Chapter Text
Through some unfortunate chain of events, Knockout and Starscream have found themselves in a rarely-trafficked corridor of the Nemesis.
“Are you seriously saying you haven't found a single trace of the prototype?!” Starscream hisses, jabbing at Knockout as if to prod him with a nonexistent claw, though his servos are plenty pointy either way.
“Forgive me, Starscream, but I’ve been quite busy with running your little errands ,” Knockout replies, faceplates twisting for a moment at the gesture. “Besides, I haven't seen you lift a servo yourself. Don't you think this should be a mutual effort?”
A frustrated half-growl. “We are never going to find it before Shockwave’s return at this rate!”
Knockout huffs. “Easy, now. You know, not everyone is as lucky as you, getting to know the frame of yours truly. You should value the time you have.” A smug look starts to creep onto his faceplates in a way that makes Starscream want to rip them off.
“I would throw myself off this ship if I had to stay in here for the rest of my natural lifespan.”
Knockout rolls his optics, however much he can. “Suit yourself. But I digress. Have you been able to keep your cover, Star?”
Starscream chooses not to think too deeply about that question. “Yes. Have you?”
“Well, since Lord Megatron has yet to offer me any words of kindness, I take that to mean–”
Knockout’s optics fix on something down the hall. Starscream offers a sharp glare at the sudden interruption, before following suit and suddenly realizing why.
The unwelcome presence of a certain black-and-neon Decepticon, faceless helm staring back at the two of them.
There's no point in asking how much Soundwave has picked up – likely everything, if he’s even bothered to show himself. Really, it should be the end of the story, by all measures, a signal that they’ve both been doomed to execution by way of their own incompetence.
In these precious few moments they have left, they may as well make one last organized, competent attempt to escape it.
“It is not what it sounds like–”
“I will not hesitate to disassemble you if you dare inform Lord Megatron–”
“I assure you we can fix this, Soundwave, let's not get hasty–”
Soundwave watches them both run themselves dry of compromises, threats, and begging for mercy, shining black visor betraying nothing of the bot’s true intentions. When the two of them finally stop talking, he looks between them with only the slightest turns of his head.
And then he turns around, and starts to walk away.
“Soundwave-” Starscream is the first to call after him, optics widening the slightest bit when he turns back around.
“Shall we take that to mean you won't speak of this?” Knockout supplies, holding out a clawed hand as if offering to shake on it. As expected, he receives nothing.
Not that it’ll stop him. “Tell me, Soundwave, when have either of us failed the Decepticon cause in any way as incompetent as this?”
Soundwave stares back, as usual. There's a moment of stillness, expectation, before something pops onto his visor – some sort of recording from one of Knockout’s past missions, the sound of his own voice starting to play from Soundwave’s vocalizer-
“That was a hypothetical question,” Starscream interjects, shooting a pointed look at Knockout. Luckily for him, the interruption causes the playback to pause. “We will not allow this temporary setback to impair our duties in any way, Soundwave. We may… proceed as usual, provided you remain silent about the matter. We need not bother Lord Megatron with such trivialities, yes?”
Really, neither of them should expect this to work, and neither actually does . But after several kliks of unsettling stillness, Soundwave offers the slowest, most understated nod either of them have ever seen.
The tension leaves Knockout with a lowering of the wings, while Starscream straightens up and offers a diligent nod in return, though the strained grin that splits his faceplates may lose him more credibility than it gains. Admittedly, he’s… still getting a hold on the expressive front.
Once the near-silent click of pedes against the metal floor fades away, Knockout glances back at Starscream. “You have a talent for sucking up, don't you?”
“It is called charisma, Knockout, something you rather lack,” Starscream hisses in reply, grin disappearing as quickly as he’d formed it.
“Oh, I know plenty about charisma, Star.” Knockout says, hand coming up and splaying across his own chassis. “You, on the other hand, couldn't charm the Energon from an open wound.” He pulls his hand away for emphasis, watching as Starscream turns back and crosses his arms.
Starscream scoffs at the thought. Fool. “Enough chatter - we have to find some way of taking back the weapon from the Autobots before this information spreads any further.”
“You aren’t suggesting we break into their base, are you, Starscream?” Eager as Knockout might be to return to his frame, he can't imagine that's a good idea, unless Starscream’s willing to lose some plating in the event Megatron finds out.
…Though, it’d more likely be his plating on the line, if they failed badly enough.
“We shall see,” Starscream replies, voice flat. It still doesn't sound right when it comes from Knockout’s vocalizer. “Should it become our only option, I am perfectly willing to do what's necessary to fix this mess of ours.”
Knockout can't help but raise a brow. “Now you acknowledge it's not just my mess?”
Starscream whips around, as if intending to throttle Knockout with his bare servos; the sudden movement does manage to make him flinch, if only slightly. “It doesn't matter - ugh - just be quiet for once in your miserable lifespan, won't you?”
“...You know I can't make any promises, Star.” Knockout draws away from him, an act he chooses not to call fearful – rather, he’s conscious of their current stances in terms of power. Even if that consciousness is born of a desire not to feel his own servos around his neck again.
In a fleeting moment, he wonders just how often Starscream has felt the same.
“I don't need your promises.” With a slow turn in the other direction, Starscream drops the issue. “If you find any more information, relay it to me - but find a better place to do it than here.”
“Of course.”
Knockout almost wants to say something more, maybe crack a joke about inviting him to a drive-in theater in the meantime. But the words never quite finish encoding in his vocalizer before Starscream leaves.
The tension on the bridge is almost tangible.
Starscream is no stranger to such a feeling – few are, by now. Still, he finds himself staying pointedly focused on one of the ship’s many command terminals. Making himself useful, of course, yet blending into the background amongst the many Vehicons performing similar tasks.
Might his time be better spent in the medbay, given his current status? Perhaps, if he meant to focus on his job at the moment. But something far more important lies within this room: information. He needs to find an opening to execute his plans, and that requires being near Lord Megatron long enough to discover one.
So for now, he lies in wait, anticipating the results of whatever mission it is Knockout has been placed in charge of. Starscream finds he doesn’t care about the specifics – whether the other bot succeeds or fails, he hardly has any stake in it. Except, maybe, if he needs some repair work.
As if on cue, a bridge opens on the deck, Knockout being the first to stumble through as fast as his pedes can take him. At first, he doesn’t look particularly scuffed, but Starscream notes the bits of Energon clinging to his claws, held over a scorched spot on his frame. That, as well as the absence of any Vehicons following after him, says all that needs to be said about just how successful Knockout was.
…Hm. Maybe the bot had some issues with his alt mode – Starscream wouldn’t be surprised. A grounder would hardly possess the expertise necessary for air combat, and would be more likely to embarrass himself than anything. Such poor field performance might have concerned Starscream, if not for the seeming lack of witnesses.
The sound of heavy pedes approaching from the hall wrenches Starscream’s thoughts away from such trivialities.
He forces himself to turn back towards the computer, even as the knowledge of Lord Megatron’s presence overwhelms the room, strangling any second thoughts. Starscream knows, all too well, how it feels to report back to their leader in such conditions.
Perhaps now, Knockout might better understand what it means to be him.
There's a few kliks of silence as Megatron approaches, coming to a stop at what sounds like only a short distance from Knockout. No mech dares to speak first, save for Megatron himself.
“And what have you come to report, Starscream?”
…It's been several solar cycles since the switch, and yet Starscream still finds himself growing tense at the sound of his name in Lord Megatron's voice – he has to pull his focus away, reminding himself that he is very much still undercover.
He shouldn't have any reason to react this way. There's no real threat. Not to him, at least.
…Knockout may be a different story.
“...The Autobots escaped, my lord. I- have failed you.”
Starscream hates the way his voice sounds, the unease injected into words that aren't his. Just how pathetic does Knockout intend to act in his name? The very thought feels like rust in his spark chamber.
(Nevermind the fact that it could so easily be him, were things going as usual.)
“I’m- sorry, Lord Megatron, it wasn't possible-”
The slam of metal on metal draws the optics of the whole room, even Starscream’s – but it's just the sound of Megatron’s pede hitting the floor, as his shadow stretches over Knockout’s frame.
“Do you think I care what you think is possible?”
The fragging idiot – he should know better than to talk back at a time like this, even in the slightest way – but the potency of the fear in Knockout’s optics seems to overwhelm whatever rational thought he still has.
That same fear has Starscream himself locked in place, despite his safety on the sidelines. He can’t pull his optics away, can’t speak, even if he wanted to, and he can’t for the life of him understand why.
“Ah- No, I-I don’t- forgive me, Lord-”
Knockout’s struck in the chassis hard enough for sparks to fly, the mech slamming into the wall and crumpling against it – and as familiar as the scene may be, Starscream finds it as visceral to witness as it is to feel .
Knockout has no time to recover before he’s pulled up by the shoulder, Megatron’s servos engulfing more of his frame than Starscream thought possible. He looks so small from here, it’s pathetic , and yet – he doesn’t know what to make of it, what he should feel, watching himself beaten down so thoroughly.
…Has Knockout really earned this? Or has Starscream tainted his image so thoroughly that the very nature of his existence – his frame itself – makes him a target?
A twist of the arm draws a strangled noise from Knockout, shoulder joint bending in an unnatural way, but it doesn’t stop him from speaking – “Master, please, it won’t happen again-”
The sound of desperation is all too familiar.
And yet it’s met with nothing but those manic, unblinking optics, Megatron’s grip tightening. “Time and again, you have utterly failed to provide me with any reason to believe such claims. Why should I bother listening this time?”
Defying expectation, Megatron lets go of him, Knockout slumping forward to shield his wounded chassis – only to be met with a swift kick that sends him into the floor with a grating shriek. Something bursts beneath his chassis with the strike, Energon streaming from under his primary chestplate between transformation seams.
Starscream doesn't want to watch this. He knows that right now, above all else – and yet he won't do anything to stop it from happening. He won’t do anything to stop the spill of fuel.
That's just the kind of bot he is, isn't it? As long as he's not the victim, he’ll stand by and let it happen. That's who he's always been, always will be, because that's what's good for him. He won't, can't, change it.
Just as Lord Megatron reaches for Knockout once again, there's an interruption: “Sir, abnormal energy readings close to the ship.”
Megatron pauses, stares down, before huffing and turning Knockout loose with an unceremonious shove back to the ground. “Identify them,” he says, moving toward the Vehicon with hardly a glance back towards his commander.
Starscream stands there, uselessly, before some semblance of logic comes back to his central processor. By the time he approaches Knockout's damaged form, the mech has already gone temporarily offline, an arm wrapped protectively around his frame as bits of Energon shine atop dull silver.
Starscream's thoughts are torn, hatred and unease fighting for a majority stake, and yet he finds himself kneeling down to lift the other bot before he’s processed the thought – playing the part that's been assigned.
Knockout feels too light in Starscream’s arms. The looseness of his joints, the silence of his form – it’s all utterly sickening. There should be some sort of resistance, and yet nothing stops Starscream from carrying him away from the bridge, towards the medical bay.
Starscream would never let this happen. The fact that Knockout has serves as a reminder of his inadequacy, shows he can't even dream to live up to Starscream’s standard. It's pathetic. Embarrassing, really.
…He tries not to disturb Knockout's wounds any further.
Knockout's helm aches like never before.
His optical feed is dark, silent, and he makes no effort to force it back online – his processor is already struggling to accommodate the flood of damage warnings. He knows the source of the Energon leak, but most of the other system failures are trapped in a mire of vague recollection, memory centers suppressing the details in the name of mental integrity.
…It's strangely familiar, despite that. His frame aches in ways that feel old, even if he’s never been damaged that way before. The mysteries of physical memory, maybe.
But he knows this feeling from long before any frame-swap – limbs hanging loose as he’s carried in another mech’s arms, servos clasped around his frame to hold him steady. The shapes don't match, sure, but it's hard to care for the inconsistencies right now.
…
He lets an optic shutter flick open at low power, just to confirm.
The face staring dead ahead down the hallway is none other than his own, though its features are twisted with an unfamiliar tension, dentae bared in something angry.
…Of course, it's him.
It really couldn't be anyone else, by now.
Knockout isn't sure how he could ever think otherwise.
He lets his optics go back offline, curiosity sated, leaving his counterpart none the wiser. It only takes a few moments for the rest of his systems to go into recovery mode, redirecting power towards whatever can be fixed without outside maintenance.
Even at rock bottom, there's still work to be done.