The surgery had been a miserable event. Soundwave had been told to watch the whole thing while Megatron moved on to work on his newest project. Having the TIC look on from his corner of the room was unnerving. And Starscream had in no uncertain terms threatened to gut him if he messed the surgery up in any way.

At least there had been time between the cortical psychic patch and the surgery that allowed him to research t-cog replacements. XL-2M99 would rather not have Starscream make good on that threat.

Researching an operation and actually initiating one were on two different scales. It served as an apt reminder that, while he had more medical experience than the other vehicons, he was far from trained in the art. One of these cycles, he really could slip up and then Megatron would be relieving him of the position.

XL-2M99 shook that thought off. It was better not to humor it.

After the surgery, he had been left to disinfect his tools and Starscream had wasted no time in bragging about his return to flight all the way out of the medbay. Soundwave slipped out after the seeker and the vehicon was left alone with his work. For the first time that cycle, he let tense plating relax.

Then he was given an alert that three squads of officers would soon be proceeding to the location of new relics. As the ship medic, he should wait on alert for any of these officers should they require aid.

The first to return was Soundwave. He did not come back with injuries.

The second group back came together in a tumble of curses. XL-2M99 could see his lord did have injuries in the video sent across the ship not long after. But they did not seem to debilitate the commander, nor did Megatron seem remotely interested in leaving his own jobs in order to visit the medbay.

The final arrival was Dreadwing. And the seeker joined the other three in not arriving at his office.

But the injuries he wore meant he should have.

XL-2M99's visor brightened as he clipped another clump of leaves away in anger and ignored its fallen presence on his desk. Perched on the medical berth nearby, XL-3T09 let his helm drop into his servos with a groan that the medic ignored. He was too busy thinking to continue their earlier socializing.

Even if the thoughts did nothing but fuel the neurotic destruction of his former stress relief.

He should have.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The growl was familiar. It rattled deep through him, as though it could resonate all the way to his protoform.

Starscream knew the feeling.

He also knew he had far too much damn pride to ever stand down until things grew more obviously hostile. Megatron just growled out everything; it didn't always mean he was about to toss him down and yell.

"Saving your life!" Starscream snapped back. They were tangled on the floor of the groundbridge control room and none of the useless drones had bothered to come help either of them yet. He flailed about in another attempt to separate from his leader. That was the last mech in the world he wanted to be playing Twister (a human form of entertainment he only knew about from his cycles alone in the Harbinger. He had been starving and alone; obviously the energon deprivation had left him a little fevered in the mind and excused his visits to human entertainment) with, and the sooner he was far, far away from Megatron's physical reach, the better-

"My life?" came the reply, in an even deeper growl. "You think it your place, your initiative, to-"

Aha! Starscream realized which part of the big mech (one of those awfully large arms) he had gotten trapped under after transforming back into root mode on the floor, and wiggled free under the crook of the elbow.

It seemed that the moment it became obvious he would be standing first, Megatron determined it time to simply rise up as well. Fragger.

"Yes!" he interrupted. A click later and his wings had drooped just slightly at the realization he was still back-talking the decepticon leader.

"Did you have any plans to retreat?" Starscream kept his (very small) distance and basked in the false safety such a distance gave him; it let him raise his voice and even jab a digit in indignant lecturing. Oh, he would get it if he didn't stop-

Megatron did nothing but glare. The red optics moved glacially slow from the compensating hiked wings to the offensive finger and finally to the seeker's face. It was obvious why he moved his gaze so slowly. It built suspense. It made everyone in this room nervous.

Just when Starscream was beginning to feel the need to recant everything he'd said and offer some sort of spineless praise, the other spoke up. Of course, it was all timed; of course, Megatron knew his body language well enough to know exactly when such a tipping point between obstinacy and nervousness would hit its apex.

"No one-" he started up dangerously and Starscream felt his wings drop right back down. Every drone in the room had frozen as though scared their movement would draw that danger. "-forces me to retreat until I give that command."

How very familiar. Hadn't Megatron started off on this scrap that very cycle he'd returned from dark space? Oh yes, he had. He'd tossed Starscream to the floor, stepped ever too tight on his chest, and given his ultimatum. No one rids me of Optimus Prime but me.

It seemed he was every bit still that stupid fool.

But this was different than Starscream trying to kill Optimus alone! This was a totally different scenario with a different set of rules. Megatron could not have hoped to survive if he had remained!

And Starscream had failed to allow such a thing to happen; he had failed to stand back and let the Prime kill his foolish leader so that he could instead take the helm of the decepticon army. There could have been many reasons behind that: an army was useless against the power of that new weapon, the death itself would have been little more than a martyrdom for the decepticons to view in awe, etc. If only he himself could figure out what the real reason had been.

"Master, please," Starscream began in his most convincing voice, "-be reasonable; you would have died out there had you remained! Retreat was the only option for you to regain your strength and best the Prime another time!"

He found it relatively convincing. It seemed by the slight curl upwards on Megatron's face that he found it appealing as well.

And then the mech was stepping forward. One single step in all its threatening glory.

"I would have, wouldn't I?" Megatron mused aloud, before shaking his head with a chuckle. "No matter. Do not force me into a retreat again. Do you understand, Starscream?"

So. After everything, the damned mech still did not feel grateful?

Starscream really should have left him to Optimus's blade.

"Of course," the seeker ground out and the submission felt like acid in his mouth.

And then Megatron was smirking yet again.

"But it was an admirable show of loyalty and quick thinking."

The change in thoughts were enough to make Starscream's head spin.

"Perhaps your current ranking should be reconsidered."

Well then. Head spinning or not, he wasn't complaining.

He was the last to arrive at the Nemesis. But he was not the only one to return with empty servos. That played a small role in comfort. Very small.

Dreadwing called for a bridge rather than flying back as soon as he realized his own inability to stand straight. The wrecker had cut through below his cockpit before leaving. That was the most concerning of his injuries. The rest were merely abrasions dealt by both autobots. Painful, but they would not have prevented flight. The stab wound raised different concerns; wounds like that were often debilitating to transformation. He was not a fool enough to try it.

After his last return from the fight with the traitorous Airachnid's army, Dreadwing had leaked over the floors of the warship. This time, he would not provide such an inconvenience. Despite his own inability to turn his neck and see the injury, the seeker felt it out with a servo. It was leaking profusely. That would not do.

Cauterizing with his one gun had not been easy. But there were no others in the forest to hear him roar out.

After the stab wound was melted over, he dropped the still hot weapon and called for a bridge.

Though he would not fly, he would not show weakness in walking. Dreadwing stalked from the control room towards the bridge. He had to report his failure to his master.

Megatron had not looked surprised at the news.

"I see. That is most disappointing news," the warlord had frowned, before turning away from him to stare out the warship's window.

Dreadwing waited in respectful silence to hear more. As though his continued presence was enough to prompt that more, Megatron spoke up again.

"Oh, and Dreadwing?"

The seeker waited. His back ached. His pride ached more.

"I gave a shipwide address earlier. I expect you to listen to it. You'll find it rather relates to you."

On his way out of the bridge, Dreadwing could see Starscream smirking at him. The bigger seeker growled and moved away, uncomfortable in how the traitor's smirk followed his departure.

The path to his quarters had him pass by the medbay. Its doors were open and Dreadwing looked in. There were two vehicons inside. The seeker looked at the room, as peaceful as it was, and then continued on. Self repair would deal with his wound. He would not need to hurt his pride by returning for aid so soon after his last set of injuries.

Once he was seated at his sparse desk, Dreadwing found the ship-wide alert his master spoke of.

"Decepticons," the Megatron on the feed started up. Even on a video, the voice was commanding.

It always had been. Before the war, he would visit the speeches held with Skyquake-

Dreadwing shook the thoughts off and merely listened.

"Recent demoralizing events have forced me to consider changes. And first among those changes is a slight restructuring of your high command."

He tried not to feel bitter over the news. Every mission he had gone on lately had ended in failure on his part. That warranted whatever demotion was to come.

It did not matter if he was a first lieutenant or a mere soldier; what mattered was staying and serving at Megatron's side. It was what he and Skyquake had long ago swore to do.

"I have determined to split apart the before singular position of first lieutenant and air commander. Commander Dreadwing will remain my official second in command. But former commander Starscream will be reinstated from this moment forth as the decepticon air commander. The two will work concurrently in stratagem until further notice."

Further notice?

This was but a transition. Further notice only meant that Megatron was trying to soften said transition.

It would not be long before a traitor was once again the sole second in command.

Dreadwing clenched his fists under the desk for just one moment and then released that tension.

He was never cut out to be a leader. He had not done any satisfactory amount of strategy as the 2IC. This was for the best.

Even if it would mean that the armies would be led once again by mechs who cared nothing for the wellbeing of the faceless soldiers.

There was a feeling of inadequacy at that. Perhaps if he had done a better job, had succeeded in bringing the relic back this cycle or killed Airachnid in the last- perhaps then he could have remained with this position. It had never before appealed to him, but now he felt a defensive attachment to the job. He had no desire to see the vehicon armies handed over to Starscream once more.

Perhaps if he had done better, he could have remained at their head and led them to a future they deserved.

There was a rap on his door. Dreadwing shut the terminal off and signaled for the door to open, wondering all the while who would be here this time. Maybe Starscream, visiting to gloat. Or maybe the medic, as he had been Dreadwing's last visitor.

It was neither. But it was a vehicon.

There were few identifying features on the soldiers. Dreadwing did not know this one's name at first glance. But a few details gave him suspicions. He was a flyer. He had his servos on his hips rather than offering a quick salute. There were no other ways to identify him, but Dreadwing found himself believing it to be XL-2M99's friend. They spent obviously valued time together, but the forged seeker had never been formerly introduced to the flyer. He did not know his name.

"Commander Dreadwing." The vehicon gave a single nod in the place of a salute. He did have that vehicon's voice, as Dreadwing remembered it from their one meeting in the drone recreation room. Along with an evident lack of esteem that warred with the proper title usage and somehow found its balance between disrespect and respect.

"Greetings," Dreadwing offered a single nod of his own, standing from his desk. "What is your purpose here?"

If the drone found that rude, he did not show it. There was almost something amusing about tiptoeing the line between rude and respectful with a mech that did the same to him. Dreadwing had not intended to sound as such, but found himself with a distinct lack of regret on the outcome.

"I'm just here to give you a message," the vehicon said. After a pause, he pointed at the room. "Can I come in?"

The bigger seeker nodded and signaled the room's lights. No need for it to remain dim in here with his new company.

They both stood facing each other down, as though squaring the other occupant up. Reading the situation as such was foolish. They were all allies here.

Or at least the vehicons were, even if some officers left much to be desired in the area of loyalty. Dreadwing found himself scowling again.

"What is your message?" he asked as he put thoughts of Starscream behind him.

The vehicon broke their standstill to lean easily against the far wall.

"It's from our mutual medic friend."

Then Dreadwing had a good idea of what this 'message' would entail. That did nothing to encourage him towards the medbay for the stabbing ache below his cockpit.

"Please tell XL-2M99 that I do not require repairs," he said.

And he himself would go tell Soundwave to stop sending pictures of him being injured to their resident doctor. The communications officer did not seem to grasp that some wounds were meant to be reminders and dealt with solely by the warrior who had allowed them to befall upon their frame.

"Really?" The vehicon did not sound convinced.

Dreadwing sighed.

"I saw injuries on our master when I arrived on the bridge. Surely our doctor would be better suited in working on his wounds."

Why Megatron had not already seen fit to visit the medbay was lost on him, but he would not question his commander again so soon. He had already found it in him to question his master far too often lately.

"Yeah, he didn't want any repairs," the flyer waved Dreadwing's argument off. "Believe me, I would've left the medbay earlier if Lord Megatron had come in to be operated on."

As he had suspected. No matter. He glared. "And I do not want any either. So why are you here?"

There was a smile in the vehicon's voice when he spoke next. Without a face to confirm such an expression, it seemed drones worked hard to telegraph through vocal abilities alone.

Or perhaps Dreadwing was just learning to read their languages better than he had before.

"I told you," he replied with that vocal humor. "Our mutual medic friend wants you to come for repairs. It's different from the situation with Lord Megatron."

Then...

"He told you this?" the seeker asked.

There was no denying that part of him wished it were true. It had been vorns since he had last had a mech worried over his health. Most were brusque like the other decepticons in the high command or even the frosty demeanor of their vehicon medic.

"No, but it was easy for me to piece it together. He's been busy stressing out over you," the flyer shrugged.

Stressing out...?

Dreadwing frowned. "I do not believe my injuries to be severe, nor would I believe our medic's reaction to be worried."

It had been too many vorns. He had come to believe the only other mech that could worry about him was Skyquake.

Not long ago, he had believed Megatron did as well. But it did not matter if his master did not. He would follow him regardless. It did not matter, he swore to himself.

"Oh yeah?" the vehicon scoffed. "He's been obsessively chopping his weird organic tree apart ever since getting the memo you came back injured. By the time we get over there, there probably won't be anything left of it."

By the time- wait. His optics narrowed again.

"Yeah, 'we'." The flyer repeated that last confusing bit, before pointing at the door. "You're going for repairs if I have to coral you over there."

Such insolence.

There were a couple of responses he thought to say. I am your commanding officer, for instance. Or I never had the impression you wished to spend extra time with me. None of the vehicons from the recreation room seemed to, after all.

Dreadwing chose "I do not understand" over the rest of his more eloquent options.

The vehicon that he did not know the name of (he knew only the designations of the dead, of those he had let die, and the single identifiable vehicon serving as the medic on board) shrugged again.

"Maybe I'm just trying to repay a favor. You got back all their bodies. You even accepted the request a few of us dared to make to get XL-4U1L's body back even after the Nemesis had left that Earth grid behind. We've never had a 2IC that humored requests like that before. And maybe-"

He pushed off the wall and paused by the door, waiting for the seeker to follow or acknowledge.

"-maybe it's just cause I don't like seeing him upset," the drone stated, before crossing his arms pointedly. "Do you?"

When the flyer left a moment later, Dreadwing was begrudgingly in tow.

AN- XL-4U1L was mentioned at the end of chapter 38.