General disclaimery stuff: The Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara. Dreadmoon belongs to Wayward and appears with her permission. I don't make money from this; it's merely an expression of my fan-ness.

This fic is partially inspired by the works of Koi Lungfish and Seekerfemmedraca.

Big thanks to one of my friends (you know who you are), Jedi Suzuran, and of course Wayward for support/betaing:-)

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Ashes among the Stars

The Decepticon crypt was a somber place of solemn silence, lit only by the sheen of the eternal flame that was situated at its center underneath the circular domed ceiling.

Its bleakness seemed fitting – soon, the lifeless statues lining the crypt's walls would be the only Decepticons left on the planet. Rodimus Prime had issued an ultimatum for the Decepticons to leave Cybertron, and they were still reeling from their losses too much to put up any resistance. Loss of good soldiers and, most of all, loss of their leaders.

Megatron. Galvatron. Shockwave. Starscream.

Starscream… it was for his sake that Dreadmoon had come to this place. Keeping his wings folded closely to his body, as if to shelter himself against the cold, the dark blue Decepticon walked slowly past the statues of the fallen, the hollow echo of his footsteps reverberating off the stone walls before being swallowed by the dark silence again. The statues had been erected while those in whose likeness they were made were still alive, when they had proven themselves war heroes worthy of being thus immortalized, and their remains had been entombed in the statues' bases after their deaths. If there were any remains left – the bodies of some were lost entirely.

As Dreadmoon glanced over the shadows, a head turned towards him. "What brought you here, Monitor?" It was a female voice, hard and bitter. The one it belonged to was a Seeker, but not the one he longed to see again, and never would. The broad, upswept wings were the same shape as the ones he had caressed until the lines of their edges seemed imprinted into his hands, but these ones were not bright silver, they were a bitter shade of purple that seemed to blend into the shadows.

Dreadmoon suddenly realized that the Seeker had been standing there all along, keeping silent watch in front of what he recognized as Skywarp's marker, but he'd dismissed her unmoving form as another statue, or a trick of the light.

"I'm here to pay my respects." He left it at that – he didn't owe her an explanation. He walked onwards – the Seeker making no move to stop him, though she kept watching him – until he stood where Starscream's marker should have been. But the proud statue he remembered was gone. Dreadmoon stared at the empty base, unconsciously spreading his wings as anger flared up inside him like a hissing snake. How could they dare…?

"Did you really think we would have left his statue there?" the Seeker's harsh voice came from behind. "We let his ashes lie in the dust where they belong. Starscream does not deserve to be honored."

Dreadmoon turned around to face her. "What would you know about what he deserved?" The Monitor spoke softly as always - it was not like him to shout even in anger; but there was a venomous threat hidden in his words, like a concealed weapon.

The Seeker met his gaze unflinchingly, her optics shining with cold hatred. "You don't know what he did, do you? He left them behind. Megatron, Skywarp, and Thundercracker. He left them to die in space."

Dreadmoon's response was as chilly. "There is no wrong in leaving the weak behind."

The Seeker's wings twitched angrily. "Starscream was a traitor and a usurper!"

Dreadmoon voice hardened ever so slightly. "He was… you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I do understand," the Seeker said slowly and pointedly, her words dripping with bitterness. Her hatred was almost like a tangible thing, radiating through her energy signature, enveloping her like a shield, hate that – this much Dreadmoon could tell – was not directed towards him, but towards his beloved Starscream. It made him want to grab the Seeker and rip out her fuel lines; yet he held back, standing without a move, his optics fixed unrelentingly on her sharp garnet ones that were filled with hate, and something underneath the hate – a deep and bitter pain, and a bleak emptiness, like the Seeker had lost part of her very soul. The Monitor recognized it all too well. It was how he had felt ever since Starscream…

Dreadmoon tried to shake off the thought. As he considered how he'd found the purple Seeker standing in front of Skywarp's marker in silent devotion, the pieces fell into place at once – "Skywarp was your companion." It was not a question.

The Seeker looked at Dreadmoon, her optics flickering in her still face, silent for a frozen moment before she said, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, "I would have killed Starscream myself if Galvatron hadn't done it first."

Dreadmoon paid her no further heed; he hardly heard her as he turned and left. He had something to attend to.

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The Monitor walked across the polished metal floor of the Decepticon Hall of Heroes underneath the quiet starlit sky. The place was deserted, and deceptively pristine, as if it was still waiting for his prince's coronation, instead of having become his unworthy grave.

Dreadmoon slowly climbed the stairs to the dais, feeling pulled down by invisible weights that grew heavier with every step. Reaching the top, he drew his wings more tightly around himself, quivering, as he forced himself to look at the black ashes that were lying there. How could this be all that was left of his proud and beautiful Starscream? Dreadmoon sank to his knees. Starscream… Starscream…

The sky was silent and the stars kept shining, but for one Decepticon, the galaxy grew dark. He felt himself fall to pieces, crumble into weightless ashes that were cast adrift into a black void. Oh, he would continue to exist, but never again would he live.

Starscream, my dearest love, more precious than anything, you took my life with you when yours was torn away… You were my light…

With great care, Dreadmoon scooped up Starscream's ashes with his hands, quietly, lovingly, meticulously, the way he used to serve him. It was the last thing he could do for him, and he would do it right.

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Sapphire wings parted the veils of night. Dreadmoon rose into the sky with his light, but precious cargo. He wasn't going to leave what was left of his beloved on Cybertron, where Starscream was hated and not honored; he would carry him away to where no one could touch him.

His limbs folded into place and his wings wrapped themselves tightly around his robot body as Dreadmoon transformed into his shuttle mode. He sped away, breaking free from Cybertron's gravity and entering the cold realm of space. For a moment, the speed was soothing, the cold against his hull almost enough to numb the pain.

Almost.

Only when he was at a good distance from the planet did he slow to a halt. Out there should be Starscream's resting place, and every shining star a monument to his silver prince.

So many stars… so many Seekers on Cybertron, and only one had captured his spark…

Dreadmoon transformed again, wings unfolding, and opened the small container that held Starscream's ashes. Amidst the still stars, the Monitor remained motionless for a moment, silently bidding farewell to his commander, his friend, his beloved companion; and his wordlessness was as keen and fervent as any prayer, as if he was watching his Starscream die all over again, feeling his own life bleed away into nothingness as his bright silver light was extinguished.

Everything was so still, so still; why didn't the universe weep?

Out there, stars moved so slowly it could only be measured in millennia, and planets shifted; and a lone blue Decepticon moved, flying in a big infinity loop and scattering his beloved's ashes as he went, feeling his life slip through his fingers. Nothing would be left for him.

Goodbye, Starscream, my dear, my only love…

The stars kept on shining, but all light was gone.