Thundercracker wasn't healing. Wouldn't heal. Not without a miracle. What they needed more than anything was parts. And as months dragged on, none materialized. Megatron's tactics, if they could even be called tactics, blew through their energon rations, supply chains, and manufacturing capabilities in short order. Despite Starscream's protests, resources were wasted, and all but the most plentiful commodities became scarce. Even the sonic showers on which Thundercracker now so desperately relied became a luxury as energy restrictions were implemented that limited their use to only a few moments.
To make matters worse, the Decepticons were losing ground. A fact that wasn't helped by the fractured Seeker trine that now struggled under the weight of a half-crippled member.
Much to Starscream's frustration, Thundercracker's performance on the battlefield suffered worst of all as a result of his injury. He had slowed considerably, his formerly nimble frame growing sluggish and fumbling. The proud flyer had always had nothing but contempt for ground-bound Decepticons, but now he himself could barely hold formation with his trine mates, his cover fire coming too late or too low. He was becoming a liability and, eventually, Starscream ordered him to hang back to deliver strafing fire.
In his present state, Thundercracker was an easy target. And, unsurprisingly, he got hit. Twice in the same battle, Starscream noted in the midst of the skrimish with no small amount of anger. They were relatively minor wounds, but they were enough to draw energon.
Starscream had been too preoccupied with finishing the battle to pursue it further until later. But upon his return to the base, he was met with chaos.
Thundercracker hadn't gone to the med-bay. Or rather, he had—and then left. Still bleeding, the proud Seeker had returned to their shared quarters only to unleash his fury in a cataclysm of violence.
The door hissed open to reveal the aftermath. Furniture was overturned, datapads smashed into fragments. Thundercracker's personal effects lay scattered and broken across the floor, and the blue Seeker himself was in the center of it all, pounding dents into the walls with bloodied fists. His frame trembled with barely controlled rage, his vents heaving as his bellowing filled the room.
"Scrap!" Thundercracker roared, his voice raw and cracking. "Fragging slaggers! You cowards! You leeches! You…" His words dissolved into an incoherent howl, his optics blazing as he swung another punch at the wall.
Starscream stepped inside cautiously, his optics narrowing as he took in the scene. It didn't take long to piece together what had happened. Skywarp had trailed behind him, muttering weak platitudes in an attempt to calm their trine mate. But Thundercracker was beyond consolation.
"They won't fix me!" Thundercracker snarled suddenly, spinning around to face Starscream. His optics burned with a mix of anger and despair, the pain of his wounds eclipsed by the deeper wound to his pride. "Do you know what they said? Do you?!"
Starscream's silence only seemed to fuel his rage.
"'Megatron's orders,'" Thundercracker spat bitterly, his voice thick with contempt. "It's not personal, they said. Just resource allocation." His fists clenched, energon dripping from his fingertips as his voice rose to a fever pitch. "They put me on the Do Not Repair list! Do you know what that means?!"
Starscream knew all too well. The list had been his idea—a cold, calculated measure to preserve resources by prioritizing soldiers who could still contribute effectively. It was never supposed to be this. It was meant for the unsalvageable, for those too far gone to save. Not for soldiers like Thundercracker. Not for his trine mate.
"Do you know what Scalpel said to me?" Thundercracker continued, his voice breaking. "He said I should be grateful! Grateful they're not scrapping me outright. That they're letting me 'serve' until I die!"
His words gave way to another outburst, and he slammed his fists into the nearest wall, leaving fresh dents alongside the others. "I'm not a drone!" he shouted. "I'm not scrap! I'm not…!"
His voice faltered, and for a moment, Thundercracker's frame sagged, his wings drooping with the weight of his despair. When he turned back to Starscream, his optics were dimmer, his fury giving way to something rawer.
"I'm not done," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can still fight. I just… I just need time to recover. I'm not useless."
As Skywarp moved to try to console him, Starscream turned on his heel. Without a word, he headed for the command center. Megatron had twisted his calculated sacrifice into something disgusting and monstrous. It was a mistake. It had to be! To discard a capable soldier…it was an outrage!
The thud of his steps against the Decepticon base's metallic floor echoed like the ticking of a countdown. He strode with purpose toward Megatron's command center, each step stoking the simmering fury in his spark.
His anger burned like molten energon, putting Thundercracker on that list was an insult not just to his trine mate but to Starscream himself.
The doors hissed open, revealing the towering warlord seated at his command chair, his crimson optics glinting with cold amusement.
"Starscream," Megatron greeted, his voice a cruel purr. "To what do I owe this interruption?"
Starscream bowed low, though contempt dripped from every inch of his frame. "I have come with a request, Lord Megatron, concerning Thundercracker's designation on the 'Do Not Repair' list. I would like this mistake corrected immediately."
"What is this, Starscream?" Megatron interrupted smoothly, his tone mocking. "Is this favoritism? How touching…"
"This isn't about favoritism." Starscream growled, fists clenching. He drew a deep vent, reigning in the urge to shout. "An unbroken trine is of immense tactical value, greater than the sum of its parts. Thundercracker is a critical asset—"
"We have all made sacrifices these last few months." Megatron said, rising from his seat and descending with deliberate slowness. That was malarky. Megatron himself had made no sacrifices. "If he's so critical," Megatron continued, "why don't you donate your parts for his repairs? Or are you just here to whine?"
Starscream's optics narrowed as Megatron loomed over him, every servo of the warlord's frame radiating menace. "Lord Megatron. I'm merely asking you to reconsider. Thundercracker is one of the strongest—"
His words were cut off as Megatron's hand shot out, gripping Starscream's throat with crushing force. The Seeker gasped, clawing uselessly at the larger mech's arm as Megatron's optics flared with sadistic delight.
"It's a pity you're useful, Starscream," Megatron growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Otherwise, I would have crushed your treacherous spark ages ago." He tightened his grip, a warning as much as a display of power, before hurling Starscream to the floor.
Starscream's back hit the ground with a clang, his wings scraping against the unforgiving surface. He grunted, a rush of air forced from his vents. But even as pain radiated through his frame, something stirred deep within his spark. A roaring defiance that had long been smothered by fear and pragmatism.
"Rest assured, this isn't personal, Starscream." Megatron elaborated. "Hard choices have to be made. The sacrifice of those like Thundercracker will be remembered with honor in the ages to come when we've achieved our glorious victory."
Starscream pushed himself up on shaking servos, his optics blazing as he glared up at Megatron. This wasn't strategy. This wasn't calculated cruelty for the sake of the cause. This was waste—wanton and barbaric.
Megatron turned back to his throne, dismissing the Air Commander with a wave of his hand. "Your request is denied, Starscream. You may go."
For a moment, Starscream remained where he was, his mind a whirlwind of rage and rebellion. He clenched his fists, his spark flaring with an unnameable resolve. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
He rose slowly, his optics never leaving Megatron's back. "You'll regret this," he whispered, his voice carrying just enough for the warlord to hear.
Megatron froze, his shoulders stiffening. But he didn't turn around, and Starscream took that as his cue to leave, his wings quivering with barely contained fury.
As he strode back down the corridor, his thoughts churned. He would save Thundercracker—if not by Megatron's decree, then by his own. And if Megatron couldn't see the value in his trine, perhaps it was time Starscream made him see the cost of his shortsightedness.
Without another word, Starscream stormed from the room, down the halls, brushing past the ever-indifferent Soundwave as he exited out the bay doors, and leapt into the sky.
He wasn't going to stand for this. Not for his trine. Not for his trine-mate. Megatron had his resources. Starscream had his own. His own resources. His own 'assets,' he could say. One of whom was awash with energon, an unexpected benefit of the Autobots and their human diplomacy.
:: Skyfire!:: Hs bellowed into their long disused comm link. ::Skyfire, answer me!::
There was a crackle of static and the shuttle's voice came over the channel.
::Starscream, is that you?!::
::Stop asking stupid questions. You and I have unfinished business. Meet me in the forest and bring Prime with you. You know the place, the little clearing you made after your "accident" in the sky. Starscream out.::