Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers.

Chapter 12: Hunger

A click. The sound of metal against metal.

"It's over, Megatron."

Lifting his gaze, the Decepticon leader came optic-to-gun-barrel, the smooth, black finish of a shotgun glistening from the wetness of the downpour. Next to him, the glow of the Star Saber starkly contrasted with the darkness of the night, humming loudly against Soundwave's neck.

Starscream was floored. "O-Optimus…!"

"Come with your little sidekick, Prime?" growled the tank, not daring to move.

Optimus didn't satisfy Megatron with a retort, only instructing the larger mech to get to his feet and back off. The Autobot leader stood defensively over Starscream's quivering frame as Megatron took cautious steps and dragged a limping Soundwave backwards, the blue mech's knee sparking blue and white from the exposed circuits. Hot Shot, with the simmering sword, stood in front of his commander in a solid stance, his face dead serious as he particularly watched the lieutenant. With those two katanas and Soundwave's elusive moves, he had his work cut out for him (even if he was injured).

Starscream, meanwhile, gaped in astonishment at the two mechs who'd rushed in to help. They had actually looked for him—and were protecting him. Blurr must've told them what happened by now, but here they were, against all odds. A feeling resonated in the seeker's spark that he hadn't felt in ages—gratitude. He was so stupidly happy at seeing Optimus Prime's face, he would kiss the commander if he could. In those seconds, Surge regained consciousness and had smothered his sinister counterpart into submission, shoving him back in the small, dark corner of the seeker's spark chamber.

"I don't suppose saying I'm unarmed will help," muttered Megatron, lifting his empty hands as if to prove his point.

"That didn't seem to stop you anyways," retorted the speedster as he twisted his grip on the Star Saber, frustrated. "You're one messed up individual, Megahead."

"Fortunately for you I have to bring Starscream in for immediate medical care," said Optimus calmly—but Hot Shot knew he only sounded that way only because he was really pissed off on the inside. "Therefore, you will go back to your hole and hide, for now."

Megatron didn't respond. A few tense and calculated moments passed before the Decepticon leader grabbed Soundwave's arm and hauled the smaller mech around, marching in the opposite direction. Their forms disappeared into the foggy vegetation and hammering rain, but Prime, of course, waited a few minutes before the reassuring light of a warp gate glowed just over the inky trees and then darkened again, taking the Decepticons with it.

"Optimus…" choked Starscream, on the cusp of unconsciousness—it bore down on him like the heaviest kind of gravity—but, he needed to stay awake. He needed to tell him. "Optimus…sir…"

"It's alright, Starscream, we've got ya," assured Hot Shot as he turned to the seeker, squatting down. He allowed the Mini-Cons of the Star Saber to disassemble, the three small white forms surrounding the seeker with concerned chirps. "Probably not the most ingenious idea, though—running off and all."

Prime, as well, stepped away from standing over Starscream, his optics still glowering where Megatron had sauntered off. After another strained second, his placed the small shotgun in his subspace, before gentle, golden optics flicked towards the wounded mech.

Swallowing the rock in his throat, Starscream attempted to speak, his voice like gravel. "I…I'm sorry…"

Kneeling, the Autobot commander said, "It's alright, Starscream."

"B-Blurr, he…"

"Blurr's just a little shaken. I don't think he really understood your situation."

Hot Shot grunted. "That's putting it lightly. Don't worry, Blurr's just headstrong. Doesn't really think before just taking off, y'know? You'll come to find that out."

"Meanwhile…you are filthy…we have to get you back to the base, clean off some of this…" sighed Optimus, glaring at the offending substance.

For all Transformers—regardless of faction—hated anything that could get into inner circuitry and harm the small, fragile workings. Of course, organic planets like this, it was all too often these elements were abound and had a knack of getting in there, whether you tried to prevent it or not. Sand, mud, snow, oil, whatever—and Starscream was thoroughly coated, inside and out.

The two Autobots above him regarded their drained and incapacitated charge, Hot Shot frowning at the dislodged right arm and the wires poking out. "Man, I hate that guy. Why did he have to go and dislocate your shoulder?"

"I-I was…being unruly…" was the trembling response.

The speedster scratched the back of his neck, shaking his head. "Just seems overboard to me."

Prime only nodded as he bent over further, making to lift the ex-Decepticon. A hand shot out and caught his shoulder, however, stopping him and the semi glanced in surprise at the seeker.

Starscream ground his teeth, jaw tight, tears still racing down his cheeks. He must've looked more pathetic than ever, but it couldn't wait another second. He had to do this…even if Prime, in turn, hated him for it.

"W…wait…Optimus…I have to tell you," gasped the flier, sensing Surge tighten in anticipation; it was as if he was holding his breath, knowing what Starscream was about to say. "The Mini-Cons…they're awake…I mean, one of them is awake. I'm so, so sorry I didn't tell you. He's…he's the one that scared Blurr. He's the one that woke up every time I tried to kill Megatron. He's been…please, I never meant…"

"Starscream." Optimus' expression was that of total benevolence—calm acceptance. "It can wait until we get back to the base."

Words caught in the seeker's throat, blue optics connecting with golden ones as the red mech stared up at his commander. The echoing drumming of the rain on their frames seemed to grow softer, quieter, as if the danger had finally passed. No-one had actually…saved him before. Come to his rescue. Driven the enemy away. It was always something he had to do himself (escape, usually), and the fact that Optimus and Hot Shot had shown up so close to the point of him being taken was…it made that much sweeter.

Hot, fresh tears collected at his optics as Starscream drew in a shaky breath, nodding as he relaxed in his bed of mud. His hand slid from Prime's shoulder as the Autobot leader resumed what he intended to do. Arms dug into the earth, sliding beneath the red mech's frame, drawing the injured one closer against his massive chassis. Lifted from the ground (thank Primus), Starscream bit back the overwhelming, blistering nausea that settled when his wings touched even the faintest of the things. The rain was unbearable enough the frayed paint and bent metal, but when a branch scratched its lethal pine needles across his sensory grid, he writhed. Optimus jerked to a stop, having to clench the flier firmer to his body so he wouldn't tumble back to the ground.

"Oh, frag! Optimus, his wings," said the young mech, his voice just barely audible against the ringing in the red one's scattered thoughts. "They…Megatron bent his wings backwards."

"Primus…" grunted the Autobot, stepping away from the prickly forest life. Shrugging a slumped Starscream against to him, Hot Shot took the initiative and placed his dislocated arm across his cockpit, ensuring it wouldn't knock into anything. Disoriented, the wounded mech could hear the commander's beating spark and latched onto the comforting sound. Pounding—powerful. An anchor.

"And I thought the shoulder was enough…" continued Prime.

"Fragging Megahead always has to go overboard," countered the scout.

"Get Red Alert on the line. Tell him to open the warp gate from right here," said Optimus, his arms already aching against the ex-Decepticon's deadweight. Even for a lean, thin seeker, Starscream was fragging heavy. Jetfire made it seem he was only carrying a youngling and could easily haul Starscream in his huge arms for miles—but, even with the Matrix of Leadership, there was only so much Prime could bear. And Starscream bared a lot. "With sense of urgency, Hot Shot."

The scout nodded, appealing to the medic over his comm. link. A sore groan escaped the limp seeker in Optimus' arms, the younger mech in desperate need of rest, but seeming to resist it all the same. How he hadn't passed out from the torture bothered Prime—either Starscream was simply used to it, or the Mini-Cons in his spark had a part to play. There was only so much their bodies could take as far as pain was concerned; it was just the natural way of things. Too much pain and the system would shut down, a protocol to prevent any maltreatment to the mind (essentially a way to prevent trauma). Over time, that protocol could be pushed—and it seemed Starscream had pushed it to its limits. But, it wasn't the first time. Somehow, the seeker managed to keep his demeanor throughout all of this, when the Mini-Con wasn't awake and vying for control. It only assured Optimus that Megatron had regularly beaten his second-in-command, and it left the Autobot that more enraged.

The soft light of the space bridge poured over the environment, liquid energy spilling onto the grass and breaking off like tattering leaves within the air. A green and blue vortex beckoned them in to the safety of the base and Optimus didn't hesitate to step through, faintly enjoying the sensation of the warmth rolling over his frame. A heady pull—then the comforting white walls of the Autobase surrounded them, florescent lights gleaming from the ceiling. Next to him, Hot Shot also wandered through, shaking the rest of the rain off of him. It puddled around their mucked-up feet, the mud smearing across the once-impeccable floor as they walked further into the confines of their home.

Ratchet materialized from nowhere, his expression hard and focused as he rushed up to Optimus, already on the job. Silver hands flicked over the moaning seeker, his displaced arm (once again) hanging from his side. A haggard sigh.

"Have to get some of this mud off," grumbled the rough medic, "I can't even put his arm back in place before we get this…junk off."

"Call the others," instructed Prime gently to the young mech, "tell them we found Starscream."

Nodding, the yellow scout fell in line as Optimus proceeded to the nearest washroom. Back to the latrine, once again. The commander was certain, if only Starscream was partially aware, that even having found a way to keep him from getting sick, he still returned to the same place each night. Frag.

Ratchet was walking sideways beside the red and blue mech, trying to evaluate the seeker's injuries and not fall over at the same time. He managed well, giving a slight growl when he saw how mangled Starscream's wings were, as the larger mech approached the showers. Hot Shot opened the door for him, talking to Jetfire at the same time as Prime was forced to settle Starscream to his feet. Guiding the wary seeker through the entrance, he allowed the wounded mech to sink to the silver-tiled floor, his legs buckling beneath him. Ratchet remained by the red one's side as Optimus grabbed a nozzle, thankful for Red Alert's foresight into installing hoses. He turned on the water, allowing it to gain to a decent temperature, before returning to Starscream.

The seeker—somewhere between consciousness and oblivion—twitched when Prime began wash away the grime and muck from his frame, but then visibly relaxed again. It was tedious and frustrating (the sticky, thick mud clinging to about every surface it could), but after what seemed like forever, Starscream appeared (for the most part) clean. At the very least, his dislodged arm and bent wings were back to normal; Ratchet could repair them without fretting over whether or not the brown material had gotten into unpleasant places or tight corners. Meanwhile, Starscream had drifted off into a light sleep, optics fluttering open every now and then. The warm water was probably paradise compared to what he'd just been through.

"Alright," said Ratchet, "I need to put his arm back into place."

From his subspace, the medic pulled out a small syringe of sedative—only for a hand to snap out and catch him. Glancing up, Ratchet was met with a resistant ex-Decepticon, using his "good" arm to stop the doctor from giving him any drugs.

"Starscream…this'll help with the pain," started Ratchet, trying too hard to be patient, although it was obvious he was anything but. They couldn't play games like this when it was stupid to refuse his help in the first place; but, he was used to his patients trusting him.

"Just…pop it back in…" returned the seeker nonetheless, teeth clenched.

"I have to mold your wings back anyways—"

"In the med bay, then."

"Starscream—"

"Please."

Pleading optics. Trembling fingers.

Consistent pain and trauma aside, the ex-Decepticon's phobia was still dominating his fatigued thoughts. Annoyed and already at the end of the short rope of patience, Ratchet shook Starscream's hand from his wrist and set the syringe down, adjusting himself next to the mech. Taking the lax hand into the medic's own, he looked at Optimus who nodded, sitting on the other side of the red mech. Starscream grabbed a hold of Prime's hand, his expression already in a grimace, as the doctor lifted the seeker's arm. The red mech released a startled cry, pink droplets collecting at the edge of his blue, dazed optics. Ratchet, despite the sharp noise, continued to, gradually (very gradually), swing the red and white arm at an acute angle away from Starscream's chest. The ligaments beneath the disjointed shoulder and arm tightened, the seeker hissing with displeasure, before—

CLINK.

A twitch, and then Starscream was (finally) down for the count, optics going offline and body slumping against the wall.

"Man, that bites," muttered Hot Shot from the doorway, shaking his head. "I remember in training I got a dislocated arm, too. But, you know, not with all of the other injuries."

Ratchet released Starscream's hand and picked up the needle again. "Well, that makes it easier for me. Let's get him to the med bay."


Flashes. Colors. Voices.

Starscream was only indistinctly mindful of all of them—and yet, swinging back and forth between unconsciousness and just barely getting his optics to open, he couldn't bring himself to care much. All he knew was that he was so very, very tired and just wanted to sleep slaggit and only return to the world of the living when he could actually stand on his own. At some points, there were hands on him, on his wings, fingers interlaced with his own, a touch on his helm. A detached numbness; he knew when the medic was bending his wings back to their original shape, could barely identify the nerves on the verge of incredible pain and total nothingness. He should've been thrashing in agony, but he was, instead, laying compliantly on the cold, flat berth.

But it was good…good not to feel pain.

Still, being a soldier (and a Decepticon used to getting the fire beat out of him), his processor ached to know what was going on around him. To see light again, to see details. To be in the middle of this halfway point of illusion and reality was just a little too surreal for his tastes.

That's right. The Mini-Con, too. Surge rustled, an image of a tiny, green and black frame trying to shake themselves of the heavy effects of the sedative flickering behind Starscream's optics. Clinging onto the image, both Mini-Con and Transformer supported each other, becoming more aware by the second. Despite himself, a groan slipped past his lips, optics fluttering as he tried to separate himself from the annoying fog in his head and actually come to his senses.

"…rscream…"

"He's…Hot Shot…hold…"

Hands on his head again. Why did everyone like to touch his helm so much? Someone was pushing his it to the side, a dull throb coursing through the seeker's neck, exposing the vitals there. Vulnerable to pain, to infraction. No, that wasn't good. Focus. Look to the front. But Whoever's hands were stronger, keeping him in place as a small dot pricked the mesh-like "skin" of his throat. Ouch. What the in the pits?

"…ack to sleep…"

"N…no…!" slurred the seeker, hand jutting out to reach for whatever he could. Another hand collapsing around his own. A giant, warm one.

"Everything's going to be okay, Starscream."

He recognized that voice.

It cut clear through the tangled mess called his processor and set a certain amount of relief on the mounting anxiousness. Jetfire. That's right. Jetfire was good. He remembered that. And, although there was a clouding, thickening darkness filling his body, Starscream had the strength to tighten his fingers in the shuttle's hold. Let him know the disoriented seeker could hear him. Hoped, in a pitiful sort of way, that Jetfire wouldn't leave him at the behest of whoever else might be messing with things they shouldn't. Because, as memory serves, allowing his tenacious loyalty to blind him left him with three Mini-Cons sparks stuffed inside his own.

That's right. The Mini-Cons. He kept forgetting. The damn drugs, they were just so…and Surge was asleep again, out like a light. Starscream was reminded of a youngling the way the Mini-Con kept behaving. So out of sorts…

Then, there was…

There was the Other One.

The One who'd just woken up.

And, now that Surge had (for the time being) stepped down from the guard post, the Other One was running around unhindered, searching through Starscream's body like he owned the place. He could almost hear its thoughts, which were sparring at best. Strong legs here and wide-span wings there and powerful thrusters over here. Delicious, new territory. He prowled around like something organic, running on instinct rather than the mind of a sentient being. It gave Starscream a reverberating shiver, reminding him needlessly of the younger medic's earlier prognosis all those weeks ago. Transformers weren't organic—they didn't behave like animals, definitely not in the way this Mini-Con was going on about business.

But he was there and he was doing it, and it was absolutely creepy.

The Mini-Con sucked in every detail he could as Ratchet continued to repair their shared, broken body, slithering around his tubing and over metal bones. Starscream quaked again in reflex, knowing he'd never grow accustomed to the dark presence in his frame, so long as it existed.

Voices faded in and out of his audio receptors, Jetfire adjusting his grip in the seeker's hand. The Mini-Con noticed this and zipped from Starscream's wing to the physical contact, assessing it as if for the first time. Much like trapped smoke, the dark Mini-Con pressed against the outer walls, eager to be closer to the warmth, to the energy emanating from their white counterpart. Somehow Starscream knew the Other One saw this "Jetfire" as good, too, the Mini-con adapting the seeker's feelings towards the shuttle as his own.

But—it wasn't quite the same.

The feeling was mutual, but the reaction was…different.

There was a brand-new sensation crawling up Starscream's circuitry from the small mech's spark, a kind of aching, but not. There was the aching from the aftermath of being punched, or being rejected by someone you trusted—then there was this. This…felt good.

Starscream's fingers twitched in Jetfire's grasp, not unlike the other, ongoing small movements the seeker continued to make as Ratchet efficiently patched him up. The shuttle stood, fixed, not separating from the red mech's side until he was sure he could feel safe for Starscream to be alone. No thanks to Blurr's less-than-tactful approach, the ex-Decepticon was once again confined to the med bay, more drugs pumped into him than any (normal) Transformer could take. The Mini-Cons and the extra amount of energon in his system probably had a part in him burning through the sedatives so fast, but he still didn't like it. This whole situation just sucked all the way around, the shuttle feeling both frustrated and helpless at missing the chance to avoid this altogether.

And, of course, there was Blurr.

The second-in-command was already forced to bite back his tongue on several occasions when Optimus and Scavenger had cornered him for answers a couple hours before. Blurr, in his usual stubborn manner, refused point-blank. The infuriating blue mech wouldn't give them any answers, but Jetfire already knew what he'd done—trapped Starscream alone and probably demanded a confession to some crime he hadn't even committed. To make things worse, they couldn't press him any further when Hot Shot had burst in on the conversation, cutting it short when he reported that Starscream was missing.

And, now, here again.

In the frelling med bay, which had been occupied by the seeker more than it should have in the short time he'd been living at the Autobase. Again, no thanks to Blurr.

Jetfire realized his anger wasn't that of a second-in-command, but he couldn't help feeling it anyways. Starscream had gotten a thorough beating from Megatron after refusing to rejoin the Decepticons (again), but probably would've been easily able to hold his own if he hadn't released so much energy earlier. Weakened, alone…he never stood a chance.

As much as Jetfire didn't want to admit it, though, these crappy circumstances really boiled down to him. If he hadn't left Starscream by himself, Blurr wouldn't have appeared and freaked out on the seeker, provoking him to run. So, in the end, the shuttle was more mad at himself than anything. Blurr was just being Blurr—intensely protective of his teammates, and giving no slack when it came to defected Decepticons. Jetfire just hadn't instilled the fact that Starscream was off-limits to this sort of behavior. Slaggit.

"Red Alert, put pressure—yes, there. Okay, now, slowly…" murmured Ratchet, optics trained on Starscream's frame intently.

The pair had managed to almost completely straighten out the seeker's wings, returning him to some state of normalcy. Whatever that meant.

"Slowly…"

Starscream's wings trembled involuntarily again, something that all three mechs within the med bay noticed. Jetfire knew it was like a human shiver—although the ex-Decepticon wasn't cold. Maybe he was dreaming.

Ratchet stopped what he was doing to watch the red mech for a moment. Scowling, he said, "That's the third time that's happened."

"A dream?" wondered Jetfire.

Ratchet glanced at him, then back to Starscream. "Maybe."

The door at the corner suddenly whooshed open and a serious-looking Prime appeared, only partway entering the infirmary. Golden optics fell on Jetfire's form before Optimus silently motioned at him to come to the hallway. Mentally sighing and preparing himself for what was coming, the shuttle released Starscream's hand, a little surprised when the seeker's fingers curled into a fist. Still dreaming.

Turning, the white Autobot retreated to the corridor, allowing the door to close behind him and approaching his commander. The red and blue mech (who had obviously spoken to Blurr again) crossed his arms and stared at his second for a moment. Despite having faced the toughest of Decepticons in battle, there was nothing quite as humbling as a scrutinizing stare from the Bearer of the Matrix himself.

"Did you know the Mini-Cons had woken up?" asked Optimus finally.

Jetfire's spark sped up. "Sir, I would've told you so, trust me. Anything that I've seen going on, I've told you. Whatever else that's happened you've already seen for yourself."

Prime sighed, letting his hands swing down to rest on his hips. "I know, I know…I can't help but feel like we've missed something."

"Did Starscream say something when you found him?" wondered the shuttle. Inside, he felt a little undermined that Optimus would lose his faith in his second like that, but he also knew this was a very strange situation for all of them. They were running in blind and had nothing to go off of—even Ironhide's state didn't compare to this circus.

"He told me the Mini-Cons, at least one of them, had woken up. When, I'm not sure. Sometime after Ratchet had opened him up," replied his commander, "Blurr interacted with it, I believe. Somehow, the Mini-Con or Starscream took control of Incinerator and told Blurr to kill Starscream."

Startled, Jetfire briefly forgot of everything after those words left Prime's mouth. A dark, disturbed feeling shrouded him—this was getting more complicated by the day. "What?"

Optimus sighed and rubbed his optics, visibly noting the shuttle's stunned reaction. "The Mini-Con took over Incinerator and told Blurr to kill Starscream. Blurr described it like…possession. Even though the Mini-Cons can't speak, somehow Incinerator did and not exactly in a…a friendly tune. Perhaps the Mini-Con in Starscream was trying to defend the body they shared by spooking Blurr, in which I might add, it was quite successful."

Mulling for a second, Jetfire recalled how scared Blurr really looked when Incinerator approached him in the hall. It was an expression similar to when young soldiers looked upon battle for the first time in their lives. Disbelief. Horror. It would make sense…although it was an ugly truth.

"What should we do?" asked the white Autobot, wrapping his arms around his stomach. He suddenly felt very tired.

"What I came to ask is that, as Starscream trusts you the most, try to get a better understanding of what's happening on the inside," said Prime softly. "Wait a few days, though. Allow him to regain himself. I need to know what's happening, for the sake of the whole team. Ratchet and I are going to devise a plan to infiltrate the Decepticon base and get the datapads from Hook. If this Mini-Con becomes a…threat…"—the word was said hoarsely—"I need the information from those pads. I can't have Starscream turning on us."

Jetfire knew Optimus was saying that more than just as an objective note. He really did care for the seeker, and watching someone go in and out of the med bay like it was a pit stop probably left a bad taste in his mouth, too. He wanted what was best for his team, whether or not they were (formally) in the ranks. Starscream already felt like he'd been here forever and the shuttle couldn't imagine the base without his obnoxious paint job contrasting against the sleek, silver walls. Even Hot Shot, too, seemed to be relatively fond of him, even if hadn't spent a lot of time with the seeker. Alexis, too. The scariest part was that if Starscream really did go off the deep end, too…or if he lost himself…both the Autobots and the Decepticons would have more to worry about than the war between them. He couldn't begin to imagine what those Mini-Cons were like inside of him, if they were bloodthirsty…or if they were just trying to survive.

"I'll do my best, sir," answered Jetfire, optics flicking to the ground.

"Thank you, Jetfire."

Hot Shot suddenly rounded the corner, a smile spreading across his face when he saw his superiors. "Why such long faces? We got Starscream back, right?" he started, patting both of the larger mechs on the shoulder. "And Blurr's just fine. We're all fine. All still alive and well, and able to give Megatron another good pounding, huh?"

Jetfire smirked, rubbing the scout's head. "You have to be this high to give Megahead a pounding, Hot Shot!"

"Hey, screw you, man! We stop growing when we reach perfection!" exclaimed the yellow Autobot in return.

The shuttle burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Whatever makes you feel better, short stuff."

Hot Shot growled, plowing into Jetfire's midsection as if to topple him over. The shuttle only laughed again, giving Optimus an oh-please look. The commander's optics smiled, and his second was sure that he was grinning beneath his facemask, too.

"You have to push, Hot Shot," jested the white Autobot.

"You're just so…fat…that I can't…!" grunted the scout, metal feet digging at the floor. "Give me a…hand…Optimus!"

"I think you're doing just fine," chuckled their commander as he leaned back against the wall, one leg propped up beneath him.

Hot Shot's right foot bolted out, then, kicking in between Jetfire's legs and curled around one of his grey feet. The shuttle recognized the move and caught the smaller mech's arm and tugged, forcing the scout to collapse against the second-in-command's frame.

"Augh, slaggit!" exclaimed Hot Shot, stepping down hard on Jetfire's foot.

"Ow, you little glitch!" retorted the larger and releasing him from his grasp.

Snickering, the yellow Autobot hightailed it in the opposite direction, disappearing around the corner with a disgruntled, grumbling Jetfire wandering after him.

"You should teach him how to slide tackle," supplied Optimus lifted himself off the wall and they walked together.

"Primus, I almost don't want to knowing he'd be sweeping us off our feet every chance he got," returned the white one. "Although seeing the look of bewilderment on any of the Decepticon's faces would be absolutely worth it."

"Particularly Soundwave's," said Prime.

"Particularly," agreed Jetfire.

Joking aside, it might not be such a bad idea; Red Alert and Ratchet still had to smooth out all the quirks in Starscream's frame and it would be awhile until they finished. Plus, the rough medic had started to get ornery with the white Autobot getting in the way consistently, more than once giving him an annoyed glower. In the meantime, Jetfire could use a distraction to let loose some pent-up steam after this whole ordeal.

Training with Hot Shot always ended up becoming a spectacle anyway—the scout would try to bring down the shuttle down using all his old tricks. A lot of wrestling and lame jokes. It was a good time for all.

At the same time…

"What about Blurr, is he going to be…?" wondered the second, switching a nervous glance back at the medbay door.

Optimus scratched his chin, folding his other arm across his chest. "Scavenger and I talked to Blurr for the entire time Starscream has been in the med bay. I…believe he understands, now, the situation more than before. He understands Starscream is not the casual Decepticon having up and just left his faction just because he had a small quarrel with his leader. This is more complicated, more painful. He also knows what he did was out of line—we made sure of that."

"I don't want a divided base," said Jetfire.

"You and me both, my friend," murmured Prime. "Blurr…will be alright. Scavenger will make sure of it."

"And Incinerator…?"

"He wouldn't leave Blurr alone until he finally held him. Incinerator hasn't lost his grip since. I think it was an equally scary experience, and since Blurr's calmed down quite a bit…they'll be alright," answered the Autobot leader again.

Jetfire nodded.

I hope so.


Three days later…

Starscream saw stars.

You idiot.

They glimmered in his vision like shattered, solidified spikes of energon.

We're...both idiots.

He couldn't feel...anything.

We've dug our own grave.

Shuttering his optics closed, he pushed down a painful gulp of nothing.

And now we're the only ones who can pull each other out.

Starscream lifted a trembling hand to his throbbing helm, the bleak pain seeming to stretch on and on forever. Opening his optics again, his perception cleared to find the soft fluorescent lights of the medical bay shining down on him. Surge was whirling around in his head, awake and alive and frightened. The seeker had woken up the second Mini-Con...of all the Mini-Cons, the worst. If it had been a second closer, a little more time wasted letting Megatron blabber or Soundwave calmly torture him was all it would've taken.

Are we going to die, Surge?

The Mini-Con inside him stopped.

I dunno.

Starscream craned his neck, wincing at the sharp jab in his neck. Wires. Wires frelling everywhere. Primus. It was like a revolving nightmare; no matter how many times he tried to escape it, he always happened to wake up with snaking tubes and wires plugged into him. The phobia came in like a settling dust, a shudder making his frame quake against the surgical berth.

Head dropping back with a resounding thunk, the ex-Decepticon's air systems kicked on, cycling panting breaths to cool his system. He swallowed again. Glancing around, he realized he was alone in the otherwise dark med bay, clean and immaculate as always.

Good. There would be no-one here to stop him.

What're you doing, Starscream?

With gritted teeth, the seeker slowly brought his arms up, pushing his upper body into an upright position. The tubes moved with him, falling against his legs as he leaned forward, neon purple tears collecting at the corner of his optics.

You're going to break something!

I gotta...I gotta…

Primus, he couldn't even finish his thoughts. Rubbing one optic with a metal knuckle, he shook his head, trying to escape the fog of pain and anxiety and the drugs still creeping through his system.

He's gotta know.

Who's gotta know what? You're going to be stuck in here even longer, probably with restraints if you leave!

I know, but I gotta…

A third swallow. Pulling his legs to the edge of the berth, Starscream agonizingly slid onto his feet. Releasing a startled cry, his knees bent under the pressure, the rest of his frame screaming back to life. Grabbing the edge of the bed, he steadied his trembling body before he collapsed.

Starscream!

I'm...I'm okay.

Taking a few minutes to recollect himself, Starscream pushed through the burning pain to reach his original intention again. Using the berth for support, the seeker went from the bed to the wall, his legs like rubber as he shakily gimped to the exit. Each step was worse than the last; he wouldn't be able to make it back on his own. But it didn't matter. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing else matters anymore.

Starscream, what are you talking about?

With pink-stained lips, the ex-Decepticon offered the small 'bot a weak smile. Surge...you terrified Blurr to protect me—but you didn't hurt him.

Starscream saw an image of tiny, blue optics flicking down. You...don't sound mad about it anymore.

You did what you felt you had to. But this Mini-Con...the Other One…if it had been him instead of you, he would've killed Blurr. I have to...make sure he realizes that no-one is a threat in this base, otherwise….

Even though the green Mini-Con didn't answer, the seeker knew he understood. So long as Surge was there, the Other One wouldn't get out of control. Even Starscream had the strength to fight him off. But if the dark Mini-Con did grab the steering wheel, even for a short time…there was no telling. Honestly, the crimson seeker didn't even want to think about it. But for the nth time in his brief period with the Autobots, they had picked up his sorry aft off the floor and given him a second chance. Protected him. He, in turn, had to protect them…from himself.

With a grunt, Starscream yanked at the couple machines still attached to him, tugging them along as he exited the medical bay and down the long, bare hallway towards the space bridge and control room. What could've only been a matter of Earth-minutes felt like hours in his mind, Surge offering up whatever strength he could, knowing there was only so much.

Despite producing excess energon, his wounds were as grievous as ever. Every crook and wire seemed to ache perpetually, the tinge of energon coating his glossa. His vision was flickering, misting with darkness, even though he'd only managed a matter of meters.

H...how long have we been…

The internal chronometer says three and a half Earth days.

I guess this Mini-Con stuff...has its benefits...

Back in the good ol' Decepticon days, without lasting medics, you could be out for a matter of weeks. Not enough supplies. Not enough personnel. Even with the Autobots, maybe he would've been unconscious longer without the Mini-Cons. Maybe he would've been dead.

Starscream, your systems are going to offline you if you don't—

Surge.

What?

Shut up.

It wasn't like he could make it back to the medbay, as it was, and it was the only thought that stuck when trying to remember why he got up in the first place. He needed to get to…

Somehow, he found himself at the corner of the control room, his machines still squeaking as they rolled behind him like obedient turbo-rats. Cooling systems going into overdrive, the taste of energon more prominent, half of his eyesight gone, Starscream leaned against the wall. The door was open and just a little further, but he needed to take a quick rest. Just a short breem.

Maybe he's in the control room…

Dammit, Starscream…

"Does anyone hear that?" asked Jetfire inside of the control room. Starscream sensed his spark speed up at the comforting sound of the shuttle's voice, recalling the feeling of his hand laced in the seeker's while he was being repaired.

"I thought that was you, getting squeaky in your old age," retorted Hot Shot.

There was a sigh from a third individual. Sounded like Blurr. Hopefully it was Blurr.

"Cute. Since you're so young and strong, go check it out," replied the white shuttle.

The speedster offered a frustrated grunt, but didn't answer as he stood up and metallic footsteps headed to the door. Whatever was left of Starscream's vision was beginning to dissolve, his legs weakening the longer he stood at the corner.

Yellow and orange and grey appeared at the door and glanced his way before Hot Shot physically jumped and exclaimed, "Starscream?"

The seeker didn't answer—couldn't, really—as the young Autobot dashed up to him, taking hold of one arm. "What're you doing out of the medbay? How are you even awake?"

"The...the Mini…"

Jetfire materialized from nowhere, glancing in between the machines being haphazardly dragged along and Starscream's pained face. His hands were already on the seeker's back, the other going for the front. "Don't talk, just...let's get you back into the medbay before Ratchet sees you and puts you under restraints," he was saying.

"Wait, I gotta…" gasped Starscream, taking another step forward.

At that second, his knees buckled in. Jetfire caught the seeker with ease, bunching him up in his arms along with the other wires and tubes. The ex-Decepticon outreached his hand, hoping and begging that a blue and silver figure would step through the doorway.

"Trust me, Starscream, you don't wanna be stuck in a neckbrace," muttered Hot Shot, shaking his head. "I would know."

"No, you don't..." Starscream swallowed the rock lodged in his throat, trying to croak out the last words.

"You should hurry up," said Blurr in his usual low tone at the doorway. "I know by now Ratchet is sensing a disturbance in the force."

Starscream's sparked briefly stood still before he leaned forward, the details of the hallway and of the sniper himself sharpening.

"I'm sorry, Blurr," he blurted, his faceplates creasing with pain. "I'm so sorry for what happened."

Silence dropped in the hall like an iron ball. The other two near the seeker were quiet and staring at Blurr, wondering how he was going to respond.

"I didn't mean for it to happen..." started the ex-Decepticon, tears already collecting and straining down his grey face. "I didn't want to...I didn't want to...!"

"It's alright," responded the blue Autobot finally, his orange optics glued to his feet, "I understand. I'm, uh..." he scratched his mask, nervous, "I'm sorry too."

The red seeker didn't move for a moment, having thought the whole thing through up until this moment and was now unsure of what to do. To be honest, he didn't expect Blurr to even respond, let alone accept his apology (never mind saying sorry also). So, all he knew was simply nod and bow his head, an odd feeling of weightlessness in his spark.

Without warning, the door down the hallway swept open and out stepped a certain orange and white Autobot. The whole group tensed as Ratchet slowly rotated his gaze in their direction, a dramatic transformation of his expression going from his regular scowl to horrified surprise.

"Ahp, you're screwed," muttered Hot Shot.

"What in the pits is going on?!"


"You should count yourself fortunate," grumbled the ornery medic as he stared darkly at the seeker, "that I don't have a neckbrace that fits your frame."

The ex-Decepticon slurred an intelligible rebuttal, the weight of the drugs bearing down on him worse than the day after high-grade energon.

"Aw, lighten up on him, Ratchet," said Alexis as she puffed up her pillow before plopping back against Starscream's chassis again. "He's alright. Plus, everything's back to normal."

"Stop talking, the movie's about to start," said Rad as he, also, somehow managed to get comfortable leaning against the incapacitated mech's knee.

I guess I'll be a bed, thought the seeker uselessly, too doped to feeling awkward or invaded at the children's presence. Even Carlos was huddled next to Alexis, the seeker seeing past them at the flickering lights against the wall with the help of his own pillow propping up his head. Using a projector, they put on a "movie" where they watched other humans pretending to be other humans about a fake story. It didn't make a lot of sense, but it would supposedly pass the time while Starscream swam around in a sedative-induced stupor between random periods of recharging.

"Jet...fur…" mumbled the exhausted seeker.

Ratchet quirked an optic ridge at him. "Optimus sent him on routine flight patrol. What for?"

Starscream simply shook his head before sleep finally overtook him. The medic was still pondering over the little moment when his sharp audio receptors heard footsteps outside of the medbay. Prime was probably here to check up on the idiot. Finishing with the seeker's IV, Ratchet shut off the lights and wandered out to find, surprise surprise, the Bearer of the Matrix himself. With a frown, he shut the door and approached his friend.

"How is he doing?" Optimus asked, crossing his arms over a massive red chassis.

"He's asleep," replied the orange mech, then paused. "Do you know the two airborne idiots are falling for each other?"

A reflection of a smile shined in Prime's liquid golden optics, obviously showing he'd known for some time now, if not since the beginning. "Of course."

Ratchet huffed. "This is a bad idea, Optimus."

"Why?"

"Why do you think, Prime? Starscream isn't exactly stable, nor is the rest of this base. Aside from the fact that I've yet to see Autobot insignias instead of Decepticon ones on his wings, the fool is pit-bent on revenge. He's simply going to drag your second-in-command into the mess at best, or at worst Starscream's going to go back to the Decepticons and you're going to have send one of your best soldiers back to Cybertron to waste time dancing with Shockwave," answered the medica stoutly, rubbing the side of his helm.

"I've considered it...but Starscream's not as bent as you might assume," answered the cheeky Commander, which aided in aggravating his friend even more. Placing two hands on the older mech's shoulders, he went on, "Ratchet, listen. I haven't just been busy. I've been keeping an objective distance on purpose, just in case what you say actually happens. If anyone is sucking anyone in, Jetfire is pulling in Starscream. I've seen it. It's actually quite intriguing—"

The doctor shrugged off the other's hands. "Intriguing is not part of your vocabulary, Prime—"

"When Jetfire comes down, call him in and see for yourself. The idea is to create ties where Starscream won't want to leave. He's making progress. You were there. He apologized to Blurr, which is unheard of if anyone else asked about what happened," chuckled the Commander, once again folding his arms. "He isn't exactly a stranger, Ratchet. You know how he was with the Decepticons—he wanted to be respected and looked up to; he's had to fight for it so hard, I doubt he's even had the opportunity to really love someone. Do you want to take that away from him?"

Halting his thoughts, Ratchet glanced away with creased optic ridges.

That point he could not argue about. Maybe part of Starscream's mental instability was that he really had no stability in the first place—how Jetfire would figure into that complicated formula would be something which had to be closely watched. Even though the white shuttle was hot-headed and young and didn't always think things through, Ratchet held a soft spot for him since he'd originally joined the Autobots all those years ago. Starscream, on the other hand, was a piece of work and, if he could help it, Ratchet didn't want the relationship to backfire.

Finally, he settled his old gaze back on Prime. "Whatever happens, you must not let the Decepticons find out."

Optimus sighed as he turned, beginning to walk down the hallway as his friend followed him. "That, dear Ratchet, is a far more difficult task. Megatron will be able to see the smallest details, even in battle; he's a meticulous mech and despite what happened last night, I don't think he's going to stop until he either has Starscream in his hands or either one is dead."

"Have you considered gathering the datapads from Hook?" wondered the orange medic as his fists balled at his sides.

"I have," replied the red and blue mech, "and I've unfortunately I've come to a stand-still."

"Didn't Starscream give the details of the Decepticon base when he initially came here?"

Glancing once at his friend, then back to his path, Prime said, "Yes...everything except for the coordinates for the space bridge."

Ratchet smacked his forehead impulsively. A little habit he'd picked up ever since...well, ever since having to deal with younger mechs. "The idiot wants to go and get himself killed," concluded the doctor.

"I think he wants to kill Megatron, actually," returned the Commander, taking a gander into the control room. Blurr was stuck with Scavenger (again), probably going through every checklist and motion possible to keep things up-to-spec. The other three—Jetfire, Red Alert and Hot Shot were out on morning patrols.

"He's an idiot," retorted Ratchet again as he shook his head, "he should be going after Hook, if anyone. Killing Megatron doesn't necessarily mean Hook won't disappear from the shadows, and if he thinks Megatron is obsessive about him, then he's going to find out what obsessive really means. Killing Hook would stop everything since no other medic—literally, none—would either be willing to or know how to continue on the experiment."

"Yes, you're right," murmured Prime as he continued along, slowly reaching his office. Then he stopped and looked directly at his medic, his shining optics soft. "Though I imagine Megatron is less frightening."


A/N: Sorry for the long chapter again! I needed to get in these tidbits for what's going to happen in the future. And sorry about the long update! Work is picking up like crazy and I'm writing a book as well, so this fic is like my break from that.

Thank you for reading!