Chapter Text
Whirl was not supposed to be here.
He hadn’t been where he was supposed to be for a long time. First he’d gotten arrested on—almost—entirely trumped up charges, just because he was better at commerce than some bots with Senate connections.
He was not supposed to be in prison, but he had started getting used to things there. He woke up on the same recharge berth, then moved to the cafeteria for energon rations, then went to the common areas for idle chatter, games, and maybe watching a fistfight if things got interesting. He had calls with his own Senate contact to get himself home. Where he was supposed to be. With his family and his store and his workshop full of watches.
He was not supposed to be transferred. The transfer shuttle wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Quintesson attacks on the surface. And Whirl’s transport wasn’t supposed to be hit, the impact of the explosion throwing him so hard against a wall his systems shut down.
Now he was coming back online in a sterile room, surrounded by equipment making steady beeping or buzzing sounds. He lay on his back atop a hard slab. He could not move, save for turning his head.
“—sure this will work, Trepan?”
Whirl paused. That voice was familiar. It wasn’t someone he knew personally, but maybe he’d heard it on a holo-cast?
“Not at all,” replied presumably Trepan. “The empurata process is well documented, but your additional requests are on the cutting edge. Which is why we experiment, isn't it?”
Whirl turned his head to try and see who was speaking. Instead he saw a long face, so close it startled him enough to cry out. No sound emerged from his vocalizer. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make as much as a whimper.
The head next to him stared at him with a single, lifeless optic. Aside from that it had no features. It was dark blue and too narrow. There was no body attached, it was only a head. It looked…wrong.
Please, he thought. I’m not supposed to be here.
“Ah, you're awake,” Trepan said, though Whirl still couldn’t see him within his range of vision. “Good. I need to measure your processor’s activity during the procedure. Now, do try to hold still.”
Procedure? Whirl rotated his head the other way and finally caught sight of Trepan, a narrow mech with white plating and a splash of orange. His movements were practiced and clinical. They belied the glint of excitement on his face.
“Alright doctor,” said the second speaker that Whirl still could not see. “Impress me.”
Trepan lifted a rotating saw. He clicked a button and the tool came to life with an ominous whine. Whirl struggled, terror seizing his spark, but of course he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything.
He couldn’t even scream when the buzzsaw bit into his neck.
###
A cloud of flaming gas and rubble burst from the ground, forcing Starscream to bank hard to the left, corkscrewing through the air. It smelled absolutely awful. He shut his vents against whatever alien poison might be trying to infiltrate his systems.
“There’s a quintesson on your tail, Screamer,” Thundercracker said through the comm link.
Starscream knew already. Even with the skies choked with smoke, he had seen the fighter craft trying to line up a clear shot.
“Acknowledged,” Starscream replied. “And don’t call me that.”
He sensed worry through the trine bond. An implied request to know if aid was needed. Thundercracker did not like it when the three of them broke formation during battle, and Zeta Prime’s battle plan required them to do just that. Thundercracker was currently leading bombing runs on a Quintesson artillery embankment. Skywarp was scouting, holding a payload vital to the mission’s success.
Starscream scoffed. “I’m sure these aliens are enjoying the view, but I’d prefer someone buy me a drink before they stare at my aft. Now stop watching the scans in my area and focus on your job.”
His words seemed to calm his trinemate, as did his confidence, naturally. Starscream always felt confident in the skies. The wind on his wings, g-forces dragging against his plates. He rolled out of the way of some falling chunks of Quintesson ship, handily dodging the first volley from the fools trying to shoot him down. The turn gave him a view of the ground battle below. Their lines were holding, but the left flank was taking heavier losses than anticipated.
“Report: Redwing down. Injured but functional.” Soundwave’s steady monotone sounded in Starscream’s helm. Typical. Soundwave was always watching and listening. It was creepy.
Starscream dodged another round of laser fire. “Dirge, Ramjet, Thrust. Air support for squads seven and ten on the ground.”
He didn’t have to check that his orders had been followed. They were Cybertron’s High Guard. They were the elite. They were the best.
Time to show the idiot invaders who’d just shot a seeking missile at his thrusters exactly what that meant.
Starscream pulled up into a steep ascent, too suddenly for his enemy or the missile to follow. They attempted to correct their angle of attack, but Starscream was already pulling back, upside-down, until he tilted his wing again to drag himself upright. Friction heated his plating to dangerous levels, but that was just a sign that his maneuver was working.
He was face to face with the Quintesson fighter now. It was slightly larger than the average seeker, big enough for a pilot and a gunner. Grey carapace covered its surface. Wide wings came to narrow points on either side.
Such a pity that these organic invaders needed all that help to become a pale imitation of Starscream and his fliers.
Both combatants hurtled towards each other. In seconds they’d collide and be reduced to scrap. Which was why both of them were going to fire. Except these organics first had to come up with the idea in their wet little brains, then send an electrical signal to their appendages, then hit a button on the ship, and then wait for that signal before the shot went off.
Starscream only had to do it.
Unsurprisingly, he fired first.
He shot two missiles. The Quintesson avoided one, but the other crashed into their hull and exploded. They shook, tried to get back on course, but Starscream finished them off with a barrage of laser fire. Then he pulled up to avoid the wreckage.
“See how it’s done?” Starscream commed to Thundercracker.
Something appeared on his scanner, behind him, coming in fast. Before Starscream could react, it cracked and burst in a fireball that singed his left thruster.
Oh right. The seeking missile. He’d forgotten about it.
Thundercracker appeared at his wing, heat levels indicating his guns had just fired.
“You sure showed me, commander,” he replied.
Starscream filed away a reminder to glare at his trinemate once he was back in root mode.
“Skywarp,” he said. “Have you found the base’s power generators?”
That was the whole point of this battle. The Quintessons had established an operating base too close to Iacon. If it survived, the city was at risk of being attacked or its supplies cut off. It was the sort of high-priority mission one of the thirteen Primes would usually command. Zeta, the Matrix Bearer himself, had worked with Megatronus and Nexus on their plan of attack. But the Thirteen were busy doing something mysterious and esoteric. As was all too common with those ancient sages.
Leave them to it. Starscream didn’t mind being in charge.
Alchemist Prime had already developed a bomb designed to react with the Quintesson’s energy generators. One hit and boom. No more base. Skywarp had one of the two bombs, and with his teleportation he—in theory—could find the generators, destroy them, and escape without being caught in the blast.
Plans, however, rarely lasted long in battle.
“I think I got the right place,” Skywarp replied.
“You think?” Starscream snapped.
“Hey! You try to tell all these gross buildings apart. Not like they have a big ‘Blow up Here!’ sign for me to aim—oh.”
“‘Oh’ is not a helpful report!”
“Fine. How about ‘there’s a whole bunch of Quintessons coming from the north beyond those mountains and it looks like they have a lot of the anti-air weapons that nearly downed TC last time.’”
A pit formed in Starscream’s tank. He adjusted his scanners and pivoted his flight pattern towards the towering, silver peaks. There were organic signatures. More reinforcements.
Damn.
They had originally planned to retreat in that direction, using the mountains as cover. The flyers might make it out—assuming the anti-air guns didn’t shred them—but the ground troops would be finished.
“Change of plans,” he said. “Skywarp, you can get close without them having a chance to shoot you down.”
“Love your faith in my abilities, Screamer, but I can’t exactly fight an entire legion by myself.”
“Don’t call me that.” Starscream exvented as he lay down strafing fire on a line of Quintesson gunners. “And use your damn processor for more than just teleporting. Your missile reacts to Quintesson energy sources, right?”
“That’s what Alchemist Prime said,” Thundercracker replied, before Skywarp could say something rude and probably insubordinate.
“Get one of the anti-air guns and boom. Thin their forces, keep them from pinning us in.”
“Great. Genius plan,” Skywarp said. “Except for the whole part where I’m supposed to use this bomb to destroy the base?”
Starscream’s engine roared.
“He gave us a backup.”
A backup which was currently sitting in Starscream’s hold.
Thundercracker sent a pulse of caution. “I don’t know if we should—”
Starscream turned so hard even Thundercracker struggled to follow. Wind resistance tore like claws against his back, but ignoring a little drag was second nature. He approached Skywarp’s previous coordinates, and soon the base came into view. It really was difficult to tell the structures apart—not that he’d admit that to Skywarp. He simply sent an order for an image of the power generator.
“Starscream, wait!” Thundercracker said. “The base has its own defenses, that’s why we sent Skywarp in the first place.”
“And we gave me the backup missile because I can outfly them if you cover me.”
“At least let me call more reinforcements,” he pleaded. “If something happens to you, what am I supposed to tell—”
Starscream ignored the rest of that, instead focusing on the image of the target he’d just gotten from Skywarp.
He sent the picture to Soundwave. “This look right?”
After a few tense seconds he received an affirmative signal. No elaboration, but the communications officer was a mech of few words. It was good enough.
Starscream came in dangerously low, but Quintesson cannons would be trained for higher targets. It would take them crucial seconds to readjust, and that was time he and Thundercracker weren’t going to give them.
The base was surrounded by a high wall, gun turrets mounted at regular intervals, shooting sickly green beams that burned away Cybertronian metal like acid. Starscream destroyed two in his first sweep. One managed to aim at him faster than expected, but it fell to Thundercracker’s missiles.
Starscream didn’t slow down. Thundercracker had his back, Skywarp had the rest. A fact confirmed when a loud boom shook the valley. Good to know Alchemist’s toys worked properly.
Time to get this done.
Starscream pulled up, signaling Thundercracker to do the same. His trinemate took down two more firing installations as he followed.
“Go,” Starscream said. “Get clear.”
“I’m not leaving you behind!”
“That’s an order!” He hated when Thundercracker did this. “I’m faster than you. You won’t have a chance of getting out of the blast radius.”
Even the ever-worried Thundercracker couldn’t argue with that. He fired as he went, almost petulantly, taking his frustrations out on their enemies. Not a bad instinct, although most of them would be gone in a few klicks anyway.
Starscream located the power station. No gun turrets, no fighters, nothing to protect it from his assault. He aimed his trajectory and pushed his engines. This was going to have to be timed perfectly.
As he gained speed he counted down, running the numbers through his processor. If he messed this up, he could miss his target. Or be unable to escape the ensuing blast. Neither were options for the Air Commander of Cybertron’s High Guard.
“And,” he thought to himself. “Now.”
He dropped the bomb. For three seconds nothing happened. No sounds save the battle and the roar of the wind against his audials.
Then something cracked, like Primus had snapped the air in half.
A plume of bright blue flame engulfed the powerstation. Starscream was already speeding away, but the fireball expanded quickly, consuming the base, the walls, the surrounding valley. The shockwave hit Starscream’s tail like a giant fist, throwing him off course. His nose dipped, and at his speed that was all it took for the world to suddenly invert.
By the time he reoriented, he was already careening towards the ground.
###
Starscream’s optics came back online. His pain receptors came next.
He really needed to figure out how to turn those off.
What did not come online was panic or fear. His spark flickered and reached out towards two points of equally eager light, each hovering over him.
“Thank Primus,” Thundercracker sighed.
“I can’t believe you actually crashed!” Skywarp snorted. “Bet you thought you sounded so cool, ‘He gave us a backup.’ Yeah. How’s that dirt taste?”
“Status. Report,” Starscream grunted. “Or I’m court marshalling you.”
He tried to rise, but Thundercracker forced him back down. Starscream grimaced. Hopefully he’d managed to crash somewhere nobody had seen. Not exactly a good look for the Air Commander.
“Fine, here’s my report,” Skywarp said as Thundercracker checked over Starscream’s frame. “Reinforcements went boom. Base went boom. Everything went boom. Bad guy aliens are retreating. Victory for the High Guard. And there was much rejoicing.”
Now that Starscream’s processor was unscrambling, he could hear cheering in the distance. He’d gotten several pings from Ramjet, Soundwave, and the ground officers. He needed to respond.
Thundercracker finally let him sit up. Something in his hips made an unfortunate grinding sound, but he could worry about that later. For now, he had work to do. The sooner they cleaned things up here, the sooner he could return to Iacon.
The sooner he could go home.
###
The Senate meeting was running over time. Not only was it running over time, it was running over the extra overtime Shockwave had planned for when Starscream started talking and the senators made the mistake of questioning his conduct during the battle.
Shockwave sighed. All of the thirteen thrones located at the head of the cavernous Senate chamber were empty. No Prime to step in and mediate between the High Guard commander and the politicians.
Even Sentinel’s seat was empty, and the Prime’s secretary almost never missed a Senate meeting.
“Why exactly were these experimental weapons deployed without the Wartime Committee’s prior knowledge or authorization?” demanded a Senator from Praxis.
“Or the Requisitions Committee?” asked another from Kaon. “I'd like to know exactly how much we spent on this victory.”
“Can you put a price on Cybertronian lives?” Starscream stood at the base of the rounded amphitheatre, below the Primes’ thrones. “Surely your constituents would rather have their loved ones back safely, rather than a few more shanix in the treasury.”
“Do not twist my words, commander! You are the one putting lives at risk, deviating from the plan and launching dangerous weapons.”
Shockwave exvented from his seat in the upper levels. His row was empty, the seats in front and behind open. Until a figure appeared and sat next to him, masked face inscrutable.
“Soundwave.” Shockwave offered as much of a smile as he could manage with the fatigue creeping up on him. “Good of you to join us.”
“Soundwave: has the battle report data,” he replied. “Must be available to clarify the facts.”
“Fair point.” Shockwave arched an optic ridge. “But shouldn't you be preparing your hab for some new arrivals?”
Immediately, the air between them charged with emotion. Feelings Soundwave could have easily hidden behind his red visor and silver faceplate. But he allowed a hint of sorrow into his EM field, just enough for Shockwave to pick up on.
“Application: unsuccessful,” Soundwave said softly. “Hot spot: yielded fewer viable sparks than originally estimated.”
Shockwave placed a comforting hand on Soundwave's shoulder. “I’m sorry. That's bad luck.”
Again. It was the third time Soundwave had not been allowed to adopt a developing spark. And with the war making hot spots harder and harder to access—
“Situation: fine.”
It wasn't. Sparks brought up from Cybertron’s hot spots were collected and given their first frames, and while most adjusted and joined their brethren within cycles, some needed more aid. Soundwave had so much room in his own spark—not to mention his chest compartment—for a young life. There was no one more suited to raising a good bot. Yet he was thwarted time and time again.
“Look,” Shockwave said. “The Department of Health oversees these matters, and it has plenty of mechs who owe me favors. Let me ask around. I'll put in a good word.”
“Request: denied,” Soundwave said firmly. “Offer: appreciated. But I will do this right.”
Shockwave rolled his optics, though he could not keep the fondness from his voice. “You have too much integrity, old friend.”
Now two senators from Iacon were arguing, and ignoring Starscream entirely. Which evidently did not sit well with him, given the frown deepening on his face.
“I suppose we could call a recess while the two representatives sort out their business,” Starscream said. “I’m sure we all have things we’d rather be attending to.”
The Kaon senator stood. “You still have not explained, Commander, why you thought it proper to change Zeta Prime’s battle strategy. You acted outside your authority!”
“I did no such thing!” Starscream replied sharply. “I responded to a developing situation. If Zeta Prime wanted his orders followed, perhaps he should have commanded the fight himself.”
Shockwave stood and said, “I second the motion for a recess.” He made a show of checking the chronometer mounted to his wrist. “This has been going on for hours, and I think tempers are high. Let’s all take some time to cool down and review the facts.”
As he suspected, the majority were more than happy to table this fight. The motion passed and senators began filing out.
Shockwave caught Soundwave’s arm before the other mech could leave. “I meant for this to be a congratulatory gift, but I suppose it can be one of encouragement as well. Your time will come.”
Soundwave tilted his helm inquisitively while Shockwave pulled a box out of his subspace and handed it over. Slowly, Soundwave opened the gift, then removed the contents: a silver and blue round chronometer, dotted with white gems. The hands shimmered with a pearlescent coating.
“Query: a watch?”
“Lovely, isn’t it? I know the bot that makes them.” Soundwave added, “Well, made them. He was arrested a little while ago and I’ve been trying to get that sorted out. But I enjoy my collection immensely.” Shockwave turned his forearm so that Soundwave could see the pale gold watch magnetically attached to his own green and white plating. “It thought the piece would suit you.”
“A watch: unnecessary.” Soundwave stared at it. “Addendum: it is pretty. Well made.”
Just as Shockwave was about to agree, he caught a flash of red in the corner of his vision. Unlike Soundwave, the third commander of the High Guard’s EM field projected his emotions freely. As did his face, which right now looked utterly exasperated.
“We won,” Starscream hissed as he approached the other two. “Yet those stylus-pushing fools have to find something to criticise, despite never lifting a single finger to defend this city themselves.”
“We all have our roles,” Shockwave said in his most conciliatory tone. Although his companion’s rages were easier to ride out than mollify.
Shockwave noticed a few mechs attempting to linger and eavesdrop, naturally thinking that the three commanders of Cyberton’s High Guard might be saying something interesting. Shockwave gave them a polite smile. Having been discovered, they scurried away.
Once they were clear, Soundwave said, “Plan: should have failed.”
Ah, blunt as ever. Shockwave cringed internally while keeping his expression sympathetic.
Starscream narrowed his optics. “What do you mean?”
“Quintesson reinforcements: lower than my projections indicated. Skywarp’s assault: should not have been enough to eliminate sufficient percentages for retreat.”
“Not you too.” Starscream’s fist tightened. “I do not care what should have been or what the Primes said to do. I care about results. Apparently I’m the only one here who does.”
“Query,” Soundwave intoned pointedly, which was impressive given his face and voice barely shifted. “Where were the numbers we know our foes to possess? Where did the rest of the Quintessons go, if not their forward base on Iacon?”
Starscream’s mouth finally closed. His frown deepened.
And that was the opening Shockwave needed. “These are all important questions, but not ones we can answer now. The battle is over. We secured an important victory. Let’s acknowledge that, at least.”
Both his fellow High Guard commanders glared at each other, ceased their bickering. Shockwave took one mech’s arm in each hand to lead them out into the openish air outside the Senate chamber. Iacon was still underground, but they took what they could get.
“Where is the rest of the trine?” Shockwave asked. “No injuries, I hope?”
“No,” Starscream waved a hand. “Just sent them to the medbay for the standard diagnostics.”
“I am sure you also went yourself before coming here?”
Starscream huffed. “You know there wasn’t time for that.”
Now that Shockwave was closer, he could see that while Starscream’s plating had been polished, there were several dents and rolled edges. And something about his hip seemed off. A suspicion that was confirmed when Shockwave listened closer and heard grinding.
“For Primus’ sake, friend, you have got to stop coming here first thing after a mission. The Senate will have plenty to argue about in your absence. Go to a doctor. Or better yet, go home.” Shockwave grinned. “You’re always in a better mood afterwards.”
Starscream tried to shove him off, but his spark was only half in it. “It was a major battle, Shockwave. I couldn’t wait.”
“Fine, you’ve done your duty for the day. Go get your hip fixed, and then go see your poor conjunx. He’s probably worried sick.”
Starscream flinched at the word conjunx. Why he was so determined to keep his union a secret, Shockwave had no idea. He and Soundwave only knew because the registry office had required two witnesses to make the bond official record. And preexisting sparkbonds—such as trinemates—were ineligible.
Luckily there was no one in the corridor within audio range, so Starscream’s secret was safe.
Iacon’s artificial daylight warmed Shockwave’s face. The Senate building was grand, three towers connected by imposing, blocky architecture wrought from white and gold. It always stirred Shockwave’s spark to see it. The Senate wasn’t perfect—far, far from it—but this reminded him of the ideals they were there to embody. Strength and beauty and unity.
Starscream’s optics naturally wandered towards the holobanner waving across the street.
“I told them not to use that picture of me,” he grumbled.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Shockwave said. “I think it’s quite flattering.”
“Angle: aesthetically optimal.”
The holobanner was an army recruitment poster, featuring the Air Commander himself, staring at the viewer with the words “Cybertron Needs You” below him. A formation of jets flew in the background while several ground mechs marched beneath. Shockwave remembered the endless debates about the recruitment ads. Whether or not they could use a Prime’s face or if that was disrespectful. Starscream’s image had been the compromise.
“Are you sure you want to be seen with me, senator?” Starscream asked. “Considering your vocal opposition to the draft, I would think you’d prefer to avoid its literal poster bot.”
The edge of Starscream’s voice was sharp enough to cut. Shockwave patted his shoulder, aware there was something being left unsaid, and that it would likely remain so. Though Shockwave could take a guess.
“Voluntary recruitment isn’t the same as draft,” he said. “And I take great pride in how much we’ve rolled it back since the early days. You could probably retire from the High Guard if you wanted under the new rules.”
Starscream let out a bark of staticky laughter. “As if! This city would fall within the cycle without me.”
“Entirely possible, which brings us all back to the question of your health.” Shockwave allowed himself a wicked smile. “Are you going, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you to the hospital myself?”
###
Starscream hated hospitals. Everything was so slow. Nothing like the curt efficiency of a field medical tent. The doctors here wanted to run all sorts of unnecessary tests instead of just fixing him. They were worried about processor damage from the crash, which was frankly insulting. If Thundercracker hadn’t shown up to intervene, Starscream might have given one of Iacon General’s staff some processor damage of their own to worry about.
The crash had not been that bad. He was fine. Admittedly better after the crushed servos in his hip were replaced, but still. Shockwave didn’t have to be a busybody about it.
The moment Starscream was free, he transformed and took to the crowded airways, Skywarp and Thundercracker close behind. Flying in Iacon was unpleasant. No matter where he went, he could feel the ceiling above them. It made him claustrophobic. It made him miss Vos before the war or the high spires of the Crystal City. Both gone now, destroyed by the Quintessons in the invasion’s first wave. Gone before the Primes had figured out how to move their cities beneath Cybertron’s surface.
Starscream had even less patience for Iacon traffic than usual. After the senators and the doctors and Soundwave acting so damn superior with his projections. He hadn’t been there. Starscream had, and he had made the right call.
Nobody would have questioned one of the Primes had they been in command. They would have been lauded for their wisdom. Not prodded with questions and doubts. Those old, sanctimonious mechs could do whatever they wanted, no matter who it hurt, and they would still be considered wise and glorious and—
Skywarp and Thundercracker sent him inquisitive pings. Apparently he hadn’t cordoned off his emotions as well as he’d thought. He sent a reassuring pulse through the bond. He was on edge, but he was fine. He wasn’t actually angry with the Thirteen. Not with most of them, anyway. Zeta would always have his ire, but the others he respected. A few he even liked. Prima, when he wasn’t busy staring at his own reflection. Solus and her forge. Megatronus and his quiet strength.
Although Starscream was currently irritated at all of them for not telling the High Guard, their damn protectors, where they had run off to. It made them—Starscream in particular—look incompetent.
Thundercracker pinged him again, not with a question but with a directional marker. Starscream checked, and his spark pulsed.
They were almost there.
He engaged his thrusters, ignoring the speed limits. If he couldn’t get away with a few traffic violations, what was the point of being a High Guard commander? They approached an off white hab, hanging from one of the higher city terraces. The front had a landing strip lined with blue, purple, and yellow cyberblooms.
Starscream touched down, then transformed into root mode before even coming to a full stop. Momentum carried him towards the front door.
As always, it opened, revealing a tall, broad, white mech, arms spread wide.
Skyfire caught Starscream in a crushing embrace. He kissed Starscream hard, and for just a second nothing else in the universe mattered.
“Welcome back,” Skyfire murmured against his lips.