-SS-

"Leave me alone."

Without even onlining his optics, Starscream flicked his wings at the intruder. He was curled atop the berth, wings shielding him from the rest of the room. Sometime while he'd been unconscious, the cuffs had been removed, not that it mattered. Where was he going to go?

The mech kept coming. Starscream continued ignoring him. He had a heavy tread—a large mech, then. Definitely a different one than earlier. The chair beside Starscream's berth creaked as he sat down. Growling, Starscream flared his wings in the most blatant, offensive gesture he knew, one even a Groundpounder could understand. The mech still didn't take the hint.

"May I at least have your designation?" the mech said. He had a deep voice, smooth and controlled. Starscream immediately hated it. The large frame, soothing voice, it was too much like… no.

"Slag. Off," Starscream growled.

The mech sighed. Even that small sound was infuriatingly composed, filled with an achingly familiar tone of mild disappointment. "Alright, then," he said. "I just need you to listen for a breem, and then I'll go, if that is your wish."

Stubborn, Starscream didn't dignify him with an answer.

"My name is Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. I'm afraid you've been in stasis for a very, very long time."

-/-

The mech—the Prime—lied. Nearly a full five breems passed before he finally stood and left Starscream in peace. Starscream didn't say a word. He didn't respond in any way, no matter how tempted he was to turn and attack the other mech. Eventually, finally, he was gone, leaving a small datapad behind for him to 'research' with.

Prime—and that wasn't right, the Prime was Sentinel, not this 'Optimus'—spun him an elaborate tale about a crisis and a war that stretched on for eons. It was a nice story, he supposed. One of good versus evil, ridiculous dramatics, and all that drivel.

He considered just leaving the datapad where it was. Refusing to play whatever game they were trying to pull. Yet, curiosity had always been a weakness of his. Eventually, it won out, and he reached over. Then he started to read

-/-

The datapad held proof. Centivorns of it, in official records and news reports. There were too many of them, each as detailed and elaborate as the last. Pictures showed the remnants of a gutted Cybertron and videos of battlefields. Starscream searched the datapad for cycles, until the lights dimmed and exhaustion tugged at his processer, but he barely even scratched the surface.

Then, gently, Starscream set the datapad back down. He started to laugh. Great, heaving burst of static and high-pitched laughter that sounded more like sobs.

Skyfire was dead, the world had gone to slag, and he was stuck in the middle of a war.

Wasn't it all just hilarious?

~.*.~

-SF-

Somehow—he wasn't quite sure how—Skyfire ended up with two tiny mecha perched on his shoulders. Tinier fingers clutched at the seams of his armor and his helm for balance. Skyfire didn't mind, though their scrabbling fingers tended to tickle. And, with their faces right next to his helm, the Cassetticons seemed far louder.

"Over there!" Frenzy shrieked, practically bouncing on Skyfire's shoulder. He seemed inordinately gleeful about being tall enough to stare down at everyone else. Plenty of mecha were staring, though Skyfire didn't know whether they were staring at the Shuttle, the Cassetticons, or the unusual combination they made together.

"Frenzy. Rumble: Desist," an oddly mechanical voice said. The Twins froze. Frenzy squeaked.

"Ah, slag," Frenzy whispered. Skyfire turned, curious who had elicited such a dramatic reaction from the previously unflappable Twins. He was a blocky mech. Average height, with a smooth visor and mask covering his face. His chest was unusually large, even for this planet's bulky altmodes.

"Heeey, Soundwave," Rumble said, smiling weakly. Concerned, Skyfire raised a hand to steady the tiny mech. Just who was this 'Soundwave?' Despite his unassuming build and unreadable disposition, he practically radiated authority.

Soundwave tilted his head. "Query: new recruit?" he asked.

Rumble straightened, resting an oddly possessive arm against Skyfire's helm. "He's ours. Hook gave 'em to us." He grinned. "Can we keep him, Boss? I've always wanted a pet."

Skyfire ignored the pet comment, focusing on the "Boss" one instead. So this was the Twins' Host. It explained the bulky chest.

"Negative." Soundwave stated. "Recruit: must report to Thundercracker for evaluation."

The Twins groaned. "Aw, c'mon, the Air Commander won't want him. He's useless! Never even fired a blaster before! Slag knows what he was doing in that ice."

"Hey," Skyfire objected, mildly insulted. "I'm an Interstellar explorer and an energon production specialist."

"Energon production?" Rumble repeated, growing serious for a moment. Then the mischievous smirk returned. "Maybe they'll find a use for you after all. Slag. I was looking forward to having a pet."

"I dunno," Frenzy cut in. "Not sure how good of a explorer he coulda been to end up crashed like that. And why was he alone? I thought all explorers came in a pair."

Skyfire frowned. "I did have a partner. He's a far better flyer than I am. He would have escaped the storm and returned home." Skyfire paused as another thought struck him. "Do you know how I can get a message back to Iacon? I need to let him know I'm alright. He'll be sick with worry." Or, more likely, grief, which made Skyfire's spark ache to consider. His internal 'com system was still broken, not that it mattered. It wouldn't have been nearly strong enough to reach back home.

Nobody answered him. Rumble and Frenzy stared up at him with twin expressions of horror.

"What?" Skyfire asked, self-conscious and growing concerned.

They exchanged several strange glances and expressions, as if having a silent argument. Rumble half-shoved Frenzy, then the blue minicon hissed something—a threat? A bribe?—in Rumble's ear. He winced, and Frenzy smirked, giving him a little shove forward.

"Uh…." Rumble stuttered. "I… don't think that's a good idea."

Skyfire glanced between them, concern blossoming into true fear. "Why? What's going on?" he asked. Uncomfortable silence followed once again, until Soundwave broke it.

"Partner: likely deactivated," he said. "Great War: decimated population."

Skyfire's spark plummeted. Numbly, he opened his mouth—to argue, or ask a question, something—but only static emerged. His legs shook, nearly giving out, and he collapsed heavily into a nearby chair, which creaked under his weight.

"You're wrong," he managed to croak. "Starscream was—He wouldn't have-"

"Iacon: destroyed during the War. Survivors: few."

Skyfire kept shaking his head, though no more words emerged. Iacon? The entire city—the Capital of Cybertron, even? How could they destroy an entire city? He'd been there, walking among the Grand Citadelsof the Academy and flying amid its spires only a few vorns ago. It couldn't be gone, just like that.

And Starscream—Primus, Starscream. He couldn't have—no. He was too strong for that. Too vibrant.

Please, no.

~.*.~