Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The war was over. It had been that way for a short while, and life was steadily returning to Cybertron’s surface in the wake of Optimus Prime’s sacrifice. The reconstruction efforts were well underway, with Iacon being the first city to get a major face-lift, and several others in their early planning stages. Neutral ships were returning home at a brisk pace, and the population was climbing with each new arrival. Things were changing, and they were changing for the better.

Perhaps the most changed of all were the Decepticons. Megatron was gone, and had been since disavowing the cause that once held them all together. The remainder of their forces had since scattered to the fore winds, or congregated in Iacon as it began to take shape, as was the case for the vehicons. Shockwave was still on Cybertron, his whereabouts unknown. Knock Out had embraced his position on the “winning team” and served proudly as a medical officer alongside Ratchet and the Autobots. Since freeing himself from the shadowzone, Soundwave was aiding the restoration efforts and playing along nicely, easily slipping back into the same role he once played aboard the Nemesis. And Starscream…

Starscream was not the same mech he once was.

After having had it for a few stellar cycles, being greeted with the sight of a visor in his reflection instead of a faceplate only occasionally startled him. The red, circular oscilloscope displayed in the center would spike with his surprise, then return to a neutral waveform pattern as it dawned on him that this was indeed real, and this was correct. He had a visor now—not the once-familiar red optics with their expressive ridges, or derma to smile or scowl with—and it was a part of him. He’d come to accept that.

Picking up a polishing cloth, he swiped the screen to a nice gleam. The static of the display had a tendency to attract dust, and maintaining a meticulous grooming routine was something he’d always been used to. It was familiar, and in the midst of so many changes, familiar was easy to latch onto. A new visor, a new frame, a new life on a new Cybertron.

Never in a million stellar cycles would he have imagined this would be the way things ended up for him. Starscream the self-serving backstabber, one of the few to (narrowly) survive the entirety of the war and play a role in the revitalization of their home world. To have been found on the brink of death and be brought back kicking and screaming, practically rebuilt from scratch, visor and all, and now allied with Autobots... Yes, he craved any semblance of familiar he could get his claws on after all that had transpired over the last few stellar cycles. 

There was certainly a lot about him that had changed. As he gazed at his reflection in the mirror, he took in the details of his new frame. It was less pointy than his silver, earth-based frame had been, with a more simplistic and practical design overall. His heels were flat, lacking the bit of extra height his pedes once gave him, but granting the extra balance he needed while learning to walk again. His wings canted downwards while in root mode, a much more neutral pose than the high angle they used to hold. This frame also wasn't as top-heavy in appearance. His waist and hips were not as narrow as they were previously, and his chest and shoulder plating were much less bulky. Knock Out had remarked on this improving his posture, which he brushed off, but it was true. He discovered as much once he had regained the strength to stand on his own. Looking into the full-length mirror in newly fabricated metal, still grey from the base coat of primer, he was indeed standing straighter. It certainly helped with his confidence.

Once enough segments of replacement armor had been fabricated and reattached to his healing frame, he had been allowed to scan an alt mode to test the replacement T-cog the medics had installed. It had taken nearly two stellar cycles of recovery to get to that point, and unfortunately, his options were very limited. There were only so many Cybertronian aircraft left in scanning condition. He had been encouraged to choose something basic and easy to fly in, much to his frustration. There was really only one option that fit the criteria.

His new alt mode was a lightweight tetrajet, the smallest of its size classes. It was an alt mode he once had before in the early days of the war—the mid-weight class, standard for combat-ready seekers with a similar shape—but this version was designed for civilian flight frames. There were no integrated weapons or artillery, no targeting systems beyond those required for flying. It was the most bare-bones flight frame out there. 

It had taken a while to get used to the new transformation sequence and the different aerodynamics, the way armor and panels fit on his frame in root mode, and he wouldn’t deny that he hated it at first. His familiar, slender silhouette was long gone, replaced with something he didn't recognize. Having to pause to stare into the mirror for longer than he should, watching the reflection match his movements to confirm that it was indeed himself staring back. Touching the visor with new servos, almost startled to have the sensation feel real. Sometimes he still didn't recognize it, but those moments were becoming fewer and further between. He hadn't chosen this frame for himself, and it was a struggle getting used to that, especially after having it rebuilt from the ground-up. 

And to think it had only taken one night, one bad run-in with the Predacons, to cause all of this pain and suffering.

With time, however, he had grown to accept this new frame. The maroon and grey paint job he'd chosen (courtesy of Knock Out) certainly helped with that. He admired his colors in the reflection, enjoying the subtle shine to his top coat.

One thing that had remained consistent was the ever-watchful gaze of Soundwave upon him. Nowadays, it was less creepy, and much more endearing. The former spymaster entered the room and approached from behind, moving to join him in the mirror's reflection. A smiling emoticon appeared on that purple visor, and he brought a servo to gently cup the side of Starscream’s helm. He leaned into the touch, turning to meet his gaze as he handed the polishing cloth over to the expert and let him finish the job. The cloth found his antennae and wiped away any dust, swiping over each one before smoothing over the top of his helm and bringing it to a fine polish.

From then on, every morning followed the same routine: a cube of enriched energon, three injections, and then a bit of quality time spent together before setting off to work.

The two made their way out of the berthroom and to the main living area of their habsuite. Soundwave stuck close to his side, making sure he was all right as he held his wings out to steady himself. His frame burned with excess static popping and crackling within, and it was hard to think clearly with a processor ache this early in the morning. He really needed those injections.

Starscream slowly lowered himself into his seat at the table, settling in and watching fondly as Soundwave prepared their morning cubes of energon at the dispenser. 

Refueling as an empuratee, even only a partial one, was difficult to do alone. It was a learned skill that took much practice to perfect. The art of keeping oneself alive. The reconstructive surgeries had placed his new intake at the base of his throat, where his chestplate overlapped its cover when not in use. Seeing as he was not sprung from the Well with an alternative intake like Soundwave had been (though no one could say for certain), its placement made fueling himself awkward. Foremost was the fact that he couldn't see it no matter what angle he tried looking for it. The solution was to use a mirror. 

He kept a small, silver compact in his subspace for whenever he might need to refuel. It was flat and circular, perfectly sized to fit in his palm, with an engraved lid that had a diagram of Cybertron on the outside and his designation on the inside. He still had no idea where Soundwave found it for him, but he treasured it all the same.

Soundwave placed his cube on the table in front of him, then set to work on filling his injectors with the proper dosages at the counter. Starscream opened his intake cover and prepared to drink. One servo held the mirror where he could see it while the other lined up the corner of the cube and poured. It had taken him a lot of practice to be able to do it without a funnel. The occasional twitch or tremor in his servo would cause spills, but he had learned to anticipate them by now.

When the cube was emptied, he set it down on the table. His injections were ready for him to take, and Soundwave brought them over, tilting his helm to one side with a question mark on his visor.

He had managed to refuel just fine, he could do this by himself too. "I've got it," he told the silent mech, who nodded as he passed the first syringe over. The needle was plunged into the juncture of his elbow, right through the slightest bit of exposed protoform and into the fuel line beneath, and he squeezed the trigger to administer it. This was another thing he'd gotten better at over time. Again, twice more with the other injectors: one for static, one for joint stiffness, and one for pain. Relief flowed through his systems as the medicine began to take effect.

Though the exterior of this frame was new, it was still attached to many of the same internals. With them came the chronic aches and pains of surviving a brutal attack by three Predacons. He still had many lingering issues, namely in the form of damaged sensory wiring in his helm that caused frequent and often painful bouts of built-up static charge. The excess electricity presented as an unavoidable stinging or burning sensation across his extremities, often resulting in other symptoms such as tremors or weakness. It never fully went away, simply varying in intensity depending on his daily activities. If it happened in his helm, which it most often did, it left him with a processor ache and sensitive optics. Though the medics had done their best to fix the wiring, much of it was far too delicate to risk operating on. His symptoms could be managed, but the root cause had no viable cure. 

Even still, he was Starscream, and tenacity was his forte. He wasn't one to let damaged wiring keep him down forever.

Ever the gentlemech, Soundwave was there to help him up once he finished. He knelt down with his arms held out, another question mark on his visor in silent request as he looked up at the seeker.

Ah, he wanted to carry him. Well, who was he to say no?

He was gently lifted in a bridal carry, supported by Soundwave's arms and cables in equal measure. Their visors briefly brushed together, soft colors flushing across their displays. He always knew how to treat him properly. He felt like royalty as he was brought to the couch and delicately settled upon its cushions.

Soundwave continued to lavish attention on him, hovering over his frame and tracing seams and plating with deft precision. Starscream leaned into the touch, savoring the affection, the gentle handling. It almost made him forget just how different things were between them only a short, few stellar cycles ago. It made mornings like these special, to have someone so attentive to his every need at his beck and call. The only thing that broke the illusion was that the two of them had to set off for work in less than a joor after this.

His internal alarm pinged a reminder, the time displayed prominently on his HUD. And just when he was starting to enjoy himself, too.

Chapter Text

The days were all starting to blend together in an endless stream of monotony. It almost made him miss the everyday chaos of the war. Almost. He felt like a caged animal displayed for all to see, the former Decepticon air commander with his wings clipped and working for the Autobots… He supposed his life could still be worse. In an attempt to alleviate his boredom during yet another morning meeting of the same old talking points, he idly sketched on a blank document on his datapad. 

He hated that he still had to be present for these meetings. Everything that was discussed here would flit across his desk at some point or another in a concise document for him to read over and pass on to the next bot with some new numbers attached. He allowed his display to buffer in a facsimile of an eye roll as Ultra Magnus continued his droll presentation. Something about a potential housing crisis, blah blah blah. It would just lead to more datawork on his end. If he were to be the one organizing this whole operation, things would be so much more efficient. Much less boring.

The lines he drew were starting to take the shape of towers, forming the silhouette of a once-familiar, majestic skyline he would never see again. 

It was Soundwave’s fault that he was here, he reminded himself. Soundwave got all the important talking points to himself at these meetings; going over communications with inbound ships and discussing the current reconstruction progress in graphs and charts that likely flew over everyone else's helms. Just like back on the Nemesis, Soundwave was the reason everything ran smoothly. He was the backbone of any functioning organization, whether it be an army or a planetary reconstruction effort. All Starscream did was his extraneous datawork. Really, he was nothing more than a glorified secretary.

How he yearned to do anything more important than paltry datawork. He was meant to command others, give instructions, and organize, not sit behind a desk doing datawork like he was some console built into the wall! He missed the bridge meetings with the Decepticons, where he got to discuss strategy and tactics, where his words actually held significant weight, and those around him listened to his orders. He missed that authority, that power he once held. If he even tried to voice his opinion on anything now, he'd be immediately shot down with a few snarky remarks, purely to remind him of his place. 

The Autobots won, the Decepticons were no more, and he'd gotten his aft beaten by the Predacons so badly he had been out of commission for stellar cycles while the world went on without him.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen…

Sure, he was on the Restoration Council, but in the lowest-ranking position, and one that could easily be replaced. It certainly felt like they'd only hired him out of pity. With the right training, even a vehicon could do this kind of work. He couldn't stand it, being at the bottom. It didn't suit an ambitious mech like him.

Of course, he had ideas for ways to get back on top—plans concocting within his processor to elevate his status within the Restoration Council to the point where his influence would be vital. He had recovered enough strength to be physically capable of working longer hours, spending more time in the office being productive. It had not taken him long to notice the cracks opening up within the structure of power the Autobots had built for themselves. If he played his cards right, he could very easily land himself a role overseeing the reconstruction of the next city-state after Iacon.

Once the meeting concluded, the pair made their way down the hall to their shared office space. It was a large room that served as Soundwave's communications hub, with a primary console built into the wall and several server towers powering it. It was currently the most powerful terminal on Cybertron, constructed from parts taken from the Nemesis and other arriving vessels to create something with enough processing power to run several major satellite arrays, host the central space bridge network, and even maintain vital citywide monitoring systems for electricity and energon production. All of the city was right within Soundwave's grasp, and he had every intention of overseeing it in peak form.

Starscream’s space within the office was adjacent to the entrance, with a desk and chair set up to where he could see Soundwave while he worked. He kept his work area neatly organized, with stacks of datapads sorted into piles based on contents and completion status, and if he needed extras, there was a storage closet to his side filled with blank ones for quick access.

Sure, his job was easy. It was intended to help him settle back into a routine whilst he continued to recover from his grievous injuries, but that didn’t mean it was low-volume. Being within such close proximity to Soundwave and his work ethic tended to rub off on him, and he went through dozens, if not hundreds of documents every single cycle. Estimates, assignments, contracts, and signatures of approval were all just as vital to the restoration of their world as the hard labor of construction and control of the grid, or so Ultra Magnus liked to delude himself into thinking. It was nothing more than busywork intended to make Starscream feel useful, but he knew better than that. Mechs visiting their office for the first time often believed him to be Soundwave’s receptionist.

The next vehicon to ask him to pass along a message to Soundwave was going to get a stylus jammed into their optic.

Datawork back onboard the Nemesis was merely another chore to be completed between important tasks, such as assigning patrols or overseeing mining operations. He hardly ever needed to sit down and type out reports like he was doing in the present when there had been a war going on—when he had been second in command of the entire fragging army. There were so many more crucial tasks he could have been doing at any given moment. Nowadays, he lacked both the authority and the energy to do much else, and he despised that fact immensely. It burned beneath his plating like the static in his wires—a constant irritation.

The consistent flow of repetitive tasks made it easy to get lost in thought. Calculations became background noise as he reminisced on how it all went wrong to land him here in the first place. Of course, it all stemmed from the vicious Predacon attack that reduced his frame to little more than a charred husk, and everything since then had simultaneously been a grueling uphill climb and a dizzying downward spiral.

With all of the surgeries and physical therapy involved, recovery had been brutal. Aches and pains had been common back during the war due to the constant abuses and combat injuries he suffered, but that paled in comparison to this. Ratchet had said it himself: this was chronic, this was permanent. Everything hurt all the time and a sensor flare could strike at any moment if he wasn't careful. The only moments when he was free of pain were when he was in stasis.

Thinking back on it, this was all Megatron's fault for disbanding the Decepticons. If the tyrant hadn't fled the scene after that whole incident with Unicron, he wouldn't have felt the need to take up the mantle of Decepticon leader himself, thus negating the need for the trip to Darkmount entirely. How infuriating to have followed the mech to the ends of the galaxy, only to be left to rust in the end.

Going back even further, Shockwave was also to blame for resurrecting the Predacons in the first place. Who else would even think to do such a thing? Reviving Cybertron’s most dangerous apex predators for an edge in the war, only for them to flee their creator's control and then turn on him personally. Perhaps he had been a touch too strict in his disciplinary actions against them, but that hardly warranted ripping him to shreds! How was he supposed to know those mindless beasts could transform, let alone possess higher intelligence?!

A static flare briefly sparked within his helm, causing his visor to flicker off and on. He momentarily paused his train of thought to rub at his antennae.

Even still, he had made it to the end. He had been making a valiant effort to start over since then, but nothing had gone his way thus far, and he didn't expect that to change anytime soon. First, he had to learn how to function again while his frame was being rebuilt from the ground-up. Being bound to a medical berth had certainly derailed any plans of conquest. Thanks to Soundwave agreeing to help them, the Autobots were playing nice with him too, willing to drop any potential charges against him for his war crimes by offering him work. He wasn't exactly in any physical state to refuse—he couldn't serve prison time when his own frame was a torture chamber. Now here he was, drowning in datawork on a daily basis at the bottom rung of the ladder, hoping that someday he could claw his way back up to the top and show everyone that he was meant to be there right from the start.

For that sweet, sweet three-year stretch of time on Earth, he had been on top. He'd been the one running the ship, the head authority, the primary overseer, and it had been well-deserved. The Decepticons had laid low in wake of Megatron's departure, stockpiling energon and avoiding unnecessary conflict, and under his direction, things were running more smoothly than they’d ever been. The Nemesis reached peak operational efficiency. Crew morale was on a lasting high. All he'd needed was the chance to prove himself, and he'd exceeded expectations. It was such a shame that Megatron had to come back and ruin it all in one fell swoop.

There was one fact he could still take solace in. Megatron was gone, now. He hadn't been seen since that final moment that ended the war once and for all, and posed no threat to Starscream’s ambitions wherever he had fragged off to. It was assumed that he had left Cybertron entirely, and Starscream wouldn't have it any other way. Good riddance. He couldn't care less what happened to him as long as he stayed gone.

The stack of datapads on his desk had migrated over to the finished pile. Onto the next one. This stack would require more careful attention; it contained permit requests for new developments and structures to be built in the southwestern corner of the city. He had to sign off for these and attach the appropriate affidavits before handing them directly to Ultra Magnus for final approval, and everything needed to be correct or he would never hear the end of it.

He couldn't stand being called into Magnus’s office for a "document correction meeting" that oftentimes took up half of his work day and made him wish the Predacons finished the job that night…

It took another few joors to finish his work for the day, and then another joor to double and triple check that everything was in proper order. He took the stack of datapads due by the end of the cycle and made a quick trip down the hallway, delivering them where they needed to go. Most were placed on Magnus’s desk, and the remainder were divided between Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee’s offices.

With that task sorted, he returned to the monitor room to collect his partner and head home for the day. Their shared habsuite was only a brisk flight from central Iacon, and they almost always took the flight home together. What had initially been a safety precaution on his behalf eventually became a ritual, and they would travel home side-by-side every evening.

He nearly had to drag Soundwave away from his workstation, but eventually they made their way down the front steps of the building and transformed to take flight. It was a stark contrast to flying with Soundwave during the war, something he used to despise due to their differences in speed, but these days, he couldn't imagine taking this flight by himself anymore. They matched each other's pace perfectly. His tetrajet alt-mode looked right at home in the skies above Iacon with that familiar, dark purple Reaper right next to it.

Luna II was just barely creeping up over the horizon as the sunset cast hues of orange and violet across the evening skies. The feeling of the air currents rushing past his wingtips was something he would never grow tired of. Soundwave coasted along right beside him until they landed back at their shared home and made their way inside.

The nights were cold on Cybertron, just as cold as they'd been in the polar deserts back on earth. He shut the window and pulled the curtains closed to keep the draft out. Their shared berth was piled with blankets and insulating sheets. Even after all this time, he couldn't stand the cold.

He made himself comfortable by crawling under the blankets, allowing the warmth to envelop him. He laid on his side facing Soundwave as he climbed into the berth beside him, settling in for a long, comfortable recharge. This was what he’d been waiting for all day. Arms wrapped around his frame in a welcome embrace. Slender digits traced over transformation seams and the edges of armor panels. He tucked his helm into Soundwave’s chest, allowing the soothing touches to lull him gently into recharge. 

He was out like a light, blissfully unaware of the way Soundwave’s visor lit up with an urgent message only a few moments later. Something had entered Cybertron’s atmosphere. Something worth waking the resident spymaster in the middle of the night cycle about.

Chapter Text

Something was different about today. Things seemed… off. It hadn't really clicked until he made it to his desk for the day that all the little occurrences were likely part of a bigger picture.

All he had to do was some simple math. Just find the estimated totals based on the list of requested materials, write it down, and move onto the next datapad and do it again. Something was distracting him, however. He could tell that the Autobots had been acting strangely all morning, sparing him concerned half-glances as he passed through the halls and whispering when they thought he was out of earshot. Soundwave had been rather quick to usher him into their shared office once they finished the morning briefing, which had been thick with an underlying tension never once addressed. His visor prickled with excess static. What exactly were they keeping from him? What was going on?

Laserbeak was perched on the corner of his desk, watching him work with the same intensity that Soundwave would have. He reached over to stroke her back. She trilled warmly as his digits ran down her plating, fluttering her wings happily.

He had grown accustomed to her presence over the last few stellar cycles. She was as much a constant in his life as Soundwave was, and he couldn't say he minded having her around, especially at times like this. 

He managed to calculate the next few estimates, the pile of finished datapads only slightly taller than the unfinished one now. The questions still stirred in the back of his mind. Was there anything that would warrant being kept from him specifically? The only thing that came to mind was that-

The sound of heavy pedesteps in the hallway reached his audials, and they were drawing closer. Old instinct had him on edge, and he straightened in his seat. Laserbeak flew back towards her host without warning. Soundwave quickly detached his cables from his console and strode to the door as she docked back to his chest, but not before turning to him and sending a private comm: 'Go to the back room and lock the door.' 

Fear raced up his spinal strut. The datapad he'd been holding slipped from his grasp and clattered to the desk as he stood. He did as instructed without question, entering the command for the door to slide shut behind him and locking it from the inside. The supply room was big enough for him to move around inside of without bumping his wings on anything. It mostly contained shelves of empty datapads and old equipment awaiting repair. He kept the lights off, the dim of the room only lit by his visor and biolights as he felt around for the old office chair he'd stashed here. He needed to calm his nerves, already the static was building and soon it would start to affect his frame if he didn’t settle down. Soundwave was protecting him from whoever was out there. He sunk down into the chair and allowed that thought to play on repeat like a mantra as he regulated the air flow through his vents.

He tried not to think about who could be outside the door, but a part of him already knew, and the other part desperately hoped it was wrong. 

It was difficult to make out the words being said in the other room, but he definitely recognized that voice. Primus, why was he here? What did he want? Why did he always have to show up to ruin everything?

Why hadn't the Autobots told him?!

There was a group comm chat that he was included in, alongside all the remaining members of Team Prime and Soundwave. He put out an eloquently-worded priority ping.

[S: Is this some sort of sick joke?!]

[BB: ?]

[RC: ??]

[S: Why in the flying frag did no one think to inform me that MEGATRON was in the building?!]

Megatron was just outside, talking to Soundwave in what seemed like a casual tone. He couldn't make out exactly what was said, the walls were too thick, but his processor was already running through the possibilities. It was like they were back on the Nemesis, and nothing had changed at all. He was hiding in a supply closet avoiding punishment, and his master was discussing in wicked detail with his ever-loyal third in command what exactly he planned to do to him. His spark rate climbed in his chest. It was starting to feel too small here, in the dark supply room. He hugged his knees to his frame and hoped Megatron would leave soon.

And if he didn't? Megatron had probably returned to claim his seat at the table. The Autobots would surely grant him one. After all, it's what their dear, deceased Prime would have wanted, right? How did the saying go: “Every sentient being has the capacity to change?” He’d make himself at home, give his input on Cybertron's restoration, its new government and laws, and he'd do it all while mocking and belittling his least favorite seeker for all that had transpired in his absence. Every problem that had arisen since then had a sole cause. There was always a scapegoat, and it was always Starscream.

There had been a long-simmering resentment towards his former master held within his spark. It seemed every problem that could ever plague the Decepticons had somehow magically been his fault, and he was so sick of it. Even after the day he’d claimed to renounce his evil ways and left Cybertron, it hadn’t gone away. And here he was, once again, coming to trample all over every good thing Starscream had accomplished in the time since he took his leave. His new life in the peacetime since the war’s end, his job, his relationship with Soundwave, his newfound happiness and reasons to live? With Megatron around they all meant nothing. It had always been that way.

The memories of just how quickly the culmination of three stellar cycles of his hard work had been destroyed after Megatron’s return from his worthless dark energon voyage were still fresh in his processor. That anger was now boiling, threatening to spill forth. How fragging dare he return to ruin everything once again?!

He would not allow Megatron to simply barge in and oust him from his tentative position on the council. Not when he had been there long enough to have earned some degree of trust from the Autobots. He could certainly use that to his advantage. All he had to do was remind them of all that had transpired during the war and whose fault it really was while keeping the attention off his own war crimes…

Alternatively, he would love to just sink his claws in and tear the brute's spark apart piece by piece. It would definitely be a faster, more satisfying solution.

…

Who was he fooling? He’d be beaten into scrap metal if he tried anything. It would be easier than ever for Megatron to break him. The cycle of abuse would just pick back up where it left off.

But things had changed. He had changed. Megatron might not even recognize him just by looks anymore, certainly not by voice, and he could use that to his advantage. He needed to stay undercover, not let Megatron find out who he was under any circumstances. If he played his cards right, he could keep everything the way it was, and his former master none the wiser. A plan was brewing in his processor. The sooner it was put into action, the easier it would be to execute it. A false identity with a false backstory was simple enough to put together on the fly. He’d always been a creative liar, after all.

[S: If Megatron asks for me, Starscream is dead. He was killed by the Predacons shortly after Cybertron was saved by Optimus’s sacrifice. My designation is Shadowflight, and I returned to Cybertron aboard a neutral colony ship only a stellar cycle ago. My visor is the result of Council-sanctioned empurata, and my memories of my life before were deleted through shadowplay.]

Soundwave was the first to reply with a thumbs up emoji. Good.

The next reply was from Bumblebee.

[BB: Okay, fake ID sounds good, but what if he asks how you came to work with us? A colony bot on the council with this particular group seems a bit out of place.]

[S: You soft-sparked idiots will take in any poor sap off the streets if they look sad and pathetic enough, and what's more sad and pathetic than an empuratee? Plus, I'm good at doing everyone's datawork.]

[RC: Debatable.]

[S: No one asked you!]

[SM: Haha, good one Arcee!]

Oh, he wasn't about to take that lying down.

[S: Keep it up and I might just "forget" to review your vacation request.]

[RC: Then I might just "forget" to use your fake name around Megatron.]

He had a nasty reply already typed in the text box when he was interrupted by Soundwave.

[SW: Enough. Desist.]

Oh, how badly he wanted to ignore that request and hit send, but he didn't want to incur Soundwave’s ire. Fine, he would leave it be for now. From outside the supply closet, he could hear the sounds of conversation petering off, and the office door sliding open and closed again.

[S: Rest assured, we will be discussing this later.]

Once he was given the clearance to safely exit the back room, he crept out, cautiously scanning the entire room before fully stepping out of his temporary safe haven. He was still on-edge, wary of anything that could be lurking just around the corner.

It seemed as if the coast was clear. Everything looked to be in order, no surprises to be found. There was only Soundwave, standing there in the middle of the room as if the spawn of Unicron himself hadn't just been in there with him.

He eventually made his way over to where the mech was standing. He had a few choice words for him, and pointed an accusatory digit up at the surveillance chief's visor. “Did you know he was back on Cybertron?” He demanded to know.

Soundwave nodded. 

An irritated flicker of static crackled up his antennae. “I suppose next you’ll tell me that Predaking is waiting for me in our habsuite…” 

Of course Soundwave knew and didn't tell him. The Autobots doubtlessly knew as well, seeing as they allowed the tyrannical menace to get this far into the building alive. How dare he tell them before his own partner! Starscream was always the last to find out about these sorts of situations, for some Primus-forsaken reason. He growled through his vocoder. “If you go back to your old ways and rat me out, I swear to Primus, I'll-” 

He didn't get to finish. Soundwave had captured both of his servos in his own, assuredly rubbing digits over the backs of each one. “You think so little of me?” He asked using a voice clip of Knock Out, dripping with fake hurt.

“When it comes to your loyalty to Megatron…” he said lowly, disdainfully.

The other shook his helm. “Soundwave: abandoned in shadowzone. Megatron: indifferent towards Soundwave’s disappearance—did not search. Soundwave: presumed offline,” he said without relying on voice clips this time.

“And your point?” The seeker questioned. He pulled his servos away, crossing his arms over his chestplate and tapping a pede on the floor.

“Megatron can frag himself,” his own voice spoke back to him. 

He hummed his approval, the one-liner still buzzing in his processor. “Hmm. I will hold you to that.” And with that, he returned to his desk. There were still unfinished datapads that needed attending to.

Soundwave resumed his work like the earlier interruption had just been a friendly chat with a coworker and not the former lord of the Decepticons. Meanwhile, Starscream was struggling to do the same. He had tried to get the work done, he really did, but there was no more delaying the inevitable. The adrenaline surge from the borderline panic attack he just experienced in the supply room was wearing off rather quickly. The nervous jitters were fading and giving way to familiar aches and pains in his joints, left behind as the tension released. Even just sitting at his desk was draining. Given the way the lights in the room were starting to become too bright, with hazy halos appearing around them in his vision, he knew what would happen next. He could ignore it no longer.

“S-Soundwave,” he called out as softly as he could through his vocoder. The room was shifting out of focus, the lights and sounds too much to handle, and he temporarily disabled his optics. Alongside the pounding of his fuel pump, so too did his helm begin to beat in time with it. He gripped the arm rests on his chair tightly.

The gentle touch of a servo on his shoulder let him know that Soundwave had come to his aid. His entire frame felt weak, limbs and cables going slack as the pain set in full-force. Static popped and crackled within his cranial casing, setting his sensors alight. It felt like a bomb had just gone off within his helm. Slowly, he was helped down to the floor, lying on his side with his helm resting in Soundwave’s lap. Everything was too bright. Too loud. He just wanted it to stop.

There was an emergency injector kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. He felt the sting as the needle plunged into the side of his neck, and the burn as the injection flowed into his lines. It was a fast-acting high dosage for his sensors to relax.

This would help, he thought, clenching his servos through the pain. It would go away eventually.

These intense sensor malfunctions started occurring early into his recovery. The sheer amount of damage to his helm and parts of his processor had been beyond the scope of what even Ratchet was capable of repairing, at the time. Even now, there was no way to effectively repair these malfunctions without risking further processor damages. It seemed that any number of small things could cause glitches and static buildup that resulted in these sensor flares. Anything from elevated processor temperatures to high levels of stress, even something as simple as using electronic support measures while flying could eventually result in such painful processor aches. It was dreadfully inconvenient, to say the least.

He hadn't even seen Megatron, and yet his mere presence was having adverse effects on his systems. Ugh, he would need to ask Soundwave to refill that injector later. If the silver bastard was to make a repeat appearance, he would need to be prepared for the aftermath.

The hurt gradually eased into something he could manage. He onlined his optics to find that in the time he'd been on the floor, the room had been darkened and a few low-priority notifications had appeared on his HUD. Soundwave was still holding him in his lap, visor peering down and running his digits over the sides of his helm, up and down his antennae in a soothing manner. His helm was pillowed on his thighs.

Those messages could wait a few more kliks. 

“Status?” Shockwave's voice inquired upon sensing him stir. He wished Soundwave wouldn't use those clips so often. Though Shockwave hadn't been heard from in quite some time, his voice was still far more intimidating than it had any right to be.

“Mmh… Just a little while longer,” he murmured, optics once again drifting closed behind his visor. He liked where he was right now. This was nice, though it would be much nicer once the ache in his helm ebbed.

The calming petting on the sides of his helm resumed. "Five kliks," spoke Ultra Magnus’s voice.

He groaned audibly, but didn't argue. He didn't even need to open his optics to know that Soundwave started a timer. If he only had five kliks, he was going to enjoy every moment of it while he still could.

Time seemed to skew as he rested his optics. The timer eventually went off, just as he was on the verge of slipping into recharge. He felt Soundwave nudging against his side, insisting he get up, and he did so with a disappointed sigh. At least his helm felt better.

Now sitting up against his partner’s side, he finally decided to check the alerts that popped up while he was down. It appeared that Soundwave had opened a three-way conversation with him and Bumblebee. 

[SW: Desist. Do not knock.] 

[BB: Why? What's going on?]

[SW: Starscream: suffering sensor flares.]

[BB: Oh! Okay, thanks for stopping me, then.] 

[SW: Report.]

[BB: Just wanted to let you two know that we're planning a meeting to discuss the whole "Megatron" situation.] 

[SW: Acknowledged.] 

[BB: Council chamber in a joor. Security is already on standby.]

Well, that didn’t leave much time to prepare whatsoever. Half a joor had already passed since the timestamp the messages were sent from. Primus, this was going to be a disaster. He could already feel it deep within his damaged wiring.

Chapter Text

For reasons he could only dread, Megatron had asked to make a formal reintroduction. And he, as a member of the Restoration Council and friend of Soundwave, was expected to make an appearance.

Primus, strike him down.

There had been a very hastily put-together briefing in the meeting room beforehand. They were going to give the former warlord an opportunity to state his purpose for returning to Cybertron, determine his intentions, and proceed from there. If those intentions turned out to be hostile, there were countermeasures in place. Ultra Magnus and the wreckers were prepared to do whatever was necessary to stop any attempted coups. It would be like building a brick wall to stop a freight train.

And wasn't that a thought best left out of his processor. Now all he would be thinking about was "coup d'etat" this and "Decepticon resurgence" that.

He had made up his mind some time ago. If the Decepticons ever returned to power, he would not go with them. He made that mistake once already and it left him in ruins. A desperate creature constantly scraping by, always hunting for the next opportunity—whether it be for power or simply survival. That part of him died at Darkmount that night. He was not that creature any longer, he would not stoop to such demeaning levels again.

This new frame had never been marked with a badge, and he intended to keep it that way. 

The briefing began with an address from Ultra Magnus, giving a basic rundown of the situation to any who were not fully informed of the facts. Megatron had returned to Cybertron with unclear intentions, and was already aware of the existence of the council and their current location. He had already been allowed into the building under guard escort, seeking an audience with the Restoration Council to discuss things. They needed to come up with a plan here and now.

To his immense relief, many of the Autobots were opposed to Megatron being allowed within Iacon city limits, much less within the council chamber. Arcee expressed her disapproval with the same assertiveness she was always know for during the war, making it very clear that she would rather the former warlord be chained and bound before even being allowed within the city's borders.

A few others voiced their agreement, most notably Ratchet. "He's a threat wherever he goes. It would be best to disarm him before allowing him to speak with us."

There were plenty of similar opinions shared around, plans for how to properly contain Megatron and disarm his cannon should he choose to resist peaceful arrest. Bulkhead and Wheeljack in particular had their own plan forming on their side of the table involving smoke grenades and the polarity gauntlet.

Things seemed to be progressing in a favorable direction until someone had to bring up Optimus. It was inevitable, yet always disappointing to witness the classic Autobot fallback plan in action.

"Guys, can we all just stop and think for a moment? What would Optimus have done in this situation?" Smokescreen asked, and the tone of the meeting completely shifted. The mood turned somber as everyone else at the table grew quiet in contemplation.

"He would have given him a chance," Bumblebee answered. "Optimus would have met him peacefully, willing to hear him out before making any rash decisions." There were a few nods of agreement around the table.

Again with this sappy foolishness? He couldn't believe it was that easy for everyone to forget everything Megatron had done over the course of the entire war just by invoking the name of their beloved Prime. He wouldn't stand for Megatron being let off the hook, however, not after how long it took himself to earn that level of trust.

Abruptly, he slammed his servos down on the table and stood. All helms in the room immediately turned his way. "I believe my opinion on the matter should be incredibly obvious," he declared, oscilloscope spiking in high peaks. "Allowing Megatron to roam freely will be a grave mistake that could potentially spell doom for Cybertron once again. He will reunite the masses and overthrow any new council or government that stands in his way of total conquest."

Point made, he sat back in his chair with an irate flick of his wings. Soundwave was still looking at him even as Ultra Magnus announced the meeting was over, a digit still pressed to his comm unit as he listened in to the word of the vehicon troopers stationed just outside the front doors.

It was time. He wouldn't get an opportunity to further prepare himself.

He glanced around the room at the others, gauging their expressions. To his left, Soundwave retained his usual silence, visor not giving any tells to what he may be thinking. He looked to his right to see Knock Out give him a reassuring nod. At the very least, several of the Autobots appeared to be just as apprehensive as he was as they made their way out of the meeting room together.

The foreboding quiet seemed to encompass the entire room as the group all filed into their places within the rarely used chamber hall. Its patterned steel fixtures and grand courtroom architecture made the environment feel cold with authority. The atmosphere crackled with nervous anticipation as Starscream took his seat next to Soundwave once again.

It was only a few stellar cycles ago that he stood trial in this very room. He shuddered at the memory, recalling the looks on everyone's faces as he recounted his unfortunate tale of pain and despair, his fate held in the servos of his former enemies. All things considered, his outcome had been very favorable, but things could have been so much worse.

He and the others all stood from their chairs the moment the doors to the council chamber parted. The sound of weapons transforming and priming to fire filled the silence (he would have joined in without hesitation if he still had his missiles). In stepped Megatron, just as hideous and fear-inducing as he last remembered the silver brute to be. He did his best to keep his composure, fighting the instinctive urge to bow his helm, and watched in anticipation as every gun in the room trained on the former warlord.

“State your intentions,” Ultra Magnus declared, keeping the barrel of his rifle leveled at his scarred faceplate.

The room fell silent with anticipation as Megatron began to speak. "My intention is not to harm, but to heal." He spoke calmly, allowing the words to flow forth as he stepped forward before the podium. He paid no mind to the weapons pointed his way, carrying on like it was the day he and Orion Pax stood before the senate all over again, hoping for a different outcome.

"I have learned much in my time away from our home planet, and was immensely saddened to hear of the great sacrifice Optimus Prime made to revitalize this world. Such a sacrifice, to cast himself into the very core of Primus, united as one with the Allspark, to bring life and prosperity back to this planet once destroyed by selfish conflict, should be an inspiration to all who choose to call this planet home. I have returned to do my part: to lend aid to the ongoing work to restore Cybertron to its former glory—to preserve Optimus Prime’s legacy by bringing forth a new era of progress and prosperity in lieu of the destruction our war caused.

"My intention is to atone for my past transgressions, and therefore I cast aside my weapon in surrender." With a click and a hiss, the locks holding the cannon to his arm disengaged. He took it in his opposite servo, and tossed it to the ground just before Ultra Magnus’s pedes. It rolled to a stop, cold with disuse. "From this moment forth, I vow to never raise my servo in anger again."

Yeah, right. Starscream would believe it when he saw it. Beside him, the Autobots exchanged glances with each other. A few weapons were lowered.

In the end, would it truly make any difference? The amount of suffering those servos had already inflicted would forever outweigh any forgiveness they could ever offer. The scars he bore ran far too deep for that.

His servos clenched and unclenched at his sides. Shadowflight doesn't know this mech, he reminded himself. He had to act the part. 

Steeling himself for the upcoming display, he pulled the compact mirror out of his subspace and allowed himself to run his digits over its lid, the familiar textures keeping him grounded. He held it in his lap, doing all he could to be subtle in his fidgeting. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself. All he had to do was stay still, quiet, and keep his helm down, just like on the bridge of the Nemesis, he reminded himself. Keep doing what he used to do back then when Megatron was on a tirade.

He felt a servo make contact with his forearm, and glanced down to see none other than Knock Out had reached out to comfort him. The surgeon hadn't turned his attention away from Megatron, but offered him the silent gesture all the same. He didn't pull away. He hoped no one would notice.

Then the warlord began to speak once more. 

“I have returned to Cybertron with grief weighing heavily on my spark. The day Orion Pax accepted the Matrix of Leadership felt like more than a betrayal—it was truly a great loss, it felt like witnessing my brother die before my optics, and Optimus Prime had taken his place. Our resulting war brought so much death and destruction to this world, and then eventually our world itself became a martyr, another casualty of an endless feud that had long since lost all meaning. The grief I felt then, losing a brother who was still there on the opposite side of the battlefield, pales in comparison to the grief that now consumes my spark to know that his sacrifice was necessary to reverse the damage done to our world," he said with his helm bowed, voice soft with the weight behind his words.

"With the war over, and my brother now one with the Allspark, my own spark seeks a purpose, a new way forward that will allow Cybertron to flourish," he resumed, hope now flooding his tone, optics brightening. "I wish to work with you all to usher in a new golden age, one that will see our home restored to a greatness beyond even what it was before the war, and to protect it from any who may seek to challenge this prosperity and order we have achieved, as I once did so long ago."

Megatron's gaze swept over his audience, finally settling on him. "Any who resist shall have no place in this era of peace."

Oh, he knew exactly who that thinly-veiled threat was aimed at. Wings pinned themselves down as flat as they could go. He couldn't help the way his fuel pump picked up speed in his chest as he tilted his helm down, ever so slightly, to break eye-contact.

He was glad he’d thought up his fake identity. If Megatron ever found out the truth, Starscream really would be pushing up spark flowers. The very notion had him feeling ill. A backup plan would certainly be in order. Just in case things went south and his true identity was discovered, he needed to have an escape route in place.

"I will not ask for forgiveness for the unspeakable acts I have committed in the past, only for understanding and cooperation as we work together to revitalize Cybertron." Megatron concluded, and the silence that had once filled the room was heavy with uncertainty.

One by one, the remaining weapons began to lower. The ambient whirring in the room died as they were powered off and transformed away.

There was no way that speech was genuine. It couldn't have been. He knew Megatron better than that. Even he could have written a more spark-felt apology, and he never apologized! It had to be a front for something, a way to set the stage for some grander plan in the works. 

To envision something so bright for the future of this world, to make it ripe for a conquest from within… Hmm, maybe this truly was just the first phase of some secret Decepticon coup.

If anyone knew how to stage a coup, it was Starscream. He was more than an expert on the subject by now, having executed several throughout the war (the success of these attempts notwithstanding), and there were plenty of signs indicating as such sprinkled into Megatron's monologue. He wanted to be given an inch so he could take a mile.

He was so lost in thought that he almost failed to realize he was the only one still seated. Everyone else was moving to the floor to speak with Megatron, and Soundwave was waiting for him with a servo extended in invitation. He was helped to his pedes, and the pair made their way over together.

He could hardly believe it. One speech, one incredibly verbose apology attempt, and Megatron had swayed everyone to his side, just like that. Well, they could believe it all they liked. It wouldn't work on him again.

Greetings and pleasantries were being exchanged upon their arrival. There was a thick air of tension filling the room, but things were proceeding with a surprising level of civility. Ultra Magnus, Arcee, and Bumblebee were discussing the current planetary restoration progress like the one responsible for the entire war wasn't standing there taking part in the very same conversation.

"We could certainly use more bot-power, if you're willing to help out."

"Then consider me willing to assist," he overheard Megatron say, all too eagerly.

There was no telling how this would play out. He had only caught bits and pieces of their exchange, and from what he gathered it sounded like Megatron was willing to play nice for the time being. It was clear that further discussion would be required, but the Autobots seemed keen on inviting the fragging bane of his existence onto the council regardless of what he thought. What a wonderful idea that was.

The meeting was over now. He wasn't required to be here anymore, but he could take the opportunity to throw Megatron off his trail with a clever introduction that said, 'Hello, I am most definitely not Starscream.' If the tyrant was going to stick around, it would be a good idea to get ahead of the curve. Mind made up, he kept close to Soundwave’s side, maneuvering through the small gathering of Autobots as their conversation ebbed to greet the warlord face to face.

"It is good to see you again, Soundwave, my old friend," Megatron declared upon catching sight of the indigo mech. His expression brightened and he held a servo out in invitation.

Soundwave nodded in a silent address. The silver mech shook his servo warmly. It all seemed… overly familiar. He couldn't remember the last time Megatron had been so casual with his former third in command.

Sidestepping out of the way, Soundwave allowed him to step forward. He realized all too late that he hadn't even thought of what to say.

Megatron then turned to face him, extending a servo for him to take. “And you must be Shadowflight,” he said. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Any friend of Soundwave's is a friend of mine.” He smiled, and it was the same cold smile he'd seen a million times before. It sent a shiver down his spinal strut. He felt himself shrinking under Megatron’s gaze.

This felt like a trap.

His processor drew a blank, but he had to say something. Megatron absolutely could not find out who he really was under any circumstances, and this was his moment to make a first impression that would secure his own safety. Say something, anything! “Ah… hm, I-” He stammered. He couldn’t help the way his voice wavered, nor the slight tremor of his servo as he slowly reached out to return the gesture.

“Apologies, my liege.” Blessedly, he didn’t have to. Knock Out had quickly stepped between him and Megatron, swiping the handshake away for himself with a coy little wink in his direction. Of course, he had to turn on the charm. It was a proven method of self-preservation. “He's a little shy, and I'm afraid your reputation precedes you.” 

“Good to see you again, Knock Out, but there is no need for such formalities. Just Megatron will suffice.”

He took the chance to back away from the conversation, putting some distance between himself and Megatron. Spark spinning fast and fuel pump beating faster, he knew he needed to leave. His optics darted about the room, looking for any possible escape routes. What was wrong with him? Why did a simple conversation with Megatron have him so on-edge?

With his master still occupied conversing with Knock Out, and now Soundwave as well, he took the opportunity to skirt the edge of the room and make his way towards the doors. 

Starscream couldn't find it in himself to vent evenly until after he slipped out of the room. He leaned against the wall just outside, willing his fuel pump to slow its rapid beating. He folded his arms over his chest, staring up at the ornate ribs of the vaulted ceiling, tracing their paths with his optics as he calmed down.

Damn it, what was that back there? Why couldn't he keep up the act long enough to make a convincing introduction? Shadowflight would just look like a cowardly neutral—it was a mortifying first impression. Ugh, that had been a complete mistake.

He hated this. This raw fear that had arisen sometime in the last few stellar cycles, when situations like this had once been so easy to endure. Even after his worst transgressions, he could face Megatron with such confidence and bravado despite knowing what might happen if he did. Now?

Now, he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as his former master without shaking in his plating like a frightened sparkling. It was pathetic. He gripped his upper arms tightly, claws leaving tiny scratches in his paint.

It seemed Knock Out had noticed his absence. He got a message on his HUD from the speedster.

[KO: You okay?]

[S: Fine. Just needed to step out for a moment.]

He pinched at the base of his crest with two digits. A static shock flared within his servo.

The medic suggested they meet in the medbay. That sounded like a good enough excuse to get away from the commotion of the meeting room. The further, the better.

Just as he turned to head that way, the doors to the meeting room parted. Knock Out exited the room behind him, quickly closing the short distance between them so they could walk there together. The med bay entrance wasn't very far, just a few halls down at the end of the corridor.

“That couldn't have been easy for you,” the medic said, breaking the silence of the trip thus far.

“Let's not dwell on it.” He staunchly turned his helm to the side, oscilloscope flickering with turbulent peaks and valleys. He really didn't want to discuss that messy, idiotic performance. Quite frankly, he wasn't entirely sure where that moment of weakness had come from, but he despised it all the same. 

Not to mention, Knock Out had to intervene on his behalf. He shouldn't need anyone's help to talk to Megatron, of all mechs. 

"Okay, fine. Forget I asked." He held his servos up in defeat, silently agreeing to drop the subject for now.

The doors to the med bay slid open as they approached, and Knock Out led the seeker past the empty waiting area and into a small room off to the side that served as his personal office. Starscream chose to remain standing, rather than sit in the provided chair. The swirling mess of thoughts brewing within his processor finally reached a boiling point, and he just had to spill. Only once the door was shut and the privacy screens were enabled did he feel he could speak freely.

“Ha! I can’t fragging believe this!” He shouted hysterically. “He just decides to return to Cybertron out of the blue, claiming that he’s had some ‘grand cosmic revelation’ after the death of Optimus Prime,” he threw his arms up in the air as he paced, gesticulating, “And then barges into our place of work to declare that he can’t go on living with himself if he doesn’t restore the planet he destroyed in the first place?!”

“Absurd is what it is,” Knock Out agreed with an amused smirk, waving a servo to encourage Starscream to carry on with his ranting. Just like their old gossip sessions aboard the Nemesis… Good times. He settled in for the conversation by leaning on the edge of his desk, crossing his legs.

“Deluded is more like it,” the seeker continued. The staccato tapping of his pedes on the floor kept a steady beat. “It seems he finally grew bored of aimlessly cruising around space and has come to beg for work,” scoffing, he began picking at his talons. “And to think that the others actually agreed to hear him out? Equally delusional, but I would expect nothing less after the mere mention of the Prime's passing had them reconsidering ending things quickly. The entire reason the planet was destroyed was because neither side was willing to end things quickly! What next? A coup?!”

“Unfortunately for us, the others are going to want to accept his contributions,” Knock Out interjected. “Leave it to us to be the skeptics." His expression then turned contemplative. "Though, theoretically, he could bring a lot to the table,” he added with a digit to his chin.

“Theoretically, my actuator. The last time he brought anything to the table, it was a great big slagging hunk of dark energon! They are inviting trouble into this council with smiles on their faceplates and too much sentiment in their sparks.” His wings flared on his back, snapping from one position to the next as if to emphasize the gravity of his words.

“I suppose I just want to see what sort of disasters unfold from this entire arrangement. It will definitely be entertaining, to say the least.”

Starscream paused in his pacing, turning to face the doctor. “Don't tell me you're in favor of him being here.”

He shook his helm. “Far from it. However, we are distinctly in the minority here.”

“Good.” The pacing resumed. “Then as long as these disasters keep well away from me, I say let the Autobots reap what they sow.”

“We'll see how far away they stay from you with Soundwave around. He seems a bit too eager to return to his old post."

“Oh, rest assured, we will be having a lengthy discussion on this tonight…” He was already planning to bring it up during their evening refuel. The last thing he needed was his partner cozying up with their former master once again. That only led to trouble.

“Speaking of, there is one thing I should mention,” the speedster added. “Before I left the meeting room, I overheard Megatron conversing with Soundwave. He asked for you by designation, Starscream.”

A chill ran up his spine. He froze in his tracks, turning to face the medic once again. “W-what did he say?” He dared to ask, wringing his servos together. He couldn't help the nervous edge slipping into his voice.

“He inquired about your whereabouts. He said he had something he needed to do with you,” he told him, servo rubbing his chin. “Rather ominous, if you ask me.”

That could mean a whole host of things, none of which he wanted to experience due to the pain and suffering it would most likely cause. After that threat in his speech, the intent was clear. Obviously, Megatron wanted to tie up his final loose end by snuffing out his spark once and for all. That way, he could be rid of the last remaining thread of the Decepticon cause and redeem himself in the sparks of the Autobots in one fell swoop.

There was just one thing…

“Well, it's a good thing poor Starscream is already dead,” he said, sarcasm oozing into his tone as he clasped his servos and bowed his helm in mock reverence. “Too bad for Megatron—the Predacons beat him to it.”

“A real tragedy, that was,” Knock Out agreed, playing along expertly. 

“Indeed. He will be missed…”

The medic rolled his optics, a huff of laughter escaping him. Then he considered something. “So… Shadowflight? Where did that designation come from?”

“It's just something I came up with at the spur of the moment,” he insisted, refusing to elaborate. It seemed that explanation would suffice for now. The medic didn't press him for details.

“So is that your entire plan?” Knock Out questioned instead. “Hide your real designation and continue pretending you died until Megatron finds out the truth?”

Once again, the seeker found himself frozen in place. His screen buffered. “Of course there's more to it than that!” He lied again. He just… had to think of what to do next.

He already knew exactly what would happen if Megatron ever found out. His punishment would be some drawn-out, excruciating form of torture. Five stellar cycles worth of progress recovering from the Predacon attack would be reversed in a matter of moments, and he'd be put right back in the medbay where he started, if not dead and buried in the ground.

“I have a brilliant, multi-step plan all laid out to accommodate all contingencies,” he said pointedly. “Of course, I can’t let you in on the details—in the event that you are captured and interrogated by insurrectionists, I wouldn’t want them to catch on…”

That got him a sideways glance and a raised brow. "Starscream, don't you think you might be overthinking things?" The surgeon asked, now looking at him with concern.

He felt a sharp crackle of static pop within his helm as he whirled around. Megatron was walking the very halls of this building and Knock Out had the nerve to call him paranoid. "I would rather be prepared than sorry," he ground out, wings raised and fists clenching at his sides.

“Mhmm, sure. I'm just saying you're getting awfully worked up over this when we don't even have all the details yet, delving into hypotheticals like they're certainties…" At the sound of the irritated static buzzing increasing in volume, he promptly changed the subject: "How are you holding up after your sensor flare earlier today?” 

Starscream reeled back a bit. “What? Who told you about-”

“Soundwave, obviously. You think he wouldn't?” Knock Out smirked.

He growled, turning his gaze to the floor. That flare had been rather intense. With all the side effects that came with the injection, it was no wonder his judgment had been clouded during the meeting. He couldn't think straight with such strong painkillers in his lines. Yes, that had to be it.

“Since you're here, do you need to take anything?" The medic inquired, earning his attention once again. "Perhaps to settle your nerves?” His insistence was hardly subtle.

He contemplated it for a brief moment, then glanced down at his claws. The tips were looking rather dull.

“Yes, perhaps you're right. I certainly have been a bit high-strung lately,” he acquiesced. It was a rather reluctant admission, but one Knock Out would take at face value after the way he'd fled the council chamber moments ago. He didn’t need to know Starscream’s true thoughts on the matter.

"Keep the dose light. I still have work to finish once we're done here," he quickly added.

With a roll of his optics, Knock Out stepped out of the room to prepare the medication, shutting the door behind him, and Starscream made a move, going to the medic's desk and rooting through the drawers one by one. He shoved aside datapads, tins of polish, buffing cloths, and other useless artifacts until he found what he was looking for: a diamond grit file. Just what he needed. 

He would be grinning with satisfaction if he still had his faceplate. His oscilloscope fluttered excitedly in place of the gesture as he admired his prize. 

He tucked it behind his back upon hearing the doctor returning from down the hall. 

"I suggest you keep your workload light for the rest of the day. Don't stress yourself any more if you can avoid it." Knock Out advised as he primed the injector. Starscream held his arm out willingly, eager to get this over with so he could spend the rest of the evening relaxing in his office with the rest of the datawork he needed to finish.

Once he'd taken his shot, the two left the office. As they walked beside each other down the hallway, he pulled out the pilfered file and began his manicure, filing his claw tips into sharpened points.

Knock Out quickly took notice and eyed him up and down suspiciously. “Is that my file?” He questioned.

“Don't be ridiculous. Why would I want yours when I have my own?” He answered nonchalantly, keeping his focus on his digits as he worked.

Chapter Text

After dropping off a stack of completed datapads on Ultra Magnus’ desk, taking great care to mix them up randomly beforehand, Starscream made his way to the front entrance of the building. Soundwave would be waiting for him there for their evening flight back to their hab. He walked at a clipped pace, sensors on high alert, still on edge from the day’s earlier encounters.

The day had not been a productive one in the slightest. There had been far too many Megatron-shaped holes punched through his schedule, and that meant he would be bringing work home with him tonight to make up for what could have gotten done during those interruptions. Damn it, damn it all! Thanks to Megatron deciding to return planet-side on a whim, his free time had been cut in half, and he still needed to have that discussion with Soundwave over what happened after the meeting.

He would bring up the subject over their evening energon, he had already decided. Gauging Soundwave’s loyalty would be a key component in determining how to proceed with Megatron back in the picture. He needed to prepare, just in case that suspected coup did indeed come to pass. 

He definitely would not go back to groveling at his master's pedes if it did, that was for sure. That ship had long since sailed.

Just before rounding the corner to the foyer, he caught the sound of voices in his audials. Antennae perked with interest, and he peered out from behind a column to spot none other than the great menace himself chatting up his partner once again, this time in the company of Ultra Magnus and Bumblebee. He quickly slid back out of sight, pressing his back against the wall as he steadied his fluttering spark. He hoped he hadn’t been seen. 

Some strange combination of anxiety and rage simmered within his fuel lines. It was a confusing sensation that left his spark spinning wildly for all the wrong reasons. Something to process later, to be sure. For now, he just needed to wait for Megatron to leave, or find a way to encourage him to do so.

“Hey, are you all right?” He nearly leapt out of his plating when the question came from down the hallway. He relaxed only marginally upon discovering it was just Smokescreen approaching, offering a casual wave in greeting as he made his way over. Great. The last thing he needed was to have his cover blown by the one mech whose glossa worked faster than his processor. “You look like you’ve just seen-”

Starscream quickly silenced the bot, clapping a servo over his intake to shut him up. He wordlessly pointed a digit to indicate the conversation happening just around the corner. The rookie caught on fast, removing the offending servo and sneaking a peek for himself. “Ah, guess I was right,” he assessed with a smirk.

The young mech continued observing the conversation from behind the column, casually listening in to what was being said. He had his palms pressed against the cold stone, peering out from behind it like a sparkling waiting to be found during hide and seek. “They're talking about Optimus,” he commentated, keeping his voice just soft enough for Starscream to hear.

Quite frankly, he didn't care what they were talking about. He just wanted to drag Soundwave home so he could start an argument and then go to berth already. Today was stressful enough for an entire lifetime. He slumped against the wall, folding his arms over his chestplate.

A bout of laughter sounded from the group. Starscream's visor display turned an irritated shade of red.

“Heheh, Megatron thinks the Matrix absorbed his sense of humor,” Smokescreen snickered, still absorbed in a conversation he was not part of. “He thinks it might have got Magnus’s as well.” This bot really didn't stop talking, did he?

Hmm, now that he thought about it, he knew exactly how to utilize that.

“Say,” he sidled up to the younger bot, a plan already brewing in his processor, “Why don't you ask Megatron what Optimus would think of Cybertron now? I'm sure he would love to share some insight with Magnus. Perhaps the two can reminisce, and you’ll get to hear more stories about your… illustrious Prime.”

He knew it was a topic Soundwave didn't particularly care for. He could see it in the subtle shifts of his body language anytime the flow of conversation on the command deck switched, and as time went on, it became harder to ignore the shifting pedes and minute helm-tilts of boredom. Orion Pax was a name that should have been buried with the past, but Megatron just couldn't let go, and Soundwave, ever his loyal listener, would never hear the end of it.

Smokescreen's optics widened, the suggestion clearly having struck a chord with the younger mech. "Hmm, that's a good idea." As he turned to head that way, he glanced over his shoulder with a wave. "Thanks, St- ah, Shadowflight!" The cheesy grin and pair of thumbs up did nothing to reassure the seeker after that near-miss. If the mech was still standing beside him, he'd strangle him.

Thank Primus, he was gone now.

The lack of chatter directly next to his audials was a welcomed relief as he went back to observing from just around the corner. Just as he'd suggested, Smokescreen stepped right up to the group and wormed his way into the discussion. Soundwave was standing off to the side, having been listening in rather than participating, and it was plainly obvious that Smokescreen's changing of the subject was stirring up memories he wasn't interested in recounting again.

Starscream sent a private ping to his comm, signaling his intent to head home for the day. He watched the spymaster's visor turn to spot him peeking out from around the corner, and nodding in his direction. Soundwave politely dismissed himself from the gathering of bots, bowing slightly to say his goodbyes, and made his way over to where the seeker was still hiding behind the column.

That little improvised plan had gone off without a hitch. He'd managed to draw Soundwave away and inconvenience Megatron in one fell swoop. And to think Bumblebee had once told him he couldn't include scheming and manipulating as useful skills on his résumé.

Soundwave placed a servo on his waist and guided him down the hallway, away from Megatron and towards one of the building's many side exits. They moved together as one, both eager to walk through the doors and take their leave, flying home in the cool, evening air. Finally, the day was drawing to a close. His partner didn't know it yet, but a less-than-quiet evening awaited when they arrived home. There was quite a bit to discuss, and he needed the record set straight.

The flight home had been blissfully silent, and the jetstream had been particularly peaceful on the way back to their habsuite. It almost seemed a bit too perfect, like the calm before the storm on the horizon.

Once the door to their habsuite slid shut behind him, he set his datapad on the table and sat down for their evening refuel. His servos were folded together as he watched his partner prepare their cubes.

“Care to explain yourself, Soundwave?” He asked as soon as the other had taken his seat at the table. 

A question mark appeared on that purple visor, the silent mech tilted his helm to the side. 

“Three times in one solar cycle,” he began. Quiet fury simmered in his tone. “You left me to converse with Megatron. Three. Slagging. Times.” Each word was emphasized by jabbing his index digit firmly onto the table's surface, the impacts sending ripples through their energon. His antennae were pinned back, static bristling within his helm. “Care to fill me in on what exactly was so important that you would abandon me and willingly go back to our former master for small talk?”

Soundwave supplied a voice clip, the words straight from said former master's mouth. “I wish to atone for my crimes against Cybertron, and make a place for myself and my fellow Decepticons in a better world; one which accepts us for our differences rather than punishes us for them.”

"All he has to do is say the right words and suddenly everyone forgives him. They're already discussing granting him a seat on the council," the seeker spoke, a hint of the malice brewing within spilling into his words. "One speech got him what it took me stellar cycles to be granted, and the Autobots make a point to remind me every slagging chance they get that they can just as easily take it away from me. That hardly seems fair, doesn't it, Soundwave?"

"We appreciate all that you do, Starscream," played a clip of Bumblebee. The amount of times he had been genuinely thanked for the amount of datawork he went through could be counted on one servo. It was a deliberate choice of words on Soundwave's part, but he wouldn't allow it to distract him.

"Is there any particular reason why he was asking for me personally?" He continued his interrogation with the question he needed answers to most of all.

"Megatron: intentions unclear," his partner informed him. "Tell me, what is known of Starscream’s fate? I wish to meet with him again. There is something I must do."

Those words, that voice... Hearing the evidence for himself sent a shiver down his spinal strut. Knock Out had been telling the truth, after all. That was the same language Megatron had used when he wanted someone out of the picture. A hundred and one terrible outcomes were already forming within his processor at the very prospect.

"Intent to harm: unlikely," Soundwave attempted to reassure him, but all the seeker could think about was that speech, and the thinly-veiled threat lying entangled within those saccharine promises of a better future.

Starscream bristled, his plating flaring. “So what I'm hearing is that the many times he beat me into scrap metal and left me bleeding out on the bridge of the Nemesis mean nothing to you? Just because he wants to fix Cybertron?!” 

“Starscream: feelings acknowledged. Soundwave: seeking information regarding Megatron’s desire to aid restoration efforts.”

“Tch, acknowledged,” he scoffed under his breath. “What is it that you need to know so badly? How to go about reinstating the Decepticon cause he disbanded, need I remind you, by allowing him to infiltrate our ranks? Perhaps what role you can play in it by returning to his side?” He accosted. 

“You've got it all mixed up,” Soundwave played in Wheeljack's voice. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what exactly is your goal, Soundwave? Because to me, it seems a lot like you would rather go back to your wartime habits and play master's pet than continue whatever it is we have together.”

“Soundwave: assessing the situation. Preparing for best course of action. Goal: revitalization of Cybertron.”

“Of course! That's what everyone wants!” He threw his servos in the air, then brought them back to the tabletop, reining himself in. “Tell me this, then: why does he have to be a part of it? What role does he play that is so crucial that you're willing to jeopardize my safety by allowing him a seat on the council?!”

Soundwave set down his cube, reaching across the table to touch the seeker’s servo. Seeing the approaching gesture, Starscream stood abruptly and drew his servo away. The chair he had been sitting in scraped loudly against the floor. His wings hiked up high on his back, and he pounded a fist onto the table, his untouched cube sloshing and spilling drops down the sides and onto its surface. “What happened to ‘Megatron can frag himself?!’ Or were you just trying to placate me then the same way you are now?”

There was a moment of silence, Soundwave lowered his helm and looked away, failing to meet his gaze. He slowly drew his servo back down from the table and out of Starscream’s space.

“I understand your concerns,” he said in a voice the seeker didn’t recognize. “Starscream’s safety: Priority One.”

“I'd be safer with him offline,” he stated plainly, now simply trying to coax a reaction from the other, “But the Autobots—Prime, in particular—never had the bearings to actually do it.” His wings relaxed marginally, posture easing only slightly as he continued his tirade. “You're a lot like him in that regard; turning a blind optic to how he hurts those around you as you continue to spare your old friend.” 

Soundwave remained silent, keeping his helm bowed and still as the seeker stepped over to his side.

Starscream took no pity on the scene before him, leaning in close to whisper, “You of all bots should know better than to be blinded by sentiment.” He ended with a hiss. Turning on his pede, he left the room without looking back. The cube of energon still sat right where he left it, untouched.

Chapter Text

Megatron's sudden return had him more than a little unsettled. He really didn't want to be anywhere near him, especially after hearing about what had been discussed in his absence. He needed time to think. Megatron would be continuing negotiations with the Autobots the following cycle, and Starscream wanted to keep as far away as possible to avoid any chance encounters. He opted to call in from work. Better to avoid any unnecessary risks while he still had the chance. The last thing he wanted was to repeat that embarrassing display from the cycle prior.

Skipping work wasn't something he did often. Even on days where everything hurt and even the short flight to the office had to be replaced by a quick trip through the ground bridge, he still put in the effort to make himself useful.

It was difficult to recall how he’d done it before, and for so long, aboard the Nemesis. How he’d gone about every waking moment with the confidence he once possessed in wake of the ever-present, looming threat that was Megatron. Where had that mental fortitude gone? 

He supposed a lot had happened in the last few stellar cycles away from all of that. Dare he say it, but he had gotten comfortable, grown complacent to the point where he lived happily with Soundwave, of all mechs. His instincts had dulled and his survival skills were sorely out of practice. All it took was a few stellar cycles without the constant threat of punishment for screwing up or being stabbed in the back to soften up.

He was still the same old paranoid, anxious mech he'd always been, though for vastly different reasons. Spending so much time unable to move while strapped to a medical berth left ample opportunity for self-reflection, and he'd done more thinking than any one mech should. It felt like Starscream died that night at Darkmount, and someone else was here in his place—someone who had stared right into the Pit and come out on the other side.

He had come to understand that he wasn't as durable as he used to be. The outlook for his recovery would never be at one hundred percent. There would still be complications, aches, pains, and future corrective procedures to come. Even the simplest of physical tasks hurt to do, and exerting himself like he did during the war was out of the question entirely if he didn't want to be stuck in berth for the following cycle. Call it luck, fate, or the will of Primus, because if anything like that ever happened to him again, he definitely would not survive.

 The last thing he needed was Megatron back in the picture. That old brute would kill him just for glancing in his direction. It wouldn't take much effort on his part to break a mech brittle as glass.

Soundwave had tried getting him out of berth that morning, and he'd stubbornly refused. He'd claimed he needed the extra recharge and feigned a major processor ache. It seemed he bought the act. Silently as ever, Soundwave left the room, taking care to make sure the door closed softly behind him.

After Soundwave left for work, he slowly untangled himself from the blankets and took his time getting out of the berth. He couldn't spend all cycle malingering there when there was work to be done. As if to spite him, a true processor ache did indeed take hold as his systems reoriented. He grumbled with frustration upon feeling a stinging flicker of static pass in the space behind his optics as he sat on the edge of the berth. Extra pain patches would be in order for today. 

He had the hab all to himself for the next several joors, and he would be taking full advantage of it no matter what his pathetic frame had to say about it. 

With stiff joints and unsteady struts, he made his way over to the dispenser and filled a cube with med-grade. Upon taking his seat at the table, he was surprised to see his injectors were already prepped and laid out for him to administer. The box of pain patches was placed beside them. Even after their nasty little argument last night, Soundwave had still taken the time to get everything ready for him.

Perhaps he had been rather harsh with Soundwave. His partner was already working himself down to the wire at all times, constantly putting the needs of others before himself, and now Starscream was putting even more pressure on him at home. He ought to do something to make it up to him…

But on the other hand, Soundwave had been spending nearly all of his limited free-time with Megatron despite knowing how he wanted Starscream dead. The risk of Soundwave revealing any information on his current status to worm his way back into their master's good graces was ever-present. He couldn't disregard that fact just because Soundwave did him a simple favor this morning. It was like being onboard the Nemesis all over again. One always had to watch their back around the mech who saw everything.

Despite the tremor in his servos, he made quick work of refueling and taking his medication. Relief flowed through his circuits as it began to take effect, calming the worst of the static and easing the aches in his frame. He administered a pain patch for good measure before gathering himself and heading to the living room.

Sitting on the couch with his personal datapad in hand, he powered it on (with a lowered brightness setting) and flipped through the last few files he had left open. Work-related documents, he closed out of. Those could wait until he got back to the office, or at least until his helm felt better. The next few files were sketches he had drawn with a stylus. They were vague impressions of skylines as he remembered them, the angles of Vos’ great spires and towers as seen from a fly-by. They weren't the nicest drawings, simply unfinished lines he had put down while testing the stabilizing function of the stylus for his uncoordinated servo, but he was somewhat satisfied with how they turned out. Perhaps one day, far in the future, they would serve as inspiration for restoring his home city (with himself as its ruler).

He had never been much of an artist. It was more of an idle hobby than anything else. Ratchet had encouraged it as a way for him to practice tuning his fine motor control skills, and so he had given it a try. 

He saved the drawing files and closed out of the program for the time being. Right now, he needed to prepare. With Megatron back in the picture, having a plan for everything never hurts.

As much as it pained him to admit it, killing Megatron was not a viable option. He had to think realistically. With his frame being in the state it was in—unarmed and, well, disabled—there was no winning a fight without cheating. Besides, Soundwave would thwart any murder plots before he could even enact them.

Firstly, there was the matter of his death hoax. He already had the Autobots on board with the Shadowflight identity. The backstory could use some work, but would hold up under most scrutiny. Empurata and shadowplay naturally fit together, as the council had seen fit to impose dual punishments on any who opposed them. He supposed the time frame he needed to fortify was Shadowflight’s time spent off-world, and any significant events that would have transpired to lead him back to Cybertron after the war’s end. 

What would his former occupation have been? Perhaps he joined with a neutral colony ship early on and did datawork, similar to what he was doing now. It was a simple life, free of conflict and easy for someone unburdened by memories of a past life to latch onto. 

And what about outside of work? Would Shadowflight have had any hobbies? Everyone collects something, maybe he had a prized collection of some sort that he brought with him from the colony ship and had displayed in his home. 

He hadn’t thought about such mundane things like this since he first moved in with Soundwave, and most of that time had been spent focusing on his recovery. Before the war, he had a collection of crystals and mineral formations from other worlds. Lots of mechs he knew had some kind of rock collection. It wasn’t that unusual, or too specific. He jotted it down in the file he was working on, deciding it would be a nice addition to the little character profile he was creating for himself, and he could send it to everyone as reference material once it was solid enough.

Was he overthinking this? Maybe so. Still, it was fine to be over-prepared. 

He jotted down a few more lines in the document, treating it like some sort of mission debriefing with a cover story rather than a creative writing exercise. Everything needed to be airtight and capable of holding up under Megatron’s intense scrutiny.

He spent most of the day revising the document, creating a concrete biography of a life that never existed. Going to such great lengths as this to ensure his own safety wasn't new to him, he'd done it before, but not quite to this extent or level of detail. He would give the file a final once-over and distribute it to his coworkers at the office later tonight. It would be up to everyone else to play along afterwards.

Could he trust them all to play along? There were those who would much rather be rid of him than keep following his little script. There weren't many compelling reasons to keep him around, not when the only thing he did was everyone's datawork. It just wasn't feasible to go around doing favors and bribes in a bid to win everyone over to his side with what little time he had available. He didn’t know if the Autobots would place convenience above loyalty, but Decepticons usually did. It would be so easy for any one of them to drop the act and expose him…

His thoughts turned darker as he wondered what he would do in the event of his true identity being discovered. Would Megatron hunt him down and finish the job that the Predacons couldn't? Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He needed another plan in case of such an emergency. In that event, it would be best to flee Iacon, or even Cybertron entirely. Whichever got him further away as quickly as possible.

There were up-to-date maps on the datanet. Opening a new tab, he looked at Cybertron from above, seeing how the sprawl of Iacon was growing and progressing from a satellite viewpoint. It was refreshing to see so much development and life spreading across the planet’s surface after so long at war. It was that very progress he would need to disappear from.

Somewhere with basic fortifications and energon would be an ideal hiding place, though with Cybertron still a majorly war-torn planet, he would be dreaming to think such a place still existed. He doubted he would have any luck in Vos. He had scoured those ruins thousands of times over and turned up with less and less each search. Kaon was a bug-infested nightmare he wouldn't dare return to, never mind Tarn. That left few options aside from hoping the old Decepticon outposts hadn't already been raided. He zoomed in on where he remembered each of their coordinates to be on the map, looking for signs that they were even still intact. Many were destroyed or eroded away to their very foundations. No luck there either.

He still had a file containing a list of Shockwave’s lab network locations saved somewhere. He'd copied it covertly when the scientist was busy with his experiments, saving it just in case he needed it later. Another one of his many backup plans. During the final encounter with Unicron’s undead, the data had been forgotten in the mix. Occasionally, he would still think about it, and he supposed now was as good a time as any to look for it again.

He glanced at the datapad's home screen upon switching apps, happening to catch the time displayed in the corner. Soundwave was late. He should have been home over a joor ago. 

It was very unlike Soundwave to be running late without at least letting him know why. A brief comm message always informed him of any changes to his meticulously maintained schedule, no matter how small they may be. Even something as minor as a brief conversation in the hallway was noted if it took longer than a few kliks. There was absolutely zero chance that he could have simply forgotten to send a message; Soundwave just didn't operate that way. Something must be going on...

He had a sneaking suspicion that Soundwave didn't want him knowing what had held him up for so long. It could only be because of Megatron. Soundwave, by nature, was his most loyal servant, and in all likelihood wanted to return to his master’s side now that he was back.

That left him tossed to the wayside, as Megatron was so fond of taking the phrase literally. How many times had he regained consciousness in a pool of his own energon, thrown in a crumpled heap on the edge of the command deck? He’d lost track. Must be all the unneeded processor damage.

That fragging spawn of Unicron. How dare he steal Soundwave away from him! He had finally won Soundwave's loyalty and trust after all this time, and he wasn't about to let everything they'd built between each other slip from his grasp. Why, he ought to–

A light crack filled the silence, and he looked down to see that the glass had broken in one corner of his screen, right beneath the tip of his claw. The crack was small, but not small enough to be ignored. His grip must have tightened without him realizing.

Damn it. 

He had been kind enough to let Soundwave recharge beside him in berth last night, even after their little argument. If there wasn't a good enough explanation for his behavior tonight, he would be recharging outside.

Chapter Text

Starscream had been distant the entire evening, knowing well where he’d been, and who he’d been with. The tension in the room when he walked through the door was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. The heated glare and the silence that greeted him spoke volumes.

But so did the pained hiss he let out upon trying to get up from the couch. Another static flare up, this time in his back. It seemed his desire to stay home for the day was justified. Soundwave knew what he had to do.

He strode over, offering his servos to help Starscream to his pedes. His efforts were immediately dismissed, and the seeker pushed himself up to stand on his own despite the stinging in his limbs and the ache in his back. Even as he stood on unsteady struts, Soundwave’s assistance was turned down. He crossed his arms over his chestplate, turning away and refusing to even look at Soundwave.

“Explain to me why conversing with Megatron takes priority over coming home to your partner yet again. I don’t want to hear any of your excuses this time, Soundwave,” he demanded. His pede tapped impatiently.

There was a very simple explanation. Megatron had caught him in the hallway as he was leaving for the day, intent on catching up on the events that had transpired since his departure from Cybertron. He had done well to fill him in on the details, even including his own stint in the shadowzone, and omitting any possible mention of Starscream. The conversation had gone on for significantly longer than expected, and he didn't want to alarm the seeker by informing him of his choice of conversation partner. It seemed that had been the wrong choice.

The seeker refused to dignify him with words as Soundwave helped him through their evening routine. The oscilloscope on his visor was abnormally flat and punctuated by the muted buzz of static. Arms crossed over his chestplate, Soundwave had taken steps to coax him into the wash racks, and eventually carried him in there when he continued to be stubborn and refuse. He sat on the shower bench and tried not to revel too much in the feeling of being cleaned off by expert servos. And those servos knew exactly where to feel, massaging and smoothing away little aches and pains that accumulated over the course of the day cycle. Skilled digits pressed into taut cables and plating held rigid with worry, easing the tensions away under the hot solvent. 

He eventually broke under Soundwave’s ministrations, giving up the silent treatment by stating plainly: “If you think this will make up for leaving me alone to spend most of your evening with him, think again.”

He had every right to be upset. Soundwave knew all too well his feelings towards their former master, and Megatron’s return had revealed just how tumultuous Starscream’s mental state could become if things once buried were dredged to the surface. Though he believed Megatron had changed sincerely, Starscream was incredibly stubborn, paranoid, and difficult to convince. He couldn't blame him after all he had endured during the war. Until the time came to properly reacquaint them, he would have to play to his needs. 

In a rare display of vulnerability, he knelt down, bowed his helm, and apologized. There was a moment of silence where Starscream battled with his frustrations and the desire to return to the way things were between them, his helm turning away then back to his partner. “I should make you recharge outside on the ground for this,” he argued. 

He took one of the seeker’s servos reverently in his own, bringing it to his visor and pressing the knuckles against its edges. The tiniest of static zaps occurred on contact.

“Primus, I can't stand you sometimes,” Starscream said softly, the words nearly drowned out by the sound of the solvent flowing. The edges of his screen flushed a soft shade of red. “Mmh… You're lucky I'm such a sentimental, old fool.”

He knew the apology had been accepted when he was grabbed by the points atop his helm and pulled closer so Starscream could clean him off in turn.

They'd dried off shortly thereafter, climbing into berth together for recharge. The night was calm and quiet, blissfully so. Laserbeak slept soundly on the pillow beside his helm. Starscream was occupying her usual place. One servo gently petted the seeker’s wings, though he had already drifted off to sleep some time ago. The former spy remained online. Despite his overwhelming fatigue, he found himself staring up at the ceiling, lost in the thoughts weighing on him.

Soundwave could see just how nervous Starscream truly was about the entire situation surrounding Megatron’s return. Though the death hoax seemed somewhat excessive, he knew not to expect any less of the seeker. He felt backed into a corner, so much so that he was even choosing to stay home from work, and logically he would act accordingly. Soundwave agreed to go along with the plan at the time because the poor seeker was literally hiding away in the closet at his insistence, terrified by the entire ordeal. His affirmative reply seemed the best way to reassure him in the moment, at least as best as was possible given the circumstances.

Would continuing to play along be the best course of action? There was a high probability that Megatron would request another meeting with him, and he could tell Starscream was more than a bit troubled by him going the last two times he’d been invited. They could have done without that argument. The seeker in question had already been broached as a conversation topic previously, and Soundwave had yet to give him a straight answer on what Starscream’s ultimate fate was. It was a certainty that Megatron would want to know the full story eventually.

Weighing the pros and cons of such a decision led him to two distinct thought camps. The first, in favor of telling Megatron the truth about Starscream’s current status as being very much online, argued that settling things between the two of them was both the more practical and least complicated option in the long run. The two could learn to coexist, Megatron could lend his skillset to the restoration of Cybertron, and there would be no concern of becoming entangled within a web of lies close to unraveling at any moment. The cons of this decision rested primarily on the fragility of Starscream’s trust. He would be quite upset upon finding out that Soundwave had exposed him, and there could be any number of possible negative responses to Megatron learning the truth, especially with his levels of anxiety being as high as they were. Not to mention Megatron’s reaction to learning what happened to his former second in command, as well as his instinctual response to lie about it as a method of self-preservation, was an unknown quantity. 

The second thought was to continue playing along with Starscream’s death hoax. In doing so, he would retain his trust, thus minimizing any chances of a volatile reaction and the status quo would remain in place. In turn, he ran the risk of the inverse happening with Megatron’s trust, something he had held for the vast majority of his runtime, by acting in favor of Starscream. In the past, such a decision would have been obvious. Megatron’s trust remained paramount to all else, and Starscream taking the fall for his own foolish actions had been a near-daily occurrence. Now, however, after all they'd been through together…

He and Megatron had once had an unbreakable bond forged in the pits of Kaon. What had started as a bitter rivalry between two equally skilled gladiators eventually led to them settling their differences and becoming brothers in arms. Then the speeches started, and Soundwave found himself drawn closer than ever to Megatronus. He saw Megatronus for his potential, for the gravitas of his words and the truth they held, for what change could be brought to Cybertronian society that would bring about a new era for all of them trapped beneath the corrupted senate's thumb. It was in those days that he resolved to stand by his old friend's side to see those truths to fruition, no matter the cost. 

Perhaps that was what had led Soundwave astray after all these millennia. Megatronus was no more. Such blind devotion to a leader that no longer reflected the ideals he once stood for had left him serving a hollow shell of a mech in place of the friend he once knew.

Megatron had abandoned them. He had disavowed the cause. Upon returning from the dead, he never once went looking for his loyal third in command. He spent the entire time off gallivanting with Unicron, leaving Soundwave to continue wasting away in the shadowzone. Soundwave had done everything in his power to free himself, and he'd done it alone, because Megatron hadn't cared enough to find him. 

Starscream had been left to his own devices and had very nearly gotten himself killed as a result of Megatron's abandonment and his own foolish decisions. His jealous, self-serving nature, honed over millennia spent under his master's rule, led him to seek a throne ruling a fallen kingdom, and it had nearly cost him everything.

With no other cause to devote himself to, Soundwave had seen fit to take on the work that Megatron had left in his absence.

The last thing he wanted was to go back to the waning days of the war, where Starscream was blamed for the minutiae of every battle lost and every plan gone wrong. Starscream was highly intelligent and a capable leader in his own right, and so rarely did he get the opportunity to showcase it with Megatron around. Instead, he was locked into a vicious cycle of retaliation and comeuppances. Soundwave stood by and watched so many brutal punishments and ensuing medbay trips, held back by his loyalty to Megatron and so lost in his devotion to the cause that he would not bring himself to interfere. He had been so calloused back then. So desensitized to the abuse that he continued to let it go on unhindered.

Starscream had spent far too long in a medbay in the aftermath of the war, and Soundwave found himself growing attached to him during his time as his caretaker (despite how insufferable and demanding he could be). He had near-limitless patience and was used to keeping a rigid schedule, so the daily routines of caring for an injured patient came naturally to him. With the cause disbanded, he had poured himself into the work and made it his purpose. He didn't know what he would do without one.

Somewhere along the way, it had become less of an obligation of duty. He realized that he cared, perhaps a bit too much. Eventually, Starscream started to care too.

He glanced down to see the seeker had his helm resting on his chestplate, the rest of their frames completely covered by the warm blanket draped over them. Starscream had been through hell several times over in the last few stellar cycles, and Megatron had been light years away off-world, this time free of (most of) the blame. His former master had no idea what difficulty it had been helping a mech relearn the most basal functions of a living frame from scratch. To say it was a steep learning curve was the understatement of the century. He hadn't endured the struggle of guiding him through learning to refuel with no intake, to sit, stand, walk, transform, and fly in a body rebuilt from nothing, all the while dealing with constant pain from internal wiring fried beyond repair. 

He had been there, fresh out of the shadowzone and still recovering himself, when Starscream was brought back aboard the ruins of the Nemesis. Initially, he believed that the charred frame brought into the medbay was nothing more than a deactivated carcass, but the urgency with which the team worked to revive it said otherwise. Starscream was online, but he wouldn't be for long if they didn’t do something. His spark still clung to life despite all he had endured, despite how it would have been easier to slip away into the Well. Starscream wouldn’t go down without a fight. He didn’t give up that easily.

He watched from the sidelines as the repair work progressed–shreds of ruined plating cut away from melted protoform and scorched wires snipped out by the dozens. It didn't take a medic to understand that the level of repairs Starscream required were simply too complex to be performed in this medbay with the tools and supplies on-hand. There was no way to completely fix any of the gruesome injuries, and further work would be a continuous cycle of waiting for parts and tools as the ships slowly returned home to the planet. 

Soundwave knew that, of the more complex repairs, a total helm and faceplate restoration was practically impossible. The charred crater that remained of Starscream’s visage left little to no salvageable remnants to rebuild off of. There was only so much the medics could do—Starscream had already been short on replacement parts due to Megatron’s frequent abuses burning through them. He knew what the best solution would be. He was intimately aware of the procedure, and parts were readily available for it.

He compiled the necessary medical journals and any other information he could find into a data packet. It was uploaded into a backup of his own visor array, complete with a spare screen and a new motherboard, setting it all beside where Starscream lay in stasis for Ratchet to find come morning. He could only hope that Starscream would find it in his spark to forgive him for what had to be done. Part of him knew that Starscream wasn't the forgiving type.

From then on, he'd been there. Soundwave had been the one to take charge during Starscream's recovery and rehabilitation. He'd seen his progress and helped every step of the way from the brink of deactivation, through every single reconstructive surgery, and had watched him progress from completely bed-bound to walking, transforming, and eventually flying on his own again as the years had passed. The thought of Megatron's trust taking priority over Starscream’s well being, after all he'd done to ensure it after the Predacon attack, sickened him.

Down deep within the recesses of his databases, he carried those memories. He was there the day they found Starscream. He’d seen the horrific mutilation Shockwave’s beasts had wrought upon his frame firsthand. He still had the image captures to show for it, tucked far away in a place in the back of his mind he dared not revisit. Soundwave would do everything in his power to keep him safe, even if it did mean opening those files again.

Megatron’s trust was something he still had, something he could undoubtedly rely on. He knew what to do now, he just had to create the evidence.

Starscream was dead. He was killed by the Predacons shortly after Cybertron was saved by Optimus's sacrifice. That was the story, and everyone thus far had stuck to it, but Megatron was a stickler for details. Soundwave had never been caught in a lie by Megatron and he wasn't about to start now. 

Setting to work, he covertly ran a cable over the side of the berth to plug into the data console in the next room. Accessing old records to find the blank files he needed would be easy, and he knew all the details to make it convincing. 

He glanced down just in time to see the tiniest shifting of wings beneath the covers. Starscream was dreaming. His ailerons flicked and adjusted to unseen flight conditions.

He pulled the seeker tighter to his frame, wrapping an arm protectively over him as he held him close. He felt the calm flow of air through his vents, the warmth of his beating spark through his chassis, the idle purr of his engines as he recharged soundly. By morning, he would have a death certificate and a record of frame incineration for this mech. By morning, Soundwave would have his proof, and then Megatron would know that Starscream was truly dead.

Chapter Text

He was flying. Flying like a silver arrow cutting through the skies. The setting sunlight danced so beautifully across his alt mode. Clouds parted around him in colorful sprays of mist. The jetstream was buttery smooth against his wings and fuselage, as perfect for flying as it could ever be. He did a few joyful loops and quick banking maneuvers as he set off with no particular destination in mind. The thrill of it was something to relish in, and he intended to for as long as he could. He couldn't remember the last time he'd flown just for the sake of it.

The sun sank below the horizon, Cybertron’s moons rising in the sky to fill the space it left behind. He dipped through the blanketing cloudscape to get a sense of where he was, spotting a familiar tower in the distance. He’d come a long way, perhaps it would be a good spot to touch down for a spell. 

Transforming and alighting at the pinnacle of the tower, he noted the designs of the architecture, the intricate patterns in the flooring. High pillars of metal and glass cast scattered reflections all around as rays of soft moonlight fell through them. He tread lightly over the red and silver beneath his pedes, noticing the way the lines and patterns all led up the steps to a throne at the opposite end of the tower.

This was the citadel of Darkmount. He knew what happened next.

As if pulled by some impossible force, he found himself walking towards the throne. It felt like an eternity between each step he took, trying desperately to fight against the strength of his own past arrogance and ambition as it drew him ever closer. 

No. He didn't want to go through this again. He'd seen enough!

But there was nothing he could do. Trapped in the memory, he could only watch what came next through optics that were once his own. 

He stopped just short of the throne, the heavy flap of three sets of wingbeats from behind halting him in his tracks. He didn't have to turn around to know the Predacons were here. They'd come for him. 

The beasts each dropped to the tower’s floor, shaking the entire structure with their combined weight. Their shadows fell over him as he struggled to retain his balance. He glimpsed their immense forms over his shoulder as he turned and backed towards the throne. 

The Predaking transformed and approached him like an incoming freight train. There was no way to stop him. Not even with his blabbering platitudes, so easily brushed aside as all three Predacons continued encroaching on him. They had him boxed in from every angle, great wings spread to block his view of the star-filled skies, and talons at the ready.

“I am not here to seize thrones, Starscream…” Predaking answered his pathetic bargaining attempt, the offered throne that was not the seeker’s to give was rejected. Heat surged as the fires within the great beast glowed. “But to settle scores.”

That sent a shiver up his spinal strut. The intent behind those words was crystal clear. Every vile deed he'd committed against these mechs came to mind—every insult, punishment, and strike—and he would be paying for them all, here and now. There was no way he could talk his way out of this one. He was dead no matter what.

Starscream had nowhere else to go. Optics wide with terror, it felt like his fuel pump had leapt into his throat. He scrambled back onto the throne, and the beasts were upon him. He was grabbed by the arm and flung backwards with such great strength and force that the motion freed his shoulder from its socket with a loud pop. He screamed as he hit the floor and landed roughly on his back, howling with pain and fear, now in the middle of their circle. 

Then the other two took their turns. One bit into his legs with its sharp beak and pulled while the other raked claws into his wings, pinning him to the floor. He felt one of his legs crumple under the pressure, joints strained to their very limits until Skylynx roughly shook his helm and tore it off completely at the knee. Broken cables and pistons hung limply from the base of his thigh. The sudden loss of sensation sent his processor reeling, energon spattering across his and the beast's frames without care. He heard it as his severed limb clattered to the ground, discarded somewhere else like scrap metal. All the while, his wings were being shredded to ribbons by Darksteel. The intense, searing pain and sensor damage as each claw peeled metal apart in wide gouges spread down his back like napalm. The horrible sound of it made him ill as they continued their assault on his frame. 

His wings. His precious wings were ruined, and with them went any hope of making it out of this torture alive. Optical fluid streamed down his faceplate as his screams accompanied the sounds of mutilation filling the night air.

The Predaking transformed back into his beast form and joined in, slamming a great clawed foot down upon his cockpit and effortlessly shattering it. He felt the pressure as it gave way, unable to withstand the immense weight bearing down on his body, incapable of protecting him. Broken glass was forced into every one of his internals, cutting and slicing vital lines and rupturing his fuel tank as his abdomen was crushed. More warnings than he could ever read bloomed across his HUD. He tasted his own energon in his mouth as he purged.

Only one other time had his cockpit shattered like this. Megatron had seen fit to punish him for some shortcoming or failure, he couldn't recall exactly what had prompted it. What he did remember was how sudden the blow had been, and how the air had vacated his vents as the green glass crumpled in with the punch. That had been so mild in comparison to the state he was in now.

His own energon pooled beneath him in a growing sea of blue, mixed with coolant and hydraulic fluid spilling from his wounds. He lost all feeling below his chest, sensing the moment it ebbed away and mourning the loss. Parts of his own frame that had been torn off would occasionally enter his vision as he was picked up and tossed around like a ragdoll. A piece of his shoulder here, the point of a knee guard there, pieces of silver soaked in blue scattered all across the top of the tower… The motion never seemed to end as he was thrashed about by the beasts, and though he could no longer feel it, he knew when his other leg had been ripped away at the hip with a violent jerking motion. Just one more scattered piece in the growing mess.

One of them must have grown tired of his screaming, as teeth closed around his throat and bit down hard, then tore it away. His vocal components cut out with a static hiss and then fell silent for the last time. He could only watch in disgust as the beast swallowed them down.

Then came the flames. His vision had grown blurry with the pain and energon loss, but he could still make out the bright yellow glow building within the throats of the beasts as they reared back and blasted fire across his entire being. What little sensation he could still feel was suddenly alight with the intensity of the heat, protoform and metal melting together into a congealed mass, components cooked to a black char. The wires within his helm had lost their insulating sheaths. Static interference began to sting in the space behind his optics for the very first time. 

When the heat from the flames finally died down, he remained still, lying in the center of the three beasts in a smoldering wreck of melted and warped metal. Every part of him had been so thoroughly destroyed he no longer felt a thing. Not even as he was grabbed by the Predaking, now back in his bipedal form, and dragged to the tower’s edge. A trail of energon and ash followed him there.

Throughout the entire ordeal, the Predacons never once touched his spark chamber. They had damaged his chest plating but left it mostly intact. Doubtlessly intending to extend the duration of his torture and suffering, they left him online. Now, he felt the claws of massive servos part sections of dented plating, and grip tightly around the chamber containing his failing life force. He was lifted up by his spark chamber and held precariously over the edge.

“The Pits will show your spark far less mercy than we have tonight,” Predaking told him.

And suddenly Starscream was falling. 

Falling.

Falling…

The feeling of free fall was something all flight frames were accustomed to. The surge of adrenaline as gravity took hold and pulled, the lighter-than-air sensation as the ground grew closer and closer… But his adrenaline had been completely used up, and his wings were useless to him now. There was no last-minute maneuver to save him this time.

And he was falling…

All the way to the ground. He landed on his back in a smoldering heap of twisted metal, hitting the ground so hard it formed a small impact crater. His frame was now indistinguishable from the rest of the corpses that littered Cybertron’s surface in the ruins of war. His vision blurred and fritzed at the edges, but he was still online, if not for much longer.

 This was… wrong. The last thing he remembered was succumbing to energon loss and shutting down into stasis after being flung from the tower. He hadn’t been conscious when he hit the ground–he hadn't had a face anymore, either. Predaking had repeatedly slammed his helm against the tower floor and then tore off the remains. That was how it actually happened, so why was this time different?

Help would not come for him. He knew better than to hope for it. Unable to move, he had no choice but to look to the star-filled night skies above as a gleam of silver and violet streaked by, circling in closer as it passed overhead. 

Oh, Primus. 

Just out of sight, he heard the roar of thrusters cut abruptly as the aircraft transformed and landed somewhere close by. The unseen figure approached with heavy steps and knelt beside him. 

“It seems the Predacons finally got to have their way with you.” Though static filled his audials, the voice of Megatron was unmistakable. His face finally appeared in the center of his failing vision as the tyrant leaned over his supine form. A maniacal grin formed as he took in the extent of the damage. Clearly, he was impressed with the work the beasts had done.

“A pitiful thing such as yourself deserves no less than this,” he said. “After all, with the way you treated them, it was inevitable that they exact their brutal revenge, don’t you think?”

Then what do I deserve for all you've done to me? He longed to ask, but he had no way to respond even if he wanted to.

“Though, it seems they missed out on something important, leaving the honor to me,” he heard him say as he leveled his fusion cannon right over his helm. It was a familiar sight. He’d seen the view down that barrel only a handful of times, and though his spark was on the brink of collapse, it spun faster within its chamber. He couldn’t move. He couldn't beg to be spared. He knew what was to come.

No! This wasn’t how it was supposed to end for him!

“Take away that pretty faceplate, and really, what are you?”

The bright purple glow and whine of the weapon activating overwhelmed his senses. It was all he could see, all he could hear.

“Nothing.” 

The cannon fired with a boom. 

He woke in a panic, sitting bolt upright and fighting to free himself from whatever was covering him. He needed to get away, get out, now. His processor hadn’t fully booted, and something grasped his wrists and pinned them together firmly. Something heavy held his legs in place. If his fuel pump wasn't already pounding in his chest, that certainly sped it up. Get off, get off, get off!

It took a few moments to realize that what was holding his wrists and sitting atop his frame was actually Soundwave, and only then did he stop fighting. His visor displayed a calming waveform pattern as the sound of a metronome counting a beat played from his speakers. Those idle animations gave him something simple to visualize. The sound of that steady rhythm brought the world into focus. Gradually, his spark rate and pulse evened out. Soundwave had his servos clasped in his own, gently rubbing his spindly digits over the backs of his palms. 

It wasn't real. It was just a nightmare. He was still online.

It wasn't real… this time.

He leaned forward, burying his helm into Soundwave’s shoulder, fans venting air in heavy gusts. He didn’t want to close his optics after that. Soundwave simply held him, smoothing over his wings and rubbing his back to settle his nerves. Not a word was exchanged between them.

The dream wouldn't fade from his mind; most of it was a raw memory permanently etched into his databases. The pain he still lived with was a constant reminder of that. He could still see the light from the fusion cannon there in afterimages in the corners of his vision, even though that part had not been real. It certainly felt just as real as everything else.

Soundwave held him like that for the last few joors of the dark cycle. He didn't attempt to fall back into recharge, content to spend the rest of the night gazing up at the ceiling where he was certain there were no warlords or Predacons lurking. Simply lying there wrapped in his partner’s embrace suited him just fine in the moment. This was something real and tangible, and it was better than risking another encounter with the hellish memories lurking in his processor.

Chapter Text

Starscream hadn’t been able to focus on his datawork. His math was off, calculations coming up short or too far over for almost every estimate thus far. The datapad he was just working on moments ago had a long, trailing margin scribble running down the left side. Its stylus had rolled off the desk somewhere he wouldn't find it. He’d given up on doing anything productive a while ago, helm now lying atop arms folded on the desk. The little dark and quiet space it afforded him was like a safe haven.

Last night had been rough, and he was still so tired from the lack of proper recharge. It had been a long time since he’d last had a nightmare that left him so shaken. Not since the early days after the attack, when the wounds had been fresh and his frame still bore the scars, had he felt that terrified. It was awful.

The memory of that night at the tower haunted him. It had once been a reoccurring nightmare that had plagued his fitful recharges, but it had since become a rarity. He had seen that memory play dozens of times, in dozens of different ways. Never once before had it ended with Megatron.

As much as it pained him to return to work, he couldn't skip another day like he had previously. In a role as expendable as his, every absence would stack up. He'd dragged himself through the process of getting ready and showed up at the office despite the thick haze of fatigue fogging his mind. There was too much to do, too many things left unfinished. The datawork he did needed to be submitted for approval in order to keep the reconstruction efforts underway. He just needed to get it together, just finish these last few calculations…

The familiar flickers of static building within his helm were culminating in another processor ache. Another consequence of avoiding recharge coming to spite him. What he wouldn't give to climb back in berth right now and sleep the rest of the day away—hopefully without any memory fluxes this time.

He felt a servo on his shoulder, gently tapping digits against his armor. Soundwave was standing there when he lifted his helm, a cube of energon in-hand. A question mark appeared on his screen. 

His display was almost completely flat, the red dimmer than usual. “M’ fine,” he said quietly, “Just tired.” Soundwave would see right through him to know that he clearly wasn't fine, but there wasn't much that could be done about it now, was there?

His fuel gauge had dropped into the yellow without him noticing. Though his tank craved it, he didn't think he could stomach refueling right now. The ache in his helm persisted. There was a nervous edge lying just beneath the fog of fatigue lingering from the night before. His thoughts occasionally strayed back towards the flash of that cannon barrel aimed at his helm… At that moment, energon sounded unappetizing. 

Soundwave nodded, setting the cube on the desk for him to drink when he was ready. “Can’t get anything done?” He asked using Arcee's words. 

The seeker sighed, sliding the cube closer just to start picking at the seal with his claws. Even just keeping his helm upright was a tremendous effort. “I couldn't focus if I tried.”

Slim digits found the tip of one of his wings. He felt the rhythmic circles they traced, the sensation proving to be marginally distracting him from the ache in his helm. As he stared down at what his own digits were doing to the edge of the cube's seal, he noticed the lost stylus from earlier come rolling to a stop just beside the datapad it belonged to. Soundwave must have picked it up with one of his cables.

Primus, how would he survive without this mech?

“Finish your cube,” Knock Out's voice said through Soundwave’s speakers. “We can head home early if you do.”

A tempting offer. Most likely, Soundwave had already finished his work ahead of schedule. On the other servo, he was still catching up from the cycle before. The stacks of datapads on his desk were still so tall. He'd barely even made a dent in the work due this decacycle. “But my reports aren’t-”

“Do you want me to call Ratchet?” Threatened Bumblebee’s voice.

There was a brief pause where his screen buffered incredulously, then he conceded. Ratchet would take one look at him and send him home anyway. “Fine, but it’s your fault if these datapads get submitted late.” 

He took the cube and peeled back the seal on one corner, having already gotten close to tearing it earlier. The mirror in his subspace was brought out and he lined up the corner with the edge of his intake tubing, pouring the contents down without spilling a single drop. His gauge rose back up into the green. Handing Soundwave the empty cube to dispose of, he gathered up his remaining work for the day, transferring files to his personal datapad and organizing the stacks still on his desk. “Satisfied?”

The silent mech nodded in approval. 

Soundwave helped him to his pedes, making sure he was standing steadily before letting go of his servos. The way his joints popped and clicked didn't go unnoticed. He'd been hunched over his desk for longer than he thought.

They made their way out of the office and towards the front of the building together. Starscream kept himself just slightly behind Soundwave as they walked, wary of anyone they passed on the way. Knowing exactly who could be roaming these halls was unsettling. He wasn't above using his partner as a living shield, if necessary. In any event, Soundwave would protect him, of that he was certain.

Loathed as he was to admit it, the energon in his tank was helping. He still felt like scrap, but his processor felt a bit less clouded. It was just a shame it couldn't fix several joors of lost recharge.

Evidently it didn't do anything for his outward appearance, either. He was sure he looked awful with his poor posture, dimmed screen, and drooping wings. The pitiful glances he observed from Autobots and vehicons alike only drove his dour mood further into the ground. He noticed his pace was lagging behind his partner, and hastened his steps to catch up. He followed closely behind like the shadow he was making himself out to be.

Soon, he'd be home again, and he could sleep it off.

They passed through the front foyer. The light of day streamed through the grand glass windows and doors to light the entryway, casting golden beams across the marble floors. The building truly was an architectural marvel, having been constructed with the finest materials in a miraculously short time frame, considering the state it had been in only a few stellar cycles prior. Just beyond the doorway was the front portico lined with impressively tall columns, and the steps descending down to the streets below.

“Soundwave, it is good to see you and your partner again,” came the casual greeting as they stepped outside.

Megatron was waiting for them on the front steps of the building. The silver mech appeared to have been on his way in when he caught sight of the pair. Starscream had seen him from the doorway, now standing frozen at the top of the staircase, refusing to move even when Soundwave tugged him forward by the wrist. He didn't budge.

Soundwave stepped closer to him, asking softly near his audials, “Shadowflight: all right?”

He shook his helm, taking a step backwards, but Soundwave was still holding onto his wrist. He could go no further without pulling away. “Can we just go?” He whispered harshly, “You said we were headed home.” The way his oscilloscope flared with agitation and tension conveyed all that he needed it to.

There was a moment of complete stillness. They needed to leave immediately. Why wasn't Soundwave getting the hint?

Soundwave held his helm low, as if it were being pulled down by the weight of the decision he was about to make. Starscream could feel his spark sink with dread as he watched the spymaster turn his helm to glance back in Megatron's direction.

"Shadowflight: return home."

Chapter Text

He had sped through his work for the day at a breakneck pace, planning to get ahead of schedule just so he could spend the rest of the cycle at home with Starscream. He wanted to make it up to him after the last few days, to reassure him and set his mind at ease. Sure, the seeker was being more than a bit neurotic, but Soundwave should have done more to explain himself, as well. He intended to do just that as soon as they arrived back at their hab.

Alas, Megatron was waiting for him as soon as they stepped outside. His plans had to be put on hold. This was another conversation he knew he couldn't avoid any longer.

Soundwave knew what he should have done, but he also knew what he had to do next. It pained him greatly, but he had to send Starscream home on his own. What little trust remained between them would be broken, just this once, but it would be for the greater good. His partner would be safe in their hab whilst he had this long-overdue conversation with Megatron to ensure his continued safety. Time to put his plan into action.

Time to open those files.

He watched the seeker’s fleeting chemtrail as he retreated into the distance. The sunlight glinted off the dark colors of his wings as he gradually disappeared from sight.

“It was not my intention to come between you two like that,” said Megatron from beside him, breaking the melancholy silence that had settled over him. “Will he be all right?”

Soundwave nodded, though a small part of him wasn't entirely sure. He tore his gaze off of the sky and snapped out of his reverie to once again focus on the task at hand. “Seekers are resilient mechs,” he said with a clip of Shockwave's monotone voice.

Megatron lowered his frame to sit on the steps, resting his elbows on his knees. He gestured for Soundwave to do the same with a wave of his servo. He obeyed, sitting rather stiffly next to his master, settling in for the lengthy conversation that would surely follow.

"He is afraid of me, though I have only just met him," the former warlord said plainly. Many feared Lord Megatron, that much was obvious. He was a renowned gladiator who rose to power as leader of the Decepticons, and that reputation had spread far and wide across the galaxy. Something in the tone of his voice belied the slightest hint of sadness. Soundwave could only speculate that it had to do with the fact that Megatron truly did want to acquaint himself with his partner, and his own reputation had scared him off.

"Shadowflight: knows only of war through secondhand accounts," he attempted to reassure him.

"I see," he spoke lowly. "Perhaps someday I will get to know him better."

Soundwave nodded, briefly averting his gaze. Megatron didn't know the half of it. He wanted more than anything for his two closest companions to reconcile their differences, but Starscream had every right to place his own well-being above all else after the way he'd been treated in the past. Of course he would feel the need to hide.

"It's clear that you care greatly for Shadowflight. Tell me, how did you two meet?" The silver mech asked, now tracing the fading lines of the chemtrail in the sky with his own optics.

He quickly cross-referenced the data packet Starscream sent out the evening prior. It was well crafted, as he knew it would be with such a meticulous author. There were a few places where he could fill in the blanks of the seeker’s supposed origin story.

"Shadowflight: returned to Cybertron aboard neutral colony ship Skyfarer," he began. "Medical staff: requested aid with his continued care—result of lasting damage due to government-sanctioned empurata."

Megatron turned to face him, optics wide with shock. "Primus, it was ordered by the council?" Mechs who spoke out and took action against the systemic injustices of the high council were known to disappear. It was an open secret what was happening to them behind closed doors. The council wanted to send a message.

Soundwave nodded. "I don't remember all of what they did to me…" He played through his speaker. It was a little lie Starscream had told him shortly after getting his voice repaired.

"Shadowflight: discarded after procedures. Left to rust. Kind sparks offered a place onboard the Skyfarer as it fled Cybertron." It was an unfortunate sight in the slums of Kaon, seeing the occasional empuratee left to deactivate in some dirty back alley away from prying optics after being dumped there by the butchers who took their faceplates. Some begged for shanix outside the arena, hoping to save up enough to pay for repairs, or even just to scrape by for another cycle. Shadowflight would have been one of the lucky ones.

"Shadowflight: refused all favors—offered to work in exchange for medical care. Soundwave: accepted. Position: data clerk for restoration council."

"And that is how the two of you grew closer." Megatron surmised. "I am happy for you, my old friend, though I never would have suspected you would ever want to settle down with someone," he confessed, a soft smile spreading across his faceplate.

He nodded a bit bashfully in reply. Truthfully, neither had he, and especially not with Starscream, of all mechs. Times had certainly changed. He just hoped his partner was doing all right at home without him.

“There is something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Soundwave." The mood shifted away from the lighthearted atmosphere between them. "What truly became of Starscream that day?”

Soundwave was more prepared than ever for this question. Setting aside his feelings for the time being, he brought forth the folder of images captured the moment Starscream had been brought aboard the Nemesis after being discovered. He had every single angle of the mutilation and gore, presenting them in a slideshow across his visor. 

A vast majority of Starscream’s protoform had been thoroughly burned by Predacon fire, vents choked from smoke inhalation. Armor and cockpit cracked, broken, gone entirely in some areas. One arm was missing, ripped away at the elbow, the other dislocated at the shoulder and only hanging on by a few wires. His legs had been located and brought back separately, completely torn from his frame. Brutal lacerations and punctures littered his plating from teeth and claws. Energon leakage had slowed to a trickle, as there was so little left to lose. His wings hung in shreds from his back like ruined sails on a sinking ship. Worst of all was his faceplate, or... lack thereof. A gaping chasm opened in its place. There was very little that was salvageable, so utterly ruined it was. Metal warped and jagged, vital components melted, optics gone, throat torn open. Even portions of his processor were exposed from the excessive damage to his helm. The seeker had been marred unrecognizable by those beasts. It was likely by his intensely stubborn nature that his spark refused to gutter after such brutality.

The entire time he was scrolling through the images, he watched his former leader’s expression. He had hoped for any form of sympathy, but instead got the same impassive look he’d always worn when faced with Starscream’s brutalized frame. The chilling thought that his former master might even be studying these images, comparing the horrific methods used by the Predacons to his own technique in past instances, flitted through Soundwave’s mind. 

Or perhaps studying them for any flaws in Soundwave’s story.

The intense heat of the Predacons’ fire had scorched the paint right off Starscream’s frame. It was as grey as any deactivated frame would be; in fact, he'd been presumed offline upon his recovery from the ruins of Darkmount. Soundwave had taken great lengths to remove or edit any medical equipment and monitors that would suggest spark or processor activity. The still image files were the only way to guarantee that the mech on the table was already dead, and not actively in the throes of dying. Soundwave had checked and double checked his work. It was airtight. He’d been present for his fair share of autopsies, he knew exactly what an offline frame looked like, inside and out.

Soundwave had seen more gore in his time than even most experienced medics. It was just something that happened when reviewing wartime security footage. Having verified the offline status of thousands of mechs, high-profile or otherwise, the process of recording deaths was second nature to him.

He brought forth the record of frame incineration and the death certificate, both signed and dated. The time stamp in the corner had been adjusted to match what was saved in the files.

“So it is true then? Starscream is… no more?”

Soundwave nodded solemnly. He observed intently, noting the look of resignation his master's face held, the way his shoulders slumped. Was that regret he sensed? How… unexpected.

With the evidence now laid before his optics, Megatron's gaze grew distant as he stared at the base of the steps below. "Starscream…" He trailed off, voice hollow as he struggled to find words.

Soundwave could tell that there was certainly something different about Megatron. He'd known since that very first discussion in his office that something within him had shifted, but seeing him like this… It was unfamiliar.

"Starscream was a proud mech," he began with a sigh, "And it only seems fitting that his arrogance led to his demise. His desire to claim a throne that was never his to take was always destined to be his downfall. What a shame it is that he truly became the final casualty of the war, not even living long enough to see Cybertron prosper in its aftermath."

This was a side of Megatron that Soundwave once thought long forgotten, lost in the past with fonder memories. The last time he had witnessed Megatron in mourning was the day Orion had been granted the Matrix.

He and Starscream hadn’t always been at odds with each other. Long ago, they had been a force to be reckoned with—Starscream’s intelligent battlefield strategies paired with Megatron’s strength and force were capable of driving off any that opposed them. It wasn't until the victories grew few and far between that the tension between them gave way to violence.

"I had hoped to see him again, upon returning," he continued solemnly. "I have since realized the error of my ways—I should have been better to him. Under Unicron’s servo, I learned from firsthand experience that violent oppression is no way to command the admiration and respect of others. Even despite his treacherous nature, Starscream suffered the brunt of my anger far too many times, and I have since come to understand what that treatment is like."

Megatron looked up to face him, his optics like windows to the troubles of his spark, clouded with hurt and sorrow. "I… I wanted to apologize to him," he confessed, "But it seems as though I've missed the opportunity."

Soundwave's screen buffered before he could stop it. He realized he had made a major miscalculation.

Chapter Text

He flew off, a flurry of emotions flooding his processor faster than the air rushing past him. Betrayal, anger, resentment… Primus, it felt like he was about to combust into flames. He felt the sting of static crackling over his frame as he flew. It burned beneath every plate and panel of his alt mode. 

Soundwave had just… dismissed him. Completely brushed him aside like nothing. 

He had forgiven him the first two times like a fool. Soundwave seeing Megatron behind his back once was a big enough red flag, but twice? And a third time with him standing right there? He should have known better. It was backwards thinking to expect Soundwave to ever remain loyal to him.

He had been so blind. The very moment Megatron returned to the planet had started the countdown, and time was up.

What was he in the face of their former master? He could never live up to Megatron in Soundwave’s optics. He hadn’t been there since the gladiator pits, and that kind of experience forged bonds that ran deeper than anything he would ever have with Soundwave. Did the last few stellar cycles they'd spent together mean anything in comparison? Had Soundwave only cared for him the way he did as an obligation to the last remaining tie he had to the Decepticons? Or was it just out of pity? Perhaps he’d just been a placeholder this entire time, and upon their leader's glorious return, he'd been dropped just like when he fell from the tower that night.

Soundwave knew better than anyone else about what lay at the center of his well-crafted web of lies. He was going to tell Megatron eventually, and perhaps he had just been biding his time until now. He had foolishly trusted the former Decepticon security director with too much. And for what? Because he somehow got it in his processor that Soundwave genuinely cared for him in his spark?

Somewhere deep down inside, he knew this day would come eventually. He really should have known better.

He needed to get out while he still could. 

Oh well. He didn’t need Soundwave. Not anymore. It had only been a few stellar cycles spent in recovery, nothing compared to the millennia he had spent without him before. Things would just go back to the way they were back then—two ships adrift in the vastness of space, occasionally fated to cross paths and continue on their lonely way. The contingency plan had been made for a reason, and now was the time to act. 

The flight back home seemed to last so much longer when taken alone.

Megatron had ruined everything. Soundwave would have been with him right now if not for him. Fury simmered in his lines, static burned across his alt mode as he pushed his engines harder. It wasn’t far now. He just needed to take care of a few things, and then he could leave all of this behind him. He had to be gone before Soundwave spilled his secrets and Megatron came to hunt him down. It could happen at any moment, now that they were alone together.

Arriving back at the habsuite, he made a beeline for his side of the berthroom. The fog in his processor had completely dissipated with the rush of adrenaline now surging through his lines. He went over his mental checklist of essentials, knowing that the first thing he had to do was disable his comm link and internal tracking chip. He kept a small toolkit in his side table for minor repairs and odd jobs around the hab, but it would be perfect for this. 

His comm link was simple enough to switch off, but he needed it gone. The tracking chip embedded within could be traced by anyone in Autobot command, as per the stipulations of his surrender. Not to mention Soundwave could trace it from his HUD. 

Removing the outer cover on the side of his helm required a simple twist and pull. With the comm link now exposed, he stood in front of the mirror and prepared the necessary tools for the job. A few tabs opened and wires clipped later, he slid the comm link out of his helm, chip and all, and then crushed it beneath his heel. 

That solved at least one of his problems. His HUD was free of notifications and statuses now. Much cleaner, emptier. No more pointless comm messages from bots endeavoring to waste his time.

He himself had little time to waste. He fitted the cover back into place and set to work gathering up the essentials he'd be taking with him: a few small cubes of energon from the dispenser, the handheld mirror, and the toolkit he’d just used. There wasn’t room in his subspace for anything else, but he was crafty and resourceful. The number of times he had fled the Nemesis with only the plating on his frame, having to make do with whatever he could find while on the run, he’d lost track of long ago. He would be okay out there. At least, he hoped so.

He wouldn't be able to take his injectors or medication. Though they certainly helped with his physical condition, the many side effects were known to impair his judgment, and out there, wherever he was headed, he needed to keep his wits about him. He would be fine without them for a short while. Probably.

Making a quick stop at the energon dispenser, he poured one last cube and topped off his tank before heading to the door. He didn’t look back as he left the habsuite. The lock engaged behind him with a soft click as he left for the last time and made his way outside and down to the busy streets below. Slipping away into the crowd, he began his journey to the edge of Iacon. From there he would take flight, leaving the city, and Soundwave, far behind him.

He didn't need Soundwave. 

It took a while to clear the restored zones of Iacon, and he eventually found himself flying over the outskirts of the city. The scenery below of buildings under construction gave way to those scheduled for demolition, and beyond that, those that had been left ravaged by their war—their fates yet to be decided. His only destination was as far away as he could possibly go; away from Megatron, away from Soundwave, and anyone else who might chase after him.

Betrayals were something he was so used to experiencing. He betrayed others and was betrayed in-turn—the vicious cycle seemed to be a constant in his life as he clawed his way up the Decepticon ladder. Even Knock Out had turned on him for a time (though, they had eventually rekindled their friendship in the end). Why was it, then, that Soundwave's betrayal hurt so much worse than all the rest?

He didn't need Soundwave. Perhaps if he put enough faith in that thought, it would eventually become true.

He remembered the moment when he had awoken from stasis to learn that his faceplate had been replaced with the visor. It had taken quite some time for reality to set in, amid the haze of painkillers and the integration of new systems muddling his processor. Each new line of code made the changes feel more and more real. His face was gone, and he would have to learn to live without it.

The moment he was shown his reflection in the mirror made his spark sink in its chamber. It felt devoid of himself, completely alien to all that he knew. He looked eerily similar to Soundwave…

He didn't want this! He didn't ask to be turned into some faceless drone! There had to have been other options than stripping him of his very identity against his will.

He cried out in a mournful howl, the first sound to come out of his replacement voice box. A sickening, somber sound broken and crackling with static.

“What have you done to me?!”

…

All movement in the medbay fell still, the room plunged into a chilling silence. The medics stopped what they were doing at the edges of the room, servos paused mid-motion. The only interruption to break the unyielding silence was the doors sliding open on their tracks, and the sound of someone entering the room. Measured, even pedesteps approached the berth he was strapped to. Soundwave entered from the edges of his field of view. The quiet mech stood looming over him, unmoving.

“Why?” He asked, practically begging for answers. He didn't understand why any of this was necessary. “W-why did-” 

Ratchet stepped up beside the berth, slowly raising the head up for Starscream to sit upright. Soundwave unlatched his wrist restraints, freeing his servos. They immediately flew up to his helm, then suddenly stopped frozen in place, hesitant to touch. Hesitant to feel, to confirm that any of this was real…

The medic and the spy exchanged a knowing glance above him. Ratchet sighed deeply, closing his optics and bowing his helm as he prepared to deliver the news. "The damages to your frame are beyond the scope of any conventional repair," he began gently, "Especially with the limited supplies we have on-hand. There is still much work to be done. The most vital repairs have already been completed to stabilize your condition, but we had to make-do with what parts we had available."

Starscream remained silent, only now daring to explore the new metal beneath his digits, the foreign shapes forming a map within his processor as they ghosted over the surface. He felt over the vents on the sides of his helm, the modified shapes and planes of his cranial casing, the ornamental crest at its peak. The screen was the strangest of all, with its cool, smooth glass spanning across where his faceplate once resided.

"Your prognosis is… not good," Ratchet continued. "There are still extensive repairs that need to be completed before your frame can return to any semblance of normal functionality, and even then, it will never be at one hundred percent. The road to recovery will be long and difficult, and eventually you will need to scan a new alt mode. In the meantime, Soundwave has requested that he assist in your recovery."

Soundwave nodded. "Soundwave is the obvious choice. Clearly, he has the experience," he played in Knock Out's voice. A clip of Ratchet followed shortly after, "It would be the best decision to preserve quality of life, in the event that he survives this."

“Who would ever want to live like this?!” He shouted, hurt and confusion evident even through the newness of his voice.

Soundwave’s frame gave away nothing, he remained still as ever. His expressionless visor had no tells to what he was thinking. A few moments passed in silence as the words hung heavily in the air.

Had he meant what he said? Perhaps at the time, he did; newly awoken after a permanently altering procedure, now disfigured beyond recognition into something… other. He had already lost so much, and this was just another nail in the coffin.

Starscream felt slender digits hesitantly graze the back of his servo, then retreat. He followed Soundwave’s movements with his optics, watching as he brought his servos up to his helm and did something he never would have anticipated.

With a few soft clicks, Soundwave removed his own visor. 

Wherever the silent mech went, rumors always followed surrounding the mystery of what was hidden away behind that visor. The gossip was synonymous with Soundwave's designation. Many guessed that his face was horribly scarred from battle, and he chose to conceal it rather than get it repaired. Others theorized that it was simply a part of his vow of silence, and the screen was merely another method of communication. What color were his optics? Was he part sparkeater? Some were even willing to risk it all to discover the truth for themselves, only to find out exactly how Soundwave made a name for himself as a gladiator so long ago.

Starscream had never put much stock in rumors, but he was witnessing the truth before his own optics. Soundwave didn't have any horrible scars or disfigurements, nor did he have purple optics or the maw of a sparkeater. There was no face to conceal beneath that visor. The only things hidden behind the mask were a standard motherboard and the wires connecting it to the display. 

He couldn’t help it. He stared for a long time, looking between the visor held in Soundwave’s servos and the place where it had once been, gazing endlessly into that nonexistent visage like a long, dark hallway. Every circuit, connection, and component was studied and committed to memory. It was impossible to tear his gaze away.

What happened? And when? Did the council perform this procedure on Soundwave? The craftsmanship and integration with his frame were both seamless. Everything was so… perfectly intentional. Was Soundwave’s situation similar to his own, or had he always been this way? He was sure he could ask all these questions and more, and never get a single answer.

Soundwave then held out the visor and carefully placed it into his servos, allowing him to hold it, as if it would make this surreal experience any less so. Not knowing what else to do, he turned it over, observing the connection points and fixtures built into the slim screen and matching them to the unplugged cables and joinings on the motherboard staring back at him. 

He was holding Soundwave’s greatest kept secret in his own servos. It had been given to him willingly when he needed it most. Even to this day, he still couldn't fathom that he would have done something like that for him, to bring some sense into a moment that would have otherwise torn him to pieces with its gravity. 

They were one in the same now. Perhaps that was the reason why his spark felt so heavy as he flew.

He didn't need Soundwave, not anymore.

Chapter Text

Huddled on the floor of the abandoned building, now shivering in the frigid night air, he realized how much he missed the comforts of home. The warmth of the berth sheets and blankets he had bought the day he’d moved into the habsuite he shared with Soundwave. They were a calming shade of maroon, just like his new paint. He missed having access to wash racks with hot solvent. The polishing cloth he kept in the bedside drawer left behind, dust now coating his screen with its absence. Not to mention the anxiety and pain medication he'd forgotten to grab in his haste to leave. He was glad he’d brought a few small cubes of energon; the one thing he was sure to take with him, knowing he wouldn’t have access to the dispenser built into his home again.

He was on the run once more, but he could manage without those things. He'd done this plenty of times before, during the war. If he wanted something done he’d have to do it himself. 

It was better this way, he reasoned. He preferred being alone. Things were so much easier when no one else was around to potentially stab him in the back, or betray his trust, or leave him for someone else.

There was only one mech to blame for all of this. Megatron had fragged everything up by coming back to Cybertron, and now here he was, freezing on the floor in a building with no roof, covered in dust, and with an ache in his helm that wouldn’t quit. 

Proactive. He needed to be proactive instead of thinking about everything that had transpired over the last few days. Productivity meant everything when coming back from nothing. Besides, if he was working on something important, it would distract from his processor ache.

Shuddering against a harsh breeze, he decided the first thing he needed to find out here was something to fight the chill. It shouldn’t be too difficult with all the abandoned buildings around. There was bound to be something left after all this time. He got to his pedes and crept out from his temporary hideout, surveying the ruined cityscape beyond. Deciding to just pick a direction and begin searching, he leapt into his alt mode and took flight for the nearest structure, keeping low to the ground to avoid being spotted.

Along the way, he passed over the crumbling remains of a bombed roadway leading into the town. What had once been a bustling commute route was now strewn with the rusted corpses of fallen Autobots and Decepticons alike killed in the exodus, if not in the resulting confrontation that took place afterwards. Any of their faces he might have recognized at one point were too rusted and decayed to make out. He kept flying, headed towards the ruined populace just ahead. If there was anything left, he was bound to find it there.

The first few buildings proved fruitless, already looted for anything useful centuries before he got there. The only things remaining were pieces of the structures themselves, riddled with holes and scorch marks and crumbling to dust. It was well into the night cycle, and more than a dozen searched structures later, that his luck took a turn for the better. He ducked into the entryway of another unassuming old ruin, carefully stepping over and around collapsed support beams and dilapidated walls until he heard a spot on the floor where the echo of his steps sounded different. There was definitely something hidden beneath it. Kicking aside chunks of rubble and broken glass, he felt around until his digits found a latch, and he slid the hidden door open along its track. 

Peering inside revealed his perfect intuition to be correct, and a small cache was within, shallow enough that he could reach the bottom from where he knelt on the floor. Unfortunately, there was no energon inside. There were a few useless personal artifacts; things once belonging to the former occupants of this building, alongside a medkit that had already been cleaned out. Tucked away in the back, however, was the true object of his search. A grey thermal tarp, neatly folded and just begging to be draped over his wings. He pulled it out and shook it open. Dust particles floated off every which way. It was big, longer than he was tall, and he could hardly wait to curl up in it.

Having found what he was looking for, he decided to conclude his search for the day. Finally, a win for Starscream! It would be so nice to attempt to recharge curled up in something warm. Heading back towards the entrance, now bundled up in his prize, he realized the subtle sound he began hearing was the high-pitched hum of an engine, and it was fast approaching. Scrap.

No one would be out this far unless they were looking for him.

He hurriedly tucked himself back into a corner out of sight and waited for the sound to retreat. Instead, the engine quieted, replaced with a t-cog engaging. A familiar voice began to fill the otherwise still night air from close by. 

“No sign of him out here yet, but I'll keep searching,” Arcee said aloud, likely over comms with someone back in Iacon. He couldn’t see her from his hiding place, but he could hear her walking around outside. The sound of her pedesteps echoed off the surrounding structures.

He had sequestered himself in a corner behind a store counter. A piece of collapsed wall provided cover, but prevented him from seeing out to where Arcee could be. He held still there, wrapped in his tarp to keep from shivering. It wouldn't do to have the sound give him away.

Her steps drew closer. “No luck on your end either?” She asked the other mech on the line. “Thought so. Has Soundwave scanned that area yet?”

Just as he suspected. The Autobots, he could avoid, but he wouldn’t be able to hide from Soundwave forever. He knew how easily the mech could track someone down. Relocating after tonight would be in order. Keeping on the move would make him more difficult to find. 

“Can’t we just call it a night? I’m freezing my tailpipe off out here…” She complained. Good to know he wasn't alone in his hatred of the weather. Whoever it was she was talking to must have denied her request, her disappointed sigh indicated as much.

He was starting to regret sitting on his knees. His pedes were beginning to fall asleep, and static shocks zapped at his joints. Changing positions would only draw attention to himself, he had no choice but to endure the growing ache until the two-wheeler took her leave. He clenched his servos into fists and hoped she would just give up and go home already.

“Yes, I am using the scanner. See? Scanning over here…” A subtle flash of green light was visible through the cracks in the building. The tell tale humming and beeping of an energon detector scan returning with no results could be heard. 

Oh, scrap. Soundwave had outfitted the Autobots with top of the line equipment. The very same technology had been incredibly useful for locating survivors and potential Autobot hostages alike during the war. He wouldn’t be able to hide from a direct scan. The device was fully capable of detecting signatures through walls.

What would he do if he got caught? He was low on energon and unarmed, so fighting was out of the question. Would he flee into the night, hoping she wouldn’t chase after him? More than likely, she would call for backup if she saw him. Backup that could fly in the form of Soundwave, or backup that would hunt him to the ends of Cybertron in the form of Megatron…

Her steps tread closer. “And scanning over there…” 

He held in a vent, remaining as still as possible, not daring to so much as twitch a digit. His spark spun fast in its chamber. His legs hurt. The moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity as he waited, hoping against all hope that he hadn't been caught within range-

The scanner beeped once more. No signal detected. 

“No one’s out here, Bee. I’m heading back to Iacon.” The sound of her transformation sequence announced her departure, and she sped off into the night, none the wiser to the object of her search having been so close by.

He couldn’t believe his luck. 

He only allowed himself to relax and vent again once the sound of her engine had faded completely from his audials. He felt rather strutless, the tension having fled his frame as he sat slumped on the decrepit floor of the old building, finally unfolding his legs out from their position trapped beneath him. That had been far too close. Foolish two-wheeler. She’d missed his hiding spot simply because her scanning was done on a whim in a bid to get it over with. She probably hadn't even been facing his direction.

It took longer than he cared to admit to feel stable upon standing. The energon flow returning to his struts was like a breath of fresh air. He gathered up his tarp and studied the horizon through a hole in the wall, making sure she was truly gone before he ventured completely outside. The icy night air nipped at his plating, and he shivered involuntarily. The planet’s twin moons had risen overhead to cast the area in a soft, white glow. Everything had fallen still with Arcee’s departure. The only thing that stirred was the dust in the breeze.

That's score two for Starscream, he thought to himself. Lucky mech.

Idly, he wondered just how many bots had been enlisted to look for him. Enough to disrupt the daily workflow would be ideal. He hoped his disappearance was derailing things, postponing those accursed meetings, inconveniencing as many in Iacon as possible. That'll show them.

With cautious steps, he made his way back through the ruins towards the spot where he’d landed upon arriving. Crossing through craters in the ground and carefully climbing over piles of rubble and debris, he navigated the ravaged landscape. His legs still ached from the awkward sitting position he had been in earlier, but he'd suffered through worse. He could take it.

Occasionally he would pass a carcass or two, always in pieces. He didn’t doubt that someone had come through here cannibalizing parts for repairs. It was just something that happened during the war.

He could personally attest to that. During the heat of a particularly intense battle, he had part of a wing patched with metal taken from a deactivated frame. It was all the scrap available to the medic at the time, and the patch served its purpose until the Decepticon forces fled the area. He hadn't even thought twice about the implications, so focused on the battle and trying to keep the rest of his frame in one piece that it didn't matter where (or who) the replacement parts came from. He shuddered at the thought. Oh well, that metal was put to better use on his frame than it would ever be serving a dead mech.

Now, his frame was made with the finest machine-fabricated parts ever crafted. During the war, it would have been considered the pinnacle of luxury to have a frame repaired in such a way. He supposed he was deserving of such a high honor after all he'd suffered through. It had taken more than a stellar cycle of the indignity of healing in bare protoform and patches of scrap metal plating before hope had arrived. The fabricator the medics had used to repair him had been on board one of the first neutral ships to return to the planet—only in need of minor repairs, but perfectly functional—and the completed synthetic energon formula left over from the rebuilt omega lock had been used to create his replacement parts and armor. 

Arriving back at the clearing where the road entered the central part of this town, he transformed and headed back towards the crumbling building where he had set up for the night. The way his components and panels folded over each other, sliding into place in his alt mode, hurt more than usual. His final dosages must have completely worn off by now. He pushed past the pain, flying straight on into the night.