Disclaimer: I own nothing – at least nothing Transformers related nor the lyrics I used.
AN: This chapter was hard. I lost the plot sometime in the past and so the first version was a complete disaster. Thanks to my beta mdnytryder who kind of forced me to actually think about what I wanted to tell you with this chapter, I managed a new version which I think is much better.
I apologize for the Coneheads. They already tried to do something similar in "Naughty" but there I could prevent it.
Thanks to mdnytryder for correcting this chapter and kicking me in the right direction.
22/28 Jealous II (G1 AU, pre Earth, beginning of the war, follows Naive)
And I wonder if you know
How it really feels
To be left outside alone
When it's cold out here
Well maybe you should know
Just how it feels
To be left outside alone
To be left outside alone
~ Left Outside Alone by Anastacia ~
The first sign of what was about to come was a faint rumble in the distance.
It began as a soft purr, a slight vibration felt in the inner depths of one's systems.
The mechs and femmes on the plaza tensed slightly, some looking up at the deep blue sky, sprinkled with stars and far away nebula.
Nothing out of the ordinary could be seen, but the sound grew louder and louder in not time, as more and more heads turned to watch the wide space above them.
A quick glint in the distance, almost too short to be noticed, a sudden flash of vibrant color in front of the eternal dark of the universe – and then, there they were.
Seekers, dozens of them, all sleek beauty, deadly grace and proud wings, all shining brilliantly in colorful hues reflected from the pale glow of the stars.
The crowd cheered when they shot overhead, leaving streaks of vapor in their wakes.
The Seekers continued until they reached the high towers circling the plaza, then turned as one, forming a large, ever-moving circle.
Other Seekers rose from the ground to meet them, moving in the opposite direction and encircling the original group, giving them just enough room to execute their complicated aerial maneuvers, yet still trapping them in a specific area, forcing them to do their aerobatics correctly or risk crashing into one of the surrounding jets.
They didn't crash and the crowd howled its approval into the wide Cybertronian sky.
The first group of Seekers ended their performance flawlessly, only to gather in the middle of the airspace and shoot back up into the dark sky, like meteors falling into space, their bright colors painting glittering streaks into the air that seemed to stay in more than one mech's processor as an afterimage of beauty shaped into a physical form.
They shot up and up, reaching the invisible line between the atmosphere of Cybertron and of space, only to cut their engines and to let themselves fall, tumbling and rolling faster and faster.
The crowd silenced, anxiously waiting for what was about to happen.
The jets caught their falls just meters above the heads of their spectators, engines roaring to life and sending them back up into the sky to form a giant sphere of flitting, colorful shapes.
No wing clipped another, no belly scraped against a cockpit, no one crashed.
They danced in the skies like they had done this complicated pattern all their lives and knew nothing else, completely at ease and unconcerned of the gruesome death that one wrong wriggle with an aileron or wing flap could lead to.
The crowd went wild.
The mechs and femmes left on the ground howled and cheered, roared and waved, screaming their praise for all of Cybertron to hear.
They marveled at the display they had just witnessd and straightened in pride, because these wonderful, beautiful creatures were theirs, their comrades, their Seekers, their way to win the war and to defeat the Autobots once and for all.
Prime would never know what hit him when the new aerial fleet of the Decepticons swooped down upon his mechs for the first time, unleashing a storm of laserfire and cluster bombs upon them.
The victory was theirs, and every single Decepticon in front of the Decepticon War Academy knew it.
Megatron smiled in satisfaction.
He stood on the highest step of the wide stairs that led to the entrance of the Academy and watched his Seekers being celebrated by his troops.
The silver mech's smile only widened when his newest aerial warriors finally broke formation and landed.
Their older Seeker comrades immediately abandoned their tight circle formation andfollowed them to the surface to join their respective favorites among the cadets, family members or trine mates.
Congratulations were passed, praise was given and tales of the bright future that was about to come to pass were told.
The gunformer's optics automatically searched for the red and white paint job of the Seeker cadet he had selected to become his next Air Commander, should the mech who currently held this position die. And Megatron anxiously waited every day for the news of his Air Commander's death.
The mech was completely incapable of leading or coordinating a battle, but had been the first Seeker to follow the Decepticon cause.
This practically forced Megatron to award him a high-ranking position as a sign for the other Seekers. Loyalty would be rewarded.
He found his protégé amidst a group of other Seekers, which included his trine mates, some of his classmates and older Seekers who were either congratulating him or sucking up to him, as if they were aware of his future position in the Decepticon army.
Starscream smiled, even if it looked just the tiniest bit strained, while his trine mates ever so slowly edged away from the crowd and chattered between themselves.
Well, Megatron mused, after some vorns Starscream would learn to fake his smile flawlessly and his trine would learn the patience and discipline a command trine needed.
Starscream smiled.
He smiled at the mechs and femmes offering congratulations for his and his classmate's perfect performance, and at the admirers babbling and stuttering their praise.
He was polite to the Decepticons trying to flatter him into their berth or to those who offered favors of any kind for a better position in anticipation of Starscream's leadership potential.
He took each sickly-sweet comment his enemies and competitors offered in stride, didn't rise to any bait thrown his way and ignored the thinly veiled threats and jealous belittling of his own performance.
Why should he care what any of those mechs or femmes said or thought?
They weren't important.
Nobody on this plaza was really important, at least, not to him.
To him, the only mechs whose opinion counted were Megatron and….
Well, only Megatron's opinion counted.
The others could all jump into the pit, for all he cared.
"Well done, Screamer. Even if it did look like you were going to crash at one point. And you almost clipped my wing while forming the sphere," said one of his classmates, smirking and leaning on his dark blue and black trine mate.
"Yeah, Thrust is right, you were rather wobbly on your wings. Something wrong, Screamer?" the second member of the trine asked, in a mockingly concerned tone of voice.
The third Conehead, the dark blue one, gave Starscream a once-over, revved his engine in a strangely unnerving way and grinned slowly, his optics darkening some shades, "I think he looks fine…."
His trine mates caught on to the new game, and the way Dirge's special ability caused Starscream to tense slightly.
Thrust let go of his wingmate and draped himself over the red, white and blue Seeker instead, waggling a finger at his fellow Coneheads, "Now, now, Dirge. Don't scare the poor mech away."
The maroon Conehead leaned heavily on Starscream and began to nuzzle his cheek, "But you're right, he is pretty. He looks almost like a femme, with the paint job and all that."
Ramjet leaned into Starscream from the other side, slinging his arm around the tri-colored jet's waist, holding him tight and smirking down at him, "Let's check it out."
He began to finger Starscream's waist and hip, leering down at his victim, "What do you think, Screamer. Wouldn't you like a quick romp in our berth?"
"Or two, or three," suggested Thrust from Starscream's other side, now pressed flush against the slightly smaller Seeker.
"We could show you that there's more to life than your geekyness and sucking up to Lord Megatron," continued Ramjet, unperturbed by Thrust's interruption.
Suddenly he frowned, then chuckled lecherously, "Or did Lord Megatron claim you for himself?"
Thrust made an odd sound, a mixture between a laugh and a questioning, slightly worried whine.
Starscream balled his hands to fists and hissed, "Release me! This! Instant!"
A dark, lazy smile began to form on Dirge's face, and he stepped closer, looming over Starscream, wings hiked high, his engine sending deep, frightening vibrations through everything in the vicinity , "And what, if not…?"
"Let him go, Dirge!" demanded a new voice.
The jet turned around and looked at the neon green Seeker standing behind him, arms crossed, wings high, his face clearly showing his irritation.
At his side stood his wing mates, equally annoyed at the Coneheads' antics and ready to take them on, if needed.
Acidstorm huffed, "Honestly, today is our graduation day! Can't you just for once not be total aftheads? Or at least, I don't know, try?"
The Coneheads glowered at the Rainmakers, more than ready to pick a fight… but Acidstorm was right, it was graduation day and if they fought now, chances were good that the Supreme Commander himself would notice and terminate them all for disrupting the celebration.
Or at least punish the Coneheads severely for annoying his current favorite.
Dirge flicked his wings and Thrust and Ramjet let go of Starscream, the white Conehead giving the Seeker a parting shove. "See you later, Screamer."
"Yeah, see you. Don't try to miss us too much."
Acidstorm watched the Conheads until they disappeared in the crowd, then his wings sagged and he turned back to Starscream.
He sighed, "Don't let them get to you, Starscream. They are just jealous of your good grades and the attention you've earned throughout the course of the Academy. Nothing to be concerned about."
Starscream nodded absentmindedly, staring after the Coneheads.
Acidstorm looked at him, worried, then he frowned suddenly, "Where are your trine mates? It should be their job to look after you and to back you up, not ours."
Starscream barely suppressed a flinch and answered as casually as he could manage, "We were celebrating last night. Skywarp drank too much and woke up with the worst hangover of his life. Fortunately he managed to fly, but now he feels ill and has gone to lie down before he throws up in front of the whole Decepticon army. TC is looking after him."
"Ah, I understand." It would be typical for Skywarp to drink too much Highgrade right before one of the most important days of his life.
"Well, I don't think they will try anything else today. Dirge is too clever to take the risk. You should stay a little bit longer, than you can go look after Skywarp." Acidstorm smiled and turned to leave. "It was a honor and a pleasure to fly with you, Starscream. Pleasant winds for you."
"You too, 'Storm."
Starscream watched them leave, no Rainmaker ever straying too far from the others, always staying close and moving as a trine, even when on the ground.
They passed the Coneheads on the way, Ramjet sneering at them but not doing anything.
Starscream folded his arms in front of his chest and shifted his focus from the Rainmakers to the Coneheads.
They were only jealous, huh?
He wondered what Acidstorm would think of him, if he ever admitted that he was jealous of the Coneheads.
He would probably laugh and not believe him.
But then again, Starscream would never dare to tell him.
Because Acidstorm would want an explanation and Starscream simply could not comply.
There was no way he would tell him that Skywarp, Thundercracker and he were not real wingmates, but a broken trine, a two plus one in Seeker terms.
And he would never tell anybody that he was the single flyer, the Seeker that did not manage to bond to his other two wingmates.
Thundercracker and Skywarp had a trinebond, a very strong one that was compensating for the lack of a third member in their trine.
But Starscream… he was alone, regardless what he did or tried.
At this point in time, Warp and TC were too ashamed to tell anybody about their broken trine status, but their "trine leader" was dreading the day their shame would fade and they would disclose the secret.
How could he become Air Commander if he had no trine?
And how would Megatron react if he discovered that his favorite Seeker was… imperfect down to his very core?
Starscream had thought long and hard about his circumstances ever since the day he had finally given up trying to form a trine bond with the other two Seekers.
Telling someone could be a chance to find another trine, a real trine, wing mates who would accept him and form a true trine bond with him.
But at the same time, it could be his death sentence.
What if they discovered that something was wrong with him?
That he was glitched, or worse, that there was something wrong with his Spark?
After all, he had never been able to form a bond with his Creator either, and the mech had told him often enough that he was defective.
Perhaps his faulty vocalizer was just part of a much greater problem deep within him?
He wanted trine mates, somebody who liked and cared for him – but it was just too dangerous to let anybody in on the secret.
Until know, his and his wing mates' skills had been enough to fool everyone into believing that they were a fully functional trine.
He would have to convince Warp and TC to continue the charade up.
It just had to work.
Starscream sighed again and continued to watch the Coneheads shoving each other, laughing amongst themselves at their rough actions and showing clear affection in their optics.
What wouldn't he give to trade his life with any of theirs….