-SS-
"I'm so glad you decided to join us! I mean, not that being a Neutral is bad or anything, but we'll be able to help you so much better now!"
Starscream resisted the urge to touch his chest, where the Autobot brand now sat. Not that he could feel anything—the 'brand,' as they called it, was nothing more than a circle of reprogrammed paint nanites. Beside him, the chatterbox—some grey Praxian—kept going, talking about how 'nice' all the Autobots were and how 'happy' they'd be to meet him as he led Starscream to his new quarters.
Starscream barely managed not to snap back at him. He didn't care about these strangers and, right now, he wanted nothing to do with them.
The brand had been… an unpleasant necessity. Apparently, remaining 'neutral' meant he'd have zero clearance and would be kept in the dark about everything.
Slag that.
Taking the brand just meant he had to obey orders and not pick any fights. Which… he'd manage. Probably. And the Prime (the new one, which was slagging strange) was a complete softspark. All he'd had to say was that he wanted some time to get 'acclimated' to the new time, and the mech had practically fallen over himself trying to help him. He'd been so fragging happy about it too, like Starscream agreeing to join them was the best thing ever.
Crazy mech.
Finally, the chatterbox stopped in front of an unremarkable room. He slid the unlocked door open and turned to Starscream with a smile. "These'll be you're new quarters! It's at the end of the regular rooms so, if you need any help, you can just-"
Starscream cut him off. "Yeah, great. Thanks for bringing me here," he said without any enthusiasm. Then he stepped inside and shut the door in the Praxian's face without a smidge of guilt.
The resulting silence was a blessing. Nobody talking to him. Nobody watching. Starscream let his forehead rest against the door, and his shoulders and wings finally slumped out of their rigid hold. Without bothering to turn on the lights, Starscream turned around and stumbled to the berth, practically falling into it.
Tomorrow he'd figure things out. He'd play nice with these 'Autobots' and find out what he was dealing with. He would carve out a place here until they couldn't afford to throw him away.
Tonight, though, he just lay on his new berth and tried very hard not to think.
-/-
Cycles later, Starscream woke up to the sound of polite rapping on the door. Groaning, Starscream tried to bury his head back into the berth. The sound continued, slightly louder. Starscream glared blearily at the door then determinately turned away. It was too early for this slag.
The next time, the knocking was accompanied by the screech of a door chime, discordant enough it had to be intentional. Starscream huffed and tried to trigger recharge again, but it wouldn't come. The incessant noise from the door refused to leave him in peace.
"'Fire," Starscream groaned. "Leave me alone. I'm not-"
Memory returned with a jolt. It wasn't Skyfire. Couldn't be because—
No, no, no, he refused to go through that again. He was Starscream. He didn't do weak, and he sure as slag didn't hide away from anything. The next tie the door chime rang, Starscream reluctantly pushed himself out of bed. He grimaced. His wings were scuffed from the low quality berth—definitely not designed with Seekers in mind—and his joints ached faintly.
He stumbled towards the door, then took a moment to compose himself. Even if he didn't have the time or materials to make himself presentable, he wouldn't let any of these strangers see him rattled again. The door controls were unfamiliar, but a solid smack sent the doors sliding open.
The grey Praxian from before was standing there, hand still upraised to knock.
"The slag do you want?" Starscream grumbled.
The hand fell down immediately, to hide almost sheepishly behind the Praxian's back. "I wanted to check on you?" he tried, wingtips flickering in clear nervousness. "I mean, it's been over half a solar cycle since I last saw you, and I've been asking around but nobody else had seen you either—and I knowthey would have remembered you!—so I wanted to check on you. I mean, there's no energon in here, so I figured you gotta be hungry. And then I realized nobody'd even shown you the way to the rec-room, which wasn't good, and I-"
The mech just kept talking. Starscream was almost impressed. Not enough to stop the growing swell of irritation in his spark though. Yet, when he opened his mouth to tell the softspark to slag off, something stopped him.
He'd told himself he'd start being 'nice' to the Autobots today, hadn't he? Now, with his mood already soured and the prospect of actual interaction in front of him, Starscream was questioning that decision. Yet... He'd survived in Iacon by making himself irreplaceable, no matter how much his peers had hated him. He didn't like the idea of starting over, especially without Sky—any allies to help bail him out if things went sour, but it had to be done regardless. Besides, his tanks were getting rather empty
"Fine," Starscream gritted out. "Show me where this 'rec room' is." Then, after a moment's pause, "And what's your designation anyway?"
A grin split the mech's face. "Bluestreak!" he chirped. Then, still beaming, he stepped away from the doorway and kept chattering. Starscream followed him, barely grumbling at all. This time, the hallway wasn't empty. He didn't miss the stares as he walked down the hallway. Nor the hushed whispers just below audio range. Starscream kept his helm high and his wings extended as wide as they could, as if daring anyone to comment.
~.*.~
-SF-
'Com systems were strictly monitored and forbidden for any unranked soldier. No exceptions.
Skyfire tried. Multiple times. He begged for the chance to make a single call. For a list of survivors. It didn't work. Desperate, he tried to sneak in. He had the coding skills to hack the door, and he spent half an orn preparing. Didn't even make it into the hallway before another Cassetticon—a quadruped, this time—herded him away. He wouldn't give up. Couldn't think of anything that would work.
Locked inside his cramped quarters, Skyfire fiddled with the energon cube in his hand and took a long draught. It wasn't high-grade, much as he wished it was. Apparently, that was yet another thing this time lacked. He wanted the oblivion of overcharge. Wanted to dull the thoughts that swirled inside his processer, questions and fear and panic strong enough to drown his spark.
Starscream couldn't be dead. He couldn't.
Offlining his optics, Skyfire pushed back the terror clawing at his chest. If anyone could survive the war, it was Starscream. He was a survivor. Always had been. Starscream was the best flyer Skyfire had ever known and an expert at getting out of rough spots. He was the kind of mech who'd learned how to fight on the ground so he could beat the Iaconians who'd disapproved of his presence.
Starscream had always refused to accept defeat, and he would fight the universe itself if he had to. He would have joined the war and fought, would have survived everything it had thrown at him.
Skyfire just had to find him. That was all. He just needed a chance.
~.*.~