bringing the sparkling closer to protect him from their verbal onslaught. "If you're finished with the facilities I believe we may be in need of some privacy." 

"Why, cause you know you're about to lose a wrestling match to the sparkling?" Sideswipe smirked down at the squirming bitlet. "You want some help?"

Optimus sighed. "He's wary of strangers." 

"Seekers have all kinds of fiddly, hard-to-reach spots," Sideswipe pointed to the wing-nubs, then to tiny turbines, then even tinier thrusters. "If Ratchet sent you-"

"He did," Optimus acknowledged sombrely. 

"-and you don't do the job to his standards..." Sideswipe let the threat hang in the air. 

Optimus glanced at the sparkling, armour still dusty and now sticky with low-grade. His grumpiness could very well be discomfort. A healthy, clean sparkling was a happy one. And his hands -the hands of a Prime- were designed for handling large weapons and fighting off the likes of Megatron, not for caring for little sparklings. He'd never be able to clean inside those thrusters properly. 

"...Your assistance would be appreciated." 

"No!" The sparkling cried, legs swinging, "No, no, no!" 

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe raised their brows questioningly. 

"That would be the limit of his vocabulary," Optimus explained. 

"Oh, cool," Sideswipe clapped his hands together. "Sunny, get your maintenance kit. We're going to need the tiniest brushes for this."

Forty minutes later, the sparkling was clean and dry and completely screamed-out. The first half hour had been a constant fight, but a sparkling's stamina was nothing to envy, and having already refused his fuel, the battle of wills was easily won. 

He was now lethargic, slumped against Optimus's shoulder with a miserable little frown and damp optics. 

"Good boy," Optimus soothed gently, stroking his back. Wing nubs flicked lazily under his hand. "It's all done now." 

Sunstreaker hovered close by with a polishing cloth, "I could-"

"Sparklings don't need polish," Optimus reminded him again. "He's had enough, Sunstreaker." 

Sunstreaker didn't look convinced, "He'd cheer up if he didn't look like someone's discarded spare-parts." 

Optimus glared at him, defensive. "Thank you for the assistance." He told the soaking twins -the sparkling had been surprisingly adept at redirecting the pressurised solvent stream into their faces. "But Ratchet would like him returned to the med-bay."

"Poor little guy," Sideswipe said sympathetically, blinking some solvent out of his optics. "I'd be miserable too if I was at The Hatchet's mercy." 

The sparkling made a meek sound before letting his helm thunk gently to Optimus's shoulder, no longer possessing the strength to lift it. The last of his energy had depleted. Optimus ought to get him fuelled. 

He nodded to the twins again in thanks, and took his leave, heading swiftly for the med-bay. 

Upon entering, Ratchet gave the sparkling a once over, glancing at Optimus's own still damp and water speckled frame before taking the little one and checking for any spots they might have missed. Optimus silently thanked Sunstreaker's diligence. 

"Good work," Ratchet said with a hint of surprise. He cradled the sparkling in one arm, watching softly glowing optics blink slowly.

"Not so tough now, huh?" He teased quietly, before looking to Optimus. "I believe I have a solution to the fuelling issue." 

Optimus sat down heavily, feeling too exhausted to partake in another battle of wills. "Thank the stars..." 

Ratchet picked up an empty needle-less syringe from a tray next to him. "This should do the trick." 

He dunked it into the low-grade and drew the plunger back to fill the barrel, before bringing the tip to the sparkling's mouth. The sparkling stirred, tired, hand pushing it away weakly. Ratchet gently negotiated it past his lips, then slowly pushed the plunger down. 

Fuel filled the sparkling's mouth. The sparkling grimaced at first, but he was too hungry not to swallow. Optimus watched him drink. Every so often he'd cringe and pull away, sticking out his tongue and pretending to gag, but he never spat it out. Ratchet allowed him his melodramatic performances, but always re-negotiated the syringe back into his mouth to continue. 

It was slow painstaking work, constantly refilling the syringe and waiting out the sparkling's short, fussing protests, but eventually, the cube was empty. 

Optimus's relief was palpable. 

"That's better, isn't it?" Ratchet said warmly, setting everything aside and lifting the sparkling upright. He rested the bitlet against his shoulder, one hand supporting the back of his head the other rubbing his back in circles. The sparkling allowed it, and it became clear why a moment later. He was asleep.

Something in Optimus's chest swelled with warmth. 

"It's getting late." Ratchet noted. "You taking him?" 

Optimus as tempted to, looking at the soft, relaxed face of the now recharging sparkling, but his schedule wouldn't allow for him to dedicate hours of his time to caring for a helpless (stubborn, difficult, frightened) sparkling. It wouldn't be fair. 

"Hound will be keen to see how he's been getting on," he deflected. 

Ratchet rolled his optics, "The sparkling needs a primary caregiver, Optimus." 

"There's no reason we can't all share these duties equally. The humans have a saying, 'it takes a village'-"

"We're not human." Ratchet reminded him, but gestured for him to call Hound anyway. "Sparklings need stability," he muttered. 

Optimus was tempted to suggest he take guardianship of the sparkling if consistency was so important to him, but he wasn't quite brave enough to voice the comment aloud. And there were rather a lot of wrenches within grabbing reach today. 

Chapter Text

"When do we get to meet the little guy?" Wheeljack asked, still smoothing down the corners and sides of the specially made crib. "The boys have been bugging me all night, obsessed with how small his wings will be." 

"Wing-nubs," Optimus explained. "And small. Very small." He pinched his fingers together to give Wheeljack an idea of the tiny appendages. "And soon, I would hope. Ratchet has advised against crowding him." 

"He's a seeker, isn't he?" 

"He is." Optimus stroked a hand across the rim of the rounded crib, checking for rough edges. 

"Aren't they raised by big flocks of trines? Maybe he'd like a crowd?" 

Optimus didn't know enough about Vosian social practices to argue Wheeljack's point, but dangling a frightened, lost sparkling in front of an entire crew of rowdy, excitable Autobots -or even just in front of the Aerialbots- didn't seem like the best idea. 

"You will meet him eventually, Wheeljack. Patience." 

"What're you calling him anyway?" Wheeljack seemed satisfied enough with the structure of the crib to start filling the base with soft fabrics. An insulation-sheet at the bottom, then the knitted-blanket a human women had sent them as a thank you for saving the life of her husband some weeks ago. It was bright Autobot red, covered in yellow stars. 

"Calling him?" Optimus repeated. 

"The sparkling?" 

"We don't know his designation." 

"Then he needs a new one." Wheeljack stepped back to survey his work. "I have a couple good designations thought up, for if I'd made a few more of my own..."  

"It hardly seems our place." Optimus murmured, reaching into the crib to rub his finger pads over the knitted blanket. It was very soft. He hoped the sparkling approved. "He doesn't belong to us." 

"Been, what? Half a day? No one's come looking for him?"

"Jazz has optics on the coordinates where he was found, and is monitoring air traffic in the area. If the sparkling's parents do return-"

"Have they?" 

"Not yet." 

"So this is what do we do in the mean time? Keep calling him 'The sparkling? How old is he?"

"He is very young. Ratchet was unable to get an exact read, but cyber-data indicates he is no older than a few months." 

"Sounds like he was abandoned, Prime." Wheeljack ducked his helm. 

Optimus didn't want to think about it. "This is good work, Wheeljack," he steered the conversation away from such a depressing subject. "Thank you."

"Need anything else? Maybe we can set up a playpen, make him some toys?"

"He doesn't seem like the 'playing' type." 

"All sparklings play." Wheeljack dismissed him. "I'll draw plans up, design something with all those flashy add-ons. The stuff the spoilt sparklings used to get on Cybertron-"

"Don't get carried away, Wheeljack," Optimus warned, getting visions of this playpen doing what much of Wheeljack's work did- blowing up. "We don't know how long he's staying-"

"Where is the little bitlet now, anyway?" 

"With Hound, recharging." Optimus patted the crib. "If you're really so desperate to make our guest's acquaintance, you can take this down to his quarters. I'm sure Hound will sleep easier tonight knowing his charge won't fall from the berth edge."

Wheeljack's helm lit up eagerly, "Sure thing."

"And Wheeljack?" Optimus paused before leaving.

"Yeah?" 

"A simple playpen would be fine. Don't get carried away." 

Wheeljack nodded eagerly, but Optimus had the distinct feeling it was all falling on deaf audials.

"...Let me see his thrusters again." 

Hound glanced at Mirage with a smirk. 

The sparkling had been handed into their custody by Ratchet some hours ago, already recharging and swaddled in a comfy cream blanket. He was yet to wake, and Hound had yet to set the warm bundle down. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were gettin' a little broody." Hound teased in a whisper, carefully loosening the blanket so the sparkling's tiny feet were visible. Toe pedes curled and twitched in the cooler air. His thrusters were just as small as before. 

Mirage brought his fingertips together in front of his mouth, inhaling through his nose. He denied nothing. 

"...They're so small."

"Think they work?"

"I would hope not. He could set your berth on fire," Mirage reached out and brushed his finger across the arch of the sparkling's pede. The sparkling stirred slightly with a fussy noise, hands pushing against the inside of the swaddle.

"I think he's ticklish." Hound carefully rearranged the blanket, encasing tiny feet once more. 

There was a light knock at the door. With clear reluctance, Mirage unfolded himself from his cross legged position on the berth and went to answer it. The door swept open with a soft whoosh, and emitted a clattering ruckus of noise that was Wheeljack shoving a crib over the threshold.

"One crib, custom made-!" He announced. 

"Shh!" Hound hurriedly shielded the sparkling's audials with a big hand. "Jack-!"

Mirage angrily gestured for the engineer to pick up the crib rather than let it scrape across the floor. Between the two of them they managed to carry it to the side of the berth. Hound took a moment to appreciate the workmanship, and the speed the project had been completed with. 

"Thanks," he smiled at Wheeljack. "He's gonna love it." 

But Wheeljack wasn't lingering for their compliments. 

He leaned over, optics wide blue orbs as they peered at the sparkling. "Can I hold him?" 

Mirage was making frantic 'no!' gestures behind the engineer's back, but Hound didn't have the spark to turn him away. "Uh, yeah, sure, just ...he's recharging and-"

"I'll be gentle," grabby hands were getting closer. 

Hound relinquished his charge. The sparkling stirred grumpily but didn't wake as he was transferred into new arms. Wheeljack straightened up with him. He pulled down the blanket down a little to get a better look at the snoozing, relaxed face. 

"...Reminds me of someone," he observed quietly. 

"Well he's gotta belong to one of the seekers here on Earth." Hound pointed out. "Kinda intrigued to know which one-"

"Can't picture one of those scrap-sacks making this sweet little guy though," Wheeljack shook his helm. 

"He's not so sweet when he's awake," Mirage felt the need to inform him. 

"He's had a bad day," Hound defended, climbing off the berth and reaching into the crib to pull aside the knitted blanket on top, gesturing for Wheeljack to set him down. "He's a sweet lil' bitlet, I'm sure of it." 

Mirage's brow arched with disbelief. 

Wheeljack bent at the waist and carefully deposited the sparkling in the crib, still swaddled securely. They all lingered above him, listening to tiny vents whistle with deep ventilations. 

"What's gonna happen to him?" Wheeljack asked softly. 

The question twisted something in Hound's spark. He honestly didn't know what the future held for the little guy. "Wait," he said with a shrug. "And hope someone ...claims him?"

"Some undeserving negligent Con that dumped him out there in the first place, you mean?" Mirage muttered. 

"We dunno how he ended up there. He could just be lost?" 

"That's what Prime is hoping. Ratchet doesn't seem to think so though." Wheeljack told them lightly. "He's preparing for a permanent addition to the ranks." 

"Not with us, I hope," Mirage protested, optics widening. 

"'rage!" Hound exclaimed in a whisper. 

"We need our privacy," Mirage insisted. "I need my privacy, and this is a small room. I- Hound, when we brought him back, I didn't think I was signing up to -to adopt-"

"Of course not, and I'd never ask-"

"This sounds like the sort of intensely private conversation you shouldn't have an audience too," Wheeljack held up his hands and backed away from the crib. "So I'm gonna head out. Any problems with the crib, comm me-"

"What about problems with the sparkling?" Mirage folded his arms.

"Call Ratchet." 

Starscream's tanks rumbled, hunger stirring him out of a deep, deep recharge. His frame was slow to respond and his optical shutters felt heavy. The taste of that bland disgusting low grade still lingered in his mouth, and he grimaced as he fidgeted. 

He was trapped, wrapped tightly in something. Restrained perhaps? Maybe they had discovered his true identity whilst he slept and were finally starting to treat him with the fear and respect he deserved. 

"-just worried about you getting attached." Someone was speaking softly, but with an edge of stress to their words, like it was an argument. 

"I know, 'rage." 

Starscream cracked an optic open, and no, he wasn't tied up in the brig. He was in some pokey crew-quarters. Blast. 

"You just have this- this drive to nurture things, to pick up strays." The voices continued. "Remember the owl chick?"

"A sparkling ain't an owl-"

"-the rangers said you should have just let it be, that it probably fell from the nest-"

"Seekers don't build nests," the exhausted voice argued. Starscream shuttered his optics again when a presence drew closer. 

"That's not the point I'm trying to make here. One day, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a couple weeks, maybe years from now, his creator may come looking for him, his Decepticon creator, and-"

"I think you're the one who's worried about getting attached, Mirage." 

There was silence. Starscream dared crack an optic open and spied the two Autobots that had kidnapped him in the first place locked in an intense staring contest above him. Over his crib. Crib?! When had-?!

He had to find time to feel indignant about that later. The tower mech, Mirage, looked away first, sighing. "I'm sorry," he apologised, caving on an argument Starscream had thought he'd had a very good chance of winning. "I'm not angry at you for bringing him here, I'm just-"

"I'm angry!" Starscream burst out, and it was, of course, only an angry squeak to their audials. Both pairs of optics flicked down to him. 

Hound's face softened. He reached for him. "Sorry, little buddy, did we wake you?" 

His hand brushed Starscream's cheek, and after the ordeal of being cleaned by those savage Lamborghini twins Starscream was loathe to ever become dirty again and risk repeating the experience. He cringed away, but trapped as he was, he couldn't escape. He fought against the prison of fabric, face turning hot with exertion. 

"He needs fuelling." Mirage sighed, bending over and lifting him out, swaddle and all. 

"No!" Starscream argued. He felt exhausted -exhausted with being constantly manhandled, with being too weak to do anything about, with being force fed low grade! And exhausted because he was a sparkling and their inefficient frames required an inordinate amount of recharge!

His optics stung and blurred and his vents hitched, but his pathetic display did little to resolve his situation. Mirage hummed to him and hushed him whilst Hound prepared a cube. 

They didn't subject him to the torment of a straw, or that ridiculous syringe the medic used, but they did insist on him drinking the low-grade. He turned his head away when the cube titled and edged towards his mouth, but his hands were trapped and unable to push it away. The warm fuel lapped against his lips and he spat it out angrily, scowling. But they tried again. And again. And again. 

"This isn't working." Mirage's optics were dim with exhaustion. Starscream didn't have a working chrono in this form, but he could tell it was late. "Maybe we should call Ratchet..."

Starscream's resolve dwindled. Bringing in the medic? These Autobots were crueler than he'd anticipated. He was not in any shape fit to defend himself against that relentless doctor. Doubtless, there'd be more battles to be fought tomorrow, so tonight -unless he wanted low-grade served via a syringe shot directly into his mouth- he had to relent. Preserve some dignity at least. 

"Thank Primus," Mirage sighed when Starscream swallowed his pride -and the fuel. "I don't think I can do this every night-"

Hound was rubbing a hand over his face, optics squinting. He didn't answer, but his field reeked of defeat. 

Despite everything, Starscream felt a tiny flare of victory. 

A recharge deprived Hound and Mirage appeared at Ratchet's door two hours before dawn with a screaming, thrashing sparkling and no more patience to give. To finish off the sadistically satisfying sight, both mechs were wearing splatters of what was obviously low grade-energon. 

Ratchet was rather impressed that the sparkling hadn't gotten any down himself. 

He leant against the doorway with his arms folded, trying not to look too smug, but failing. "You two have a good night?" 

"Take him," Mirage extended the kicking infant, his tone void of emotion. "Take him, please." 

The sparkling's face was twisted in hatred, and if Ratchet didn't know any better, his kicking became more intense and focused towards Ratchet's face. 

Despite that, his smirk widened. "Didn't I tell you he was an evil little Pit-raiser?" 

"He's a sparkling, Ratch," Hound argued, just like he had before when he'd come to collect the sparkling from the med-bay, but with much, much less conviction this time. "He's just- It's not like he's malicious-"

"I'll be the judge of that," Ratchet exclaimed, and swept the little fighter out of Mirage's hands. 

"No!" The sparkling shouted with a swinging kick that just grazed Ratchet's chest plate. Ratchet's amusement dwindled slightly. "No-no!" 

"He get any sleep?" He asked, spying dark smudges under angry little optics. 

"He did, yes." Mirage all but growled. "But every time we tried to recharge he'd wake up and start climbing the crib. Like he was trying to escape." 

"Sparklings are adventurous," Ratchet commented, tucking the thrashing demon under his arm and bouncing him lightly. "Wheeljack shoulda made the walls higher-"

"And he hardly fuelled," Hound informed him, with a note of concern. "Maybe he's sick-"

"He's not sick, he's just an idiot." 

At this, the sparkling paused in his thrashing, twisting to stare up at Ratchet with fierce indignity. "No!" He shouted, fists balled. 

"Yes!" Ratchet argued back with a glare. "Just you wait till Optimus hears about this..."

"Noooo!" The sparkling started to fight again. 

Hound reached up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, "Well, if you've got everything handled here Ratch', I guess me and 'rage-"

"We're going back to recharge." Mirage snapped, grabbing Hound by the hand to tug him away. 

Ratchet didn't stop them from leaving, but hitched the sparkling up and took hold of his wrist so he could wave his tiny hand back and forth, "Say bye-bye." 

"No!" The sparkling squirmed. 

"Well," Ratchet released him, "I can't say I approve of your behaviour but I ought to thank you for breaking Hound's annoying habit of dragging anything small, cute, and useless he finds back home with him." 

"No," the sparkling muttered softly. 

With a sigh, Ratchet shut the door to his berth-room and headed down the corridor with his prisoner in hand. 

It was unlikely the sparkling was going to let him recharge either, and without a crib to keep him at least semi-contained, it wouldn't be wise to lower his guard around him to work. And he couldn't keep the sparkling in the med-bay with him, not with all those dangerous tools lying around. But he had a feeling he knew just where to stick him to get rid of some of that boundless energy of his. 

With the other kids...

"I'm gonna name him Slingshot junior!" The loudest of the Aerialbots announced, mere moments after Starscream had been cruelly thrust before the gang of flying thugs. 

Loud, excitable, and numerous, the clumsy fliers had flocked to Ratchet the instant he'd stepped into the rec, all vying to be the first to hold their kidnapped-foe. Rightly terrified, Starscream clung to the medic fearfully. He didn't know these mecha outside the field of battle, but he knew they were graceless, absentminded, byte-brains completely undeserving of their wings and he wanted them nowhere near his own. 

"No!" He wailed, fingers scrambling against the medic's armour in case one of them decided to grab him. "Get away from me!" 

"We're not naming him after you, stupid," another sneered, leaning in closer. He was taller and stockier than the first, and mostly blue. It was Air Raid- that lunatic who enjoyed charging his seekers like mid-air collisions were all fun and games. 

Starscream twisted and hid his face against Ratchet, furious with the wannabe-jets' lack of personal space. He could feel their over-exuberant fields swarming his, their heavy ex-ventilations washing over his wing-nubs, closing in, looming- he felt trapped-

"Alright, back off and give him some space, idiots," the medic reprimanded them lightly, elbowing Air Raid a step back and stroking a large hand up between Starscream's wing-nubs. Starscream's fluttering spark began to calm. "He thinks you're gonna squash him-"

"We'll be careful," one of them claimed. 

"Yeah sure," Ratchet muttered, rubbing circles on Starscream's back. "Like when you say 'you'll be careful' during flight manoeuvres and then my entire day cycle is spent dealing with twisted ankles and dented backsides." 

"We mean it this time," a gentler voice protested, and Starscream had had enough run-ins with this particular Autobot to recognise it. Silverbolt, their charismatic yet cowardly leader. Starscream pulled away from Ratchet's chest far enough to scowl at him. 

He received a bright friendly smile in return, and a gentle nudge of his field. 

"Can we take him up?" He asked. 

Starscream's optics widened at the idea of being flown about in the arms of bastardised planes who couldn't fly straight if they were set on autopilot. It seemed the medic was much of the same mind.  

"Absolutely not," He was frowning at them. "You know the flight curfew; no joyrides before seven, and the sparkling stays indoors. Mirage says he's a flight risk." 

"He can't fly with those little wings." Fireflight pointed to them teasingly. Starscream tried to slap him away but his arms weren't long enough. 

"He's got legs, don't he," Ratchet grumbled, drawing Starscream away from the shelter of his frame and bending with a groan and creak to deposit him on the cold, dirty floor. "Stay indoors. If you want to play with him, be gentle." 

Starscream sat on the floor at their pedes, momentarily stunned. He was surrounded by pedes on all sides, forced to look up at long, elegant adult legs with envy. He titled his head back with a scowl, indignant at being left on the dirty decking at their feet as they talked. 

Grumbling to himself, he rolled onto his front and began the odious task of getting his feet under him, struggling not to overbalance with his disproportionate frame and his too-small pedes. 

After several minutes of trial and error, muttering curses to himself, and red in the face, he managed to get upright, swaying back and forth in place. He took one wobbly step, and collided with some clumsy idiot's ankle, smacking-face first into it. He grunted and fell back onto his aft with a dull clunk.  

A sharp gasp sounded and hands under his arms set him back on his feet. Still disoriented, Starscream wobbled and fell against their hand again.

"I think he's trying to walk." Silverbolt claimed excitedly. 

"I can already walk!" Starscream argued, his words tumbling together into grumbling gibberish. 

Several other Aerialbots crouched to his level, some of them dropping to sit with him. The medic remained standing above them, his arms folded, unimpressed. "He'd be able to walk a lot better if you let go of him." 

His advice fell on deaf audials. Silverbolt kept him balanced on his toes. Starscream huffed and whined in frustration, until eventually the Autobot got the hint, released his middle and took his hands to steady him instead, just his thumb and forefinger enough to fill Starscream's entire hand. 

"Come here, Junior!" Slingshot scooted back across the deck and held his hands out before him, beckoning enthusiastically. "Come to Slingshot Senior." 

"Don't call him that!" Air Raid reproached. 

"What else am I gonna call him?" Slingshot argued, glaring at the brother above him. 

"Should we give him a name?" Silverbolt asked, tilting his head up towards Ratchet as Starscream struggled to extract his fingers from him. 

"Sure." The medic replied in a bored tone. "Call him 'Problem'." 

"No!" Starscream argued, stamping his pede. 

"Humans call baby birds 'chicks'," Skydive commented. "And seekers are like birds, and since he's a baby..."

"You have wings," the medic pointed out. "And you're hardly mature adults yourselves." 

"But we're more like dragons," Slingshot announced pompously, "Raining fire down on our enemies!" 

Starscream had never felt so insulted, on so many levels. He didn't know if that translated onto his expression, but he hoped it did. 

"You're not calling him 'Chick'," Ratchet, thankfully, put his foot down on the matter. "I know he's cute, but you've got to let him retain some dignity. He might be here to stay, and in a couple hundred years you're gonna regret it." 

Primus, Starscream hoped not.

"What about 'Stray'?" Silverbolt suggested, lifting Starscream's arms above his head and guiding him gently forwards, encouraging him to take another wobbly step. 

"No!" Starscream pulled a face. 

"So long as you don't call him 'Chick', I don't care," Ratchet muttered. "Now, I'll be back to pick him up in a few hours. Behave yourself." 

"We will, Ratch," Silverbolt smiled. 

"I was talking to him," Ratchet pointed down at Starscream. "And keep him awake. If he cycles into recharge now he won't go down for his nap later." 

The Aerialbots smiled endearingly at the idea of him napping. Starscream used Silverbolt's hands to balance himself as he stamped forwards and tried to kick him in the knee. It backfired. His violent streak only further infatuated them with him. 

Ratchet left soon after, and Starscream was worried about his own state of mind that he was sad to see him go. The medic was cruel and stern, but he at least didn't coddle him or attempt to engage him in 'play'. The Aerialbots were not anywhere near as reserved. 

He spent the first dreadful half-hour being hauled about like a puppet. They made him wave to each other, they dangled him from his arms in lieu of making him walk, they lifted him above their heads and made zooming noises as if he was flying. 

Enduring their abuse with the stoicism expected of a fearsome Decepticon was doing nothing to end the torment. They seemed to think he was enjoying it. 

So he fussed, he whined, he screamed in their audials, but in the end, simply going limp and pretending he was dead seemed to do the trick.

"You broke him, Air Raid! I told you not to spin that fast with him!"

"He was squealing! He was having fun!"

"He was screaming in terror!"

"I think he's just tired," Silverbolt interrupted his brother's panicked squabbling. "Maybe we should do something else with him." 

"Watch TV?" Slingshot suggested. 

Starscream lifted his head. Playing away to itself on mute, the rec-room's enlarged television screen was showing some sort of reality-show where humans shouted at each other in front of an audience. On screen, a women threw a chair at a much larger man, and chaos erupted in the studio. Starscream couldn't deny that he wasn't intrigued. 

But Silverbolt rushed over and switched it off, just as it was getting good. "That is not appropriate for a sparkling." 

"Let's do some arts and crafts instead," Skydive began rifling through some of the cupboards at the back of the rec-room before anyone could respond with a better idea. Some of his brothers groaned. 

Starscream couldn't say he was any more enthusiastic about arts and crafts time himself, but it was an improvement to being tossed around like a football, so he accepted it with a quiet scowl. 

Fireflight sat on the floor crossed-legged with Starscream in the middle of them, one hand resting across his torso to keep him from escaping. When Skydive handed out the equipment, Fireflight balanced a drawing pad on his knee and held out the light-pen for Starscream to grab. Starscream kicked the drawing pad off his knee angrily, ignoring the offered pen. 

With a sigh, Fireflight set it back in place, this time manually curling Starscream's stubby fingers around the pen and keeping it in place with his own firm grip. 

"It's a light-pen. See?" he whispered, bringing the pen down to the pad and drawing a squiggle. He gasped in mock surprise. "Wow, look at the pretty colours..." 

"He's not buying it, 'Flight," Air Raid smirked. 

Starscream was about to kick the drawing pad away again, when an idea popped into his mind. A brilliant idea! Salvation, perhaps! 

Excited, he pushed Fireflight's hand away. "Get off!" he complained, tugging his hand and the pen free, and then throwing himself at the drawing-pad. He could write a message! Explain who he was! What had happened! Then this mortifying ordeal would be over, they'd throw him in a brig, they'd contact the Decepticons- 

He would be able to restore himself to his former glory. Then he could return here and smite every last one of these idiots who had tormented him!

But the moment his light-pen touched the drawing pad it skimmed drastically to the side. Frowning, Starscream tried again, but his hand simply wouldn't work as it was supposed to. Spitting in frustration, he tried holding it steady with two hands, trying it write something as simple as his designation. But an 'S' shape was impossible. He couldn't get the curve and the result was an furious looking zigzag. 

"See, told you he'd get into it," Skydive leaned over to look. "He's a born artist-"

"Looks like scribbles to me," Slingshot grumbled. 

"He's a baby, what did you expect?" 

Starscream threw the pen down with a shout of frustration. Hard enough that it cracked and spilled ink over the floor. Fireflight made an noise of comfort and started bouncing him in his lap, leaning down to murmur, "Don't listen to them, I love it..."

Starscream smacked him in the optic, hard. "No!" 

"...It seem quiet around here to you?" Skywarp asked. 

Thundercracker looked up from the magazine he was reading behind an intelligence brief. "...It does, kinda." 

"Huh," Skywarp said, looking up thoughtfully. 

"Yeah," Thundercracker lowered his magazine. 

There was a lengthy pause as they appreciated the silence; machines humming, circuits buzzing. It was peaceful, comforting almost. 

"Well it can't be anything important," Skywarp shrugged, turning back to the game he was playing on the security monitor. 

"Guess not," Thundercracker flicked out his magazine. 

Chapter Text

Ironhide didn't so much receive an invite from Optimus as he did an order; his quarters, seven hundred hours, bring engex. And not the standard stuff they brought out on special occasions, but the nasty, home-siphoned, haphazardly-filtered, over-concentrated contraband Prowl would routinely find under the floor decking in the Lamborghini twins' quarters. Completely coincidentally, or so Sideswipe claimed. 

A good subordinate and an even better friend, Ironhide traded in a favour with Jazz for the least threatening-looking bottle and turned up at Optimus's quarters that evening. He pressed the door comm and waited. 

And waited. 

And waited.

He began to smirk. 

When the door finally did slide open on it's tracks to reveal his host, Ironhide's smile widened further at the Prime's bedraggled appearance. Gone was the usual sparkle in his blue optics, replaced with the dim, defeated squint of a mech in dire need of rest. Smudges over normally well-kept armour looked like they were a mix of low-grade and squashed energon-goodies. His wipers were askew and the cabling of his neck looked stretched out of shape. 

He was holding the cause of his dishevelled appearance in one arm. 

The seeker sparkling was as adorable as every one had so far claimed- despite the scowl. He was angrily chewing on a rust stick, which Optimus appeared to be in the process of confiscating. But every time he reached for it the sparkling growled like a feral dog, huffing angrily through his little button nose. 

"Ironhide," Optimus sighed in greeting. 

"Sparklings allowed rust sticks?" Ironhide quirked a questioning brow. 

"No," Optimus admitted darkly, and again tried to take it away. The sparkling's armour heckled and he snarled, turning his head and smacking at Optimus's large fingers. 

Optimus let his hand fall away. "I made an error. He was refusing his fuel and-"

Ironhide lifted a hand to stop him, getting the picture. 

"Don't blame him. Low-grade tastes like crud," He grunted, stepping around Optimus to enter the room. As he passed, he couldn't resist chucking the sparkling under the chin, smiling when it made the little one jump in surprise and shoot him an offended look. 

Pouncing on the distraction, Optimus snatched the rust stick away and held it aloft. 

Ironhide was about to congratulate him on outsmarting an infant when he was interrupted by the most unnaturally high-pitched scream Ironhide might have ever heard. Unable to cope with the frequency, his audials malfunctioned. 

When they came back online -Ironhide smacking the sides of his helm to re-tune his hearing- Optimus was guiltily apologising to the sparkling, snapping off a tiny piece of the rust stick as a reparation. "I know, I know you're hungry," he soothed indulgently, letting greedy little hands snatch it back. "I'm sorry-"

"Thought he wasn't allowed?" Ironhide rubbed his hand over his face to hide a growing smirk. 

"He is very persuasive," Optimus glared.

"Sparklings throw tantrums over everything. You're gonna spoil him, Prime. Then he'll grow up to be no better than that slagger Starscream." 

"No!" The sparkling brandished his half-chewed piece of rust-stick angrily. 

"See," Ironhide grinned. "He agrees." 

"I don't want to make this anymore difficult for him," Optimus was staring down at the top of the sparkling's dark little head sadly. Ironhide couldn't remember the last time someone had Optimus so throughly wrapped around their finger. This kid was really pulling on his spark threads. 

"He won't be thanking you when that junk fuel makes him sick," Ironhide pointed to the sticky remains of the rust-stick. The sparkling began wiping his hands on Optimus's armour. 

Optimus's tired optics flickered, "I am not cut out for this-"

"No one is, I hear." Ironhide reassured, counting out on his fingers as he began to list off the sparkling's previous victims. "Beat up one of the Aerialbots, had Hound sent to the dog-house, put Mirage off having kids for a lifetime... he's a monster. Why not leave him with Ratch'?" 

"Ratchet claimed his duties were too important for such a distraction," Optimus growling, struggling to catch the sparkling's waving hands and wipe them down. 

"Aren't yours?" 

"I mentioned to Ratchet that I also had important duties to attend to, and was laughed at. He informed me that keeping everyone alive was more important than 'making the stupid decisions that caused the harm in the first place'," Optimus looked imploringly at Ironhide. "Would you take him?"

"Absolutely not." Ironhide rejected without a hint of remorse. He reached into his subspace and pulled out the pilfered engex, wriggling the bottle enticingly. "But I come bearing the requested gifts. You're gonna recharge tonight, Prime!" 

"You're a good friend, 'Hide." 

The sparkling, having lost the battle to keep his hands disgustingly sticky, turned big, interested optics on the high-grade. He couldn't possibly know what the substance was or what it did, but he began to reach for it with insistent whining noises. It was a vibrantly bright pink though, and simple-minded sparklings were easily impressed by pretty colours. 

"Nice try, buddy, but I'm not as soft as Prime," Ironhide chuckled, ignoring was whinging and drawing up a chair next to Optimus's desk to take a seat. 

He cleared some space and set the engex and two cubes down. Optimus joined him, setting the sparkling on his knee, bouncing it lightly when he began to fuss. Ironhide watched in amusement as his little wing-nubs flicked in frustration, short arms struggling to reach the edge of the desk, let alone the high-grade he wanted on top of it. 

"He doesn't want to sit here and listen to two old mechs," Ironhide gestured to the floor. "Let him go explore." 

Optimus shifted uneasily, his hands around the seeker's tiny tummy flexing. "I don't want to return him to Ratchet injured..."

Ironhide snorted, "What's he gonna hurt himself with?" 

Optimus sighed, and with clear reluctance, deposited the sparkling at their feet. Ironhide leant over to watch the seeker roll over with an angry grumble and start hauling his little body upright, using Prime's leg for leverage as he struggled to balance. Once steady -or as steady as a disproportionate seeker could get- he scowled up at Optimus and slapped his armour. 

"No!" He pointed up at the high-grade, stamping a little pede. "No!" 

"Go play, Sweetie," Ironhide groaned, catching the little pest by the back of the scruff -a handy bar at the base of a sparkling's neck. He spun him around and nudged him away. "Go on now..." 

"No!" The sparkling protested, twirling around to slap at him, but unbalancing and falling back on his aft. "No!" 

"Unless you offer a sufficient distraction, he won't stop shouting at us," Optimus took a hearty swig of his engex. 

"Right," Ironhide began rifling through his subspace, looking for something he give the little tyke. He had a couple random things he had confiscated off the twins, but nothing there was suitable for a sparkling. 

There was one thing left in his trunk from when he was driving Sparkplug around last week though; the old man's bowling ball. 

"Here kiddo," Ironhide withdrew the heavy ball and handed it to the sparkling. 

Confused, the sparkling took it, swaying under it's unexpected weight as he hugged it in his arms. 

He then scowled and dropped it- right on Ironhide's foot, with an echoing clang. 

It hurt. Definitely dented a few toe-pedes. 

Ironhide repressed the curse than was trying to work it's way through clenched teeth and instead managed an insincere, "Cute." 

Optimus had drunk his first serving and was waving the empty cube at Ironhide for a refill. "He won't fuel. He won't recharge. He won't engage in play, he distrusts everyone around him, and he actively seeks to do harm to others," Prime lamented. "I fear life has not been kind to him." 

"We can change that, can't we?" 

The sparkling had waddled off after the bowling ball- inspiring a little hope in Ironhide that maybe he was going to play with it after all. With a great deal of huffing and puffing, the little one managed to pick the ball up again and stumble back to them with it. Ironhide reached to take it, thinking he wanted to play fetch or something...

The sparkling lifted the ball as high as he could and released, right over Ironhide's other foot. Ironhide managed to move his toe-pedes out of the way just in time, laughing all the while. 

Optimus groaned softly, like a mortified creator.  

"So there's a little bit of Con in him, it ain't big a deal," he shrugged. "We could use another tough little roughhouser, couldn't we? C'mere you-!"

He scooped the sparkling up roughly, laughing louder at the surprised squeal he provoked out of the seeker when he tossed him lightly in the air. Optimus straightened up in his seat, fear etched into the creases around his optics. "'Hide-"

"Seekers love flying!" Ironhide caught the sparkling one-handed and tossed him up again, little legs and arms flapping like the sparkling thought he could fly. 

When he came down, belly-up, in Ironhide's extended hands, Ironhide tickled his cockpit, dancing fingers across the delicate bubble of glass. The sparkling's stoicism finally broke. Peals of hiccuping laughter escaped the sparkling's vocaliser. Optimus's shoulders began to loosen up. 

"Careful, 'Hide..."

Heeding his leader's warning, Ironhide let up for a moment. But the second his fingers stilled on the baby-smooth glass to let the little guy catch his breath, the sparkling began squirming furiously, kicking and fighting, his face red with indignity. "No-no-no!" 

"Hey, hey," Ironhide shushed him, lifting him by the under arms and bouncing him lightly, like how Optimus had done. 

But the sparkling wasn't just angry, he was upset, optics leaking coolant down his hot little cheeks. Optimus rose out of his chair with a creak and took him back. Ironhide's spark twisted guilty. "I dunno what happened, he-"

"He doesn't like playing," Optimus murmured sadly, pushing his half-finished cube away when opportunistic hands reached for it. Sulking, the sparkling hunkered down against Optimus, only peaking out from his arms to shoot hate-filled glares Ironhide's way. 

Ironhide shrugged it off, lifting his high-grade again. "Hey, you started it, Squirt." 

An indignant 'No!' was shouted from the protection of Optimus's arms. 

Hunger stirred Starscream out of recharge yet again.

Tanks, too tiny to remain full for long, groaned loudly, but he was almost too comfortable to move, encased in blankets and surrounded by pillows. He might have approved of such a luxury had he not yet again been placed in such a primitive prison of the berth. 

He glared at the plexiglass walls of the crib-cum-fishbowl hatefully, wondering how best to tackle Wheeljack's adjustments. The walls were higher, and the plexiglass meant his every action was entirely visible, but Primus was on his side tonight. Across the dark room, the lump in the berth was unmoving, cycling air deeply. Prime was deep in recharge, helped no doubt by all that high-grade he and his grunt had bogarted. 

Starscream looked towards the desk and saw that the bottle had been left out, with a sixth of the engex remaining. He licked his lips. Deprived of anything worth tasting for several meals now, he longed for the sharp, flavourful tang of high-grade. 

And he'd need his strength for this escape attempt. 

Using the pillows his coddling caretakers had stuffed the crib with, Starscream tugged and kicked them into a stack he could climb. It was precarious and unbalanced, but he managed to scale them and clamber over the edge of the crib, straddling it for a bird's eye view. 

He threw some of the pillows down first. Something soft to land on. He was small, and his new perspective meant the ground seemed much further away. Heights felt more threatening now that he didn't have thrusters to rely on slowing his descent. 

He took a breath and dropped to the floor- 

Landing clumsily on his back, legs in the air, falling into the plush pillows with a dull thump. 

He paused, listening for Prime. The sheets of the berth rustled as the enemy leader rolled over, but after a tense beat, steady breathing resumed. 

Starscream rolled out of his pillow pile and used a combination of stumbling and crawling to get to the desk on the other side of the room. As humiliating as it was to scramble around on all fours, it was faster, and he was less likely to fall flat on his face and make enough of a racket to wake the Autobot.

With a great deal of effort, he managed to clamber up onto the chair, and then the desk. He sat with the bottle clutched in his impractically clumsy hands but realised, with a rush of frustration, that he didn't have the fine-motor controls to be able to pour it!

"Is nothing easy?!" He hissed to himself furiously, tipping back with the bottle and struggling to lift it to his mouth.

He leaned back awkwardly, mouth at the opening, but tipped it too far and the high-grade rushed up and splashed into his face. He coughed once, but slapped a hand over his mouth before he could alert the Prime, vents stinging as he fought the urge to clear them of engex. 

Prime was still sleeping. 

Wiping the drips of high-grade from his mouth and chin, he tried again, this time sipping it little by little. It was strong and stung his more sensitive tongue. Only a few mouthfuls had made him feel full. He groaned, swallowing down a sudden nausea. 

He should have known better than to drink whatever passed for high-grade among the Autobots. 

Refuelled, dizzy, but determined, he crept his way back to the floor. 

His next dilemma was escaping Prime's quarters. The door controls were too high and he didn't have the strength to drag a chair across the room to be able to reach it, nor did he think Prime would recharge through furniture rearrangement. 

But what was at his level, was a ventilation shaft. 

Starscream sat down next to it. He could feel a gentle breeze coming through the vents, indicating that the long shafts eventually led outside the ship. This would be his ticket to freedom. 

It took him some time to work the grate open, and the longer he was sat, the more uncomfortable he was becoming. The high-grade wasn't sitting happily his tank, and pressure built across his torso as his frame struggled to process it. 

Finally, with his fingers numb and chipped, he managed to free the grate. It swung up and he was relieved to find himself able to crawl into the dusty shaft. 

It was a cramped space but he fit if he flattened his wing-nubs to his back. But proximity sensors protested the lack of available space, and long suppressed claustrophobic protocols began to rear their ugly heads. Starscream shuttered his optics. All seekers had these protocols, but adults had the ability to circumvent them with a bit of creativity. 

Unfortunately, his now juvenile frame had no option to simply switch off the proximity sensors that were activating the protocols in the first place. So he was simply going to have to ride it out. 

He crawled, and crawled, ignoring the dust filling his vents and the grime building on his hands and knees from the filthy metal. It was too dark to see where he was going, and he had no working gyro to know which direction he was facing. His spark was fluttering in his chest, getting faster and faster the deeper he went. Squashed and small, Starscream was suddenly struck with how bad an idea this was. 

He swallowed thickly, fingers shaking. He couldn't turn around. There wasn't enough room. 

He wasn't going to panic. He refused to panic. He was a Decepticon air warrior, a conquerer. He wasn't going to let himself be defeated by a tight space!  

But it all came to a head when he shifted forward and his wing-nub caught against something sharp. 

He cried out in pain, panic doubling as he twisted and found himself stuck. Completely stuck. "No-!" He gasped. 

Something jagged -a bent nail likely- was sticking out of the vent wall and had become caught between two armour panels of his wing, making moving forward or backwards impossible. Starscream's arms were too short and stubby to reach back to free himself, and he couldn't turn around, and he didn't know where he was, and-

The nausea in his tanks reached it's peak and he managed one frightened hiccup before an override forced his tanks to purge. He vomited a disgusting mix of unprocessed high-grade and rust sticks down himself. Revulsion wasn't even on his mind. He didn't think he'd ever felt so sick in his life. Sick enough to die. 

Why were sparklings so pathetic?! 

His breaths started to hitch. His optics were already streaming optical fluid. He was sure his wing was damaged beyond repair now, and as much as his pride might have wanted him to die alone in this vent and hope no one ever discovered him in such a humiliating predicament - he refused to die a sparkling. He refused to die before he could enact his revenge on these moronic Autobots that had forced him into this desperate position in the first place. 

He was sobbing audibly by now, overwrought with too many emotions for a sparkling to handle. He cried softly as first, just a cathartic release of emotion, until he realised he needed them to hear him if he didn't want to rust and fester in his own vomit all night long. 

Seeing as he couldn't possibly sink any lower, he wailed and screamed until he could hear the sounds of movement outside the vents. Banging, frantic speaking, panicking voices -at least he wasn't the only one in hysterics now. 

He distinctly heard Optimus's Prime baritone, ordering in a particularly distressed tone of voice, for them to tear the entire bulkhead apart if necessary. So Starscream anticipated he wouldn't have to wait long for a rescue.  

Soon enough, metal opened up ahead of him, letting light into the small, unpleasant place. Starscream squinted against it, turning his face away, but soon more light was rushing in, coming from every direction as someone carefully dismantled the tunnel-like ventilation system.

"He's okay," Starscream heard Wheeljack's voice, very close by. "His wing's stuck-"

Starscream felt a touch to the trapped wing-nub and flinched away with a sharp cry. There was a clang like someone was being hit, then a familiar and furious voice was cursing someone out. "-me do it! Before you rip his wing off!"

The medic. 

A more practiced touch was on him then. Starscream felt a little pinch, but then his wing free and he was being lifted out of the disgusting prison he'd made for himself and into the bright, humiliating corridor outside Prime's quarters. Half the faction had come to the rescue. 

The medic held him to his chest, and grateful for that beyond words, Starscream hid against him, struggling to control his shaking as the medic continued to rant at anyone in audio range.  

"What the Pit have you been feeding him? I said no treats and I swear, by Primus, if that's high-grade-!"

"-was put out of reach, Ratchet," Prime tried to placate. 

"-shouldn't have been left out in the first place! How stupid can you be-?!"

Were in not for the unbearable situation, his uncontrollable shaking, and the knowledge that he was still wearing his own rejected meal, Starscream might have enjoyed witnessing the spectacle of some mere underling stripping the Prime of his dignity. 

Prime was spluttering and grasping at straws in an attempt to defend himself, but he wasn't the only one the medic was blaming for this mishap. 

"And don't think you're off the hook either, 'Disaster Zone'! I told you to fix that deathtrap of a crib!"

"I did!" Wheeljack exclaimed. "I raised the sides, made it climb-proof-"

"Then you were outsmarted by sparkling! Fix it again!" Ratchet roared, his hands lifting to shield Starscream's more delicate audials from the worst of his own shouting. "None of this would have happened if he hadn't gotten out!"

Wheeljack's tone turned sarcastic, "If you want me to design a baby prison-?"

"I want this sparkling to have a safe, secure place to recharge. I don't think I'm asking the impossible!" Ratchet finished with a snarl, whirling on Optimus again. "And grow a pair, Optimus! I ever see this sparkling fuelling on something other the low-grade, it'll be your aft on the line." 

At that, the medic left with him. Starscream kept hidden against his armour, unwilling to even take a glance at the undoubtably satisfying scene his actions had created. He still felt sick, his wing was aching, and his armour was crawling with the grimy, icky feeling of filth. He was so desperate to be clean he no longer cared if he was bathed like an invalid. 

"What were you crawling in vents for anyway?" the medic sighed above him. 

Starscream stole a glance up at him, wincing at the thunderous scowl the old mech was wearing. It wasn't directed at hm, he reminded himself.

The medic was shaking his head as he walked. "You're a seeker, not a- a..." He trailed off, scowl softening. "Who knows. Maybe you've got some latent miner's coding..."

Starscream huffed at the offensive idea of his coding being anything less that one hundred percent pure Vosian Seeker. He wasn't some mixed-bred low-caster, like Megatron. He gaged at the thought.

"Still feel sick?" The medic asked. "You know what'll settle your tanks? A nice cube of low-grade."

He was teasing him. What kind of self-respecting adult mercilessly harassed a helpless and unwell infant? 

Starscream set his head against the medic's shoulder, seeing no point in fighting it. He was hungry, desperately so, and just the idea of drinking anything stronger turned his tanks. 

Ratchet didn't take him down to the wash-racks as Prime did, which Starscream was grateful for. Instead, they went to the med-bay. 

Ratchet didn't set him down and allow him any opportunity to wander off, balancing him against his chest with one arm as he used the other to gather equipment together. The medic found a shallow basin and a few clean wash-rags. He filled the basin with warm water and threw in a glug of diluted solvent. 

"Don't you dare splash me," Ratchet warned, dangling Starscream by his underarms and dipping him into the solution slowly. 

Starscream lifted his legs away at first, hesitant, but the temperature was ...acceptable. He allowed Ratchet to lower him into the basin without violent protest. The water only came halfway up his cockpit sitting down, but the medic supported him with a hand on his back like he thought he was going to somehow drown himself anyway. 

A wash cloth was dipped into the solvent solution and swept across the front of his armour lightly. When Starscream reached to take it for himself, the medic actually let him, only taking it back for the harder to reach spots. 

Starscream was reminded of the horrifying ordeal with the twins, when they'd held him down and inflicted the most invasive scrub-down a mech could endure on him. He much preferred this civilised treatment. 

"When I return in my glorious true form to smite the Autobot fools who have wronged me, you alone will be spared," Starscream told him hauntingly, watching the medic lift his thruster above the waterline to wash it properly. 

The medic hummed as if he'd understood his incomprehensible babble and slipped his hands under Starscream's arms to lift his dripping frame out of the basin. 

"If you promise not to puke in my berth, you can recharge with me," the medic shook out a towel and laid it over Starscream's back, warding off the chill of cool air on wet wings. 

If he were any other Autobot, Starscream might have plotted to deliberately purge over all of their pillows- but the medic was proving the most tolerable of them by far. 

For now, Starscream was sticking with the lesser of Autobot evils. 

Chapter Text

"Hey, you know, I think he's starting to get a little colour," Jazz called over, excitement brightening his tone.

Ratchet looked up from his work resetting Prowl's repeatedly twitching left optic (a stress glitch, no doubt) to find Jazz swaying the recharging sparking in his arms. 

"Jazz!" His spark leapt and he hissed aggressively through his teeth, gesturing threateningly with his wrench, "Leave him alone! He's trying to sleep!"

"He likes me," Jazz grinned, unaffected, tilting his arms to show Ratchet where the sparkling was unconsciously clinging to his thumb. He worked it free and gently opened the little servo up to show Ratchet the cloudy spot of blue blooming in the centre of the sparkling's palm. 

Sky blue. Unmistakable, and uncommon among Decepticons. Ratchet grimaced. 

"Put him down," he grumbled, going back to Prowl's optic, glad the tactician wasn't conscious to witness Jazz's find for himself and blurt out the obvious. Prowl was unhappy enough with the presence of a sparkling onboard a military base, and was being a downright exhaust-head about it being a seeker. Any clues towards the bitlet's parentage wasn't going to help the situation. Especially not if it was going in the direction Ratchet feared. 

"Nice shade of blue, huh?" Jazz commented, bouncing the sparkling lightly. "Very pretty..."

Ratchet scowled, "Whatever you're getting at..."

"You're not even a little curious?" Jazz gently swayed his way over, visor locked on the sparkling's sleeping face. He was snuggling up to Jazz in his recharge in a way he never would have done awake, squashing a little cheek to his chest plate. 

"I'm not jumping to any stupid conclusions," Ratchet growled. "We're not playing 'guess who' over who abandoned that sparkling." 

"Not even to get him home?" 

"Who's to say where his home is," Ratchet began working faster. The sooner Prowl was up, the sooner Jazz would leave. "Don't you think you're being a bit optimistic about this situation? He's not someone's lost beloved child. He was left out in the middle of nowhere. Primus only knows by who or why-"

"This is Starscream-blue," Jazz abandoned all subtlety and waved the little hand. 

"I don't care!" Ratchet snapped, finally losing his temper. "Drop it! And leave that sparkling alone, he's not a toy!" 

Jazz's grin fell into an unhappy frown, but he went to set the sparkling back in the crib Wheeljack had again modified- this time with a lid. Out of context, it did look like they were locking the seekerlet in an glorified bird-cage, but Ratchet didn't ever want to get a comm call in the middle of the night from an hysterical Optimus telling him the sparkling had escaped into the walls. 

He shuddered at the memory, finishing up with Prowl and resetting his systems. Jazz lingered by the crib as Prowl rebooted, before reluctantly coming back over. 

"Did it work?" Jazz queried, tilting his helm as Prowl's optics slowly flicked online. 

"...It appears so," Prowl answered for himself, slowly swivelling his optics from left to right, testing them. 

"It only glitches when you're stressed," Ratchet reminded them. 

"Better stress you out then," Jazz shrugged, and before Ratchet could stop him, blurted out, "That sparkling we found definitely came from Screamer." 

A rush of furious heat ran up Ratchet's neck. He gripped the wrench tighter, whirling on Jazz. "What did I just tell you-?" He barked. 

Prowl sprang up, optics wide, but fortunately, not twitching. "Starscream?!" 

A loud wail rang through the med-bay, along with the frantic banging of tiny fists on plexiglas. All three of them turned around to find the sparkling had been woken by their raised voices, and wasn't pleased to discover his imprisonment. His huffing vents were fogging up the interior as he shouted and fussed for attention. Completely overdramatic. 

"Pipe down in there!" Ratchet shouted. 

Jazz rubbed the back of his neck, "Should you really be keeping him in that? Aren't seeker's claustrophobic?"

"Seekers cram their sparklings in their cockpits all the time," Ratchet waved him off, trudging over to the crib. "He'll be fine so long as the walls are translucent." 

"He doesn't look fine," Jazz worried. 

"You're as bad as Optimus," Ratchet grumbled, flicking the latch and allowing the roof to rise up. The sparkling's betrayed wailing became even louder, but when Ratchet reached in for him, he tumbled away from his hands, batting at them like he thought he was being attacked. 

"Oh, stop it," Ratchet growled. "You wouldn't have been put in here if you hadn't kept escaping-"

"One would wonder why he does," Prowl mused. 

"He's curious," Ratchet groaned as he bent to scoop him up. 

"Perhaps too curious." Prowl's tone changed. "How can we be sure he is not a spy?"

Ratchet froze with the sparkling in his hands, taken aback. He straightened up with the little thing squirming and whining against him, his lips pressed firmly together, shooting Prowl what he hoped was a look so full of judgment, the tactician would realise for himself what was so insane about what he'd just said. 

"Prowler..." Jazz began. "C'mon-"

"You're accusing a sparkling of saboteur work?" Ratchet asked calmly. "This sparkling." 

He extended the accused out for Prowl's inspection. The sparkling wriggled unhappily, stubby legs kicking. 

"You don't see anything suspicious about this?" Prowl looked between them. "If Starscream does have something to do with this sparkling-"

"He definitely does," Jazz nodded. Ratchet shot him another look. 

"-then it is entirely within the realm of possibility that this is all part of some plot."

"A sparkling?!" Ratchet snapped, anger filling his chest. He held the sparkling close, like his embrace could defend him from Prowl's accusations. "REALLY?" 

"Starscream is proven to have well above average mental capacity," Prowl's optics narrowed at the sparkling, who, clearly sensing the tension into room, had stopped fussing and was staring at Prowl with a curious expression. "So it would be fair to assume this sparkling is more capable than we are giving him credit-"

Ratchet couldn't take it. He laughed aloud, genuine amusement pulling his mouth into a grin. 

"Well this genius got himself stuck in an air vent," Ratchet reminded him. "Prowl, this is not a some kind of super-weapon sparkling bred in a lab, capable of taking us down from the inside. He got into Prime's high grade last night and puked all over himself- maybe he's guilty of being a little dim, but he's innocent of espionage." 

The sparkling was still and stiff in his hands. Mildly concerned, Ratchet shifted him around to take a look at him, and found himself staring down into the most thunderous expression Ratchet had ever seen on a bitlet. Terrifyingly murderous - on par with Megatron on the warpath. 

Primus, Megatron...

Ratchet cleared his vocaliser. "If you're done accusing him, Prowl-"

"Merely a theory," Prowl stuck his nose in the air, far from reassured. "Jazz, don't you have a report to give?"

Jazz made a noncommittal noise, but followed Prowl as he headed for the doors. Passing Ratchet, Prowl shot one last glare at the sparkling. Ratchet was about to tell him to grow up and knock it off, when the sparkling lifted his little head and stuck his glossa out at Prowl, blowing a raspberry. 

Prowl's glare hardened. "I don't plan on letting this go, Ratchet. We need to know where he's come from." 

Ratchet rolled his optics, "When do you ever let anything go, Prowl."   

"Thanks, Ratch', we'll see you later," Jazz came up behind and politely nudged the tactician out the door, wriggling his digits at the sparkling in a playful wave. "Bye, little Scream."

'Little Scream' shouted and swung a fist him. 

Ratchet waited until the door was safely shut behind them before giving the sparkling a little pat between his wing-nubs. "Good boy," he praised. "You stick up for yourself." 

"No!" The sparkling shouted argumentatively.

Ratchet smiled to himself, carrying him towards his waiting low-grade. "If I say you're a good boy, you're a good boy." 

"No," the sparkling mumbled, less sure now. 

Whatever those Decepticon jerks had done to this kid, Ratchet was going to fix him right up. It's what he did, wherever they came from. 

Less than an hour later, Optimus called an 'urgent' meeting. 

Ratchet knew exactly what it was going to be about and didn't see what could possibly be so urgent about it, so he ignored the summons, tossed a drawing-pad and a few colouring sticks in the crib with the sparkling, and got to work fixing up an old fuel pump he knew would come in handy soon enough. 

Optimus pinged him thrice, before a priory message broke through and happily informed him Optimus was going to come down and collect him himself if he didn't arrive in the conference room in the next five minutes. To prove just how serious he was, he ended the message with a frowny face. (He'd clearly been spending too much time with Bumblebee and Spike.)

Grumbling to himself, Ratchet tossed his tools aside. He considered ignoring the threat and letting Optimus come to him- but the sparkling had likely already endured more than enough unpleasant tension and raised voices in his short life. So he sighed and collected him from the crib. 

"Let's go, Sweetspark," he groaned, hitching him up. The sparkling dropped his colour sticks as he was lifted. Ratchet paused to glance at his artwork. 

It was mostly scribbles, but when Ratchet turned his head a certain way and squinted, it almost looked like a childish depiction of a gory decapitation. 

Ratchet let his smirking lips brush the top of the sparkling's helm, an odd warmth filling his chest. "It's good," he praised. "Something to put up in the rec room." 

"No," the sparkling grabbed at his plating to pull himself into a more comfortable position. 

Ratchet reached down and collected the art supplies, knowing he'd need something to keep the sparkling occupied during this time-wasting exercise Prowl had bullied Prime into throwing. "You can finish up in the conference room," he told him. 

Sat on his hip, the sparkling was surprisingly content during the journey, his little head turning this way and that as he took in his surrounding. He only scowled and fidgeted when passing Autobots tried to coo and wiggle their fingers at him. "Leave him," Ratchet took to barking at them, wondering why no one had the processing power to realise huge armoured strangers were a frightening sight to a bitlet. 

Inside the conference room, high command was waiting. 

"Ratchet," Prowl began. "So nice of you to join us. And you brought the sparkling." 

"What else was I gonna do with him," Ratchet grunted, taking a seat near Optimus and lifting the sparkling onto the table, removing the art supplies from his subspace. The sparkling shifted off his aft and reached for some of the intel data-pads set in front of Optimus, but Ratchet cupped him around the middle and lifted him back before grubby little fingers could get them. 

"No, these are your ones," he reminded him, pushing the drawing pad in front of him and handing him a colour stick. 

"Is he alright?" Optimus laid a huge hand on the sparkling's head, and was almost stabbed with a colouring stick for his trouble. He drew his hand back reluctantly, "Last night..." 

"He's fine. Shook it off like it was nothing. But he'd be better if he wasn't being lugged around everywhere," Ratchet reminded them all pointedly. 

"Of course," Optimus cleared his vocaliser. "But it has come to our attention-"

"The sparkling is clearly Starscream's." Prowl interrupted. 

"So?" Ratchet snapped, glancing at said sparkling. The drawing pad sat ignored before him. He was looking at Prowl, almost like he was following the conversation. 

"Family preservation must be taken into account, Ratchet." Optimus said gently. 

A hole opened up in Ratchet's tanks. "He was abandoned." 

"By Starscream, maybe." Jazz shrugged, sliding around his data-pad to show Ratchet a series of image-captures. They had been taken at the place where the sparkling had been discovered; close-ups of tracks in the dust; made by thruster heels, and just the one set. "But it takes two to split a spark-"

"You want to track down the other parent?" Ratchet raised a skeptical brow. The hole in the pit of his tanks was opening wider. "Because whoever clanged Starscream must be a responsible, level-headed individual, capable of and willing to raise a sparkling?"

The sparkling was scowling openly now. He babbled something under his breath. Ratchet reached around and wriggled the drawing pad, hoping to get him back on task. But it was ignored. 

Jazz took his intel data-pad back, switching the display to a database of Decepticon head-shots. "We're going to show him some Cons, see if he reacts to any-"

"What's the point?" Ratchet snapped. "If he knows his sire that means that slag-heap was happy to abandon him too. If he doesn't, forcing him to look at pictures of every psycho on this planet is a waste of his time and ours-"

"His time?" Jazz smirked. 

"He's late for his nap," Ratchet growled. 

Optimus stirred, "I don't see what harm-"

"Because you're dense," Ratchet hissed at all of them. "Either that, or you're cruel. He may be small but he's a living being with feelings and memories and slag knows how he was treated before coming here if he was so unimportant to them they just dumped him out in the desert. What reaction to those pictures are you looking for? Because he's not going to smile and clap his hands at the sight of whatever monster didn't care enough about him to stop him from being tossed out like yesterday's scrap metal, is he?" 

Optimus looked down, shame rippling through his field. Jazz leaned back in his seat with a sigh, but Prowl was still scowling, still unconvinced. 

The sparkling was twisting the colour stick between his hands, wing-nubs low with tension. 

"So," Prowl began. "You're keeping him?"

Before Ratchet could even think about what kind of question that was, the sparkling threw down his colouring stick with a shout of "No! No-!"

Ratchet stood sharply, grabbing him before he could escape across the table. "He's overtired," he growled. "I'm putting him down."

Optimus's brow creased, "There's still much to discuss-"

"Your schedule's no more important than his, Prime." Ratchet left the art supplies behind as he needed both hands to contain the fighting infant. "C'mon you." 

"Raghh!" It would have been a fearsome roar if the sparkling's vocaliser had been any stronger. Ratchet rolled his optics and strode out with him, ignoring the little hands pushing at his chin. 

"Why're you always trying to embarrass me like this?" He complained. 

Optimus dismissed Prowl and Jazz shortly after Ratchet had left, looking between Jazz's data-pad with the scowling Decepticon pictures (most of which were centuries old mugshots from early and pre-war arrests) and the sparkling's messy drawing pad.

He flicked Jazz's data-pad off, tired of looking at Megatron's scowling claw-painted face, and dragged the drawing pad closer. He tilted it, taking in the messy scribbles.

The sparkling had drawn a red and blue stick-figure, with pink splotches everywhere. Optimus frowned beneath his mask at how gory it made the scene feel- ironic that he'd used the same pink shade as energon. 

And the stick-figure looked almost like him- save for the head floating several inches above the rest of the body. 

Sparkling's weren't the most dexterous of bots though. Optimus preserved the image on the drawing pad and slipped it into his subspace, planning to keep it by his desk to give back to Ratchet later. 

Or ...maybe he'd keep it for himself. 

Inside Starscream's cruel translucent cage, sound from outside was muffled, making it impossible to eavesdrop. 

The medic spent most of his time slaving away on parts and gesticulating angrily at any Autobot who dared to wander into his space. It wasn't as entertaining when he couldn't make out the specific curse words. Bored beyond belief, Starscream's attempts at spitefully refusing nap-time failed miserably. There was something comforting about the crib- the atmosphere, the warmth, the way light reflected off the glass lid. Almost like being inside a cockpit... 

He only realised he'd fallen asleep when the atmosphere in his crib changed some hours later as the lid was lifted to free him. 

Knuckling tired optics, he complained weakly as hands lifted him out. Being told when to recharge wouldn't have been quite so insulting if they didn't keep insisting on waking him up in the middle of it! Sadists. 

"-goes missing all the time, probably nothing," the medic was speaking to someone. Starscream's optics refused to online properly to see who. He allowed the medic to rest his limp frame against his chest, his cheek squashed on his shoulder. He smelt like freshly worked metal and new copper. A nice smell. Starscream sighed sleepily, systems trying to cycle back to recharge. 

"Yeah, but not like this," Jazz's smooth voice answered. "Bucket-head kicks him out every now and then, but we still get memos from humans, little updates when he crosses through different air spaces. This time, nothing." 

"You think he's left the planet?"

"Either that, or he's no longer among the living." 

The Autobots both fell silent. Starscream felt the pulse of the medic's spark pick up a little under his cheek. He frowned, shifting. A hand fell to his back as a warm voice hushed him. "Shhh..."

"I mean... the timing-" Jazz laughed humourlessly. "It can't be a coincidence." 

"Yeah, I get it." the medic grumbled. "What do you want me to say?"

"Look, if Screamer's dead-"

"Dead?!" Starscream shot up from the medic's shoulder, blurry optic'd and confused. "I'm not dead!" 

"Alright, hang on, I gotta fuel him," the medic murmured tiredly, turning away from Jazz and carrying Starscream towards where the low-grade was kept. 

Starscream struggled. "I'm not dead! I'm here!" He shouted, willing the words to form as words and not a jumble of nonsense. "I'm right here you, Idi-"

Fingers tickled him between the wings and an unbidden squeal escaped his vocaliser. Low-grade was shoved under his nose in the next instant. He turned away from it at first, pushing at the cube with his hands. "No!" 

"I swear," Ratchet growled. "If he doesn't start fuelling properly I'm going to get one of those human things. What're they called? Bottles?"

Cold icy dread dripped down Starscream's spinal strut. There was not a chance in the Pit that he was going to allow that to happen. Exhaling furiously through his olfactory, Starscream endured a mouthful of the low-grade. It tasted like less-than-nothing and felt unpleasantly thick going down. But he wasn't going it risk any more dignities. The medic didn't make empty threats. 

Now that he was drinking, the Autobots were content to go back to their conversation. Starscream occupied himself with his fuel, wanting to fight but knowing it would be better just to listen. To at least stay in the loop. 

"Screamer's not around to explain but, it's not looking good for our guest." Jazz leaned back against a work surface, arms folded. "Maybe Starscream didn't have a choice-"

"We don't even know if he was one of the parents." 

"In your professional opinion?" Jazz pressed. 

The medic's optics dropped to meet Starscream's. Starscream scowled, drinking slowly. 

Ratchet sighed, brushing a finger over Starscream's cheek. Starscream winced at the touch, but tolerated it. 

"...Seeker's share a lot of the same base coding-"

Jazz scoffed. "C'mon, Ratch'." 

"Fine. Yes." Ratchet finally snapped. "If I have to make the call, yes. The sparkling shares coding with that spiteful little snake-"

"As the creator?" 

"How the Pit would I know?!"

"A good doctor such as yourself'd be able to tell, wouldn't ya? I can pull some of the most recent footage we have of him, some close up stills-"

"What good'll that do?" 

"See if he looks sparked? I dunno now this stuff works-"

"Of course you don't," the medic sighed judgmentally. "I don't know what the gossip in the wash-racks is these days but you can't tell a mech is carrying just from looking at them." 

"Prowl wants to know if you have a theory on the sire," Jazz held his hands out. "That's all. Maybe they could take the sparkling if the worst has happened to Starscream-"

"How do you know the sire wasn't what 'happened' to Starscream?" Ratchet's gaze was dark. "Maybe he didn't want the responsibility. Maybe Starscream hid the sparkling to keep him safe..."

"A long shot. You're jumping to a lot of conclusions yourself there." Jazz shrugged. "Unless... unless you know who the sire might be?"

The medic was suspiciously quiet. Starscream stopped drinking for a moment, perplexed as to what was going on his head. Was there some Autobot gossip he didn't know about? Rumours of illicit affairs?! Starscream couldn't think of one single disgusting fool on the entire planet that he would sink to touching, letting alone creating a spark with! Vile. 

Completely turned off his fuel, he pushed at the cube again. This time the medic let him reject it, setting it aside with the dregs still in it. He lifted Starscream upright so the fuel would be easier for his tanks to process. 

"I have theories." 

"Everyone has theories," Jazz joked. "We all know what a tease Screamer is, with that sultry sashay of his-"

Sashay? Sashay?! He didn't sashay like a common slut, he strutted like a king! Starscream turned to glare at him. What was he insinuating?! 

"Alright, shut up." Ratchet tipped his head towards him. "That's his creator you're talking about-"

"He doesn't know what we're saying." 

"You'd be surprised." the medic's mouth quirked. "Now get out. Nap time isn't over and he needs to recharge to properly process all that fuel-"

"He's always recharging," Jazz complained but stepped aside, meeting Starscream's gaze over Ratchet's shoulder as he was carried back to the crib.

"He's a sparkling," Ratchet grunted, placing Starscream back amongst the blankets. 

He shook them out and folded them over, tucking Starscream in. Starscream scowled up at him, embarrassed by how unnecessary it was, but his frame was already heavy and slow from his meal. He had to fight to keep his optics from dimming. 

Ratchet adjusted the blankets again before straightening. The lid swung down, and Starscream's optics were shuttering before the latch had even clicked. 

Thundercracker rolled over as his systems started to drop into recharge, one by one. His optics were about to shutter when the red glint of Skywarp's own caught his attention. He reset them, and slowly, Skywarp's face came into focus across the gap between their berths. 

Skywarp blinked. "What?" 

"Shouldn't you be snoring by now?" Thundercracker murmured, burying his cheek deeper into the pillow. 

"Thinking," Skywarp's sheets shifted across the back as he shrugged. "I mean, It's nice having the extra pillows and all..."

"He's fine, Warp," Thundercracker groaned, shuttering his optics. "Go to recharge. Enjoy the peace while it lasts." 

He heard Skywarp roll over, and thought that was that. But seconds ticked on into minutes and Skywarp's tell-tale snoring was a noted absence in the too-quiet room. 

"Warp," Thundercracker complained, flicking his optics back online and sitting up. 

Next to Skywarp's berth, their trine-leader's sat pressed up against the wall. In Starscream's absence they'd pilfered his overstuffed pillows for themselves and now it looked eerily barren with just one stray rumpled blanket to occupy it. 

Thundercracker forgot what he'd been about to say. 

"...Maybe we'll check with Soundwave, tomorrow." He conceded. "He's probably on a mission."

"Yeah," Skywarp's voice was muffled by pillows, soft and unconvinced. "Probably..." 

Chapter Text

"I thought I said no to Wheeljack's playpen," Optimus rumbled, eyeing the walled square of colourful padding skeptically, his keen optics on the lookout for potential hazards. 

Thankfully, First Aid had been able to dissuade Wheeljack from designing any 'fun' add ons. It was as boring as it was safe. Seeker-proof. 

"It's fine," Ratchet sighed, bending over to deposit the struggling sparkling in the middle. "I checked it over. He can't hurt himself, or escape."

The sparkling began wailing, devastated by his captivity, the moment his aft touched the soft mat. Optimus shifted uncomfortably. "He doesn't seem to like-"

"Optimus, I swear to Primus..." Ratchet began, tone impatient, gripping the edge of the playpen in frustration. "He doesn't like anything. He doesn't like his fuel. He doesn't like his crib. He doesn't like you. If we limited him to the things he does like, the neglect would have killed him by now." 

Optimus was solemnly silent, looking down at the sparkling using the narrow bars of the playpen to pull himself to his feet, angrily shouting nonsense and shaking the walls. "This feels like a punishment." 

Ratchet snorted. "You're the one who invited the humans around to see him."

"I thought it would be good to cultivate inter-species relationships." Optimus watched in concern as the sparkling methodically kicked the bars, looking for weak spots. 

"You know what isn't good for inter-species relationships?" Ratchet set his hands on his hips. "Him scalping Carly because he's never seen hair before and wants to grab hers-"

Optimus blinked in horror. "He wouldn't!" 

"He's a sparkling," Ratchet raised his voice above the infuriated muttering of the bitlet in question. "How many times have I had to repair your windshield wipers just this past week became he's tried to rip them off?" 

Optimus's optics faded sadly. 

"I'm not saying he's bad," Ratchet softened his tone to something placating. Sometimes he wondered just how many sparkling's he was actually taking care of around here. "He's just- he doesn't know any better." 

"I thought this might be a teaching exercise." Optimus seemed to cheer a little. "Spike and Carly were so excited when they heard from Bumblebee, and they have always shown wisdom and patience far beyond their years... If he can lean to socialise with other species, with organics-"

"Maybe humans aren't the best practice, seeing how vulnerable they are." Ratchet folded his arms. "He may be a harmless bitlet to us, but to humans, he's like a terminator." 

"A what?" 

"Never mind," Ratchet waved him off. "If you really want to show him off to Spike and Carly, just be careful. Don't let him out and don't let them close enough that he can reach through the bars and-"

"-Scalp Carly," Optimus sighed. "Yes. I heard you the first time." 

Starscream glowered through the narrow bars of the new prison they had built for him. 

An assault on his sensors, it was colourful and bright, and the padded flooring seemed designed to make balance even more difficult. He couldn't stand upright without holding onto something for balance.

It was at least large enough to move around in. Through the pen was open at the top, the Autobots had left it empty, and it was therefore void of anything he might be able to use to climb his way out. 

As if to further tease him, Prime had stationed him and the pen on the Ark's main bridge. But on the floor, he was too low down and far away to read the text flying across the screen of the Autobot super-computer, Teletraan I. Red Alert, the security officer, was working diligently at the console, tension stiffening the line of his shoulders. 

"This is a secure area," Starscream heard him tell Prime for what had to be the fifth time in as many minutes. 

"I know, Red," Optimus, leaning next to Red Alert's work station and reading a data-pad, sighed tiredly. 

"Should a sparkling really be-?"

"He doesn't pose a security risk," Optimus interrupted. "He's sitting quietly. Minding his own business." 

Red Alert swivelled his chair around and locked optics with Starscream. Starscream, pressed against the bars, having been squinting up at the data running across the screen, smirked at him. 

Red Alert's optics widened, "I really think-!"

"Ratchet is changing Ironhide's oil this morning," Prime explained, still reading the data-pad. "And Ironhide's language is hardly appropriate at the best of times. I offered to watch over the sparkling until he is free."

"But the humans-"

"Will be here soon. They are eager to meet him." 

Red Alert gave Starscream a distasteful glance. "Do the humans not understand a sparkling of his age has very limited interpersonal skills? He can't hold a conversation." 

Starscream glared. He'd show that keyed-up glitch who had the most interpersonal skills out of the two of them. 

He called out, drawing the Autobot's attention back to him. Red Alert glared at the disturbance. Prime smiled under his mask. Starscream called out again, this time making an effort to sound a little more pathetic. Prime pushed away from the side of Teletraan and came over. 

"Are you alright, little one?" 

Starscream threw up his arms. "No," he claimed, waving his hands insistently so the Prime would know to pick him up. "No!"

"Didn't Ratchet say to keep him in there?" Red Alert called over. 

Prime ignored him, bending over and reaching down. 

Starscream hid a smirk against the Prime's shoulder as he was hitched up and carried back towards Teletraan. He pulled himself up so he could see his surroundings better, twisting around to get a glimpse of the intel displayed on the screen as Prime started cooing at him indulgently. 

He managed to read two sentences before the computer was suddenly shut down.

Distracted from his coddling, Prime glanced at Red Alert, "What is it?" 

"Nothing," the security mech claimed with unconvincing casualness. "I'm finished." 

"That was quick." 

Red Alert hummed, optics darting between his Prime and Starscream. "Yes well, I'll finish it up later-"

Optimus made a low noise, distractedly patting Starscream's back. "You haven't been talking to Prowl, have you?" 

"Of course. He's my superior officer." 

Optimus sighed heavily, "Red, the sparkling is just a sparkling." 

Red Alert said nothing for a while. 

"...A Decepticon sparkling." 

Optimus shifted Starscream's weight in his arms, turning him around so that his winged back was against Optimus's rumbling chest. "Do you see any insignias?"

"I suppose they don't have brands small enough for sparklings." 

"...You're dismissed, Red Alert," Optimus murmured in an unreadable tone. 

Red Alert had the grace too look a little cowed. It pleased Starscream to see. 

Red Alert bowed his helm in acknowledgment as he got up to leave, "Yes, sir." 

"Don't listen to him," Prime bowed his helm to speak by Starscream's audial, murmuring in that warm, smooth voice of his. It always seemed to trigger some subconscious instinct within Starscream's regressed brain. Something that made him feel safe, and... floppy. 

He mumbled to himself grumpily as Prime turned him back around so he'd be pressed lovingly to the truck's powerful chest. Numbed enough by the lack of personal space the Autobots afforded him, Starscream griped Prime's front windshield to pull himself up again, hoping to at least have a decent view should Prime switch Teletraan back online. 

But he heard a click, and looked back up in surprise to find that Prime had removed his battle-mask again, just to share a smile with him. Starscream frowned, wondering what the point of the Autobot lowering his guard for him was.

Curious, he reached for Prime, and Prime, like a fool, brought his face closer. 

Starscream swung at him, bopping him on that perfectly straight nose. Prime winced and huffed, wrinkling it. 

Starscream laughed to show how unrepentant he was- but it came out as less of a cackle and more of a childish giggle. He scowled. 

"Yes, I'm sure you find that hilarious," Optimus murmured in resignation, carrying him back toward the pen. Realising what he'd done, Starscream began to struggle, "No!"

"You must learn to curb these violent tendencies," Optimus told him softly, lowering him into the pen anyway. "Or one day, you may hurt someone." 

Starscream rolled his optics as he was gently placed on his feet, Prime's hands steadying him before withdrawing. Wasn't the point of violence to hurt people? 

He stumbled forwards and grabbed the bars, shaking them hard enough they rattled. Optimus just stared back, sad and disappointed. 

"No." He said. 

No?! Who did Prime think he was?! Denying him his freedom! He was supposed to be the softer of his self-appointed guardians, the one he could manipulate.

A little more desperate, Starscream shook the bars more insistently, shouting up at the Prime and cursing himself for taking such a cheap shot at the Autobot leader. One file on Teletraan I was bound to have more Autobot intel stored inside it than Soundwave could compile in a month. If he could just get Prime to carry him back over, let him 'play' with the buttons...

"You're in a timeout," Prime pointed a long blue digit down at him, tone finally reflective of the strong, confident leader Starscream had always thought he was. "I will release you in ten minutes, if your behaviour improves." 

Starscream stared up in shock, not quite able to believe it. A timeout?! Prime was giving him a timeout!? Anger began to build, swarming in his chest and burning his optics with righteous indignity for his own plight. He felt the coolant building in the channels beneath his optics start to spill over his cheeks. 

"No!" He shouted, stamping his foot down in the mat and shaking the bars. "No!" 

Optimus was looking down on him like he wanted nothing more than to let him have his way, so Primus only knew where he had mustered this cruel resilience. Starscream swallowed, realising shouting wasn't winning the Prime over. He knew a more pitiful display of wailing and sobbing would do the trick, but he wasn't prepared to sink to that level. He may look like a sparkling, but he wasn't one. 

Furious and betrayed, and shot Prime one last devastated glower before turning his back on him and folding his arms, shoulders hunched up to his audials. Fine. Ten minutes. He could last ten minutes. 

"Little one..." Prime sighed. 

Starscream huffed, dropping heavily to his aft, still refusing to turn around. He heard Prime sigh again, and after a moment, footsteps carried him away. 

Starscream's spark leapt into his vocaliser. He twisted around and saw Prime had returned to Teletraan, picking up his discarded data-pad to continue his work. "No!" He called to him. "You weren't supposed to walk away!" 

"Nine minutes," Prime called over his shoulder. 

Starscream flopped over in exhaustion. Had minutes always seemed this long?! 

"So ...this is a sparkling?" Spike asked, tone unsure. 

Optimus stood next to him and Carly, peering down into the play pen the seekerlet was laid out across his front in, impersonating a starfish. He wasn't asleep. His wing-nubs flicked angrily with every third intake. "Yes." 

"He's ...big," Spike stated. 

Optimus frowned. He supposed, from a human's perspective, a sparkling was still rather sizeable. Though small by Cybertronian standards, set upright on his pedes, the sparkling would come up past Spike's waist. He didn't argue the point. 

"I think he's cute," Carly took a step closer. Optimus shifted nervously.

"Careful." He advised. "He's only pretending to sleep." 

The wing-nubs twitched again in anger. 

"So how does your species reproduce again?!" Carly folded his arms and looked up at him. "And how does the ageing process work? Because if size relates to age-"

"It doesn't always." Optimus stopped her before she started getting any ideas about Bumblebee and Cliffjumper being child soldiers. "I don't want to bore you with the details of Cybertronian reproduction."

"Oh, I don't think those details would be boring," Carly smirked. 

Optimus cleared his vocaliser. "You'd have to ask Ratchet." 

"You mean you don't know?" Spike was smirking now too. 

"I don't think this is an appropriate conversation for a sparkling to bear witness too." 

"So he can understand us?" Spike asked. 

Optimus's frowned deepened. "...When he chooses too." 

"No!" A furious but muffled voice rose from the play pen. 

"He can talk?" Carly took another interested step.

Optimus had to reach out and nudge her back. Carly's long blonde hair hung past her shoulders, and Ratchet's warnings were still fresh in his mind. "That appears to be the only word he knows."

"Useful," Spike commented. 

The sparkling grumbled unhappily. 

"So is this what sparklings do?" Carly began to wander around the play pen, her scientifically inclined mind fuelling her curiosity. "Lay face-down like this? That's comfortable for them?" 

Optimus sighed, feeling his embarrassment rise. The sparkling was not giving the humans the best first impression. "No. He appears to be having a tantrum." 

"Kinda like human babies, then?" Spike guessed. 

"No!" The sparkling was offended enough to lift his head to shout, glaring at them all. 

Carly hid a smile behind her hand. "Hi," she greeted warmly, giving him a little wave now that he was finally looking at her. His response was to look even angrier. "What's his name, Optimus?" 

Optimus shifted his footing. "We don't know." 

"You don't know?" 

"I-I suppose we should come up with something," Optimus admitted regretfully. 

"What have you been calling him all week?" Carly frowned.  

"A lack of designation doesn't seem to have done him any harm-"

"No wonder he won't behave," Spike was shaking his head in disappointment, looking much like his own middle-aged father in the process. "How does he know when you're even talking to him?"

"Sparklings differ from human infants in a great many respects," Optimus was starting to feel a little defensive now. He had thought he would enjoy witnessing the socialisation between his allies and the sparkling. He had underestimated how critical organic kind were of how others raised their young. 

At this point, the sparkling had gotten over the trauma of being put in a timeout enough to roll over onto his front, arms still crossed and face thunderous. It did nothing to hinder the cute-factor for Carly though, who gasped at the sight of his bubble-shaped cockpit. "Oh my god, does it open?!" 

"Not yet," Optimus was privately thankful for that. Primus knew what a sparkling might like to hide away in there. He bent down, reaching to take him, "Here, you can have a closer look-"

The sparkling squirmed unhappily, grabbing at the bars of the pen and refusing to let go. Optimus gently worked his fingers free. 

"Is he safe?" Spike asked nervously. 

"He has developed an unfortunate habit of striking others," Optimus admitted, lifting the sparkling out and carefully lowering himself to his knees so he would be level with his guests. He placed the sparkling on his lap and held onto his little wrists, keeping his balled fisted clear of the human's extremities. Carly's hair in particular. 

"I won't let him hurt you," he promised. 

Carly had no qualms about stepping up and getting a closer look at the restrained sparkling. Spike was a little more cautious, eyeing the thrusters. "They won't ignite." Optimus said, and he was ninety percent sure of that. 

"He can't transform yet?" Carly wondered. 

"He has a transformation cog, but the coding required to activate it is not yet fully developed." Optimus stroked a thumb across the back of a smooth little hand as he talked. The sparkling's scowl deepened. Optimus could feel him pulling against his grip. "Seekers are sparked smaller, and therefore somewhat slower to develop." 

"No!" The sparkling protested, kicking his pedes. 

"I'd love to know more about this sort of stuff," Carly commented, head tilting as she took in the sparkling. "The remarkable similarities between organic development and Cybertronian maturation. That you pass your genes down through generations like we do-"

"CNA," Optimus corrected. 

"Does that mean he looks like his parents?" Spike scratched his head. "Who's his mom?"

Optimus didn't know how to answer that question, so he didn't. Instead, he shifted the sparkling around to show off the tiny wing-nubs. It worked, Carly clasped her hands over her heart and sighed in adoration. 

Proud, Optimus smiled behind his battle-mask. 

"He didn't kill anyone then?" Ratchet called when Optimus stepped back into his med-bay. 

Optimus blinked in offence, "I'll have you know, he behaved exceptionally." 

The sparkling squirmed in his arms in protest. 

Ratchet grunted, slapping Ironhide's thigh, "Alright, you're done. Don't leave it so long next time. That was one of the more disgusting oil-changes of my career." 

"Shut up, Ratch'," Ironhide grumbled from the berth. 

"We really ought to name him," Optimus began casually. 

Ratchet rolled his optics, still wiping dark oil off his hands, "Fine. We'll call him Houdini." 

Rising from the med-berth, Ironhide laughed. Optimus didn't get it. "Who?"

"Nevermind," Ratchet waved him off. "You name him." 

"I'm not sure I should," Optimus shied away from the responsibility. "I'm not-he's-"

"I'll name him," Ironhide offered. 

"No," Ratchet snapped fiercely. "Because I'm not having you name him after a sports team."

"Several mechs have made suggestions of their own," Optimus pointed out. "Perhaps we could put it to a vote?"

"We're not putting it to a vote." Ratchet's jaw ticked. "Have you heard some of the suggestions those idiots were coming up with? The lowest common denominator always wins." 

"That is not true," Optimus argued, stroking the sparkling's wing-nubs distractedly. 

"Remember when the humans gave us the opportunity to rename that little league baseball team we rescued when Megatron tried to steal the stadium and Sideswipe successfully petitioned to have them called 'Sons of Pitches'?" 

Ironhide started chuckling again. 

"I don't see a problem with the name," Optimus huffed. 

"That's because you don't watch as much Earth TV on Teletraan as the rest of us," Ratchet grumbled. "You can let them make suggestions, but I get final say." 

"Why do you get final say?" Ironhide challenged. 

"Because I'm the who keeps him clean, tucks him in, and gets up in the middle of the night to fuel him," Ratchet pointed his wrench at Ironhide. "What do you do?!"

"Hey, me and the kid have our own special bond," Ironhide smirked, reaching out to tickle the sparkling under the chin. The sparkling snapped at his fingers. Optimus made a low noise of disappointment, bouncing him lightly. 

"Just as I thought," Ratchet declared. "That's some bond you have there. He may hate you more than he hates anyone else 'Hide. Last time you spent longer than five minutes in his company he broke your toe-pede." 

"An accident," Optimus interjected. Delusional. 

"Ha!" Ratchet threw his dirty cloth down, hands now cleared of Ironhide's oil. "Set up a suggestion box, and if you don't have anymore inter-species playdates planned, Prime, I thought I might take him outside. Not healthy to be coped up inside this long." 

The sparkling seemed to perk up, wing-nubs lifting in interest. 

"I thought he was a flight risk?" Ironhide growled, raising a brow. "Won't he run away?"

"Probably," Ratchet smirked, "But he can't outrun Lamborghinis." 

The sparkling's enthusiasm rapidly evaporated.  

Soundwave wasn't particularly interested in hearing about Starscream. Impatient and dismissive, he warned Skywarp that a command rank didn't exempt any Decepticon from charges of desertion. It seemed, in his mind, if Starscream was missing it was because he was up to something. 

Skywarp propped his chin against his fist, frowning. "He wasn't planning anything with you, was he?" 

Thundercracker pulled a face. "Are you kidding? He doesn't trust me. Are you sure he's not waiting for you to pick him up from somewhere?" 

"Where?!" 

"I dunno, some secret lab in orbit, or the moon maybe?" 

"I think I'd know if Screamer had a secret lab on the moon," Skywarp scoffed. 

"Maybe Megatron killed him?" Thundercracker stroked his chin thoughtfully. 

"Nah, we'd have heard the screaming." 

"What about the trine-link?" 

"I've been blocked on that for centuries," Skywarp rolled his optics. "What if he defected?"

He met Thundercracker's optics. They both burst into laughter a beat later. 

"No, but seriously," Skywarp sighed, wiping a tear away from his optic, "We've gotta find him. I can't keep telling Ramjet he's sick, he's gonna figure it out and I am not losing our command trine status to the slagging cone-heads because we're a seeker short of a trine." 

"Megatron might know," Thundercracker murmured. 

Skywarp was unconvinced, "Soundwave didn't." 

"Or maybe Soundwave's just pretending he doesn't?" Thundercracker shrugged. "Maybe Screamer's fine. And he's working on something on Cybertron?" 

"Shockwave would have called to complain about him by now," Skywarp grumbled. 

"C'mon," Thundercracker stood and slapped his shoulder. "If Megatron doesn't know where he is, he might at least know where he last was-"

"Ew!" Skywarp cried. "What are you implying?!" 

"Don't be gross, Warp," Thundercracker scowled. "I meant they might have had a war meeting or something." 

"Just don't ever put that image in my head again," Skywarp shuddered, rising to follow. 

Chapter Text

"I've seen humans at the park put their kids on leashes," Sideswipe commented, peering through the front window of Ratchet's alt-mode at the sparkling struggling against the seat restraints. The seekerlet pulled the fabric strap into his mouth and tried to chew through it, growling. Sideswipe smiled fondly. 

"Aren't leashes for dogs?" Ratchet growled impatiently. Having someone chew on his interior didn't hurt, but it wasn't a comfortable sensation. 

"I think they're for anything that might run into traffic." 

Ratchet flung his door open, almost hitting Sideswipe in the nose. "He's not a pet. And what are you two doing lurking around parks?"

"Sunny likes the attention," Sideswipe reached to take the sparkling as Ratchet released the seat belts. 

"I do not," Sunstreaker protested, transforming behind Ratchet to fold his arms. "He likes the attention." 

The sparkling now free of his cabin, Ratchet was able to transform into bipedal mode himself. He placed his hands on his hips and stretched out his back after the long drive, sighing at the crack of his spinal-strut locking back into alignment, before straightening to take in their surroundings. 

They'd driven to a secluded area -a large grassy field, surrounded by woodlands. With no humans around for miles, they and the sparkling would be left relatively undisturbed. It was the perfect place to start introducing the sparkling to the planet's natural wonders. The Decepticon base wouldn't have had much to 'experience' besides rust. 

"Alright, let him go," he told Sideswipe. 

Sideswipe, who had been smirking as he'd dodged the increasingly determined swipes of the sparkling trying to slap him across the face, raised a brow. "...You sure?"

"He'll run," Sunstreaker murmured. 

"He can barely walk," Ratchet reminded them. 

"What if he tries to fly away?" Sideswipe was still unsure. 

Ratchet very pointedly looked at the tiny nubs mounted on the sparkling's back. The wing-to-body ratio on a seekerlet was more disproportionate than a bumblebee's. "Somehow I don't think he's getting that high off the ground." 

Sideswipe shrugged and dropped into a crouch, dangling the sparkling above the ground by his underarms. "Okay, little buddy, watch out for the bugs." 

The sparkling kicked angrily at the blades of grass tickling his pedes as he was lowered amongst them. Once seated on the earth, he scowled up at his Autobot guardians. Then he grabbed handfuls of the grass and unsuccessfully threw it at them. "Bah!"

"Oh yeah, he's loving this." Sunstreaker grumbled. 

"He just wants to play," Sideswipe dropped to ground next to him, crossing his legs. He ripped up a handful of grass and sprinkled it over the sparkling's head like rain. 

"No!" Enraged, the sparkling tried to flap it away, furiously brushing off what landed on his head. When Sideswipe laughed and grabbed another handful, he ranted something nonsensical and rolled onto his hands and knees to crawl away. Sideswipe made to follow him. 

"Remind me who the adult is here?" Ratchet levelled a stern look at Sideswipe. 

"He's having fun!" Sideswipe protested.

"No!" The sparkling yelled again, clearly not having fun. 

Ratchet allowed himself to smirk, feeling an odd sort of kinship with the sparkling. "He's as sick of your slag as I am." 

Once the sparkling had established was a safe enough distance between himself and the front-liner, he looked back at Sideswipe and scrunched up his face into a scowl.

Ratchet sighed, walking over to get him. "He needs to work on his balance," he said, bending down to lift the sparkling onto his pedes, ignoring unhappy protests.

Upright, the sparkling swayed precariously, managing one clumsy step, before tipping over and falling to his aft again. His face flushed with colour. "No!" He shouted as Ratchet lifted him back to his feet. 

"Why did you need us to come out here again?" Sunstreaker sighed, sliding gracefully into the grass next to Sideswipe. 

"In case he runs," Ratchet murmured, casting an optic to the sky above. 

In reality, he was less worried about the sparkling sprinting off into the nearby woodlands and getting lost forever, than he was some rogue Decepticon seeker swooping down and stealing the bitlet back. Regardless of who was responsible for making the sparkling, Ratchet wasn't about to up and let the Cons take him back when they clearly had no idea how to care for him. 

The sparkling was nothing if not persevering though, struggling back to his pedes after every fall with a furiously determined expression, resolved to stumble onwards like he was making a very slow and ineffective attempt at escape. Ratchet was happy to leave him to it. At least it had him stretching those short legs of his. 

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, bored, were laid back in the grass together, cloud gazing, and Ratchet himself was beginning to relax, listening to the tranquil sounds of nature around them, the rustle of leaves, the tweeting of birdsong, the soft robotic warp of a transformation cog activating-

His head snapped up when out of nowhere the sparkling transformed into a miniaturised seeker jet. His mouth fell open, "How-?" 

The sparkling-jet lingered in place for a moment, perhaps as surprised by his ability to transform as Ratchet was, until-

Little engines revved excitedly. Within a beat the jet was zooming forwards on his landing gear. Fast. 

"He's making a break for it!" Ratchet bellowed, lunging after him. He dived, but the sparkling veered sharply to the left, leaving Ratchet to thwack into the grass, empty handed. 

A metallic sounding cackle emanated from the jet as it span in a circle and took off in the direction of the woodlands. Ratchet whooped his sirens and transformed, wheels kicking up mud and grass as he revved frantically, but he hadn't made it further had a few hundred metres before two streaks of colour, red and yellow, shot past him with thunderous roars. 

Sideswipe overtook the comically small jet and skidded to a halt in front of him, blocking his path. Unable to stop, the sparkling bounced off Sideswipe's side door. The impact forced him to transform back, mid-fall, leaving him in a confused heap in the grass. 

Sunstreaker skidded up behind them. Scowling, he scooped the sparkling up one handed, holding him aloft. "He dented your door, Sides'." 

"Primus," Ratchet panted, transforming back as he reached them. He held his hands out to retrieve the sparkling. The seekerlet was blinking in shock, dazed from the collision. "That was... unexpected." 

"Baby leash," Sideswipe cried, transforming and pointing dramatically at the sparkling. "Baby leash!" 

Ratchet tucked the grass smeared sparkling against his shoulder. "Shut up, Sides'." 

Despite Autobots expressing concerns for the presence of what appeared to be enemy offspring in their base (though Optimus suspected most of the negativity could be traced back to Prowl), the vast majority of the Ark's residents were clearly excited with the prospect of the sparkling becoming a long term guest among them. He comm'ed out a message across the faction about coming up with a permanent Autobot designation for their tiniest flier, and he hadn't been left alone since. 

He left a blank data-pad in the Rec-room for anyone who might be interested in adding a name. When he returned for it later that afternoon, he was keen to see what creative ideas everyone came up with. 

"You should have seen it!" Sideswipe was guffawing between words, slapping his knee as he regaled his and Sunstreaker's outing with Ratchet and the sparkling to a grinning Jazz. "The sparkling just zooms off and Ratchet face-plants the ground, I'm surprised he didn't break anything-"

"I'll break you if you don't shut it," Ratchet growled, slapping him lightly around the back of the head as he passed behind him, holding the bundled up sparkling in one arm. 

"Wild that he's already transforming," Jazz commented as Ratchet bullied Sideswipe out of his seat and took it for himself. 

"He's an early bloomer," Ratchet sat with a sigh, adjusting the burrito of fabrics that was the contained infant. 

Jazz smirked, lifting his afternoon energon for a drink. "Is it nap time already?" 

"No, I'm just sick of him smacking me." 

To prove Ratchet's point, the sparkling squirmed within his fabric prison, exhaling through his nose furiously. "No!"

"I trust he enjoyed his outing?' Optimus enquired lightly, enthused at the idea of the seekerlet playing among the planet's many natural wonders. 

Both medic and sparkling gave Optimus a dull look. 

"Right," Optimus cleared his vocaliser awkwardly. He passed the the data-pad to Ratchet. "If you'd like to do the honours of picking a designation."

Ratchet snatched the data-pad off him, looking unhappy. "Oh, however will I choose," he muttered sarcastically. 

"No!" The sparkling shouted. 

"I know, Sweetspark, I know," Ratchet crooned lightly, "You'd much rather keep whatever hideous Decepticon name they gave you..."

Optimus leaned over to carefully negotiate the squirming bundle out of Ratchet's arms, taking a seat with the sparkling next to Jazz. The sparkling looked between him and Ratchet like he couldn't quite decide who was worse. Optimus took advantage of his restrained state to stroke a finger over his button nose. It wrinkled angrily, optics clenching shut. A hand pushed against the blankets. Optimus hushed him gently, endeared despite the grumpiness. One day he'd win this sparkling over. One day. 

Ratchet flicked the data-pad online. He opened his mouth, then scowled. "...'Screamer 2.0'- who wrote that?!" 

Optimus frowned, lifting his head to survey the Rec-room. Whether or not Starscream was this sparkling's parent, it was a cheap shot to take. The Aerialbots all hunkered down and started giggling. Optimus shot Jazz a look.

Jazz held his hands up, "I didn't tell them!" 

"We agreed not to spread speculation," Optimus reminded him sternly. 

"What's there to speculate? He looks just like him." 

Optimus glanced down the glaring little face. It was true. The plain silver of the sparkling's facial-derma was already darkening. 

Meanwhile, Ratchet was looking mutinous, his right optic twitching. Optimus was about to ask what was wrong when the medic continued down the list.

"'Stumpy'," he growled, pausing for effect. "Because that's original. 'Sparkles', 'Con Air', 'Troublemaker', 'Deathwish', 'Bubbles', 'Cloud-muncher-' alright, that's it. Is there a single suggestion on this list that isn't a joke?!" 

No one answered. Ratchet's condemning optics fell on Optimus. Optimus blinked in surprise. He didn't see how this was his fault-

Ratchet tossed the data-pad down. "Lowest common denominator," he said, bending to take the sparkling back. "Nice to know you all like punching down and picking on an infant. I'll name him." 

Optimus let the sparkling go reluctantly, already missing the gentle weight of him in his arms, "Name him what?" 

"Whatever I damn well choose," Ratchet snapped, firing one last look of resentment at them all before huffing and storming off with the sparkling. 

Jazz snorted lightly into his cube, "I thought Deathwish was kinda apt, you know. After the air vent-"

Optimus did not appreciate the reminder of that night. He folded his arms unhappily, "Not every name was a joke." 

"What did you put in?"

"Starshine." 

Jazz was silent. 

"What's wrong with that?"

Jazz shrugged, "...I guess it just not really a name a Decepticon would give him." 

Optimus exhaled deeply, "Precisely." 

Starscream sat moodily in the tub of warm solvent Ratchet had run for him, his arms folded, daring the medic to speak. Ratchet had his chin propped in his fist, watching him thoughtfully. 

Ratchet sighed. "Come on," he nudged the yellow rubber-duck Wheeljack had found the other cycle, encouraging him to play with it. The stupid toy bobbed merrily atop the water. 

"Don't sulk, you like bath time," Ratchet insisted. "And you love splashing me-"

Starscream grabbed the duck by it's head and threw it from the tub. It released a prolonged squeak as it soared through the air. 

Starscream was not going to keep playing into what they expected a sparkling to be. For reasons unfathomable to him, his behaviour still wasn't at all clueing them into the idea that he wasn't a real sparkling. He was running out of ways to express his frustration with dignity. What did he have to do to prove he was a mech, fragit! A warrior! A Decepticon! 

"No throwing," the medic pointed at him. 

"No," Starscream said, refusing to be cowed by his reprimands. 

The medic squared his jaw, "Fine. You don't like the ducky-"

"No!" Starscream shouted, splashing the water with his hands, "I don't like being infantilised!" 

"I know, I know," Ratchet murmured mechanically, though he couldn't possibly know. He shook out a towel and had it at the ready as he lifted Starscream out of the tub. Starscream kicked his legs to flick solvent everywhere. The medic shuttered his optics and flinched back against the onslaught. 

"'Troublemaker' might have been a good name for you after all," Ratchet grumbled, dodging kicking limbs as he set Starscream down and began folding him into the towel. 

Starscream fought with all his strength, but he was overpowered effortlessly. The medic danced fingers across the cockpit, and suddenly his limbs weren't his own. A laugh burst free at the unwanted tickle, and his face flushed with increasing humiliation.

His swaddled condition made striking back impossible. Helpless, he made a last ditch attempt at escaping by trying to activate his transformation cog, but quickly found the sensation of being bundled up so tightly had shut down the coding needed to work the cog. He wailed in frustration. 

Ratchet bounced him as he carried him out the door, "You are so melodramatic," he muttered heartlessly. "You'd think you were being tortured-"

"I am being tortured!" Starscream raged. 

A hand patted his back, and combined with the gentle bouncing, Starscream's frustration began to ebb. He tried to claw it back, to keep his anger and his indignity and use it as fuel for plots of revenge. But his capacity for such visceral rage was limited in this form. He was reduced to sad hiccuping by the time the medic reached the bridge. 

It was evening, so at least there'd be no one else present to witness yet another of his humiliations. 

"I said I'd come up with a name, but don't know what to call you," Ratchet admitted softly, sitting down in front of Teletraan. "And I don't know slag about seeker designations-"

Of course he didn't. Ignorant groundpounder. 

Starscream watched as the medic began searching Vosian designations on Teletraan, and cringed as results began to flood the screen. Unlike grounders who picked any old glyphs and smashed them together to make a name that sounded appealing to them, Vosian naming traditions had rules. A designation reflected your position in society, your talents, your caste. Starscream fidgeted nervously. 

"Let's see here," the medic leaned in. "Skydance? That's a nice name." 

"No!" Starscream protested quickly. 'Sky' was the most common glyph of them all, in more ways than one.

"Alright, not that one," Ratchet mercifully agreed, "Solarflare... no, that doesn't quite suit your sunny disposition does it, Sweetspark. Sol-breaker?" 

Starscream grimaced. 

"Skyborne?"

"No!"

There were thousands of designations, and as Starscream rejected them, one after another, the medic began looking weary. 

It was unlikely Ratchet would let him choose the name 'Starscream'. Naming a kidnapped sparkling after one of their greatest enemies was in bad taste, even for Autobots. It was unlikely such a regal designation would even show up on a list in the first place...

And if Starscream didn't pick a decent alternative for himself soon, the medic might dismiss his opinion altogether and decide on something classless and inappropriate for him. 

"Sunstruck...?" Ratchet continued to read. "Lightfoot...? Comet...?"

Comet. The fifth Winglord of the Vosian Silver Age had been named Comet. A naive and somewhat forgettable Winglord, but royalty nonetheless. Certainly better than a 'Sky'-Something.

"Yes," Starscream agreed, pushing against the swaddle to express his agreement. 

The medic paused. "Comet?" He bounced him lightly. "You like that one?"

Starscream fought to keep his expression neutral. He didn't like it, but it would do. It at least wouldn't make him cringe to hear himself called it. 

He nodded again. Ratchet smirked. "Don't show too much enthusiasm, now." 

Starscream's glare hardened. 

"'Comet' it is," Ratchet switched off Teletraan and pushed the chair away. "C'mon, let's get you to bed." 

Starscream rolled his optics. How much recharge did these Autobots think he needed?!

"He fell asleep drinking his fuel," Ratchet called over to Optimus. "Out like a light." 

Optimus smiled, peering through the glass of the crib at the sparkling sleeping inside. He'd kicked off the blanket in his recharge and was lying star-fished on his back, little cockpit rising and falling with every ventilation. Optimus felt instinctively drawn to righting his blankets and tucking him in. He went to open the lid on the crib-

"Don't you dare!" Ratchet barked. 

Optimus's fingers darted away from the controls. "I was merely-"

"I know what you were doing, you can't help yourself," Ratchet came over to join him, setting down a stack of medical records. "He'll wake up if you open it. His sensors will register the open air." 

"I see," Optimus made a mental note to educate himself more on seeker psychology and coding. Fighting on the other sake of a war from them, he was realising he didn't know much about the ancestral frame-type of Vos beyond how to take them out of the sky. Violently. Shame crept over Optimus's spark. 

"You didn't well on his designation," he praised Ratchet. "'Comet' suits him." 

"He picked it," Ratchet waved him off. 

Optimus wasn't sure how a sparkling with a vocabulary limited to just one negative word could have picked out his own name, but he didn't argue the point. "Now that he's an Autobot-"

"He's not an Autobot, he's a sparkling," Ratchet cut across him quickly. 

"An honorary Autobot," Optimus corrected himself. 

"Oh, like a mascot," Ratchet grumbled. 

Optimus ignored the sarcasm. "Certainly an ambassador of our kind. It would do our human allies good to see this more vulnerable side to us. To know that we are more than just our war-"

"Wait, wait," Ratchet held up a hand, shuttering his optics. "What humans?"

Optimus paused at the dangerous edge to Ratchet's tone. 

"Optimus?" Ratchet pressed. "You're not thinking of parading him about in front of a bunch of slimy politicians like he's some show-pet?"

"Of course not!" Optimus was aghast at the mere suggestion. "I only thought, what with his successful outing today, that introducing him to more humans-"

"There was no 'successful outing'. He tried to escape into the woods," Ratchet snapped, throwing his hand down. "He still doesn't trust us, and now you want to dangle him in front of terrifying aliens?"

Optimus frowned, "Humans are nothing to fear-"

"He doesn't know that!" Ratchet gestured to Comet. "And he also can't be trusted to behave. You could turn your back for a second and the little monster would pop the head right off the president."

"Small steps, Ratchet," Optimus placated. "Formal introductions to world leaders can come later-"

"How about they come never?" Ratchet was rarely this contrary. Optimus found himself somewhat taken aback. 

"We can't keep his existence hidden away forever." 

"Oh yes we can."

"Ratchet-"

"Just because we gave him a name doesn't mean he's ours. He's not an Autobot and he's not a publicity stunt. It's all very well using him to ingratiate ourselves with the general human population, but have you forgotten where he came from?"

Optimus straightened up. "We don't know where he's come from." 

"We know he's a Con." Ratchet glared. "Primus only knows who mommy and daddy are. Maybe when they abandoned him they were hoping nature would take it's course. If they see him alive and well with us..."

"I don't believe any Decepticon would be that cruel." Optimus cut across him, anger rushing through his chest at the mere idea. 

"I think this is Starscream's sparkling," Ratchet admitted, pale and serious. "And I think he's Megatron's as well." 

Megatron? Optimus blinked rapidly, struggling to process the new information. He glanced at the snoozing sparkling, who was looking more and more like the Decepticon Second In Command as the days went by. Megatron though... that would make this an entirely more complicated situation. 

"We have no grounds to suspect Megatron has any involvement."

"No, we don't," Ratchet shook his helm and turned away. "And maybe there is no connection between him and Comet, or Starscream. But if that seeker's still missing..."

"He is." 

Ratchet dragged a hand down his face. "...Is drawing attention to Comet really within his best interests?" 

Optimus couldn't say for sure. But if Comet was going to remain with them -and it looked increasingly likely- he was going to have to become accustomed to humans, to learn how to respect and interact with all organic beings. He was already exhibiting some worryingly aggressive behaviours, and Optimus wanted it nipped in the bud before Comet grew any bigger- any more dangerous. It would be one thing if he was a minibot, even an automobile. But seekers were aerial war-builds. Lethal within their first decade. 

"...Nothing public." Optimus relented. "A local school, a select few students. He may even make a friend." 

"Fine." Ratchet muttered. He didn't sound pleased. "But I'm coming. Just in case he tries to murder a child." 

Optimus smiled behind his mask, looking down on the sparkling sleeping soundly in his crib. Comet stirred and mumbled something to himself, tiny fists opening and closing on air. Optimus felt a warm softness fill his chest. 

Ratchet was so negative. Optimus couldn't imagine this sparkling wanting to hurt anyone. 

After much procrastination, dilly-dallying, and bickering, Skywarp decided that Thundercracker should be the one to ask Megatron were the heck Starscream was. 

He gave him a shove.

"Hey!" Thundercracker managed to slam his hands against the doorframe and stop himself from stumbling into the throne room.

"This was your idea!" 

"I sent him a comm," Thundercracker argued. 

"Four days ago!" Skywarp wrapped his arms around Thundercracker's waist and tried to lift him through the doorway. Thundercracker started kicking at his shins. "Ow-OW!"

"If he knew, he would have responded-!" Thundercracker elbowed him off.

"Maybe it was sent to his junk mail?" Skywarp rubbed his side, wincing. 

"Or maybe he just doesn't care!" Thundercracker muttered, reaching back to brush his wings off. "You scuffed my paint..."

"Just go ask him," Skywarp pointed towards the door, vocaliser whining with impatience. 

"You ask!"

"But what if he does to me what he did to Screamer?"

"Then I'll finally have a room to myself." Thundercracker folded his arms and tipped up his chin. "Since when did you care so much about Screamer anyway?" 

"Since when did you?" Skywarp fired back. 

Thundercracker's optics narrowed. Skywarp set his jaw. 

"...We'll go in together," Thundercracker said quietly. 

"Fine." Skywarp took a deep breath and straightened up. "You first."

Rolling his optics, Thundercracker grabbed him by the wing-tip and dragged him across the threshold. Hissing, Skywarp flicked his wing free and went to throw a punch at his trine-mate. 

"Lord Megatron, sir," Thundercracker called to their leader. 

Skywarp quickly hid his fist behind his back, straightening to attention when Megatron's shadowy form atop the throne stirred at his call. 

"Thundercracker, Skywarp," he murmured in a dull, unenthused greeting. "What a ...pleasant surprise." 

Skywarp lowered his wings and inched behind Thundercracker slightly. 

"Uh, sir?" Thundercracker sounded awkward and shy -Skywarp would make fun of him for it later. "You don't happen to know where Star-?"

Megatron lifted a hand. Thundercracker fell obediently silent. 

"The last few weeks have provided me with a much needed respite," Megatron leaned forward out of the shadows. A faint, lazy smile was on his lips. He looked weird. Skywarp realised it was because he'd never seen his leader without his customary scowl in place. "I'm sure you would agree?"

"Well, yeah..." Skywarp mumbled. 

Thundercracker elbowed him lightly. "Um. Since it has been a while... Do you know where he-?"

"No," Megatron cut across him sharply. "Nor do I care to find out." 

He rose out of his throne with a great creak of metal, hands clasped behind his back as he descended towards them. Skywarp shifted a little more behind Thundercracker as their leader approached. He heard Thundercracker swallow nervously. 

"He's not dead. That, I know." Megatron continued. He was avoiding using Starscream's name, almost like he feared speaking it would summon the devil himself. "And if he's not causing me trouble he's welcome to remain hidden in whatever hole he's crawled into." 

"But sir, he's-!" 

"For thousands of years I have waited for this opportunity," Megatron suddenly snapped, his smile gone, his optics intense. "I do not know how long I have left to enjoy it and I certainly have no intention of bringing it to an early end by asking stupid questions or wasting valuable resources on pointless searches." 

"So he is missing?" Thundercracker's fraught tone reflected Skywarp's own feelings. 

"Don't waste your energy fretting," Megatron grumbled, turning back towards the throne and waving a dismissive hand. "Go. If you're really so bored I'm sure he's left you hours of unfinished paperwork to get through."

"Urgh," Skywarp whispered aggressively. "I told you this was a bad idea." 

"Shut up, Warp," Thundercracker gestured for them to make a swift retreat, before they were assigned more busywork. 

"Seekers," Megatron called before they could leave.

Skywarp cringed, tentatively looking back toward their leader. 

"Starscream is gone. Make the most of it." Megatron pointed at them. "And do not blow this for me." 

Chapter Text

When Starscream woke, he found himself staring into the maw of a giant metal Tyrannosaurus Rex. Teeth longer than a full grown mech's fingers dangled right before his face. He froze, transfixed by the light glinting off their razor-sharp tips, as a distant thought passed through his mind acknowledging that this wasn't at all how he had expected to die. 

Then a great waft of humid air rushed over him as the beast exhaled. The jaws closed and curved up at the sides in a mockery of a smile. Starscream's optics couldn't get any wider as the huge head swung closer. 

"Me Grimlock!" It's voice thundered. 

Starscream jumped, and the shock of it triggered something pathetic and emotional in his helpless frame. He was sobbing in seconds, trying to squirm away from the muzzle inquisitively sniffing at him. 

"Grimlock!" The medic's voice rang out. 

The Dinobot's shadow disappeared with a grunt and the stumbling thuds of clumsy footsteps, but Starscream couldn't seem to stem the flow of tears, shaking uncontrollably, his spark spinning in a panic. 

He sensed a familiar presence and cracked watery optics open to see Ratchet bending over the crib instead. Starscream reached for him in return, awash with relief when he was lifted and enfolded in the medic's arms and soothing field. 

"What are you doing, scaring him like that!?"

"Me Grimlock only want to hold him Comet," Grimlock's disembodied voice claimed grumpily. "Him Comet crybaby!"

Still hiccuping from the shock and furious that that oaf of an Autobot was downplaying his justifiable terror, Starscream pulled away from Ratchet's chest to shake a fist at him. The medic caught his swinging limb and closed it in his own hand. He began to sway on the spot, crooning nonsense. "Alright. It's alright-" 

"No, it's not alright!" Starscream tried to protest. 

Ratchet laid a hand atop his head, tucking him closer, "Grimlock..." He growled. 

"Me Grimlock innocent," The Dinobot protested. 

"He musta thought you were going to eat him! You sticking your giant T-Rex head in there- what were you thinking? Transform back!"

There was an electronic transformation noise as Grimlock presumably obeyed. "Sparklings like Grimlock." He protested sulkily. 

Ratchet made an impatient noise, "That's human kids, and they're mistaking you for Barney. They've been mislead by their colourful TV shows..." 

"Him Comet want to play peekaboo?" Grimlock asked. Starscream glanced up in fright. The warrior's massive frame was standing a cautious distance from Ratchet, but inching ever closer. 

"No!" He cried quickly, grabbing at Ratchet's armour, just in case the medic cruelly passed him over. 

"I have to agree with the kid, Grimlock," Ratchet was casting an optic over Grimlock's huge hands. "I've seen you play football with the twins, and the ball never makes it to the touchdown line inflated-"

"Me Grimlock be careful," he pleaded, his visor fixed longingly on Starscream. Starscream felt compelled to cling closer, squashing his cheek to the medic's chest. 

Ratchet glanced down at him. Starscream shook his helm. Say no!

"...Maybe some other time," Ratchet smiled apologetically. "He's got a busy day with Optimus planned. I need to get him ready." 

Starscream couldn't even begin to imagine what his day with Prime was going to entail, but interestingly, Grimlock seemed to sour at the mention of his leader, "Him Prime should wait his turn." 

"I know, I know," Ratchet placated, and amazingly, began shooing the huge mech towards the door with nothing but an impatient flick of his hand. "He's a real dictator, hogging all the attention..."

"Me Grimlock hate him Prime," Grimlock growled, stepping over the medbay's threshold. 

Ratchet didn't respond, shutting the door on Grimlock like the Dinobot wasn't one of the Autobot's most powerfully unpredictable weapons. Behind the door, Grimlock could still be heard grumbling away to himself in resentment. He was capable of ripping the med-bay's door clean off it's hinges. Starscream was only surprised that he didn't. 

"I'm putting a lock on your crib," Ratchet sighed. "You weren't supposed to be up for another hour yet..." 

Despite a lock reducing his chances of late night escape attempts considerably, if it was going to prevent similar rude awakenings, Starscream would be grateful if he did. 

"The bridge is no place for a sparkling," Prowl protested the moment Ratchet stepped through the doors. 

"Then you'll be happy to watch him for me, won't you," Ratchet dropped Comet into his lap as he passed. Prowl flinched back, arms aloft. Both tactician and sparkling looked at each other with wary disgust. 

"Good morning, Ratchet," Optimus greeted, optics focused past him towards the sparkling, "And Comet-"

"I want to say again that I think this is not just a waste of everyone's time but a catastrophically bad idea," Ratchet criticised in lieu greeting. "He's barely settled in." 

Optimus was undeterred. "First Aid believes it will benefit Comet to be around age-mates." 

"How many sparklings has First Aid raised?" Ratchet growled. 

"How many have you?" Prowl cut in from the seat in front of Teletraan, busy trying to keep Comet's fingers away from his stacks of intel reports without physically having to touch the sparkling. He was using a blank data-pad to block Comet's little hands. 

"Besides," Ratchet pointedly ignored him. "These kids aren't Comet's age-mates. They're what, eight?"

"Ten," Optimus corrected. 

"Ten years old," Ratchet exhaled heavily. "Comet can't be more than six months." 

"Are you suggesting we introduce him to human infants?" Optimus raised an amused brow.

"I suggest we keep humans out of this entirely." Ratchet felt his jaw tick with building stress. 

"I was able to procure a leash for you," Optimus abruptly changed the subject, removing a durable looking harness from his subspace. 

"No!" Came Comet's little voice from Teletraan. 

Ratchet and Optimus turned around to watch the sparkling haul himself up out of Prowl's lap and onto Teletraan's keyboard. A stream of gibberish ran across the screen as he sat on the keys. Prowl looked ready to shoot him. 

Ratchet marched over and scooped him up, lifting him to optic-level. Comet dangled from his hands like a sulking kitten. "Until you learn to behave, you wear the leash."

"He has just ruined a weeks worth of intel-!" Prowl snapped. 

"No!" Comet swung his legs, trying to kick anything within reach- mainly Prowl's head.  

"He say's he's sorry," Ratchet muttered, holding the sparkling at arms length as he carried him over to Optimus. "Since you're the one suggesting we do this, you can wrestle him into that harness." 

"No!" Comet wailed, distraught, throwing his helm back and thrashing about with dramatics now characteristic of him. 

Optimus was holding the complicated mess of straps between both hands, looking conflicted. "He really doesn't seem to want-"

"Do you know how easy organics break?" Ratchet stared Optimus down, squirming sparkling dangling between them. "They're held together with bone, not metal. You want to be responsible for Comet getting away from us and snapping some poor kid in two?" 

"He wouldn't do that." Optimus glared. 

Ratchet wriggled the hysterical sparkling. Comet thrashed and clawed at the air, face red with fury. 

Optimus steeled himself. He slung the leash over his shoulder and took Comet in both hands. Comet began to fight harder, trying to bite Optimus fingers. Optimus's optics dimmed in disapproval. "This behaviour is unbefitting of you," he said sternly, carrying him over to an empty desk. 

"No!" 

Ratchet watched with folded arms. Next to him, Prowl swung his seat around to do the same.

"Don't you have reports to fix?" Ratchet reminded him. 

Prowl was smirking, watching Optimus overpower the tiny sparkling to slip little limbs into the loops of the leash's harness. Comet had begun to cry again, messy angry tears.

"And miss this?" Prowl leant back. 

A fraught, drawn-out wail of 'No!" rang through the bridge, followed by several hiccups. 

"Stop smiling, Prowl," Ratchet growled.

The leash was strong enough to hold Comet, and it was certainly going to prevent any attempts at running off, or attacking defenceless humans.

Mostly because Comet refused to walk on it. 

Optimus held the end of the leash and stared down at the sparkling sadly. He gave the leash a little wriggle. Comet remained laying face down on the ground. Unmoving. 

"He doesn't like it." 

"He's going to have to get used to it," Ratchet growled. "C'mon," he raised his voice so Comet would know he was talking to him. "Stand up or Optimus will carry you. 

"No." 

"Don't you talk back to me!"

"No!" 

"Fine," Ratchet snatched the end of the leash off Optimus and bent down to pick Comet up. Instead of fighting, Comet became limp and floppy in his arms. "Stop that." 

Comet somehow went even floppier. 

Knowing he was about to lose his temper, Ratchet passed the limp sparkling over. "Here, Optimus, you take him." 

Optimus murmured something comforting and immediately subjected Comet to a snuggling hug, taking advantage of his passive protest. It soon got the sparkling moving again. "No!" He slapped the edge of Optimus's battle mask with a tinny clang. 

Optimus became serious almost immediately, pointing a finger to Comet's scowling face. "You do not hit."

Comet responded to the reprimand by trying to bite his finger. 

Ratchet poked him between the wing nubs before Optimus decided to inflict a lecture on him about how violent protest should only ever be a last resort and prompted a surprised squeak out of him. Optimus's field softened instantly, even as Comet twisted away and tried to smack Ratchet. 

"I think he's ready," Ratchet did a quick search of his own subspace and ticked off his mental checklist of Comet's paraphernalia; low-grade, blanket, wash-cloth, plastic ducky, a couple of diluted energon goodies on the unlikely off chance he actually behaved himself enough to earn a treat...

"C'mon," he urged Optimus along, "I don't want this running over into his nap time."   

From what Starscream could tell, his tormentors planned to further showcase his predicament to those outside their nauseously orange base. Prime transformed around him, his alt-mode swallowing him up and leaving no opportunity for escape. He found himself seated in the Prime's cab, and barely had time to blink before the click of the doors locking sounded. 

"You think you can hold me, Autobot fool!" Starscream raged, dodging the seat belts the Prime tried to secure around him and diving for the doors. He yanked on the handles, scratched at the locks, rolled onto his back and tried kicking out the windows-

"Hey! Hey!" Ratchet's face appeared in the window. His tapped his finger against the glass until Starscream paused his peddle-kicks. "Stop that!" 

Starscream booted the window right over his face. The medic's face darkened. 

"He'll settle," Starscream heard Optimus reassure the medic, starting up his engines with a gentle rumble. The cab began to vibrate. Starscream rolled out of his seat and into the footwell with a clumsy thump, and started messing with the pedals, but Prime had been wise enough to disable manual control. 

"He needs to wear a seatbelt," Ratchet was complaining. 

"It won't be a long drive," Optimus claimed. "I won't let anything happen." 

"Happen to you or to him?" Starscream saw Ratchet lean close to the window again and squint inside. Starscream clambered back into the driving seat and pulled as hateful a face as he could manage, before slamming his fist down on Prime's horn. 

HONK! HONK-HONK! HOOOOOONK!

"Oh dear..." Starscream heard Prime murmur between the repeated blaring of his horn. 

Ratchet had his hands over his audials. "S- -belts!" He bellowed between the racket. Starscream started slamming both hands down on the horn as if that could make it louder. "-'rime!"

The door sprung open, and before Starscream could act upon his victory and throw himself out and flee towards freedom, Ratchet was reaching into the cab, cursing and grumbling and wrestling him down-

"No!" Starscream fought. "No!" 

"Wow. Can't wait to see what the kids will think of this tiny, furious new playmate you're bringing them," a new voice stated. Prime alt-mode swayed as Jazz appeared to sling his arm over the roof, leaning down to watch Starscream bite at Ratchet's fingers. 

"Thank you, Jazz," Prime sighed deeply. 

They left as a small convoy. 

It was a small thing, but Starscream could at least be happy that he still caused enough trouble for the Autobots -even in this inferior condition- that they needed to bring along backup to move him. The medic, the Lamborghini twins, and two thirds of Autobot high command in the form of both Jazz and Prime himself, all 'Transformed and rolled out'.  

But as they drove away from the Ark and towards the nearest organic nest -or town, or whatever they called it- Prime began to harass him through the radio. 

"Look, little one," he murmured gently, slowing on a narrow winding road to take in the views. "The trees are changing colour."

Starscream glanced through the window with a scowl. Wow. Excellent. Amazing. The leaves were starting to die. He rolled his optics. 

"They'll fall soon," Prime continued, oblivious to his disinterest to the patronisation. "As the seasons change, so does the landscape." 

Starscream huffed. He was willing to bet he knew a pit-load more about the climate on his backwater planet than any ignorant Autobot. 

Before long, the landscape became urbanised. The Lamborghinis roared past Prime and sped off ahead of their convoy -prompting a disappointed sigh from Optimus- to race against some of the non-sentient cars at the lights. Starscream sat up and peeked out, looking around at the humans walking up and down the streets. Many of them waved to their Autobots neighbours. They weren't afraid of them. It as sickening. 

But interesting. 

Starscream hadn't had much chance to see how humans behaved outside of stressful, life-threatening scenarios. He had worked with organics before; mad scientists, military traitors, random lunatics Megatron would meet from Primus-knew where, but they certainly couldn't be upheld as a representative of the 'typical' humanbeing. 

These humans were laughing and talking and eating and shopping. Perfectly at ease. They happily crossed the street in front of Ironhide, believing they were safe from the whims of a seasoned killer. Like their system of coloured light signals might stop them from becoming splatters on the tarmac under his tires. He had one of the highest Decepticon kill counts of all Autobots, but these humans trusted their alien superiors to abide by their rules. 

Prime's breaks whined as they pulled into a small parking lot. The humans in this area were even smaller. Some of them seem malformed and disproportionate. Short and clumsy and excitable, climbing over frames and throwing themselves down slides. Red faced and sticky looking. Starscream gripped the seatbelt Ratchet had wrestled around him, a pit opening up inside him. 

"There's no need to be shy," Prime must have noticed. "These humans are excited to meet with you." 

No, he was being dragged out for the entertainment of human spawn?! 

They drove around a building until a large field came into view. The rumble of Prime's engines softened and Starscream tensed in preparation of an escape. It as a busy area, with plenty places to hide, and If he could just get to the bushes-

The door popped open and an enthusiastic Jazz scooped him up with a fake blast-off noise, lifting him high above his head before bringing him down in a dizzying arc.

"Kzzt! Jazz hailing Air Commander Comet!" He grinned, bouncing him high again. "Do you come in, Commander? Kzzt!" 

Starscream stared in abject horror.

Jazz lowered him with a sigh, "Your sparkling still broke, Ratch'?"

"Give me that!" Ratchet snapped, and Starscream was unceremoniously snatched away from Jazz. "Don't swing him around like that, you wanna clean up his puke?" 

Starscream scowled. He was a seasoned air warrior who had invented more than his fair share of advanced aerial manoeuvres. Being spun around by one short, idiotic spy was hardly enough to make him purge.

As Ratchet began adjusting the straps of the harness they'd used to imprison him, Starscream struggled. In the distance he could hear the organic spawn squealing and laughing. "No," he whined. 

"It's alright, it's not gonna be that bad," the medic gave his cockpit a condescending pat, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "I'll be right there with you. And I promise I'll get us out of here before the PTA starts mobbing Prime for a date." 

Disgusting. Prime must have greater patience than Starscream could even conceive of. 

Considering how humans normally swarmed together in massive groups, the amount of organics present wasn't actually too overwhelming. There were a dozen children and several adults. The little ones had been subdued with some kind of creamy treat, and were currently being entertained by the twins- Sideswipe was revving his engines for their entertainment, while Sunstreaker was deftly dodging every sticky hand-print that came his way. Jazz and Prime were crouching with the adults, laughing and joking with them like their species were in any way compatible. 

Suddenly Ratchet was bending down. The leash jangled. 

"Walk nicely," the medic ordered, setting him down on the field. 

Starscream wobbled in place and grabbed at the harness. Some of the children had noticed him. They were pointing. 

He couldn't help but notice that none of them were wearing leashes!

"No!" Starscream turned around and pulled on the leash. "I'll strangle myself with this thing before I walk on it!" 

Ratchet nodded along like he understood. "Nice try. It's not coming off. You'll run into traffic." 

Starscream looked between him and children. Some of them were running his way. Some of the adults too, had noticed him. Prime was inviting them to go over. As they approached Starscream was reminded again of how small he was. Even to organics.  

Starscream dropped the leash and ran stumbling into Ratchet's leg. 

"Lift me up! Lift me up!" He exclaimed in frantic beeps, grasping at the medic's shin. "I don't care about the leash, just lift me-"

Ratchet sighed and lifted him, mere moments before the screaming children made it to them. Squealing little voices were demanding a closer look, bouncing on their toes and straining their necks. Starscream peered down at the little crowd of eager flushed faces, smeared with cream from their melted treats, and resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at them. 

"Alright, Alright," Ratchet waved their demands down. "I know he looks cute but he's not been domesticated quite yet."  

"What's his name?!"

"Can he fly?!"

"What does he turn into!?" 

"Does he have blasters!?"

"Do you have more ice cream, Mr Ambulance?!"  

Questions flew at Ratchet thick and fast, in tumbling excitable voices. Starscream sneered behind Ratchet's forearm. He wanted to go back to the Ark. Forget about escaping. This area was not safe. 

The medic awkwardly stepped around and over the foolish children. They followed him like a hoard of limpets, still shouting and running around. Starscream hoped this meant Ratchet was taking him somewhere secure and quiet -their loud voices weren't agreeing with his audials- but it wasn't to be. Ratchet passed him to Prime, and Prime had no qualms about kneeling down and presenting him for inspection. 

Starscream's noise of disgruntlement came out as a pathetic sounding whine. 

Adult females gasped and fawned. Starscream scowled and pulled on Prime's windshield when some of them stepped forwards, their offspring nudging their way in front to see better. "No!"

"Oh, he's just like my youngest-"

"-see he's gonna be a little troublemaker, huh?"

"Don't let them crowd him, Prime." Ratchet's voice called over.

Starscream lifted his head and searched for the medic, wanting to go back to him. But he couldn't see him. His chest grew tighter.  

Then Prime took things one step further, and placed him on the ground. Defenceless. Surrounded. The cooing adults with polite smiles stood at twice his height. Feeling cornered, he stumbled back and landed with a thump on his aft between Prime's thighs. Optimus gently steadied him, and Starscream was torn between clinging on and slapping him off. 

"Learning to balance upright can be more challenging to those with wings," Optimus stated warmly, clearly smiling behind that ridiculous mask. 

Starscream cringed. The adults released a chorus of adoring noise. 

Mortified, Starscream turned around so they couldn't see his cheek flush. He looked up at Prime with as thunderous an expression as he could muster. But Optimus was oblivious, too busy answering banal questions about his age and what he ate and how good he was at colouring. 

Is this what Autobots really did in their spare time?! 

He looked for Ratchet again. He would put a stop to this nonsense- but the medic was having some sort of bickering argument with Sideswipe about whether or not the children's climbing frame could take his weight. He was on his own. There was nothing to do but endure it until it ended. 

This was by far the most effective form of torture yet. 

"Get your foot out of there!" Ratchet snarled, wrapping his arms around Sideswipe's waist and pulling to free his pede where it had slipped through the bars of the climbing frame and gotten stuck.

"Ow-ow! Stop-!"

"If you got it in there you can get it out again," Ratchet snarled, "twist it-"

"I can't, it-"

"Just break the bars," Sunstreaker suggested, watching with a bored expression. 

"Can't wait for that to hit the papers. Autobots visit local school; Vandalise play equipment," Ratchet felt a processor ache coming on. 

"This is play equipment?" Sunstreaker asked snidely. 

"They're primates, Sunshine, they like to climb," Ratchet sighed, tilting his head to view the problem. "I could always remove the foot-"

"No, it's fine! I'm pretty sure I can get it out!" Sideswipe backtracked and began making a better effort to free himself now, twisting his foot with a wince. "Yeah, just a little more..."

Ratchet rolled his optics, leaving them to solve their own problems. Fortunately, no one was paying attention to the twins' antics. 

On the field, Optimus had Comet sat on the ground, surrounded by the humans, specifically what Ratchet had advised him not to do. Comet was sat with his back to them, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.

Ratchet scowled and went over. 

"Mooooom!" One of the kids was complaining, slumping dramatically. "It's not doing anything!"

"He's just a baby, hon," his mother (presumably) answered. 

"A baby!?" Another kid complained, stamping his foot. "I hate babies-!"

"Babies are boring!"

"My brother's a baby and all he does is poop and eat dirt!" One kid yelled loudly, glaring at Comet like it was his fault his parents had dragged him to his little 'event'. "Babies are dumb!" 

Ratchet's scowl deepened, ready to give the little brats a piece of his mind- but Optimus's optics were already bright and concerned. Even as the parents began to admonish their children, he held up a hand to stop them.

"Comet is far from boring," he informed them with more patience than Ratchet was feeling, still too enthused with the idea of educating them to realise the kids had already decided not to care. "He is a rare flight-capable frame-type called a Seeker, which means his coding is specially adapted to speed and agility in the air-"

"He doesn't even have wings!" One particularly aggressive child shouted, brandishing his half finished ice-cream cone. 

That was another mistake, Ratchet thought resentfully, giving these punk kids sugar. 

The little wing nubs on Comet's back dipped sadly at their words. Ratchet's chest filled with indescribable heat. He took another step, "Prime. You've picked the wrong audience for this."

Optimus glanced up, but he seemed determined to give the organic children another chance. "These will soon become wings," he insisted, running a finger up Comet's wing nub to make it flick. He then lifted Comet under the arms and turned him around to face the kids. "In fact, Comet is already capable of transforming into a jet-"

"Make him transform!" One kid yelled. 

Comet squirmed unhappily in Prime's hands, face scrunched up, legs kicking. "Prime." Ratchet snapped. 

"I wanna see the jet!" 

'"Make it fly!" 

"He cannot fly-" Optimus began.

It was a the final straw for bored kids who had been promised alien planes and presented with nothing more entertaining than a Cybertronian sparkling sitting quietly. One of them stamped his foot in frustration and threw his ice-cream cone in a strop.

Whether he had been aiming for Comet or not, the creamy projectile soared through the air and landed with a splat on the sparkling's head. Comet blinked in shock, the wafer cone stuck to his head, melting cream already dripping down his face.

His bottom lip wobbled. 

Ratchet didn't know what anyone else's reaction had been, or if his own was in any way out of line. And he didn't care much either way, taking long strides towards the grumpy ice-cream-thrower and plucking him up by the back of his shirt before anyone could do anything to stop him. 

"Ratchet!" Optimus shouted. 

"You act like trash, you go in the trash," Ratchet muttered to the shellshocked kid before dropping him (gently) into the open dumpster behind the school building. He swung the lid shut on him afterwards. 

Adults were yelling, Jazz was rushing over to rescue the kid from the dumpster, Sideswipe was trying to calm down screaming kids, and Optimus was struggling to wipe down a deeply upset Comet, torn between comforting him and trying to take control of the situation. 

Ratchet was happy to take at least one of those responsibilities out of his hands.  

"We're leaving," he snatched Comet's sticky form out of Optimus's hands with a harsh snap that reeked of blame.

He ignored Optimus's distress and the woman standing underfoot shouting about 'her child' and 'suing them', focusing on wiping Comet's little face of cream and tears. 

He transformed and whooped his siren to clear the traffic before speeding off. 

Optimus didn't try to stop them from leaving. 

What Starscream really wanted was to be cleaned and left alone. But humiliated and overwhelmed with emotions his little frame couldn't handle, venting only came out in the form of sobbing hysterically, his optics streaming and vocaliser hiccuping.

Ratchet was standing with him outside the wash-racks but didn't seem to want to take him in until he'd calmed down. But he couldn't calm down. Every time his tears subsided enough for him to think he was overcome with rage all over again. And sparklings could only express negative emotions in one way. 

"I know, I know," Ratchet held him high against his chest and swayed back and forth with him, letting his mouth linger by Starscream's audial to murmur comfortingly. His hand was running up and down his back to soothe him. "They were horrible little monsters, weren't they?" 

Starscream sniffled miserably. 

"Did you see me throw that sticky little goblin in the dumpster?" Ratchet bounced him lightly, lips lifting into a soft little smile. "Shoulda had Jazz sit on the lid so he couldn't get out, huh?" 

Starscream wanted to nod his head along in agreement. Ratchet held him tighter. "And Prime's an idiot-" 

Starscream agreed completely. Humans were evil, and every last one of them should be run over. He hoped this incident inspired some of the Autobots to start exerting their dominance over those vile little insects. 

Listening to Ratchet was centring him, and he managed to get a grip on himself long enough to downgrade his furious sobbing to angry hiccups. Ratchet took him into the wash-racks and stood under the spray with him, adjusting the temperature to tepid. Starscream was more a fan of searing hot showers -especially on this grimy planet- but he supposed his armour was more sensitive to heat now. 

Ratchet washed him gently but throughly, not missing a single seam to be sure there'd be no disgusting organic muck lingering under his plating. 

"That's better, isn't it?" Ratchet told him with a gruff smile. "Don't you look all clean and handsome."

Starscream lifted his head a little higher. His armour, though still lacking the vibrant colours of his adult form, was shiny and flawless. Ratchet rubbed his fingers between his wings before reaching to switch off the shower. His now familiar touch triggered soothing sensations. Starscream relaxed into the medic's hold a little more. His earlier distress had zapped his energy, and now all he felt was exhaustion. 

"At least your schedule is starting to work," Ratchet noted. "It's almost nap time." 

Foolish medic, Starscream thought. He was tried because of the trauma! Not because he was on some stupid infant's sleep schedule. 

He was starting to settle though, and although he knew the medic was just moments away from shoving him into that horrible little pod-crib they'd made him, he couldn't help but let the pull of recharge take hold. Something subconscious was wanting him to trust Ratchet; even though he was his captor, his enemy, and his tormentor. Even though he was the one that forced him to drink low grade and refused him his autonomy. 

He wasn't put down though. 

For a while, Ratchet simply held him, looking down at him with sad fondness. He ran a gentle finger up and down Starscream's cockpit. Starscream sleepily grabbed it and held on. Ratchet smiled.

Starscream's spark was warm and full and stretching out towards Ratchet's field, seeking something. He felt Ratchet reach back- and something shifted and clicked into place. Something binding. 

"Oh," the arms around him tensed as he heard the medic breathe in sharply. "Oh, no." 

Something was wrong. Starscream jolted back to wakefulness, struggling to figure out what had suddenly changed. The medic was frowning in concern, and Starscream realised why when he found it himself. 

A notification pop up; 'filial imprint; complete'. Social protocols that had reset upon his regression had now selected a guardian for him. A pseudo-parent. And it was irreversible. 

He had bonded to Ratchet. 

The tears of frustration started up all over again. 

Chapter Text

Comet was hysterical, and Ratchet was at a loss as to why. The initial shock of the ice-cream assault had worn off, but now something else had set him off. 

He bounced and swayed and cuddled him, crooned nonsense, tried every manner of distraction, every possible bribe, but the bitlet would not stop screaming. 

"Hey, hey," Ratchet tried to get his attention, but Comet kept turning away, shaking his head, blubbering a jumble of 'noes'. "Comet, stop it. Stop crying."

He brought Comet closer, but the sparkling cringed and pushed at his face with his little hands. "No-ooooohh." He sobbed, hiccuping frantically. "No-no!"

Ratchet was beginning to feel a little overwrought himself. He rubbed circles into the sparkling's back, a trick that was, for the first time, failing him. 

"Alright, it's alright," He tried. "It's not that bad. You're just tired, sweetspark-"

Comet squirmed weakly, face scrunched into a wet scowl. Ratchet adjusted him wearily. 

"Fine," he muttered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry your stupid coding imprinted on me-"

Comet's wailing of 'no' began to pitch up. Through a forming bond, Ratchet began to feel an impression of the sparkling's distress like it was his own. It wasn't helping the situation. 

"I said I was sorry!" Ratchet shouted over the growing cries. 

Somehow heard over the racket of their competing shouts, knuckles knocked against the doorframe. Ratchet whirled around to find Ironhide in the entry way to the medbay. He hadn't heard the door open. 

"Not now, 'Hide," he snapped. 

"I just came to see if ya needed any help," Ironhide shrugged, unbothered by his abruptness. "Heard our little Autobot mascot was attacked with an ice-cream cone?" 

"Yes," Ratchet renewed his efforts to try and bounce Comet into calming down. "He was. So where the Pit were you? Some security detail you are."

"I was doing what I was 'posed to, patrolling the perimeter for opportunistic Decepticon kidnappers," Ironhide snorted gruffly. "How was I 'posed to know the kids were the bigger threat?"

Ratchet didn't say anything. Comet's furious sobs had begun to soften. Ratchet wasn't fooled into thinking the tantrum was over. There was every chance the sparkling was simply gearing up for another round of audial-shattering screams. 

"Heard you threw one of 'em in the trash?" Ironhide almost sounded impressed. 

"Are you here to help or not?" Ratchet snapped, leaving him unanswered. "If you want to make yourself useful, mix up some low-grade."

"Sure, sure," Ironhide held up his hands. "You okay, Ratch'? You're kinda-"

"I'm fine!" Ratchet snarled, rubbing a hand over his optics, "He just needs his fuel. Maybe that'll shut him up."

Ironhide obediently went to prepare the low-grade, but Ratchet could feel his friend's optics lingering on the back of his helm from the other side of the medbay. 

"...Maybe you should take a break." 

"Good one, 'Hide," Ratchet muttered sarcastically, wiping tears from Comet's cheeks with his thumb. Comet struggled and slapped at him, his optics releasing a fresh flood of coolant. "I'll just dump this hysterical sparkling somewhere and take the rest of the day off." 

"Someone else could watch him?" 

"There is no one else!" 

Ironhide shrugged. "Prime may still be doin' damage control, but I could-"

"Offence intended, but no, you couldn't," Ratchet lifted Comet to rest him across his shoulder and went to take the low-grade from Ironhide, stoically ignoring the repetitive punching and kicking of little hands and feet against his chassis. 

He turned his head to speak to his assailant, "You cut that out right now, or you're losing the privilege of free movement." 

Comet was determined to call his bluff. "No!" His little voice shouted with a slam of his fists. 

Ratchet pointedly handed the low-grade back to Ironhide, "Right. Where's your blanket-?" 

His next words were drowned out by a renewed fit of screaming. Ironhide watched -in shock or amazement or both- as Comet thrashed and fought Ratchet's hold with everything his tiny frame had in order to escape the horrifying ordeal of being swaddled and made helpless. But Ratchet was now practised in the art of wrestling this sparkling, and before long, Comet was wrapped in a secure bundle, and incapable of kicking or hitting or struggling anymore. It was for his own good. 

But it didn't calm him down. 

He writhed in his bindings -twisting and turning and wailing- but his tears at least had dried up. Whatever had upset him so deeply before had been eclipsed by his unadulterated fury at his current predicament. 

"He looks like a burrito," Ironhide laughed, and since Comet couldn't fight back, Ratchet was happy to hand him over. "You don't like being wrapped up all nice and cozy, huh?" Ironhide teased, bopping his upturned nose. 

"No!" Comet protested. 

Ratchet flopped back into a nearby chair, exhausted, and resigned to merely watching as Ironhide began a valiant effort to get the sparkling to fuel.

"Hmm yum," Ironhide pretended to drink some of the cube himself, smacking his lips in satisfaction. "Delicious. Wish I was drinking this instead of that slop they serve down in the mess, kid-"

"No!" Comet wasn't fooled, his glowing cheeks a fiery red. 

Ratchet forced himself to ignore the little pinging in the back of his head that was the bond between them trying to establish deeper connections.

Even at such an early stage, it was unlikely he could reverse it. Spark bonds weren't subject to medical alternations. It wasn't a bug he could remove from code. It wasn't a file he could erase from a memory bank. It could fade, but that would only come from cutting contact between them completely, and he couldn't do that to the little byte. He didn't have anyone else. 

They were stuck with one another.  

Ironhide tipped the cube toward's Comet's mouth, but the sparkling turned his head at the last second with a furious squeal. Ironhide jumped.

"Primus, he sounds like Screamer when he does that..." Ironhide muttered. 

Ratchet placed his head in his hands, reminded of the implications behind Comet forming this connection with him in the first place, and with it, the implications of Starscream still marked as 'unaccounted for' in their files. 

With his optics covered he didn't see what caused Ironhide to sniff, and ask, "You smell that?"

Ratchet lifted his helm, "Smell wh-?"

The blankets around Comet's legs had begun to smoke. Ratchet pointed numbly, his processor struggling to connect to his mouth. Ironhide followed his gaze down just as the fabric ignited in flames. 

"Argh!" Ironhide flinched, dropping the low-grade in his shock. 

"Don't drop him!" Ratchet snapped out of his stupor and dove forward to snatch the combusting sparkling from his comrade's smoking hands, shaking Comet free of the flaming blanket. It's blackened and tattered remains drifted to the floor where Ironhide stamped on it until the flames were out. 

Together, they looked at the scowling sparkling dangling from Ratchet's hands. Comet's softly burning thrusters shut off with a little click. 

"...That's lucky," Ironhide grumbled. 

"Lucky?!" Ratchet snarled, nerves frayed. "Now his feet are weaponised!" 

"Coulda been worse," Ironhide bent with a sigh to clean up the sooty mess. The medbay now stank of smoke. "Couple hours ago this mighta been some snotty brat's face." 

Primus, he had a point. 

Ratchet searched Comet's miserable face. After a moments consideration, he decided to risk severe burn injuries anyway and brought him closer, resting him against his chest. He waited, leaning back to keep an optic on those thrusters, but he wasn't burnt. Comet continued to fuss and whine and act like he hated him, but he didn't try to set him on fire. 

"Good boy," Ratchet said softly, relieved. He stroked a hand over his little head, even as the sparkling began to wail again. "Good boy." 

"You got anything that ain't so flammable?" Ironhide called from the trash chute where he was discarding Comet's old blanket. 

"Why?" 

"Cuz his cribs not gonna survive nap-time, if not." 

Ratchet shuttered his optics. Of course. 

"Has he fuelled?" First Aid called, having long ago given up trying to work. 

"He won't fuel!" Ratchet shouted back, raising his voice over the constant commotion from Comet's tiny but enraged form. He was half-convinced the sparkling was making noise just for the sake of it. 

"Maybe there're bubbles in his tank?" First Aid was reading off a data-pad, going down a list of possible ailments. 

"I've been bouncing him for hours. If he was gassy it would have come up by now," Ratchet growled, dodging a fist that swung his way. Since Comet's feet had become fire-hazards, Ratchet hadn't been able to swaddle him to stop the thrashing. He was close to calling Prowl and asking to borrow a set of cuffs.  

"I heard somewhere that ice-cream causes this phenomenon called brain freeze," First Aid rose out of his seat and came over to take a closer look at the sparkling. "Maybe-?"

"That's if you eat it, not if it's flung at you." Ratchet was at the end of his tether. "And it only applies to humans. You're not helping." 

"Well I-"

"Just get Wheeljack!" Ratchet snapped at him. "We need fire retardant blankets- fire retardant everything!"

"There's nothing physically wrong with him. Maybe it was his thrusters coming online?" First Aid was still trying to 'help'. "Maybe he gave himself a fright?"

"He didn't." Ratchet muttered, confident enough in his newfound bond with the fussy sparkling to know the bitlet wasn't scared, it was just... belligerence? Stubbornness? Misery? Sure, all of the above. But fear? No. 

But First Aid, like any good medic, wasn't willing to just accept his world as law. "We can't be sure that-"

"I'm sure, now go!" Ratchet cut across him in frustration. "The sooner he's fire-proofed the sooner he can go back into his crib." He shot Comet's wretched little face an impatient look. "Maybe a nap will help..."

"More like an exorcism!" Cliffjumper, who had been waiting on one of the benches for First Aid to change his flat tire, shouted over. 

Comet shrieked and threw his arms out in Cliffjumper's direction like he wanted to leap out of Ratchet's arms and strangle him. 

Ratchet further lowered the sensitivity on his audials. 

Maybe he'd have Wheeljack add more soundproofing to the crib as well, just in case a nap didn't work. 

"This is the best I could do on short notice," Wheeljack held up a pair of socks. 

Starscream's helm was pounding after hours of sustained rebellion. Drained and defeated, he could now only manage the occasional squirm of displeasure. Despite his one brief moment of glory wherein he had managed to light his thrusters and set fire to the blanket his captors enjoyed cocooning him in, he hadn't been able to fight back since. No matter how hard he had concentrated, the programming hadn't come back online. Almost like, subconsciously, he didn't want to burn the medic.  

Through the hateful joke of a bond his spark had treacherously formed with the medic, Starscream could feel echoes of Ratchet's rising impatience with him. His resolve was commendable for an Autobot, but he was close to breaking. If only Starscream had the energy to push him just that little bit further. 

"I said his thrusters came online," Starscream heard him growl at the engineer. "And you bring me a pair of socks?!"

Starscream cracked open his stinging optics to peer at them. They were grey, made from some synthetic-looking material, and they were utterly vile. He would rather be dead that let himself be seen in them. 

He bleeped a disgusted noise and turned into Ratchet's armour, burrowing his head against his chest so he wouldn't have to look at the monstrosities. 

"It's aramid, he won't burn through it." Wheeljack explained. 

Ah. Starscream was familiar with the material in question. It's what the humans used to wrap their pathetically vulnerable flesh in to stop themselves from burning alive should an alien lunatic like Skywarp burst into their military base to try and firebomb them. 

Starscream's spark pulsed with longing. Skywarp... 

Ratchet's grip on him shifted so a hand could rub his back, slow soothing circles. "Just help me put them on." 

"I'm not wearing them," Starscream complained, pulling his legs away when the engineer tried to take hold of his ankle. "No, I'm not wearing those disgusting things-!"

"What's going to stop him from just taking these ugly socks straight back off again?" Ratchet asked passively, watching Wheeljack struggle. 

"Uhh..." Clearly, Wheeljack hadn't thought of that. 

As soon as one sock had been pulled over his pede, Starscream wriggled until it simply slipped off. He discarded it with a kick and victorious, "Bah!" 

"Nice work, Wheeljack," Ratchet grunted, and brought an abrupt end to Starscream's brief moment of victory with: "Get the duct-tape."

"I hate you!" Starscream ranted less than a minute later, watching them wrap his feet in aramid and tape until it looked like he was wearing ridiculous booties. "I hate you all!" 

"They're kinda cute on him, huh?" Wheeljack stepped back to admire their work. 

"Adorable," Ratchet muttered emotionlessly. 

Optimus, unsurprisingly, summoned Ratchet eventually. But after several sustained hours of hysterics and the present indignity of duct-taped feet, Comet was still refusing to settle. The bond was reverberating with a deeper sort of distress a sparkling really shouldn't have been capable of. 

Ratchet's best working theory was that it had something to do with the bond itself, but unravelling that puzzle was going to have to wait. If he didn't answer Optimus soon, Prowl might take it upon himself to intervene, and that would mean disciplinary action, and that would mean even more of his time wasted. 

But Comet was in no condition to be left alone. 

A large shadow passed by the medbay doors. Ratchet looked up, recognising the shape of the silhouette even as it's owner rushed by as quick as they could. A lightbulb went off. 

"Hey!" He shouted, jumping up so suddenly it caused Comet's latest stream of rambling complaints to stutter. "Wait-"

He burst through the door, just as Skyfire tried to wedge his large cumbersome frame into the doorway of an unoccupied office. 

Ratchet scowled. "I can see you, Iceberg." 

Skyfire stepped out of his hiding space slowly, expression sheepish, "Oh, sorry Ratchet. I didn't hear you-"

"Sure you didn't," Ratchet rolled his optics, "But I suppose, over the racket this one is making you..."

He trailed off, realising that it had gone awfully quiet all of a sudden. He looked down at the sparkling that had been screaming nonstop of hours, now staring up at Skyfire in silence, bright optics now big and round. 

Skyfire shifted awkwardly, "I can see you're busy, so I should just-"

"I am busy," Ratchet agreed, closing the distance between them quickly, before Skyfire could escape on those long legs off his. "I'm late for this power-trip Prowl's gonna wanna have at my expense. Shouldn't take long, can you...?"

He lifted Comet. Comet's body language became shy and reserved, his wings folding down flat. 

Skyfire's fingers closed into fists. "I- I'm not sure-"

"He seems to like you," Ratchet pressed. 

"I know, it's just." Skyfire rubbed the back of his neck. "There have been these rumours flying around, about, about who his creator might have been and I just think, I don't know if it's a good idea-"

"They're just rumours." 

Skyfire shot Ratchet a look of disbelief, his optics darting back and forth between him and the sparkling. "...He, he looks just like him, Ratchet." He stressed. 

"I know, he's gorgeous." Comet made a soft noise at those words -a tiny trickle of something appreciative seeping into their bond -but the improvement in the sparkling's demeanour wasn't enough to chase off Skyfire's concerns.

"Look," Ratchet sighed. "I get why you don't wanna get involved in all this, but at the same time, it's a bullslag excuse to get out of sparkling-sitting."

Skyfire frowned, "Should you really be using language like-"

"Probably not," Ratchet pushed Comet into Skyfire's unwilling arms. "You're the expert."

Skyfire held Comet's tiny frame helplessly. The sparkling all but disappeared in his ginormous arms. "I'm not-"

"His thrusters are online, don't take off the socks!" Ratchet called over his shoulder, moving as quickly as he could before Comet snapped out of his infatuated trance and started screaming again. "I'll be back in an hour!" 

Ratchet heard Skyfire awkwardly introduce himself to Comet with "Uh, hi?" just before he turned the corridor. Over the bond, an unexpected sense of tranquility was drifting in from Comet's end. 

Thank Primus for big dopey shuttles. 

Optimus's guilt wasn't improved by the piercing accusation he could see in Ratchet's harsh blue optics. The medic entered the meeting room wordlessly, dragging out a chair at the furthest end of the conference table from his comrades and sitting down. 

"Ratchet," Optimus placed his interlocked hands on the table in front of him. 

"You'll be pleased to hear that the child you so kindly deposited in the dumpster, is fine," Prowl spoke before Optimus could get any more out, unable to hold his peace for longer than half a minute. Optimus shot him a weary glance. It went ignored. 

"Nice for him." Ratchet's arms were folded across his chest, his demeanour standoffish. "Our sparkling isn't."

"Our sparkling?" Prowl queried lightly. 

"He's not hurt?" Optimus straightened up, something like fear gripping at his spark. 

"From an ice-cream cone?" Prowl stared at him, incredulous. "It's hardly a grenade, Prime."

"Those things are fragging cold, Prowler, you'd be surprised," Jazz shook his helm sympathetically. 

"He's not hurt. He's upset. Traumatised, likely." Ratchet wasn't afraid to lay it on thick. "I told you this was a bad idea." 

"You're telling me it was a bad idea." Jazz piped up again. "That lady whose kid you threw-out wants to sue us. She's going to the media." 

Ratchet expression fell, "But Comet-?"

Optimus held up his hand, "I explained the delicate situation Comet is in in regards to our enemies, and as a mother herself, she agreed not to make mention of him to any outside sources." 

"But as far as she's concerned, it's open season on ambulances with anger management issues," Jazz smiled. "Which was a great outcome for Prime's inter-species bonding event." 

"Thank you, Jazz," Optimus rumbled, irritated at how often Jazz was scoring points at his expense. "Ratchet, I'm sure an apology to the family wouldn't be amiss." 

"I'm not sorry for defending my sparkling," Ratchet snapped, shooting down that perfectly reasonable idea. "He shouldn't have been in that position in the first place." 

He fixed Optimus with another glare. Optimus had to look away. 

"Prime," Prowl was giving him a glare of his own. And Optimus knew exactly what he was going to say; that he was being soft, that Ratchet's motives didn't excuse his actions, that Ratchet was being insubordinate on top of everything-

"...Ratchet is right." Optimus said before Prowl could convince him to think otherwise. "This was my doing-"

"I don't have any eyewitness reports of you throwing children in dumpsters," Prowl bit out. 

"He knew what they were saying, you know," Ratchet suddenly stood, planting his hands on the table. "Comet understood those spoilt brats when they were whining for entertainment and calling him names, and he understands you when you go around gossiping about his origins. He's not stupid. And he doesn't deserve it. Someone around here had to stick up for him." 

"They were just children," Optimus tried, but it felt weak in the face of Ratchet's fierce protectiveness.  

"Yeah,  well. kids are cruel," Ratchet shoved his chair back and stepped away from the conference table. "And I think Comet's had enough cruelty in his life already, don't you?" 

"We're not finished here," Prowl began hotly. 

"Have you learnt anymore of his past?" Optimus asked gently, distracting Ratchet before he threw any creative hand-gestures at his tactician. "Where- who he came from?" 

"I don't know anything for sure," Ratchet seemed conflicted for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just that ...I don't think anyone out there's looking for him." 

Optimus nodded solemnly, and Ratchet dismissed himself with a word. 

Prowl threw himself back in his seat moodily. "So we condone child abuse now?" He muttered snidely. 

"Only when it's human kids," Jazz reached over clap his shoulder with a grin. 

The protocols binding him to the sparkling were already growing in strength and complexity, developing beyond coding and data, and entrenching itself into their very sparks. Ratchet couldn't help but poke inquisitively at the threads of connection between himself and Comet the moment he was out of the meeting.

Comet's presence on the other end felt cloudy and content. There was no danger. No urgent need to return to his sparkling's side. 

His slowed his pace, and allowed himself a moment to process his own feelings. 

He was still annoyed with Optimus, but Prime would be blaming himself for this debacle till the end of time anyway, and it would save Ratchet the emotional energy of having to hold a grudge himself. And at least now Optimus knew to defer to him in regards to Comet's wellbeing. That was perhaps the only good to have come of this. 

He shouldn't have called the sparking 'his' though. Bond of no, Comet didn't belong to him. The poor bitlet was just probably latching on to the first adult to ever prove themselves capable of caring for him. 

Ratchet exhaled shakily. Sparklings didn't go about imprinting on every mecha that so much as feed or cooed at them. For Comet to have done so with him meant there hadn't been an existing bond with an established caregiver. Whoever his creator was, they hadn't stuck around long enough for the imprinting to take. 

And Ratchet didn't want to think about Starscream's disappearance and what that meant for Comet -not because he thought an evil Decepticon psychopath deserved better, but Comet certainly did. 

He pressed the door access for his medbay. And it appeared he hadn't been the only mech thinking of that tri-coloured public menace. 

"- not the easiest person to get along with, but I liked him," Ratchet heard Skyfire speaking. He turned his head towards Comet's crib. The lid was open and Skyfire had his great white frame hunched over it so he could talk to it's inhabitant. 

"And you wouldn't believe how fast he was," Skyfire smiled, "The only thing faster was his mouth. Used to get him in all kinds of trouble. And me too, when I wasn't smart enough to step away." 

Comet was lying in the crib, listening to Skyfire with an attentiveness that should have been beyond a sparkling so small. "-just hope he's okay," Skyfire's voice dropped into an even softer whisper. "He- he's not bad. Not really. I know no one else really seems to think so, but I knew him, and I bet you did too, huh?" 

He reached down to stroke the back of his finger down Comet's cockpit. The sparking let him, but the bond seemed to tug on Ratchet's spark as he did, a melancholic longing stirring in it's depths.

It seemed there was more to Comet than even he might have realised. Much more. 

Ratchet cleared his vocaliser. 

Skyfire withdrew his hand sharply, head snapping up, "You weren't gone long." 

"Said I wouldn't be," Ratchet forced a smile. In the crib, Comet had begun to fuss, reaching for Skyfire like he wanted him to stay. 

Maybe it was the wings. Maybe it was his gentle demeanour. 

Or maybe it was his talk of Starscream. 

And if Comet was that wretched seeker's offspring... 

"You can come see him anytime," Ratchet offered, gesturing to Comet. "He really seems to like you. And with your frame-type you probably understand him better than any of us could." 

Skyfire looked down, shaking his helm. "I don't know if that's really a good idea."

Comet's complaints grew in volume and desperation. He was sat upright now, with his hands pressed to the interior glass. "No!" He slammed his hands down. "No!" 

Skyfire's shoulders hunched up. He tactfully avoided having to look at Comet. "Has... Has anyone heard anything? About him? Has Jazz, maybe?"

Ratchet walked around him and reached into the crib, rubbing between Comet's wing-nubs until he felt the armour under his digits loosen. Comet batted at him weakly in protest. "You've made enough noise today. Lay down," Ratchet murmured, "Go to recharge." 

He closed the lid on Comet's last, mumbled "no." 

Safe on the other side of soundproof plexiglass, Ratchet answered his dejected friend. "Nothing. No sign of him."

Skyfire nodded, fairly composed but obviously affected. "I don't think... The Starscream I knew wouldn't have abandoned his sparkling." 

"The Starscream you knew hasn't existed for four million years." 

It was harsh, but it was true. Ratchet wasn't going to stand there and list the heinous crimes of one the worst monsters to have ever terrorised the galaxy to someone that clearly still loved them, but Skyfire had to wake up. Whoever that goofy mechling he'd studied with at the science academy was, it wasn't the Decepticon second in command as they knew him now. Starscream was capable of anything. 

Skyfire took it with his typical good nature, nodding acceptingly.

"...Well," he said after a pause. "I don't think any version of Starscream would be happy to know his sparkling had socks taped to his feet." 

Ratchet glanced back at Comet, still not recharging and presently trying to chew through said socks like a feral turbo-fox caught in a trap.

He had to concede that point to Skyfire. 

Chapter Text

Following the traumatic incident with the ice-cream cone, a guilt ridden Optimus made several sparkfelt apologies to the humans- parents and children alike. Which was a good thing, because Ratchet sure as Pit wasn't going to be making any. Back in his day, kids ate their treats. They didn't throw them at sparklings like spoilt thugs. 

But the parent's forgiveness wasn't the only thing Optimus came back with. 

"He has enough junk as it is," Ratchet grumbled, eyeing the boxes stacked at Optimus's pedes apprehensively. Some had been wrapped in colourful paper, or decorated with stickers, but Comet wasn't paying them any mind, busy scrapping his covered thrusters against Ratchet's side to loosen his socks. 

"It's a gesture, Ratchet," Optimus said pointedly. "And I'm sure some of it will be of use." 

"How?! There's not a lot of compatibility if he's Cybertronian and their sticky little monsters are hairless apes-"

"Ratchet." Optimus warned. 

"Fine," Ratchet relented. "But when he breaks everything in those boxes don't come crying to me." 

"He won't break anything," Optimus was still insisting on being stubbornly optimistic about Comet's social conduct. He gestured for Ratchet to pass the sparkling to him. "Here, Comet, come look..."

Comet glanced at him just to scowl and shout, "No!"

"I don't think he's forgiven you," Ratchet couldn't resist twisting the knife that little bit deeper. 

Optimus's optics dimmed with regret. Ratchet might have felt bad if he didn't have a firsthand insight into how little the sparkling now trusted Optimus because of the whole incident. Prime was going to have to earn it back himself. 

"Just open the box for him." Ratchet advised, shifting the sparkling so he was facing out and could see. 

Optimus sighed and dropped to his knees. He ripped sparkly pink paper away from the first box to reveal the cardboard underneath. Ratchet jiggled Comet a little, trying to stir up some excitement about opening 'presents'. Comet squirmed unhappily. 

That failing, Ratchet scooped up some of the discarded paper and handed it to him so he could play with it. Comet threw it away grumpily. 

Optimus opened the box, and the first thing he pulled out-

"You've got to be kidding me," Ratchet grumbled. 

"It's only plastic, Ratchet," Optimus was clearly smiling behind his battle-mask as he held up a silver tiara. "There's an entire wardrobe in here..." 

"You'd think the humans would have noticed we don't wear clothes by now," Ratchet deadpanned. 

"Something about these clothes imply they're for play, not function," Optimus smoothed the creases out of a large pirate's hat, topped with a feather. 

"He's not a dress-up doll!" Ratchet snapped. Comet was trying to lean out of his grip, making grabby hands for the fake tiara. "Is this how humans treat their young?" 

Comet began to whine. 

"Fine, here!" Ratchet snatched the stupid tiara out of Optimus's grasp and gave it to him. Comet held it in both hands and stared into the big red, plastic jewel at it's centre with wonder. 

"Not much of this looks like it'll survive him," Optimus began going through the second box, emptying it of it's contents and laying them out for view. Most of it was made from soft fabric -fluffy blankets, stuffed toys- and Optimus was right, Comet would rip them to shreds in one of his typical tantrums. 

"Though this might be useful," he added, pulling something else out. 

Ratchet helped Comet balance the plastic tiara atop his helm before looking at the Prime. Optimus was holding up two knitted triangles. 

Ratchet blinked, realising they were wing-cosies. "It is getting colder out," he agreed, reaching to take them too. 

Comet frowned at them. "No!" He pointed vehemently, the tiara wobbling atop his helm as he pulled dramatic expressions filled with disgust. 

Ratchet sighed. With Comet's new tiara, he was beginning to feel a lot like he being bossed about by a Winglord in the Vosian court. 

Starscream pulled at the socks laced tightly around his ankles and decided they were even worse than the previous duct-taped editions. His stumpy fingers weren't dexterous enough to undo the fiddly laces. 

"Curse these hands!" He roared. 

Somewhere above him, someone awed. 

Starscream mood sunk to new lows. 

Left abandoned in an inhumane pen in the middle of the recreational room for any passing Autobot to gawk at, Starscream was beginning to long for nap time. 

He looked up and scowled at his audience. Three Autobots were leaning over the wall of his 'playpen', staring down at him.

"Don't you like your sockie-wocks?" Sideswipe cooed. "They suit you so well, tiny Scream." 

"Ratchet says if we take them off he'll burn the ship down," Bumblebee said solemnly, chin resting atop his folded forearms. "But he does seem to hate them." 

"Burn the ship down?" Bluestreak smirked, "He's tiny." 

"Here," Sideswipe leaned over and picked up a ball that had been sat atop the pile of tat the medic had left in Starscream's prison with him. He tossed it over Starscream's head for Bumblebee to catch. "See if he plays with that." 

"Uh," unsure, Bumblebee, bounced the ball next to Starscream. "You wanna play with your ball?"

Starscream held out his hands. Smiling, Bumblebee gave it to him. Starscream flung it back across the playpen at Sideswipe's face. The frontliner ducked just in time, laughing in amazement. "I love this sparkling-!" 

"Stop messing with the kid!" A loud voice bellowed from the doorway. Starscream's audience straightened up and backed away from the playpen, disappearing from view. Starscream grabbed the wall of his pen to help himself stand, craning his neck to see what was going on, when a large shadow fell over him. 

Ironhide. 

He sat back down with a huff, folding his arms. 

"Hey, sweetspark, how ya doing?" Ironhide leaned over with a creak and tried to tickle him under the chin. 

Starscream slapped him away, "Unhand me-!"

Ironhide's thick, clumsy fingers went for his cockpit instead. A peal of laughter escaped Starscream's vocaliser, his vents hiccuping in surprise. Ironhide chuckled and then Starscream was struggling against a sudden assault of fingers in sensitive places. He fell over onto his back, but that only gave his tormenter better access. 

"See, yer not so tough," Ironhide belittled him cruelly, a smirk pulling at his mouth. Starscream grabbed his fingers and tried to prise them away, but he couldn't. He wasn't strong enough. His squeals were more panic than laughter now. Furious, frightened tears welled in his optics. 

"'Hide, be gentle," Prime's low timbre interrupted the assault and the fingers mercifully retracted. 

Starscream cracked his watery optics back online to see both Prime and Ironhide peering down at him. He shuttered them with a hitching breath, wishing he could have just one emotional breakdown without witnesses. 

"'Hide," he heard Prime reproach. 

"Waz just tickling him, Prime-!"

"Here," Prime's presence drew close, and still fuming over the Autobot leader's idiocy, Starscream pushed him away. 

"No! No!" 

Prime withdrew solemnly. Ironhide shifted uncomfortably, "Uh, I'll get Ratch..."

"No need," the medic's disembodied voice sounded from somewhere beyond the playpen. Starscream's spark lifted just at the sound of his voice. He craned his neck, trying to see over the playpen walls. 

"What have you two morons been doing to him?" The medic growled. 

"Nothing," Ironhide protested as Ratchet reached the playpen. Starscream held up his arms, wanting to be taken away. 

"He was fine just a minute ago," Ratchet bent over with a groan and lifted him out. Chest-to-chest, Starscream could feel the pulse of the medic's spark, and felt awash with relief. The bond saturated him in comfort. 

He was disgusted at himself for wanting it so much, and terrified at what this connection meant for his future. But held in the protection of Ratchet's arms the anxieties weren't so strong. He let his helm rest on Ratchet's shoulder. 

Prime looked curious, "How did you know he needed you?" 

Starscream felt the medic stiffen beneath his cheek. 

"Medic's intuition," he said after a pause. 'And 'Hide, I've told you, he's too young to put up with your horseplay." 

"I was tickling him!" 

"Don't. He thinks you're attacking him." 

Ironhide worked his jaw from side to side resentfully, "Ain't that a little extreme?" 

Ratchet didn't answer, pushing past them both and carrying Starscream towards the door. As they walked, he bowed his head to murmur in Starscream's audial. "You need to stop being such a wuss." 

"No," Starscream protested miserably. He'd tolerate the other Autobots when they started treating him with some respect. 

Ratchet let him wear the tiara during bath time, like it was some sort of bribe to stop him splashing. It was juvenile and ridiculous and he knew it was fake, but glancing at his hideously babyish reflection in the bath water, at least the tiara distracted from his fat face. 

Primus, he missed his jaw structure, his handsome adult features. 

Ratchet was washing his wings and Starscream was squeaking the rubber duck toy to see if he could pop it's head off, when the door to the medbay opened. He squeaked in surprise and used the duck to cover himself when Prime strode through the door without so much as knocking. 

"Ratchet there's-" Prime stopped, glancing twice at Starscream, his brow creasing in surprise. "I hadn't realised a sparkling so young would have a sense of modesty." He murmured. 

"I'd be embarrassed too if someone was staring at me like that when I was trying to take a bath." Ratchet grumbled, plucking Starscream out of the water. Starscream squirmed in the cold air until Ratchet laid him across a waiting towel and swiftly swaddled him in it. Starscream fought the fabric in irritation, kicking his thrusters as he tried to ignite them. But they were too wet from the bath to spark. 

"What is it?" Ratchet prompted, "If you've come to petition for the right to read his bedtime story, Hound's already beaten you to the punch-"

"The Decepticons are on the move," Optimus interrupted. "We need you."

Ratchet hesitated. He looked at Starscream. "The sparkling-?"

"Prowl and Red Alert are remaining here to run operations. They will-"

"Prowl and-?!" Ratchet cringed and shook his helm. "No. Comet has a bedtime routine, and Prowl-"

"Megatron is using some sort of experimental weaponry," Optimus impressed on him, looking guilt-ridden enough as it was. "We don't know what damage it can do. To go against such a dangerous unknown without our best medic-"

"Alright, I get it." Ratchet snarled. "But tell Prowl if I come back and this sparkling is anything less than content-!"

"It'll be fine, Ratchet."  

"I'll know if it isn't," Ratchet growled. "And if for one second it's not, tell Prowl I can be back here within the hour to feed him his own sirens." 

Optimus tilted his helm in what looked to be amusement. "Haven't we had a conversation already about making violent threats in front of the sparkling?" 

"He only understands every other word," Ratchet gave Starscream a fond bounce, dropping kind blue optics to him. "Don't you, sweetspark? There's a good boy." 

Starscream just scowled; unhappy with the swaddle, unhappy with the infantilisation, unhappy with the prospect of being left in Prowl's care, and furious that Megatron appeared to have gotten into his experimental weaponry and was galavanting about with it on a raid. He hoped the stupid old bastard held it the wrong way around when trying to shoot at Prime and blew his own face off. Just the idea brought a smile to his face. 

"See," Prime's optics glinted warmly, "He's smiling. He knows it'll be alright." 

Ratchet grunted, "It's probably just gas." 

"Don't try me, medic," Starscream hissed under his breath. 

Prowl glared at him hatefully. Starscream scowled back. 

"Do you really think it's a spy?" Red Alert asked softly, optics darting between the monitor screens and the sparkling they had been left with. 

Prowl's gaze darkened further. "Don't let him distract you. Watch the monitors." 

"But if he is a spy, and he's in here with us..." Red Alert left the rest unsaid. 

Starscream could see the cogs turning in Prowl's glitchy, unreliable processor. 

Prowl hummed thoughtfully. "Real time battle footage is inappropriate viewing for a sparkling." He decided, standing from his chair with a sharp nod. 

Still trapped in Ratchet's hateful swaddle -because the medic trusted neither him nor Prowl, apparently- Starscream was unable to escape when the tactician scooped him up and carried him at arms length to the horrible little playpen that had moved from the rec and been set up on the bridge for the evening. 

"Go to recharge," Prowl ordered as he deposited him in it's centre, as if it was that simple. 

Starscream squirmed angrily, "No!" 

"Yes," Prowl loomed over him. "This operation is of vital importance and you will not be allowed to derail it with your distractions." 

Starscream wished he could pronounce the 'f' needed in order to tell Prowl to go frag himself. 

Assuming he'd won the disagreement, Prowl disappeared from sight, leaving Starscream abandoned in the playpen will nothing to do but stare up at the ceiling. He could still hear the two Autobots speaking over by Teletraan, and the idea of them ignoring him like this was infuriating. 

He kicked and fought and exhausted himself until anger became frustration, and frustration became loud, obnoxious, shrieking sobs.  

Within seconds, Prowl appeared above him again, wearing an expression like thunder. "Stop this, now." He demanded. "You are crying over nothing." 

Too right he was crying over nothing, Starsceam thought vindictively, hiccuping and gasping like he couldn't breathe he was so distraught. The fearsome medic would be feeling the echoes of his distress across their bond and when the Autobots returned from their battle Prowl would regret ever joining this faction in the first place. 

His orders ignored, Prowl's expression was now constipated, and a little fearful. It was so satisfying to see that Starscream really had to make the effort to keep wailing and not burst into evil snickering. 

"Prowl!" Red Alert called from Teletraan. "You can't let him go on like that. Ratchet said he doesn't have self-soothing-"

"I know he doesn't have self-soothing protocols," Prowl snapped, his knuckles creaking where they gripped the top of the playpen walls. 

He looked upwards as if trying to summon strength from else where, and fought to arrange his expression into something even halfway towards concerned when he looked back down at the sparkling he had so upset. 

"There, there," he said stiffly, almost void of emotion. "Don't cry." 

Primus, it was weird. Starscream almost stopped crying out of bewilderment. 

He probably should have quit there, as Prowl's next move was to curse under his breath and reach into the playpen. 

Starscream disliked being handled by Autobots. The touch of anyone besides the medic made his armour crawl uncomfortably. Prowl was a thousand times worse for how stiff and uncomfortable he felt. Starscream stopped crying and stared. Prowl grimaced as he began to bounce him lightly.

"There, there." He said again, bland and unenthusiastic. 

Over at Teletrann, Red Alert was staring at the back of Prowl's head like he thought it was about to explode. 

"It seems to be working," he called over after a while. "I guess he was just lonely." 

Not bloody likely, Starscream thought as he watched Prowl's jaw tick. 

The rest of the evening didn't progress as badly as Starscream had suspected it might.

It seemed he had won. Prowl let him sit next to Teletraan's keyboard and watch the monitors with them, after giving Red Alert strict instructions to cover his optics when anything gruesome occurred on screen, that is. 

Starscream listened and watched attentively, realising how useful for Decepticon intelligence this would be. To know how and why Prowl responded to any move Soundwave and Megatron played in combat was a step towards understanding how that troublesome tac-net of his worked. At least this humiliating ordeal was starting to have it's uses. 

There was a moment on screen where they saw Megatron sneaking up behind Optimus with car door, ripped from some poor human's automobile. Starscream could have distracted Prowl in that crucial moment and delayed him in warning Prime long enough for Megatron to hit Prime over the head with it - but that would have been too suspicious. 

And watching Prime whip around and drive the sharp edge of his knee plating up into Megatron's groin was nothing short of supremely satisfying, even if it did result in Decepticon forces calling an early retreat. 

"Just the clean up to do here, Prowl," Prime's breathless baritone came through the speakers of Teletraan's comm once the last of the Decepticon stranglers had been chased off. "A few of us will stay back to assist the authorities. Ratchet will return with the others." 

Starscream felt an odd rush of relief at the news of Ratchet's imminent return. It was early evening but his optic's were scratchy and tired. It must be a few hours past his scheduled recharging time. He blinked tiredly as Prowl glanced at him. 

"Acknowledged," Prowl replied to Prime, "Do you have an ETA?" 

"Rush hour traffic might delay him," Prime murmured thoughtfully, "Is Comet still up?"

Worry crossed Prowl's expression. "...I wasn't given instructions to-"

"I'm sure none of us want to be dealing with an overtired sparkling come tomorrow morning," Optimus said sternly. "...I'm not asking much."

Prowl seemed to get the message, "i am not reading him any stories." 

"Like I'd want a story from you," Starscream grumbled as he was plucked up. 

"Thank you, Prowl," Optimus said warmly, "wish him goodnight, from us." 

The comm clicked off. Prowl stared at Starscream. "I'm sure you heard him for yourself," he sniffed. 

Prowl didn't fuss over him like the others would have when he set Starscream down in his crib, pulling the soft sheets up over him and soothing them out methodically and neatly. He nodded to himself, satisfied that he had 'tucked in' his charge, before reaching up to swing the lid closed. 

Starscream bleated a protest, because he was still imprisoned in the blasted swaddle, but the controlled atmosphere inside his faux-cockpit crib was already coaxing him into recharge. After a moment, Prowl's shadow disappeared from behind the frosted glass, and a beat after that, the med-bay light switched off. 

Left in the dark, warm and comfortable, Starscream saw no need to fight the draw of much needed sleep just to see Ratchet return for the night. The medic was sure to check on him before turning in himself, and Starscream didn't necessarily need to be awake for that. 

In fact, it was probably best that he wasn't, Starscream thought to himself as he began to drift off. 

After all, he didn't want the old medic thinking he was that attached to him.

After an hours drive, the Ark was back in sight. 

Weary and tired, Ratchet wanted nothing more than to climb into his own berth and worry about fixing all the minor bumps and scrapes of the evening's brawls tomorrow. But first, he had to see to his sparkling. 

He'd realised on the drive back that this would be the first night he hadn't been there to put Comet to recharge himself. He hoped the little bitlet hadn't caused too much trouble in his absence. It was probably a miracle he hadn't sensed any earth-shattering tantrums through the bond. 

Maybe little Comet was a tougher bot than he'd thought. 

And maybe there was hope for Prowl yet. 

But Ratchet wasn't going to get his hopes up either way. 

He was right to be reserved. Something wasn't quite right when he drove up the boarding ramp into the Ark. He was still a novice to this, but the strength of his creator-bond with Comet was supposed to increase with their proximity to each other, grow more clear and distinct. But it felt foggy, growing foggier, almost like he was getting further away...

Ratchet transformed in the entry bay and began striding swiftly towards the medbay, forgoing the mandatory debrief on the bridge to head straight for his sparkling. 

Comet was still recharging, Ratchet could tell that much through the bond, but even the deepest sleep wouldn't create this unnerving stretching sensation. 

"Prowl," Ratchet raised the tactician's comm with an angry bark. "Where's my sparkling!?"

"Your sparkling?" Ratchet could hear Prowl's raised brows through the comm. 

"The sparkling," Ratchet repeated. "Comet. What have you done with him?"

"Put him to recharge, as Optimus ordered." 

"In the medbay?" Ratchet clarified, now standing right outside the door to the room in question. The bond as still distant, still foggy. He expected Prowl to say no, to explain that he'd left the sparkling in Ratchet's private quarters instead-

"Yes,' Prowl agreed. "in his crib." 

Ratchet hung up and stepped into the medbay, tanks turning as he crossed the room with four long strides to stand over the sealed crib. His spark stopped cold in his chest. 

It was empty. The lock on the lid was broken. 

And it had been broken from the outside. 

Chapter Text

Ratchet barged into the Dinobot's quarters like a mech possessed, ignoring Wheeljack's surprised, "Primus, Ratchet!" as he bullied Grimlock into the corner of the room through sheer homicidal presence. 

"Where is he?!" He demanded, finger pointing up at Grimlock's big tyrannosaurus muzzle. 

"Ratchet!" Wheeljack sounded angry now. 

A hand landed on Ratchet's shoulder. He shrugged it off, lurching towards Grimlock. Grimlock flinched back, trying to squeeze his enormous frame -tail and all- into the tiny corner, forearms clutched close to his chest. 

"Did you take him?" Ratchet shouted, ignoring his friend's protests. Grimlock blinked down at him with bright, uncomprehending optics. "Did you?"

"Ratchet, what is going on?" Wheeljack tried, tugging on his arm to pull him away from Grimlock. "We just got back, what-?"

Ratchet pushed him away, twisting to look at the other Dinobots. They nervously shrank away, optics darting back and forth between each other. 

"Comet," He said hoarsely, looking between them imploringly. "Did you-?" he swallowed, trying to stow his temper. "You're not in trouble. I just- just give him back."

"They don't have the sparkling," Wheeljack stepped calmly in front of him, trying to take his shoulder again, to comfort him. "He's probably still with Prowl and-"

Ratchet shrugged him off furiously, his vents working fast and raggedly. "He's not with Prowl!" He shouted, "He's not with- he's gone! Someone took him from his crib!"

"Okay. Okay, calm down," Wheeljack held up his hands placatingly, and Ratchet was going to punch him if he didn't stop with this trying to calm him down crap. His sparkling was missing! How the Pit was he supposed to keep calm!?

"He must have escaped again-"

"He didn't escape!" Ratchet roared, fists shaking. "He didn't break the lock from the fragging inside, Wheeljack! Someone came in here and took him. And if you don't get the Pit out of my way-!" 

Optics wide, Wheeljack stepped aside, out of his way, "Ra-Ratchet wait-!"

"I haven't got time for this," Ratchet hissed, striding out the room and into the corridor. "Comm Optimus. Tell him to get back here. This was all a trick-"

Wheeljack was having to jog to keep up, "What was?" 

"This," Ratchet gestured vaguely. "Tonight. The Decepticons. It was a distraction-"

"We don't know that," Wheeljack protested, "and we hit 'em pretty hard tonight, I don't think they'd go through all that trouble just for-" 

"For a sparkling?" Ratchet whipped around to glare at him, "A living, thinking, feeling infant?" 

Wheeljack looked aside. 

"They abandoned him," he said softly. "Even if they somehow found out we had him, why would they take him back now?"

"I don't know," Ratchet turned around again, striding at speed towards the bridge. "Just get Optimus back here." 

The retrieval team arrived just after midnight. 

Samaira watched them unload the ominous black van from her car outside the building, taking a long, considering drag from her cigarette. She had the window rolled down and could hear the banging and scratching of something fighting for freedom all the way across the parking lot as the six large men struggled to take the weight of a metal crate between them. 

She flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette through the open window, shaking her head when someone lost their grip and the crate fell with a wince-worthy bang. The commotion inside it doubled- screaming and wailing. It sounded eerily like an infant crying through a baby-monitor. 

Headlights flashed in her rearview mirror and she sighed deeply, putting out her cigarette and swinging the door open just as a car pulled up besides hers. 

"So much for subtly," her boss stepped out of his car, sweeping his slick blond hair back and adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses. "You'd think they'd have had the sense to knock the poor thing out." 

"It's a machine," Samaira reminded him duly. "Maybe the couldn't find the off-switch." 

Her boss, Philip, a professor at the lab, hummed thoughtfully, beckoning for her to follow as he approached the building. By now, the retrieval team had gotten the crate inside. One of the men was holding the shutters open for them to follow. Samaira awkwardly ducked under it after Philip, entering the lab. 

The retrieval team were stretching out their sore muscles and leaning against the crate to catch their breath. Philip headed straight for it, causing them to grumble and move away. He bent down to peer through one of the tiny grates in the side of the crate. 

"It's bigger than you'd expect," one of retrieval team told them, brushing damp hair away from his sweaty forehead. "Weighs a goddamn tonne-"

"When you look at their adult forms, is that any surprise?" Philip straightened up and patted the top of the crate, clearly satisfied. "Is he damaged?" 

"Nah," the man shrugged. "Didn't seem to know what was going on till we dropped it in the crate." He smirked. "Almost like it was sleeping."

"Machines don't 'sleep'," Samaira told him scornfully. 

"This one might," Philip stroked the crate fondly. "This is what we've been waiting for. The Cybertronians wouldn't share their secrets with us, well, now we can learn them for ourselves, can't we?" 

"I don't see how much use we'll get out of one this small and..." Samaira trailed off. She would have said 'defenceless', but a Cybertronian of any size had strength that far outweighed any human alive.

"...Well, from what that school principle said, it didn't sound all that impressive," she continued. "How can we be sure it's not a... A pet? Or a drone? It's much smaller than they are."  

Philip waved her closer. "Here, listen." 

Reluctant, Samaira approached, leaning an ear towards the crate. From inside came the faint sound of stuttering air-vents, almost like was hiccuping. She straightened up, frowning. 

"He's crying," Philip smiled. 

"So?" 

"So? He's sentient. This is an infant. Not a drone, or a pet. He's small because he's young, and he will be every bit as valuable to our research as an adult would. Perhaps even more so." He patted the top of the crate one last time before moving away. "Without the trouble of trying to contain an advanced, sentient war-machine." 

"How can a machine make a baby?" Samaira sneered. 

Philip clapped his hands together, "One of the many things we'll be able to learn in our studies. We can begin first thing in the morning, as soon as the team arrive!" 

Optimus felt sick to his fuel tanks as he stood on the Ark's bridge, helm bowed towards the decking, hands on his hips. "How could someone get in," he repeated, as much to himself as to the mechs he was speaking with. 

Red Alert and Prowl were in front of him, one fidgeting with nerves, the other scowling murderously.

"Our attention was focused elsewhere," Prowl grit out, with an edge of defensiveness. 

Optimus brought a hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, "Prowl-" he began. 

"We allowed ourselves to be distracted by the sparkling," Red Alert agreed quietly. "It's possible someone slipped by when... when we were-"

"So a whole fragging Decepticon just slipped by you, did it?!" Ratchet snarled, shaking with rage behind Optimus. 

Optimus held up a hand when he saw Prowl's mouth open, forestalling another argument between the two of them. Fighting wasn't going to help them find Comet any sooner. 

"Did you see who it was?" He asked Red Alert. "Are the security tapes intact?" 

Red Alert nodded, "It wasn't a Con," he glanced at Ratchet. "Humans, six or seven-"

"Cons have worked with humans before," Jazz interjected, leaning against the side of Teletraan. 

"How?" Ratchet demanded aggressively. "How did a bunch of humans slip in under your nose?!"

Ratchet had a point. Optimus looked between Prowl and Jazz, "No creature, organic or Cybertronian, should be capable of accessing this ship undetected." 

Jazz rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "We- we kinda had to take some of the security measures offline-"

"You what?!" Ratchet sounded on the verge of flying into a homicidal rage. 

"Look, this planet has a lot of animals that don't like the cold," Jazz defended. "We took to turning the proximity alarms in the smaller ventilation systems offline in the winter months because Red kept freaking out every time a squirrel got into an air vent-"

"So anyone can just fragging well waltz in here every winter because you can't be bothered to do your job properly-!" 

"Hey!" Jazz's held up his hands, hurt. "How were we supposed to know the Cons were assembling a human-kidnapping squad!"

"Prowl," Optimus looked to his scowling Second, "Send the footage to the human authorities. See if they can ID the men. Jazz, send out a reconnaissance team to track this group." 

"They'll be long gone by now," Ratchet argued wearily, tired and defeated. He brought his hands to his optics and pressed the heels against them. "They're gone. He's gone."

"I will contact Megatron," Optimus continued, reaching a hand towards Ratchet and grasping his shoulder. "We won't let this lie, old friend. We'll get him back." 

Ratchet brought his hands away from his optics. They were faded and squinting, "I want to be on the call." He insisted, "I want to look Megatron in the optic myself. Then I'll know. I'll know if he took Comet." 

"You're both very sure it was the Decepticons, but what would Megatron want with a sparkling?" Prowl interrupted. He had his arms folded now, his optics keen and serious. "Is there something you're not telling us, Prime? Ratchet?" 

Optimus very deliberately did not look back at Ratchet for help. He lifted his chin to project an air of confidence. "We have no more information than you do." 

Prowl fell quiet. Anyone who didn't know him as well as Optimus did might have mistaken it for a good thing. It wasn't. 

"Prowler," Jazz pushed away from the side of Teletraan. "C'mon, we oughta-"

"We ought to not get into a custody battle with the Decepticons for a sparkling, that frankly, we have no claim to," Prowl stated firmly. "Yes, Jazz, I agree." 

Jazz grimaced and waved his hands, "Now hang on-"

"You sparkless creep," Ratchet snapped at Prowl, his field ballooning with his sudden surge of rage. "No claim to him?! No claim?! He's ours! He's mine! Because I'm the one that fuelled and bathed and cared for him all this time! Not fragging Megatron! Not whoever the Pit abandoned him out in the middle of nowhere- not any Pit-forsaken Con! I don't care whose coding he has! You hear me?! And I don't care what it takes!" He looked to Optimus then, face flushed with anger. 

"I don't care what it takes," he repeated, quieter now, vocaliser catching a little in the middle. "We need to get him back. He's scared. Whoever has him, he doesn't want to be with them." 

Optimus looked away. Silently, he waved for Jazz, Red Alert and Prowl to leave so he could make the call. The three of them moved to file out obediently, but Prowl paused in the doorway, waiting until Ratchet was over by Teletraan, and out of audial range. 

"What if he's wrong?" He said cooly. "What if this is all a misunderstanding and we stole what was essentially a loved but lost seekerling?" 

"I trust Ratchet's judgment," Optimus told him firmly. 

"And what if Ratchet is wrong?" Prowl repeated, "No one has the right to take a sparkling away from their family, no matter their political views. Is this a road you really want to go down?" 

Optimus tipped his helm back and took a deep breath, "I want what is best for Comet."

"What if this is what is best?" Prowl pressed.

Optimus ignored the ache in his chest at that thought. He nodded, glad the battle-mask concealed his expression. "Then we would let him go." 

"Good luck getting our CMO on board with that," Prowl snapped, striding from the room. 

Starscream remembered drifting off with Prowl's miserable face peering at him through the glass lid of his sealed crib before the atmospheric change had tricked his idiot sparkling-processor into thinking he was safe and sound and free to recharge. 

When the lid had opened again, some indiscernible amount of time later, he'd thought it was the medic checking on him. He remembered reaching up sleepily, optics still offline, for Ratchet to pick him up and pace with him, to rub his back and send soothing pulses from his spark into Starscream's, even though it was embarrassingly overfamiliar and he was not his creator. 

So it had been something of a shock when he was suddenly seized by all four limbs and swung into a heavy-duty metal crate waiting below the crib. He landed hard on his side with a mortifying squeak of pain. Disorientated and confused, he cried, "No!" (As if saying that had ever done him any good before). 

His initial instinct to fight for freedom was curbed by the thought that this could be his rescue, finally. And that second of hesitation cost him. Six human men swung the lid on the crate shut, plunging him into darkness and the entirely wrong kind of small space.

His doubt, like his claustrophobic panic, grew with every passing minute, and every screw he heard them drill into the lid to secure it shut. 

This was not his rescue. 

The journey was hideously uncomfortable. He was dropped more times than he could count and every single one brought on a fresh bout of sobbing. His spark reached for the only active bond he had remaining, but Ratchet was too far for him to feel. It felt like his cries were echoing down a dark, empty tunnel, unheard and unanswered. 

After some hours, his crate was brought to a rest. His face was wet with tears, his tanks were empty and aching, and his frame was shaking uncontrollably. It wasn't fear, he told himself, it was fuel deprivation. He needed energon. Any energon. Even low grade delivered via Ratchet's most humiliating of methods. 

Enough was enough. He wasn't going to sit here and starve! 

He used his grip on one of the grates at the top of the crate to pull himself upright, wobbling on unstable pedes. Through the gaps he could see what looked like a lab outside, and several humans in white coats milling about. 

"Hey!" He shouted, but it was nonsensical noise through his immature vocaliser, "HEY!" 

His shriek reached such a shrill pitch the humans snapped their heads towards him, falling silent in their surprise. 

"Fuel!" Starscream yelled at them, "Give me fuel, you hairless meatbags!" 

No one rushed to fill his request, but there was the staccato of someone wearing heels walking past, then a woman's voice, "-taser might work."

"-on't want him damaged, Sami," a male voice responded reproachfully. 

"Your pathetic weapons couldn't hurt me!" Starscream snarled against the grate. "Open this crate and I'll show you cretins!"   

"-all so fucking loud?" The woman was complaining. "Or just this one?" 

"He's hungry, I imagine," said the man. Starscream couldn't see him but he sounded smug, slimy. He wrinkled his nose. 

"Maybe you should feed it," the woman said scornfully. "Know what it eats? Batteries? Gasoline?" 

"Oh, I know what he eats," the man responded airily, "But we need him hungry. Starving, almost. Once he 'shuts down' we can safely remove him from the crate. Then he can be properly restrained for our work." 

Starscream's spark fluttered fearfully. What were they planning on doing to him? 

There was movement, and the man came to stand in front of the grate, blocking what little light made it into the crate. At this angle Starscream could only see the bottom of his face. Thin lips were smirking. 

Starscream leaned away and dropped lightly onto his aft, his back against the crates cool metal side, a plan already forming in his mind. 

Like Pit was he going to sit around and wait to be weak enough for them to overpower him. He was going to escape. He'd have to. Because no one would be coming for him; Decepticon or Autobot. 

The audacity of Prime- Megatron thought, slamming his fist down onto the 'accept' button for the comm- to request an audience with him now of all times. 

"What?!" He snarled as Prime's face rippled into focus on the screen in front of him. He caught sight of his own image in the corner of the screen, the one being broadcast back to the Autobots, and realised he still had a cooling pad taped to the dent in his head. He quickly ripped it off and flung it to the side. 

"What?" He repeated in an more even tone. 

"Megatron," Prime rumbled, "What was the true purpose behind your actions tonight?"

Megatron still had a throbbing processor-ache from the blunt end of Prime's axe clanging off the side of his helmet, so it wasn't entirely surprising he was struggling to make sense of the conversation.

"Energon, you fool!" He bellowed, reaching up to rub his dent. "It certainly wasn't for the privilege of seeing you." 

Prime leaned back in his seat and looked off to the side. Megatron thought he could hear a voice murmuring off screen. "Who's there?" He demanded. "I granted you a private audience, Prime."

Prime held up a hand, sitting up as he turned to face the pickup again, "If it is fuel you need, we would be willing to provide it." 

Megatron's injury must have affected his audials. "...What trickery is this?" 

"Something was taken from us tonight," Prime explained cryptically. "If it was taken in ransom, we are willing to negotiate it's safe return." 

"We haven't-" Megatron paused, wondering just what had been taken that had Prime sitting so tense and impatient. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, leaning back and kicking his pedes up onto the console bank. "...Remind me what is was that you've misplaced?" 

Prime glared stubbornly back, "Was this your doing?" 

"With you giving me so little information, Prime, how can I be sure?" He smirked. 

As he watched Prime fidget he began to feel a little better about the events of the night. His helm ache was barely noticeable now. 

Prime shifted, "I-"

He was interrupted when someone else appeared on screen.   

"Humans broke into our ship and kidnapped one of our own," Prime's chief medic, Ratchet, leant around his leader so Megatron couldn't ignore him. "Was it you, you smug, spite-filled dumpster fire of a mech?! Using human pawns now because you can't trust your own mechs to follow orders-?!"

Megatron sat up with a snarl, "I don't care for the insinuation that I associate with fleshlings."

"Oh, like there's anything beneath you-"

"Ratchet," Prime's voice came through the speakers. One of his big hands tried to inch the medic away from the console like he feared the monitor was about to take the brunt of his rage. 

"I have no interest in taking Autobots ransom," Megatron sneered at them both. "Certainly not those pathetic enough to fall victim to humans." 

The medic looked away with a spat curse, but Prime's gaze had turned imploring, "Then you know nothing about this?"

Megatron wanted to laugh, "If I did, why would I tell you, Prime?" 

"Maybe because we aren't the only faction short a spark!" the medic swung back around to yell. "Unless there's nothing at all suspicious about the disappearance of your second in command." 

Megatron's amusement evaporated, "My mechs are not your concern." 

"They don't seem to be yours either," the medic spat, the blue of his optics so bright they looked white on camera. "After all these years, all he's done, why kill him now?" 

Megatron felt his lip curl. He had been having a rather nice time not thinking about Starscream. 

"I don't know where my errant Second has wandered off to, but he's not dead," he said stiffly. "Starscream's a stronger mech than you realise. Whatever trouble he's gotten himself into, I'm sure he'll find a way to weasel out of it. Eventually." 

"I don't believe you," the medic hissed. 

"I don't care," Megatron sneered. "And unless you're offering to take the little snake off my hands -which you are more than welcome to- it's hardly any of your business, is it?"

The medic straightened up, worry etched across his aged featured. Both he and Prime fell suspiciously quiet as they shared a look.

"Unless," Megatron began softly, "You know something I don't?"  

"Starscream is missing? Not hurt? Not banished?" Prime said, looking puzzled. 

Megatron gave a noncommittal grunt.

"How do you know he's still alive?" The medic demanded, leaning towards the pickup again. 

Megatron realised this conversation had veered wildly off course and he had no idea how he had gotten drawn into it. "Concern yourself with your own missing solider, Prime. Leave me to worry about mine." 

"Wait-!" He medic shouted, just as Megatron switched off the comm. 

In the silence, his processor-ache seemed worse. Grumbling, he picked up his discarded cooling pad and stuck it back over the dent in his helm. Sighing deeply, he hailed Soundwave's frequency. 

"Receiving," his communications officer accepted the call. 

"Start looking into the 'Starscream Issue'." He said wearily. "I don't want him back. Just make sure he's not dead." 

"Affirmative." 

Megatron switched off the comm and let his helm fall back against his headrest, hoping to Primus that whoever had kidnapped Prime's unfortunate Autobot hadn't snatched up his seeker too. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a joint Autobot-Decepticon rescue effort. 

Chapter Text

The humans hadn't fuelled him. 

Starscream sat in the dark little crate with his hands clasped over his rumbling tanks. As a sparkling, he didn't have the permissions required to check his own fuel levels (ridiculous!) and not knowing how long he had until he went into stasis wasn't helping to ease his anxiety over the situation. 

He looked at his thrustered pedes, annoyed that the only weapon his frame had left in this form couldn't be relied on to work. Even less so with such limited fuel reserves. He'd have liked to have burnt off at least a couple faces...

"-unconscious yet?" A distant voice asked from outside the crate. 

Something came to stand in front of the crate, blocking out the little light that made it inside. Starscream stilled, aware that he was being watched. 

"No," the shadow outside the crate replied, sounding impatient. "Just sat there doing nothing." 

Light reappeared as they moved away. Starscream could hear them carrying on another conversation as they left him, something about unpaid overtime and boring night watches. If he'd had better (adult) control over his own audial systems, he might have been able to eavesdrop, find out what they planned to do with him, or better yet, plan his own escape. 

He lifted his hands away from his middle -his tanks now protesting painfully- and squinted at them in the darkness, clenching them into fists. He had no claws to tear flesh from bone, no hidden ammunition in his wrists, but he was still comparatively strong to a human. And some of them were definitely stupid enough to get close to him.  

He rolled over to lay down, or as much as he could in such a confined space, his arms and legs curled close to his chassis, tucked into a little ball. He shuttered his optics and slowed his ventilations. For this to work, he'd need to conserve as much energy as possible. 

Ratchet stroked the fluffy blanket in Comet's crib between his thumb and forefinger, remembering all the times he'd swaddled the kicking seekerlet, remembering all the times he'd held his breath and crossed his digits, hoping the sparkling wouldn't set this one on fire. 

Somewhere, beyond his reach, Comet was frightened and in trouble. Ratchet could feel faint threads of discomfort and stress reverberating through their bond. The thought of the little sparkling, hurt and crying and alone was too much. He shuttered his optics against the imagine, fingers tightening in the soft blanket. 

Every pulse of his spark ached worse than the last knowing he'd failed to protect him- knowing that everyone in Comet's life so far had failed to protect him. 

He lifted the blanket to his olfactory. Comet's scent was already fading, the smell of low-grade and watered-down solvent Ratchet used in his baths. He was just a little sparkling. What could anyone have to gain from stealing him? 

"Ratchet?" 

Ratchet tore the blanket away from his olfactory. Skyfire's enormous frame filled his doorway, fresh from the latest of the round-the-clock reconnaissances. 

He cleared his vocaliser, slipping the blanket into his subspace instead of the crib. His vocaliser was slightly hoarse when he spoke, "Yeah?"

Whatever it was, it wasn't good news. Unsurprising, as Ratchet hadn't been expecting anything promising. Skyfire turned sideways to step through the medbay doors, his face solemn. "Whoever they were, they covered their tracks. Hound lost the trail." 

Ratchet nodded, his lips pressed firmly together. 

"Prime's looking into suspects," Skyfire continued in the awkward cadence of someone who was trying to be comforting. "The human authorities keep watch-lists for this kind of thing. Well, maybe not sparkling-napping specifically. I don't think there's been much of that on this planet in the last hundred millennia, but, I mean criminals, definitely. And anyone known to affiliate with rogue Cons-"

Rogue Cons.

"Starscream?" The name popped into Ratchet's head like a lightbulb. He looked to Skyfire. "Megatron said he's not dead. Could it have been him?"

Skyfire looked distinctly uncomfortable. "...Prime said- You were on the call." He reminded him. "Megatron doesn't know anything about this."

"Megatron doesn't know anything about Starscream either," Ratchet began to close the distance between them, even as Skyfire started a wary retreat. "But you do. You were friends. You were more than friends, you-"

"Oh no," Skyfire said suddenly, his vocaliser slipping into a higher register. He cleared it, and when he spoke again it was in an octave lower to compensate. "No. Starscream and I? Just friends. Just. Friends." 

"it doesn't matter. You're still the closest anyone's probably ever been to that rotten traitor-"

"That's not strictly true," Skyfire began. 

"Fine," Ratchet grit out impatiently. "if you want to get technical, someone must have gotten pretty damn close to knock him up with Comet, but I'm talking about emotionally-"

"I don't know where he is," Skyfire burst out, looking fraught. "I'm sorry, but I don't. I know you all think that I - that he and I- even though I'm certain he hates me down to my bolts now, but when I woke up, and..." He trailed off, looking sad, and Ratchet might have felt guilty for bringing all this up if his sparkling hadn't been missing. 

Skyfire sighed, "Let's just say he made it pretty clear that the Starscream I knew was gone. And I don't know anything about the mech that took his place." 

"But do you think he would have taken Comet?" Ratchet pressed. "Do you think he hired those humans?"

Skyfire was silent for a long while.

"...We're doing everything we can," he said, avoiding the question to instead echo the same pointless reassurances Optimus had. "We'll find Comet. It'll be okay."

Ratchet grit his denta and turned his back on the shuttle. It was easy enough for everyone else to stay so fragging optimistic when they weren't spark bonded to their missing, panicking infant. "I've got work to do," he said over his shoulder, pulling open a drawer full of sedatives. 

"Of course, we'll keep you updated," Skyfire said gently. "Jazz wanted me to pass on that you should try and get some recharge."

"Way ahead of you," Ratchet smiled emptily, selecting two of the sedatives. 

He was probably still too wired to recharge, even with a double dose of sedative in his system, but at the very least it'd take the edge off the bond pulling relentlessly at his spark from every direction. 

"Not that I'm complaining, but we brought this up weeks ago and Megatron told us to take a hike," Skywarp prattled on, kicking at rocks as he trailed behind Soundwave. "It's just that the timing's kinda inconvenient, you know? I mean, me and TC already split all his stuff up between us and it wasn't easy. He had an uneven number of pillows and-"

"Starscream; not deactivated." Soundwave interrupted, leading the way over the ridge. They were out in the middle of nowhere, closing in on the last coordinates Starscream's unique signature had transmitted to base. 

"Maybe. But he's not here either. His end of the bond's been completely closed off since he disappeared," Thundercracker informed him pessimistically. 

"Trine bonds; not easily weakened. You would have felt his deactivation," Soundwave told them. "Most likely, he is incapacitated."

"He's hurt!? But you just left him out here to rust all this time anyway?" 

Soundwave could feel Skywarp's glare burning a hole in the back of his helm. He sounded rather affronted for a seeker who'd spent most of the walk here complaining about the inconvenience of Starscream not just 'being decently dead like normal' so he could get that promotion to Air Commander already. 

"Starscream did not have approved leave. Any experiments he was likely partaking in were not authorised," he explained. "This area is not secure. Search and rescue missions; uneconomical."  

"So leaving him was Megatron's idea of a punishment?" Thundercracker growled. 

Soundwave neither confirmed nor denied that assumption. 

He had reached the top of the ridge and had a good view of the surrounding area. Some way away, below them, there was an unusual structure sticking out of the ground. Soundwave used his visor to zoom in on it, just as Skywarp came to stand at his side. 

"What is that?" He squinted, a hand shielding his optics from the glare of the sun, and before Soundwave could stop him, he teleported the distance and appeared with a flash right next to the structure, filling Soundwave's heightened view with blinding purple. 

Soundwave bit back a noise of pain as he quickly offlined his visor, his optics burning from the sting. 

"Don't touch it, Warp!" He heard Thundercracker rush past him. 

Recollecting himself, Soundwave recovered enough to bring his visor back online and watch Thundercracker awkwardly sidestep his way down the steep ridge. Skywarp -despite the warnings- was poking at the leaning structure. 

"It's broken!" He yelled back. 

"Don't touch it!" Thundercracker shouted again. 

Soundwave didn't shout any of his own warnings. If Skywarp were to accidentally activate the machine, at least it would give then some insight into what might have happened to Starscream. 

Unfortunately -or fortunately, depending on the point of view- the structure did appear to be broken. Skywarp took it in both hands and gave it a vigorous shake. It failed to explode the purple seeker into a million pieces before Thundercracker finally reached him and pulled his trine-mate away. "Skywarp!" 

"It's broken, chill out," Skywarp shrugged him off. 

Soundwave tuned them out. Now that he was closer, he was more interested in the surrounding area than he was the structure, which looked to be some kind of machine cobbled together out of spare parts, human and Cybertronian alike. He wasn't particularly scientifically inclined himself, so understanding it's purpose would require Shockwave's input. 

So he focused on the dirt instead, where answers to simple questions were easily found. 

There was no evidence of attack or injury. This area of the planet didn't experience much rain, and even then, energon left radioactive-marks water couldn't wash away. He knelt, scanning under the bushes, smoothing his hand over the dirt, looking for broken glass, metal shrapnel, spent ammunition...

"Are we supposed to be looking for something?" Skywarp's foot appeared by Soundwave's hand. 

"Yes. Evidence." Soundwave said testily, ignoring how the seeker loomed above his knelt position. "Do you wish to recover your trine-mate or not?"

"I already told you. No," Skywarp stamped an exasperated foot. 

Luckily Soundwave did not need their help. Although the two seekers had traipsed through the entire area and destroyed any of the tracks that would have been left around the base of the structure, Soundwave could see tyre-tracks leading away from it in the dirt, and gaps between those tyre-tracks, as if the cars had risen from their wheels to stand.

"Autobots," Soundwave gave his verdict, rising to stand again. 

"They kidnapped him? That's embarrassing." Skywarp grimaced. 

"There is no evidence of a fight taking place," Soundwave relayed. "And no indication that Starscream took flight to escape." 

Thundercacker scowled, "What are you trying to tell us? That he deserted? That he went with them?"  

Soundwave didn't respond, turning to go back the way he'd come. 

"Where are you going?" Skywarp shouted after him. 

"To relay my findings," Soundwave didn't slow down. 

"But he didn't desert!" Skywarp yelled at him.

Against his better judgement, Soundwave stopped, glancing back. 

Skywarp pointed at the structure, "He wouldn't have left his ...his thing behind? Would he?" 

Though no one would have been able to tell from behind the visor, it still would have been beneath Soundwave's dignity to roll his optics. He continued on as if he hadn't heard. 

Samaira stood with a hand on her hip, tapping her foot impatiently as she watched the lab workers unscrew the bolts on the crate. They worked carefully, presumably to avoid disturbing the machine inside.

"We don't have all day," she reminded them. 

"It might wake up," one of the lab-worker -she hadn't cared to learn their names- explained as a colleague gingerly lifted the lid. 

"By the professor's calculations it should have long run out of energy reserves by now," Samaira sighed, approaching to look down into the crate. Several of the lab workers were doing the same, but at a more cautious distance. 

She looked over the edge, and at the bottom of the crate the machine lay curled up on it's side, unresponsive. It could have been sleeping- if it were an animal capable of such things, that is. 

She frowned, holding up a hand when some of the lab workers moved as if to reach inside. "Check it's offline first, just to be sure." 

There was a crowbar leaning against the crate, presumably to pry open the lid if it had gotten stuck. One of the lab workers lowered it into the crate and gave the robot a little tap. It's glossy armour clinked softly. It didn't respond. 

"Harder," Samaira advised. 

The lab worker nudged the machine properly this time, causing it's unresponsive frame to rock slightly. "I don't think it's getting up," he said, knocking the end of the crowbar against the robot's side lazily. 

"Quit messing with it," another lab worker admonished, grabbing the end of the crowbar and pushing him aside. "Let's get it outta there..." 

Samaira stepped away, happy to let the underlings to do the heavy lifting, and instead began inspecting the purpose built examination table. They didn't know much about inbuilt Cybertronian defence mechanisms, conscious or subconscious, so it was best to take precautions with the restraints. The last thing the company needed was a lab tech loosing a limb because the machine powered on halfway through an experiment and decided to tear them limb from limb. 

And it was ironic that such a thought was on her mind, for at that exact moment, a loud, gruesome crack filled the lab. And screaming. Bloodcurdling screaming.  

Samaira swung around, her hair wiping her face, as she watched her lab workers scramble away in a panic, shouting, swearing, tripping over their own feet. Two were dragging a convulsing colleague away, the man's forearm snapped, bone piercing flesh and blood soaking his white lab coat. 

The machine was awake -had tricked them- was attempting to escape. Metal hands were gripping the edges as it tried to pull itself up and out, a clumsy foot swinging over the edge, face scrunched in concentration. The blood splatter of it's victim contrasted harshly with it's white paint job. 

"Shit, shit, shit-!" One of the men was panicking, ashen and sweaty. He picked up the discarded crowbar, slipping in the blood, and swung it back like a baseball bat. 

"No!" Samaira shouted, throwing out a hand but not daring to get any closer. The lab worker with the broken arm was sobbing and retching against the far wall. The other's were trying to tourniquet his arm. The room stank of blood.

"No?!" The crowbar-welding idiot shouted hysterically. The robot was still struggling to pull itself out of the crate. Thankfully, it either didn't have the strength or motor control to manage it quickly. 

"Do you have any idea how much that thing's worth?" Samaira hissed. "Just get it back in the crate!"

"It snapped Johansson's arm in two!" He yelled back, the crowbar still held aloft, hands flexing around the metal. 

The machine looked up at him, glowing eyes narrowed. "No!" It vocalised in some weird parody of a toddler's voice. The panicking lab worker's grip faltered. 

Samaira whipped around and snatched up the electro-prod from the examination table. It was designed for large Cybertronians, but she was certain that whatever the voltage, it wouldn't be fatal. She switched it on, stalking forwards, taking advantage of the machine's distraction trying to intimidate the moron with the crowbar to get right up to it and purge the stingers down between it's two wings. 

Electric blue light flashed as the prod shocked the machine, it's whole frame convulsing, glass eyes flickering. It's grip on the edge of the crate slipped and it dropped back inside with a lifeless clunk.

Samaira stepped back, her hand shielding her nose as the smell of burnt plastic filled the room. At the bottom of the crate the machine was unmoving, little curls of smoke leaking out between it's armour seams. 

She pushed the electro-prod into the sweaty idiot's hand, snatching the crowbar out of his other. "Get it on the table." She snapped, "and clean up all that blood." 

"Where are you going?" He asked, grimacing as he placed a boot on the side of the crate to kick it over, so no one would have to reach inside to lift the murderous creature out. 

"To get the professor." She cast an eye over the Cybertronian as it clattered out of the upturned crate. "We'll start now. I don't know how long shocking it will work, and I'm not taking any more chances." 

Ratchet sat bolt upright in berth, his ventilations coming thick and fast and his spark spinning out of control. He grasped the plating over his chest and forced himself to suck in a deep breath. Comet's end of the bond had been abruptly muted, but not before pain and distress had shot through it like a knife into Ratchet's own spark.

He threw aside the covers, unable to even contemplate the thought of recharging. His chest still hurt and he couldn't tell if it was an echo of Comet's pain or some archaic reaction in their bond, from a caregiver leaving their sparkling's cries unanswered, or both. Instinct screamed at him to go to his sparkling, to comfort him, protect him, but he didn't know where to go, didn't know where to find him.  

He had crossed the ship and was barging through the doors to the war room within minutes, fists balled and biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw energon. He stopped at the end of the long table and stared across it. Optimus was sat at it's head, bowed over with his helm in his hands. He hadn't reacted to Ratchet's entrance. 

"They're hurting him," Ratchet said. 

Optimus didn't look up. Ratchet saw his fingers tighten down on his helm. "...How would you know this?" 

"I bonded with him. Days ago." Ratchet didn't care about admitting it now. "I can feel them hurting him." 

Optimus lowered his hands from his helm and clenched them into fists. It was a full minute before he lifted his gaze to meet Ratchet's optics. He looked desperately weary, his optics uncharacteristically dull. "...Prowl has a lead." 

Ratchet felt something loosened inside him. He moved around the table, advancing on Optimus. "He does?" 

For something that sounded like it should have been good news -better than any news they'd had in the last twenty-four hours at least- Optimus wasn't looking very optimistic.

"He has been interviewing the locals. Any humans that do, or may, know of Comet's existence." 

"And?" Ratchet pressed. 

"The elementary school Principle. The school I took Comet to. The one I thought..." Optimus trailed off, looking more miserable and guilt-ridden than Ratchet had ever seen him. "It was him. He traded information on Comet for money."  

Ratchet swallowed down an ugly urge to rip into Optimus for having been stupid enough to ever involve humans in anything to do with Comet in the first place. He gripped the back of a chair and just breathed, breathed through all the dark, fearful thoughts, and reminded himself that he wasn't the only mech who cared about the little sparkling. 

"...Okay," he said. 

Optimus had laced his hands together on the table in front of him. "Prowl has him now-"

"The Principle?" Ratchet looked up. "Prowl doesn't have the authority to detain humans-"

"Are you petitioning to have him let go?" Optimus asked flatly. 

"Is he talking?" Ratchet asked. Because if he wasn't, he'd be happy to lend Prowl a hand in the interrogations. 

"He is, but it seems he's rather ignorant of who he was doing business with. Jazz is going through his communications. He will find us what we need." 

Ratchet nodded. It was a start, but no great sweeping relief came to soothe his anxieties. Even with Jazz's skills, they were still hours away from finding their sparkling. And these people had shown they had no qualms about hurting him. What did they want with him? What else might they do to him? How long did they have? 

"If this school Principle is so useless, why has Prowl been interrogating him for so long?" He had the sudden thought.

Optimus leaned back in his seat with a sigh, "I'm sure he has his reasons." 

Prowl let the door sweep shut on the human's hysterical sobbing and met Jazz's unimpressed face with an expression of carefully manufactured innocence. 

"Eight hours, Prowler," Jazz made a show of checking his chrono. "He sure must know a lot." 

"He knows very little," Prowl held his hand out. "Do you have what I asked for." 

Jazz unsubspaced a data-pad loaded with their potential suspects' head-shots. Prowl took it and turned swiftly to reenter the room. "Prowl." Jazz stopped him. 

"Jazz this is hardly the time." Prowl snapped impatiently. "There is an innocent life in the balance."

"Which is why it's important we get the right information," Jazz said sternly. "I know you're upset about the bitlet-"

"I am not." 

"Sure," Jazz snorted. "You're a cold, unfeeling machine with no interest in playing nanny, but as satisfying as scaring the bejesus outta that scumbag is, we need him to ID the right people. He was offering this info up to the highest bidder, talking to foreign intelligence agencies, militias, private companies- it'd take us days to raid every one of these shady organisations. We need to know which one paid him."

"I understand what is required of me, but you cannot expect me to coddle a creature immoral enough to auction off an infant for monetary gain." Prowl hit the lock-panel and the door slid open again. The human inside was sniffling miserably. 

"You know this wasn't your fault, don't you?" Jazz offered quietly. 

Prowl's scowl only deepened. The door slid shut after him.  

Megatron looked between Soundwave, the two exhausted, dirty seekers, and the large cobbled together structure they'd dragged in. He was annoyed already, and had been hoping they would return to him with more information than "there is no evidence Starscream's absence is a result being taken by force," and nothing else - whatever that was supposed to imply. 

Soundwave stared at him silently, and Megatron was beginning to think he really was implying something.

"Prime does not have Starscream," he said impatiently. 

Behind Soundwave, Skywarp clenched his fist in victory, "See, I told ya-"

"Silence." Megatron's bark echoed sharply through the command centre. Cowed, Skywarp inched behind the hideous machine he and his trine-mate had dragged back to base. "Starscream is not with the Autobots." Megatron reiterated. "Prime would have gloated about it by now..."

"Starscream; unsighted since disappearance," Soundwave urged. 

"Maybe he's off-planet?" Thundercracker offered softly, cringing back when Megatron's optics tracked towards him. 

"Negative." Soundwave intoned, starting (impossibly) to sound annoyed with them. "Shockwave has no data on Starscream communicating with any Decepticon outposts. There is no record of him returning to Cybertron. Starscream: has not left the planet." 

Megatron considered it for a moment. Starscream was not good at hiding, particularly not for such an extended period of time as this was growing to be. He was impatient. He was reckless. And the more Megatron thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Starscream was staying away by his own volition. 

Perhaps the comm call had been Prime's bizarre method of gloating, and his Second in Command truly was wasting away in the Autobot brig. Or worse. 

"He's not dead," he said again. 

It wasn't a question. He hadn't been expecting an answer, but none of them answered him. Thundercracker and Skywarp averted their gazes. 

"We would know if he was dead," Megatron repeated, louder. 

"Affirmative." Soundwave agreed, but it sounded ...pacifying. "There is the matter of acting Air Commander-"

Skywarp stuck his hand in the air with an eager noise. 

"Pointless," Megatron dismissed. "Starscream will be back with us before long." 

Again, an awkward silence answered him. Annoyed at whatever it was that they were leaving unsaid, he snarled a wordless dismissal, waving his hand for them to get out of his sight. Skywarp and Thundercracker scrambled to pick up the hideous machine. It scrapped noisily across the decking as they dragged it away, wincing and apologising at every audio-piercing scrape of metal.

Megatron rubbed at the sides of his helm. Primus help him, he was starting to worry. 

Chapter Text

Starscream woke from his unplanned shutdown slowly and painfully.

Sound was muffled and low, like his audials were under water. His optics -left unshuttered- began to online only the most essential lenses. A lack of available power meant he couldn't see more than shadows hovering above him.

Humans. 

His spark fluttered in fright when he realised he couldn't move, and worse than that, couldn't feel. His sensory net had been taken offline and his stupid, ridiculous sparkling frame didn't allow him the permissions to reactivate it himself. His dulled audials could hear the tools the humans were using, hear the damage they were meting out -snapping wires, groaning armour, buzzing electricity- he couldn't feel it, but he knew they were hurting him. 

He'd rather the pain. He had been tortured before. Was no stranger to it. But to know he was being touched, hurt, experimented on, but not know where or how...

His spark span faster, control over his own emotions slipping easily out of his grasp. 

"-power is surging from the central source, Professor," the voice of the human lab-tech was distinct enough Starscream could make out their words despite the muffled quality of sound. 

The shapes shifted. The sickening drone of the power-tool faded. Someone was leaning over him. His olfactory senses were automatically heightened -his infantile-processor at least doing something to try and aid him- and he knew it was the human male from before. The one in charge. 

His spark was hammering out of it's casing. His processor wanted him to cry, but he couldn't, and the panic was threatening to rise up and choke him. This frame was not designed for this level of stress! 

"Good, this is good," the human, the professor, praised. His hand passed by Starscream's eye-line and he knew, with a nauseous swirl in his tanks, that the human was petting him. "We know outside stimulus can alter power output." 

"It's too much too soon." Another lab tech complained, "if the system can't handle the voltage spike we'll lose a whole days data."

The power surge- his spark using up the last of his reserves in a last ditch attempt to get him out of a threatening situation, was an inbuilt fight or flight response even a sparkling experienced. But it wasn't working. Something was draining the power from his spark before it could be distributed around his frame. 

"There, there," the professor was speaking by Starscream's audial, but it wasn't comforting. "No need to panic, little one."

If Starscream had control of his vents he'd have been hyperventilating. He wanted to get away. Get away from his presence. From all of them. 

"We're in the red," a lab tech warned. "Climbing-"

"-shut it back down," a harsh sounding woman was snapping, somewhere out of Starscream's sight. "Better yet, destroy it-"

"Now Samaira, he's only an infant. I'm sure he'll learn," Starscream could see the professor's smile, hanging above him. "Won't we?"

"Another surge. Disconnect?" 

"And let it keep all that new power it's generating?" Samaira argued. "I don't think so. Shut it off." 

The professor's presence drew back, but it wasn't enough to ease the panic in Starscream's spark. He heard the human sigh. "Alright, if you'll do the honours?"

There was a zap and threatening fizz like a taser charging. All Starscream saw was a flash of light before the pronged end of the electro prod plunged towards him. 

"We have a location." 

Optimus hadn't been recharging -impossible, given the circumstances- but after so many hours awake he'd been beginning to lag, dazedly watching Teletraan's screen jump from field report to field report, looking for clues. Prowl's voice through the comm roused him with a jump violent enough to disturb his company. 

Ratchet was too restless and high-strung to have been in a similar position of fatigue, and before Optimus could respond to Prowl, Ratchet shot up and grabbed him by the clavicle seam. "Have they found him?! Where is he?!"

"Ratchet," Optimus groaned, trying to prise tight fingers free of his armour. "Let me-"

Ratchet grabbed his wrist instead and twisted Optimus's comm function from 'private' to 'speaker'. "Prowl?" 

"Ratchet," Prowl's tone was sarcastically unsurprised. "I could have sworn I'd hailed Optimus-"

"Is now really the time for jokes?!" Ratchet snarled. 

"I'm here, Prowl," Optimus fixed Ratchet with a firm look, which was -naturally- ignored. "Proceed." 

"The suspect was able to identify his contact. A woman, Samaira Singh. She works for a privately owned company specialising in military research and experimental tech. Mirage believes he has a location, but it's a large operation. No chance of a quiet extraction. We'll have to engage." 

"Then we engage!" Ratchet snarled, before Optimus could wrestle his arm away from him. 

"Prime?" Prowl, thankfully, didn't take orders from Ratchet.  

"I'm still here, Prowl." He cleared his vocaliser. "If the operation involves risk to human life the relevant authorities must be informed-"

"No!" Ratchet snapped, hand tight around Optimus's wrist. "No. We are not going to sit with our thumbs up our tailpipes for days waiting for politicians and police chiefs to make a decision while our sparkling is in danger- Is being hurt! I don't care if we cause an international incident-"

"Ratchet-" Optimus tried. 

"-I don't care if they kick us off their planet-!"

"Ratchet," he implored, his spark twisting. "I understand-"

"No, you don't understand!" Ratchet insisted. "You don't feel what I can feel. You don't know how frightened he is! You don't know what it's like to know he's calling for you and you can't get to him-"

"Prime, I need a decision," Prowl intoned impatiently. 

"Just do it!" Ratchet yelled at the comm. 

"Ratchet!" Optimus had to raise his voice to a shout, but it worked. Ratchet stopped, his grip loosening on Optimus's wrist. 

Optimus took in a deep breath. Gently, he began to peel away Ratchet's fingers. "Prowl," he said towards the comm. "Inform the authorities that we plan to engage in hostile human targets. Tell them to expect casualties, and have Mirage standby for our arrival. We're on our way." 

"Acknowledged, Prime. Extraction party is ready to roll out." 

Optimus deactivated the comm and stood, looking down at Ratchet's solemn face. 

"Don't tell me not to come." Ratchet warned him, jaw set and optics hard. 

"I wouldn't dream of it," Optimus stepped around him and headed for the door. Ratchet followed after him, footsteps hurried. 

"'Expect casualties'?" He echoed Optimus's earlier words, but he didn't sound disapproving.

"We do not kill out of revenge." Optimus reminded him sternly, trying to temper his own swirling desire for swift and fierce justice. "But I will not risk Comet's life for the sake of his kidnappers'." 

"I won't say anything if you happen to step on a few." 

Optimus didn't dignify that with a response. 

Waking this time, Starscream felt drunk. Not fun, tipsy, adult-drunk, but nauseous, dizzy, overwhelmed sparkling-drunk, like that regrettable night he'd consumed Prime and Ironhide's engex. 

He stirred, realising he'd been released from restraints and placed in the centre of a reinforced glass box, like some sort of creature on exhibition. There were wires and cabling coming in and out of his frame, some threaded under his armour and feeding into his spark, both pushing energy in, and draining it out, using his spark to convert or amplify it- he wasn't sure. His mind was too scattered to do much more than stare at it. 

Some sensors had come back online, enough that he could feel the full-body ache of his burnt circuitry and exposed wiring. One small mercy was that he was too exhausted and dazed to fall victim to an emotional crying spell. No one here was a soft-sparked Autobot, so it wouldn't have done him any favours anyway. 

"All readings are within acceptable parameters. Subject C1 is ready to proceed." A voice echoed trough unseen speakers. 

Starscream forced himself to lift his helm. If they had been foolish enough to leave him unrestrained, then he couldn't waste the opportunity to take more of them out. Make them pay for this indignity. 

He rolled onto his front, legs tangling in the wires and cabling, to try and push himself up. The speakers crackled, causing him to flinch. "Now, now little one..." The man, the patronising professor cooed at him. "Sit still-"

"No!" Starscream yelled, grabbing at the cabling and trying to rip them out. But they were deep, and Primus it stung, definitely tugging on things that should have been tugged on. "No!"

There was a metallic whirring noise, and Starscream saw a remotely controlled robotic arm extending towards him, claws opening threateningly. 

"Experiment sixteen; correlation between energy output and emotional stimuli in Cybertronian thermo-reactors." A toneless voice was speaking through the speaker, the robotic arm still reaching for him. "Test one, subject C1. Time; seven twenty-three." 

"No!" Starscream's panic spiked when he realised tangling himself in the cables meant he couldn't crawl any further away. Between the extended metal claws of the robotic arm, something zapped and sparked. What was these creeps obsession with electrocuting him! 

"Subject C1 imitates human fear response. Energy out put increasing by seven-percent -eight-percent-" the voice continued to drone while the humans outside watched him curl into a ball, tuck his wings close. He felt pathetic and ugly and worthless, little more than a battery for curious primates to poke and prod at. 

Something sparked closed by and he flinched again, wishing it would just end, just stop.

He slipped into his bond with Ratchet, reaching for him, seeking just a scrap of comfort. It had become so distant and faint, and between the pain and confusion, he couldn't be sure any response was even real and not just a delusion of his own frightened mind. Because what did he care anyway?

He wasn't the medic's responsibility. He wasn't anyone's. And no one was coming to save him; Autobot, Decepticon, trine, medic. No one. 

'I'm coming.' 

Starscream squeezed his optics shut tighter when what felt like Ratchet's presence called back. He had to stop this. His delusions weren't going to save him. He had to save himself. He had to think-  

'I'm coming,' Ratchet called again, pushing through the fog in his mind so Starscream couldn't ignore it. It was clear and strong and getting louder. 

Hardly daring to believe he could be so lucky, Starscream let the bond open up a little, reached for Ratchet again-

'I'm here.'

The medic's presence flooded Starscream's spark, fierce and comforting and present. He opened his optics and peaked out, saw the robotic arm inches from his face. Fear chased away his hope, and through the bond he felt the medic's rage, real, not imagined, flare. 

"- another energy spike, but the arm hasn't made contact. No pain registered across his sensors," a lab tech was speaking. 

"Then what's-?"

The techs were cut off by the loud crackle of a radio. Static blared, then cut off without anyone speaking. The techs looked between each other in confusion. The lights flickered, and the robotic arm stalled.

Starscream watched through his fingers as one of the lab techs rolled their eyes, set down their clipboard and went to pick up the radio. They held it to their mouth, but before they could speak into it, it burst back online with a blood-curdling scream, abruptly cut off. 

The lab fell into dead silence. Starscream could sense the fear growing in the room, and for once, it wasn't his own. 

'I'm here,' Ratchet was still calling to him through the bond, a reassuring constant. His presence was close enough now that it could fold around Starscream like a warm blanket- profound and comforting and unconditional. 'We're here. Close your optics. Don't look.'

Despite the tangle of wires, Starscream forced himself to sit up. If Ratchet didn't want a sparkling to witness what happened next, then there was no chance he was going to let himself miss a single detail. 

He could hear it, as could the lab techs, the commotion carrying on outside. Gun shots and shouting, engines revving. The lab techs began to back away from the loading bay doors- but not fast enough. 

An engine rev became an almighty, deafening roar, right before Optimus Prime's hulking alt-mode blasted through the loading-bay doors.

There was a screaming guard flung across his hood, smearing bloodied hands against the windshield as they frantically searched for purchase. Optimus crashed through equipment tables and computer desks without a care before slamming on the breaks. He came to an abrupt, screeching halt and sent the human on his hood flying. Hoards of guards came running in after him, hails of bullets pinging off his armour like light rain. 

Starscream stared, optics wide with awe.

The lab techs scattered like white-coated cockroaches, but Optimus transformed into a towering figure of righteous Primely rage and swung his energon-axe towards the only exit. It blocked their escape and prompted another round of screaming.

One brave idiot ran out from under a desk and jabbed the electro prod they'd used to torment him into Optimus's ankle. It did nothing. Their weapons were designed for helpless infants, not grown Cybertronian warriors. Optimus took out his blaster and began to shoot out the super computers, sending sparks flying over the frightened humans.

Ratchet came zooming through the hole Optimus had made in instant later, whooping his sirens and accidentally-on-purpose clipping the lab tech who'd stabbed Optimus with the electro prod as he sped by. 

It was then, for Starscream, that the most embarrassing thing yet happened, when Ratchet transformed, knocked down two guards and dropped to his knees before him. Because he was here. He had come for him. All of Starscream's stress and panic and emotion bubbled up and culminated in a sudden onslaught of uncontrollably crying. He reached for Ratchet with a broken sob.

An awful, heavy guilt flooded their bond as Ratchet reached into the awful little glass box and began to untangle him from the wiring, as gently as he could with gunshots and screaming going on all around them.

His fingers brushed the dents and burns left across Starscream's armour by the experiments. They were ugly. Starscream didn't want to look, another wave of distress causing a sudden bout of hiccups. 

Ratchet was crooning to him, voice low and soft, but all Starscream could hear was the screaming, cursing, pleading humans. And he was too blinded by his own stupid tears to get to watch the humans get what they deserved. 

It didn't take Ratchet long to disconnect the abomination of wiring from his frame, and as soon as he was free he was scooped up, lifted high, and brought to the medic's chest, pressed to the armour above his spark. It pulsed warm and strong, and helped to sooth the frightened tremble of his own. He felt himself being swayed, side to side, but didn't even have the energy to feel angry at the coddling. 

"I'm here, Sweetspark, I'm here," Ratchet breathed, arms tightening. "You're gonna be okay." 

Soon the sound of engines was louder than that of the humans. Starscream peaked over Ratchet's shoulder, blinking away blurry tears. The lab had all but been destroyed and the human culprits rounded up and on their knees. Several of the Autobots were searching the area, kicking over desks, ripping up the floors and walls, looking for humans that may have tried to escape their notice. 

Starscream watched Optimus bend to rip the electro prod out of his ankle. He gave it a disgusted look before snapping it in half and letting it drop to the floor. 

"Founds this one."

A shadow fell over Ratchet. Starscream shrank back at the sight of Ironhide, dangling the lead scientist from the back of his lab-coat. 

Ratchet must have sensed his apprehension through the bond. His optics darkened at the sight of him. 

"You," he began dangerously. "What did you do to my sparkling?!" 

"I-I was only doing my job," the scientist stammered, pale and sweaty, squirming like a rat from Ironhide's fingers. "I was- I tried to be kind- I protected him!"

"No!" Starscream shouted against Ratchet's shoulder, pushing as much hate and anger through the bond as he could. Ratchet had to know he was one of the worst. He was the one in charge. Had to know that one needed to be killed. 

"Want me to squish 'im?" Ironhide growled. 

Starscream wished he had the vocalisations necessary to say 'yes!'. 

"We do not kill humans, Ironhide," Optimus came forward to reprimand sternly, ruining Starscream's chance for revenge.

"No!" He wailed, pointing at the human. Kill him! Kill him!!

Ratchet began to shush him. Prime's optics lifted to meet Starscream's and lingered for a long while, full of sadness and regret and a lot of emotions Starscream couldn't place. 

Starscream looked away first, hiding against Ratchet. 

"Don't kill, huh," Ironhide laughed humourlessly, nodding towards the trail of destruction left by Optimus's entrance. "You're one to talk."

"Self defence," Optimus said without a beat. "They were shooting. They could have hit Comet." 

Ratchet had been shielding him by then, but Starscream wasn't going to protest Prime's impressively savage actions. He had forgotten, over the weeks of coddling he'd suffered at his hands, what a fearsome warrior the Prime was. 

"I'm going," Ratchet stated, cupping the back of Starscream's head. The stress the medic was feeling was seeping into their bond and was going to make Starscream start crying all over again if it wasn't addressed. "He's- I need to fix him up- whatever they've done to him- he's-"

"Skyfire is waiting outside," Optimus nodded, sounding grave. "I'll join you, as soon as we have finished here-"

"Go with them," Starscream looked up at Prowl's stern voice. The tactician was striding over, flanked by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. "Jazz and I can take over. Go with the sparkling." 

Starscream would have protested that he didn't need Ratchet, much less Optimus, fawning over him while he was compromised and injured, but he didn't have the energy, or the capability. And it didn't hurt to know the Prime, personally, was still around to protect him from slimy, evil humans. 

"Keep me updated," Optimus called to them, as Ratchet had already started heading out through the hole ripped in the doors. 

Starscream felt fresh air brush against his wings and shivered. Ratchet's arms tightened around him. He heard the thrum of Skyfire's familiar engines starting. 

He let himself relax against Ratchet's warm armour as the atmosphere changed and they were sealed securely inside Skyfire's fuselage. He felt Optimus's large hand fall to his back, resting there, and thumb stroking between the hinges of his wings. 

"He'll be alright," Optimus's gentle baritone was comforting Ratchet. "You both will." 

Starscream didn't know what the medic had to be so upset about. He was the one who'd been kidnapped, abused, experimented on. He clutched at Ratchet's armour nonetheless, and despite the ache of his empty fuel tank and sting abused sensors, he shuttered his optics, and let himself drift off into recharge.

Chapter Text

Comet was asleep, recharging fitfully in Ratchet’s arms in the quiet of the med-bay. He’d been drifting in and out whilst Ratchet had been working on him, fighting back fury at every scorch and scuff and dent he found.

Frightened, watery optics would flutter shut before snapping open again in a panic, little spark beating a mile a minute as he forgot where he was and who had him. 

Only when Ratchet held him like this was he calm enough to lower his guard and fall asleep. 

“Shh,” Ratchet continued to hush him, long after he’d drifted off. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

He was relieved he hadn’t had to resort to using sedatives on a sparkling, but at least then he knew Comet would sleep through the night. the sparkling needed rest. He’d been starved, hurt, recharge-deprived and Primus knew what else those monsters had been doing.  

And exhausted from the entire ordeal -the constant worry, the sleepless nights, the spark-deep knowledge that they had been hurting Comet - Ratchet knew he ought to get some rest himself. He looked over at the crib Comet had been stolen out of, still with it’s broken lock, looming in the corner of his medbay. 

“No,” Ratchet whispered to himself, shaking his helm. He wasn’t putting him down. Comet would only wake up screaming. And he wouldn’t get any rest either. 

To prove him right, Comet stirred, little hand subconsciously grasping for something to cling to. Ratchet offered his finger. Comet squeezed it and settled again, sighing in his recharge.  

A quiet knock came from the open doorway. Optimus stepped through, pedefalls as light as he could make them. 

“It’s done.” He said softly. “Everyone is home and accounted for.” 

“The humans?” Ratchet whispered. 

“Those not hospitalised have been arrested. Jazz has files on the organisation and is looking into any lose ends. Prowl will be keeping in contact with the authorities, to ensure justice is done.” Optimus crossed the room so he was at Ratchet’s side, looking down at Comet curled against his chest. They stood in silence, watching him. Doubtlessly the same guilty, relieved, disturbed thoughts swirling through both their heads. 

After a while, he placed a servo on Ratchet’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You need rest.” 

Ratchet nodded, “I will-“

“Come now,” Optimus said firmly, gesturing for him to stand. “A proper berth, both of you.”

“I can’t set him down,” Ratchet glared, refusing to move. “He’ll wake up. If I’m not there, he’ll be terrified. He’ll-“

“I have a berth large enough for the both of you,” Optimus wasn’t taking no for an answer, bodily urging Ratchet to his pedes with a servo under his elbow. Comet didn’t so much stir as they began to move, leaving the med-bay and heading down the corridor. 

“I have a berth of my own,” Ratchet grumbled. 

“Will you use it?” Optimus challenged. 

“Who are you, my creator?” Ratchet glared, but didn’t dodge around Optimus or try to escape. Only because he didn’t want to wake Comet. “...I’ll sleep in the desk chair-“ 

“You’ll sleep in the berth,” Optimus took him by the shoulders and steered him through the halls. “With Comet.”

“And where will you be? The floor?” Ratchet rolled his optics. “You don’t want to share a berth with this sparkling, Optimus. He may look all cute and forlorn now, but he’s a kicker.” 

“I think I’ll survive.” Optimus murmured, positioning Ratchet in front of his door. He entered the code and nudged Ratchet in ahead. 

Ratchet sullenly went, watching Optimus move to the desk to disarm himself, leaving his largest blaster on the desk before thinking better of it and moving it to the highest shelve. “Make yourself at home,” Optimus called over, removing other weapons from his subspace. 

Ratchet sighed. He didn’t have the energy to fight this battle today. He moved to the berth, and carefully balancing Comet in one arm, drew back the covers to get in, setting Comet beside him. The sparkling rolled towards him and tucked himself against Ratchet’s chest in his sleep. 

The berth dipped when Optimus climbed in on the other side. 

“Not a word of this. Not to anyone,” Ratchet lifted an arm out of the covers to point threateningly at Optimus. “Or there’ll be talk.” 

“Who would I tell?” 

“That idiot Ironhide.” Ratchet warned. “And if the twins find out we shared a berth, I’ll never know peace again.” 

Optimus’ response was to shift closer. Between them Comet rolled out of his tight ball tucked against Ratchet, seeming to relax at their combined presence. Ratchet felt a sensation of calmness waft through the bond. 

“Thanks,” he muttered reluctantly, sinking into the pillows. “He feels safer with you here.” 

“Not as safe as I’m sure he feels with you,” Optimus reminded him warmly. And it was strange seeing his Prime like this, so casually lying in berth, bundled in the sheets, his battlemask lowered, a finger fondly grazing Comet’s little cockpit. 

Ratchet hid a smile in the pillow, “Shut up and go to sleep.” 

“You first.” 

Starscream woke with a jolt and sharp gasp, nightmarish memories of electrocution and lifeless metal arms reaching for him, hurting him, lingering in his waking mind. He twisted, in a panic, not knowing where he was in the dark. There was a presence on either side of him and a large servo across his front, boxing him in on each side, nowhere for him to go. If they tried to take him again he-

“Shh,” a low, tired voice murmured beside him. Starscream saw too bright blue optics light up in the dark as a thumb stroked across his cockpit. “It’s alright, you’re safe.” 

Optimus, he realised, recognising the low timbre anywhere. His spark beat slowed as panic receded, but he squirmed under the Autobot’s oppressive hand. Prime pushed himself onto his elbows, reaching to lift him up. Out from under the covers the air was chilly. Starscream shivered until he was brought to Prime’s warm chest and held there. 

“Shh,” Optimus hushed him again when he began to protest, bouncing him lightly. “Don’t wake Ratchet.” 

Starscream looked over. The medic was sprawled across the other side of the berth, dead to the world. His side of the bond was foggy and muted with heavy sleep. 

Prime began to ready him a cube of low-grade while Starscream wondered if the two of them sharing a berth was a common occurrence. Primus, he hoped they weren’t more than friends. Waking to find himself sleeping between the two of them was awkward enough without worrying if there was any sexual tension involved. 

His tanks still ached from the starvation he had endured so he didn’t protest the low-grade offered, drinking it as quickly as Optimus allowed, grumbling in irritation every time it was pulled back in an effort to slow his pace. 

“Easy now,” Optimus soothed, angling the cube away. 

“I know how to pace myself you overbearing moron,” Starscream scoffed, trying to grab for the cube again. Optimus was oblivious to his babble, and only chuckled softly, stroking a finger over his wings fondly. 

“Good boy,” he soothed. 

Hadn’t he been tortured enough already? 

At least in an adult berth he may have a chance at escape, he realised as he drank, optics tracking around the room. All he’d need to do is wait for Prime to drift off again, crawl out from between them, make his escape through the ship, and ...freedom. Ratchet certainly wasn’t going to wake up any time soon, and Prime wasn’t connected to him by any bothersome sparkbond that allowed him to keep track of him emotionally. 

He could do it now, tonight. 

Unfortunately, a tank filled with low-grade meant he was feeling heavy and drowsy. Optimus rubbed his back, kept him warm, and swayed him gently, and the dreadful combination wasn’t helping him keep his optics open. He fought tiredly, pushing at Prime’s armour in frustration, but by the time he was being set back down amongst the covers again, tucked up against Ratchet’s side, his limbs were too heavy to move, and recharge was drawing him in.

Cursed sparkling frame!

Escape wasn’t going to be any easier now. 

Ratchet had become obsessive, Prime overprotective, and every other Autobot couldn’t leave him in peace or unwatched for a single second of any day. He had been back at the Ark two cycles and didn’t think he’d been set down and left to his own devices for more than a collective hour. He was cuddled, he was cooed at, he was played with, and poked at, and smothered, and lugged around to no end. 

And worst of all, the disgustingly ugly fire-proof booties were back on his thrusters, leaving him nothing to defend himself from their attacks with. 

“Last few repairs to finish up today,” Ratchet told him, grabbing his ankles in that no-nonsense manner of his and shoving the fire-proof boots on Starscream’s feet before he could kick and fight and throw an effective tantrum. “I know you get bored, so you’re going with Ironhide today.” 

“No!” Starscream shouted. Not Ironhide!

“Yes, he’s looking forward to it too,” Ratchet agreed, and because he had become so paranoid and overbearing since the kidnapping incident, picked up the wing cosies they had been gifted. 

“No!” Starscream blanched at the sight of them.

“It gets cold on the bridge, you’re wearing them,” Ratchet said simply, rolling him over to expose his wings. “Don’t be stroppy with me. They look nice on you.” 

No they fragging-well did not. Furious, Starscream folded his arms and scowled as the knitted monstrosities were placed over his wings, warding off the chill from the ship in a way he was never ever going to acknowledge was pleasant. 

“You don’t want these little wings to freeze and fall off now, do you?” Ratchet asked him. 

“That is a medical impossibility!” Starscream argued in sparkling gibberish. 

“Grumble all you want, they’re staying on.” Ratchet turned him back around again to take him in. He nodded in approval. “And you’re going to be good for Ironhide today. I’ll know if you aren’t.” He tapped his chest over his spark smugly. Starscream felt his face turn hot. 

Knuckles rapped against the door to signal Ironhide’s arrival. Starscream looked around for somewhere to hide, but Ratchet, sensing his intentions, scooped him up before he could throw himself off the exam berth and crawl under a storage unit. 

“Don’t you look adorable,” Ironhide greeted him, grin wide and stupid, arms opening to take him. 

“No tickling, no roughhousing,” Ratchet stated before handing him over. Starscream swung his legs to aim a kick at Ironhide, but he was tragically out of range. 

“But he loves roughhousing, don’cha, little guy?” Ironhide protested, “Who wants to wrestle with his uncle ‘Hide?” 

“No!” Starscream shouted in his face. 

“Yeah, he’s your biggest fan,” Ratchet deadpanned. “But he’s still a little delicate-“

“No I'm not!” Starscream shouted, squirming. 

“-so just be gentle. Set him down in front of some cartoons on Teletraan. Fuel him at noon, and make sure he goes down for a nap straight afterwards or he’ll be grouchy.”

Ironhide grunted, “Ain’t he always grouchy?” 

“Excuse you,” Ratchet glared before Starscream even thought to defend himself. “Let’s see you go through half of what he has and then we’ll talk.” 

Suitably cowed, Ironhide nodded and hitched Starscream higher up his chest, taking the sparkling supplies from Ratchet in his other hand. Starscream reached up and took the opportunity to try and blind Ironhide in one optic with his stubby clawless fingers, but the Autobot only angled his helm away with a laugh. “C’mon you. Twins are on monitor duty. They’re excited to see you.” 

Starscream twisted around and reached towards Ratchet desperately, wailing in dread. “Don’t let him take me!” 

Ratchet waved goodbye to him, despite their sparkbond, oblivious to his terror. Or more likely, choosing to ignore it. Cruel sparkless being he was. 

“This ain’t appropriate,” Ironhide growled, arms folded grumpily as he glared at the racing programme currently being broadcasted through Teletraan. He was sat in the console’s main chair, Comet in his lap and Sideswipe leaning across him to mess with the channels. 

On screen two cars collided and crashed into a barrier, plastic and metal flying in all directions. Comet’s optics were big wide as he watched. 

“He likes it,” Sideswipe argued smugly. “And I like it-“ 

“Put Sesame Street back on.” Ironhide ordered. 

“No!” Comet shouted, slapping his hands against Ironhide’s thighs and pointing insistently at the fiery carnage of the racing wreckage. 

“He doesn’t want to watch Sesame Street ‘Hide, he wants death and carnage,” Sideswipe protested. 

“A seeker after my own spark,” Sunstreaker joked fondly. 

Another crash occurred on screen. A fire-engine screeched into view and started dowsing the wreckage in foam. A smile spread across Comet’s face. 

“Fine,” Ironhide grunted. “He doesn’t have to watch Sesame Street but he can’t watch this. It’s gonna give him nightmares. Ratchet’ll kill me.”

“No,” Comet whined softly, waving at the screen. 

Sideswipe rolled his optics and changed the channel. Comet tried to crawl out of Ironhide’s lap when Thomas the Tank Engine came on. Ironhide bounced him lightly, pointing at the screen, “Look kid, trains!”

“Bah!” Comet shouted, pointedly looking away. 

Ironhide sighed loudly. 

“...Put the fragging racing back on.” 

Sideswipe grinned in victory. Teletraan was switched back to the racing channel just as it played a slow-motion replay of a race car flipping and rolling down the track. Comet leaned in, his wings inside their cosies flicking with obvious excitement. 

“Decepticon through and though,” Ironhide muttered, propping his chin on his fist. 

“Don’t let Prime hear you say that,” Sunstreaker smirked. 

“I don’t mean nothing by it,” Ironhide patted Comet’s little head. The sparkling was so enraptured by the programme he didn’t even react to the affection. “He’s gonna be a troublemaker is all. When he gets good and big, he’s gonna give ‘em Cons Hell. Ain’t you, Sweetspark?”

Comet obviously wasn’t listening.

“We’re keeping him then?” Sunstreaker arched a brow. “Forever?”

Ironhide shrugged, “Sure, why not.”

“What if his parents come back?” 

“What parents,” Ironhide snorted. “Deadbeats’d have to get through me first.” 

Comet lifted his head and looked back at him, blinking. Apparently he had been listening. Ironhide pointed back to the screen, uncomfortable with the sparkling’s surprisingly thoughtful gaze. “Hey, watch your death and destruction, kid.” 

Before long, the twin’s monitor duty shift was over, and after Sideswipe had squashed Comet in a goodbye hug, they left Ironhide alone with him and Teletraan. Once the race finished there wasn’t much else being broadcasted that seemed to interest Comet, and he started to tug and pull on Ironhide’s armour, deciding to entertain himself by attacking him instead. 

“C’mon kid,” he muttered, trying to dodge mean little servos out to hurt him. “Promised Ratchet we’d be gentle-“ He caught Comet’s balled up little fist before it could punch him in the throat. Comet somehow twisted out of his grip and tried to dislocate his thumb. 

Primus, where does a sparkling learn how to do that slag anyway?

Ratchet had given him all of Comet’s pre-mixed fuel, blankets, and various fire-proofed items, but no toys to keep the little seeker busy. Ironhide sighed, rifling through his subspace for something to thrust at him. All he had were fuel cells, data-files, a couple flash grenades, and an energon goodie wrapper. 

“Here,” he pulled out the wrapper and crinkled it in front of Comet. “Wow,” he exaggerated it’s importance. “Look at this.”

Comet glowered at him. 

“You play with this for me, for five minutes, I’m gonna run and get your toys, ‘kay?” Ironhide crinkled it again. After a moment, Comet politely reached out and took the wrapper. Ironhide watched expectantly. Comet crinkled it, somewhat sarcastically. 

“Good boy. Five minutes,” Ironhide promised, lifting Comet out of his lap and placing him on the monitor bank in front of Teletraan. He walked towards the door backwards, keeping his optics on the seekerlet for as long as he could. “Five minutes! Don’t touch Teletraan.” 

Comet sat and crinkled his wrapper, apparently uninterested in Teletraan. Ironhide turned and rushed out to get the toys. Five minutes, he’d be fine for five minutes. 

The second Ironhide was off the bridge Starscream threw aside the stupid piece of trash the Autobot had been trying to pass off as a toy and crawled towards the keyboard. Being so small it was difficult to lean over and reach all the keys, but with painstaking patience he managed to enter in the frequency for the Decepticon base. And press Call. 

The comm rang and rang. Starscream sat back and watched it, spark in his throat, wringing his fingers together, shooting nervous glances back at the door. C’mon, c’mon! 

The dial tone was interrupted by the positive beep of the call connecting. Starscream leaned forward, desperate, as the pickup onlined and a Decepticon he knew well appeared on screen. 

“Soundwave!” He cried in relief. 

Autobots did not make a habit of communicating with their enemies. 

At the comm console, Soundwave stared at the incoming call from the Autobot’s Ark and wondered what he and his faction were to be accused of today. A natural disaster? A political incident? Another kidnapping, perhaps?

Ordinarily, he would require Megatron’s permission to answer such a call. But Megatron was in a war briefing with the Air Force, a chore that was becoming increasingly more stressful as it became tragically apparent that there existed no other seeker of Starscream’s caliber to take on his tactical duties with any level of competence. Megatron himself was having to pick up the slack, and loathe though Soundwave was to admit it, even his strategies were somewhat lacking compared to Starscream’s fine-tuned, methodical attack plans. 

Megatron would not appreciate the interruption. Not even for Prime. Soundwave would have to answer the call, and if necessary, take a message. Like a secretary drone. 

The sooner they found Starscream, the better. 

He answered the comm, and found himself staring at an empty Autobot bridge. He sat in silence for several seconds, wondering if an immature Autobot might jump out onto screen to shout ‘boo’ in an effort to prank him... when a soft, babyish noise caught his attention. 

There was still nothing on screen. 

“Who is there?” He demanded. 

There was an indignant squeak this time, and suddenly, at the bottom of the screen, the top of a tiny helm appeared. Soundwave stared. 

Two little red optics, a small, short nose, and what appeared to be the tips of wool-covered wing nubs came into view. There was another squeak, more insistent, as the caller bounced to be seen. 

A sparkling?

Soundwave stood up, stiffening in surprise. A seeker sparkling!

His thoughts immediately turned to Starscream, who had been missing without explanation for months now. The sparkling, from what he could see, bore an uncanny resemblance to the missing Air Commander. 

Too uncanny, perhaps. 

Soundwave knew and understood sparkling behaviours. This one was months old, if that, and would not be capable of consciously entering the comm frequency of the Decepticon base on its own, and it was too unlikely to be a coincidence borne of button mashing. It’s frowning face was full of malice, of determination- they were complicated emotions beyond someone so young. 

The machine where Starscream had last been seen. The Autobot tracks leading away...

“Starscream.” He said. 

The sparkling nodded, waving a fist and babbling away at him. And that was far as their conversation went before someone off-screen was heard cursing. The next moment, Starscream was yanked out of the view and the comm call deactivated. 

Soundwave lowered himself back into his seat. 

This... was going to take some careful manoeuvring. 

Chapter Text

“I don’t know how it happened!” Ironhide protested. 

Ratchet had already snatched Comet out of his hands and so tragically didn’t have one free with which to smack him around his fat, empty head. 

“I’ll tell you how it happened!” Ratchet shouted, shielding Comet’s audial against the volume of his own voice. “It happened because some idiot left a sparkling alone with Teletraan’s comm system!”

“How was I supposed to know he’d start playing with the phone?!”

“He’s a sparkling, ‘Hide,” Ratchet growled through clenched teeth. “He’s not going to sit around and be content with a slagging treat wrapper!”

“Well I know I didn’t dial the fragging Decepticon frequency in before I left!” Ironhide argued.

“Are we sure it was an outgoing call?” Optimus asked sternly, halting the argument in its tracks with a hand held up for silence. 

Across from him, a nervous looking Red Alert nodded, “That’s what the comm log says. The frequency was manually entered-“

“Shut up, Red,” Ratchet snapped heatedly, holding a squirming Comet closer. “My sparkling didn’t call up the Decepticons!”

“No one is saying that,” Optimus interjected calmly, shooting Red Alert an apologetic look for Ratchet’s attitude. “But it is suspicious.”

“There’s probably a glitch in Teletraan’s comm system,” Ratchet argued, “Either the Cons called us and Comet somehow accepted the call, or he was messing with the buttons and pressed re-dial.”

“Or we have a Cassetticon pest in our ventilation systems again,” Prowl, who had until that moment been silent, lifted his head to speak. “We should sweep the Ark, increase security measures.” 

Optimus nodded in agreement. “It’s best to be cautious.”

“A little late for caution now,” Ratchet growled, still glaring daggers at the guilty looking Ironhide. “Soundwave has seen him. Soundwave.”

“Small mercies, Ratchet,” Prowl said cooly, “At least it wasn’t Megatron.”

Ratchet ground his denta together and looked away, muttering, “Like that deadbeat would give a slag anyway.”

“We need to talk contingencies,” Optimus pulled out a chair and sat down at the conference room’s large table. “How much did Soundwave see?”

Ironhide shrugged, “Kid’s tiny. Soundwave probably knew he was looking at a sparkling, but wouldn’t have got a good look before I got him outta view.”

“He would have seen the wings,” Ratchet sat next to Optimus and placed Comet on his lap. Comet grabbed the edge of the table and tried to pull himself up onto it, optics focused intently on the intelligence files in front of Optimus. 

“Is he likely to know Starscream even had a sparkling?” Prowl asked. 

Comet looked over with a frown, “No!”

“Shh,” Ratchet hushed him, dragging one of Optimus’s files over and giving it to him. Comet took it eagerly, clumsily switching it on. Ratchet helpfully wiped the screen blank for him so he could scribble on it, but as soon as he did, Comet dropped the file with a huff and folded his arms crossly. 

“Comet looks enough like Starscream that it wouldn’t take much to put it together.” Ratchet sighed, gesturing to the little flushes of colour appearing on Comet’s frame. Red was beginning to show on his chassis. 

“Skyfire has been on long-distance reconnaissance missions in search of Starscream all week, but has yet to return with anything promising,” Prowl continued solemnly. “It is unlikely we have to worry about him turning up to reclaim the sparkling.”

“I’m not worried about Starscream popping up to sue for custody,” Ratchet sighed, stroking a thumb between Comet’s wings to try and stop him scowling. “It’s the sire.”

“We don’t know that it is Megatron,” Optimus murmured. 

Comet’s head whipped around to look at Optimus, his unformed wings suddenly stiff with alarm. Ratchet reached over to lift him off the table and bring him back into his lap, concerned. 

“Who else but Megatron would have the authority to vanish such a high ranking Decepticon like this?” Prowl argued. “And given his and Starscream’s tempestuous relationship, they were clearly involved-“

“No!” Comet yelled across Prowl, pointing furiously, “No!”

Ratchet started to bounce him, “Alright-“

But Comet was flushed and enraged, legs kicking as he squirmed, entering a full blown tantrum. Primus knew what had set him off this time. “No!” He wailed.

“Here we go again,” Ratchet muttered, standing up with him. “Give me a minute. He’s just bored-“

Ironhide stepped forward to take him, and despite the enraged thrashing of the sparkling, Ratchet sidestepped around him, instead pinging Skyfire who he knew was across the hall from the conference room after his last patrol debrief with Jazz. 

“I’d leave him with Sideswipe before I left him with you again,” Ratchet said unkindly. 

Ironhide’s face fell, and Ratchet would probably feel guilty about being so callous later, but he was angry. Comet’s safety wasn’t something he could afford to take lightly and Ironhide had made such a ridiculous error in judgment he didn’t know how he could trust him.  

The meeting paused for Comet’s tantrum as they waited for Skyfire’s arrival. When the shuttle finally stepped inside, his bright blue optics grew wide with alarm at the sight of Comet’s meltdown. Ratchet almost laughed. If Skyfire thought this was bad he should see Comet before mid-morning nap time.   

Skyfire had nothing to fear anyway. He was a big shuttle and Comet’s feet were throughly fireproofed. 

“Here,” Ratchet all but thrust Comet into his big arms. “Keep him entertained will you? With toys, not trash,” he gave Ironhide a pointed look. 

Comet didn’t kick or hit Skyfire after his transfer (he never did), but he was still furious. Ratchet could feel an embarrassed sort of indignity tainting their bond. Comet glared at the room in general before turning into Skyfire’s arms and hiding away with a little huff. 

Ratchet patted the back of his head before nodding for Skyfire to take him, “I’ll come get him when we’re finished here.” 

Skyfire nodded, “I won’t take my optics off him.” 

Ratchet only barely stopped himself from flashing Ironhide another pointed look.

Before any action could be taken, Soundwave needed to be sure the situation was salvageable. 

The first dilemma was his direct superior, Megatron. To keep information of this importance from him was compatible to treason, but it was nothing Soundwave hadn’t done before. For the sake of the cause, Soundwave kept many secrets. 

Pragmatically, the seeker was no good to them in this compromised condition, and though Soundwave suspected there was something more to Megatron and Starscream’s association than their petty squabbles and only occasionally functional working relationship, Megatron was unlikely to see any point in expending time and resources in retrieving a flier who could not fly, a warrior who could not fight, a commander who could not command. If that remained the case, Starscream was better left to the Autobots -who did not appear to recognise who was a guest upon their ship anyway. 

Which brought him to his next dilemma. The Ark was fortified better than any human structure and defended by a Prime. Retrieving Starscream could take a great deal of reconnaissance and subterfuge. 

Ravage had been prowling the Autobot ship for the last twenty-four hours and the footage he had retrieved showed Starscream being cared for and doted on as any genuine sparkling would be. Soundwave imagined the footage would be an amusing watch to anyone else who was to view it. To ensure Starscream’s reputation remained intact after this incident was dealt with, he made sure to delete all the evidence. Much to Ravage’s disappointment. 

“Situation; classified,” he reminded the cassette, running a hand down Ravage’s arching spine in consolidation. This was on a strictly need-to-know basis. 

And no one really needed to know, save those he knew he could trust. 

“Intriguing,” was Shockwave’s response when Soundwave called and explained the situation. “I will have this machine of Starscream’s space-bridged to Cybertron for study, It will not be difficult to learn what he has done to himself then. No doubt, it will be the result of poor engineering.” 

Soundwave did not care how it had happened, only that it could be put to right. “Query; Will this process be reversible.”

Shockwave paused on the other end of the comm, “That depends entirely on how callously he has disregarded the laws of physics-“

“Starscream; must be restored.” Soundwave said firmly. “No other outcome is acceptable.”

 Shockwave made a noise like a hum through the comm, “...How does he fair?”

“My findings are inconclusive.”

“And what of his mind?” Shockwave asked. 

Soundwave thought back to the footage from the Ark, to Starscream’s obvious belligerence and perpetually scowling face. “Starscream remains Starscream.” 

“Ah. If his processor remains intact, reversing this process will be nothing outside of my abilities.” Shockwave assured him. “Contact me again when you have in him hand. I shall have my solution by then.” 

“Affirmative,” Soundwave disconnected the call. 

Shockwave was known to work quickly. There was no reason to delay. 

That Starscream was beginning to miss the crib only highlighted how much further he had slipped down the sinkhole of infantilisation. Between the kidnapping ordeal and now the barely five-second long comm-call with Soundwave, his caregivers hadn’t dared to let him out of their sight. 

The crib they’d fashioned for him had been repaired but was left unused outside of short daytime naps. On a night, he recharged between Prime and the medic, both of them curled together towards him, their comparatively huge frames dwarfing his own. To escape he’d have to climb over them, and they had both had their recharge settings altered to ‘sleep light’. If he so much as flicked a wing, two pairs of blue optics lit up and stared down at him, their hands reaching for him, making sure he was still there. 

It was overbearing and invasive and he kicked and squirmed as much as he could on a night in revenge, but it didn’t seem to dissuade them. They were too paranoid over the prospect of a Decepticon dropping out of an air-vent to steal him away to care that he was ruining their sleep schedule. After all, unlike them he had the opportunity to nap during the day.  

He rolled over so he was staring at Optimus. The Prime was lying on his side, vents cycling air deeply as he recharged. 

Looking at him, Starscream was reminded of his and every other idiot Autobot’s assumption that Megatron was ‘involved’ enough with him to have sired his nonexistent sparkling, and his indignity was renewed ten-fold. When he was returned to his true self, he was going to have to make a very real effort to kill off the old buckethead to banish these ridiculous Autobot rumours. As if he would have a sparkling?! With Megatron, no less?! If he was going to be stupid enough to get himself sparked he’d at least have done it with another flier. Honestly, so offensive. 

He narrowed his optics, and inspired by spite, grabbed one of Prime’s wipers and tried to pull it off. 

Prime woke with a groan but didn’t online his optics, instead reaching over Starscream’s helm to nudge at Ratchet. Ratchet grumbled in response. 

“He’s up,” Optimus murmured. 

“‘s your turn,” Ratchet’s voice was muffled by the pillow he had buried his face into. 

“I fuelled him last night,” Optimus’s fingers tried to brush Starscream away. Starscream rolled onto his back and gave him a good kick in the windshield. The glass wobbled in it’s frame. Prime’s optics sparked online with a jolt of surprise. 

“He wants you,” Ratchet argued. 

Starscream crinkled his olfactory. He wanted Prime to suffer, yes. 

Prime rose with a groan, optics squinting as he reached for Starscream. Starscream allowed him to pick him up, hungry and tired and only willing to go along with fuelling on the low-grade because any struggles at this hour only resulted in a mess, and Ratchet wouldn’t allow him back in the berth without a bath first. 

And bathing with Prime was a mortifying enough ordeal he tended to avoid it whenever possible. 

Through the bond, Starscream felt Ratchet fall back into recharge as he was fuelled, tucked into the nook of Optimus’s arm as they sat at the end of the berth. Starscream’s optics grew heavy as he scanned the shadows of the room, looking for evidence of Soundwave’s spies lurking under the furniture, or hiding in the vents. 

As humiliating as it was to imagine any Decepticons learning of his predicament, he still hoped they’d hurry up and save him from it. 

“Starscream; alive and well,” Soundwave informed the two-thirds of the elite trine who weren’t currently trapped in the frames of their sparkling selfs. 

The seekers’ reactions were not easy to place, even for a telepath. Skywarp sighed in a noncommittal sense, and Thundercracker’s expression was a mix of relief and trepidation. Soundwave understood. Historically, Starscream was known to return from long absences in foul, confrontational moods, often with the apparent intention of reminding everyone how unpleasant he was. Just in case anyone had been foolish enough to miss him. 

“So what hole’d you have to smoke him out of?” Skywarp asked curiously. 

“The situation is delicate,” Soundwave told them cryptically. “Starscream is being held captive and is in a compromised state. It is clear why he has not been able to return under his own power.”

Skywarp smirked, “Maybe we can leave him a little longer-“

“He has been away long enough,” Soundwave said loudly, looming over Skywarp’s mischievous form. “Attempts to delay or hinder my retrieval of the Air Commander will be punished with extreme prejudice.” 

It wasn’t easy to intimidate Skywarp unless you were Megatron himself though. The seeker continued to prod for information, “You’re going alone?” 

“Correct.” 

“Does Megatron know?”

“Megatron will be informed once Starscream is retrieved and successfully reinstated into command.”

“Where is he then?” Skywarp’s optics were big and red and boring into Soundwave’s visor, searching his impassive, unseen face for information. “You need back up?”

“No.”

“Why isn’t Megatron being told?” Thundercracker asked. “And why are we? Especially if you don’t trust us with any more information than that you know he’s okay?”

“Starscream: will be given into your care upon return to base,” Soundwave had thought long and hard about what to do with a sparkling-sized Air Commander between the rescue and the time it took to complete the process to change him back. 

He could hide and provide for Starscream himself, but not all his cassettes could be trusted to remain as tightlipped as Ravage. Rumble and Frenzy had been told nothing of the situation and for the sake of Starscream’s dignity, never would be. 

“Our care? You said he wasn’t hurt,” Thundercracker sounded annoyed. 

“Starscream: compromised.” Soundwave repeated himself. “I will return before dawn.” 

With that, he turned and walked away from the seekers. He heard Skywarp scoff in exasperation before calling after him, “Good luck on your super secret mission, I guess!” loud enough for everyone to hear. 

“Okay, but I don’t see why he needs bodyguards,” Sideswipe was saying, leaning uncomfortably close to the basin that Ratchet was trying to bathe Starscream in. 

Starscream kicked, trying to splash the red twin, but slid backwards and accidentally dunked himself under water. Starscream spluttered when soapy water went up his nose and into his vents. Ratchet muttered a curse, quickly moving to right him.  

“You sure you don’t need help?” Sideswipe asked. “I could hold him down?” 

“I want you to do what Optimus sent you here to do and acts as guards,” Ratchet snarled, lifting Starscream by the underarms and setting him upright again. “And to stop antagonising him!” 

“I’m just standing here!?” 

“Go stand somewhere else, like your brother,” Ratchet snapped, wiping the wash cloth over Starscream’s face. Starscream batted him away, trying to glare at both twins. Sunstreaker was standing by the door with a blaster in his hand, but he looked more wary of being splashed and being marred with watermarks than he did of Decepticon kidnappers bursting it. 

And he was well out of splashing range anyway, much to Starscream’s chagrin. Of all the Autobots he probably hated the twins the most. Not simply because of their history -he had history with almost all Autobots after all- but because they were inconsiderate enough to stride around with their long legs and sleek framework, their attractive adult frames always looking down at Starscream’s small, disproportionate sparkling body with their arrogantly symmetrical, handsome faces. 

Primus he missed the glamour of adulthood. His legs had been long too. 

“Like I was saying,” Sideswipe continued, now out of range of anything even Ratchet might decide to hit him with. “No Con is going to be stupid enough to break into the Ark-“

“Humans were.” Ratchet grumbled, rubbing the cloth in circles over Starscream’s cockpit. 

“Humans are stupider,” Sunstreaker pointed out. 

“You sure?” Sideswipe joked. 

“No!” Starscream yelled. The audacity. Yes, some Decepticons (like Skywarp) were fluff headed morons, but many were accomplished scientists and academics. Like himself. 

“Look, all I’m saying is no one is getting in here now,” Sideswipe explained, and began to count off his fingers. “Prowl and Red overhauled the entire ventilation system. There are motion sensors everywhere. They’ve got mecha on round-the-clock guard duty, and now Prime’s implemented a full ship lockdown after nineteen-hundred-hours, no one in or out till dawn. Which is gonna ruin my social life by the way. And we don’t even know if anyone’s actually coming for him.” 

“That’s what you think, you ignoramus clown.” Starscream grumbled.  

“I thought he was yours now anyway,” Sunstreaker added, “That no one else wanted him.” 

“They’d take him to spite us,” Ratchet grumbled, “I’m not gonna let them. Neither is Optimus. He is ours now. If they want to take him, they’ll have to go through us. All of us.” 

Starscream swallowed nervously at the determination he could feel coming off the medic, and began to worry for his rescue attempt. Soundwave knew he was here. Surely he would be mounting his rescue operation. Surely he was too indispensable to leave behind. Even if the idiot Autobots threw everything they had at the Decepticons to stop them. 

He hoped they remembered he was worth it. He hoped his trine acted like his trine for once and spoke up for him. 

Ratchet must have sensed his mounting anxiety through the bond, as he dropped the washcloth and lifted him out of his bath with a soothing hum, holding him against his chest even though he soaking. Starscream scowled at Sideswipe’s soft ‘aww’ and Sunstreaker’s grimace. 

Ratchet stroked his back and tossed a towel across him. Starscream pressed his cheek to the medic’s shoulder, and through the bond soft, gentle feelings swirled around him, trying to settle him ahead of bedtime. Against his wishes, worries began to slip through his digits. 

“Go tell Optimus I’m fuelling him then putting him down,” Ratchet ordered Sideswipe, “and you, come with me.” 

Sunstreaker blanched, “I am not helping you fuel him.” 

“Good, because Comet hates you,” Ratchet glared, ushering them along. “You can stand outside and guard the door until Optimus comes to relieve you.” 

Starscream smirked to himself. He wasn’t going to miss his experience with the Autobots when he was rescued, but there were things he was going to miss about Ratchet. 

Soundwave released Ravage a half-mile off from the Ark, watching him leap off into the darkness at a sprint, light pedefalls silent on the soil.

He veered off in another direction, heading for the rear of the vanguard-class interceptor sticking out of the side of the volcano like an orange eyesore, it’s engines unobstructed. Entering a ship of such size through it’s engines would have been paramount to suicide ...should they be operational. 

Soundwave waited until Ravage confirmed he was in position before scaling the rock and lifting himself into the intake accelerators. Inside, the engine was cool to the touch and full of cobwebs from millennia of disuse, but it was still a jarring experience squeezing himself past fusion powered machinery. He had to cut through the heatproof shielding to get inside the ship’s interior, but there would be no proximity alarms. He found himself standing in Engineering. 

The corridors were deserted on his walk through the ship. He passed crew quarters, but the sound of his pedefalls, even and sure as they were, weren’t likely to alert anyone to his presence. He made it to the mainframe room unassailed, stepped inside to find the Autobot Red Alert working diligently at the controls, darting between the footage of security cameras placed at every entrance into the Ark. Save the one Soundwave had just created for himself. 

Red Alert turned at the sound of the door, but Soundwave had already drawn back a fist to punch him solidly in the helm. Red Alert collapsed soundlessly, slumped in the chair, optics offline. Soundwave pushed him out of the seat and kicked him under the desk, out of sight, before taking his place and reaching for the controls. He deactivated the Autobot’s new, improved, cassette-proof security system. 

“Ravage,” he opened a comm line to his cassette. “Retrieve Starscream.” 

Somewhere above him, Ravage slid into the ventilation system. 

Ratchet laid the towel on the end of Optimus’s berth and sat Comet down atop it. The sparkling was content to sit quietly as Ratchet dried him briskly, even lifting his arms so Ratchet could get at his sides. 

“There’s a good boy,” Ratchet praised, being gentle with his thrusters as he dried them. They had yet to ignite in his face, but it had happened several times to others, and once or twice to Optimus -who had luckily been wearing his battle-mask at the time. He seemed to have some control over their ignition, but it was still too much of a risk to let him recharge without the fireproof boots on.

It was still the only fight the sparkling routinely put up, but Comet was tired and his struggles halfhearted. Ratchet slipped the boots on, secured them, and watched in satisfaction as clumsily little fingers picked futilely at the knots. 

Ratchet cupped the side of Comet’s face and pressed a kiss to the top of his helm. Comet squirmed away with a whine of “No” but a feeling of warmth trickled through from his end of the bond. Ratchet smiled. 

“You sit quietly, I’ll get your fuel,” he pointed at Comet, turning away to face Prime’s desk.

Comet tended to fuss less about his fuel if the low-grade was synthesised fresh, so Ratchet had taken to making up small batches rather than making it in bulk and leaving it to sit. It wasn’t convenient, especially during late night fuellings, but Ratchet was getting soft. And a little doting every now and then wasn’t going to spoil Comet too much. 

He tipped the diluting compound and a quarter dose of energon into a shaker and began to mix. Once the new solution was combined, he went to decanter it into a cube, when Comet suddenly squeaked. 

“Alright, alright,” Ratchet called, turning around, “I’m almost-“

Ravage was on the berth. A great black monster of cat with claws longer than his fingers. In his jaws, dangling from his scruff bar, was Comet. Ratchet dropped the low grade. It smashed, but Ratchet didn’t register the noise. 

Ravage had frozen, his optics sharp and focused, long tail swishing, poised to run. Comet was swinging where he hung from blade-sharp teeth, anxiety blooming across their bond. 

Ratchet’s spark started to hammer, but he didn’t let it show. He transformed his fingers into scalpels and squared his shoulders. 

“Drop him.” 

Chapter Text

Ravage did not drop Comet. His lip curled as he snarled a low, wordless warning at Ratchet to back off. The sharp point at the end of his tail glinted as it swung threateningly. 

Ratchet did not back off. 

“Drop. Him.” He said again, advancing a step. 

Comet squirmed awkwardly. 

Ravage’s optics darted to the open vent low on the bulkhead between them. Ratchet quickly sidestepped, blocking it. Ravage’s tail swishing sped up with clear agitation. 

The standoff was tense, and Comet’s anxiety was beginning to saturate the bond, or was it his own? Ratchet wasn’t sure he could tell. He could hear his own spark pulse in his audials. 

Scalpel fingers poised, Ratchet shifted closer. 

Ravage’s tightly coiled frame twitched, optics darting to the door now. 

Ratchet stepped, “Don’t-“

Ravage sprang off the berth, not towards the door but to Prime’s desk, sending it’s contents crashing to the ground as paws scrambled for purchase. The misdirection had Ratchet stumbling over his own pedes. Comet shrieked as glass smashed and hard-copy files flew into the air. Ratchet dove for them, smacking his side against the edge of the desk but catching the end of Ravage’s tail as the cat leapt again, heading for the vent. 

Ravage was strong, all four limbs working against Ratchet’s two. Ratchet held fast and dug in his heels. With a fierce yank, he started to pull Ravage back. Claws caught and scraped the metal decking. 

“Not-with-my-sparkling-!” Ratchet huffed, hauling him back, hand over hand, by the tail, ”You overgrown-“

Ravage had lost too much traction. He twisted around and swiped. The hot sting of claws caught Ratchet across the brow and down his optic. He shouted, flinching away. The tail slipped his grip and Comet squealed as Ravage bolted for the vent again. 

Ratchet scrambled after them, left optic blinded with energon, when Sunstreaker launched himself into the room through the opening door, his blaster cocked. Quick reflexes spotted the intruder and before Ratchet could stop him, he fired off several shots at the vent. Ravage darted aside at the last second, the sparkling he held kicking in his grip. 

 “You’ll hit Comet!” Ratchet bellowed, grabbing Sunstreaker’s wrist when he continued to shoot, Ravage streaking around the room, ducking and darting over and around furniture, Comet shrieking. 

“I’m aiming for the Con!” Sunstreaker yelled, yanking his wrist back just as Ravage changed direction and charged towards them. Ratchet dove and missed, slamming his chin against the floor. Sunstreaker drew back a pede to boot Ravage in the head only for the cat to slip between his legs and bolt through the open door, claws clattering on the decking. 

“No!” Ratchet shouted, elbowing Sunstreaker out his way and racing after them. 

“Call Prime!” Sunstreaker snapped, catching up and throwing himself into alt mode as Ravage disappeared around corner after corner. 

Ratchet tried, but his comm line was dead. “It’s blocked!” He shouted breathlessly as Sunstreaker’s alt mode skidded around the corner with a screech. 

“I’ll handle it!” Sunstreaker’s shout was lost to the furious rev of his engines. 

Ravage had been discovered by the medic. Soundwave swiftly blocked the comm channels to ensure he couldn’t call for aid and set off proximity alarms on the bridge to create a distraction before releasing a virus into the mainframe and getting ready to leave. Ravage would met him at the rendezvous point with Starscream in hand (jaws) and they could move on to the next stage in his recovery. 

He hadn’t yet left the mainframe room when Ravage hailed him with a distress ping. 

‘Too many Autobots. Exits obstructed. Assistance required.’  

Soundwave checked his communication block. It had held. ‘The medic should not have been able to raise the alarm’  

‘Twins’, was the extent of Ravage’s explanation. 

Of course, Soundwave realised, exhaling heavily through his vents as he left the mainframe room and moved quickly to aid his cassette. Electronic communication blocks did not work on telepathic spark-bonds. 

Fortunately, closed spark-bonds between twins were not capable of alerting an entire ship. So long as they evaded Prime’s notice, their odds of success were still high. 

‘Location’ Soundwave hailed Ravage, moving through the empty corridor, listening carefully for signs of rousing Autobots. 

Ravage did not respond. Soundwave prodded gently at their symbiotic bond and earned the telepathic equivalent of an hysterical shriek in response. Soundwave quickened his stride, concerned. He turned the corridor towards Engineering when the approaching sound of blaster fire reached his audials. That, and the distinct hum of energon-projected weaponry. 

There was a bang, a shout, the obvious wailing of a sparkling, before Ravage’s lithe black frame flew into the opposite end of the corridor, moving so quickly he had to use the bulkhead as the springboard to make the tight corner. From his mouth hung a loud, flailing, furious sparkling. Ravage didn’t slow down in the approach, his optics dimmed to a fearful orange and his ears flat to his head.

‘Run,’ Ravage sent, leaping into the air. Soundwave caught him, sparkling and all, in his arms. 

And then looked up to find Optimus Prime’s charging form launching an energon-axe bigger than a car at his face. 

Run indeed. 

“This is the worst rescue attempt I have ever seen!” Starscream screamed at the top of his lungs, watching over Soundwave’s left shoulder as they fled for their very lives from the wrathful Prime, Ravage slung over Soundwave’s right where he hadn’t had chance to transform and cower away inside his master’s chest compartment. “You’re going to get me killed!”

Of course, Soundwave couldn’t understand him. Neither could Optimus, whose rage seemed to balloon with each of Starscream’s shouts. 

The twins were half a step behind their Prime, shooting at every opening. One bolt missed Soundwave by a hairsbreadth and Ravage responded with a hissing snarl and curved his body to fire one of his hip missiles back at them. The blowback caused Soundwave to stumble and Prime was suddenly upon them, axe aloft.

Soundwave threw Ravage in the direction of a security corridor. Starscream watched the cat race off to safety with a wail of, “No! Take me with you!”

Prime swiped for Soundwave’s legs with the axe. The blade caught him across the backs of his knees and his legs went out under him, Starscream slipping from his grasp as he fell. Sideswipe was there, leaping and catching him midair before he could slam into the deck like Soundwave himself did. 

Sideswipe tucked him against his front and Starscream could feel how fast the Lamborghini’s spark was pulsing, hammering away under his cheek. He pushed against Sideswipe’s hold, trying to see out, hoping to see Soundwave roll back to his pedes to reclaim him.

It wasn’t to be. Prime had rolled Soundwave onto his back and was stood over him, axe posed, blue optics alight with rage. 

“No!” Starscream shouted, reaching for them. Soundwave was the best chance he had getting out of this place. If he was killed now, he might never be free of this place. “Nooo!” 

Prime’s optics darted briefly towards him, then back to Soundwave. Soundwave lay prone on the floor, chest heaving with ventilations, wise enough not to speak. 

Prime exhaled heavily, and thankfully drew his axe away from Soundwave’s spark “You are trespassing.” 

Soundwave’s visor dimmed, his helm turning, almost unnoticeably, towards Starscream. Starscream’s anxiety shot up as realised what could happen now, if Soundwave revealed anything to the Autobots about the sparkling they had come to know as Comet. He wrung his fingers together nervously, hoping this immature, babyish face was capable of conveying that. 

Then again, if Soundwave was a telepath, could he understand Starscream’s thoughts? Or were they also a incomprehensible childish babble?

‘Don’t. Say. Anything.’ He sent, as loudly and clearly as he could. 

Soundwave’s attention was abruptly stolen by Optimus thunking him on the chest with the blunt end of the axe. “Don’t look at him,” he warned. “What business do you have here, Soundwave?” 

“The sparkling is a seeker.” Soundwave droned. 

“Yeah, no slag,” Sunstreaker growled, posing behind Optimus.

“He belongs with his own.”

“He doesn’t belong with a bunch of murderous psychopaths!” Ratchet’s voice announced. 

The medic appeared, energon streaked across one side of his face, and shoved past Sunstreaker and Optimus. He stepped over Soundwave without so much as a glance. Starscream didn’t have it in him to squirm away when Ratchet’s familiar arms took him. He sank into his hold, resigned to it.

“Which is why he’s staying with us.” Ratchet finished. 

Starscream huffed a sigh, misery closing in. He let his helm clunk against Ratchet’s shoulder, and fought the infantile urge to cry. Not in front of Soundwave. Not in front of Soundwave-

Optimus lifted his axe away, “Brig him-“

“No,” Ratchet snapped, and Starscream could feel his wrath swirling through the bond. He was looking at Soundwave with disdain. “I don’t want him anywhere near Comet. If he’s in the ship he’s a threat. Get rid of him.” 

“No,” Starscream wailed, optics filling with coolant. Soundwave said nothing in his defence as he was roughly hauled to his pedes by the twins, his legs too damaged to take his weight. 

“He’ll be back,” Sideswipe warned. 

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Ratchet glared at Soundwave challengingly. 

Optimus waved for the twins to dispose of Soundwave, and despite what the Autobots seemed to think, Starscream honesty didn’t know if he would be worth the bother of a second rescue attempt.

‘Don’t leave me here.’ He sent desperately as Soundwave was dragged off. ‘Please don’t leave me.’ 

“You're kidding me?” Cliffjumper complained, “I recharged through an entire Decepticon attack?” 

“Well, two Decepticons isn’t much of an attack,” Bumblebee did his best to soften the blow. “Less than two even. One and half. Ravage and Soundwave.” 

His reassurances didn’t seem to improve Cliffjumper’s mood, “And they just let them go?” 

Bumblebee, having also slept through the entire affair, wasn’t sure on the details. “Ratchet didn’t want him in the brig. Was worried he’d escape and take Comet anyway.”

“Shoulda deactivated him then.” 

Bumblebee shot a nervous glance at Comet, sat tucked up in his blanket in Bumblebee’s lap and staring off into the middle distance. They were outside the conference room where Optimus had called an emergency security meeting. Ratchet had turfed the sparkling off on the first Bot to wander past. Bumblebee didn’t mind, Comet was pretty cute, but he was being kind of weird today. 

“You think he knew him?” Bumblebee whispered, nodding towards the sparkling. “Soundwave? Think he ever babysat him?”

Cliffjumper blinked, “Soundwave’s a Con. Con’s aren’t babysitters. But maybe he saw him around, back before.”

“You don’t think he’s... traumatised, do you?” Bumblebee worried. “From all the violence?”

“What violence?” Cliffjumper scoffed. 

“All these kidnapping attempts and then seeing Optimus having to axe Soundwave’s legs and-“

“He axed Soundwave’s legs off and I missed it?!”

“I don’t think he actually axed them off...” Bumblebee grumbled. 

“Hey sparkling,” Cliffjumper leaned in, waving to get Comet’s attention. Then poking him in the cockpit when that didn’t work. “You doing okay?” 

Comet’s scowling optics lifted to meet Cliffjumper’s.

“No,” he said with a blunt surety that shouldn’t have been possible for a sparkling, before turning his entire frame in the opposite direction and folding his arms. Bumblebee’s concern doubled. 

Cliffjumper’s however, did not. “See. He’s fine. Same as always.”

Bumblebee didn’t think he could agree with Cliffjumper’s assessment of ‘fine’. 

“I should have been contacted as soon as you were aware of the breach,” Prowl said angrily. 

“You were asleep,” Sunstreaker said bluntly. 

“Yeah, we’re sorry the telepathic spark-bond we’ve had since before we were even onlined doesn’t extend to you, Prowler,” Sideswipe was clearly trying to hold back a smirk. “The comms were blocked and we didn’t have a spare ten to fifteen minutes to walk to the officers quarters and wake you, because someone was trying to steal a sparkling.”

“I would not have recommended allowing Soundwave to leave,” Prowl continued sternly, ignoring the twins. “Prime, you should have known better. Soundwave will return with additional support-“

“He came alone,” Jazz countered evenly. “If Megatron was interested, or even aware, Soundwave could have come with a full compliment of Cons. I don’t think Soundwave was acting on his faction’s behalf.”

There was a pause as he let the information sink in.

“He’s not the sire,” Ratchet voiced before any of them started jumping to wild conclusions. “He isn’t. That’s not why he was here.” 

“How do you know?” Optimus asked, frowning, “Beyond doubt.”  

“We know what Soundwave kids look like and Comet isn’t it.” 

“Soundwave’s ‘kids?’” Sideswipe raised a brow. 

“The cassettes.” 

“They’re symbiotes.” Prowl reminded him. 

“They can be both.” 

“If Soundwave has no personal stake in Comet’s welfare but was not acting on Megatron’s orders, what did he want with our sparkling?” Optimus redirected the conversation, looking to Jazz specifically for answers.

Jazz shrugged, “He may be acting in someone else’s interests.” 

“But not Megatron’s?” Optimus lifted a brow. 

“The other parent,” Jazz said, with pointed emphasis.

There was silence. The ‘other’ parent. The parent whose identity they were confident of. A tightness rose from Ratchet’s spark to clog his throat. He swallowed thickly. 

Optimus clasped his hands together, dropping his optics to the table, “...If Starscream wants his sparkling back we’d have no choice but to-“

“No choice? What do you mean no choice?” Ratchet demanded, rising out of his seat, chair scraping sharply. “We have every choice available to us but that one.” 

“Ratchet,” Optimus tried.

“No. Coding doesn’t make a parent.” Ratchet pointed. “Coding doesn’t give him the right. If he’s been fine and dandy this whole time then why was Comet thrown out like trash out in the middle of nowhere?” 

“We don't know the circumstances-“

“No, we don’t. And I’d love to hear them. So until Starscream shows up himself to tell us the incredibly believable and justifiable circumstance that meant it was acceptable for him to dump his defenceless new-spark, we are not having this conversation.”

“Ratchet.” Prowl’s voice was unnaturally gentle when he spoke. “You may need to prepare yourself for the possibility that Comet does not belong here with us.”

Ratchet had just about had enough of Prowl and his opinions of Comet. He stood his ground. “He belongs with me.” 

“He’s not yours.” Prowl’s tone lost its softened edge fairly quickly. 

“Yes, he is.” Ratchet snapped. “He’s mine. He’s imprinted on me.”

The occupants of the room fell into a stunned silence. Out of the corner of his optic, Ratchet spotted the twins mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ at a shrugging Jazz. 

“Are you serious?” Prowl demanded. “You’re only just sharing this with us now?” He glanced over at Optimus for backup, and noticed his commander’s distinct lack of surprise. “You knew about this? And you didn’t tell me?!”

“It was hardly your business, Prowl.” Ratchet growled before Optimus could murmur his apologies. 

“It is the business of this faction.” Prowl’s optics narrowed. “You are our chief medical officer. It is not a part-time position. If your attention is diverted elsewhere-“

“When did this happen?” Jazz interrupted before Prowl could create a HR incident by implying parenthood automatically deteriorated job performance. 

Ratchet tore his glare away from Prowl to answer, “Not long before he was taken. Imprinting wouldn’t have been possible if he already had a carrier to bond to. It wasn’t intentional, but I ...wouldn’t change it. He needs me.”

Optimus nodded in agreement, “Whatever happens, Comet is one of us, Ratchet. If there are others who seek to claim him, we will not be giving him up easily.” 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Optimus,” Prowl glared. 

Ravage allowed Soundwave to use him as a crunch as they walked through the Decepticon base, both subdued and damaged and smarting from the defeat. It wasn’t the first time either of them had been chased from an Autobot base, but it was the first in a long time they had failed to bring their quarry with them. 

Worse, that it wasn’t intel they had left behind, but one of their own. 

Sensing his sour mood, Ravage head-butted his hip and looked up at him large optics and flattened audials. Soundwave paused to pet him. 

“Soundwave: superior,” he reminded him. 

Ravage shook his touch off and levelled him with a look so deeply unimpressed that Soundwave, turned away and stumbled the rest of the way to his quarters without his help. 

The remainder of his cassettes were inside, having trashed the room in his brief absence. They glanced up in unison at his arrival. 

“Wow,” Rumble hopped off the messy berth, visor bright with curiosity. “What happened to you, Boss?”

“Yeah,” Frenzy joined him, speaking with a note of humour. His mouth split into a grin. “Looks like you just got hit by a train.” 

“Negative,” Soundwave limped into the room and allowed himself to collapse across the berth. “A truck.” 

Comet wouldn’t settle. Ratchet stood in front of the crib and stared at the sparkling with his arms crossed over his chest. Comet stared right back, sat upright with his own arms folded. Ratchet narrowed his optics. Comet’s glare intensified. 

“I know you’re tired,” Ratchet told him. “Lie down and go to recharge.”

Comet’s bottom lip stuck out, his deepening scowl scrunching up his features. 

“I can stand here all day,” Ratchet reminded him. 

In actuality, he had work to do; patients to check back in with and spare parts in storage that needed servicing. He shifted his footing and sighed. Comet’s optics were dim and faded around the edges where he was so tired. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Ratchet shook his head sadly. 

Comet didn’t respond. The bond between them was muffled and miserable, like Comet was shying away from Ratchet’s presence, or just plain ignoring it. It may have been because the sparkling hadn’t recharged well the night before, and was refusing to nap now. 

Maybe he’d spoilt Comet, letting him recharge between him and Optimus so often. Any alternative sleeping arrangements had to feel like a poor comparison. The crib may have worked as a pseudo-cockpit all these weeks, but perhaps it’s effects were wearing off. Comet may need to be close to him in order to feel safe, but as he wasn’t a seeker himself, he couldn’t just secure the seekerlet in the pilot’s seat of his cockpit and go about his day. 

Fortunately, human beings, who also did not have cockpits in which to haul about their young, had engineered plenty of convenient baby-transportation methods over the years. 

“Come here then,” Ratchet relented, opening the crib and bending to lift Comet out. Comet didn’t reach for him back, and stayed stubbornly stiff in his arms. Ratchet ignored his grumbles and huffs and picked up the blanket with him, securing it across his frame to make a sling. 

Not so stoic anymore, Comet immediately began to squirm and fight as he was secured in it. 

“No,” he complained, sounding as tired as he looked. His vocaliser was emitting the high-pitched whine that always seemed to preempt a screaming fit. “No!”

“I know, I know,” Ratchet hushed him, looking over his workstation for something to distract him with. “I know what’ll put you to recharge...” 

He didn’t have stories to read to Comet. The childish books the humans had sent them all those weeks ago had been ‘misplaced’ after Comet had ripped half the pages out in a temperamental rage. All he could find were patient reports and articles from medical journals. One was confidential, the other boring. 

Boring was just what he was looking for.

He smirked with the article held aloft in one hand and bounced Comet lightly with the other, “Lets read about the link between armour density in labour builds and mineral deficiency in pre-upgrade younglings, shall we?”

Comet wasn’t squirming so much now, but it could be because he didn’t have the energy. Ratchet began to read from the article, boring enough to send most fully grown mechs to sleep, let alone a sparkling. Comet seemed to be fighting the pull of recharge at first, but the drone of Ratchet’s voice, accompanied by the warmth of his frame so close by, eventually won out. 

“You don’t make anything easy, do you,” Ratchet told the recharging seekerlet quietly, tossing the medical article aside and tightened the sling so Comet was securely held to his chest. “Like your creator, I bet.”

Recharging, Comet didn’t answer. His round face had softened out of it’s scowl, little mouth hanging open as he fell into a deep recharge. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Ratchet muttered, ducking his chin to kiss the top of Comet’s head. 

Soundwave did not return with Starscream as promised. 

Up until that point, Thundercracker had been perfectly content ignoring all his feelings regarding both Starscream and the situation as a whole. He knew Starscream was alive. He knew he was coming back. And once he did, everything would return to normal and the natural order of things would reassume. 

Except it didn’t. Because Soundwave did not bring Starscream home. 

“What do you mean, you failed?” Thundercracker hissed through his teeth. 

Emotions, bottled up for a few weeks too many, were beginning to boil to the surface. No, Starscream wasn’t a nice person. Yes, he made a conscious effort to make many peoples lives worse, including Thundercracker’s own. No, he probably wouldn’t have given a flying frag if their situations had been reversed. But he was trine, and it didn’t fragging matter. 

“Extraction method: flawed,” was the only explanation Soundwave would give. 

“Where is he?” Thundercracker demanded. At his shoulder, Skywarp matched his threatening stance, shoulders squared and null-rays cocked. “If you can’t do your job, we’ll get him back ourselves.” 

Soundwave wasn’t swayed by their anger in the slightest. He nodded with calm acceptance. “Good. The reserve plan of extraction will require your participation.”

“Forget extraction plans,” Skywarp scoffed. “Tell me where he is and I’ll warp in there, kill everyone, and be home with Screamer before the midday fuelling. Piece of cake.” 

“Starscream; in Autobot custody.” Soundwave stated. 

Skywarp pulled a face, “Maybe not by midday then...”

Thundercracker’s scowl deepened, “Really. Because Megatron was sure Prime didn’t have him.”

“Prime: unaware Starscream resides in his base.”

Skywarp scrunched up his features in confusion, “How can he be unaware? Screamer’s so loud.“

“Approximately two months ago Air Commander Starscream engaged in an experiment that backfired due to faulty equipment. The resulting fallout changed him physically, reverting his frame to that of a pre-upgrade condition.” 

Soundwave had said a lot of things. Thundercracker was struggling to keep up. Experiment. Backfire. ...Pre-upgrade? 

“...What do you mean ‘reverting’ him?” He asked cautiously. 

“You mean... he’s younger?” Skywarp guessed.

Soundwave didn’t respond. Instead, Thundercracker’s comm pinged with a message from him. Skywarp must have received the same, as he made the same undignified choking gasp of surprise that Thundercracker did when he looked at its contents. 

The message was a file of images, all taken from Ravage’s spy cam inside the Autobot base, all of a very small seekerlet. Thundercracker squinted at it. It was still so young it was mostly grey, and though pictures were taken from a distance, he could see patches of colour coming in. Red, and a very distinct shade of blue. 

"That looks a lot like Starscream,” he said into a lingering silence. 

"Looks exactly like, Screamer,” Skywarp said numbly. “But it’s a sparkling.” 

Starscream: compromised.” Soundwave reminded them, yet again. 

“That’s a- a teeny tiny cute little sparkling though,” Skywarp argued, voicing exactly what Thundercracker was thinking. “How do you know Starscream didn’t just get himself knocked up by some idiot? Maybe he squeezed that little bitlet out and ran for it?”

Thundercracker wasn’t sure which was worse, that Starscream may have reproduced, or that he was a defenceless infant now requiring round the clock care. He shuddered at either prospect. 

"This sparkling’s processor functions as an adults would.” Soundwave was explaining. “Seekerlet: has cognitive skills far beyond that of a sparkling at this developmental stage.” 

"Screamer’s smart. Real smart,” Skywarp argued, “He'd have a smart sparkling with loads of that cognitive stuff too, I bet.” 

Thundercracker didn’t bother to correct him, “Did you get a CNA sample, to test it’s coding?”

“Unnecessary.” Soundwave said firmly. "The sparkling is Starscream. He recognised me." 

Soundwave seemed fairly sure, and he wasn’t a mech known for jumping to conclusions. Thundercracker stared down at the image at the forefront of his comm screen solemnly, a little seeker scowling over an Autobot’s shoulder kibble as they were carried off. That was Starscream’s scowl, all right. 

“Primus, help us,” he murmured. 

"So that really is Screamer?!” Skywarp exclaimed with sudden excitement, “Yes! I'm so getting that promotion!”

"You will not be promoted.” Soundwave promptly stamped on all of Skywarp’s hopes and dreams of ever becoming Air Commander. “Starscream’s abilities are too valuable to discard. He will be restored to his functional adult self.”  

Skywarp nudged Thundercracker, probably trying to get him to crack a smile, “Gotta get him back first. Looks like he's been adopted.”

Thundercracker frowned at all the images of the Autobot medic with his trine-leader. Starscream was scowling in most, but looked borderline content in others. He noticed the ugly little boots the medic had tied around Starscream’s pedes to stop thrusters from scorching his armour, and couldn’t imagine what state of mind Starscream had to be in to let that happen without an apocalyptic meltdown.  

"If he’s not being held prisoner, why couldn't you bring him home?” He asked Soundwave, because now the failed extraction mission was even more confusing. 

"Starscream: well protected. Another method of retrieval must be used.” 

"An attack?” Skywarp bounced on his heels, “Is Megatron gonna storm the Ark?” 

"Megatron is not to be involved. Starscream's condition: classified.”

Skywarp’s humour vanished, "Classified from Megatron?”

"You haven't told Megatron, but you've told Skywarp?” Thundercracker asked, incredulous. “Skywarp.”

"Your involvement will be a necessity.” 

"Why, what're we supposed to do?” 

"The Autobots’ affections towards Starscream are genuine. It may be possible to invoke familial ties and persuade them to return him.” 

Fat chance, Thundercracker snorted, "How? By asking nicely? 

Soundwave stared at them, unperturbed, "Yes.”

"By us asking nicely?” Skywarp pointed between himself and Thundercracker in disbelief. “We may be trine, but-" 

"Negative. Starscream’s identity must not be revealed. Your roles will be reassigned." 

Thundercracker didn’t like where this was going, “To what?” 

"To sire and creator." 

He blanched, “You want me to go up to the Autobots and pretend to be my own trine-leader’s sire?”

“Don’t be an idiot, TC,” Skywarp elbowed him. “Obviously I’m gonna be the sire.” 

Chapter Text

Thundercracker threw himself into his desk chair, furious, "That's it. I'm out. I can't do this." 

Skywarp flicked his wings back, indifferent, "Fine. We’ll get someone else to be the carrier." 

"Negative." Soundwave interjected. "Thundercracker: shares elements of Starscream's natural colour palette. No other candidate is plausible.”

"Just let ‘Warp claim custody as the sire then," Thundercracker pleaded. "You don't need someone to be the carrier." 

"There is no way-“ Skywarp laughed, "-in any reality, that those Auto-chumps are gonna trust me with a sparkling. I don't even trust me with a sparkling!" 

"This is so embarrassing," Thundercracker crossed his arms and sulked. "The entire Autobot faction is going to think I was stupid enough to procreate with Skywarp. Skywarp. On purpose!” 

"Hey," Skywarp scowled. "I'm a catch. Just ask Astrotrain." 

Thundercracker blanched, "No!" 

"Squabbling: counterproductive." 

"You know what else is counterproductive? Skywarp's acting skills!" 

"What's wrong with them?" 

"You keep laughing!" 

"I can't help it if the cover story's gonna be this funny!" 

Thundercracker dropped his head into his hands with a groan. 

"We will go over your cover again." Soundwave announced, and Thundercracker had no idea where he was getting the patience to deal with Skywarp’s sieve-like memory banks. They’d been over the cover story five times already!

"This time, there will be no snickering." Soundwave continued, staring at Skywarp. "Or snide comments." He directed that at Thundercracker. "You will present yourselves to the Autobots as two individuals committed to each other and the sparkling they are desperate to be reunited with." 

Thundercracker glanced over at Skywarp, who was scratching his aft and not listening.

“Maybe Starscream's better off with the Autobots,” he said. 

"Stop trying to get out of being my fake-boyfriend!" Skywarp snapped, tuned-in enough to know when he was being insulted. "Lets go again, Sounders, from the top. I'm gonna nail it this time." 

Soundwave didn't look best pleased at being addressed as such, but continued nonetheless. "Query." He began, "How did you come to be separated from the sparkling?" 

"Uhhhhh..." Skywarp began looking around the room, wracking a clearly empty processor. His expression contorted with the terrible strain of thinking. Thundercracker could feel his optic start to twitch.  

"...Am I allowed to ab lib?" Skywarp asked after a pause.  

"No." 

"Absolutely not." Soundwave and Thundercracker both shot him down. 

"Then you're gonna need to hold up cue cards or something, I dunno." Skywarp shrugged. 

“Can someone else be the fake-sire of my fake-sparkling?” Thundercracker pleaded. “Anyone else? Please.”

Soundwave looked between them, considering, before deciding on a decisive, “No.” 

"Bee's right, somethings wrong," Silverbolt was whispering overhead. "He's not even watching." 

Starscream ignored him and the irritating cabal of Aerialbots surrounding him on all sides, choosing instead to sit scowling at the floor as they tried to engage him in the video game they were playing. The knockoff seekers had been pestering the medic for a chance at tormenting him for cycles, and much to Starscream’s despair, Ratchet had given in, but with strict instructions to stay in the rec room across from his medbay and keep any play tame. 

The Aerialbots were as good as their simpering words, and Starscream’s cycle had so far been wasted away sat cuddled in the laps of the various brothers. At least if they had taken him outside he could have made a viable attempt at escape...

Instead he was being forced to watch them lose at a game over and over as they gorged themselves on junk food and touched him with sticky fingers. 

“Think he’s sick?” Skydive asked, spamming the buttons on his controller as he fought desperately to stay alive. Much like in real life, in Starscream’s opinion.  

Silverbolt was shaking his helm, “Ratchet’d know if he was sick.” 

“Maybe he ate one of your rust sticks?” Air Raid glared at Slingshot.

“I’ve been watching him!” Slingshot argued. 

Nevertheless, several helms tipped down to peer at him. Starscream tensed up at their scrutiny. If one of them tried to stick a finger in his mouth to make sure he hadn’t eaten anything, he was going to bite it off. 

“Maybe he’s got bubbles in his tank?” Skydive died on screen and passed the controller to Air Raid next. “You know how to burp him?” 

Silverbolt cringed back, “Uhh...”

“I do!” Fireflight proclaimed with a lot of false confidence. 

“It’s not gas, he’s just bored!” Slingshot argued. 

“That’s why we’re trying to play with him.”  

"It’d help if we let him have a go," Air Raid leaned over and hoisted Starscream out of Silverbolt’s lap. 

Resigned to constantly being picked up and lugged around like some smothered house pet, Starscream just let him, grumbling under his breath as Air Raid sat him in his grubby, unpolished lap and held the controller out for him. It was covered in rust stick crumbs. Starscream glared over at Slingshot. 

"Watch this, Comet!" Air Raid exclaimed, hitting the trigger to rapidly fire digital shots at pixilated enemies, who exploded with a sad little tune to mark their deaths. So unrealistic. Where was the carnage? The blood? The scattered internals?

Air Raid took his hand and laid it on the controller, manipulating Starscream's chubby servo so he was firing. Starscream's scowl deepened. There was no joy to it. No comparison to the rush of battle, of firing down on his enemies from above, of soaring through the clouds with his trine in perfect, deadly synch. 

The Aerialbots were joking and teasing each other. Fireflight stole one of Slingshot’s rust sticks and blamed Skydive, who Slingshot then yanked into a mean looking headlock, triggering a wrestling match. The others continued, ignoring the violence as they encroached on each other’s space and spoke over the top of each other and stole one another’s things and it was infuriating and chaotic Starscream knew exactly what it felt like to be part of because his idiot trine were no different with him.  

Had been no different. 

He might not ever see them again. 

"Raid! You're scaring him!" Fireflight cried, panicked. 

"What?" 

"He's crying!" 

Starscream’s vision had blurred, but he hadn’t realised coolant was already streaming down his face. He was snatched back out of Air Raid’s lap and up into Silverbolt’s arms. The pitch of the most sensible brother’s flight engines rumbling beneath Starscream’s cheek were so familiar that if Starscream shuttered his watery optics he could pretend he was being held by ...someone else, a seeker. Skywarp maybe. 

Not that he ever hugged Skywarp, of course! More that he knew how it felt to be attacked by him, tackled and wrestled with like they were still at the academy. When they didn't have weapons to stab each other with and had to use brute strength instead.

Of course, Silverbolt had to ruin the illusion by bouncing him. 

"What's wrong, Comet?" he was cooing, his mouth by Starscream’s audial. "Did Air Raid’s stupid game scare you?" 

“The only thing that scares me is the idea of being trapped with the likes of you for eternity!” Starscream cried, his vocaliser tipping into a whine. All the Aerialbots heard was a sparkling warbling. They, as always, misunderstood the cause of his distress. 

"Turn it off Air Raid." 

"Alright, alright, I'm doing it!" 

They soon swapped out their barely tolerable shooting game for some infantile barn animal game. Starscream's misery doubled. 

“You should let us take him up.” 

Ratchet looked up. The Aerialbots were filtering into his medbay with a clumsy clatter, bumping their flight kibble against furniture like they forgot they had them. Comet was slung lifelessly over Silverbolt’s shoulder. Ratchet inspected the bond between them and quickly determined that the sparkling was simply in another of his pretending-to-be-dead sulks. 

"No.” He said, when he registered what they were asking. “I’ve told you a hundred times, you’re not allowed to go galavanting off into the stratosphere with helpless passengers, and especially not sparklings.”

“But he has wings!” Fireflight protested. 

“Those little stumps are not wings,” Ratchet growled. 

“Bah!” Comet shouted in apparent offence. 

Ratchet ignored him. “It’s too dangerous, even if he could fly.” 

“Why?” Slingshot demanded angrily. 

Ratchet straightened up from his work to level him with the full force of his glare. “Why? What if you’re attacked? What if you drop him?”

“We wouldn’t drop him!” Skydive cried. 

“We’d stay in Autobot airspace,” Silverbolt pleaded. 

“I don’t care.” Ratchet shut them down. “I'm not giving anyone else a chance to swipe the sparkling. He stays in the Ark, behind as many locked doors as possible.” 

“No!” Comet shouted over Silverbolt’s shoulder, legs kicking out. Ratchet couldn’t see his face but he could imagine he was scowling. 

“I didn’t ask your opinion!” Ratchet shouted back at him. 

“No!” Comet shrieked. 

"We wouldn't take our optics off him,” Silverbolt cupped a hand under Comet’s aft to keep his squirming frame from sliding off his shoulder. 

“Swear on my spark we’ll be careful,” Air Raid added.

"Fresh air will do him good, Ratch,” Skydive pipped up too, so Ratchet felt like they were coming from all directions. “Look at the little guy, he's all depressed.” 

Ratchet’s mood soured further. A little as he liked to consider it, as much as he was ignoring everyone’s unhelpful little comments about his sparkling’s mood as of late, Comet was ...different these days. Though never a happy sparkling, he had always been an animated one, a vocal one, interested in the world around him and exploring it despite the consequences. 

It was a far cry from the withdrawn sparkling he had been caring for for the past few days. Something had changed. 

And it had changed since Soundwave. 

"No." He said again, and reached out to take the sparkling back, pushing down a wave of disappointment when Comet squirmed unhappily in his grasp, almost like he didn’t want to be with him. Ratchet swallowed thickly. “And that's final.” 

Admitting defeat, the Aerialbots slinked off, but they must have spent the rest of their cycle whingeing about how unfair and grouchy he was to anyone who would listen because that evening Ratchet had yet another uninvited visitor cluttering up his medbay. 

Wheeljack strolled in casually, pretended to look for a spare part he needed for an experiment, rambled on about the cold weather for ten minutes as he tried and failed to start a conversation, and then loitered in awkward silence until Ratchet finally snapped. 

"...What?” He sighed, realising ignoring Wheeljack wasn’t going to get rid of him. 

“How's Comet?”

"Recharging. Prime has him this evening." Ratchet grumbled, refocusing on his work. "He sleeps better with him." 

Wheeljack hummed in interest, "Thought you were bonded to him?" 

"He needs some space.”

Wheeljack chuckled, “He's a sparkling.”

"Maybe I need some space,” Ratchet said darkly. 

Wheeljack seemed to back off a little at that, but not one to give up easy, he was back to prodding a beat later. "The kids think he’s depressed." 

Ratchet rolled his optics, "He's been through a traumatic experience. He's processing." 

"He wasn't like this after the kidnapping.”

"He didn't have history with the humans like he did with Soundwave.” 

“What history would that be?”

“Do I look like the sparkling whisperer?”

"You've been glued to that sparkling’s side for over a week.” Wheeljack began, dropping all pretence now. “I haven't seen you let him so much as touch the deck in all that time. He's been passed from mech to mech, smothered-“

“Smothered?” Ratchet set his tool down firmly. “Trying to keep him from being stolen is not smothering.”

“You’re doing a good job,” Wheeljack said, like that wasn’t the most condescending thing a parent could hear. “But I like to think I know a little something about raising fliers, about what they need to be happy.” 

“Flying.” Ratchet grunted. “But it’s not going to kill him not to do it. His flight systems aren’t active yet-“ 

“No,” Wheeljack cut straight across him, “Companionship. There's a reason seekers build trines. Why they raise their sparklings in them.” 

Ratchet looked away, glaring down at his work, “He has me. He has Optimus.” 

“And he couldn’t ask for better guardians,” Wheeljack’s optics were a clear, cheerful blue, crinkling as he smiled under the face-plate. “But seekers ...can’t trine with ground mechs.”

Ratchet considered Wheeljack’s words for a moment. 

“...I’m still not letting your stupid kids do barrel rolls with my sparkling!” 

Comet was screaming, wailing, sobbing so hysterically his air vents kept stalling and Mirage was starting to witter about him suffocating. It was the most melodramatic performance over being made to wear a leash in the history of toddlers and anyone who overheard it would have thought the sparkling was being tortured. 

It was the most embarrassed Ratchet had ever been on Comet’s behalf. 

Flustered after what had meant to be a treat had turned into such an ordeal, Ratchet gently wrestled Comet’s last flailing arm into the harness and clipped the straps together, winning the half-hour battle of getting him dressed and ready to safely go outside on the late autumn day. 

“No! No-ooo!” Comet sat heavily on his aft and pulled weakly at the leash attached to the harness with mitten covered servos to keep the cold at bay.

Holding the other end, Ratchet stood over him and scowled. 

“He doesn’t like it, Ratch,” Hound pointed out. 

“Thank you Hound, I never would have noticed.” Ratchet said sarcastically. He extended the end of the leash to Mirage, who eyed it like he was being handed a live explosive. Between them, Comet’s sobs had turned into furious sniffles. “Keep within sight of the ship.”

“Can’t we just hold his hand or something, I feel like we’re walking a prisoner.” Hound stared down at Comet with a naive sort of sympathy. “I mean, he can barely walk. It’s not like we’re gonna lose him.”

“He can transform, and he’s fast on that landing gear,” Ratchet forced the leash into Mirage’s hand and bent to hoist Comet onto his feet. Comet stood in place, scowled, and then deliberately flopped down onto his aft again. Ratchet ground his denta together. “Do you want to go back inside and take a nap instead?” 

“No!” Comet shouted, vitriol rushing through the bond from his end. 

“Then up you get,” Ratchet growled, lifting him again to his pedes. This time Comet stayed upright, wobbling until he stumbled forward to balance himself against Mirage’s leg. Mirage’s expression softened. 

“Let’s go see some pretty birds, huh?” Hound smiled, starting to walk forward. Mirage did too, taking slow, small steps as Comet toddled with them, one mitten covered hand wrapped around the leash, the other clutching Mirage’s leg armour. 

Ratchet watched them go, fighting back his worry at Comet being out in the open -even if the Aerialbots were patrolling the airspace above and half the faction were on standby and Red Alert was watching the security cameras like a mech possessed. 

Comet looked back at him from over a cosy-covered wing. Ratchet smiled and gave him a little wave. 

Comet scowled and stuck out his glossa. Ratchet’s smile disappeared with a sigh. 

Typical. 

Over the last week, Optimus had grown accustomed to being woken in the middle of a recharge cycle, usually with a kick to the chest or little fingers pulling at the sensitive bits of his armour. Tonight, it was a priority comm request. 

He rolled onto his back with a low groan, accepting the request just to stop the irritating ping of his comm. 

“Prime,” Prowl’s no nonsense voice spoke through the private channel. “You’re needed on the bridge. ASAP.”

“Hmm,” he groaned, half asleep. 

“It’s about the sparkling.” 

That woke Optimus up. “I’ll wake Ratchet,” he said, lifting his arm to search for his new berth-partner.

“Don’t. Come alone.” 

Optimus paused, but drew his arm back, deciding to trust Prowl’s judgment.

“Acknowledged, Prowl. I’m on my way,” he responded. 

His optics were slow to boot up. It took a few moments for the room to come into view out of the darkness. Next to him on the berth, soaking up the warmth of his frame, Comet was curled around his arm. It wasn’t unusual for the seekerlet to cuddle in his recharge, but it was that he wasn’t with his preferred target: Ratchet. 

Optimus struggled to extract himself from the sparkling, not an easy task when Comet stirred and whined at the loss of heat. 

“Where are you going?” Ratchet’s voice whispered from the other side of the berth. 

“Bridge,” he murmured, gently shifting Comet so he was tucked against Ratchet’s side instead. Comet’s features creased in discomfort, before he rolled and buried himself against Ratchet with a soft little huff. 

Ratchet’s focus conveniently shifted to the sparkling, sparing Optimus from elaborating on what dire emergency called for the Prime to be dragged from his berth. Optimus stroked one of Comet’s tiny wings between his thumb and forefinger before leaving the warmth of the berth. Ratchet had shuttered his optics, already falling back into recharge. 

On the bridge, Prowl was stood in front of Teletraan, stiff and annoyed. Jazz was sat in the console’s chair, hiding his mouth behind his hand and avoiding Optimus’s gaze. Something was wring. Optimus felt his spark drop as he looked between them. 

“What’s happened?” 

“Soundwave is on standby,” Prowl gestured to Teletraan’s screen behind them, with it’s ‘Call On Hold’ notification flashing. “He wishes to speak to you, regarding the sparkling.” 

“Then Ratchet should be here for this,” Optimus moved to activate his comm. 

"It would be better if this was discussed without Ratchet.” Prowl warned. 

“Comet is his sparkling.” 

“That's the problem, Optimus," Jazz shook his helm. "He may not be.” 

Optimus felt his spark shrink in its chamber. They had known this cycle could come. He had known. Ratchet wouldn’t have wanted to hear it, would have refused to listen to anything said on principle. But there were too many questions, too many possibilities for Optimus to shut down any chance of Comet’s creators having an opportunity to petition for his return, or even to just explain themselves. 

He gave a small nod, and Jazz took the call off hold. Soundwave’s stoic profile appeared on screen. 

"Prime." 

Optimus didn’t bother with his own greeting.

"Where is Megatron, Soundwave?”

"I call regarding a personal matter. It will not require Megatron's attention." 

"You're calling to demand we hand over the sparkling.” Optimus glared. 

"Negative. Soundwave; requests Autobots allow the sparkling to be reunited with carrier and sire.” 

"A carrier and sire who abandoned him?” Optimus reminded him. 

"Negative. Sparkling: separated. Lost.” Soundwave explained coldly. Then added, “Starscream is to blame." 

Jazz and Prowl shared an interested look out of view of the pickup. Optimus lifted his chin, knowing Prowl would want him to ask. "And where is Starscream?” 

"Location: unknown.” 

“Is he not the carrier?” Prowl stepped smoothly into view before Optimus could respond, challenging Soundwave’s story straight off the bat. 

“Negative.” 

Optimus’s doubts grew. Comet had looked so alike the Decepticon seeker, that they hadn’t really considered any other possibilities for the carrier, only the sire-

“The sparkling’s progenitors are the remainder of the elite trine, Thundercracker and Skywarp. As is common within a trineship, all members bear equal an responsibility for spark-rearing, regardless of coding. Starscream was responsible for the sparkling during the time of their disappearance.”

Jazz’s visor had dimmed whilst Soundwave had been speaking, taking in the words with serious consideration. 

“Why did the parents not look for their sparkling?” Prowl demanded. 

“Seekers: believed Starscream was still in possession of sparkling. They had not realised their young had been taken by Autobot thieves.” 

“He was found.” Optimus said darkly. 

“The kidnap of Vosian young was not uncommon on Cybertron,” Soundwave continued, calm but accusing. “Kept as trophies among the High Caste, turned out onto the streets in their adolescence-“

“Enough.” Optimus slammed a fist against the console, his rage so sudden it surprised even him. “The sparkling was left abandoned, rescued and brought here. Throwing out accusations to deflect from the wrongdoings of your own mechs will not avail you, Soundwave.”

“And isn’t it convenient that Starscream is to blame in all this when he just happens to be MIA?” Prowl added. 

“Negative. Soundwave: finds nothing of this situation convenient.” 

“Where are Thundercracker and Skywarp?” Optimus demanded, optics sweeping across the background behind Soundwave, searching. “I would hear this from them.”

“Situation: distressing,” Soundwave stated. “Learning of their sparklings imprisonment by Autobots has affected them poorly. I will perform as their proxy.” 

“You’re not enough Soundwave. If this is true, and not some manufactured nonsense, we will hear it from the parents themselves.” Optimus narrowed his optics at him, “If they care for this sparkling and want him back, they will have to prove it.” 

“The sparkling is theirs by right of coding.” 

“Coding is not a guarantee for love,” Optimus growled, and gestured for Prowl to hang up the call. 

Soundwave turned away from the blank screen to face Thundercracker and Skywarp. The former had his face buried in his hands, the latter was struggling not to smirk. 

“You will need to convince them yourselves.” Soundwave stated, weary and wrung out. He had made a mistake. He should have claimed the sparkling as his own and negated any need for unconvincing actors.

“No problem,” Skywarp’s smirk became full blown. “Lie to Autobots, blame Screamer, pretend I’m clanging TC? I do that stuff all the time.”

Thundercracker lifted his head, “Wait, what was that last one?” 

“I cannot be seen to coach you. You must be confident and convincing in your story.” Soundwave continued. “The Autobots will attempt to twist your words. Will poke holes in your story. Will use any slip or pause against you. Use your existing relationship with Starscream to your advantage. Starscream: remains Starscream, regardless of age. It is vital you express affection for him.” 

“Affection?!” Skywarp pulled a face, “Really? Isn’t that a little over the top? He’s trine and all, but I won’t lose recharge if he’s stuck a dumb baby forever.” 

Thundercracker was glaring at him. “Maybe I should do the talking?” 

Soundwave nodded, “Agreed.” 

Chapter Text

Something had rattled the medic, filled him with a restless sort of energy that Starscream had to suffer with too, thanks to their irksome bond. Ratchet paced the medbay with him, bouncing him, muttering under his breath, distracted, tense. 

Starscream twisted in his hold, all the nervous energy he was being subjected to unsettling and frustrating him, no where to go and too much for his immature frame to cope with. 

Ratchet sighed when Starscream fidgeted again -as if he was the problem here- adjusting his grip, “Can’t you just go to recharge like a good sparkling?” 

Starscream scowled. He would love to be able to recharge. If only someone wasn’t muttering and bouncing and fussing over him! 

“Ratchet?” Prime called from the doorway. 

Ordinarily at a time like this Starscream would have been relieved to see Optimus awkwardly lingering in the medbay doorway. If not for Ratchet’s reaction to his presence. Stress levels rose. Starscream could sense the acceleration of Ratchet’s spark, pulsing fast and hard at his superior’s appearance. Starscream’s did the same in unwanted empathy. 

He clung to the medic, dread that wasn’t entirely his own closing in. What had happened? What had he missed that had the Autobots, had Ratchet, so keyed-up and tense? Prime’s solemn expression wasn’t doing anything to reassure him. 

“Let me just put him down,” Ratchet told his Prime, turning away and moving towards the crib before anything further was said. 

Typical, just when he might finally overhear something of interest he was removed from situation. Starscream fought against Ratchet, willing to bear the unwanted stress if it at least meant he was in the know. 

He put up a good fight but he was set down anyway, Ratchet ignoring his grasping fingers and shouted protests as he tucked the cursed blanket over him and closed the crib, sealing him in to the warm, pressurised, soundproofed prison. 

“No!” Starscream shouted, struggling out of the loose swaddle so he could sit up and press his hands against the glass. On the other side of the medbay Ratchet and Prime were speaking. Prime’s helm was low and optics dim. Ratchet had his back to the crib, but was gesticulating angrily. Emotions flooded the bond they shared through Ratchet’s end, but without context, they were difficult to place. Envy, despair, grief... resignation? 

Starscream watched Ratchet throw up his hands and storm from the room, leaving a guilty looking Prime in his wake. He watched with wide, curious optics as Prime lifted his gaze to meet his own. The battle-mask slid away to reveal a mouth struggling to force a smile. 

Starscream sat back on his aft, wondering if bad news for the Autobots would be good news for him. And why he felt so guilty hoping it was so. 

“You knew this could happen,” was probably the closest Prowl could get to not bursting out with a gloating ‘I told you so’ at Ratchet’s expense. 

“You’re not actually falling for this slag?” Ratchet snapped. “Thundercracker and Skywarp? Comet’s parents? Really? Comet doesn’t look anything like them.”

“Comet doesn’t look like any seeker, just a little grey blob of armour,” Jazz laughed, trying and failing, to inject humour into the situation.

“The colours coming through match Starscream, not his trine. They’re lying.” 

“Let’s say for the sake of argument that they are lying,” Jazz agreed diplomatically. “But as Starscream’s trine, they’re next of kin-“

“Then where the Pit were they when their trine leader up and abandoned the sparkling?” 

“That is what we will be determining by speaking with them.” Optimus said calmly. “Ratchet, we haven’t agreed to anything.” 

Ratchet folded his arms and fumed to himself. Optimus’s apparent acceptance of the situation was only angering him further. No, they hadn’t ‘agreed’ to anything but they were speaking with the enemy regarding Comet. Opening the lines of communication with Decepticons was never done lightly and for some primus-forsaken reason Optimus seemed to be treating this scam seriously. 

“Comet will need to be present and visible on screen. They are insisting on seeing him.” Prowl continued with his report. Soundwave had again called to set up the terms of their next comm call, this time with the alleged parents present to voice their claims. 

Ratchet’s hands curled into fists, “Sounds like they think this some kind of hostage negotiation.” 

“They want to know he’s okay,” Jazz tried to placate.

It had the opposite effect. “Of course he's okay! He's more okay than he was when they abandoned him! They don’t need to see him, not unless I know this isn’t some Decepticon plot-“

Optimus hesitated, “Ratchet, what harm will it do? They can’t hurt him through the comm-“

“It might upset him.” Ratchet argued stubbornly. Because what if it did? What if Comet recognised them? Remembered some terrible trauma he had endured with them? 

“At which point we can remove him from the room,” Prowl pointed out. “And then they will have to explain why ‘their sparkling’ is terrified of them.” 

Ratchet begrudgingly accepted the logic of it. “And it’ll just be them? The two seekers?” 

“Just them.” Optimus nodded. 

“No Starscream?” 

“Still MIA,” Jazz shrugged. “Or so they claim.” 

“Fine.” The word tasted bitter on Ratchet’s glossa. “But I'm not agreeing to anything else.”

“Yet.” Prowl reminded him. 

Ratchet glared. 

For a complete idiot that was almost certainly going to blow their chances at recovering Starscream, Skywarp was staggeringly calm in the run up to the dreaded comm call. Thundercracker wrung his fingers together and mentally ran through his memorised lines, watching as Skywarp harassed Soundwave with pointless chitchat as the communications officer worked to secure the comm channel from potential eavesdroppers. 

It was the dead of night, and the Command Centre had been cleared of any loiterers, with Ravage patrolling outside and Megatron sound asleep and well out of the way. 

The situation was almost, almost idiot proof. Save for Skywarp’s involvement. 

“You think he can talk?” Skywarp prodded him. 

Thundercracker lost his train of thought, scowling at him, “He’s not a real sparkling.” 

“Yeah, but can he talk?” Skywarp repeated. “Is he gonna pop up on screen and lisp ‘funderquaker, what thook you so wong!’ or is it gonna be all beeps and squeaks?” 

“If he could talk the Autobots would have figured it out by now. Starscream couldn’t keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it.” Thundercracker grumbled. “And it regularly does.” 

Skywarp sighed in disappointment, “I was hoping he’d have a stupid baby voice.” 

Soundwave had finished his work on the comm unit at that point. He lifted his helm and looked towards Thundercracker, almost like he sensed he had a question to ask. 

Of course he did. Telepathy. 

“Query?” He prompted.

Thundercracker hesitated, "What... what if the medic can tell?”

Soundwave tilted his helm. “Tell?” 

"That I'm not the carrier. I -Starscream's frame doesn’t look all that old. Don't I need to look like I just had a sparkling? That I was-" he gestured to his chest and hips, "-hauling a few extra tonnes for a couple months? Less aerodynamic?”

Soundwave continued stare. 

"He's a medic!” Thundercracker burst out defensively. “They notice that sort of thing." 

"Carrying: does not alter the frame of a carrier." Soundwave told him. 

"Man and I thought I was the stupid one." Skywarp grumbled, as if Thundercracker didn’t feel foolish enough already.

"Shut up, Warp." 

"Reminder: you are mated." Soundwave said sternly. 

Thundercracker grit his denta, “Primus, I don't want that reminder." 

Before things could deteriorate into an argument, the comm pinged with an incoming call. Thundercracker jumped, and might have panicked a little upon realising he couldn’t remember any of their cover story. Skywarp meanwhile, threw himself casually into one of the chairs at the comm console, and then reached out and grabbed Thundercracker by the wing to yank him down next to him, slinging an arm around him when he tried to scramble away. 

“Get off me, you stink of ozone!” Thundercracker wrinkled his olfactory, trying to break Skywarp’s fingers off his wing.

Skywarp’s fingers tightened on him, “I’m supposed to be comforting you. So look fragging sad!”

"Thundercracker: correct your expression." Soundwave sided with Skywarp, his servo poised over the accept button. “Autobots: must not be kept waiting.” 

“Just put it through!” Skywarp waved him on with all the underserved confidence of a complete idiot.

“No, I’m not ready!” Thundercracker cried. 

But it was too late. The call began to connect. Thundercracker had less than three seconds to arrange his expression into the forlorn look of a worried parent before Optimus Prime’s battle-masked visage was glowering through the screen at them. 

Thundercracker swallowed nervously. 

Two seekers appeared before Optimus, squeezed together in front of the pickup. He allowed the silence to grow between them as he studied them. Skywarp fidgeted restlessly, while Thundercracker looked as though he was trying to inch out of pickup view, away from any scrutiny. Optimus was familiar enough with the remaining two members of the Decepticon Command Trine, but he did take a moment to compare them to Comet, searching for any features they may share. 

He was struggling to find any. Ratchet’s words of warning lingered in his processor. 

"So," he began, in his most intimidating tone, one usually reserved for Megatron's most unhinged behaviour. "You claim to be-“ 

"Where's the sparkling?" Skywarp spoke across him, craning his neck in case he could somehow see around Optimus on his screen. 

Optimus wondered how Megatron had the patience to deal with his seekers sometimes. 

"'The' sparkling?" He repeated, pointedly. 

Skywarp scowled. "My sparkling,” he corrected firmly. "Where is he?" 

"Recharging." Optimus's own glare hardened. "You will see him in a moment. First, we have questions that require answers." 

On screen, Thundercracker seemed to lose some of his colour at the low growl of Optimus’s voice. He hadn’t yet spoken, and his optics continuously darted towards something that appeared to be out of pickup range. 

Skywarp, however, did kept his gaze, his ominous red optics darkening with irritation. "Questions,” he scoffed. “Well maybe I have questions for you, you self righteous baby-thief!" 

"Skywarp." Thundercracker whispered, optics big and bright. 

"We-!" Skywarp continued, loudly, brushing Thundercracker’s servo away from his shoulder. "-Have been worried sick about our sparkling! And you got the nerve to stand there and use him as leverage to make us answer some dumb questions? He's our sparkling! We lost him! You took him! And we want him back, so cough him up already." 

Skywarp finished with a firm nod and sat back in his seat again. Beside him, Thundercracker had a hand over his optics, apparently distressed. 

Unconvinced, Optimus folded his arms. "That is not how this is going to work." 

Skywarp stood up for another rant, "I-“ 

When Thundercracker’s hand on his shoulder yanked him back down.

“Please, let us see him." Thundercracker met Optimus’s optics through the comm, somewhat forlorn but more convincing than Skywarp at least. "We just need to know that he's alright. Please." 

Ratchet would say it was all an act, and there was something ‘off’ about it all. But Optimus hesitated to challenge it, unsure how much of his own prejudices were blinding him to the Decepticons’ intentions. Were these Decepticons living up to their deceitful names, or merely two desperate parents begging to see their offspring?

Perhaps against his better judgment, he sent a silent ping to Ratchet, telling to him bring Comet onto the Bridge. 

“This is a bad idea.” Ratchet sent via comm. “What if they’re lying?” 

Optimus didn’t respond. It could be a trick, a scheme to take what would one day be a formidable air-warrior back into the Decepticon fold, but only Comet’s reaction would tell them what was true. Ratchet would know, through the bond, who Comet felt he should be with. And they had to give Comet that opportunity to choose. He may only be a sparkling, but it was his future. 

He heard the door open behind him, and took a deep breath before stepping aside and allowing Ratchet to carry their charge into view. 

"If you don't shut the Pit up you’re going to blow this for everyone!" Thundercracker snapped through their private comm channel, subtly elbowing Skywarp while Prime on screen was distracted. "Stop trying to pick a fight with Prime!" 

"It's called acting!" Skywarp elbowed him back, harder. Next to the screen, out of Autobot view, Soundwave was staring at them with obvious despair. They ignored him. "I’m being a protective sire, and I'm doing it better than you Mister oh-please-let-me-see-my-baby-I-just-want-him-to-be-okay!" 

"You're a fragging idiot." Thundercracker sent.

But Skywarp didn’t reply, because on screen Prime was stepping aside to let the medic through, and held in the medic’s arms (smaller than a cassette, round as a soccer ball, stubby wings and arms and legs) was a sparkling. And not just any sparkling. 

Thundercracker had seen him already, images on Ravage’s spy cameras, but it didn’t prepare him for the real live thing. 

Skywarp had leaned into the pickup, his own mouth falling open in dumb surprise as Starscream shifted in the medic’s arms and turned towards the screen with a pouty, babyish scowl. Which quickly transmuted into a look of shock at the sight of them. 

Thundercracker stared back, unsure what to do. 

A beat of silence passed.

Skywarp lifted a servo in an awkward wave, “...Hey?” 

Soundwave was nodding his helm at the side of the comm, making ‘continue’ motions with his servos, trying to prompt them along out of their surprise. 

“Uh,” Thundercracker stuttered, unsure what to say to Starscream, a sparkling, when he was supposed to be pretending to be his carrier. And when he was... startlingly adorable. ‘Starscream’ and ‘cute’ should not be two things that could appear in a sentence together, and yet... 

“No!” Starscream suddenly burst out, loud for so small a thing, making Thundercracker jump. He began leaning out of the medic’s hands and reaching for them on screen, stumpy fingers grasping at the air. His voice was pitched high and soft, but his tone was full of very adult sounding determination. “No-!”

The medic readjusted his grip on him, mouth pressed into a hard, thin line while Prime looked away, solemnly. 

Thundercracker wasn’t interested in the Autobots’ reactions though. He just wanted to reach through the screen and take Starscream back, overcome with a foreign sense of protectiveness for him. Starscream was not his sparkling. But he was a sparkling. And he was trine. 

“Uh, hey Sweetie, I’ve missed you!” Skywarp called when Thundercracker failed to fill the growing silence, and he almost sounded convincing. 

A confused scowl took over Starscream’s features. His squirming abated somewhat as disgust began to curl his lip into a sneer. Primus, how had they not figured out that was Starscream?

“We’re going to get you home, don’t worry,” Skywarp continued, oblivious to Starscream’s irritation. “Me and Thun- me and uh, Carrier will have you outta there in no time.”

“Oh, is that so?” The medic holding Starscream turned to shield his charge from view, glowering at them. 

Skywarp frowned, “He’s our kid, ain’t he?” 

“Is he?” The medic demanded, “What his designation?” 

Thundercracker wasn’t fast enough to answer first. 

“Starscream.” Skywarp said, blunt and stupid. 

The Autobots stared. 

Behind the comm, Soundwave set his servos on his hips and looked up at the ceiling. On screen, Starscream’s cheeks began to flush red, likely a mix of embarrassment and anger. Thundercracker avoided meeting his gaze. 

“Starscream?” Prime repeated. 

It took a second, but Skywarp realised his mistake. “...Uh...”

“...We- we named him after Starscream.” Thundercracker explained before Skywarp made it worse. “It’s a ...a tradition, in Vos. We call him Screamer for short.” 

“No!” Starscream shouted. 

“Or Star!” Skywarp amended, “He prefers Star.” 

Starscream settled down, apparently approving. Thundercracker couldn’t keep his optics off him, or the way his tiny wing nubs would flick when he was annoyed. It was pretty distracting. 

“So he’s named after Starscream, who abandoned him?” The medic growled, sounding as sceptical as he did at the beginning. 

“Yeah well, that was before we knew what a bad sparkling-sitter he was.” Skywarp shrugged. “But I guess we can’t all be good at everything-“

“Where is Starscream?” The medic demanded. “Why isn’t he here if he’s an important enough figure in your sparkling’s life to be his namesake?” 

“We dunno. You seen him?” Skywarp said angrily. 

“We thought he’d taken little Star with him,” Thundercracker added when behind the screen Soundwave prompted him. 

“He looks like him.” The medic pointed out. “Like your trine leader. You sure he’s not a progenitor?”

“That’s racist!” Skywarp pointed. “You think all us seekers lookalike!?” 

“That was not what I said,” the medic glared. 

“Bah!” Starscream said, and Thundercracker wasn’t sure who he was siding with. 

The medic’s optics narrowed harshly, “I think we should do a coding test.” 

“He's too young for his coding to be tested,” Thundercracker argued quickly, remembering how Soundwave had drilled them on how to avoid this one. 

“He won’t always be. I’m prepared to wait.” The medic said stubbornly. “If you’re really his parents you won’t have anything to hide.”

“Ratchet,” the Prime sounded reluctant. 

“You can’t keep him from us,” Skywarp leaned forward, sounding genuinely angry now. Thundercracker glanced at him in surprise. “He’s ours. You know he’s ours. And he wants to be with us.”

The medic glanced down at the sparkling he held, and Starscream, to further help bring the point home, pointed towards the comm, towards them, babbling insistently. Thundercracker wondered what he might have been trying to explain to his Autobot caretaker. The medic’s stern expression withered. 

“He’s a seeker.” Skywarp continued, sitting back and folding his arms. “He’ll never be as happy with you as he will be with us.”

“That’s what you think.” The medic spat, gathering Starscream closer and stepping out of pickup view, presumably to leave.

Somewhere off screen, Starscream started to shriek. 

A sheepish Prime moved back into the centre of the comm, waiting until the sound of Starscream’s tantrum had faded from the bridge to speak. “...This requires further discussion-” 

“What else is there to discuss?” Thundercracker glared, the sound of Starscream’s distress having set him on edge. He knew he wasn’t a real sparkling, and Starscream as an adult throwing tantrums was a weekly occurrence anyway, but it left a bad taste in his mouth, a possessive burn in his chest. Starscream was trine and Skywarp was right, he should be with them. “You took him and you won’t give him back. It’s nice to see the Autobots have stayed true to their prejudiced roots.” 

And with that, he reached forward and cut the comm. 

And released a huge ventilation of air. 

Before he could relax properly, an elbow collided with his side as Skywarp nudged him appreciatively. “You just hung up on the Prime.” 

“Yeah,” Thundercracker agreed numbly, still thinking. He lifted his gaze to Soundwave. “So what do we do now?”

“I say, we go ‘round there and take him anyway.” Skywarp leaned into him, propping his arm on Thundercracker’s shoulder. “And frag up anyone who tries to stop us.”

“Soundwave already tried that,” Thundercracker began. 

“Yeah, but we ain’t Soundwave,” Skywarp grinned cockily. “No offence Sounders.”

Soundwave’s visor darkened. “Offence: taken.” 

Skywarp shrugged. “Yeah well, get over it.” 

Chapter Text

“We should tell Megatron.” 

In light of Skywarp’s surprisingly capable performance in front of the Autobots, Thundercracker had forgotten what a complete idiot he actually was. He was now being reminded quite swiftly. 

“No.” He said. 

“No.” Agreed Soundwave. 

Ravage made a gagging noise like he was hacking up a ball of steel wool. Thundercracker had to assume he concurred.

“We need him.” Skywarp insisted. He had always had a little bit too much faith in Megatron. 

“For what?”

“To be ‘Megatron’,” Skywarp said, obviously, like that was explaining anything. “Prime can’t say ‘No’ to Megatron.”

“Yes, he can.” Thundercracker stared at him incredulously. “He does. In fact, he does it regularly. He says ‘no’ to him all the time. Violently.”

“Faith in Lord Megatron: admirable,” Soundwave praised. 

Skywarp lifted his chin proudly. 

“But misplaced,” Soundwave continued. “Lord Megatron’s personal history with Starscream has resulted in a negative bias. He will not see the value in launching a full scale attack on the Autobots for the sake of one.”

Skywarp sighed, “Great. So we’re on our own. Just the four of us storming the Ark.” 

Ravage made a low unhappy noise at their pedes. 

“Fine, the three of us.” Skywarp sighed. 

Soundwave shook his helm. He’d already risked life and limb for Starscream once this week. 

Skywarp looked put-out. “Alright, the two of us. TC makes a distraction and I warp in and grab Baby-Scream, single-handedly saving the day-”

“You can’t teleport with a sparkling.” Thundercracker said, exasperated.

“What?! Why?”

“You’re jumping across space-time. Starscream’s frame won’t be strong enough to handle the strain. It’ll scramble his circuits,” Thundercracker folded his arms. “What’s Megatron going to say if when we turn Starscream back into an adult he’s got processor damage?”

“Probably not notice the difference,” Skywarp grumbled. 

“He will when Starscream’s raid success ratings drop below ten percent.”

Soundwave was nodding sagely. He, like Thundercracker, had realised a long time ago that perhaps the only reason Megatron kept his most difficult subordinate around was because Starscream was irreplaceably good at his job (when he wanted to be.) 

Skywarp threw up his servos in defeat, “Well, how the Pit are we gonna get him back then?”

“What happened to bursting in there and fragging up anyone who tried to stop us?” Thundercracker glared. “And ‘single-handedly saving the day’, Superhero?”

“That was before I knew I couldn’t just warp in and out with him.” Skywarp grumbled miserably, kicking at the floor. “...Can’t we just paint Slipstream to look like him? She’s a bitch, Star’s a bitch, no one would know.”

“I would know,” Thundercracker mumbled sadly. 

“Then we tell the Autobots it’s Starscream they’re cuddling!” Skywarp exclaimed. “They won’t want to keep him then.”

“Didn’t you already tell them that, with your Starscream-Junior nonsense?” 

“Informing the Autobots of their high-value prisoner is inadvisable.” Soundwave stated. “The Autobots will be less inclined to release whom they presently believe is an innocent upon learning the truth. They will instigate Prisoner Of War protocols and attempt to barter for his exchange. Megatron; will not make concessions for a sparkling.” 

“Megatron will if it’s Starscream.” Skywarp said grumpily. “I mean, it’s Starscream. They’re friends.”

Thundercracker couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What planet do you live on!?” 

“Right now? This sucky dirt ball.” Skywarp muttered. “But it’s better than whatever crazy planet you’re on, TC, if you think we’re really gonna break into the Ark alone, without backup, risking our lives, just to rescue some aft-hole you know we’re better off without, who’s not going to show us any gratitude anyway.” 

“That aft-hole is trine.” Thundercracker reminded him. 

“Yeah.” Skywarp said crossly. 

“And I’m going whether you come or not.” 

Skywarp looked like he wanted to stick his head through a warp-gate just to scream. 

“Yeah.” He said again, through gritted denta. 

“So are you coming, Warp?”

Skywarp probably thought it’d be quicker and less painful just to shoot himself through the processor now. 

He deflated, shoulders slumping, “Yeah...” 

They looked to Soundwave. 

“Success: unlikely.” 

“Thanks for the pep talk, Sounders.” 

Optimus lay on his side across his berth, watching Comet as the sparkling scribbled furiously over the drawing-pad he’d been given. Over at the desk Ratchet was mixing low-grade in silence, his shoulders tight and high with tension. 

Optimus summoned his courage. “Are we going to talk about it?” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Ratchet replied tonelessly, not turning around. 

Comet started stabbing at the drawing-pad with his light-pen. Concerned, Optimus reached around to still him. Comet grumbled angrily as his digits were peeled off the pen. 

“No.” He grumbled, stroppy. 

“Let me see,” Optimus said softly, taking the drawing-pad. 

Comet didn’t resist. Optimus studied the scribbles to discern the image out of the shaky lines. Three figures stood side-by-side, with heeled feet, triangles protruding from their shoulders and a big circle in the middle of their torsos. Optimus could have ignored all that, but he couldn’t dismiss the colours Comet had used; a blue figure, a purple figure, and the last in red, white, and blue. 

Thundercracker. Skywarp. Starscream. 

Guilt nagged at him. He held onto the drawing-pad even as Comet twisted around and tried to yank it back. 

“Ratchet,” he called, holding the drawing-pad out. 

Ratchet turned around with the low-grade and impatiently swapped it for the drawing-pad. Optimus sat up and scooped Comet closer to set him on his knee for fuelling. Ratchet was looking at the drawing-pad in silence, mouth pressed into a hard thin line. 

“...I can’t just-“ Ratchet began, then stopped. 

Optimus focused on fuelling Comet, allowing Ratchet a moment to gather his thoughts. 

“We can’t just hand him over.” He managed. 

“We won’t.” Optimus reassured, wiping a drop of low-grade from Comet’s chin when the sparkling turned to towards Ratchet, spilling the fuel. “But perhaps a meeting in person-“

“What if they try to take him?” Ratchet said suddenly. 

“Would I allow that to happen?” Optimus reminded him seriously. 

Ratchet tossed the drawing-pad onto Optimus’s desk and sat heavily on the end of the berth, leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. “If we give him to them, we’ll never see him again. You know that.”

Optimus took a deep breath. “It’s possible.”

“It’s a fact.” Ratchet snapped, “This is a war. He’s a sparkling. The next time we’ll see him, might be thousands of years into the future, through the scope of a sniper, as he’s terrorising civilians-“

Optimus looked down at the top of Comet’s little helm, struggling to connect their sweet (though temperamental) little sparkling with the image of a war-hardened Decepticon terrorist. “We could have peace before then.”

Ratchet scoffed, standing up from the berth and heading for the door, muttering under his breath. “Not fragging likely.” 

The medic seemed to be avoiding Starscream. 

Recent revelations had clearly strained their bond. It wasn’t breaking, but it seemed weaker, stretched out by an emotional distance that hadn’t existed before. Starscream could only sense Ratchet faintly now, and even then only if he reached for him. The irony was he would have once preferred it this way, had he not allowed himself to grow so accustomed to how it had been before. 

Ratchet had come to know, instinctively, when he had needed to fuel, to recharge, when he was too warm or too cold, when he was lonely and bored, or when he was feeling smothered and overwhelmed. Unable voice his needs himself, Ratchet had been his …servant in a way, attending to his needs, however petty and small they were.  

Now Starscream was being saddled with a clueless, bumbling Prime who didn’t seem to realise the blasted medic had trained his pathetic little frame into expecting a mid-day nap. 

“He’s fussy today,” Starscream heard Prime explaining to Red Alert as he stood with him on the bridge. 

Starscream couldn’t summon the energy to shout an indignant denial. His optics ached and his limbs were heavy. He lay slumped and exhausted against Prime’s chest, and every time some imbecilic Autobot poked at him for attention he was provoked to the point of tears. 

Prime, Red Alert and Prowl were stood around discussing improvements to the Ark’s security, something Starscream really ought to be listening to so he could feed the information back to the Decepticons when he escaped, but the conversation was flying over his helm. He’d shutter his optics for a moment, and online them again to find them discussing a completely different topic. 

He whined his frustration, tucking his face into Prime’s throat cabling. 

“-have a meeting with the Ohioan governor regarding security for a newly proposed coal fired power plant,” Prime was telling Prowl, shifting Starscream away from his chest. Starscream squirmed unhappily. “Would you-“ 

“Prowl?! After last time?” Red Alert sounded like he was stifling a laugh. 

“I’m perfectly capable of watching a sparkling, thank you,” Prowl said stiffly, and that was how Starscream found himself pressed up against Prowl’s generous chest. He blinked up, tired and confused. Prowl stared back, uncomfortable and nervous. 

“No,” Starscream said, turning back to look for Prime, but Optimus was already leaving the bridge, waving fondly to Starscream from the doorway. Starscream watched the door close behind him with mounting horror. 

Prowl cleared his vocaliser and Starscream was forced to look back up at his dreaded captor. 

“Now, we are not going to have a repeat of last time,” Prowl began, at least having the decency to speak to him as a fellow adult, and not some brainless sparkling. “You will remain where I can see you at all times. Understood?” 

“No.” Starscream rather liked the idea of getting himself lost again just to see what Ratchet might do to the tactician. If Prowl was dead, his life back with the Decepticons would be considerably easier. 

“You want me to get the leash?” Red Alert offered, seating himself in front of Teletraan. 

Prowl’s cruel blue optics gleamed down at Starscream. “We’ll see.” 

Given that Starscream had skipped the dreaded -but apparently necessary- nap-time it was no real surprise that he had fallen into recharge on the bridge. 

What was a surprise was the sharp, piercing alarm that screamed to life out of nowhere, jolting Starscream awake with a cry. 

"No, no, no, noooo-" he could barely hear Red Alert shouting at Teletraan, his servos flying over the controls. "Teletraan; activate countermeasures!" 

Sat nestled in the big (moderate, but adult-sized) chair in front of Teletraan where Prowl must have set him down, Starscream was free to watch Teletraan’s screen calculate then enact a series of countermeasures faster than his optics could keep up with. 

‘Molecular irregularity detected' was the main warning message flashing at the centre of Teletraan's screen. It could mean almost anything. A black hole materialising in the middle of the Autobot warship? Someone with a malfunctioning Time Machine? 

Or …a warp-gate opening. 

Skywarp. 

Of course they had sent the biggest idiot in the faction to rescue him. And trust the Autobots to have anti-teleportation security measures. Starscream settled back in his seat with a huff, folding his stumpy arms. He gave Skywarp five minutes, maximum, before they had him in stasis cuffs and thrown in the brig. Starscream hoped he caught wing-rot down there. 

“Prowl? Prowl!” Red Alert shouted, and then Prowl was leaning over Starscream to enter what must have been his command codes into Teletraan. Starscream couldn’t look around his huge chest to see what they were. He pushed at Prowl’s chassis huffily. Prowl didn’t seem to notice. 

“On the third deck,” Prowl stated, calm and collected. “Only two signatures, it must be-“

The air seemed to prickle with drawn charge. Starscream’s wing-nubs perked up at the familiar sensation, then flattened down tight out of instinct for what he knew was about to follow. He dampened his audials a bare instant before the sonic boom blew up from two levels below, the shockwave rattling the deck and cracking the nearby viewports. Prowl and Red Alert stumbled, wincing at the assault on their aural sensors. Teletraan glitched and reset. The alarms stuttered then restarted, faint and off-tune, speakers damaged. 

“No!” 

Starscream’s audials were ringing, but he heard Red Alert’s shout, the red mech jabbing at Teletraan in a panic. 

Prowl turned swiftly and hoisted Starscream out of his seat. “Secure this level then comm Prime. Get him back here.” 

“Ten minutes till full reset!” Red Alert shouted back, louder than was strictly necessary. His audials must be shot. “I can’t secure anything-!“

Prowl didn’t respond. Balanced against his chest, Starscream watched him lift his wrist to activate his comm. “Silverbolt, intercept enemy jets on deck three-”

Teletraan emitted an unhappy sounding beep and Red Alert made a noise like he was about to throw up. 

“Their signatures have vanished!”

“Silverbolt, belay those orders. Converge on my position.” Prowl ordered swiftly. 

Starscream almost smiled. Skywarp only needed three seconds to open a warp-gate, and with Teletraan down would have no problem leading the Autobots on a merry cyber-goose chase about the ship. Unlike Thundercracker, who needed a full minute to reset his-

The prickling started again. Prowl either didn’t notice or was incapable of recognising it. Starscream hurriedly clapped his servos over his audials. Prowl glanced at him a moment too late. 

The sonic boom was closer this time. Right below them, maybe. It crashed up through the floor like an invisible explosion, rattling Starscream’s armour till he thought his denta would shatter. He bit his own glossa and squeezed his optics shut tight. Prowl’s arms tightened around him, but the Autobot wasn’t built to withstand the terrible detonation of Thundercracker’s sonic booms either. 

Prowl stumbled, knocked down by the vibrations. Starscream cried out, then opened his optics to scowl at him because even if he wasn’t directly responsible for his current discomfort, it was still his fault for being incompetent enough to let Skywarp and Thundercracker, of all idiots, run riot about his base like this. 

Prowl didn’t meet his scowl. He was glaring at something over Starscream’s head. 

Starscream turned in his arms to see behind him, to where the troublemakers in question had appeared. 

“Finally!” He cried, furious but relieved, in what he was sure sounded like gibberish. “It took you two morons long enough!”

Neither of his trine reacted to his outburst. Thundercracker was stood next to Teletraan, the tip of his null-ray poking a frowning Red Alert in the olfactory. His optics were wide at the sight of Starscream’s embarrassingly disproportionate frame- but it was Skywarp who had the audacity to chuckle. 

Starscream turned the full force of his ire on him, and every iota of it was justified. Skywarp was stood in front of Prowl with his null-rays trained lazily in the general direction of the Autobot’s torso, where he could very well hit Starscream if he was dumb enough to fire. Which he was. 

But more damning than his absolutely disgraceful weapons handling, were the fuzzy earmuffs he was wearing over his audials to protect himself from the deafening boom of Thundercracker’s outlier ability. 

“Hand over the baby,” Skywarp ordered, smirking cleverly. “Or TC over there drops another boom and it’s ‘hello sensorineural hearing loss’ for you Auto-chumps!” 

“No!” Starscream shouted, because he wanted to keep his hearing. 

“I wasn’t asking you!” Skywarp snapped back, waving his null-ray around. 

“Skywarp!” Thundercracker admonished, looking over with concern. 

“You’d deliberately damage your own sparkling?” Prowl growled. “Ratchet was right. You’re not his creators.” 

“Audials can be replaced,” Skywarp sneered. “He’s had worse besides.” 

“Had worse? What is wrong with you?” Red Alert whispered beside Teletraan. 

Looking over, Starscream noticed Teletraan’s screen still loading with the system reset. And once it was active-

“They’re stalling you,” Starscream realised, looking towards Skywarp with urgency. “They’re trying to stall! Just shoot him and get me out of here!” 

Skywarp wasn’t listening to Starscream’s gibberish. “Look, sparkling’s are pretty durable. You ever dropped one? They bounce for a reason. You can’t coddle them-“

“Skywarp!” Starscream screeched at an unholy decibel. “Teletraan!” 

“Let off the sonic boom then,” Prowl challenged, calling his bluff, but looking directly at Thundercracker, who Starscream knew well enough to know he was far too pathetic to ever do something as interesting as maim a sparkling. Even a fake one. Even only temporarily. “Blow your own sparkling’s audials out.”

Thundercracker didn’t respond, so Starscream took advantage of the pause to scream and gesticulate wildly in the direction of Teletraan, kicking his little legs. But no amount of dramatics seemed to gain him any attention. He just looked like a tantruming sparkling!

Skywarp was scowling. He offlined one of his null rays and made a fist to shake threateningly at Prowl. “Or how about teleport my hand into your head, Prowl? And yank out that fragging tact-net of yours?” 

“Language.” Red Alert snapped. Teletraan was beginning to blink back to life. 

“Look at where I’m pointing, for frags sake!” Starscream shouted, jabbing his finger at Teletraan. 

“He’s heard worse.” Thundercracker said softly. 

“He’s said worse,” Skywarp said, because he was an idiot. 

But it didn’t matter. Teletraan’s screen lit back up to full function. It would take Thundercracker a full minute to summon the charge for another sonic boom to knock it out again, and Red Alert’s finger was already posted over the necessary countermeasures button. 

Teletraan trilled a happy little tune. Thundercracker glanced up in surprise. Red Alert jabbed the button.  

Starscream folded his arms and leaned back against Prowl’s chest, deciding he might as well just enjoy the show as electrical prongs emerged from the ceiling to fire ten-thousand volts of electricity down on his trine mates. 

Idiots. 

Chapter Text

“Well now Megatron’s going to have to be told,” Skywarp mumbled, face smooshed against the bulkhead of their brig cell, frame aching all over. “The Autobots are going to call him and then he’s going to want to know what we were doing over here in the first place and then someone’s going to have to tell him about Baby Screamer and then he’s going to want to know why we couldn’t even kidnap one tiny sparkling and then-“

“Skywarp,” Thundercracker’s low voice called from the other side of the cell. 

“Yeah?” 

“Shut up.” 

Skywarp scowled that much harder, squinting through the darkness of the corridor behind the bars of their cell. “…Stupid Prowl and his stupid mind games.” 

“You should have just shot him,” Thundercracker growled. 

Skywarp pulled his face away from the bulkhead to glare back at his slumped trine-mate, “You should have exploded Teletraan!” 

“You should have just grabbed Starscream whilst we had the chance!”

“You should have just let me tell Megatron in the first place!” Skywarp shouted, standing up. 

Thundercracker turned away from him, slumping further into his corner of the cell. Skywarp clenched his fists and threw himself down again, wincing when he knocked sensitive circuitry still buzzing from their electrocution. The silence stagnated between them. 

“…He was smaller than I thought he’d be,” Skywarp spoke into the silence. It was the only thing he could think to say. 

He heard Thundercracker shift, and worried for a moment that he wasn’t going to respond. 

“Sparklings are small.” 

“You’ve seen one before?” Skywarp glanced back. “In real life?”

“…No.” Thundercracker admitted. 

“He was loud though, wasn’t he?” 

“Definitely.” Skywarp glanced back. Thundercracker was nodding as he agreed. “He’s definitely Starscream.” 

“So weird that the Autobots haven’t figured it out. I mean, he’s not really any different. Just smaller.” 

“I think that’s the problem,” Thundercracker bemoaned. “They can’t tell. Starscream’s always been a massive crybaby.” 

Skywarp burst out laughing, and it echoed through the emptiness of the brig. 

Comet kicked and slapped and shouted on the medberth, a tiny, raging ball of wrath that absolutely did not want to be examined for damage no matter how gently Ratchet tried to do it. By virtue of their fraying bond, he knew it wasn't discomfort provoking this tantrum. Comet wasn't frightened, or overstimulated, or hungry, or tired, and Ratchet wished he could shrug it off as trauma from the ordeal with those Decepticon bozos. But no. 

It was spite. 

He was being spiteful. 

Ratchet hadn't even known sparklings could emote feelings like this, but the foulness of Comet’s mood was so visceral it felt like it was contaminating the bond. Strands between them that should have felt bright and warm and good, were darkening and souring. 

Defending against psychological warfare from a sparkling had not been on Ratchet's agenda for the week, but with the way things had been going lately he probably should have seen this coming. 

He again tried to reach for Comet's little wing-nub to check it's underside, and again Comet whirled around and smacked him away. "No!" 

“What have I told you about hitting?!” Ratchet pointed firmly, patience strained to it’s limits. 

“No!” Comet yelled. 

"No means no, Ratchet," Sideswipe joked from the doorway where he was supposed to be keeping guard. 

Ratchet didn't find it funny. He resolutely ignored him (and the stroppy sparkling) and looked insistently to Prowl instead, who was stood by the medberth watching the latest of Comet's meltdowns with passive interest. 

"Prowl, this isn't live theatre. If you're going to be in here you might as well make yourself useful." 

Prowl blinked, taken aback. "Me?" 

"Just hold him still for me," Ratchet nodded to the delinquent of a sparkling between them. "Please?" 

Comet turned and scowled ferociously at the tactician, daring him to. 

"I am certain he wasn't damaged." Prowl reassured him, eyeing the sparkling sceptically. Ratchet knew he was just trying to get out of playing medical-assistant. 

"Not all damage is obvious and you can never tell with sparklings. Those sonic booms could have ruptured his aural receptors." Ratchet said impatiently. "Just hold him still. He can't hurt you." 

Comet shifted, lifting a leg and banging it down in front of Prowl, bare thruster pointed outwards in warning, as if to say ‘yes I can’. Prowl looked back at Ratchet, unimpressed. 

"...I'll get the fire-proof boots," Ratchet agreed after a pause. 

Comet quickly brought his legs back in, huddling into a ball with a scream, "No!" 

Ratchet was still rifling around in the drawers for their fire-retardant-Comet-gear when Optimus came striding through the medbay doors, dust and grit climbing up his legs where he’d driven across the sun-dried dirt all day, patrolling the landscape. 

"What's happening?" He asked, derma crinkled around his optics as he spied Comet's curled up form in the centre of the medberth. 

"Dramatics," Ratchet called, glancing over his shoulder. "How many were there?" 

He dreaded the answer, sick with coiling anxiety since he had received that first call from Red Alert that Decepticons had breached the ship and come for Comet. Were they about to launch a full-scale attack? Did Soundwave have his cassettes in the vents, waiting till nightfall to pounce again? Or was Megatron himself going to blast through their hull and rip Comet right out of his arms? 

"None," Optimus said with firm confidence, and Ratchet allowed himself a breath of surprised relief. "There's no one else out there. Hound has swept the entire perimeter, the ship's been searched thrice over. It seems the seekers acted alone." 

"Imagine being dumb enough to try and infiltrate an enemy base without backup." Sideswipe chuckled to himself. "Just when you think Cons can't get any stupider..." 

"Perhaps they were desperate," Optimus said quietly, optics softening as they fell to Comet's flushed, angry face. 

Ratchet knew exactly what he was trying to imply. He turned around with the fire-proof boots in hand. 

"For the last time," he began impatiently, grabbing one of Comet's pedes and cramming the boot on regardless of shrieking protests. "They're not his parents." 

"How can we be sure?" 

"The coding is obvious," Ratchet muttered, grabbing Comet's other ankle to shove the next boot on. "Comet might as well have 'Home-brewed By Starscream' engraved on his aft. Look at him. If he’s not Starscream’s sparked creation, someone’s been screwing around code-cloning." 

"No!" Comet kicked his booted pedes furiously. 

"I have to agree with Ratchet," Prowl grimaced, coming forward to hold Comet in place so Ratchet could tip the sparkling's helm and scan his audial components. Comet dealt out furious but ineffective slaps against him. "Coding does not lie." 

"I'm not talking about coding," Optimus bent forward and helplessly wiggled a soldering iron in front of Comet's scrunched up face in an effort to distract him. Comet made a disgusted noise and pushed it away impatiently, still struggling in Prowl's hold. “Coding is not always necessary for familial bonds.”

"If you're suggesting two noted terrorists decided to adopt some random sparkling out of the goodness of their sparks-" 

"Their trine leader's sparking." Optimus corrected him. 

Ratchet scoffed, "Trineships are just another type of bond and bonds don’t mean much to Decepticons." 

Optimus sighed deeply, "Consider that they may call themselves Comet’s parents because they have been raising him." 

"That is highly unlikely," Prowl shook his helm. 

"It's more than unlikely," Ratchet said, tilting Comet's helm to check the other audial. "It's ridiculous. Skywarp is a monster. He's killed thousands and he's done it laughing. And Thundercracker-" Ratchet paused as he struggled to remember any of Thundercracker's particularly gruesome warcrimes. For some reason, none were coming to mind. "-well I doubt he's much better." 

Prowl was nodding along. "They had no reservations about hurting him." 

Ratchet straightened up from Comet, happy that everything was working as it should. He nodded for Prowl to release him. Comet immediately started fighting with the fire-proof boots again, desperate to tear them off and singe everyone within reach. 

"And is he?" Optimus questioned. 

Ratchet had been distracted watching Comet lift a pede to his mouth to try and chew off the boot. "What?" 

"Is he hurt?" Optimus repeated. 

"He's fine," Ratchet grumbled, fishing out a rust stick to give it to Comet. Comet dropped his foot and snatched it off him. "Not a scratch on him." 

"Then I think they may have had reservations about hurting him after all, don't you?" Optimus raised his optical ridges at Ratchet, then Prowl. 

Prowl hummed unhappily. 

Ratchet fired a glare back Optimus's way as he scooped Comet off the medberth and propped him up against his shoulder. Comet protested loudly, waving the rust-stick clutched in his chubby fist like a king would his sceptre as he made demands of his court. 

It didn't stop Ratchet from marching off with him.

Thundercracker and Skywarp were absent from their duty shift. It wasn’t something that came as a surprise to Soundwave. 

He had not heard from them since the cycle before- Skywarp boasting loudly on the comm regarding how many Autobot limbs he was going to shoot off and where he was going to display them in the air-barracks. Given his and Thundercracker’s absence from the base, along with any of the dismembered-limb-trophies he had promised, Soundwave had no choice but to conclude they had been unable to retrieve Starscream, or evade capture. 

Which was unfortunate, but again, not surprising. 

Even more unfortunate was the gaping hole an entire trine’s absence created in their airforce, no matter how creatively Soundwave rearranged the flight formations. Starscream’s absence had been a novelty, but his entire trine’s disappearance?

That was an inconvenience. One Megatron was going to notice. And if he suspected defection, of two prized outlier seekers no less, Soundwave was not confident he could manage the potential fallout. 

It would be best if Megatron did not notice at all. 

“Shockwave has some pretty good holoform tech,” Frenzy suggested, leaning against Soundwave’s leg. “Betcha he could make a convincing enough rainbow of seekers in time for role call.”

“They’d have to stand at the back,” Rumble said from Soundwave’s other leg. “So Megatron doesn’t see the projector lights flickering.”

“No holoform could adequately impersonate Starscream’s vocal capacity,” Soundwave dismissed the idea, shaking his helm in despair. 

“Maybe we re-paint the Rainmakers,” Frenzy suggested next. 

“Won’t Megatron just wonder where they are instead?” 

Frenzy snorted, “Have you ever cared where the Rainmakers were?” 

“No.” 

“Exactly.” 

Soundwave stepped away from them, causing both cassettes to stumble without the support of his legs behind them. “Hey, where ya going boss?”

“We got more ideas!” Frenzy shouted after him. 

“We haven’t even looked into cardboard cutouts yet!” 

Soundwave walked away faster. 

It was late, and though Starscream was not recharging it was a near thing. The blasted medic had used barbaric social conditioning methods to control his sleep cycles and now every evening fuelling was a battle of wills to stay awake. Energon warming his tank and the pulse of a steady spark beside him lulled him into an easy doze most nights, but tonight the medic was stressed, and it leaked into the bond like oil spilling into water. It gave Starscream a foothold to cling to as his optics ached and his processor slowed, that little niggle of second-hand worry to keep himself just conscious enough to notice when Prime slipped into the large berth beside him. 

His weight rocked the frame and Starscream stirred, his audials reactivating to the low murmur of voices. 

“-at war, what choice did they have?” Prime’s vocaliser was quiet but deep. Starscream hated how comforting the baritone of his voice had come to feel. 

“Every choice.” Ratchet whispered more fiercely. “Every choice not to try to blast their way out of here with a defenceless sparkling.”

“What would you have done in their position?” 

“That’s not relevant.” 

“If their attempt had been successful and Comet had been taken to the Decepticon base?” Optimus continued. “What would you be doing now?”

Starscream knew what the medic would be doing. It was easy enough to infer from the anxiety trembling through their bond, and the echo of indignity from realising a point had just been made at his expense. 

“…That is different-!” Ratchet’s voice hissed harshly.

“What would you have done?” Prime repeated insistently. 

There was a long silence. 

“…They’re idiots.” Ratchet still refused to answer. “And they went about it in an idiot way.”

“I am not denying their shocking lack of common sense. Their actions were foolish and dangerous and Comet could have been hurt, but I do not think their intentions were nefarious.”

The berth sheets rustled and a frame drew closer to Starscream’s own, warm and smelling of Ratchet. Starscream turned into it, pushing his olfactory against the smooth glass of his chest. As interested in the conversation as Starscream was, exhaustion weighed him down. The call of sleep was strong. He didn’t even have the energy to whine in frustration. 

He felt a servo stroke his cockpit, sliding up and down affectionately. The bond he had with the medic warmed for the first time in days, but ached too with a terrible sadness. Starscream squirmed, optics flickering in annoyance. A voice hushed him gently. 

“I need to know they can look after him. Properly.” The medic’s voice broke through the weighty silence. 

Prime’s voice hummed. 

“I’m not letting him go. Not until I’m sure.” Ratchet asserted. “Being a terrorist is no excuse for poor sparkling care.” 

“Well, of course,” Prime said placatingly, sounding a little confused. “Though I am not sure where you plan for them to learn these skills…”

Starscream wasn’t sure if they discussed anything else, as the gentle drone of their voices and the fingers stroking his cockpit finally sent him off to recharge. It probably wasn’t a conversation he should have fallen asleep during though. 

“You’re going to give our sparkling away?!” Skydive cried, aghast, cornering Ratchet in the Mess the next morning. 

Having only just discussed the possibility with Optimus the night before and, being unable to recharge, confided in Wheeljack in the early hours of the morning, Ratchet hadn’t expected to habe to have this dreadful conversation with anyone just yet. 

Ratchet threw Wheeljack a glare. “First of all, ‘Our’ sparkling?” 

Wheeljack shrugged helplessly, “They’ve …bonded with him.”

“He’s not a pet, and I am not giving anyone ‘away’,” Ratchet turned to the gang of spark-broken Aerialbots starting to crowd around him. It was too early for this. “I only mentioned to Wheeljack that Optimus and I were looking into different options.”

“If you don’t want to look after him anymore,” Silverbolt began, stepping forwards. “I can always-“

Ratchet’s irritation spiked. “Of course I still want him!” He snapped, causing the Aerialbots to step back in alarm. “But this isn’t about what I want, is it?” 

“Is he going back?” Skyfire asked softly from the next table over, and unlike the dread that was darkening the Aerialbot’s optics, his were bright with hope. “Have they found Starscream?”

Starscream’s whereabouts were honestly the absolute least of Ratchet’s concerns in light of possibly losing Comet forever, but it would be cruel to say so to Skyfire.

“This trine have claimed him.” he said stiffly. 

Skyfire didn’t know Thundercracker or Skywarp very well- by Ratchet’s understanding Starscream had trined them in the years after Skyfire’s disappearance- and his unsure frown reflected that. Ratchet more than understood his skepticism. 

“So any old Decepticon can just walk in here and take him back?” Slingshot argued, face flushing. “They’re not his parents! Prowl said! You said!”

“Would you rather Starscream turned up and took him, then?” Air Raid nudged him. “Or Megatron?”

Ratchet did not need reminding who Comet would be sharing residence with when -if they gave him up. He had had enough sleepless nights worrying about who the sire could be. 

“We’re not his parents either.” He reminded them. 

“But we love him,” Silverbolt said, as if it was that simple. “We named him.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have…” Ratchet muttered under his breath. 

This was his fault. He should have known better, not gotten himself attached, not allowed anyone else to do the same. He’d known this was a bad idea from the start and yet he’d let himself get suckered in by tiny wings and big optics anyway. 

“You all need to calm down,” Wheeljack stood in front of his rowdy brood, raising his hands to pacify them. “Optimus and Ratchet know what they’re doing-“

“I thought we were Autobots, and that meant protecting innocent lives?” Air Raid argued petulantly, ignoring him to glower at Ratchet accusingly. “Not giving them away because they get a little fussy, or set things on fire, or-”

“That is not what is happening!” Ratchet raised his voice. 

It didn’t move Air Raid. He huffed and turned on his heel, throwing off Wheeljack’s calming hand to his shoulder. Ratchet was treated to four more expressions of varying disappointment and anger before his brothers followed him out. 

Ratchet waited until they had left the Mess before turning his glare on Wheeljack. “That’s the last time I tell you anything in confidence.” 

Wheeljack at least had the good grace to rub his helm sheepishly. “I only told Silverbolt.” 

Great. So the whole planet would know by lunch. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ironhide slumped back in his seat and threw down his blaster. “I thought that was a joke. I thought Sideswipe was having me on.”

Sitting on top of the rounded table Autobot High Command had gathered around, Starscream threw himself sideways, diving for the blaster. 

“Ironhide,” Prime said abruptly, and Ironhide grabbed the weapon back before Starscream’s digits could so much as graze the grip. Starscream kicked a leg in frustration. Curse his stubby limbs. 

“Because Comet’s so much safer here, under your watch,” Ratchet grouched, standing with a scrape of his chair to draw him back. Starscream let the medic slide him on his aft across the table until he was sitting back in front of him. 

The situation wasn’t ideal, and Starscream was only just now beginning to contemplate how life in his trine’s ‘care’ would compare against that with the Autobots. On the upside, Thundercracker and Skywarp knew who he was. On the downside, Thundercracker and Skywarp… knew who he was. 

A transferral of custody wasn’t likely to regain any of his dignity. 

“Whatever the circumstances that led to Comet being here with us, we must take into account those who have claim to him.” Prime reminded Ironhide. 

“Must?” Ironhide snorted. 

Starscream stewed silently. No one had a claim to him. He was his own person, regardless of miniaturisation. 

“He’s got a point, Prime.” Jazz was twirling a light-pen between his digits. “The enforcement of familial rights across faction lines have gotten a little dusty over the millennia. And the war crimes.” 

“You only say that because you want to keep the sparkling,” Prowl said stiffly. 

“Forget rights,” Ironhide grunted, thumbing his fist down. “What ‘bout competency? This is Skywarp you’re talking about, right?”

If Starscream could talk he would have reminded the big oaf that he’d just left a loaded blaster on a table within reach of a sparkling. But he couldn’t. He so settled for rolling his optics and scoffing instead. 

Ratchet glanced at him, looking curious. 

“Skywarp’s not as stupid as he looks,” Jazz pointed out wearily, sounding like someone who’d know from experience. It didn’t surprise Starscream. As a teleporter Skywarp was always getting into places he shouldn’t, and as the head of Autobot intelligence, he was probably quite high on Jazz’s list of least favourite Decepticons. 

An odd sense of pride pulled at the corners of Starscream’s mouth. 

“Stupidity aside,” Ratchet began, rejoining the conversation. “I’m not going to let them just walk out of here with Comet.” 

Starscream slumped, because of course he wouldn’t. He’d drag this out for a thousand years until Starscream reached adulthood the long way around. 

“I’m going to make sure they know what they’re doing first.” Ratchet elaborated. 

“And if they don’t?” Prowl pressed. 

“Because they definitely don’t,” Ironhide muttered. 

“Then I’ll drill it into them until they do,” Ratchet said firmly, leaning back in his seat. 

“So our chief medical officer is going to prioritise his time with giving two Decepticon seekers childcare seminars?” Prowl asked, looking to Optimus for an explanation. 

“Cool it, Prowl, I’m sure there’s room enough in the class for you too,” Jazz clapped him on the back before Prime could answer. 

Starscream slumped forward to cover his face with his servos. 

Just when he’d thought his situation couldn’t get anymore humiliating…

Chapter Text

Ratchet stood outside the brig, working to control his breathing. In his arms Comet was staring up at him, frown marring his features. 

"You would tell me," Ratchet began, tipping his helm down to meet the sparkling's cross little optics. "Wouldn't you? You'd let me know if they had been cruel to you." 

Comet's frown deepened. He looked exasperated. 

"In here, I mean," Ratchet touched Comet's little chest, between his tiny turbines. Comet looked down at himself. "You’d tell me through our bond." 

The thread between their sparks, faded from the ordeals of the last few cycles, trembled. Ratchet reached through it, wanting to draw Comet's presence into the protection of his spark, re-connect and strengthen the bond between them. But Comet withdrew. Cold apathy filtered back to Ratchet, and it stung. 

Ratchet shifted Comet's position and pulled himself together. He only had himself to blame for this. This wasn't Comet's fault. Comet hadn't chosen him. Hadn't chosen any of them. 

They shouldn't have gotten attached. 

"I'm going to take you in to see them," Ratchet told him. "I'll be with you. You don't need to be frightened." 

Comet's expression soured further. He kicked his legs and pointed firmly at the door. "Bah!" He shouted, which Ratchet took to mean 'get on with it'. 

Ratchet sighed and activated the unlock function. The heavy brig door swept open and Ratchet took them inside. The lights were dim so it was darker than the rest of the base. His optics took a while to adjust to the darkness. 

He strode between the cells, watching, intrigued, as Comet's helm lifted in interest, his optics keen as they inspected the area ahead. Perhaps it was just the babyish curiosity of being in a new place,  or maybe he was somehow sensing the presence of adult seekers, the presence of mechanisms he knew. Ratchet had never given much thought to how a trine's bond might function between their offspring. 

Finally, as he reached the end cells the sound of someone humming filled the silence. Comet began to squirm so vigorously Ratchet had to use both servos to hold him. 

The humming cut off, "…TC! It’s him!" 

The clatter of armour sounded and two faces appeared at the bars, cruel red optics staring out at them. Ratchet held Comet protectively close. 

"...He okay?" Thundercracker asked. 

"No thanks to you." Ratchet told him coldly. 

"If you'd just given him back-" Skywarp began hotly. 

"Not in front of the sparkling," Ratchet cut him off fiercely, cupping Comet's little face protectively. "He's been frightened enough."  

"No!" Comet protested, smacking him away, right as Skywarp -bizarrely- burst out laughing. 

"You think this is funny?" Ratchet snarled. 

"No, of course not," Thundercracker began softly, but was spoken over by Skywarp, who snorted. 

"Well, yeah. Takes a lot to rattle our Star, doesn't it Squirt?" 

Comet glared at Skywarp dead in the optic, his little arms folded over his chest, looking as unamused as Ratchet felt. 

The smile fell from Skywarp's mouth. He assumed a more sombre expression. "Sorry," he murmured. 

It took Ratchet a second to realise he'd been apologising to the sparkling. And he could only think of one reason why elite air warriors might consider themselves subservient to an infant. 

"I need answers." He began. "Honest one's. I know Starscream is the carrier. I want to know about the sire." 

Skywarp opened his mouth to protest, but Thundercracker held up a servo to stop him. "I'm the sire." 

Skywarp hissed, "I thought we agreed I was the sire-!" 

"Warp!" 

"Made up cover stories aside," Ratchet said impatiently. "Is it Megatron?" 

Skywarp wheezed then started to choke on what looked like suppressed laughter. He had to bend over and clutch at his knees to suck in air. Thundercracker watched him for a moment, looking annoyed, before awkwardly glancing between Ratchet and Comet. 

Ratchet almost missed it, but Comet's helm gave a stiff little nod. 

"Yes," said Thundercracker instantly. "It was Megatron. But for Stars- for the sparkling’s protection, no one can know-" 

"Why hasn't he come to claim him?" 

"For the reason I just said!" Thundercracker argued, as Skywarp continued to splutter and choke in the next cell over. "You're Autobots. You would kill him." 

"We don't kill innocents. We're not Cons." Ratchet bit out. "What did he do to Starscream?" 

Skywarp had managed to sway upright again, breathing heavily. "Screamer’s fine!" 

"He's missing." 

"That's just a cover story." Skywarp shrugged, looking to Thundercracker, who nodded. "He's… uh, on Cybertron. Recovering." 

Ratchet arched a suspicious brow, "Recovering." 

"Yeah, that fat head sparkling there wasn't easy to squeeze out." 

Comet waved his arms around furiously, making a lot of angry noises in Skywarp's direction. Ratchet bounced him lightly, "Don't. He can understand you." 

"Don't I fragging know it," Skywarp mumbled. "Look, you gonna let us go any time soon? Megatron knows we're here and if we're not back with the sparkling by sundown-" 

Comet had been waving his arms frantically, like an adult might do get someone to shut up, but Ratchet had heard enough. 

"Good," Ratchet nodded. "Megatron and I are long overdue a conversation." 

"Wait." Skywarp straightened up. 

"Uh, he's busy!" Thundercracker added in a higher voice, clutching at the bars. "Don't- Don't call him!" 

Ratchet turned away from them, hitching Comet higher up. Comet shook his fist at the trine over Ratchet’s shoulder as they walked away. 

"We're so fragging fired," he heard Skywarp mumble. "Soundwave's gonna kill us." 

Soundwave had never been foolish enough to rely on seekers, let alone those as blundering and transparent as the remaining two-thirds of the Command Trine. 

Ravage leapt up from the floor to balance delicately along the line of Soundwave’s shoulders, his long tail sweeping forwards and brushing his mask. Proud of his thorough work, Soundwave allowed it, reaching a servo back to scratch the cassette’s chin. Ravage purred and rubbed his helm against Soundwave’s. 

Thundercracker and Skywarp’s bumbling failure at resisting the softest Autobot interrogation Soundwave had ever seen was not ideal, but at least -with thanks to Ravage and the many listening devices he had implanted around the Ark- it was manageable. 

On the main comm in front of them, the angry Autobot medic was still on hold, but Megatron would not be available to take his call. With terribly unfortunate timing, the ceiling above the mess had collapsed inwards and flooded the entire south-east wing of the base just moments before the priority call had come through. And as far as Megatron was aware, it had had nothing to do with Rumble outside with his pile-drivers.  

Unwilling to overwhelm Megatron with problems, Soundwave felt it best not to distract their leader from the repairs with petty Autobot dramas. 

At least, that would be his official line if he was caught out. 

“How long does it take to paint one seeker?” Frenzy complained, leaning against the base of the comm console with his arms folded. 

“Shockwave; efficient.” Soundwave defended his long-distance accomplice patiently. “Radiation is unstable. Specialised paint must be sourced. Details must be exact.” 

“Could just use a black and white filter,” Frenzy grumbled, “Besides, if anything’s gonna give him away it won’t be how he looks.“

“Sunstorm; has been advised on how to behave.” 

“Yeah by Shockwave, the leading expert on replicating dramatic Starscream-like emotions.” Frenzy mumbled sarcastically. 

The comm console pinged with another incoming call. Soundwave dropped his shoulder to allow Ravage a smooth descent, and answered, continuing to leave the Autobot medic on hold. 

The image of Shockwave in his lab filled the large screen, and he looked worse for wear. Soundwave had impressed the need for haste and felt somewhat guilty for that now. White wisps of smoke were rising out between the seams of Shockwave’s armour, which was now speckled with red, white, and blue paint. His optic was faint and tired, his shoulders drooping. He was clutching the console desk like it was the only thing holding him upright. 

“It is done.” He said ominously, in the tone of someone who had just undergone a terrible ordeal.

Soundwave nodded, and Shockwave lethargically stepped aside, making room for someone else in the pickup. A mech, that by all appearances was Starscream, stepped into view.

The only real giveaways were the extra metre of height, the eerily passive smile, and-

“He’s glowing!” Frenzy complained loudly. 

“That would be the enlightenment, my stunted friend,” Sunstorm’s voice emerged from ‘Starscream’s’ mouth. 

And he was glowing, a faint halo of golden light shone around his helm and wings. It was the radiation, ebbing and following through his circuits. Before long it would burn through the paint, revealing the gold beneath. 

“They tell me Starscream has sparked offspring,” Sunstorm’s optics found Soundwave’s visor through the pickup. “A blessing I was surprised to hear Primus bestowed on him. A test of faith, perhaps?”

“Don’t worry too much about questioning your god, Sunshine,” Frenzy piped up. “We made it up. We’re trying to trick the Bots.”

“This was not explained to you?” Soundwave asked impatiently, looking to Shockwave. 

“Sunstorm has been given all the information required.” Shockwave answered, just as impatiently. 

“But, there is a sparkling?” Sunstorm clarified, sounding hopeful. 

“Whether a sparkling exists is not your concern.” Soundwave reminded him. “You are to impersonate Air Commander Starscream and mislead the Autobots into believing you carried a new-spark to emergence. You have been in recovery on Cybertron since and left this sparkling in the care of your trine. You desire its return into Decepticon guardianship. Say nothing else.” 

Sunstorm didn’t look like he was paying attention. Which was of some concern. 

“Do you understand these instructions?” 

Sunstorm smiled vacantly, “Yes. I am willing to lie for our cause, and submit myself to Primus’s holy will, so that he might look kindly on me and in his endless compassion, absolve me of my-“

“Are we gonna get this embarrassment over with?” Frenzy asked loudly, cutting through Sunstorm’s rambling. 

Soundwave sighed. The Autobot medic was still on hold and a flooded base wouldn’t keep Megatron busy forever. 

He patched Sunstorm through to the Autobots, and said his own prayers. 

Ratchet should have expected it of inconsiderate Decepticons to leave him on hold for hours. Soundwave had spouted some slag about them all drowning in a flood -which he could only hope was true- and that there would be some delay in getting Megatron on the comm because of it. If he didn’t turn up covered in seaweed, Ratchet was calling bullslag. 

The only positive was that the delay meant he had time to deal with Comet. 

Interacting with the trine had caused him to work himself up into a state. Ratchet had had to delay fuelling him for fear he’d make himself sick. He could barely hear Soundwave’s excuses on the comm when he’d first called with the kicking and thrashing and screaming going on. Handing him over to Optimus had only resulted in the Prime losing both windshield wipers (a fun fix for Ratchet later) when Comet had twisted them off like a tiny psychopath and used them to swat at anyone who tried to get near him. He got Sideswipe right in the optic. 

“You’re just going to let this happen?” Prowl had demanded of him and Optimus, as they watched Comet whip Jazz around the ankles with the wiper. 

“He has had a difficult day.” Optimus pleaded, as Ratchet grumbled, “He’ll tire himself out eventually.” 

It didn’t please Prowl, who promptly left in a huff with the promise of finding someone who was prepared to ‘deal with it.’

And that someone turned out to be Skyfire. 

Comet, sat on the deck of the bridge between the door and Teletraan, still welding one of Optimus’s windshield wipers like a sword, abruptly stopped screaming at the sight of him. 

Ratchet wondered again what it was about the shuttle, relieved that he had come, and irritated that he had come. Foolish frustration rose up at the idea that the sparkling who had imprinted on him, the sparkling he shared a bond with, calmed so easily for someone else. He stamped down on the rising jealously, telling himself to grow the frag up. 

“Hey, little buddy,” Skyfire called warmly, glancing briefly at Ratchet -who nodded in permission- before approaching. Comet threw down the windshield wiper angrily and crossed his arms, shuffling on his aft to look the other way. “Come here.” 

Comet grumbled unhappily when Skyfire’s big servos wrapped around him and plucked him off the floor. 

“He doesn’t need to be here for this.” Optimus told him, moving to collect his discarded wiper and slipping it into his subspace. “You can take him.”

“Put him down for a nap,” Ratchet added, when Skyfire turned to walk away. “He’s overtired.” 

“No!” Comet yelled back at him. Ratchet scowled. 

Optimus waited until Skyfire had taken Comet from the room before turning to Ratchet. “Did it not go well with the Decepticon seekers? He seems upset.” 

“He’s always upset.” Ratchet said darkly. “And it’s hard to say. We weren’t down there long. At least now we know they’re not his parents.” 

“Temporary guardianship.” Optimus suggested, sighing as he eased himself into the seat beside Ratchet. Teletraan was still blinking with the ‘on hold’ icon. 

“Megatron can corroborate.” Ratchet rubbed the back of his helm, trying to massage the kinks of stress out of it. “And he can tell us what really happened to Starscream while he’s at it. Recovering on Cybertron, my aft. Shockwave’s hardly in the running for medic of the century, is he.” 

“Elita’s reports do indicate he’s been dabbling in medical mechanics.” Optimus countered. 

“Yeah, weird illegal experimentation.” Ratchet snorted. “Maybe if Starscream turns up as some kind of mutated abomination, I’ll believe it-“

It was at that moment Teletraan buzzed, bringing them off hold and reestablishing a connection. He and Optimus sat up straighter as Soundwave’s image filled the screen. “Apologises.” He droned. “Megatron will not be available to take your call.” 

Ratchet’s face filled with heat. He pointedly furiously, “You tell that rusty old bucket he’d better get on this call and-!“

“Starscream has agreed to speak with you on his behalf.” Soundwave continued as though he hadn’t interrupted. “With your agreement, I will patch you through to Cybertron.” 

Ratchet froze, finger still pointed. 

“Starscream?” Optimus said evenly, his tone lifting with hope even as Ratchet’s spark sunk in dread. “Yes. We would be very interested in speaking with him.” 

Soundwave nodded and the screen changed, flipping over. And then there he was. Starscream. On Cybertron. Alive. 

Ratchet lowered his servo. Speechless. 

“Starscream.” Optimus greeted. “You look well.” 

Starscream was posed carefully in his seat in front of the pickup, his back straight and his wings stiff on his back. He lifted his helm high when he responded. “Thank you. Prime.” 

The speakers, or the dodgy connection between Earth and Cybertron, seemed to have distorted Starscream’s voice. It was deeper. The inflections were unfamiliar. 

“Your trine invaded our ship. We have taken them prisoner and were hoping to treat with Megatron to arrange an exchange.” Optimus began. 

Starscream nodded slowly. “My trine…” he began slowly, like the word was unfamiliar. “Yes, I sent them to retrieve my sparkling. Which you Autobots stole.” 

He didn’t sound half as angry as Ratchet would have expected him to. Something was very …weird. 

“So the sparkling is yours.” Optimus nodded, his tone darkening. “How did he come to be abandoned on this planet?” 

“My trine may be blessed as Vosians, Primus’s original and purest of children, but they come with their faults. As do we all.” Starscream explained cooly. “I charged them with my sparkling’s care whilst I sought to better myself, here on Cybertron. It is merely a temporary arrangement.”

“Better yourself.” Ratchet repeated sceptically. “You mean ‘recover’? From the emergence?”

“The pain suffered through emergence is but The Creator’s gift to all carriers. It is natural. It does not require recovery.”

“Thats nice,” Ratchet growled, remembering some of the emergences-gone-wrong he had witnessed before the war and not actually thinking it was nice at all. “Because Primus has been a bit too giving with some of my patients in the past, if you get my meaning-“

“Why not leave the sparkling with the sire?” Optimus asked, keeping them on track. 

Starscream seemed surprised by the question. “There is no sire.”

“Oh, immaculate conception now!” Ratchet burst out angrily. “Pack it in, Starscream. We know Megatron’s the sire. Enough pious nonsense.”

“Megatron.” Starscream repeatedly coldly. “Has nothing to do with this. The sparkling is mine alone. A carrier is all a sparkling needs.”

“But your sparkling doesn’t have his carrier.” Ratchet argued. “Because he’s been hiding away on Cybertron for the last who knows how many weeks!” 

“Then return the sparkling to it’s carrier’s trine and allow it to return to me.” Starscream glared. “To keep a sparkling from it’s carrier is the gravest of sins-“

“Do you have a head injury?” Ratchet demanded. “You crash in flight and break your processor open? Because you’re not the Starscream I remember.”

Starscream glared at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You certainly have a greater interest in religion than the Starscream I remember.” Optimus agreed. 

“I have always had faith.” Starscream stuck his nose in the air, offended. 

“Ha!” Ratchet couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. The one thing Starscream had never had, in any shape or form, was faith. “Well let’s hope you’ve ‘bettered yourself’ enough because the vacation is over! Return to Earth. Prove that sparkling is yours, because I’ll know if you’re not and we’re not releasing a single seeker until we have the truth.” 

Starscream was scowling now, and he looked more like himself than he had throughout the entire call because of it. He was also, however, starting to glow. 

Both noticing, Ratchet and Optimus leant closer, frowning, when suddenly Shockwave’s large chest was filling the entire pickup, blocking their view. “Starscream’s systems are taxed and he must rest. This communication is over.” 

The transmission ended and the screen went blank. Ratchet was left scowled at his own reflection in Teletraan’s dark screen. Optimus leaned back with a sigh, twirling one of his windshield wipers around his digit. 

“That seemed to have raised more questions than answers,” He said gently. “Very odd.”

Ratchet nodded, thoughtful, and angry. “Yeah. Odd.” 

Back in the command centre of the Decepticon base, Soundwave had lifted a servo to cover his visor, despairing. 

“…I told you we should have used Slipstream,” Frenzy muttered into the silence. 

Chapter Text

“Do you believe me now?” Ratchet demanded, his impatience clear in his tone. 

Optimus rubbed a servo across his face-mask, looking troubled. “…There appeared to be some truth in what Skywarp and Thundercracker told us.”

Ratchet couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You think Starscream found God?! That seeker can’t even speak Primus’s name without bursting into flame. It wasn’t him.”

Optimus didn’t argue, which meant he had some sense at least. “I must speak with Megatron.”

“Good luck getting past his secretary.” Ratchet muttered, resentfully wondering if Soundwave had barricaded himself in with the comm so no one else could ever use it. 

“That won’t be necessary.” Optimus began walking towards the bridge doors. “I’ll see him in person.” 

“Good.” Ratchet snapped, so caught up stewing over all the lies and nonsense the Decepticons had been feeding them it took him a beat to realise that that was certainly not good. “Wait, what?”

“Remain here,” Optimus ordered, already at the doors. “Wish Comet goodnight from me.”

“What the Pit do you mean ‘in person’,” Ratchet hurried after him. Optimus walked through the doors as they opened, stride long and determined. “Prime! Optimus, stop-“

“It is best I go alone,” Optimus glanced back. 

“It’d be better if you go nowhere!” Ratchet argued, rushing in front of him and blocking Optimus’s path. “You can’t possibly think you’re going to break into the Decepticon base? Alone? It’s underwater for starters and you’re a truck-“

“I’m not quite that ambitious. Megatron has been known to seek solitude on the surface from time to time,” Optimus reassured, laying a servo on Ratchet’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. It was meant to be grounding. Ratchet shook him off. 

“And you just happen to know where he goes to seek his solitude?” Ratchet asked through grit denta. 

Optimus didn’t answer. His striking blue optics had grown faint and sad, but it did the opposite of inspire pity. That he could keep information like this from him, from them all? It made Ratchet too angry to even look at him.

He would never understand the complicated history Optimus had with their greatest enemy, never understand its nature, or why Optimus still clung to the threads of it like there was anything worth left salvaging. Megatron had decimated their planet and their people, was going for a second wind here on Earth, and Primus only knew what he had actually done to Starscream. 

What he would do to Optimus if given the opportunity.

“I’m coming with you.” He decided.

“No.” Optimus said, firmly, but not unkindly. “I can’t allow it. I will go alone.” 

“I want to hear what he has to say for himself.”

“He won’t speak as freely,” Optimus shook his helm, and Ratchet’s fuel boiled at the thought of Megatron confiding all of his filthy little secrets in Optimus when they weren’t his burdens to bear.

“I will be back before dawn. Recharge well.” He stepped around Ratchet and continued down the corridor. 

Ratchet watched him go, clenching and unclenching his fists, feeling in need of a pretty strong drink.  

Apparently, Sunstorm had been attempting to spacebridge himself to Earth in order to liberate imprisoned seeker-sparklings from heathen Autobots and raise them under the optics of Primus, so it was taking some time for Soundwave to get through to Shockwave on Cybertron after their disastrous communication with the Autobots. When the comm finally did reconnect, the lab was dark and hazy with smoke, various structures seemed to have been melted, a section of the floor was missing, and a lightly dented Shockwave was out of breath and leaning against the console. 

“Situation; contained?” Soundwave asked, because the last thing the ‘Starscream Incident’ needed was the addition of an emotionally disturbed nuclear reactor on wings. 

Shockwave shifted aside to show Sunstorm in a clear cylindrical tube, sat with his arms folded and his back to them as he sulked. The glow of his radiation was what illuminated the lab, as the regular lighting fixtures had all been blown out. 

“He is,” Shockwave said wearily, “And some good news. Sunstorm has kindly leant the electromagnetic radiation necessary to charge the now reverse-engineered device originally responsible for Starscream’s downfall. I am satisfied it will be capable of restoring him to his previous self.” 

Soundwave would have liked to express more enthusiasm for the news, but the device was no good to them without the required subject to use it on. “Starscream: remains in Autobot custody. Sunstorm’s impersonation was lacking.“

“I felt he was rather convincing.” Shockwave tipped his helm up, clearly irked by the criticism levelled at the abomination of a seeker he, ultimately, was responsible for. 

“Radiation leakage; not commonly associated with the genuine Starscream.”

Shockwave’s cold hard stare indicated he would be scowling had he the capacity to do so. Soundwave matched his frosty demeanour with a blank stare of his own. 

Shockwave broke first, clearing his vocaliser and looking away.

“It matters little. Now that we have the means to reverse Starscream’s condition there is reduced risk in fellow Decepticons viewing him as a liability. I would suggest disregarding secrecy and utilising the full resources available to you in securing his return.” 

Soundwave thought of the small clumsy sparkling who had squeaked at him furiously over the comm console, who he had spent cycles watching on spy cassette recordings, whose tiny frame he had held whilst running for his life through the Ark, and felt an unpleasant weight settle in his spark chamber at the thought of that sparkling being at the mercy, however briefly, of the Decepticons that inhabited this base. 

It was a foolish concern. The sparkling was not a real sparkling at all. 

It was a very adult Starscream’s mind trapped within that tiny processor, but it was still a Starscream who could not function properly, who could not defend himself, who was beholden to the sensitive feelings and experiences of an innocent sparkling.

“Soundwave?” Shockwave pressed. 

“Starscream’s condition; delicate and easily damaged.” Soundwave explained. “The majority of Decepticons are clumsy and heavy handed. Effort wasted if Starscream were to be returned in broken pieces.” 

“There are those who may take advantage of his vulnerability, even among his comrades.” Shockwave acquiesced with a nod. “Perhaps secrecy should not be discarded so lightly.” 

“Thundercracker and Skywarp have built a sufficient cover story. Need only time to further manipulate Autobots. Preferable outcome; sparkling removed from Autobot care with sufficient explanation and no need for further recourse from Autobot caregivers. Starscream’s return to Decepticon forces viewed as unrelated.”

“It has gone too far to be unrelated.” Shockwave shook his helm. “And from what you have told me Megatron has begun to seek answers of his own. Perhaps it is time he was given them?”

Soundwave added another potential problem to his ever growing list. 

With Thundercracker and Skywarp in the Autobot’s brig escape had never felt so close at hand.

Starscream knew the cell passcodes, had memorised them when the medic had taken him down to see his incompetent trine. All he needed was an opening, a chance to slip his captives and make it to the cells. He may not be tall enough to reach the lock panels, but he had the strong grip of a sparkling and the ability to climb. How embarrassing it would be for Thundercracker and Skywarp when he came to rescue them. This was just further proof of how dysfunctional and helpless the Decepticons were without his guidance. 

There was just the problem of his endless revolving door of watchful Autobot guardians to deal with. 

Skyfire was off shift and had taken him down to one of the quieter recreation rooms, where he had sat with him in front of a holoscreen only capable of broadcasting Earth media. Scenic landscapes filled with mammals and birds played out quietly, and Starscream was forced to watch, sat tucked in the crook of Skyfire’s arm as the shuttle gently pointed out organic beasts to tell him what species they were. 

“Look, another doggy,” Skyfire murmured, gesturing to what was clearly a bear. 

It wouldn’t have been quite so torturous if Skyfire didn’t keep getting his animals mixed up. Even Skywarp knew what a bear was. Starscream was beginning to feel secondhand embarrassment.  

He hadn’t intended to recharge, but the nature documentary was mind numbing and throwing tantrums took a lot out of a sparkling. The familiarity of Skyfire’s presence had a way of calming him. His optical shutters grew heavy as the rise and fall of Skyfire’s deep ventilations rocked him. 

He began to dream of their lab on Cybertron, thousands of years ago. Of nights they had worked late, close and comfortable at their cramped little work bench, scribbling over the top of each others notes. Of Skyfire’s smug face whenever he got to reach over Starscream’s helm to bring down equipment from shelves too high for him to reach. Of their disasters, and their breakthroughs, and their easy friendship.

He had missed Skyfire. Still missed him now, though it was clouded by the resentment of his betrayal. But sparkling’s didn’t hold onto grudges quite as well as a mech. 

He felt gravity shift, but he wasn’t awake enough to recognise he was being moved. He turned into Skyfire’s hold with a heavy sigh and buried his face against warm, white armour. The atmosphere around him changed several times; the lights, the temperature, the movement of air across his undeveloped wings. 

He only started to rouse when he heard raised voices, distant and muffled through a bulkhead. The bond he shared with the medic stirred, but it was muddled and erratic. Starscream lifted his helm, squinting and confused, realising they were about to enter the brig. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Skyfire gentled him, rubbing his giant servo down his back as he pressed the access panel. 

Inside, Ratchet and Ironhide were sat at Teletraan who were, if the cubes littering the console desk were any indication of things, drunk off their afts and being lectured savagely by a furious Prowl. 

“And you just let him leave?” He was demanding. 

“Let him?” Ratchet drawled lazily, half-consumed cube at his mouth. “What did you want me to do, Prowl? Tackle him? Cuff him to his desk?”

“You know he woulda,” Ironhide grunted, elbowing Ratchet. 

“Prime doesn’t give a damn what I have to say,” Ratchet continued loudly, ignoring Ironhide. “Never fragging listens, even though I’ve told him- I told him! What does he think he’s gonna get out of Megatron?! They’re lying! All of them. They want my sparkling, that’s what they’re after!”

The bond flared and ached as Ratchet ranted, emotional and overcharged. Starscream shied away from it, uncomfortable. 

“You should have informed me immediately,” Prowl snarled, barely casting a glance Skyfire’s way when the shuttle awkwardly entered the room. “He’ll be walking into a trap. He could be dead already-“

“Don’t get your doorwings in a twist, Megatron wouldn’t just kill him. He likes to play with his food,” Ratchet stated darkly. 

Ironhide was nodding sagely, “Bet that’s why we ain’t found any of Screamer yet, huh?”

Starscream felt Skyfire tense at the mention of his old friend and lab partner. The shuttle cleared his vocaliser loudly, catching Ironhide and Ratchet’s attention. Ratchet’s optics met Starscream’s across the room, and his drunken scowl fell into a shameful grimace. 

“Frag,” he muttered, fumbling in his seat to glance at the chrono on Teletraan. “What time is it?”

“Long past time I sent out a search team.” Prowl growled. “You may be content to let your leader and so-called-friend rush off into an obvious ambush, but I am not.”

“Prime ain’t in no danger.” Ironhide waved him off. “Megatron’d never get the better of him. Ambush or no.”

Prowl levelled them both with his most disgusted sneer before turning swiftly on his heel. “I’m taking the front-liners. Jazz and Bluestreak too. Try not to short-circuit yourselves with overcharge before I’m back.” 

He brushed past Skyfire, stopping just before the door. “I’d find someone else to care for the seeker tonight, if I were you.”

Ratchet stood up, a little unsteady on his pedes. “Frag off, Prowl. I’m fine-“

Prowl had already left, but Skyfire seemed to have taken his point seriously. 

He backed away a little when Ratchet approached them, “Uh, maybe you need a break tonight?”

Ratchet shook his helm, servos extended, “I’m fine. Give him here.”

Starscream, sensing an excellent opportunity for escape, leaned out of Skyfire’s grasp, reaching for Ratchet in turn. The foolish medic was so overcharged he’d drop into a dead recharge as soon as his helm hit the pillow. Starscream would have ample opportunity to make his escape then. 

Skyfire pulled him away. “Honestly Ratchet, it’s fine. You deserve a break, it’s been a long week.”

Starscream scowled, still grasping at the air, “Don’t ruin this for me, idiot!” 

His sparkling babble was incomprehensible, and worse, Ratchet seemed to be taking Skyfire seriously. He rubbed his servo down his face, “Yeah. You’re right. You’re right. I’m letting those Con’s get to me-“

No! Starscream squirmed in frustration, his plan of escape slipping through his digits. He had to do something. He sniffed, letting coolant fill his optics; the medic was weak to tears. 

“He’s just tired,” Skyfire quickly lifted Starscream to his shoulder and started to bounce him before Ratchet had chance to fall victim to the emotional manipulation. “I’ve got a transport shift tonight, but I’m gonna find someone to put him down. I’ll comm you, let you know where he’s at.” 

Starscream began to cry aloud, because hello! He was crying! Why was he being ignored!? 

“Okay,” Ratchet was agreeing, moving back to Teletraan and dropping into seat next to Ironhide, who was lazily flicking through the security feeds, though neither of them were in any state to be on monitor duty. 

Skyfire turned with him, walking him off the brig. Starscream screamed at Ratchet from his shoulder and threw as much betrayal and distress into their bond as he was emotionally capable of. It went ignored. The medic was too overcharged to decipher their bond. 

Or spot what was on Teletraan’s screen. 

Starscream cut himself off mid-shriek with a surprised hiccup at the brief glimpse he caught of an exterior camera feed. Less than two-hundred metres from the Ark’s hull, a shape suspiciously like Laserbeak was perched in a tree. 

Soundwave was watching the Ark. 

The shooting grounds were a series of wide open grass fields, fenced off and surrounded by cautionary signage. It was dark, but the targets in the distance were visible by the faint glow of the  moon. It was quiet, eerily so, likely why Optimus heard the whine of a charging weapon just before it fired. 

The fusion blast throomed past his head and hit the distant targets with an almighty boom, the explosion illuminating the grounds long enough for Optimus to spot Megatron’s tall frame beside the raised shooting platforms, cannon raised and smoking. 

At this distance, it should have hit him. Optimus knew why it hadn’t. 

“You need to work on your aim,” he called. 

Megatron raised the cannon an inch. Optimus knew it was now trained on his head. “I wasn’t aiming for you, but if you’re offering yourself as a live target…?”

Optimus didn’t move. He knew Megatron wouldn’t take the shot. Not here. Not when they were alone. 

“I thought we had an understanding,” Megatron spoke when Optimus remained silent. “You know better than to come here.” 

“I needed to speak with you.” 

Megatron didn’t lower the cannon. “You have a perfectly good comm console for that.”

“Your Communication Officer seems to have been fielding your calls.” 

Megatron’s optics narrowed. “What do you want?” 

“We have two of your seekers in our brig.”

Megatron’s optics shone bright in the dark. “Starscream?”

“…Thundercracker and Skywarp.” Optimus corrected, wondering at Megatron’s tone. Had that been hope he’d heard? Did Megatron truly not know what had become of his Second in Command, or was his ignorance a farce as well?

A scowl twisted Megatron’s expression. When he spoke, he sounded skeptical. “And how exactly did they come to be your captives?”

“They trespassed aboard the Ark.” 

“Not orders given by me,” Megatron snorted. 

“Your authority over your subordinates appears to be slipping then, Megatron.”

“Is this what you sought me out for?” Megatron’s expression darkened, “To insult me?” 

“I came for answers.” Optimus told him seriously. “To get to the bottom of all of this.” 

“Get to the bottom of what?” Megatron snapped, impatient. 

“The sparkling.” 

Megatron’s olfactory crinkled, “…What sparkling?” 

“I suspected as much,” Optimus sighed to himself. “Is Starscream on Cybertron?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Megatron said coldly. 

“What have you done?”

“What have I done?” Megatron exclaimed. “Starscream has been missing for weeks. The better question would be what has he done. What do you know, Prime? Where is my seeker? And what is this about a sparkling?” 

It was beginning to come together for Optimus. Whatever was going on Megatron had no involvement in it’s poorly enacted cover up. He had no more information on what had become of Starscream than Autobot intelligence did, perhaps less. And whether or not he shared coding with the sparkling, he was oblivious to its existence. Someone was working just as hard to keep Megatron in the dark as they were the Autobots.  

“What sparkling, Prime?” Megatron repeated himself. 

“Do not trouble yourself with it,” Optimus began to walk away, careful not to turn his back on his enemy. “I wish you well in your search for Starscream.” 

“Keep your well wishes to yourself,” Megatron called after him. “You’ll need them, if I find it’s you who has kept my Air Commander from me.” 

Optimus rolled his optics. As if they’d be masochistic enough to willingly house Starscream. 

Silverbolt could hear the screaming through the door to his quarters so it wasn’t a great surprise when he opened it to find a sheepish Skyfire and an inconsolable Comet on the other side. 

“I’m late for my shift,” Skyfire explained. “I was meant to leave an hour ago to pick up a shipment of energon from Arizona, but he was so upset. I wanted him to calm down before leaving him.”

Silverbolt blinked at the sparkling held aloft in Skyfire’s servos, his face read and distorted as he screamed. He knew what Skyfire was beating around asking.

“Um, doesn’t Ratchet-?“

“Ratchet’s gotten a bit too overcharged,” Skyfire explained. “Long story.”

“Prime?” 

“Busy.”

“Hound then?”

“Volunteered to help on a search and rescue.”

“Jazz? Sideswipe?” Silverbolt was getting desperate. “Prowl?”

“They’re off base.” Skyfire looked at him pleadingly. “Please. You've got wings. They’re familiar to him. They help calm him down.” 

If Comet wasn’t calming for Skyfire, his favourite person in the whole entire universe, Silverbolt didn’t know what chance he’d have, wings or not. 

Then Skyfire pulled out his ace, “Well if you can’t take him, I’ll have to ask Cliffjumper.”

“Okay, I get it,” Silverbolt sighed in defeat, opening his arms to retrieve the sparkling.

He and his gestalt had an early patrol tomorrow morning and no one was going to thank him for bringing a screaming sparkling into their quarters, but if the alternative was subjecting Comet to Cliffjumper he didn’t have much choice. He just wasn’t cruel enough to allow it. 

Comet screamed in his audial and smacked him in the face as Skyfire cooed a gentle goodbye to him. Silverbolt endured it with good nature, even taking Comet’s little servo and waving it at Skyfire in farewell. Comet snatched his servo free and tried to punch him in the optic. 

His gestalt was less than impressed with their guest. 

“He needs fuelling,” Air Raid decided, trying to push a cube to Comet’s mouth. 

“His tank’s full,” Silverbolt said, watching Comet tumble onto his back and peddle kick at Air Raid. 

“I bet it’s gas bubbles.” Slingshot argued, bending over Comet to try and pick him up. “How do you get rid of gas bubbles? Shake them?”

Comet smacked Slingshot’s servos and tried to roll away. 

“No, you squeeze them.” Fireflight said. 

Skydive pushed his brothers away and snatched Comet up. “You don’t squeeze or shake sparkling’s,” he told over them over Comet’s screams. 

“How would you know?” Air Raid glared. 

“I read a data-file.”

“What’s wrong with him then, genius?”

Skydive held Comet at arms length and squinted at him, glossa poking out of his mouth in concentration. Comet’s screams petered off and became gasping breaths and wets sniffs. He wriggled, then made grasping gestures towards the door. 

“He wants to go out,” Skydive decided sagely. 

“Hey, yeah!” Fireflight perked up. “He’s a seeker. They get that sky-sickness thing, don’t they? He missing flying. That’s what’s wrong with him.” 

“How can he miss flying when he doesn’t know how to do it?” Air Raid argued. 

“I can take him up!” Slingshot offered. 

“He can’t go out.” Silverbolt reminded them, even as Comet continued to whine and gesture to the door. “It’s too dangerous, remember.”

“It’ll be fine. We’re Superion.” Slingshot declared arrogantly. “No one’s gonna attack him when he’s with us.”

“‘Sides the only Cons after him are in the brig, right? Thunder-mom and Sky-dad or whoever the Pit they’re trying pass themselves off as.” Air Raid seemed to have dismissed the ridiculousness of a sparkling who had never flown under it’s own power having sky-sickness in favour of ganging up on his gestalt leader with everyone else. 

“Guys, really, we should at least check with Ratchet,” Silverbolt tried, though he knew he had already lost this battle. “We don’t even have clearance, it’s the middle of the night.” 

“So we won’t get caught. Let’s go already, before Prowl gets back and has us grounded,” Skydive tucked Comet under his arm and walked out into the corridor with him, Air Raid, Fireflight and Slingshot all jostling each other to be first behind him. 

Silverbolt, as the only responsible, sane member of his gestalt, had no choice to follow them. 

As they left the Ark via the main exit ramp their, loud argument over who was going to carry the sparkling for takeoff seemed to disturb the local wildlife. Something that sounded like a large bird shook the branches of a tree as it took off. 

“I’ll take him up,” Fireflight decided, grabbing at Skydive’s arm.

“Not a chance, butterfingers,” Slingshot shoved him away. 

“I’ll take him.” Silverbolt said firmly. “I don’t think any of you can be trusted not to pull crazy manoeuvres and make him sick.”

“No danger of you doing that,” Skydive agreed, passing the sparkling over. “Be lucky to get ten feet off the ground with you.”

Comet allowed himself to be exchanged, clutching at Silverbolt’s chassis. He wasn’t crying anymore. In fact, he looked rather excited. Maybe Skydive was right after all. 

His gestalt brothers were already taking off, twisting into their altmodes as they ascended and goading him to follow. Comet was gazing up at the sky eagerly. Silverbolt sighed. 

“I don’t have a cockpit, so hold on.” He warned Comet, and as lightly as he could, pushed up from the ground. 

Air Raid led them away from the Ark, towards a forested area where humans were unlikely to spot them. The sky was clear and full of stars. The moon illuminated the tops of the trees Silverbolt soured amongst, dislodged leaves rushing into the air in his wake. His gestalt flew above them, laughing and racing back and forth, shooting overhead with roaring throoms of maxed out thrusters. Silverbolt rolled his optics and kept a low altitude. 

He knew the rough housing had gotten to be too much when someone grunted in pain and Skydive’s altmode came down in a spin a hundred feet or so ahead of him. He disappeared below the tree line with a crack of splintering wood and a heavy thump. 

“Guys!” Silverbolt complained over their comm line. 

“Get him back to the Ark!” came a shouted response. 

Silverbolt didn’t comprehend it at first. Skydive hadn’t reappeared from the trees where he had fallen. 

“Silverbolt, go!” Air Raid frantic voice came over the comm. “Fly!” 

Silverbolt swung around and looked up. A red fighter jet came soaring out of the dark, firing on Fireflight and Air Raid. A bolt caught Air Raid in the wing and knocked him off course. He span right into the path of another jet who rammed into his side at full speed with a sickening crunch of metal. He dropped from the sky like a stone.  

A pit opened up in Silverbolt’s chassis and seemed to swallow his spark. 

Coneheads. 

Chapter Text

Ramjet spotted the Aerialbot’s dumb afts from over a mile away. And even if he hadn’t, half the planet could hear them hooting and hollering like a bunch of cogless seagulls as they whizzed aimlessly about the air with about as much grace and style to their manoeuvres as flying bricks. An embarrassment of an airforce. It demeaned his trine to even be sent after them. 

But orders were orders. The Aerialbots had something of theirs. Stolen technology or some slag. Soundwave wouldn’t have diverted their patrol if it weren’t important. 

The Bots were flying low in the dark, as if that was gonna help them avoid being seen when true seekers like him and his trine had light amplification built into their optical lens. Ramjet was gonna make them regret their arrogance when he had them nosediving into the trees.  

“Shoot down the smart one.” Ramjet ordered over the comm, spotting the living bane of his existence, Skydive, in the middle of displaying how to properly perform a wingover to his brethren.

Dirge dropped altitude and fired. Caught unaware, Skydive flew right through the spray of blaster bolts. The flash of them hitting his chassis lit up the tree tops, and then he was going down, struggling to control his decent as his idiot brothers panicked around him.

Thrust caught another one in the wing, and unwilling to waste time chasing them around in a game of cyber-cat and hover-mouse, Ramjet rammed him out of the sky. He had no time to relish the satisfaction of watching his victim plummet to the ground when another one was already coming at him, shooting at his tail. 

“Silver-dolts got somethin’,” Dirge announced over the comm, pulling in behind and firing on the Aerialbot on Ramjet’s tail until it had no choice but to take evasive manoeuvres. “Down low.”

Ramjet flipped over, belly-up, and spotted Silverbolt in his bipedal mode below, both arms locked tight to his chest. He had something. Something too important to drop and transform into alt-mode for. 

“Dibs!” Thrust called, banking sharply and coming back around. A spray of blaster fire followed his path through the air as the remaining Aerialbots concentrated on him. 

“You snooze, you loose!” Ramjet declared, and blasted ahead so when he transformed and dropped, he came down right on top of Silverbolt, thrusters first. 

Silverbolt grunted, and flying as low as he was, had no time to recover. Ramjet’s weight sent him crashing down to the earth, smashing through the trees and skidding through the mud while Ramjet rode his crash-landing like a surfer, laughing cruelly because Silverbolt had been so busy trying to protect what he was carrying, he gave up any opportunity to minimise his own damage. 

Ramjet didn’t even give him chance to pull his face from the mud before swinging his pede back and kicking him in the head. Silverbolt’s helm snapped back and he sprawled limp, arm falling away from his chest. 

Ramjet was reaching down to take his prize when a pair of fierce little optics glared up at him and scared the living spark out of him. 

“Ahh!” 

Optimus had been driving for three hours when he was intersected on his return to the Ark by Prowl making an absolute spectacle of flashing his lights and whooping his sirens. Optimus thought it best to pull over, unable to escape the feeling that he was about to get a speeding ticket.

“Prowl.” He greeted, taking note of the small cavalry his Second in Command had decided to bring with him. Jazz, Bluestreak, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker were pulled up on the side of the road under a streetlight; all doing their best to look professional. All clearly eavesdropping.

“Out for a later drive?” He asked.

Prowl didn’t answer at first. He was clearly angry, what with the obnoxious whooping of his sirens. Optimus was quite sure that had he been in bipedal mode he’d be frothing at the mouth by now. 

“…How was Megatron.” Prowl asked bitterly, but it was obvious he wasn’t actually asking Optimus anything. 

Optimus wasn’t surprised Prowl knew where he had been. Ratchet wasn’t particularly skilled at keeping information confidential outside of his medbay, and even then…

Well, to put it plainly, every member of the Ark crew had known about Huffer’s tank incontinence last year.  

“He was well.” Optimus stated diplomatically. “Though rather uninformed of the situation.” 

“I know the feeling.” Prowl’s voice came out in a hiss. 

“I needed to speak with him candidly.”

“You didn’t need to speak with him at all.” Prowl countered. “There is never any reason for you to speak with Megatron unless it is to hear the terms of his surrender.” 

“Yes, well I’m afraid he intends for the war to continue.” Optimus joked, hoping to lighten Prowl’s mood. A lost cause.

Prowl’s engine revved with impatience. “The lengths you are going to for this seeker you’ve found-“

“Comet is a sentient-being with rights and freedoms,” Optimus interrupted sternly. “His life is every bit as valuable as any Autobots under my command.”

“And your obsession with Starscream?” 

Optimus paused, stopping himself from childishly arguing that he was not obsessed with Starscream. It was merely a healthy curiosity. “…He is an inevitable piece of this puzzle. Megatron has no more knowledge of his whereabouts than we do. It’s proof enough that the Starscream I spoke to on Cybertron was an imposter.” 

“Have you ever considered that this might be his doing?” Prowl demanded. “That maybe he’s not a victim in all this but the instigator? He hasn’t been seen in weeks. His own faction doesn’t know where he is, and the moment he disappeared this sparkling showed up. What if it’s not a sparkling at all?”

Optimus sighed, irritated now. “Prowl. We have been over this. Comet is a sparkling, not a spy, not a weapon.” 

Prowl revved his engines furiously and with a whoop of his sirens, turned so sharply his rear tires skidded across the tarmac. 

“Back to base,” he ordered the Autobots as he accelerated past them. 

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shot after him with audial-rupturing roars of their engines. Bluestreak trailed after, low on his suspension, sheepish, but Jazz waited for Optimus before pulling away, driving alongside him. 

After a beat of silence, he spoke. 

“…Secret late night meetings with Megatron?” He asked, “You know, as your head of intelligence, you kinda need to be telling me about any inter-factional affairs.”

Optimus accelerated ahead of him, making sure to kick up grit with his tires and leave Jazz in the dust. 

“What is it? What is it?” Thrust rushed to Ramjet’s aid. 

They were in among the trees and still sheltered, for the most part, from the ongoing dogfight above. Dirge was holding his own against the last few Aerialbots, but this was where they really could have used the backup of the Command Trine- wherever they were, bunch of layabouts. 

On the ground, Ramjet was dangling something at arms length. Something small. Something that was moving. Something that was making a load of angry noises. Thrust didn’t want to get any closer. Ramjet’s expression was bordering on horror. 

“What is it?!” He cried. 

Ramjet shook his helm back and forth, disbelieving, “I don’t- a sparkling or- I dunno-“

“A sparkling?” Thrust focused on the dangling thing. It had arms and legs, which it was waving around a lot. Ramjet turned slightly, so Thrust could get a better view and-

“It’s got wings?!” He grimaced. “Aerialbot spawn?”

Ramjet shook his helm. “Nah, no it’s got- it’s a seeker. Definitely.”

Thrust didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. He stomped over, “Your optics are malfunctioning, numskull. Hook told ya to rein it in with the head-to-head collis-“

The sparkling took a swipe at him. And yeah, that was definitely was a seeker, and more than that-

He leapt away in alarm, “Son of a-!”

“Starscream.” Ramjet finished for him, an unhinged look to his optics. “That’s what I thought.”

Disgust rolled through Thrust. “…Urgh. Think it’s his?” 

“Looks like him, don’t it?”

“So this is what Soundwave sent us to get?” Thrust cringed. “I would’ve halfarsed the dogfight a little more if I’d known-“

“No!” The sparkling shouted, smacking at the air between them. It’s face was hot and flushed and furious. It really looked like Starscream. Like, scarily so. 

“Now that you mention it, I ain’t seen Screamer in weeks.” He realised.

“Good riddance.” Ramjet growled.

“Maybe this is the replacement?”

“Yeah, not like anyone would notice the difference,” Ramjet smirked. 

“Raaagh!” The sparkling raged. 

Thrust wondered if that was normal. 

“Comm Soundwave. Tell him we’ve got it.” Ramjet ordered him, still holding the sparkling at arms length, wise enough not to lower his guard and let it get hold of any part of him. “And tell him to bring a cage or something.”

The sparkling ignited it’s thrusters as it kicked, trying to set them on fire. 

Something woke him. 

Ratchet couldn’t tell what at first, his processor all loose in his helm, charge pounding through the backs of his optics. The world tilted as he leveraged himself upright from where he had slumped in a drunken stupor in front of Teletraan. 

He onlined his optics to the relentless flash of red warning lights on Teletraan’s console. Someone had set off their emergency beacon. 

Instinctively, he reached for Comet through the bond, and knew from the fading sense of indignity and exasperation (a constant in their spark-bond), that Comet was not within the vicinity of the Ark. Panic gripped his spark. 

He launched himself out of his seat, grabbing the snoring Ironhide by the shoulders and shaking him awake. “Get up!”

“Whasgoinon?!” Ironhide slurred, nearly toppling backwards in his chair.

“Comet!” Ratchet snapped, shoving him aside to better access Teletraan. The triggered beacons belonged to the Aerialbot’s, transmitting from about five miles outside the Ark’s perimeter. Skyfire had commed him not long before he’d drifted off, letting him know Silverbolt had taken Comet in for the night.

They had taken him out for a blasted joyride, more like! How could they be so stupid-!

“Frag it all, hail them!” Ironhide ordered, scrubbing a servo down his face and blinking rapidly, trying to dispel his charge. 

“No answer.” Ratchet’s denta grit together as he zeroed in on their location. His servos were shaking and kept stumbling over the keys, “C’mon-“

“I’m going out there,” Ironhide stood fast enough to knock his chair over. He didn’t stop to pick it up. “Send me their last known coordinates.”

“On your own?!” Ratchet snarled, a sudden dread overtaking him because who else was there? Optimus was off frolicking with Megatron, Prowl had taken all their front-liners on a field trip to hunt him down, the Aerialbots were in some kind of trouble, he and Ironhide were drunk-!

He abandoned Teletraan and raced after Ironhide, transforming and speeding through the halls to keep pace with the red mech’s alt-mode. He accessed his comm as he drove and frantically fired off alerts to anyone still on base; Tracks, Bumblebee, Wheeljack-

They were just rounding the corner for the main exit ramp, tires screeching on the floor panelling, when they had to slam on the breaks. 

“Well looky here, boys,” Motormaster’s greet hulking frame blocked the Ark’s exit ramp, flanked by his gestalt brothers. They were already in bipedal mode, weapons drawn. “It’s the Autoblunder welcoming party.” 

Ratchet barely had chance to transform before they opened fire. 

Megatron’s conveniently timed absence meant that when Starscream was finally spotted outside the near-impenetrable security of the Ark, Soundwave was free to divert the Conehead’s patrol route and reassign the Stunticons scouting mission with little challenge to his authority. 

“Ramjet’s gotta lotta questions for you, Boss,” Rumble warned him as they waited at the rendezvous point on the coast. “Say’s your ‘package’ keeps biting him.” 

Soundwave nodded, satisfied. Having recalled his cassettes from Autobot territory he no longer had optics on the Ark and limited information on how events were proceeding. For the sake of efficiency he had not revealed to the Conehead’s the nature of the ‘stolen package’. The truth may have encouraged too many questions. 

Or worse, led to apathy and deliberate failure. Starscream was not a popular mech. 

But truly Soundwave had far greater concerns regarding the Stunticons and their progress. He tried hailing Motormaster for a progress update again. There was no answer. 

Their mission had been simple. Take advantage of reduced Autobot presence aboard the Ark to retrieve Decepticon seekers Thundercracker and Skywarp, only subduing those enemies who crossed their path. They were not to loiter; to brawl and vandalise and torment.

Soundwave had already realised, when choosing to send Motormaster unaccompanied, that the Stunticons were not the ideal choice for this task. 

“You wanna send the Coneheads back?” Rumble suggested. “See what they’re up to?” 

Soundwave could not risk Starscream falling back into Autobot hands.

“We will wait.” He decided. 

Motormaster was a capable warrior. Soundwave simply hoped he kept his unpredictable nature in check. 

Skywarp had known they were gonna get rescued eventually, but he had kinda been expecting a sly little infiltration party sneaking in and smuggling him and Thundercracker off the Ark, hopefully with Miniature Starscream in tow. He had not anticipated being woken in the middle of the night by banging and shooting and jeering as Motormaster had the brig door blasted down and came marching down to their cell, dragging a unconscious bloodied Autobot behind him. 

“Um…” Skywarp began.

“You?!” Thundercracker blurted, not quite as tactful. “They sent you?!”

“King of the Road, baby,” Motormaster announced proudly, punching a fist through the door panel and ripping out the components. The lock disengaged and the door swung open. “Who else would they send?”

“Someone with half a functioning processor?” Skywarp asked honestly. 

Motormaster let them step through the doorway before flinging his unconscious victim into the cell in their place. It looked like the small angry red Autobot, Cliff-something. Motormaster had really done a number on him. Skywarp didn’t miss the way Thundercracker was eyeing the energon staining the Stunitcon’s knuckles with disgust. 

“Did you find Starscream?” Thundercracker asked him. 

Motormaster’s noise wrinkled. “He here?” 

He looked over his shoulder to Drag Strip, who shrugged, “I didn’t see him.”

“Well we ain’t waiting around for him.” Motormaster gestured for Skywarp and Thundercracker to follow him. “We gotta go, Soundwave’s been on my aft. Already spent too long here.”

As Skywarp followed the Stunticons out of the brig, he witnessed for himself the path of destruction they had wrought. It looked as though they had torn their way through the Ark, shooting at anything that moved, destroying bulkheads and infrastructure and equipment like a bunch of rioting vandals. 

A nervousness gnawed at Skywarp’s spark as they passed the Autobots lying in the corridors, slumped over and unmoving. Where was Starscream?

“We need to check the medbay,” Thundercracker called ahead to Motormaster, preoccupied with the same concerns. “Before we leave.” 

“Ain’t nothing in there. Already trashed it.” Motormaster grunted back at him, waving an arm impatiently. “Let’s go. You might be eager for Prime to put you through a wall, but I’m not.”

“Yeah, but Starscream-” Skywarp tried again. 

“I don’t give a slag about your little traitor bitch trine-leader,” Motormaster whirled around and loomed over him, the sharp scent of energon wafting off his armour. “I got orders an’ they don’t include him. Soundwave wanted me to get you out. I got you out. Ain’t about to go running all over this ship on a rescue mission outta the goodness of my spark.” 

He armed his blaster and pointed it at them. “Now you coming or not? Cuz I can drop you right here and save myself the trouble. Tell Soundwave a Bot got you on the way out.”

“Nice,” Skywarp grumbled, glaring down the barrel of Motormaster’s weapon. 

“Maybe he’s not here,” Thundercracker squeezed close to Skywarp, speaking into his audial. “If Motormaster’s acting on Soundwave’s orders…” 

Skywarp had to accept that there was some logic there, and stuffed down the violent urge to teleport Motormaster into the nearby bulkhead. Motormaster powered down the blaster with derisive snort, and with that, they continued on their way. 

They weren’t stopped. There was no one to stop them. Skywarp was on guard for all the usual suspects he tended to meet on the battlefield to come flying out them, but the Autobot’s seemed terribly short on front-liners. 

They were at the exit and Motormaster was already leading them down the ramp, when Skywarp spotted the red and white armour of the grouchy Autobot CMO; the one that thought he was adopting Starscream. Thundercracker noticed too, and slowed as he passed, brow creasing at the scattering of blaster scorches across the medic’s chassis his forearms. Defensive wounds.

Skywarp paused, a strange sense of guilt building. 

Starscream must not have been with him. 

“You two losers coming or what!?” Motormaster bellowed. “Skywarp, get your aft up front and open a fraggin’ warp gate.” 

“I’m gonna shoot him.” Skywarp promised Thundercracker, leaving the unconscious medic be and heading up towards Motormaster. “Soon as I get a blaster. Right up the exhaust.” 

The release of weeks of built up tension swept through Soundwave when he spied the approach of three jets in the distance. Stood on the cliffs overlooking the coast, he stepped aside to give them room to land. 

The Conehead trine transformed in the air above him; Thrust and Dirge landing elegantly, Ramjet shouting and flailing in pain while scrambling to open his cockpit and expel whatever it was that was causing him such great discomfort. 

Starscream fell out with a screech. 

Instinct took over and Soundwave lunged forward to catch him, but Ramjet’s quicker reflexes caught his Air Commander by the foot before he could plummet over the cliff. Then continued to dangle him there, at arms length.

“What the Pit is this?!” He demanded as Starscream began to scream and rage and punch at the air.

“…Classified.” Soundwave droned after a moment, distracted. Sparklings were not designed to be held in such a manner. But Starscream was not a sparkling- Soundwave forced himself to remember. 

“You said it was a package.” Thrust accused. 

“It’s a sparkling!” Dirge cried, as though Soundwave hadn’t noticed. “A real one and everything!” 

“And why’s it look like this?” Ramjet demanded, tone intense. He shook Starscream as he spoke, and Starscream, being upside-down and dangling by his foot and existing as a sparkling, screamed louder. 

Soundwave could give no response that wouldn’t make the situation worse. 

“Report to base.” He ordered them.

“No, we want answers,” Ramjet snarled. “Why were the Aerialbots flying around with this?”

“Did Screamer make a fragging sparkling with one of them?!” Thrust sounded enraged. “We hate those guys. He knows we hate those guys!”

Starscream was beginning to turn purple. There were tears of fury leaking from his optics and running down his brow. 

“How could he do this to us?!” Ramjet was ranting. “Mixing code with those mutant flying cars?!”

“Negative.” Soundwave protested.

Refraining from commenting on the matter was clearly not going to work. He had to say something before the Conehead’s worked themselves into such an impotent rage they did something foolish, such as igniting their own missiles and blowing themselves up. 

Or worse, dropped Starscream off the cliff. 

“Starscream; has not partaken in intimidate relations with any Autobot.” 

“Well he’s done it with someone!” Ramjet raged, shaking Starscream so hard it stopped the screaming. 

But only for a moment. When the noise picked back up again there was a more hysterical edge to it, more reflective of a real sparkling’s cries. Soundwave was growing increasingly uncomfortable, and much less patient. 

“Relinquish the package.” He ordered, stepping forward to take the defenceless seeker from Ramjet’s grasp if need be. 

Ramjet moved away with Starscream though, still dangling him. “I’m not giving you anything till I get some answers. We just risked our afts for this thing. I don’t care if you have to get Megatron himself, I-“

Purple light illuminated the cliffs and the air turned static as a warp-gate was opened. Motormaster stepped through wearing the smuggest smirk imaginable, his grim looking gestalt following, with Thundercracker and Skywarp bringing up the rear, appearing drained and demotivated from their captivity. Or more likely, their rescue. 

And it took them all of half-a-second to recognise what Ramjet was holding. 

Skywarp bared his denta, and in the habit of expecting him to react first, Soundwave simply didn’t expect Thundercracker to be trine-mate to cock a fist and punch Ramjet square in the mouth, knocking him back on his aft and snatching Starscream from his grasp. 

“That’s not how you hold a sparkling, you afthole!” Skywarp bellowed, rushing forward to kick Ramjet while he was down.

Dirge and Thrust ran in to rescue Ramjet before Skywarp could kick his head in, while most of the Stunticons just stared dumbstruck at the unexplained appearance of a sparkling. Thundercracker backed away from them all with his sobbing trine-leader tucked close to his chest. 

“Is that real?” Wildrider whispered, equal parts awed and horrified. 

“Why’s it making that noise?” Breakdown complained. 

“Why is it so round?” Motormaster grunted, moving in to get a better look. 

“Back off!” Thundercracker snarled, baring his denta and fluffing his armour, his wings wide and high. It was so uncharacteristic of him that it warned most of the Stunticons off. Except, of course, for Motormaster. 

“That looks like Screamer.” He began dangerously.

“That’s what I said,” Ramjet agreed, propped up between his trine. He wiped the energon from the split in his swollen lip. “What the Pit’s going on?”

“Umm,” said Skywarp, looking to Thundercracker for help, who was ignoring them all in favour of brushing away the sparkling’s tears, even as Starscream mumbled distraught little ‘no’s’ and tried to push him away.

He set his optics on Soundwave instead. 

“Soundwave can answer that!” He announced cheerfully. 

And Soundwave was fairly confident that he had the improvisation skills to compose an adequate lie and regain control of the situation long enough to squirrel Starscream away, stuff him inside the repaired machine, and have him turned back into himself before the cycle reset. Then no one need ever speak of any this ever again- 

“Oh, can he?” Megatron’s rasping voice asked. 

-had that not just happened. 

Chapter Text

The Decepticons fell into a loaded silence. Even Starscream, mid-tantrum.

Megatron stood in front of them all, arms folded across his chest, looking from one dumbstruck expression to the next, irritation written into every line of his features. 

Soundwave couldn’t quite meet his gaze. 

Fortunately, he wasn’t the target of Megatron’s attention. Thundercracker was not-so-subtly trying to slide Starscream into his cockpit and out of sight.

“I’d like to see that.” Megatron ordered, helm tilting towards him, optics narrow.

Thundercracker froze, Starscream half-in, half-out. “…Uh,” he began. 

“No!” Starscream snapped, grabbing the open canopy of Thundercracker’s cockpit to shut himself inside, trapping some of Thundercracker’s fingers in the process. 

Megatron began walking over. The gathered Decepticons moved out of his way, all except for-

“Oh hey, don’t mind …that thing, Lord Megatron!” Skywarp sidestepped in front of his trine with wide gestures and a loud voice in the worst attempt at deflection Soundwave had ever seen. “That’s just- it’s-“

“A sparkling…” Megatron murmured, tall enough that Skywarp’s attempt at blocking his view was futile. He gave nothing away, staring down at Starscream with little to no emotion. Starscream was staring back, big optics comically round in his tiny face, still clinging to the cockpit canopy with his stubby digits. 

Then Megatron was casting Skywarp aside. As the purple seeker stumbled clumsily out of the way Thundercracker squeezed Starscream closer, fear flashing in his optics, unsure what to do, what he could do-

But when Megatron reached out his large black servo towards Starscream, the trance the sparkling seemed to have fallen into broke. 

“No! No!” Starscream shouted furiously, and smacked Megatron’s servo away with all his tiny might. 

Megatron drew his servo back, surprise and offence fighting for space in his expression until he suddenly boomed, “You! I thought as much!” 

“No!” Starscream shouted again, pointing at him. 

“Scowl at me all you like, no doubt this is your own doing!” Megatron thundered, pointing back just as furiously. “You’d better have gathered some useful information during your extended sabbatical or sparkling or not, I’ll have you tossed in the brig for excessive time wasting!” 

Starscream shrieked wordlessly, flinging his arms out in frustration. 

To the majority of the watching Decepticons, it seemed as though Megatron had lost his senses. Thundercracker and Skywarp, who knew, looked a mixture of embarrassed and exasperated. Soundwave too, would rather Megatron have this one-sided argument with his now recovered Air Commander in private. 

Probably irritated that Starscream couldn’t snark back and perhaps realising that he did look insane, Megatron turned towards Soundwave, “Well!?”

Soundwave blinked in surprise. “Yes, Lord Megatron?”

Megatron made a noise of frustration, “Am I arguing with a sparkling?” 

“Depends on your definition of ‘sparkling’,” Skywarp piped up. 

“Negative.” Soundwave answered before Megatron lost what remained of his temper and gave in to the temptation to shoot someone. Probably Skywarp. “Experimental equipment malfunction resulted in-“

“I don’t care to know the details.” Megatron suddenly waved him off, clearly seething. “Doubtless, they’ll only infuriate me further.” 

He turned to look back at Starscream as he said this. Starscream scowled at him. 

This set Megatron off again. “Months we searched for you, you useless little-!“

“Suggestion; retreat.” Soundwave announced, since they weren’t far from Autobot territory and even with Megatron present, Optimus Prime would be more than willing to track them down to reclaim his adopted seeker. 

Megatron shot one last lingering glare Starscream’s way -ignoring how Thundercracker had covered the sparkling’s tiny audials with his servos to protect him from Megatron’s raised voice- and relented. 

“I trust you have the means to fix this?” 

 Soundwave nodded firmly, “Affirmative.” 

“Then do it. Now.” Megatron ordered. He moved past Soundwave and back out of the crowd, shouting over his shoulder to the rest of his gaping faction. “Decepticons, rise up!” 

Despite their desperate curiosity, no one was brave enough to disobey Megatron, though a couple of Motormaster’s gestalt had to physically drag their leader along when he tried to linger behind to poke at the ‘sparkling’ again. 

Left as the stragglers; Soundwave, Skywarp, and Thundercracker all looked at each other. 

“Honestly, I think that went kind of okay,” Skywarp said cheerfully. 

Dangling from his underarms in Thundercracker’s servos, Starscream kicked at the air with a grumble, “No.” 

The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon when Optimus arrived back at the Ark, tires skidding on loose ground, the others close behind. The pink and amber of the sky complimented the hull of the Ark, the tranquility of the early morning a stark contrast to the pounding of his panicked spark. 

They had received the message through comms over an hour ago. It hadn’t mattered how many speed limits they had broken to get back. They were too late. The Decepticons were gone. Comet was gone. 

Ratchet was waiting for him at the bottom of the Ark’s entry ramp. 

Optimus transformed as soon as he saw him, losing little momentum as he went from driving to striding towards his closest friend. Ratchet had been injured. There was black patch of burnt paint across his chest from a blaster bolt and a dent in the side of his helm. 

“Ratchet-?”

“Don’t.” Ratchet took a preemptive step away from him, optics harsh and refusing to meet Optimus’s gaze. He was looking past him, towards Prowl. “Do you think you can track them?”

Prowl walked up behind Optimus, servos clasped behind his back, calm but somber, “The question is if we should-“

“Of course we should!” Ratchet roared suddenly. “They took my sparkling, Prowl! You think I’m just gonna stand here with my thumbs up my aft like you idiots-“

Optimus moved towards him again, chest tight with guilt, “Ratchet-“

Ratchet flung up an arm and moved away from him, “I said don’t!” 

“Woah, woah, Ratch’,” Jazz was there then, palms out like he was trying to settle a nervous turbo-horse. “We’re gonna figure this out, but you’re injured-“

“You can frag off as well,” Ratchet smacked Jazz’s servo away and went to move past them. “If you’re not going to help me, I’ll do it myself.” 

“At the very least we need to regroup.” Prowl told him calmly, watching Ratchet stamp off. “You’ll be needed here, to help repair the injured. And besides that, you can’t storm the Decepticon base yourself-“

“Watch me.” Ratchet snarled. 

“Ratchet.” Optimus called, an order this time, not a plea. “I can’t allow you to do this.“

Ratchet kept walking, so with a sigh, and an ache in his chest, Optimus gestured for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to step in. 

The twins shared a reluctant look, before stepping into Ratchet’s path. Ratchet tried to shove Sideswipe aside, but the twins grabbed him by the arms and braced him between them. Ratchet struggled at first, but the twins were stronger. He wasn’t stupid. He relented, betrayal dimming his optics. 

“He’s just a sparkling,” he tried weakly. 

“I’m sorry, Ratch’.” Sideswipe offered softly, steering him around, back towards the Ark. “But you gotta calm down. You’re always telling me an’ Sunny to think before jumping into things, right?”

Ratchet didn’t answer. He met Optimus’s gaze as he was marched past him. Optimus braced himself for a unpleasant (though probably not untrue) remark about how this was his fault, how he had let Comet down, how whatever happened now, was on him. But Ratchet said nothing. 

It was written all over his face instead; the promise that he’d never forgive him. 

If it wasn’t bad enough that his colossal idiot of an Air Commander had not, after months of absence, been decently dead like Megatron had begun to assume he was, but had in fact spent the entire time enjoying the hospitality of the Autobots, to add insult to the entire ordeal, he had done it as a blasted sparkling! 

Which he had then let the Autobots grow attached to!

And now Optimus Prime kept calling his comm console. 

“Imbecile.” Megatron muttered to himself, wondering if he should just hand Starscream back to them as punishment. That would serve the seeker right. 

After ignoring seven calls, Megatron braced himself and finally decided to answer. 

Prime’s face filled the screen, optics a fierce white above his battle-mask. He was speaking before Megatron could get so much as a sarcastic greeting out.

“You’re a better liar than I ever gave you credit for.” 

Megatron wasn’t exactly sure how to play this. He couldn’t have Prime making repeated invasion attempts on his base in order to rescue a sparkling he thought was his, but nor was he willing to reveal the truth to his enemies. Starscream was an idiot, and this situation was typical of the shenanigans the seeker was always falling into, but he needed to maintain the same fierce reputation all members of Decepticon High Command held. The truth would mar that reputation on both sides of the war. 

“…That’s your mistake.” He responded smoothly. “It’s in the name, Prime. ‘Decepticons’.”

“Where is he? What do you plan to do with him?!” Optimus demanded, deep voice rumbling the speakers of Megatron’s console. 

“He is where he belongs,” Megatron said evenly, deciding it would be best not to provoke Prime. “You were foolish to think you could keep him.” 

“You would be foolish to think we won’t come for him.” 

“Save yourself the trouble, Prime. He’s no longer here. You think I’d keep a sparkling on an alien military base? On a hostile planet?”

“You abandoned him here-“

“Not abandoned.” Megatron rolled his optics. “Rather… misplaced.” 

“How can someone misplace their sparkling?” 

“The Decepticons responsible for this do not answer to you, Prime. I will deal with this as I see fit. You’d do better to stay concerned with your own mechs, seeing how easy it was for mine to enter your home last night.” 

Prime’s optics darkened dangerously at the reminder of what the Stunticons had done. 

“Comet deserves better-!“

“Is that what you were calling him?” Megatron interrupted. “It doesn’t suit him.”

“Megatron-“

“You have my thanks for taking him in, Prime,” Megatron tried not to sound too sarcastic. “But you will not see him again. Find your peace with that.” 

Prime’s servo slammed against Teletraan’s, “No.” 

Megatron ended the call. There was nothing else to say. Prime and his lot were going to have to get over it. 

There wasn’t a sparkling to claim back. ‘Comet’ didn’t exist. 

Megatron hadn’t been happy with the energy expenditures necessary to bridge Starscream back to Cybertron so Shockwave could transform him from the embarrassingly stunted version back to his tall, graceful, attractive adult self. 

He ranted at Soundwave pointlessly about it for at least half an hour. Starscream watched from a position cradled in Thundercracker’s arms, wondering why on Cybertron Soundwave wasn’t as sick of Megatron’s stupidity as he was and hadn't tried to assassinate him yet. 

Eventually it was decided that Soundwave would travel to Cybertron with Starscream alone, much to Thundercracker and Skywarp’s protests. 

Thundercracker even tried to argue against it. “Sir, he’s only a spark-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Megatron pointed at Thundercracker. “He is not a sparkling.” Megatron’s glare dropped to Starscream. Starscream glared back. “Are you?”

Starscream didn’t answer, because his voice was soft and high and babyish and the less Megatron heard it the better. He folded his little arms and remained stubbornly silent. Megatron’s glare deepened. 

“He doesn’t need babysitters.” Megatron announced. “Stop coddling him.” 

Thundercracker reluctantly handed him over to Soundwave. Starscream grimaced. He didn’t enjoy being held by his trine, but it didn’t fill him with anywhere near as much visceral indignity as it did when being held by anyone.

Save perhaps the medic, Ratchet. 

The bond he had being doing his best to ignore fluttered at the thought of the Autobot, and he quickly stamped it down before any reciprocal feelings could come through. He wondered if the reversal process would remove the bond, or if he would be stuck with this stupid spark connection for the rest of his existence. 

Megatron was still muttering empty threats about what he was going to do to Starscream when he came back as an adult as Soundwave carried him to the spacebridge. Skywarp entered in the coordinations, but paused before activating the bridge. His gaze lingered on Starscream for a while.

He smiled, “I’m gonna miss you being so cute.” 

Starscream scowled. Skywarp would be his first victim when he returned to the glory of his real frame. 

“See you soon, Screamer,” Skywarp said, activating the bridge. 

“We’ll be here when you get back.” Thundercracker added like Starscream needed the reassurance, his voice only just audible over the building charge of the spacebridge. 

“Don’t screw this up!” Megatron threw in from a distance. 

Then they were lost behind the light of the bridge ports connecting, Earth to Cybertron. Starscream shuttered his optics against it, his lenses more sensitive to light than an adults. Soundwave’s grip on him was secure, but Starscream clung to his arm anyway, worried about slipping free and being small enough to fall. 

Then the light faded, and they were in Shockwave’s lab. 

It looked much worse for wear than when Starscream had last seen it, and stank of hot metal and burnt plastic. He wrinkled his nose and looked around. It seemed like there had been a fire- that had melted rather than burnt. 

He realised why when a light tapping caught his attention. 

From inside a glowing yellow cylinder in the centre of the room, Sunstorm was knocking against the glass to get his attention. When they made eye contact, Sunstorm smiled and waved at him. 

Starscream responded with a finger gesture he had learnt from the squishy programming the Autobots liked to watch. It’s meaning lost on him, Sunstorm did it back with a smile.

“Do not encourage him.” Shockwave’s pompous voice sighed as he entered the room from a side door and made his way towards them. He didn’t bother to greet Soundwave. “Is this Starscream?” 

Starscream wanted to ask Shockwave who else he could possibly be? How many other Decepticons had accidentally transformed themselves into an infant in his absence?

“Affirmative.” Soundwave said, having far more restraint for sarcasm than Starscream. 

“Then we will begin.” Shockwave led then out of the main lab into a smaller room. In his cylindrical prison, Sunstorm seemed sad to watch them go. 

Starscream’s tank began to turn with nerves when he saw his recovered machine in the room waiting for him. When last he had used it, it had done this to him. Now he was going to be at it’s mercy again, only this time Shockwave had been screwing around with it.

Shockwave, the one optic’d wonder. Shockwave, who was responsible for the walking weapon of mass destruction in the next room. 

Starscream wasn’t sure about this actually. Maybe they should wait. Maybe they should test it first.

He began squirming in Soundwave’s arms, trying to voice all of this but to no avail, babbling nonsense as Soundwave placed him beneath the machine. He immediately tried to crawl away from it, but Shockwave stepped in, pushing him back with his blaster-servo and buckling restraints he must have installed with his working one. 

“I suspected this may be necessary.” Shockwave explained, tightening the waist strap so Starscream couldn't slip free. 

Starscream tugged at it futilely, and began to feel tears gather in his optics as the pressure of fear grew. His vents began to hitch. He didn’t want to do it this way! He didn’t trust them! If his trine were here they’d have put to stop to this. No wonder Megatron hadn’t let them come!

“Starscream; is alright.” Soundwave reassured mechanically, watching with a dim, sympathetic visor. 

“It is no wonder the Autobots were misled.” Shockwave commented absently, pressing buttons on the machine’s console. “I may have been mistaken myself, had I not known the truth of his identity.” 

Because you’re an idiot! Starscream thought, blinking through tears as the machine switched on. 

Primus, what if it made it worse? What if it made him even younger? What if it made him too old and he had to walk back into the Decepticon base as some decrepit hag?! He cried harder. What if it turned him into a radioactive abomination like Sunstorm?!

“Starscream; melodramatic.” Soundwave said firmly, clearly picking up on his thoughts. “The machine had been tested. Shockwave is a competent engineer.” 

Shockwave had paused in his preparations, but Soundwave nodded for him to continue. The machines’s halo above Starscream’s helm began to glow, electromagnetic waves began to pulse. 

What if the machine blew up?! What if it killed him?! What if he couldn’t remember anything when he turned back?! What if his spark-bond with the medic was removed?!

The electromagnetic waves grew and grew until they interrupted his thought signals. He was too small for his armour, then too big for his spark. He was changing. He felt heavy. He felt weak. His optics offlined, then his sensors. 

He fell into blackness. 

And when he woke up, he was himself again. 

Chapter Text

Grateful as Starscream was for his restoration -to stretch out full wings, to stand tall and balanced, to have full access to his weapons systems, vocabulary, fine motor skills, and flight capabilities- he wasn’t particularly grateful for how quickly Soundwave was attempting to usher him back through the space-bridge. 

“Shouldn’t you perform some sort of test!?” He protested, trying to squirm out of Soundwave’s hold as he was frog marched across Shockwave’s lab. 

Shockwave, to his credit, was chasing after them with scanner and a diagnostic pad, “Starscream is correct. There may be unaccounted for side effects-“

“Side effects! Exactly!” Starscream cried, trying to trip Soundwave up as he was shoved ever closer to the space-bridge, and the swift humiliation that awaited him on the other side. “What if I can’t stop aging?!”

“Negative.” Soundwave wrangled him onto the space-bridge and kept him there with a strong arm locked around his neck. Starscream choked dramatically, but it didn’t win him any sympathy. “Starscream: inventing excuses.” 

“Just you wait!” Starscream clawed at Soundwave’s arm. “You can explain it to Megatron when I wake up tomorrow a rusted-up husk of metal!”

“Acknowledged.” Soundwave agreed, nodding to Shockwave so the scientist would activate the bridge. 

Shockwave sighed loudly and lowered his scanner. “I expect Lord Megatron wishes for the machine to be destroyed?”

“No!” Starscream shrieked, because he hadn’t gone through months of suffering at the blasted things hands to then never be able to use it against his true enemies!

“Affirmative.” 

Shockwave nodded and Starscream fumed. Knowing that one-optic’d freak, he’d hide the machine away and perform some bizarre alternation on it for his own twisted experiments. Shockwave got away with all sorts of crimes against Cybertron up here, and yet Starscream makes one little mistake and Megatron acts like he’s done irreparable damage the Decepticon war effort. 

He didn’t have chance to rant any of this at Soundwave and Shockwave before the space-bridge was activated and he was being forcibly returned to the base on Earth, where hopefully, Megatron would have him dismantled before he had to face any of his Decepticon brethren. 

When they arrived, they were greeted by an audience of two; Soundwave’s smirking twins. 

Starscream shrugged away Soundwave’s hold and stepped off the space-bridge, helm held high (and foot poised to punt any cassettes stupid enough to say anything.)

“…Welcome back, Boss. Screamer,” Frenzy offered. 

Starscream’s lip curled. Now that he was tall again, he moved forward to loom over the stunted twins. They stood in his shadow, expressions aiming for innocent and missing by a mile. 

“You have something to say?” Starscream hissed, wanting to get this over with. The jokes. The ridicule. The insubordination. “Say it.” 

“Nothing here, Commander,” Rumble answered. “Nothing that ain’t classified, anyway.”

Starscream didn’t allow himself a breath of relief. He wasn’t that naive. He threw one last furious glance back at Soundwave, who was doing nothing but silently observing, before striding for the door. 

His plan was to race back to the solitude of his quarters and start drawing up schematics for a giant magnet powerful enough to erase the memory banks of every Decepticon on base. And then perhaps with Skywarp’s help, he’d have it teleported back to the Ark too. At least then his indignity would be brief.  

But as he walked the dank, dreary halls of the base -his frame tense, helm bowed and optics narrowed- passing Decepticons didn’t quite have the reaction to his return as he had been expecting. 

Most were wise enough to keep their mouths shut (Scavenger did a double-take, Ramjet looked furious, Dragstrip had the audacity to roll his optics) but those that did acknowledge his return-

“Primus, Screamer. Thought you were dead,” Breakdown said, half tripping over his own pedes.

“Where the frag have you been?!” Onslaught bellowed from the rec as Starscream tried to leap past the doorway, unseen. 

“Thanks a lot, Screamer,” Swindle muttered at him as they passed in corridor. “Three more weeks and I woulda won the pool.”

At no mention of his humiliating ordeal, Starscream changed direction, heading towards the trine-quarters instead. 

“What do they know!?” He barged in without knocking. 

Thundercracker jumped where he had been reading a data-pad, accidentally flinging it into the air.

 Skywarp, who had been dozing in a chair with his pedes up, simply rolled his optics and lowered his legs. “Knew this was gonna suck…” 

Starscream let the door sweep shut behind him, rage that had been bottled up into a tiny frame over weeks finally had the means of an outlet; his incompetent trine! 

“Months!” He roared. “Months, I was in that pit-forsaken-!“

“Shh!” Skywarp shushed him furiously, jumping up as Thundercracker hid behind his data-pad. “Primus, Screamer, do you not want it to stay classified?!” 

“How could it possibly stay classified?!” Starscream ranted. “It’s going to come out eventually, they all saw me-“

“A sparkling.” Thundercracker said calmly from the berth. “They saw a sparkling.”

“A really cute sparkling,” Skywarp unhelpfully added. “Shame it had to grow up into such a big afthole-“

Starscream took a step, but Thundercracker was up from the berth and waving the data-pad between them. “The official story is you’ve been on Cybertron.” He explained. “Assisting Shockwave in CNA cloning. The sparkling the Autobots ended up with was a misplaced experiment that came out wrong. Too small and young to be a solider. So it’s going to stay on Cybertron, with the other failed clone.” 

Starscream scoffed, “Who’s going to believe that?” 

“Everyone.” Skywarp said bluntly. “Or you’d better hope they do. Before we came up with that, most popular rumour was you fragged an Autobot.”

Starscream scoffed in disgust. That was almost as bad as the Autobot’s favoured theory; that he had procreated with Megatron. 

“So how was it?” Skywarp asked casually. “Being a sparkling? You remember anything?”

Starscream paused before answering. 

“…No,” he said. “An infant’s ability to store memory is poor. My data-banks from that time are corrupted.” 

Skywarp laughed to himself, “Probably for the best, Screamer. You wouldn’t like what those Autobots had been doing to you.”

Starscream felt heat rise in his face. He schooled his features and regarded his trine cooly. “And I suppose the two of you treated me with the dignity I deserved?” 

“I did!” Skywarp lied, pointing towards Thundercracker. “He was all over you!”

Starscream glowered at them both, but now that he had denied any memory of the ordeal, he had no grounds to discipline them for every little indignity they’d inflicted on his helpless frame. At least the Autobot’s had the excuse of ignorance. Skywarp had known who he was the entire time. 

He supposed he should be thankful for the discretion, but it was a Primus given miracle his situation had been contained to but a handful of Decepticons. The Autobots, he prayed, would never learn of this. 

Would never know what had become of their precious ‘Comet’. 

Locked away, closed off and muted and ready to be forgotten about, the tiniest remnants of a bond Starscream could not have, trembled as he thought of the Ark, bright and clean, the humming of well-kept tools in the medbay, the rumble of Prime’s low voice as he tried to gentle it for sensitive audials, the warmth of arms holding him as he drifted off to recharge...

It was a terrible feeling. If Starscream could, he would reach in and rip it from his very spark. He settled instead for stuffing it deep, deep down. 

“Think those Autobots are gonna miss you?” Skywarp asked, pulling him from his thoughts. “They really didn’t wanna give you up. Especially that cranky old medic.”

“They’re Autobots,” Starscream sneered. “They’ll find some other pity project to occupy themselves with eventually.” 

“Well, we missed you.” Thundercracker said kindly. 

“Yeah,” Skywarp agreed, nodding, “It was kinda weird. We don’t even like you.” 

Starscream rolled his optics, but relief loosened the tightness in his chest. Here, at least, things hadn’t changed. 

Ratchet felt like he was grieving. A gaping hole had opened up in the centre his chest and swallowed his spark whole. The bond that had sung, bright and loud, was now just the faintest of whispers. He couldn’t feel anything, even when he closed himself off from the world and offlined his optics and his sensors and focused on nothing else, the bond was a broken thread, with no one on its other end. 

But Comet wasn’t gone. He was alive. The bond was a whisper but it existed. 

Wherever the Decepticons had taken him, it must have been far, far away. 

“Cybertron.” He insisted to Optimus. “Contact Elita. She could find him.” 

Optimus looked grim, but nodded. Part of Ratchet knew it was selfish to divert the time and resources of the Autobot’s struggling on Cybertron towards searching for a sparkling that might not even be there, but it was eclipsed by the heavy press on dread constantly bearing down on his spark. 

He had blamed Prowl, and Optimus, and the Aerialbots, but it hadn’t sated his own guilt. This was his doing. Comet had been his; his to care for, his to watch, his responsibly, and he had failed. 

“I want him back.” Ratchet told Optimus, still coming to his leader’s quarters on a night, even though they had no sparkling to recharge between them, leaving this cold, open breach. Ratchet could at least lie next to Optimus and touch the sheets where a tiny frame had used to lay, twitching and kicking them through the night.

Optimus wasn’t cruel enough to promise the impossible, or stupid enough to try and comfort him. He took Ratchet’s servo under the sheets and held it. 

“So do I.” He murmured. 

Starscream hadn’t been avoiding Megatron exactly-

“Hiding.” Skywarp offered, sticking his helm under the table Starscream had just dived beneath. “You’re hiding from him.”

“No, I’m not!” Starscream whispered furiously, trying to slap him in the face. 

“Is that Starscream?” Megatron hoarse voice spoke above the table. 

Skywarp offered Starscream an apologetic smile before pushing himself upright, “Uh. Yeah.”

“What is he doing under there?” Megatron demanded, starting to bend down. “He better not have turned himself into another blasted spark-“

“I haven’t done anything to myself!” Starscream burst out from under the table, cheeks burning. “I… dropped my data-pad.”

Megatron hummed disbelievingly, stood with his arms folded over his chest. “Gather your seekers. Thanks to your little respite, we’re long overdue a raid.”

Starscream, who had expected Megatron to finally get around to punishing him for this entire debacle, was so relieved that he forgot to snipe back that Megatron was so incompetent the entire faction ground to a halt in his absence. 

However, there was one little concern. 

“And the Autobots?” He began, thinking of Ironhide’s obnoxious laugh, and Jazz’s laid back smile,  and Skyfire…

“Will be why we need to be quick.” Megatron said sternly, pointing at him. “Last thing we need is one of them recognising you.”

“That won’t happen.” Starscream told him quickly. 

“Then we have nothing to worry about.” Megatron growled. “Do we?” 

Starscream’s lip curled, “No. Nothing’s changed. Why would it have?”

Megatron eyed him critically. “…They were rather fond of you.“

“I wouldn’t know.” Starscream hissed. “I don’t remember.” 

“…I’ll lead on the ground.” Megatron continued after a long pause. “You and your seekers will defend the perimeter from the sky. Kill any Autobot who crosses it.”

“What else would I do with them? Invite them to dinner?” Starscream muttered sarcastically. 

“Soundwave will be watching,” Megatron added darkly. “To see if there is any deterioration in your aim.”

Starscream grit his denta together, “There won’t be.” 

Megatron hummed. “We’ll see.” 

News of a Decepticon raid had the Autobots mobilising quickly, Silverbolt and his brothers shooting out of the Ark’s roof before Prowl had even given them direction, keen for a rematch against the seekers. 

“Idiots.” Prowl muttered under his breath, marching towards the exit ramp after being left in their fumes. 

That was normally Ratchet’s line. But today he though he’d appreciate seeing a few seekers knocked from the sky. 

He checked the charge on his blaster, more ready today than he had been in years to use it properly, when Sideswipe’s strong servo closed around his arm, halting him. 

“Hey, Ratch,” he looked worried. Behind him, Sunstreaker looked fierce. 

Ratchet went to shrug off his grip, “If you’re here to tell me not to come, don’t bother. I outrank you punks and I’m not about to-“

“No, that’s not it.” Sideswipe released him. “We need to tell you something. Prowl didn’t want you to know. He wanted us to take you up the north west road, come at the Cons from behind so you wouldn’t see-“

Ratchet went to walk off, “I don’t care about Prowl’s tactics-“

“We know.” Sideswipe stepped in front of him again. “That’s why we’re telling you.”

“Telling me what?!” 

“Starscream.” Sunstreaker grunted from the sidelines. “He’s defending the perimeter.” 

Ratchet’s fuel pump kicked up a gear, his chest tight. “Starscream. You’re sure-?”

“Silverbolt confirmed it.” Sideswipe nodded. “Prowl wanted you to-“

“I know what Prowl would have wanted!” Ratchet snarled, processor running through all the explanations, all the possibilities. Starscream was back. It couldn’t be a coincidence. He knew something. He had to know something. 

“You two go,” he told the twins, making his decision. 

“We’re coming with you-“

“Like Pit you are,” Ratchet snarled at them. “I can take care of myself. Follow Prowl’s orders and take the north west road, you’ll buy me time at least.” 

“Time for what?” Sideswipe asked. 

“To get yourself killed?” Sunstreaker guessed. “To get yourself captured?” 

Ratchet didn’t dare speak it out loud, but capture, at least, might bring him closer to Comet. 

“To get answers.” He shoved at Sideswipe’s shoulder to get him moving. “Go. I’ll be fine.” 

“You won’t.” Sideswipe said resentfully. 

Get over it, Ratchet thought, striding past them and making his own way to the exit ramp. 

The twins didn’t follow him, but it would only be a matter of time before they lost their nerve and contacted Prowl or Optimus and created some huge, unnecessary distraction that would let the Decepticons make off with their energon and their secrets. 

He connected to the Aerialbot’s comms, but it didn’t make it any easier to track the dogfight from the ground. Silverbolt was shouting manoeuvres and calling out targets but any sort of battle that involved Cone-heads was always a mess. The comm line was confused with static and crashing metal and shouts of pain. 

It was only when a chunk of armour fell from the sky feet from Ratchet’s position that he slammed on his breaks and transformed, craning his neck up, trigger finger ready. 

Above him, Ramjet and Air Raid had collided to grapple midair. Ratchet took aim for Ramjet’s right wing.

The throom of thrusters decelerating as they approached the ground distracted Ratchet. He twisted round, ready to take aim at his new target-

Starscream was pointing both null rays at his chest. 

Ratchet froze. 

Starscream’s dark optics flicked to the blaster. Ratchet let it drop from his hand. It thunked to the ground between them. 

“Wise move, Autobot.” Starscream sneered. 

Ratchet swallowed, emotions swirling in a great ugly mess. He tried to keep his voice as even as possible when he spoke. “Where have you been?” 

“Away.” Starscream’s smirked. “Why, don’t tell me you Autobots missed me-“

“Where’s the sparkling?” Ratchet demanded, uncaring if he was shot. “I know you were involved. I know you had something to do with this! Where have you taken him?! What do you want with him?! He’s just a sparkling !” 

“He’s not a-!” Starscream cut himself off suddenly, looking furious. He straightened up and seemed to recollect himself, still aiming his null rays. 

“Listen to me, you Autobot fool. He wasn’t yours.” He said slowly, nastily. “He never was.” 

“He was mine.” Ratchet snarled fiercely, spark swelling with such intense emotion at the thought of Comet that his chest might burst with it. “He still is. It doesn’t matter that you’ve taken him because he always will be, and if you think I’m ever going to stop looking for him-!”

Starscream suddenly fired.

Ratchet flinched, stumbling back, not from the strike of a blaster bolt but from the sudden rush of emotion from a bond he’d thought dormant. He was overwhelmed with feelings of resentment and longing and guilt that didn’t belong to him, and they were close, so close. It was like Comet was here, with him. Comet was here.

He onlined his optics. The ground in front of him was scorched by the null rays Starscream had fired at his pedes, but the seeker himself was already blasting off, fleeing. 

Ratchet stood back and watched, spark pounding, as Starscream’s silhouette against the sun shrank as it climbed and climbed, Comet’s presence in the bond withdrawing with him, closing off again, dying down from something so intense to that barely there whisper. 

Ratchet clutched his chest and struggled to breathe, realising with sudden, striking clarity…

That Starscream was Comet.