"And why, pray tell, should I obey you?" The Decepticon asks condescendingly, as if talking to a child, though his smirk is sharp enough to cut.
Enraged, Dinobot lurches forward despite the lack of ground under his pedes and his weapons nowhere to be found—
And curls into himself with a pained roar as a thousand lightning bolts course through his wires.
"It seems the foolishness of the Autobots extends not only to Maximals, but even to their associates." The Flier mocks once the current ceases, allowing the Predacon to slowly straighten. "You still exist because my spark is supporting yours, but that doesn't mean you can take even a fraction of my power. So, try to attack me again, and you'll feel my greatness once more. Obey me, and I may reward you by cutting the link between our sparks, so you may… fade."
Dinobot snarls at the once more condescending tone, tensing despite the warning—
And quickly turning away at the sound of jets, startled.
"Ah, there they come."
The warrior can only feel astonished that he hadn't noticed any of it before.
The disintegrator, after all, is big enough to be seen easily on the cliff, even if they weren't almost standing—or floating—on top of it.
The formation is human in origin, though he doesn't remember its name. The fliers, on the other servo, he recognizes easily.
Optimus Primal, Cheetor and Silverbolt.
On the ground, manning the disintegrator's controls, is Rattrap, with Rhinox by his side.
And there, suspended between the funerary machine's prongs, is a body.
They've repaired the most obvious damage and cleaned most of the scorched marks and dirt, but, even if they hadn't, it would have been easily recognizable.
After all, Dinobot knows his own frame.
Stunned and not completely believing what he's seeing, he can only watch as the body turns into glittering blue and gold particles scattered by the wind as the fliers shoot over the machine, the rising sun tinting everything in shades of gold and orange.
"How long have I…"
"The rest of the night. They got your frame back to their base, prepared everything, and then proceeded with this wasteful ritual." The Decepticon answers with a sneer, and Dinobot quickly turns to look at him.
"Wasteful? How dare you—!"
"In a war, is it wise to destroy any available parts? Come on, I know you're still Predacon enough to know that the best way to honor a fallen warrior is to make sure he rejoins the fight by recycling him."
And, despite his disgust and anger, Dinobot just scowls and looks away, because Starscream is right, more so in this backwater Earth.
"They're not Predacons." He answers with a soft hiss, and, despite snorting, the Flier doesn't respond.
Silently, they watch Primal and the other two land and, after exchanging some words he doesn't manage to catch, they start to dismantle the disintegrator.
"Why are you keeping me here?" He asks without strength, more attentive to his former comrades than his current companion.
"I don't have to explain myself to you. But, I'll be merciful. You… intrigue me." And, with those three words, the Decepticon finds himself with all of Dinobot's attention on him.
Not that he seems to notice, arms crossed against his cockpit and gaze still on the Maximals.
"I am a warrior, and a traitor. You have never shown an interest in the former, and are an expert on the latter. How could I intrigue you?" He snarls softly, and, to his confusion, a humorless smile appears on the dark faceplate.
"It's not betrayal if I've never been on their side in the first place." His voice is almost wistful, and the Predacon finds himself startled by the answer. "Regardless of the popular opinion, I am one of the most loyal mechs you could ever find. As for warriors…" Red meets red as the Flier finally turns to him, quieting his words before they could even be spoken. "I knew someone who was a warrior, honor code and all. And this is why you intrigue me. I want to know more, so I'm going to keep you around until I'm satisfied." He adds, recovering his smug smirk, and Dinobot snarls at him.
"I am not a pet!"
"Never said you were." The Decepticon answers calmly, smirk sharpening. "And don't worry, I'm not in a hurry. After all, we have all the time in the universe."
With an enraged roar, the Predacon turns around and walks away, weird as it is to move without anything under his feet.
"Don't go too far, my spark can only sustain you when you're in a certain range!" The Flier calls happily, as one would a child that was left to play in the park, and Dinobot whirls around—
And stops, optics locked on the Maximals below.
Specifically, on the smallest of them, who, ignoring the calls from the rest, walks away, back into the Axalon.
"Rattrap?" He whispers, willing himself to be at ground level—and, surprisingly, finding himself softly floating down.
Without a second thought, he hurries to the lift, but it's already away from his grasp when he reaches it.
He snarls in frustration, remembering the bridge and how it would look from inside to see the Transmetal Rodent step out—
Determined, and pushing away any contradictions that pop up in his processor, he braces himself—
And jumps.
He feels absolutely nothing as he phases through the floor, finding himself standing as solidly in the bridge as if he still had his own body.
A quick look around easily locates Rattrap's retreating form, and, silent, he follows.
To his confusion, though, the Rodent doesn't go to his quarters.
He goes to Dinobot's.
Surprised, the Predacon stops at the threshold, even as the door closes almost through his back, and observes.
The Maximal looks around with his gaze empty, analyzing the few items he keeps there.
The barely used computer.
The rack with his spare swords, an empty space in it that will never again be occupied.
The skin of his clone.
And, he suspects, memories piling in the corners, along the smell of polishes and cleansing products for his weapons, and of leather and, perhaps, carrion from its last occupant himself.
Nor that he can prove it.
He can't smell anything.
But, obviously, Rattrap can, for he transforms into his beast mode and lies just before the spot he occupied for the last time, kneeling in the middle of the room.
When he wasn't strong enough to take his own spark.
He's both embarrassed and glad that he didn't do it.
After all, he couldn't have saved the valley if he'd been dead.
"Why did you have to do it?" Rattrap whispers, voice harsh yet pained at the same time. "Why did you have to go and play hero, you overgrown lizard?" He adds, glaring first at the floor and then at the trophy skin, sporting the same stripes of his own. "You just had to distract them, not jump in weapons blazing! We were almost there!"
"But you weren't there. Any distraction I could have pulled off wouldn't have been enough." He answers hotly, but the Rat doesn't turn around, still glaring at what's left of his clone.
"But no, your stupid honor code or whatever had you taking on all seven Preds. And when you found it wasn't enough, what did you do? Not step back and wait for us to deal with whoever was left, like would have been the reasonable thing to do. No, you kept going, and what happened? Well, you got yourself scrapped! Killed!"
"How dare you question my decision, Rodent! I did the only—!" But the servo he's thrown towards Rattrap's neck, ready to grab the Vermin and lift him to his face to give him a piece of his mind, goes through the Maximal.
Startled at his moment of obliviousness, he throws himself away as the Maximal curls into himself with a chocked sob.
"Why in the Inferno did you have to go and leave us? Why did you leave me?"
"Rattrap…"
"What a spark-breaking scene." A high-pitched voice scoffs from behind the Predacon, who whirls around with a murderous snarl. "If I had a body I would purge."
With a loud roar, and disregarding any possible repercussions, Dinobot throws himself at the Flier—
The lights flicker, stopping them all as they look up, one with surprise and the other with disbelief.
"What in the name of my great aunt Arcee…" The Maximal whispers, attracting their attention, as he, too, looks at the now stabilized lights. "Guess all those extra reinforcements to the defenses are draining us faster than we thought." He sighs, once more lying on the ground, curled into himself. "You know, Chopperface… I know this place on Cybertron, you can get dirty mech-fluid mixed with just a touch of radium… and, well, I guess you wouldn't care about the serving bots walking around minus their torso plates, if you know what I mean, but… I kinda wanted to get you there, see your reaction, have a few drinks… Who knows? Maybe you'll know some good bars yourself." He adds with a soft laugh.
Too soft.
If it had been any other mech, Dinobot would have even said that Rattrap sounded sad.
But… it can't be, can it?
"There was so much I wanted to—no, that I needed to tell you…" The Maximal continues, oblivious to the struggle of his unseen comrade. "Like… I'm sorry, Chopperface. I'm sorry I goaded you like that, that the last time we could have a normal conversation without you… dying on us… was of me accusing you of… I told you before that it was forgiven, and I meant it! But… we're about to go home, and the Preds are going to be jumpier than ever and… and you never said you were going to come with us." Dinobot's breath hitches in his throat at that, almost taking a step back as the Rodent curls further into himself. "I was worried about the Preds, worried about what they might get up to, worried that you wouldn't come with us… I was scared, Dinobot. But that shouldn't have been an excuse to let it all out on you. Even if, you know, you kind of deserved it, what with you giving Megs the Golden Disk and all…" He adds the last part almost with his normal infuriating tone of voice, but his soft trembling is more telling of what's really going on in his processor. "You shouldn't have had to pay such a high price for it, though…"
"Are we done yet? I swear, if I have to listen to more of this mushiness, I'm going to offline myself. Or, yourself, since I can't actually extinguish my own spark, but—"
"Enough!" The Predacon roars, swirling around and punching the Flier into the wall, the lights flickering with the unheard impact. "Mute it, you despicable traitor! I don't care what you think, I don't care what you want, and I don't care who in the slagging Inferno you are!" His claws dig deep into dark neck cables, but the warmth of charged Energon is completely absent from his talons.
"I'm the one that can make you wish you were in that Inferno." The Decepticon hisses, a confident smile on his faceplate despite his position.
"I wish I really was! I should be! This… I can't deal with this." He whispers, all his strength vanishing as if sapped by Tarantulas' web, slowly letting his servos fall to his sides. "There's got to be a better punishment than this…"
"You think this is punishment?" It is the lack of emotion in the voice that makes Dinobot look up, meeting the unreadable dark faceplate and distant optics of his only real companion. "I hope you never get to know why you're wrong." The Flier adds, focusing on him, before his gaze flickers to something at the Predacon's back.
Rattrap, once more in robot mode, walks out of the room grumbling about malfunctions in the power grid and 'having to fix everything myself'.
"How could this not be?" Dinobot finds himself muttering, gaze lost on the closed door for an instant before a servo wraps around his upper arm, tugging him through the wall.
"Trust me, you don't want to know."
"I don't trust you."
"Perfect, keep the good work up." To his utter confusion, there's no hint of sarcasm or falseness in the Flier's voice, but, finally, his words manage to shake him out of his pain-filled state enough to tug his arm free.
He doesn't stop walking, however, slightly behind the Decepticon so that he's leading the way.
"Where are we going?"
"First lesson of the ghost: the living can't feel you in any manner unless you want it to be so."
It takes a moment for it to sink, and, when it does, Dinobot stops short.
"What?"
"The flickering lights? That was your doing."
Since the Flier doesn't stop, the Predacon has to run a couple of steps to catch up.
"What do you mean?"
"Watch and learn." And he finally stops in front of a well known closed door, giving him a dark smirk before walking through the metal barrier like it wasn't there.
Worried despite himself, Dinobot hurries to follow.
And stops short as he sees Cheetor curled in a ball on his berth, soft sounds filling the room, easily recognizable despite not being usually heard.
Sobs.
The young Maximal is crying.
"Cheetor?" The warrior whispers, and feels his spark contracting painfully.
He's not one to sweet talk or pat a mech's shoulder, but seeing the Cheetah so broken, he can't help but feel the urge to do something.
Though now, more than ever, he is helpless.
The melody cuts through the air so suddenly that both ghost and Maximal jump in surprise.
Standing next to the now open music box—an adaptation of a human item the Autobots took with them back to Cybertron—Starscream smirks proudly.
Giving a quick look to the relaxing feline, Dinobot approaches the Flier, brow furrowed as he looks from the see-through servo on the lid of the box to charcoal faceplates.
"How did you…"
"First lesson. Here."
The Predacon stops, looking down at the extended servo suspiciously.
But the Decepticon simply stays still, patiently waiting for the warrior to yield.
He would have never grasped the sky blue appendage, but… Cheetor is sobbing softly once more, and even though his frame can't feel anything, his spark throbs.
So, he slowly puts his dark brown servo in the Flier's extended one.
Blue dactyls curl around his softly, tugging just enough for the Predacon to get the message that the Flier wants him to step closer to where the Maximal, in beast mode, is once more curled on his berth, though more relaxed than before as the unknown melody of the music box keeps playing.
"Now, the first thing you need to know is that we're no longer solid. We're nothing but sparks, which means energy." Starscream explains so patiently that Dinobot turns to him in surprise to make sure he really is the one talking. "Energy can still interact with the world, but to do so in a pseudo-physical manner, we need to concentrate enough of it that it creates a magnetic field. One strong enough to be felt, but weak enough that it doesn't interfere with whatever you're in contact with."
"Meaning?"
"In this case?" The Flier goes silent, optics dimming as he loses himself in thought. "You've never felt an ionic storm, have you?" The Predacon shakes his helm, and the other grimaces. "That just makes it harder to explain. Let's see… Ionic winds are the result of subatomic particles coming in contact with a magnetic field. They're not physical, since they're basically energy, but when the particles move fast enough, they can create wind currents. When that happens, you feel the tingling of energy and a soft breeze, depending on the intensity of the magnetic field. What we're trying to do is condense enough energy to create such a magnetic field so that the particles in the air and on the surface of the armor react with it, which would result in ionic movement that mimics the sensation of touch." The Decepticon turns to him, and scowls when he sees his confused look. "Ugh, forget it. Let me show you instead."
And the hand holding his becomes alive.
Gasping in surprise, Dinobot finds himself grabbing the blue forearm plating with his free servo in an effort to… to what? He's not trying to pull him away, but…
Taking a couple of deep breaths, he concentrates on the feeling instead, a blanket of warmth and power and a tingling that is just safety as he feels the energy wash over his servo in an impossible caress, here and not at the same time.
Words fail him, his whole frame shivering as it aches for more, but when he looks into the Flier's lopsided smile—and it is a smile, not a grin or a smirk and with no hint of smugness in it—he knows the other understands, even if he himself has no idea what he's trying to say or do, if anything.
"Now, the amount of energy needed to accomplish this is quite precise, something that you would undoubtedly need to practice for quite a while before you manage to stay within the required parameters, not to mention the fact of restricting it to a servo instead of your whole frame. So, I'll help you just this once." The servo around his releases its grip, and Dinobot has to struggle not to grab it again at the loss of that unnamed comforting feeling.
The fact that he's being pushed to sit next to the ball of aqua, silver and yellow plating is more than enough to distract him, more so when the Flier moves to kneel at his back.
"What are you doing?!"
"Do you want to help him or not?"
And one look at the recharging Maximal, face scrunched in pain and body shivering, is more than enough to convince him.
A blue servo reaches for one of his, and he allows it to be guided to hover over Cheetor's back.
And feels a pang of something that could be called pain when he can't feel the warmth of the body under his servo.
A soft tingling from where the Decepticon's own is grabbing his wrist joint is more than enough to distract him and, slowly, the feeling extends to the tip of his dactyls and halfway up his forearm.
"This is the correct amount of energy to interact with a Cybertronian. In this case, it's a bit more than necessary because of the insulating Transmetal armor, so remember to use a bit less if the mech is in root mode, and even less if they're not Transmetal."
"Root mode?"
Starscream scoffs.
"Right, you call it robot mode. So degrading… Anyway. Try to remember the feeling."
"And now?"
"Now, you move."
Softly, the servo is pressed against plating, and Dinobot stiffens.
He can feel Cheetor's body, solid and crawling with rivulets of energy like strings of water down glass, and warm as if the feline had been basking under the sun instead of being curled on his berth in his dark room.
And judging by the way the Transmetal's optics brighten slightly and his body tenses, the Maximal can feel it too.
"Boss Bot?" He mumbles, more asleep than awake, and Starscream's free servo nudges his shoulder to bring him back to the situation at hand.
Slowly, and a bit uncomfortable, he moves his servo over the younger's back in a caress.
Cheetor's optics darken again, his whole frame relaxing as he presses a bit against the petting hand.
He doesn't know how long it takes, but he doesn't stop his slow caresses until the Maximal is completely relaxed and deep in recharge, and only when he lifts his servo for the last time does Starscream release his wrist, the tingling in his arm disappearing slowly as it extends to the rest of his… well, what looks like his frame.
"You say I'm able of doing this too?" He asks softly, as if his voice could awake the young mech despite it not being audible anymore for the living.
"With some practice, sure." The Decepticon answers nonchalantly, getting off the berth and walking to the door. "Come now, let's see what the rest are doing."
"Wha—wait!" He calls, uncaring about keeping his voice low as he rushes through the door after the Flier. "Why do you want to check on the rest of Maximals? Surely that's not of your interest."
The look Starscream gives him can only be described as duh.
Which is a sure sign that he's spent too much time around Primal's crew if that's the only thing to cross his processor.
"I'm a ghost. What else is there to do than observe the functioning? It's not as if I can just do whatever I want anymore."
And… well, yes, that merits a duh look.
"But you can interact with our surroundings." He points out, following regardless of anything, as they walk towards the bridge.
"Does that mean you want me messing with your computers?"
"No!" The Decepticon smirks, and Dinobot growls, realizing the situation. "I'd rather you just observe."
"I knew there was a functioning processor deep in there."
AN: Starscream's answer to being called a traitor is from IDW's Robots in Disguise, since it's the written expression of my headcanon.