Chapter Text
The four of them were returning back to base after losing a raid, battered and dejected. It had been a mess; there were far more vehicons than anticipated and the battlefield did not work in the primarily-grounded squad’s favor. Starscream could only do so much air-support before things started to get a bit one-sided.
In short, it was awful, they lost, and Starscream was fragging tired.
The sound of the command deck door opening was as loud as a gunshot in the quiet room. Optimus was looking over them, optics moving from Bumblebee to Arcee to Bulkhead. Starscream stayed in the back. No one ever wanted to be first in the firing squad.
Starscream was already thinking up his excuse, his overtaxed processor spinning itself into panicked little loops . I did everything I was able to, I swear, he’d say, please, please, I’ll do better next time, I will. Anything you wa—
“Autobots,” Optimus began, in that ever-calm voice of his— deceptive, it has to be— “I know the past few cycles have been difficult, and these battles have not been getting easier. Today, Megatron regained control of the mining compound we had recently acquired.”
Starscream winced and shrunk back a little. Here it comes.
Optimus continued, “But, each of you fought admirably, even in the face of defeat. I could not ask any more of you all than that.”
. . .What?
Starscream risked a look at the Prime, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. What, was he really saying that he didn’t mind losing the mine? There had to be more to it than that. This was a trick—
“Despite their victory, the Decepticons are still at a disadvantage. They cannot hold this pace of expansion for much longer. They are bound to slip up at some point, and when they do, we will be there to take victory.” After his little spiel, Optimus nodded. “Thank you all. If you have any injuries, go see Ratchet in the medbay. Otherwise, please get some recharge. You are dismissed.”
The other three Autobots trickled out of the room, with varying levels of discontent.
Starscream stalled. He stayed right where he was, trying to puzzle out exactly what the frag was going on right now. He could hardly understand it. Were they not about to be reamed out in front of the whole base? They lost. There was nothing else to it. They lost the raid and it was probably Starscream’s fault somehow, and their leader just. . . let it go?
Either something was getting in the energon, or Starscream was going mad.
Optimus seemed to notice the fact that Starscream hadn’t moved and stopped, staring directly at him and leaning forward a bit. “Starscream, are you alright? Do you need medical attention?”
Starscream jumped at the sudden focus, trying to wrangle his fatigue-addled thoughts into something coherent. “Yes Mas—er- no, I mean. . . No, I don’t. . . Prime.”
The other mech’s brow furrowed in concern. God damn it.
“Are you sur—”
“Yes!” Starscream squeaked, vocalizer glitching.
Why did Primus hate him?
Before he could make a further fool out of himself, Starscream quickly sprinted out of the command deck and into his hab. He closed the door and sank to the floor, shivering.
. . .What the frag was that?!
That was disgraceful, that’s what it was. Losing himself in front of Optimus like that. As much as he wanted to deny it, his spark was racing. The sonorous voice of the Prime was lost on him, replaced by the echoing of Megatron’s gravelly sneer.
He wanted to purge his damn tanks, and he wanted his helm to stop throbbing.
He wanted sleep.
And, well, he could deal with one of those things. The others would just have to sort themselves out.
Starscream picked his sorry aft off of his hab floor and crawled into his berth, burying himself into the blankets and willing his processor to shut off, to give him a break for once. He didn’t need medical attention, he didn’t. He hadn’t crashed that hard, and the pounding would go away, eventually.
And tomorrow, he would re-establish his usefulness to the Prime. He had to. There was no question about it. Optimus may not say it out loud, but every leader had standards for their soldiers, and Starscream so often fell through on every single one, he’s sure. He can’t keep this up. He knew what happened to useless mechs.
“You have ceased to be of use to me, Starscream.” The loud, atom-splitting sound of a fusion cannon heating up, a sound that haunted him. “So you shall simply cease to be.”
It was only to be expected.
It all happened so fast. The blast rang out, striking far too close to his helm, sending every single one of his sensors into a violent tailspin.
It. . .
Megatron was in front of him again, fusion cannon glowing hot, so close to his faceplates he could swear he was melting. Starscream’s entire world had been reduced to a single burning point.
“You have ceased to be of use to me, Starscream, so you shall simply cease to be.”
The shot hit the ceiling, somehow, burying both of them in rigid, unfeeling stone. Something sliced the cables in his wings.
That’s. . . not. . .
The scene reset. The cannon was pressed fully against Starscream’s chassis this time, metal plating sloughing off and liquid glass spilling into his spark chamber, and he had never felt so cold in his entire functioning.
“You have ceased to be of use to me, Starscream.”
That is not—
A new scene. The cannon was gone. Megatron’s claws were wrapped around his neck, all but ripping his helm from the rest of him. He needed that, he thought, but if only his master agreed with him.
The other servo sat heavy at the base of his wings, large digits digging into the intricate hinges and tearing them away like loose scraps of metal. He only wept silently at the feeling, his vocalizer having shorted out eons ago.
“So you.”
Starscream’s beautiful wings fell to the ground, covered in sickly blue energon, quickly losing its glow as the charge dissipated. The lovely star of Vos will die truly grounded, as if this stone tomb wasn’t enough to keep him from the skies.
“Shall simply.”
The crushing pressure against his neck cables was starting to lose all presence in his mind, he couldn’t feel it anymore. Megatron dragged him impossibly closer, wild crimson optics reducing him to nothing.
“Cease.”
Energon spilt in thick rivulets from the deep wounds in his neck. Was he even connected to his chassis anymore? Surely not.
“To.”
He was dying.
“Exist.”
He was—
“Starscream!”
And so, his optics flew open. He was met not with red, but with blue.
Optimus was here, servo on his shoulder, resolutely dragging him back to reality.