He limped slowly with Arcee. At first, it had been impossible to walk on his weakened leg. So she had offered him support and let him lean on her, little labored breaths in her audio receptor.
Nightflier stood straighter now, albeit he still used her for support. They walked so slow even Jack could keep up without any problem.
They didn't speak. Not one word since that afternoon of battle, and nightfall was coming fast. Nightflier felt his optics slide back to Arcee in the silence. Her unique blue optics ringed in blazing purple were set resolutely forward.
She really is pretty. For a second, he just looked at her, enticed by those optics until he looked away so suddenly he almost blushed. By the Celestial Spires, Nightflier! You can't be staring at her! THAT was classy. Why don't you drool at her next? Come on, you've seen femmes before.
True, he had seen a couple in passing, maybe had one or two unwittingly when the Protectobots got him overcharged off the high grade—because they all knew he couldn't hold his weight—but he'd never really . . . interacted with a femme before. He'd only seen a couple in his lifetime that he could remember. Against his will, his optics drew back to her face.
Yeah. Definitely the prettiest femme I've seen. And she's even shorter than me! I didn't think that was possible!
Sensing his gaze, she looked up. For a second, their optics locked. Then, panic at being caught staring at her slashed through him, and Nightflier's optics widened before he flung himself away from her so promptly that he fell on his aft.
A brief human yelp alerted him to Jack that he had nearly quashed, and Nightflier blushed brightly in embarrassment, holding still so Jack could scamper around and to the opposite side. He cleared his vocalizer briefly before trying to laugh it off with a nervous but warm laugh.
"You scared the primal Primus out of me."
Her cross look turned confused. "The . . . WHAT?"
Nightflier got up, dusting himself off a little as Jack tried to put in helpfully, "I think he means something along the lines of . . . BEJESUS, I think."
Briefly looking up the expression, Nightflier nodded at the little human. "Yeah, that's the one. Bejesus. Heh. Strange." When both Jack and Arcee just kinda looked at him, he felt the heat of embarrassment starting to come back. "Eh, sorry," he finally said awkwardly. Instinctively, he fluttered his wings. He gave a small gesture. "Sorry, off topic . . . I guess we ought to keep moving?"
Before he could make a further fool of himself, Nightflier began to half-limp forth, knee aching but not really preventing him from walking. Arcee didn't offer her arm again, and finally, she said warily, "I'm—sorry. You just—speak strange."
Nightflier shrugged a worried shoulder. "It's an underground Kaon dialect thing. We just talk differently than the rest."
When they lapsed back into silence, Nightflier shifted uncomfortably, feeling their eyes on him. He tried not to look at them since he knew he was the middle of attention, but every now and then, he would look over and accidentally meet their eyes.
First Aid, you're never here when I need you most. How am I supposed to break the fourth wall here?
Finally, it was Jack that spoke up.
"I'm sorry we're looking at you strangely," he offered uncertainly. "We uh . . . Just . . . didn't really expect you."
Nightflier gave a small shrug. "Yeah. I just kinda fell in with you guys. I was just sent to investigate what Megatron was doing on Cybertron with a battalion of soldiers, but got caught up in the fighting with you guys. So . . . Yeah." He fanned his wings, wondering what the heck he was doing wrong that he couldn't connect with them. He was the social butterfly of his teammates, so why was Earth so different from Cybertron?
"That's uh—not really what I meant," Jack finally ventured. He exchanged a glance with Arcee that spoke much more between them than Nightflier was comfortable transpiring beneath his nose.
What is going on?
Arcee spared a quick glance around and pointed. "There." Nightflier followed her finger and blinked at the abandoned shack through the trees. How in the world had she found that? "That will provide us cover from the 'Cons. We'll talk in there."
Nightflier just followed obediently, wings snagging a bit in the treetops. He was still on edge. He wasn't sure if he could really trust them yet . . . just because of that strange, STRANGE way they acted around him. He just needed all his chips on the table before he could make a complete decision on them. As it were, the human wasn't a problem, and he had already deduced that if it came down to it, Arcee couldn't overpower him.
He ducked down into the shack realizing belatedly that it was an abandoned barn, just high enough for them to stand inside. His wings snagged on the doorjamb before he laid them as flat as possible on his back. Resisting a wince, Nightflier eased himself into a sitting position, keeping a close optic on where his wings moved. He stretched his leg.
Arcee and Jack sat down across from him. When both looked at each other again, Nightflier shifted and gave them both pointed looks before he said,
"So. You guys know me. Are you going to explain how?"
Jack and Arcee both glanced at each other again. Finally, Arcee cleared her throat and said, "Your sister's name is Nightstalker."
He froze. Old wounds slowly peeled open that he had tried to keep covered up for so long. After a tense cycle, he finally managed quietly, "Now that's a name I haven't heard in a long, long time . . ." Because Arcee and Jack were cautiously watching for his reaction, Nightflier finally nodded. "Yeah," he cracked out haggardly. "That's my sister. I just-I prefer not to speak of her."
Arcee paused hearing the pain in his voice. Jack stuttered a bit because he was nervous, but told him, "W-well then, I-I think we might be the bearers of good news. N-Nightstalker's alive."
Nightflier winced back, staring at the offending human. A strangled sound emitted from his vocalizer, hurt-horrified. Immediately, he snapped, "Don't you patronize me! My sister is dead!"
"Well-that's what she believes about you!" Jack burst back with a helpless shrug of his hands. "How else would we know about you? She's told us all about you-"
"Don't lie to me!" he snarled with sudden vehemence. Jack recoiled when Nightflier leaned forward, claws gripping the ground with wings flaring wide with anger. "She's DEAD! Slaughtered along with all the sparklings on Kaon!" His optics gained a sheen, and his voice cracked in passion, so deeply angered that he growled. "I have not felt her in my spark since the day she died! If she was here on this rock I would have sensed her presence-if she was alive, I would have felt her across the GALAXIES no matter how far! So don't try to feed me falsehoods like this because I will NOT stand for it."
Agitated and hurt, Nightflier stood up, wings catching on the upper level of the barn. With a slight growl, his small stature belying the depth and power of his voice, he turned so his wings had room. When he stood to his full height, his wings perked up in anger and poked two holes through the roof, irritating him further. With another snarl, he flattened his wings angrily and turned to stalk out until Arcee jumped to her peds and grabbed his wrist.
"Wait—Nightflier, wait!" He wrest his wrist from her grip and instead grabbed her by the wrist, ready to shove her off. Luminous optics blinked back at him. "Don't judge until you've seen for yourself," she said quietly.
His throat shifted. He shook his head, disbelief paralyzing his systems as he rasped, "No—No, if she was alive, I'd feel her—I'd FEEL her! I'd feel her in my spark, I'd know! We're bonded—I'd feel her! I'd feel her."
Unwittingly, he yanked on Arcee's wrist, terrified and hopeful with the knowledge she teased him with. Arcee shifted, taking a step back and pulling her wrist away, unsettled by his proximity.
"Look," Arcee said, gesturing for him to sit. Unwillingly, he did so. "I don't know the whole story. I mean—given that you're alive when she thinks you're dead," and she gave a vague gesture to him, "but Nightstalker's alive. I don't know what I have to say to prove it, but regardless of what happened or what you think, she's alive."
"I was found by a bot named First Aid," Nightflier supplied as helpfully as he could, still so shocked that his voice strained to function. "He—I mean, obviously a medic . . ."
Arcee nodded. "Nightstalker was found by Knockout, a Decepticon. Also a medic."
Nightflier swallowed hard, pressing the heel of his palm to his forehead, feeling like his processor was going to implode from the unimaginable. Finally, he looked up, optics wide and begging. "She's really alive?"
Arcee nodded. "Yes. She's alive."
Nightflier shook his head again. "No. I mean—Why should I trust you? She—I'd feel her in my spark! I know she's not alive. I've know it for years, if she was alive, I'd know."
When Arcee rubbed her brow in frustration, Jack piped up, "Look, I don't know why the bond is broken . . . Why you can't feel her . . . But she can't feel you either. That's why she thinks you're dead."
"That explains nothing," Nightflier snapped back. Shifting in agitation, throat tightening, Nightflier shook his head at them. "I don't have a reason to trust you."
"Wha—We're on your side!" Jack burst. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "We're not trying to . . . Look, we just—You guys lived in Kaon. Nightstalker told us. She said . . . your father was a gladiator that went off on the 'Con side, you guys were street urchins, you stole energon and credits from people, um . . ."
When Nightflier stayed aloof, knowing that people could easily know that about him, Jack suddenly snapped his fingers, looking up. "Ampere!" Nightflier stiffened. "That's your mom's name. Nights said you always told her she was her spitting image."
His servos tightened on the floor. Nightflier felt his wings twitch as he looked down on this small human, and finally, he rasped, "How do you know that?"
"Nightstalker told me," he said simply.
Nightflier looked to Arcee for confirmation. She nodded. A faint hope, so unreal it hurt, flooded his spark. "She's alive," he finally stated again.
Arcee nodded. "Yes. I promise, she's alive."
He moved forward, crawling a bit. "But I mean—" He choked for a second, shaking his head in wonder. "She's really alive? Really?"
Arcee nodded again.
Nightflier dropped his helm, quivering as emotion flooded his circuits. He looked up to Arcee, hot tears beginning to bead in his optics. "What's she like?" he rasped. Arcee leaned back when he flung himself forward to her side. "Please! What's she like? She's grown up now, right? She fell in with Decepticons? She's not still one, is she? What happened? Is she all right? What's she like?"
Arcee blinked, too overwhelmed by his questions to really say anything, and Nightflier grabbed her hand, something tight constricting his throat. "Is she still a good girl? She's still smart? Happy? What's she like? She's—she's alive—" and his tears began to flow over, little sobs shaking his shoulders as he bent over, pressing his face into her lap to hide. "She's alive . . . She's alive . . . My little sister . . ."
His arms instinctively wrapped around her waist, clinging to what he could to anchor himself down to reality as he wept astonished tears of rapture. Arcee stiffened at him throwing himself at her feet, but because his combined grief and joy was so real, found herself putting a hesitant hand on the back of his helm. She glanced helplessly to Jack, but the human just smiled softly and shrugged, looking at the overwhelmed mech prostrating over her lap.
Nightflier cried for a moment more before he realized what he was doing. He made a surprised sound, pulling back and away. He wiped his tears with his knuckles, stammering, "S-Sorry, I didn't mean to—I'm sorry, I just—Sorry. I'm sorry."
As he frantically wiped his tears, Arcee found herself and shook her head, saying, "It's all right. I-It's a lot to take in."
Arcee could have slapped herself for the inadequate words for the situation, but Nightflier just nodded, trying to take a steady cycle.
My little sister. She's alive. Oh Primus, she's alive.
He vented sharply, controlling himself before apologizing again. "Sorry. The bots always did tell me I wore my spark on my sleeve. But—" and his wide optics looked back to Arcee, "Please? Please, can you tell me about her? Please, I want to know everything about her."
When Arcee hesitated for a second, Jack came around so he was easier seen, saying, "Like she said, Nightstalker was taken in by Decepticons." Nightflier's full attention snapped down to Jack. The human shook his head. "I . . . won't say too much because things are very personal for Nightstalker. If you want to know some things, you'll have to ask her yourself." Nightflier nodded, waiting with baited breath as Jack described his sister. "Her function as a Decepticon was torturer." Nightflier tried not to flinch and instead, his breathing cycles just hitched. "When our friend, Cliffjumper, was captured, she was supposed to torture him, and did, but chose to save him. Shortly after, she became an Autobot."
Nightflier nodded, lips twitching as he listened raptly to the young human. Jack shook his head. "She, um . . . When you guys were separated on Kaon, she saw what happened to you."
His cycles stilled. A sick feeling spread in his spark. "She did?" he whispered.
Jack nodded. "The Decepticon that planted the bomb—that was Starscream." Nightflier nodded. "And the bot that was going to save you, that was Optimus Prime."
His optics widened. "That was . . . By the Celestial Spires . . . That was Optimus PRIME?"
"Yeah," Jack said, nodding. He crossed his legs, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. "Nightstalker saw you." There was a heavy beat of silence as the human hesitated. Nightflier felt his vocals fuse, unable to think, unable to process how Nightstalker had kept living presumably seeing him blown to smithereens. "She saw Optimus run so he wouldn't die with you and . . . blamed your death on him. She wanted revenge, and she almost took it, but she realized that it wasn't Optimus's fault. It was Starscream."
Nightflier cycled out a slow breath. His shivering spark relaxed a little. That was right. His sister knew better. She was good, he knew it, and knew she didn't have the spark of a Decepticon.
"Well," Jack finally said awkwardly, trying to skirt over things as well as tell as much as possible, "she's went through some . . . really tough things, but after making it through all she has, I'm sure she's stronger for it, even if she doesn't realize it yet."
"What happened to her?" Nightflier asked quietly. He was a little confused about everything Jack was telling him, but he was also worried. They weren't giving him the entire story.
Jack just shook his head again. "You'll have to ask her. I'm not at liberties to tell her whole life story."
Nightflier winced a little. "Yeah. Sorry. I just—I worry."
The human shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Arcee for help. She vented, troubled, and she captured Nightflier's attention with the soft sound. "She's had a rough life, Nightflier," she told him seriously. "We can't cushion it. She's had it hard, and she's had it bad. I'm sure even her processor is a little skewed by it all."
A sickening feeling spread in Nightflier's spark. His throat jumped. "What happened?" he rasped. When Arcee and Jack refused to give an answer, he grabbed her hands again, making her jump at the presumably forward gesture. "What happened?" his vocalizer cracked desperately again. "What happened to her? Is she okay? What's wrong with her?"
Arcee looked away, unable to keep his guileless gaze as he dug for information. "I'm not at liberties to say," Arcee echoed Jack quietly. "When you meet her again, you'll just have to ask her. I mean—she may act a bit skittish, paranoid even, a touch bipolar—but she's still strong. She . . . For all she's gone through and all she deals with, I couldn't be more proud of her. She has a will of iron, and she conquers her fears."
"She's small, but she's always determined to help, no matter what," Jack agreed. "And she cares so much about everyone. If you need help, she'll always give it, even if she can only do so much. She's resilient. She's beautiful. Her colors are black with touches of orange."
Nightflier gave a weak laugh, shaking his head. His lips twitched with the effort of a smile as his optics looked down on the human. "Black," he repeated. He shook his head. "For shame, Nights. That color's way too sexy for you."
"Well—I don't think the color was really for the appeal," Jack told him, though inwardly he suspected Megatron had a hand in that too. "She picked the colors because of you." Nightflier reared back in surprise. "She said . . . She picked the colors because that was all she could see left of you after the bomb went off. Just blackened, charred ground and flames. She wore it as a reminder of her loss. She didn't want to forget you."
His voice box clotted with tears. He turned his face away from them to look at the ground. "Primus, Nights . . ." he rasped thickly. "Primus . . ." Overwhelmed again, a few tears shuddered from his frame before he could control himself again, taking a deep vent.
Jack cleared his throat. "Um . . . She's got a boyfriend."
Nightflier looked up as Arcee exploded, "Jack!"
"What?" The human gave a shrug. "If I was a brother, I'd want to know!"
Nightflier blinked at them. "Um . . . What's a boyfriend?"
Arcee gave an impatient vent. "She's in a relationship."
For a moment, Nightflier stared, and then he frowned. "So who is this mech?"
"Cliffjumper," Jack said freely.
Nightflier blinked again. "The mech she tortured."
Jack nodded.
After a moment, Nightflier finally sucked in a vent. "How does something like that even work?" When Jack opened his mouth, Nightflier held up a hand. "Wait—Don't answer that." Then he narrowed his optics at the human. "He keeps his hands to himself?"
Jack faltered and looked quickly to Arcee for help. Arcee found herself staring at Nightflier, and he watched her look away just as fast. Brotherly protection and jealously surged up.
"No. This isn't going to work. No. This—No. Everyone's split up, right?" When they still awkwardly kept silent, Nightflier vented and glared. "People went in pairs if they had humans, right? So if they didn't, they went alone . . . RIGHT."
Arcee finally cleared her throat and glared right back at him. "No. Nightstalker had been recently hurt and her motor lines were not fully healed. She was not fit to transform yet, and under strict orders from the CMO, she was sent with Cliffjumper."
"Cybertron below me . . ." Nightflier stood again, swearing under his breath as he quickly realized where that lead to. He whirled on them, his wings knocking the beam on the upper level. The old wood snapped under the force and collapsed part of the roof.
Jack winced, taking cover behind Arcee as the ceiling fell on top of Nightflier, and a sputter caught on his lips before he could stop it. As Nightflier flailed a little, trying to get the wood off of him, Arcee had to bite her glossia to keep herself from laughing at the comical sight of a highly protective brother.
When he finally got himself untangled, though he was certain he got a few splinters caught under his armor, Nightflier frowned at Jack and Arcee. "Well?" he demanded an answer. "So why didn't she go with the medic! He's not dead, is he?"
Arcee took a steadying breath, fighting away the laughter before saying seriously, "No."
Nightflier threw up his hands, about to turn around again when he realized he would just knock down the other half of the ceiling. "She should be with the medic then! If she wasn't—I mean!" He stopped, giving an incomprehensible noise before plopping down on his aft, crossing his arms, and crossing his legs. He glared at Arcee, seeing it in her optics. "Don't you dare laugh."
He watched her bite her lip hard, and her wing struts moved, tensing. Jack was completely doubled up, rocking with tears streaming down his cheeks, but mercifully silent.
"It's okay, Nightflier," Arcee finally mustered up. "She's happy with him."
"Well, I guess that's one thing," Nightflier muttered. He vented. "Cliffjumper," he finally repeated thoughtfully, tasting the name on his glossia. "Hm. There anything I should . . . KNOW about this Cliffjumper?"
He said it suggestively, eyeing Arcee so she knew exactly all the things he was talking about. Her lips screwed up. "Other than the fact that he never knows when to shut up and is more annoying than rust in your undercarriage . . ." She trailed off, optics getting a little distant. She shook her head, saying to him, "No. He's fine. He's good for her."
Nightflier dropped his helm as he contemplated this. She had been alive for all that time, trying to make her own life, had her own relationship . . . She grew up without him. While he wasn't looking.
"So Cliffjumper," he finally murmured, "he's good for her."
Sensing him searching for some sort of confirmation, Arcee nodded. "Yes. He's . . . very good for her. He was the one that brought her out of her shell when she first became an Autobot." She looked away. "We . . . didn't really welcome her into the fold since she was Cliffjumper's torturer. He was the only one willing to give her a chance." Finally, Arcee looked him in the optics. "So yes, he's very good for her. And things are very serious between them."
Nightflier nodded, pushing out a vent. "Yeah . . . Okay. Well, thanks for the heads up. I needed that one."
Jack elbowed Arcee. "Told ya."
She just rolled her optics. "Right. Well, it's been a long day, and I know you need sleep," and she looked up to Nightflier, "and I know you'll need a good recharge so your self-repair systems can fix most of the damage."
Nightflier nodded. "Yeah. I gotta get back to Smokescreen. I was supposed to come back tonight. He's probably worried."
Arcee blinked. "You're with Smokescreen?"
Nightflier nodded. Then, his optics widened. "Slot! Sorry, I meant to tell you—I'm with Smokescreen and Prime!"
Jack jumped to his feet, and Arcee exploded, "Optimus! They're all right? Why the-You're supposed to tell us stuff like this! Anything else you're forgetting?"
"I—Hey!" Slightly affronted by her tone, Nightflier frowned, but he shook it off. "Look. I was outside and saw Wheeljack's ship get shot down. The Decepticon warship moved up, right over the base, and instead of sending a force in to check your ground bridge for coordinates, they just blasted the entire thing."
"W-Wait," Jack stuttered, blanching. "You mean . . . The base is gone?"
Nightflier nodded. "Yeah. It . . . Completely. I found Smokescreen in the wreckage a little later, and he was pulling the Prime along. He was . . . is . . . really bad. He's really bad."
Arcee swallowed. "How bad?"
He made a weak sound, shaking his head. He looked up, telling her truthfully. "So bad it's a wonder he's still with us. I was actually looking for Ratchet, but . . ." He trailed off, knowing it was apparent he hadn't found him.
A heavy silence overtook them, one where Nightflier could hear every hitch and whine of his systems and Arcee's. Finally, Jack murmured, "So . . . How long does he have?"
Nightflier licked his lips. "Um . . . I gave practically all of my field kit to Smokescreen to patch him up, but . . . It's definitely not enough. The damage is . . . extensive. If I don't find Ratchet . . . I wouldn't put it past any day for him to . . ."
Arcee dropped her helm. Her hands wrung tightly in her lap. Finally, she whispered, "We'll head out first thing tomorrow. We'll try to help find him. Keep in touch with us so we can find you guys. Are you safe?"
Nightflier nodded. "Yeah. We're deep underground so the 'Cons can't track our signals. We're as safe as can be."
It became so quiet again he was sure they could hear the uncertainties of his spark whispering in the wind. Eventually, Arcee cleared her vocalizer and whispered, "Then . . . We're all definitely going to need a good recharge for tomorrow."
"I'll take first watch," Nightflier volunteered quickly, knowing he was too wired to go back to sleep after hearing everything he had heard this night. He gave a slight gesture. "You guys go on and recharge. I'll keep watch."
A staggered vent took in a dust bunny, choking him back to the land of the living. He struggled to cycle it out, and when he did, he heaved several great coughs. Agony poured through his chassis with the motion.
A moment later, when he stopped trembling, he heard indistinct voices in the background. One was a little panicked, the other, brusque, and the other . . .
He knew those beeps and warbles.
The voices were silenced when he groaned. Steps brought someone above him, and Dreadwing's optics flickered on. Red and white colors frowned down on him.
"About time you woke up." A scan was performed, and the grouchy medic moved aside, checking his levels. A servo twitched, and Dreadwing groaned again, trying to reach across and to the IV dripping life-giving energon into his arm.
"Leave me . . ."
A rough hand smacked his away from the IV. "Don't you touch that. We've already spent too many supplies on you now for you to just die. Get over it. You're living."
Dreadwing gritted his dentures, arching his helm away. "I want to die," he rasped.
"Too bad." A flashlight was shined in his optics. "Follow the light."
Dreadwing closed his optics, spark withering in remembrance. "She died long ago . . ."
There was a pause, and Ratchet finally said, "Follow the light."
"Leave me."
"Follow the light."
Dreadwing opened his optics and glared in the general direction where Ratchet's body was silhouetted against the light. "Why does it matter to you?" he hissed. "Is this some cruel Autobot torture? To prolong my misery longer?"
"No," the CMO replied in a clipped tone, "this is a medic trying to save a stubborn patient. Now you're going to live, you are already on the mend, and I am not going to let you die. Now, follow the light, or I'll remove your optics and you won't ever have to worry about following it."
An equally angry vent rattled from Dreadwing's chassis, but he finally followed the order, allowing the medic to continue his examination.
"And as for your former question," Ratchet replied stiffly without looking at him, "I don't know why I'm keeping you alive yet. I'm not sure if it's to kick you around some more for hurting Nightstalker, or if it's because I know Nightstalker still cares for you despite what you've done to her." The medic moved off, muttering to himself about wiping the masochism from her mind.
Dreadwing turned his head, and immediately, he recognized the chambers as the Harbinger. Starscream left this kind of intel out for grabs? It only added to his grief before he remembered he had betrayed the Decepticons.
So, the techie Autobots had managed to find the derelict Harbinger again. And using it to their advantage as a safe hold. His red optics cut across the room to see the young scout, Bumblebee looking at him. When he kept his gaze, Bumblebee twittered and hurried off and out of his line of sight.
Dreadwing looked back up to the ceiling, incapacitated on the medical berth. It was stiff with years, uncomfortable, and obviously the medic hadn't bothered to move him so he wouldn't get any bed sores. He tried to shift himself with little, but heartening results. The pressure on his shoulders shifted, offering a little relief.
That is the mech that snuffed my brother's spark.
He didn't know what to think about the young scout. He was . . . impressed that the young warrior had been able to confront his brother, a seasoned warrior, and come out victorious. And yet he hated him. He despised him for taking his twin from him. He had helped cause the agony that bled from his spark.
Perhaps it was no different than how he looked at Nightstalker. Despising her and impressed with her both. She infected the aches in his spark, but her fortitude was better. She was stronger. He had allowed the Decepticons to corrupt his honor. Despite having been a Decepticon, Nightstalker had not allowed hers to become twisted.
*Um . . . Ratchet doesn't mean that*
Dreadwing looked listlessly over to Bumblebee, exhausted and pained. The young scout peeked over his shoulder at the medic deep in conversation with someone over the Decepticon line. Ingenious.
*I mean . . .* Bumblebee twittered uncertainly before whispering in a hurry, *He's keeping you alive for Nightstalker because he knows she cares. He's really not cruel, he's just worried about everyone and that makes him stressed*
Dreadwing turned his helm away. He waited for the Autobot to leave him alone, and a second of hesitation filled the silence. Then, quietly, so quiet he wasn't sure he had heard it,
*I'm sorry about Skyquake*
A vent decompressed heavily from him. "Do not worry yourself," he finally muttered. "You did what needed done."
*But I didn't want to kill him* the scout murmured. *Especially not now . . .*
Dreadwing couldn't look at him. He stared off at the opposite wall, struggling inside. "If you did not do what you had, you would be dead. That is the rule of war."
He heard the scout shuffle his peds. *That doesn't mean I can't be sorry for it*
After a moment, Dreadwing closed his optics, trying to refute the scout's gullible empathy. "What do I matter to you?"
*I don't want to hurt anyone* he said simply.
"Not even a Decepticon?"
*Not even a Decepticon. But you're not a Decepticon anymore.*
Dreadwing stiffened. "I'm not an Autobot."
*But you're still not a Decepticon.*
"That means nothing."
*I think it means a lot*
Dreadwing felt his metal hinging up as if attacked. "Leave me," he rasped.
After a moment, Bumblebee did as asked. Dreadwing felt a decompression of air seep from him, full of regrets and confusion. Where to go from here? He didn't even know the extent of his own injuries. He just knew he had been shot in the back by Megatron, and it had taken everything he had to get off the ship in one piece. What now? A prisoner of war by the Autobots?
His destiny . . .
Anguish filled his spark. Whose destiny? For once, instead of speaking too much, Ampere had spoken too little. He couldn't make heads or tails of her cryptic words. An aggrieved vent spilled from him, and he closed his optics, too tired to think about it. He didn't want to think about it. He wouldn't.