Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

–”Because the last thing I want to do is leave one of the most powerful weapons in our possession to an empty-helmed fool like you!”

“Oh, please, Starscream, don't flatter me.” Knockout’s tone does not, at all, match his words.

Starscream sneers, leaning in and pointing an accusatory claw at the space where Knockout’s spark chamber would be. “Give me the prototype, Knockout, that is an order !” His words are punctuated with a flare of his wings, an attempt to make himself look more imposing than he really is.

Knockout meets his optics, hands raising in something like a placating gesture. The servos of one hand are wrapped firmly around the weapon in question: a compact tube just small enough to be comfortably held, metal prongs sticking from both ends. “Well, Shockwave himself entrusted me with the testing of his pet project.” He tilts his head a few degrees, red optics still fixed on Starscream’s. It’s a challenge, despite everything. “You don’t think we should respect our scientist-in-chief’s wishes?”

Starscream, despite his prior outburst, seems to have settled – or rather, he’s as settled as he tends to be under typical circumstances. (In other words, not very.) “I’m perfectly capable of testing it for you.” His mouth twists to a slight grin, though bared dentae make it look more like a threat display than anything else. The claw menacing Knockout’s paint moves toward his closed hand instead, a clink of metal on metal chipping at the tension between them. “Consider yourself… relieved of your duties.”

There's a klik or two of silent, unbroken optic contact before Knockout replies. “If you insist.” His servos loosen, but he cracks a smile in the process. “I’ll be sure to tell Shockwave all about this if things go sideways.”

Sure, it’s a bit petty, but then again – Knockout’s just following orders, isn’t he? It’s not his fault if a so-called superior officer has poor judgement. Especially when the officer in question throws his weight around so often – at least, whatever weight Starscream has, given such a light frame.

Starscream barks a laugh. “As if.” He swipes the weapon from Knockout's hand, inspecting it before flicking the switch to decompress it; it turns to a double-ended spear of sorts, the metal on both ends as sharp as it is conductive.

As if detecting some sort of uncertainty from Starscream’s handling of the weapon, – an uncertainty that does not exist, thank you very much, – Knockout speaks up. “You do know how to use it, right?”

“Of course I know how to use it, you imbecile!” The seeker snaps back, pointing at Knockout once more with his free hand. Starscream knows better than to threaten him with the item in question; as irritating as Knockout might be, the idea of having to explain to Megatron how he managed to accidentally turn their only medic into a mindless heap of slag is one that keeps him very aware of how he handles it.

Nevermind that. “It’s as simple as that prod of yours – a concentrated burst of energon to the enemy’s circuits, and their core processor will be as good as scrap.”

“That is, if it works,” Knockout adds.

Right. It’s brutal in its simplicity – supposedly, it’s attuned to a very particular wavelength of energy, meant to interfere with and scramble that which runs through any bot’s mind at any given moment, destroying it in the process. The difficulty, then, comes in ensuring said wavelength actually does what it’s supposed to. It wouldn’t be the first time one of Shockwave’s little experiments failed, after all.

“There will be time to see for ourselves,” Starscream says, “whenever the Autobots decide to show up.”

“Don’t get impatient now, Starscream. We’ll want them looking their best for their burials, won’t we?” A sly look crosses Knockout’s face, one that’s reciprocated by Starscream before the opening of a ground bridge nearby catches their mutual attention.

Bumblebee is the first to pass through, but far more important to the two Decepticons is the fact that Optimus Prime himself follows closely behind. Knockout slips behind a rock outcropping, giving Starscream a distinct look of… something. It’s hard to tell what exactly is happening in that automobile’s helm, sometimes. Starscream, meanwhile, simply watches the Autobots from above, appearing confident that their position above the Autobots will allow them to go unnoticed. For now, at least.

“Of all the bots to show his face around here,” Knockout says, voice distinctly lower than normal – trying to keep quiet, sure, but he almost sounds concerned. “I didn’t take him for the type to respond to a casting call like this.” Said ‘casting call’, of course, was really a decoy signal – something to lure the Autobots over and keep them around just long enough for the testing to go through.

“Are you really going to change your mind now , Knockout?” Starscream hisses in response. His servos wrap tight around the spear, discontent turning into something more conspiratorial as a grin splits his faceplates. “This is as good an opportunity as any to finally terminate the Prime, once and for all!”

“Well - as happy as I might be with such an opportunity, you saw what he did to my door that time. I’d prefer not to have more bodywork to do by the end of-”

“Enough with your pathetic preening - we have a Prime to destroy, and I, Starscream, intend to do it!” Starscream peers over the edge of the plateau towards the Autobots, trying to scout out a way to sneak up on them without being noticed – he can’t transform with the weapon in tow, and he hardly trusts Knockout with the duty of taking the final shot.

Knockout, with a sigh, emerges from the rock, straightening and joining Starscream in looking over the ledge. “I suppose I can be your distraction, then?”

“Do as you please,” Starscream replies. “Just make yourself useful.”

With that, Knockout leaps from the edge, transforming midair and landing hard enough to make his suspension ache – but the sudden rev of an engine certainly catches the Autobots’ attention.

“Well, look who it is,” Knockout calls, any uncertainty now washed over and replaced with that too-familiar confidence. “Long time, no see, Big O!”

There’s little time for a response before he shifts gears, the energy blasters just above his rear wheels deploying and firing off a burst of shots at both Autobots while he barrels toward Bumblebee. Knockout swerves out of the way of a strike from Optimus, transforming in the process to tackle Bumblebee. It’s not the way he’d like to fight, sure, and he’s sure the Autobots are quickly growing suspicious of the ambush. But all that matters is if Starscream-

Right on cue, Knockout sees a blur of grey in the corner of his optics, jamming the spear into the back of the Prime’s neck cables – but the attack distracts Knockout, and Bumblebee throws him off, very quickly acquainting his faceplates with the desert floor.

That’s humiliating.

The yellow bot leaves him to help Optimus, and Knockout rolls back upright. He doesn’t have to wipe the grit out of his optics to see that Optimus Prime is clearly still alive, given that Starscream’s been sent flying. The seeker makes an unplanned landing against the rocks, the prototype hitting the ground by his side.

A misfire? Is Starscream just that terrible with melee weapons? Doesn’t matter – if the prototype isn’t reliable enough to take them down, then the two of them need to leave, scarce testing data be damned. That’s all they came here for, after all – Shockwave can surely work out the bugs on his own.

Knockout bolts over to Starscream’s side, reaching for the prototype, but the seeker swats his servos away. “Enough, you-”

“The show’s over, Starscream - I’m sure they’re calling a new ground bridge as we speak.”

“Then we strike them while we still have the chance!” Starscream hisses back, grabbing the spear and climbing back up to his pedes. Knockout can’t help but wince at the sight, shallow gouges dug into the metal of his chassis. “Catch the yellow one, and we’ll try again.”

…Fine. Knockout can work with that, if it gives him a chance to give Bumblebee payback. The feeling of sand in his optic cavities is hardly pleasant. “Try not to miss this time. I’ve a reputation to uphold.” Just in time, the Autobots’ way out appears at the same coordinates as the first bridge, placing it equidistant from both groups.

As Knockout moves to intercept Bumblebee, Starscream follows, sparing a glance down at the prototype – he’d absolutely pressed the firing trigger, and yet nothing happened . Not even a spark. As much as he failed to put his faith into Shockwave, the scientist’s projects didn’t tend to be quite this defective. If the first strike was simply a fluke, then it could be more than worth it to try again with the smaller Autobot, regardless of the damage Starscream’s already sustained.

No one can say he didn’t try.

Just as Optimus is about to pass through the ground bridge, Knockout drives Bumblebee into the ground, pulling the Autobot’s arms back to restrain him; it won’t last long, but it should be just enough to-

Optimus Prime hits Starscream at the same time that he fires the prototype, breaking its contact with Bumblebee’s chassis – yet a burst of energy rips through the atmosphere regardless, striking both Starscream and Knockout from either end.

Everything goes black for the Decepticons.

Every piece of Knockout’s frame hurts.

It’s none of the pains he would have expected, though. The heat of battle might have left some extra marks, sure, but he’s very good at noticing such things.

No, all of this is unfamiliar.

His optics come back online to Earth’s sky – which does happen to be familiar, different as it might be from home, – and yet even that feels off. He can’t tell if it’s sharper, or narrower, or…

He lifts an arm to try and gain some perspective, and finds claws that definitely aren’t his own.

Knockout tries to climb to his pedes, only to find they aren’t his, either. His legs are too long, spindly, unable to find traction in the way they normally would. The phantom pains in his back turn out to not be phantoms at all when his sensors report damage to proximal articulators, whatever that means.

Whatever’s going on, it’s sealed when he looks around, and sees himself, offline, lying in the dirt.

…Which means…

“... Starscream. ”

His voice scratches his audials far too much for it to be anything but Starscream’s.

Knockout curses and drags himself closer to – well, technically himself, but – whatever. He’s attempting to figure out if he’s still functional. If he’s been stuck in Starscream’s frame while the other simply got away with dying , he’s going to-

The optics that should be his, but currently aren’t, flick open right below him.

There’s a rather embarrassing scream, followed by a hand grabbing at Knockout’s face as if trying to rip something out. He grabs at him in return, minding his own claws, while still attempting to get through to the other-

“Starscream - hands off, you - it’s me, Knockout -” He finally wrenches his - Starscream’s - arm away, staring down into the other bot’s widened optics. “We’ve switched frames, Starscream, I’m not-”

The hiss made with his own voice is equal parts unsettling and irritating. “What are you doing in my frame, you foolish-”

“I could ask the same of you!”

Knockout’s suddenly struck in the torso by Starscream’s pede, sent backwards into the dirt with a heavy thump that jostles something in his wings. His head whips back up, and he glares at Starscream, but the other makes no further moves to attack him; if anything, he seems as surprised by the power of the strike as Knockout is at being overpowered.

Knockout, despite it all, cracks a sneer – something that comes rather naturally to these new faceplates, he imagines. “Alright. Is it all out of your systems yet?”

Finally, Starscream lets out a harsh vent, servos tightening and carving channels into the dirt. “Don’t approach me like that, Knockout, unless you’d like to lose some Energon.”

“Right, of course. My sincerest apologies for checking whether you were still functional.” The apology in question sounds anything but sincere, even if it were coming from his own vocalizer. “Besides, wouldn’t it be your Energon on the line, given our current predicament?”

“I don’t care! Where’s the prototype?” Starscream snaps back, sitting up and scanning the ground for any signs of the weapon in question. Knockout joins the effort, but both bots come up empty.

Then it hits Knockout.

No prototype, no Autobots. They must have confiscated it. As such, both he and Starscream are now, for lack of a better word, fragged.

Starscream seems to have come to the same conclusion, because he lunges forward and grabs Knockout by the neck, face twisted into a look of rage the likes of which Knockout never thought it would be capable of.

“This is your fault, you idiot! Shockwave should never have entrusted you with the weapon, because none of this would have happened-”

Knockout would have come out with a response by now, had the pressure on his neck not been enough to lock up his vocalizer. He grabs Starscream’s servos and tries to pry them off, yet the other bot’s newfound strength makes it more difficult than expected.

“-It shouldn’t be up to an imbecile like-...”

Starscream goes quiet.

The thought is almost funny , save for the fact that his face has shifted from anger to something inscrutable. Knockout almost braces for another strike like from before, only for the pressure on his neck to suddenly loosen.

Then, as if nothing ever happened, he turns away.

“Lord Megatron is going to destroy us both if he discovers this.” 

That much is true, Knockout supposes. His raised hand shifts to his neck, accidentally jabbing himself in the process – but he notices shallow marks in the metal beneath his servos, and he suspects they’ve been there for much longer.

Now that he thinks about it, there’s more where that came from. There are plenty of faint scratches in the whole of Starscream’s frame, only some of which feel recent. When was the last time he’d had a proper refresh?

…That’s hardly at the top of his priorities, though. “What do you suggest we do about it, then?”

Starscream scoffs. “What do you think? We’re going to find some other way to undo this nonsense, so I can get out of- … this. ”

Knockout meets his eye, not missing the unspoken insult to his frame – though it's likely a mutual distaste, given how ill-fitting this lighter frame feels to him. “Be careful, Starscream. If you get a single scratch in my paint, I will make sure you feel it.”

“Right. How silly of me to expect anything less.” The former seeker, - now automobile, - turns away, standing up to look towards the sky. Knockout follows suit, though it's no small feat for him. (Remind him again why Starscream needs heels like this? )

Knockout sighs, feeling a slight twinge of pain as the wings on his back relax. “Time to go home, then? We might be missed if we’re absent any longer.”

“Yes, yes. I’ll call a ground bridge,” Starscream says, though he seems to pause for a moment. “...Need I remind you to stay undercover while we fix this mistake?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Knockout smirks a bit, but eventually raises a hand when Starscream glares back at him. “I’ll do my best, but I hope you know me well enough to do the same.”

“I’m hardly able to forget the behaviors of one as irritating as you.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Chapter Text

Being Knockout, Starscream must admit, is more difficult than expected. Not least of all because of just how different it feels.

He’s adjusted to the difference in weight distribution by now, but his limbs still feel heavier than they should. It’s not as terrible as being in a frame like Optimus Prime’s, he’s sure, – and maybe he should count himself lucky that Knockout is built for speed, – but it’s hardly the most comfortable experience.

Not that he should be worried about comfort. There are far more important problems to attend to at the moment; namely, the Vehicon he’s been tasked with reattaching the arm of.

It can’t be that hard, right? He just has to… snap the joint back in place, solder a few wires… whatever. What does it matter if he gets something wrong? There’s more where this one came from. He just has to act like he’s done this dozens of times, the way Knockout likely has.

And so he gets to operating.

For whatever reason, one of the first thoughts that comes to him while he works is how silent the room is. Knockout’s mindless blathering extends to the operating theater, if Starscream’s own visits to the medbay are anything to go by. But if he’s to keep up this… disguise, what can he possibly say to emulate that? 

“...So. How are you feeling?”

The Vehicon is silent for far longer than necessary. “Eh… not good, sir.”

Of course. What a wonderful thing to ask, Starscream. Why is he even bothering with this? Whatever – it doesn’t matter.

“Well, I believe I should have you feeling better in just a bit.” He pulls his faceplates into a grin that likely looks as forced as it feels. He moves a hand back for a second to reorient the arm, flicking a bit of old Energon off of his servos-

And accidentally transforming his hand into a drill in the process.

Both he and his patient stare, dumbfounded, before Starscream comes to his senses and forces it back into normalcy. “Oh, ah - apologies. My hand must have slipped.”

Idiot. Idiot – what kind of slip up is that? He’s barely in control of this body, he’s going to be caught-

“Uh. …It’s fine, doc.” Starscream doesn’t miss the disturbed tone in the bot’s voice.

“Don’t tell anyone about that, by the way. I assure you, I am perfectly capable of being your physician. Now, then, let’s get these wires back where they should be…”

With a bit of time, he manages to solder the severed wires and cables back together with little difficulty. He’s no medic, but his judgement tells him the job is good enough. Whatever’s left should be fixed by the natural properties of living metal soon enough.

Perhaps he’s better at this than he’d initially thought. After all, he is far more competent than the fool he’s standing in the pedes of - why should it surprise him that he does a better job than him, as well? Maybe Lord Megatron should reconsider his priorities and give Starscream the credit he deserves, first as a commander, and now as a medic. Not that empty-helmed automobile.

“...Is something, uh, wrong, doc…?”

Starscream snaps out of his thoughts and realizes he’s been staring at the Vehicon’s repaired arm for Primus knows how long.

“Ah, yes - just… routine inspection,” he declares, peeling his servos away and dusting them off. “You’ve passed. You are… free to return to your post.”

“Uh. Okay.” The Vehicon sits up from the medical berth, carefully testing his reattached arm before standing and exiting the room, the door shutting behind him and leaving the medbay just as silent as before.

…Not even a thank you? An I owe you my life, sir? After he’d practically saved this bot from the scrapheap?

Starscream scoffs. Of course. Perhaps there was a reason for Knockout’s attitude, if all of his patients are as ungrateful as this.

So be it. He doesn’t need their gratitude – it would be attributed to the wrong individual, after all.

…This frame fits him so poorly. It feels claustrophobic, the way the extra bulk of steel weighs on his shoulders so inconsiderately. The halls of the Nemesis have always pressed in on him, regardless of format, but the need to take to the skies is almost painful. How does Knockout put up with this kind of existence?

The same way Knockout puts up with everything, he supposes: being the vapid, incompetent bot he is. And yet, for all of those flaws, he somehow gets away with far more than Starscream can. (The twinge of envy Starscream feels at the thought is nothing of significance.) No matter how many faults he may have, even Megatron knows better than to harm his only medical officer.

…

…Perhaps, while he’s in this state, Starscream could use that to his advantage.

Yes, of course – the answer to this predicament was right in front of him all this time. Having all sorts of medical equipment at his servotips, the credibility of a doctor, and access to Megatron’s functional systems in a way like no other… the universe is practically begging him to take the opportunity. As much as he loathes the idea of staying in this frame any longer than necessary, the potential benefits could easily outweigh the inconvenience.

All he needs to do is plan. And, perhaps above all else, Starscream is very good at planning.

Knockout misses his frame.

As novel as it is to learn more about the intricacies of a flier firsthand, the fact that said flier is Starscream, of all bots, dampens the intrigue. He isn’t exactly fragile, but he finds himself struggling to get used to such a spindly frame. And don’t even get him started on how much effort it takes to simply walk across a room without tripping over himself! Were it not for Lord Megatron’s steely gaze on him whenever they crossed paths, he suspects he’d be doing that much more often.

Even past that, he can’t help but notice the condition Starscream’s body has been left in. The type of scratches and marks Knockout would never tolerate in his own frame seem like second nature to the seeker; it had been difficult to notice from a distance, but now it's all in a much higher resolution.

The problems aren’t merely paint-deep, either. He’s no expert on seeker construction, but he knows enough to recognize basic structural issues when he sees them – or, rather, feels them. There's a certain stiffness to his joints, and at times he’ll notice a lag between his motor signals and their responses.

And Knockout knows for a fact that Starscream couldn’t have missed the various diagnostic alerts pinging in the corners of his processor, warning of joint maladjustments and other, longer-term structural damage.

Did Starscream really distrust Knockout enough to not even seek him out for basic repairs, or has he simply deluded himself into thinking he doesn’t need them to begin with?

…Maybe both. Even being physically within Starscream’s head doesn’t give Knockout many hints regarding what goes on in there. Either way, it’s… he hesitates to call it discouraging. He’s more inclined to take offense, if anything, as if it's an unspoken insult towards his skills.

Maybe he should take things into his own servos, while he’s here – he doesn’t intend on any overwhelming modifications, of course, but he may as well leave this frame in better condition than he’d found it, if only to make it less uncomfortable to reside in for the time being. He’s not going to accept any complaints of feeling worse once they return to their original bodies.

The state of Starscream’s quarters alone is enough to make Knockout balk. It's bare of anything of note beyond a berth, a computer system, and some other basic fittings - he knows the “generic hab” look from when he’d first showed up on the Nemesis. It’s almost as bleak as his paint job!

Almost.

At times like these, Knockout finds himself longing for the bright tones of his own frame, the shine of crimson and gold that feels near-radiant compared to this silver of Starscream’s. Sure, he had a nice finish, all things considered, but it doesn't much cover for poor taste in palettes.

Still, Knockout finds the scenery oddly motivating. If nothing else, it means self-maintenance is the only real thing he has to focus on in these few phases of downtime.

He starts with the upper right arm, removing the exterior paneling to reveal the complex assortments of wires, cydraulics, and other such anatomical bits. There’s a small leak in the fluid transport system that’s taking a toll on the efficiency of the whole limb – nothing he hasn’t fixed before, which makes it even more perplexing why Starscream has let it stick around for this long.

While he’s sealing the tear and testing it for extra leakage, more of the little details about Starscream’s inner workings come to light: the patchwork of old and new parts, damages too old to even be repaired without major system overhauls. All to be expected from any bot in this war, really, but… the degree of damage doesn’t particularly match up to Starscream’s duties.

Knockout suspects he knows the reason for that. The rather public beatdowns Starscream is subjected to, after all, are no Decepticon secret. Still, this amount of long-term harm as a result of infighting is…

…Truth be told, Knockout doesn’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t suppose Starscream would be particularly open to talking about it, either – really, pulling dentae would be an easier endeavor. Maybe he shouldn't be looking into it, to begin with - he knows he’d be a bit conflicted, were it Starscream snooping on his own internals.

But he’s the medic, and Starscream’s not. As such, he’s simply left to consider the implications in the silence of Starscream’s quarters.

He’d like to think he made his peace with this war a long time ago, when regular life went from prize-racing and victory laps to jumping from planet to planet in search of whatever scraps of Energon he… – no, they – could get their servos on.

(A faint pang in his chassis. It's hard to tell whether it's the time that's passed, or if this spark just doesn't remember the feeling the way he does.)

But calling something like this a mere fact of war feels too ignorant for his tastes.

Whatever decision he was about to make on the matter is interrupted by an incoming transmission – he’s needed on the command bridge at the earliest convenience. So much for having any sort of downtime.

He allows himself a bit of a delay to finish the patch job before he leaves.

Entering into a proper meeting with Lord Megatron himself is yet another of Knockout’s many trials.

To walk straight into the metaphorical sparkeater’s den, he finds, requires meticulous preparation. Yet he can't put too much into his own confidence - no, he has to adopt Screamer’s way of doing things.

He straightens his frame, trying to find the best placement for his wings - not too low, not too high, self-assured without being overzealous. In lieu of the practiced smile Knockout might typically adopt, he settles for a half-sneer, as though there's a glitch in his olfactory sensors. It’s a look he’s seen on Starscream’s faceplates more than enough times to be confident in his impression of.

Even with such preparation, the sound of the doors sliding and clicking shut behind him still feels a bit too much like a condemnation. He isn’t stupid - he’s been on thin ice with their leader often enough without occupying the shell of his most hated air commander.

“Starscream.”

Knockout supposes it was the sound of his steps that gave him away, but it's a slight shock to his systems to be acknowledged so quickly. “...Lord Megatron.”

Megatron’s back remains turned, his broad silver frame as imposing as always - but Knockout can't help but notice that he feels… smaller than before.

No, it's not that. It's simply that Knockout himself is taller. Megatron still towers above him, sure, but not quite as severely as he would in most circumstances.

…Hmm. Maybe there is a point to the heels, after all.

“Shockwave instructed you and Knockout to test his new invention before his departure, yes?” Megatron finally turns, and Knockout’s gaze hangs on his servos for a moment. He can't help but notice they're the exact diameter of the faint marks in his own neck plating.

“...Yes, my lord.” Knockout finds his face falling as easily as it had been applied. He's aware of nearly everything in the room, down to the shift of air around his wings. “The - testing was… inconclusive.”

Knockout meets Megatron’s optics, and only realizes his mistake once it's too late.

The Decepticon commander shifts forward - not a direct act of aggression, but just enough for his shadow to impose upon Knockout’s stolen frame. “Should I take that to mean you failed to terminate any Autobots?”

Knockout shifts back in response, wings lowering near-automatically. “W-well, now, my lie- Lord Megatron,” he forces out, a slight strain in his vocalizer as he overcorrects his own respect. “It's merely that - well, perhaps Shockwave’s hypotheses were… not as accurate as expected.”

A twitch. “Shockwave is not often known to fall short of my standards, Starscream. You, on the other hand…”

Knockout feels smaller again.

“My lord, surely - this would be better left for our, ah, chief scientist to handle, wouldn’t you agree?” A forced, yet nervous chuckle escapes him, quickly strangled when Megatron’s gaze shows no sign of relenting. “That is, to say - he’d be best equipped to handle the bugs in his systems, yes…?”

The spiraling streams of data setting him on edge show no signs of slowing, endlessly spurred on by the knowledge that Megatron does not believe him. He isn't surprised, not really. All he has left now is to play damage control.

Yet the screaming damage alerts never hit his processor, and the crush of Megatron’s shadow over his frame is eased when his commander straightens again, still staring him down with a critical optic.

“...Perhaps you're right, Starscream.”

The tension remains, but it's less tangible, now - an almost baseless unease, if not for the knowledge that this would be far from the first time either of them faced Megatron’s wrath. “I will await Shockwave’s assessment on the matter. For now… take care to ensure any future testing bears results.”

“...Yes, my lord.”

Knockout takes the following silence, and the lack of any expectant stares, as a dismissal - and he’s more than happy to do so. He makes a heel turn towards the exit, wings rising back up to a tentative flare now that he’s escaped Megatron’s general vicinity.

Somehow, that wasn't quite as bad as expected, and yet…

If they don't find the prototype, it’ll be far, far worse.

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.