In which Dirge gets metaphysical, and Scavenger has to talk his way out of a touchy situation.

AN: A breem is 8.12 minutes here, as per the definitions given by Akzeal in "A Brief Essay on Cybertronian Time-keeping and Conversions," which has become my go-to reference for Cybertronian time units. It is very useful and well thought-out, and can be found at Archive of our Own Ao3). I highly recommend it. :-)

The Crossing

Even without Dirge's pronouncement, Scavenger would have needed nothing further to convince him that they weren't alone. The air around them seemed dense, heavy with a foreboding sense of presence.

"Now what?" he asked as he edged closer to Dirge, his words emerging as a puff of steam in the frigid air.

"Now we will have to use the second chant," Dirge answered calmly. He seemed completely unruffled, as if being in the presence of an unseen entity was an everyday occurrence for him. Then again, maybe it was.

The Crypt Master shuttered his optics and began his chant. This time there were words, though they were in a language that Scavenger didn't recognize. As Dirge's voice rose in its slow, sombre cadence, the air around them filled with a soft, diffuse glow that seemed to come from no particular source. As the light grew in strength, Scavenger began to feel calmer. There was something hauntingly familiar about it, and also comforting, like a half-forgotten dream of his younglinghood.

As he continued to listen, Scavenger found that he was losing himself in the rise and fall of Dirge's deep, sonorous voice. There was an unearthly beauty about it that he never would have associated with someone like Dirge, something almost poetic. As the chant continued, the light coalesced into small, individual points that swirled around them in a slow-moving vortex, like a galaxy of stars. Dirge fell silent then, but the song continued, seeming to come now from the lights themselves. The refrain had changed too, having become hauntingly familiar, and Scavenger was startled to recognize it as the very same song that his carrier had used long ago to lull him into recharge.

"What's going on?" he whispered.

Dirge glanced at him. "You are able to see it?"

Scavenger just nodded.

"It is the Allspark."

"It's…it's… beautiful," Scavenger said, his voice choked with awe.

"Aye," Dirge replied, his tone wistful. "It is."

He looked even more desperately tired than before, as if the chant had drained him, and yet, at the same time, his gaunt features had softened, taking on an expression that somehow encompassed both sorrow and joy. In a strange and unexpected way, Dirge, too, was beautiful.

"So… what happens now?" Scavenger asked him shyly.

"I am holding open the gate," Dirge replied. "He is free to cross. Unless—"

He broke off with a gasp as the icy wind tore wildly around the circle, howling like a caged animal searching desperately for a way out. The music faltered, its notes becoming discordant, and the vortex of stars blurred into blazing comet-trails spiraling inward toward something that now resembled a black hole.

"Dirge!" Scavenger shouted in panic. "What's going on?"

"He—he doesn't want to," Dirge said, sounding surprised. "He's fighting, trying to break out of the circle."

"Can he… can he do that?"

"He is… afraid, I think," Dirge said. "I—" He broke off with a gasp and bent double, clutching at his spark.

"Dirge!" Scavenger caught his shoulders, and nearly recoiled when he felt how hot Dirge's plating had become. He was burning up, in spite of the freezing temperature.

"I can't hold it," Dirge said. "If he doesn't cross—"

"What? What will happen if he doesn't?" When Dirge didn't answer, Scavenger shouted into the wind. "Starscream! You have to cross over!"

The invisible presence offered no reply, buffeting against Scavenger as it roared past him.

The crown, Scavenger thought suddenly. He yanked the canvas bag from his subspace. "I'm sorry!" he yelled. "You can have it back, see?" He held it aloft, and then, realizing that the spirit might not be able to tell what it was, undid the drawstring and drew out the battered crown. He stumbled forward and laid it on the platform at the statue's feet. "Look, it's yours! It always was yours, I never should have taken it! I just wanted to keep you close to me but…" his voice faltered, but he pressed on. "That was wrong too, because you were never mine, either. Please! You have to—"

The wind rose to a deafening shriek, drowning out his voice, and Scavenger saw that Dirge had sunk to his knees, still clawing his chest. It's not the crown, Scavenger thought suddenly. And then he knew what he had to do. He lunged at the circle of flames and began stomping them out.

"Scavenger, no!" Dirge cried hoarsely. "You must not—"

"I have to!" Scavenger shouted as he swept his shovel-tail across the line of flames, crushing them out. "Starscream, you're free to go now! Leave Dirge alone!"

The icy wind ripped past him like a tornado, and it felt as if all the air was being sucked from the room. Then there was a sound like a thunderclap, followed by an eerie stillness. The last of the flames guttered out as Scavenger crashed to his knees beside Dirge.

"Hey!" He caught hold of Dirge's shoulders. "Are you all right?"

Dirge did not respond right away, but finally, in a low, cracked voice, he said, "You should not have done that."

"I had to! He was going to kill you!"

Dirge shook his head. "It was the strain of holding the gate open that was taxing me, not anything that he was doing. I am not sure he was even aware of our presence. He seemed…" Dirge pushed himself up to sit on his heel-thrusters. "I am not certain what happened, Scavenger. Something crossed over, but I am not sure what it was."

"Something crossed over that wasn't Starscream?" Scavenger glanced around at the forest of statues. "Do you mean some other spirit?"

"I… do not believe so," Dirge said. He began to struggle to his feet. Scavenger caught his arm and helped him up, staying close beside him as he stood swaying on unsteady legs. "I believe that there has been a split," Dirge added, his gaze fixed on the spot where the vortex had been.

"A what?"

"It is hard to be absolutely certain," Dirge said, "as it is something I have experienced just one other time, but I think that a part of Starscream has crossed over while another part has not."

"That can happen?" Scavenger asked in alarm. "Like, his spirit got ripped in half or something?" The idea of a ghostly Starscream haunting the Crypt was bad enough, but the idea of half a ghost was somehow worse.

"Only in a sense," Dirge said. "I fear that the term 'spirit' is slightly misleading. It is used as a convenience to describe that part of an individual which is not his body, but in fact, the thing that we call the spirit has two parts: the spark and the ak'ba."

"The… ak'ba," Scavenger echoed. "I've never heard of that."

"Most have not," Dirge admitted. "The spark is the part of us which is eternal and connected to the All. The ak'ba is what one might call the personality. It is what enables us to perceive ourselves as separate individuals, and it is the receptacle of the memories and emotional attachments that we form during life. The ak'ba is what is normally purified by crossing the flame barrier. The decedent does not necessarily forget who he was in life, but he becomes detached from his former identity and is thus able to return to the Allspark, taking with him the wisdom of experience that he has gained."

Scavenger stared at him blankly. "I have no idea what any of that means," he confessed at length, "but I take it that a split isn't a good thing?"

"It is highly unusual," Dirge said. "As I said, I have experienced it with just one other spirit."

"Whose?" Scavenger asked, though a part of him sensed that he already knew the answer.

"Zephyr," Dirge replied softly. "He did not wish to… leave me."

"So he… split?"

"Aye. Sparks have a strong desire to cross over into the All. It is not unlike a gravitational force, and is very difficult to resist. However, an ak'ba which retains a strong emotional attachment to the physical world and is highly energized, as is the case with a Singularity such as Zephyr, can sometimes resist that pull with sufficient force that the spark simply breaks free and crosses on its own."

"That sounds really bad," Scavenger said.

"It can be, yes."

Scavenger bowed his head. "I didn't mean to do that to him," he said. "It just seemed like you were being hurt, and—"

"The split was not your doing," Dirge interrupted. "It could have been because our circle was not as strong as it should have been, or that Starscream has an especially powerful ak'ba, or both. But do not blame yourself. You did no harm to him by breaking the circle, though you could have brought tremendous danger on yourself."

"Oh," Scavenger said in a small voice. The Crypt, with its impenetrable silence and solemn rows of statues seemed terrifyingly alien, filled with things that he would never understand. Suddenly, all he wanted was his warm, safe berth and the comforting clutter of his quarters, in which, he was reasonably sure, no unseen forces were lurking in the shadows. "So," he said at last. "What do we do now?"

Dirge seemed to consider this. "We will repeat the ceremony, but this time with a tighter circle," he decided. "Perhaps if the circle is not broken by Thundercracker's memorial, it will be strong enough this time to purify Starscream's ak'ba so that he may truly—" He broke off, mid-sentence. "Hide."

"What?" Scavenger glanced around, half expecting an enraged spirit to leap from behind one of the markers, but the Crypt was morbidly silent. Except… except for the quiet steps that he could now hear coming toward them from the Grand Atrium. He needed no further prompting to dive behind the nearest marker, which happened to be Thundercracker's. Dirge, in the meantime, began swiftly gathering his tools.

"Dirge!" Scavenger hissed.

Dirge glanced at him, gave a slight shake of his head—and then it was too late. A tall shadow appeared in the doorway, framed by the flickering glow of the great flame, and Scavenger instantly recognized his distinct silhouette. It was Cyclonus. The acting Decepticon commander entered the room without hesitation, seemingly undaunted by his surroundings, but halted abruptly when he caught sight of Dirge.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"I am Dirge, the Crypt Master," Dirge replied. "I have been conducting an interment ceremony for one of our fallen comrades."

"Is that so?" Cyclonus replied, his tone icy. "And which fallen comrade might that be?"

Dirge hesitated, as if he were debating the wisdom of answering that question honestly. "Starscream," he replied at last, and Scavenger's spark sank. Why couldn't Dirge have just made something up? Surely he could have given the name of some other Seeker who had fallen during the past orn. Primus knew there were plenty of names from which to choose, but Dirge probably thought that lying wasn't ku'at—or something.

"Starscream?" Cyclonus made the name sound like a curse. "Starscream the traitor? The usurper? The betrayer and murderer of our mighty leader, Megatron? That Starscream?"

"Aye," Dirge replied in a low voice. "The very same."

"That," Cyclonus hissed, "is a travesty! His remains should be scattered to the winds, not accorded a place of honor in this Crypt!"

"I do not judge the actions of the deceased," Dirge countered, "nor should any of us. His spark will be weighed in the balance of ku'at, as every spark will be. I know only that Starscream is our fallen leader, and as such, he deserves—"

"Deserves nothing!" Cyclonus shouted. "How dare you memorialize this sniveling piece of filth?" Cyclonus raised his weapon and fired, and Scavenger watched in horror as the laser blast zipped past Dirge, missing him by a wingspan, and struck the platform behind him. Cyclonus obviously knew what to aim for, because his shot hit the edge of the small opening that held the urn. Dirge threw himself in front of the opening, hands outspread.

"Please desist!" he implored. "It is not ku'at to disturb the remains of the dead."

"I do not care for your foolish beliefs! Step aside, or you will share in Starscream's fate."

Scavenger didn't have a clear view of Cyclonus from where he was hiding, but that didn't matter. All he could see was Dirge standing in front of Starscream's marker with his wings flared wide, ready to protect his lifeless charge with everything that he had, including his own life.

It was a moment caught in time. Scavenger's mind flashed back to the inauguration ceremony. He'd been standing about the same distance from Galvatron as he was from Cyclonus now, and Starscream, like Dirge, had been standing frozen like a turbofox caught in the beam of a hunting party's searchlight. He, Scavenger, could have changed everything. He could have thrown himself on Galvatron and spoiled his shot, and he almost certainly would have died for that, but Starscream… Starscream would have had a chance. A chance that he could give to Dirge, now.

He forced his legs into motion, not letting himself stop to think about what he was about to do. He knew that if he did think about it, even for an instant, he would run away screaming and probably get them both killed. Below the horizon, below the horizon, he reminded himself, mentally repeating the words like a mantra as he ambled from behind the marker.

"Hey, Dirge," he said conversationally, "have you seen my laser saw? I just can't find it anywhere! I know I dropped it somewhere around here, I just can't—"

"Who are you?" Cyclonus demanded, swinging his weapon toward Scavenger's head. As Scavenger froze, staring up the business end of his new commander's extremely large and nasty-looking rifle, it occurred to him that while his death might still be below the horizon, he could still end up horribly maimed. "Identify yourself!" Cyclonus barked, when Scavenger continued to just stand there.

"I'm… um, Scavenger," Scavenger said. "Sorry to interrupt," he added as he started toward Dirge in a mindless shuffle, all too aware of how Cyclonus' weapon was continuing to track him. "I just left one of my tools down here, and Long Haul's gonna kick my aft if I don't find the darn thing."

"Scavenger!" Dirge hissed in a choked voice. "What are you—"

"I'm one of the Constructicons," Scavenger continued loudly, hoping that the terror he felt wasn't evident in his voice or expression. If he'd had more presence of mind, he would have put his mask back on before stepping into the line of fire, but it was too late for that now. "Actually," he added with a bland smile, "I'm Devastator's right arm. You've heard of Devastator, right?"

"Devastator?" Cyclonus echoed. Apparently that name was important enough to ring a bell, because he finally lowered his weapon. "You are a member of the gestalt team that forms Devastator?"

"Right. And you're Cyclonus, yah? I guess you haven't seen my laser saw? It's about yay big," Scavenger said, holding his hands apart to show the size, "and—oh! There it is!" He let his gaze fall on Dirge's censer, which still lying on top of the platform. "You know, it's funny," he said as he tucked it into his subspace. "I musta walked past this thing about fifty times, and it was right here! Who would have thought?"

"Are you insane?" Dirge growled, through clenched dentae.

Scavenger just smiled at him—and then winked. "Guess we should finish up here," he said. He scratched his helm with his shovel-tail in the way that Hook had always considered "deplorable," the gesture serving as a helpful distraction as he reached back with one arm and quietly swept the crown into his subspace. "Galvatron did specifically order this, after all, so I'm sure he'd want it done right!"

"Galvatron… ordered this?" Frowning deeply, Cyclonus glanced over his shoulder at Megatron's statue as if it could somehow confirm whether or not this was true.

"Um… yeah!" Scavenger pressed, sensing an opening. "I was surprised by it too, y'know, but apparently there's this thing like if you kill someone, you have to make sure they get buried right, or their ghost could come back and get you! Right, Dirge?"

The Crypt Master's optics had gone so wide that they looked like they might be about to pop out of his face. "I… er…"

Scavenger elbowed him sharply.

"Erhm! It is… always ku'at to finish… what one has started," Dirge managed with a cough.

Scavenger shot him a glare, which earned a helpless look in response. Guessing that lies were included on the apparently long list of things that were considered "not ku'at," he added, "Yeah! I mean… that's why Starscream insisted that we put up that marker for Megatron!"

He pointed to the marker, and Cyclonus' head jerked toward it as if yanked by a string. The twin crests atop his helm rose up straight, twitching like the audials of a petrorabbit listening for signs of danger, and when his gaze finally returned to Dirge and Scavenger, he looked noticeably shaken.

"This memorial was… Starscream's doing?"

"Well, we craftsmechs were the ones who actually did it," Scavenger said proudly, "but it was Starscream who gave the orders."

Cyclonus glanced at Dirge. "Is that the truth?"

Dirge cleared his vocalizer. "Aye," he said, more firmly this time. "Starscream was most insistent that it be done before his inauguration. He even postponed the ceremony in order that we would have the time we needed to properly complete our task."

Cyclonus glanced the marker up and down, as if to evaluate its artistic merit. "I… I would never have imagined," he said. "Perhaps I underestimated Starscream's degree of honor." Turning back to them, he added, "I will allow you a few moments in which to complete your task. You have precisely one breem."

"That will not be enough time," Dirge protested. "We must return to my foundry to retrieve additional parts for the statue—"

"Crypt Master Dirge," Cyclonus cut in, "you are more than welcome to remain here and finish, while the rest of the Decepticons depart for Charr. The choice is yours. I will await you in the Grand Atrium."

Cyclonus spun on his heel and began to walk away, but then paused, turning once again toward Megatron's statue. He approached it in two quick strides, bowed deeply with his palms crossed above his spark, and murmured a few words in a voice too low for Scavenger to make out what he was saying. He then straightened with a sharp salute. "You are, once again and always, our great and noble leader," he intoned. "I swear it shall be so."

"One breem," he said to Dirge and Scavenger, and then stalked from the room.

End Notes: The ak'ba is my adaptation of the Egyptian concept of the ba, which is the part of the soul thought to contain everything that makes an individual unique, similar to the notion of 'personality.' In the paradigm I've devised, the Spark is distinct from the ak'ba, and is more like a combination of the ib (heart) and the ka (vital spark or essence). This is vastly simplified compared to the Egyptian concept of soul, which has several other distinct parts, but I borrowed from it because I like the idea of an individual's spirit having various components, plus I think the notion can serve to explain why Starscream's ghost appears as a full-bodied apparition rather than just a spark.