Disclaimer: do not own Transformers.
Summary: G1, oneshot. Starscream defected to the Autobots for Skyfire. Wheeljack remembers the events that followed, and a conversation he had with Sparkplug. Monologue style.
**Edit: Minor editing on 31/05/09 due to a rather embarrassing error concerning human health care laws. Sorry!
Defection
Do you remember those days? The days when the sun gave us warmth, and the stars gave us light, and the afternoon sky was always a deep, butterfly-blue. If we weren't exactly happy then, then we were at least okay, occasional Decepticon attack notwithstanding. And though the universe at large didn't make sense, at least it had the decency to try.
And then Skyfire came to us, and Starscream followed him.
To describe what would happen next as being "very bad" would be like calling a hurricane a chilly breeze. I always thought that Megatron was glad to have his backstabbing second-in-command finally on the other side where he could get a proper shot at him, but then I realized how cunning the Decepticon leader actually was. He let Starscream go because he knew what the ex-Decepticon's presence would do to us.
Part of the Autobots' great success on Earth came because we had such good relations with the humans. Without your charity, we would have had no land, no food, no resources; we would have had to resort to taking and stealing perforce, as the Decepticons did. And I like to think that the friendships we all formed were more just hunger on our side and fear on your side. I would like to think that we were actually fond of each other.
We could not return Starscream to the Decepticons. His fighting prowess was too valuable, and his information, priceless, and though he wasn't loyal to any faction, he was loyal to Skyfire. For us, that needed to be enough.
Starscream joined the Autobots.
And how the humans raged then. Even years later, I still remember the shrill voices on the news, the accusations, the fear that I understood too well.
"Whose side are they on?"
"Are they joking? Just a slap on the wrist and, bang, that murderer is one of them?"
"It's a conspiracy! They're all in on it!"
"I guess it goes to show that Cybertronians are all Cybertronians. We're just worthless organics to them."
And how you were all so very angry. How some called for justice and others called for blood and how others insisted that there wasn't a difference. Not when it came to one of the highest-ranking Decepticon officers in the history of Cybertron's civil war, to the "scientist" who delighted in human experimentation.
"It's a madhouse," Sideswipe had said, watching the news. "Are humans really this stupid?"
"How can they be so quick to forget all the times we were there to protect them—how much we have sacrificed for their sake?" Perceptor had said sadly, optics downcast.
I know I expect too much of you all to have seen it then, but Perceptor hadn't meant anything by that. He was just hurt, like we all were.
And Carly, with the angry look of one betrayed, said, "Just like the Autobots can be so quick to forget all the humans that Starscream has killed."
And it would worry us, later, that we didn't immediately remember that one of the fatalities…one of the murders…had been one of Carly's uncles. He had pushed her out of the way as the seeker dove for her, and Starscream had taken the man high into the skies where there wasn't enough air and then dropped him over the ocean.
They never found the body.
Starscream would overhear me talking to Optimus later, and would snidely reply, "You can't remember the name of every ant you've stepped on."
The seeker wasn't interested in redemption, or a just cause. He didn't think he needed redemption. He was just here for Skyfire. Even now, the seeker is as he always was: cold, vain, and selfish. And Skyfire, that poor, kind fool, didn't see it then, and doesn't see it now.
But we couldn't turn him away. For better or for worse, Starscream was an Autobot. And we could not give either him or Skyfire to the Decepticons.
Carly's parting gift to the Ark was a wrench dug through Starscream's left optic, shattered glass and frayed wires. I had to commend her handiwork; it took forever for Ratchet to fix, and by then all the other humans had left and gone.
It wasn't any easier on our side, either. The unwavering faith we had in Optimus Prime and his top officers took a harsh blow in those times, and never fully recovered. There were those on Cybertron and Earth alike demanding that Starscream be taken prisoner, be tried for the numerous war crimes he committed. Instead, negotiations took place.
As a soldier, I understand the tough decisions that the higher-ups made. They had as much reason as any of us to quietly terminate the seeker. But his fighting prowess was too valuable, and his information, priceless, and he knew it.
As a resident of Cybertron, I understand the pain you humans felt back then, and the betrayal that resonates even now. Those emotions are every bit identical to your own; we just hide it better, because Optimus Prime is our commander, and though he makes harsh decisions, we must support him if we are ever to see an end to this war.
You and your son were among the last to go. I have to thank you, for staying on as long as you did.
Do you remember those days, leading up to the inevitable? The way that you would pack your things with a little more care, the way that you would remember to put your tools away instead of leaving them out on the workbench, all ready for another day.
The way you would quietly send your son out with Bumblebee, and they both knew that their time with one another was quickly coming to a close.
We sat together then, working on something or other. It didn't matter what the project was or what it did—its purpose had been to distract us, and it served that purpose poorly.
We were quiet for a while, and then you told me, "They're taking my son away from me."
I had raised an optic ridge, surprised. "Who?"
"Government. Authorities. Child-care services. It doesn't matter."
"Is this about…?"
"My wife? Yeah. I got a call from her lawyer." You couldn't look at me then. It had been hard for you to admit it. I remembered, once, how Bumblebee had asked Spike where his mother had gone, and how he had almost carelessly replied that she just up and left one day, declaring that she wasn't cut out for motherhood. It didn't hurt him the same way it hurt you.
You had raised your son all by yourself, and all of a sudden this woman came back, trying to take him from you.
I remember her, later on the news. How she declared that her child had been mislead, and that she would be there for him, waiting for him to come to his senses and come home. How she had blamed you for brainwashing her child, tricking him into trusting monsters.
"Isn't he too old for a child-custody battle?" I had asked quietly, desperately.
"He's a couple years too young. And chances are, the court will let her have him, the way things are going now." We both took a compulsive look to the entrance, and knew that just down the corridor, Skyfire was excitedly showing Starscream the Ark lab.
"We'll never really be friends, will we?" you had asked, still smiling that strange, strained smile.
"What do you mean? Of course we're friends." But you continued as if I hadn't said anything.
"'Cuz at the end of the day, you guys are you, and we are us. He's one of you; what's that next to a few crying organics?"
"That's crazy talk."
"And you think the world is sane?"
"You're not just an organic to me."
"I'm not sure what you are to me." But even as you said that, you lost your odd smile, and you looked lost and unsure.
We had paused, then. Looking back at it now, I realized that you just wanted me angry at you, because it would have made leaving easier.
We both knew what we had to do, didn't we?
You would have to leave, and I would have to stay. You for your son, and I for my commander.
The day following, Optimus would officially welcome Starscream into the Autobot fold.
The day following, the child-like trust you all had in us, wavering at that point, would then disappear, gone forever.
The day following, the Autobots would be divided.
The day following, the universe would cease pretending to make sense.
But we didn't say anything more. We just sat together, side by side, on that last day we could call each other friends.