XXV - Dire Straits

There was sand in my mouth. That was the first thing I noticed. Then something jabbed me hard in the side. "Wake up!" A voice snapped angrily. I groaned quietly in protest as the world slowly began to come into focus. Well, there wasn't much to it. A dark hallway of the Nemesis, devoid of life save for myself and two Vehicons who had been half carrying, half dragging me somewhere.

I extricated myself from their grips and staggered upright, feeling humiliated. "I can walk on my own," I bristled, frowning at them.

The pair gave no reply, and my gaze slipped down to the rest of my chassis. At first, I wasn't entirely sure what I was looking at. Most of the paint on the front of it had been seared off and there were numerous places with blackened with char and what looked like spots of melted-on glass. I couldn't begin to count the dents, gashes, and scrapes riddling my frame, fortunately, none looked serious. Then I noticed the cuffs encircling my wrists, and my left arm… didn't exactly resemble an arm anymore. I suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous.

The drones must have seen a slight change in my posture and stepped forward, ready to offer "aid" should the need arise.

"Megatron." I spat, drawing upon every drop of hate I possessed and thrust it into my tone. The Vehicons stepped back, suddenly wary.

A few minutes of walking and snarling to myself later, I was safely tucked away in a cell. Megatron had visited me, and even though he said it was only for the night, stressed that it "will not take much to become permanent."

I shook my helm vigorously to expel his voice, and concentrated on glaring at the bars of my cell. One thought kept repeating itself inside my helm: the Omega Keys. I had already promised Arcee that I would retrieve their coordinates and bring them to the other Autobots… but at present I was far from capable.

But a flicker of movement caught my optic and I looked up to see none other than Knock Out casually reclining against the wall, almost out of my line of sight.

He looked at me, a wry smirk on his mouth plates. "Déjà vu?"

"You noticed," I grumbled, "allow me to guess… you're going to unlock my cell door and kindly escort me to the med bay."

"You will do no such thing." Came Dreadwing's voice and his heavy pedfalls from down the hall, past where Knock Out stood. A moment later he strode into view. What little confidence I had at the moment fizzled out, and I shrank away from the door.

"Ah, hello, Dreadwing." I said, my tone less than welcoming.

"Starscream." He said "my" name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Megatron has sent me to collect you."

"What for?" I asked defiantly.

"He did not consider the information to be worth sharing."

Knock Out and I exchanged a nervous glance. "Scrap." I hissed.

I was seated at a two-bot table across from Megatron, nervously scratching a talon against its face, etching a few random Cybertronian glyphs. Razor. Sky. Sixty-two. Moron. He had a cube of energon for himself and even had offered me one, but I had declined. My tanks were roiling so much I doubted I would be able to keep anything down for long. That, and a not-so-paranoid fear of being poisoned. But a cube for me sat out anyways, innocently gleaming in the dim light.

So I just sat there, trembling slightly while I waited for him to speak, feeling each wound crying out for attention and wondering why in Pit he removed my cuffs. "Here," he pushed the energon cube back over to me, "I insist." Its unusually light color suggested that of high grade: energon so refined that it was less necessary for survival and more so for recreational purposes.

"Ah… I'll have to decline, Master, you see, I have a sensitive tank…" I trailed off, shrinking away at the look he was giving me. "Might as well." I mumbled. Not wanting to anger the warlord, I reluctantly took it, grimacing inwardly. I immediately resolved not to get inebriated, regardless of how much pain I was in, physical or mental. I knew that with my slight build, it didn't take more than a couple cubes of high grade for me to lose coherence. That had happened to Starscream a few times long ago, and he hadn't been too fond of the experiences. The unfortunate part? My throat felt as dry as the Sahara; as I hadn't refueled in a couple days, and the digits displaying my tank's level were far lower than I'd like. Not to mention that if I did indulge, I wouldn't be able to feel my wounds. That in and of itself was a sorely tempting offer.

Megatron still watched me intently as if labeling each individual injury on my chassis. I tentatively reached forward and sampled the cube. The cool liquid was incredibly refreshing as it rushed down my throat, and before I knew it, I was hungrily guzzling it. Megatron's innocent demeanor deepened into a sinister smile. I choked and dropped the energon cube onto the table. I'd drank about three quarters of it. Frag!

"Oh, I should not have done that, all I'll do is blabber…" I trailed off, already feeling my processor slowing.

The larger mech took a sip from his own cube and then leaned back in his chair, clasping his servos together in his lap. "My second, I have given you more chances for redemption than anyone in Decepticon history. I have been quite generous over the years, have I not?"

"You have, Master." I answered quietly and dipped my helm in a shallow bow, hating myself for it.

He continued, rocking back even further in his seat, "I have tried every method I could think of to correct your treacherous nature, Starscream." I was trembling now as his tone increased in volume, "So tell me, what reason have I to spare you, a mech whose every waking moment is spent plotting against me!"

I did the opposite of what Megatron expected. I sat up straighter, looked him in the optic, and told the truth with an almost confident, steady voice. "None."

He seemed slightly taken aback at that, but then eased up out of his seat, towering over me. His tone wasn't what I expected either, soft and innocent: manipulative. "I shall say this only once: Seven, if your true sympathies lie with the Autobots, go to them."

"What?" I was baffled. "I don't believe I heard you correctly, did you just say I should return to the Autobots?" I said slowly, measuring out the words.

Annoyed, he repeated himself.

My mouth went dry. "You called me Seven." I absentmindedly took another swig from my energon cube, and the warlord refilled it.

"Indeed." He adjusted himself in his seat, "Did you really think that I would not have put the pieces of the puzzle together?"

I stared dumbly at my cube, stunned by what he just said. "B-but how?"

He took another drink from his own cube of high grade before responding, the motion blurred. "Seven, you and the Autobots," the warlord snarled quietly, "have made it all too clear that my true second, Starscream, is no more. Correct?" He said this with the air of someone offhandedly remarking that might rain later. Megatron gently leaned over the table and refilled my cube, then slid it back over to me and leaned back in his chair, "Here, drink."

I gulped down a quaff of high grade and stared down at the table, wings flush with my back as I tried to assert control over my wayward emotions. Lubricant started to well up in my optics and I trembled. I took the newly full cube and drank almost half of it in a single gulp, relishing the bittersweet taste and how the cool liquid soothed my throat. The pain from my wounds was already ebbing, and the feeling was far too sweet for me to resist.

"Yes."

Seven frowned inwardly, he knew he shouldn't have been drinking that high grade. Megatron wanted him to, and he knew that was a bad thing, but wasn't entirely sure why anymore. The larger mech didn't look like he meant any harm, a small, disarming smile curling up the corners of his mouth plates. It made the Seeker want to smile back, want to trust him. Surely his energon couldn't be that bad. He swirled his third cube's contents and took another sip, the warlord refilled it.

"There," Megatron slid it back over to him, and took a light sip from his own cube. The larger mech's build allowed for him to drain several cubes of high grade if he wanted to and remain unfazed.

The Seeker huffed, "Please. Is my glossa not slippery enough… without the high grade?"

"Ah, for normal practices, yes." The warlord flashed him a disarming smile but the Seeker missed it as he eyed his cube warily. He dropped the veneer of pleasantry, "Seven, if I were going to inflict harm upon you, have I not had many opportunities to do so, even in the past hours?"

"True," the smaller mech reluctantly agreed. "Though a part of me doesn't think this is just meant to be regular banter."

"On the contrary, my dear Seeker," Megatron replied, looking appalled at the very thought. "I believe that we should view this as an opportunity to speak freely to one another, do you not agree? Drink." he encouraged.

"If you insist," Seven frowned, eyeing the cube.

"I do."

The Seeker took a cautious sip, and gradually letting his guard down.

The warlord looked satisfied as Seven set his now-empty cube down, wiping at his mouth. Megatron reached forward to refill it again for him, "Now, where were we?"

"High grade." The Seeker scowled at himself. "Primus, I haven't had any of this stuff in ages… or Starscream hadn't, I'm not sure. Heh, I shouldn' be drinking this… oh, this isn't good…" he clacked his talons together nervously.

"Ah, that's right. Starscream, was it?" Seven nodded, not wanting to say anything. "Then might I ask why you deserted the Autobots?"

"I-I dunno…" Seven took another drink and remembered he had resolved not to do something, but what that resolution had been… the Seeker shook his helm at himself. He nursed his cube, feeling euphoria pouring into him as the pain flowed out.

"Seven," Megatron said, his servos folded neatly on the tabletop, "If there is no reason for your actions, then go to them. Go back to the Autobots if that is where your loyalty lies."

The silver Seeker frowned, his normally mild stutter worsening, "W-w-why're you letting me go…?"

"Because, my dear Seeker," The warlord's voice was a soft purr as he leaned closer to the smaller mech, filling his cube again, "you have nowhere else to go." His smirk deepened. "Clearly, you do not belong in our ranks, as Starscream did."

"Dun' talk about 'im!" Seven snapped and shuddered, furiously shaking his helm and blinking rapidly. He whimpered and drew into himself, unsteadily wrapping his arms around his knees and pulled them up to his chest plate. But he took a sharp intake as he tightened his broken arm and whimpered again. The Seeker looked back to the warlord across from him hopefully, "C-can I really join the 'Bots again?"

Megatron sighed. "You may, but know this: they were the ones responsible for Starscream's termination."

"W-whaddya mean?"

Megatron's patience was waning. "Focus! Optimus knew from the beginning that Starscream was going to perish," the warlord reasoned. He paused, waiting for the clone to catch on. Megatron shook his helm, "and if memory serves, the Autobots gave up hope of saving him, not even attempting to find a cure."

"No!" Seven protested. But then his optics dimmed reflexively, "I don' feel so good… fraggin' high grade… why am I doin' this, it's a horrible idea…"

The warlord spoke with greater haste after hearing this, wanting to make the most of every second. "Ah, but did you ever see the 'cure'? Did they ever attempt to administer what they had made to Starscream?" He pressed.

Seven's brow furrowed as he grappled with his thoughts for a moment, "N-no… buh I du–hic–dunno, they din' seem like it. Doc's always," he waved a wobbly servo to move the words along, "frettin' over somethin', 'e din' ever… uh, show me a–a, what's it called? An… ugh, I can' remem'er." The Seeker pressed his servos to his temples, "Somethin' 'bout anti–hic–dotes, yeh know? Yeah, yeah," he nodded at himself, "buh you dun need one unless you're sick, see?" He smirked triumphantly and sloppily slapped the table. "'Cept Stah was sick, tha's not good… an' he needed the… uh, cure! The cure!" Seven exclaimed happily, poking the side of his helm. In an instant, his expression fell. "Buh 'e din' get cured…"

"Is that so?" The warlord put a servo to his large chest plate in mock surprise. "Did Starscream ever have a say in this?"

The Seeker was becoming agitated, "No, buh he-he din' ask though."

Contempt and triumph flashed across Megatron's faceplates. "Seven," the Seeker looked up to him again, optics bright, "they sealed Starscream's fate. The Autobots put the final nail in his coffin, my dear second. We Decepticons would gladly have helped, had you brought him to us. You saw the cure for yourself." He sneered slightly, "But unless I am mistaken, you still wish to join them?"

"No." The Seeker growled. "Not a-anymore." Seven stumbled up out of his chair, tottering on his pedes. Megatron watched him, waiting for any reactions. "Nuh-not anymore," he repeated. But then a thought tickled at the back of his muddled processor and struggled to the surface. "Valor," he said thickly, swaying.

Megatron wrung his servos in though. "Yes, your sword. A pity, really. It was destroyed in the explosion, blown to pieces. It was a fine tool."

"Explosion?" Seven slurred, his memory failing him. A few error messages flashed across his vision, but he couldn't decipher them. He didn't really care enough to try.

"When the dark energon and red energon met, that is, the blades of our swords, they violently repelled each other. You are fortunate to still function, if I heard Knock Out correctly." He sneered. "Though I am curious as to why it had not happened before…" he trailed off and the jet sat back down, well, fell into his seat, reaching for his cube.

Seven blinked at him. "Can I go… I don' know, uh… to my quarters or somethin'? Heh, I din' think this'd take so long," he slurred, and took a deep drink.

Megatron swept his gaze over the Seeker's chassis with a trained optic, "Noted. But there remain matters to discuss, and you will not leave until we are through, am I clear?" he knew the jet's incoherence would give way to exhaustion soon enough, so all he had to do was wait and hope Seven wouldn't black out before then…

The Seeker bobbed his helm and listed to the right side of his chair, and made the mistake of trying to steady himself with his broken arm. He grimaced, clutching the plating over his tank. "Frag, I really don' feel good."

Megatron frowned, wanting to sneer; Of course you don't. "All the more reason to be swift, Seven." He clapped his servos together, the sharp noise startling the smaller mech and making him slightly more alert. "So focus! If you aid our noble cause in the Autobots' subjugation, Starscream will be avenged. All we need to know is the location of their base." the warlord asked in gentle, calming tones. He knew all too well from millennia with Starscream that he could guess if Seven got worked up—especially being overcharged—the warlord would never get a straight answer out of him. The warlord was beginning to regret this.

Seven seemed to mull it over, "I-I–hic–don' think I'm suppos–hic–'posed to tell you," he hiccupped, confusion clouding his features. "Am I?"

Megatron feigned innocence, "Oh, really? Seven, I have every confidence in you. You can tell me."

The clone struggled for an answer. "Uh… you're n-not supposed to–hic–know, uh…"

"Who said?" The warlord pressed, leaning over the table but remaining in his seat. Seven finished off another cube before replying.

"Uh… Opti-Op'imus did–hic–I thin'…"

"The Autobots were responsible for Starscream's demise, it is as simple as that. Are you still willing to trust Optimus Prime, our archenemy, while he retains all the blame?" Megatron laid a servo on the Seeker's shoulder plate, trying to do everything to convince him. The warlord was surprised to feel that he felt feverish, his core temperature likely well above normal levels. This worried Megatron, Seven was in no fit state whatsoever to do much of anything at present, being overcharged, which was Megatron's work, the high grade slowing his fans. Not to mention his broken left arm. Knock Out certainly had his work cut out for him when the warlord was through with the Seeker.

Seven's thin frame sagged against his chair and Megatron snapped back to the present, seeing that the Seeker's optics were dark. He tapped his faceplates with the tips of his claws and the smaller mech jerked more-or-less upright, optics glazed.

"Wha'd I mith?" He slurred, wings fluttering as he slipped in his seat.

Megatron's optics narrowed and he elected not to answer, leaning away from the Seeker. Seven saw his energon cube sitting innocently in front of him and reached for it. The warlord made no move to stop him, other than shifting in his own seat.

"Seven," the larger mech continued in the same gentle, disarming tone, "tell me the location of the Autobot base." The Seeker took a deep drink from his cube and replaced it on the table. It was empty, but this time the warlord didn't refill it. The Seeker had had enough, seven or eight cubes was far too much for him as it was.

Seven's glossa felt thick in his mouth, "It's… uh…" his wings snapped upright, quivering as he leaned over the right side of his chair and purged less-than-fresh high grade onto the floor until he was dry heaving.

Megatron's faceplates contorted with disgust as the stench hit his nasal sensors. Nevertheless, he pressed on. "Continue," he encouraged through gritted denta after the Seeker had recovered somewhat, slumping back into his seat.

"I-I shouldn' tell you," Seven slurred matter-of-factly, "Should I?"

"Yes, and you will." The warlord replied, his tone icing over.

The smaller mech's expression brightened, "See, I though' you–hic–weren' supposed t-to know, 'cause, uh… 'Cee said somethin'…" his brow furrowed in thought, "somethin' 'bout–hic–about Keys–"

This had piqued Megatron's interest. "Really?"

Seven huffed wryly, "Y-yeah, buh the base dun'–doesn' have keys, you know?" The warlord listened patiently, motioning for the clone to continue. "Uh, but 'Cee says they–they're k-keys to Cybertron, I thin'–hic–somethin' to do with, uh…" more error messages made an appearance in his vision.

"Keys to Cybertron," Megatron murmured to himself, "to open what? Where?"

"They'll, uh, brin' it back… our b-base doesn' haf 'em… buh keys fih in a lock, and wha's there tuh lock, I-I…" he started talking faster and faster, "I saw 'Cee there, she saw me too, buh it was loud, and we din' haff any keys…" Seven slurred, shaking his helm. This simple motion brought on a fit of gagging, but nothing came up.

Megatron had had enough, he wasn't going to get any answers out of the Seeker this way. He opened a comm and called for medical assistance. Knock Out appeared a minute or so later.

"Ah, Lord Megatron, I thought I'd find you here–" the medic broke off, taking in the scene in front of him. "Starscream?"

"Se-Seven," the Seeker corrected thickly. "B-b-buh he–hic–looked a loh like, uh, me, yeah. I thin' he did, righ'? He was funny some–hic–sometimes… I-I… where'd he go tuh anyway?" He looked around as if expecting to find his deceased double hiding under a chair. "Stah? Oh… righ', he wuz–hic–sick… and he d-died, din' 'e? Fraggig' MECH, I'll tear 'em all tuh–hic–slaggin' pieces if I see 'em again… yeh know, they'd be adkin' for it for awhile, an' they'll get wha's comin' tuh 'em…" his jabbering slurred together until it was indecipherable. The jet was saying anything and everything, none of it worth a cent. The red mech took in the silver mech's damaged and trembling frame, his broken-looking arm, the paint stripped from the front of his chassis and various spots were coated with char from the explosion.

Knock Out was dumbstruck, looking to Megatron and then the pile of empty cubes in front of the Seeker. "What have you done?"

"What I needed to," the warlord replied smoothly.

The red mech steeled himself for a rebuke, "You can't just give a Seeker his size that much high grade!"

"Unless if I am mistaken, I just did." Megatron sneered. "So, doctor, if I were you, I would not tarry."

"Seven, here," the medic went over to the Seeker and pulled him up out of his chair. "Ugh, how can you be so heavy yet so thin?!" The medic grumbled. He shot an accusing glare at Megatron and straightened up as best he could, half carrying the trashed mech.

"I'm no–I'm… I wanna–hic–go–hic–ba' to base… I miss Stah…" Seven moaned quietly. "I miss Stah! I luv'd him, we're jus' like–hic–brothers… alwa's… miss 'im a lot… he was so… so, um… like me…"

Knock Out's disgust quickly turned into pity for the poor Seeker. It was not only saddening to see the mech in the state he was, but realizing how deep his connection had been to Starscream tugged on the medic's spark. He tried to smile at the Seeker, "Let's get you all clean and fixed up, how does that sound?"

"Stah…"

My processor felt unbearably slow, like it was packed with cotton and a tiny person was running around inside of it with a hammer. I groaned, blinking against the harsh light of the room and then simply gave up, squeezing my optics shut and wishing the aching of my limbs to go away. Somehow, I was hot and cold at the same time, my circuits feeling like they had been reformatted and flipped inside out. My glossa felt large and fuzzy in my mouth.

"Ah, how was your beauty sleep?" Knock Out's voice asked sarcastically from somewhere above me.

"Go away," I grumbled, cracking open my optics. He didn't.

He glanced at a screen beside the med berh I laid on, "Fortunately for you, your hangover's mostly worn off. I bet it would've been real nasty."

"What's this about a hangover, for Primus' sake?" I asked thickly, my processor still feeling far slower than normal.

"Ha, ha. Have you seen yourself? You look like Pit. What did you tell Megatron?" The medic pressed, his tone becoming much more serious.

I was well past being confused. "What?"

"Scrap!" He hissed to himself, slamming a fist against a table.

"What?" I barked, my tone becoming increasingly more urgent.

Knock Out shook his helm, "You really don't remember?" I shook my helm and tried to rid myself of the stupor clouding my thoughts, "Of course you don't…"

"Stop speaking in riddles!" I snapped, pushing myself up off the med berth.

"What's the last thing you remember?" He finally asked, eyeing me with an air of condescension.

I thought for a moment, slowly feeling my thoughts come into clearer focus, "There was an explosion in the desert…" my brow creased, "and then I woke up aboard this accursed ship, then Megatron wanted to speak with me–he kept giving me high grade… no, oh no…" I trailed off, seeing that my left arm was in a sling. A servo clenched around my spark.

Knock Out shook his helm in my peripheral vision. My attention didn't waver from my arm. "Don't worry, it'll heal soon enough. And yes, you can transform with it like that." I shuttered my optics and sighed heavily, getting up off the berth. He continued, "You must not have spilled anything, because when you were still passed out, Megatron stuck a cortical patch into your helm."

I trembled, "… And?"

"He knows where the Autobot base is. I tried to stop him, but if I unplugged him when he was inside your helm…"

"He would've been trapped inside. I know." I whimpered, not having the faintest inkling of what to do.

"Are you certain you didn't tell him anything?"

"What does it matter now? He knows the location of our base, and will indubitably send in an airstrike!"

"Why didn't you abstain? None of this slag would have happened if you just left that high grade alone!" Knock Out snapped. "You didn't even have a clue of what you were saying or where you were when I walked in!"

"I was thirsty! And Primus knows what Megatron would have done if I hadn't accepted!" I protested lamely.

"But you kept doing it!" He berated, jabbing an accusing finger at me. "You were on the brink of stasis lock when I got you in here, thank Primus for that! Look," the red mech said, getting closer, "this is on you. You fragged up royally, so leave me out of this. Sure, you busted your arm, were forced to get overcharged, and this will possibly end the war in favor of the Decepticons–"

"If you're trying to cheer me up, it isn't working!" I spat.

He turned away for a moment, "That isn't what I'm worried about. The Big 'M' is getting impatient with you unconscious for so long, he was checking in every few hours."

I gulped, "Does this mean…"

The medic gave me a sympathetic look, "He wants you leading the charge. Up close and personal."

A/N: Truth be told, I've never been drunk and most of this has been speculation, but nonetheless it was fun to write at the poor Seeker's expense. He never gets a break, does he?