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Starscream was numb when he finally woke up. His fingers, his limbs, his mouth, his mind. He blinked optics online and squinted at whatever he was staring at. A ceiling. Not his ceiling. It was covered in stains and rust, with buzzing lights hanging from it, marred with cobwebs.
“Looks like he’s alive after all,” a low voice spoke on his left.
Starscream turned his helm towards it, blinking at the purple seeker he found there, sat on an uncomfortable-looking stool beside his med-berth. They scowled at him. Naturally, Starscream scowled back.
“Don’t Warp, he’s still pretty high,” another voice warned, from the right this time.
Starscream rolled his helm across the pillow and there was another seeker at his berth-side. Blue this time, and not scowling. His appearance was just familiar enough to spark a memory in Starscream’s fuzzy, muffled processor. Thundercracker. And Skywarp. His trine.
“What’d you want?” He demanded, but it was more of a mumbled slur than he would have liked. His glossa wasn’t enunciating words properly. He scowled, rolling it around his mouth.
“You’re in the med-bay,” Thundercracker leaned forward to tell him, optics soft with sympathy. “Your legs got blown off.”
That didn’t sound good. Starscream raised an optical ridge at Skywarp, but he just nodded along in agreement. Since they were so sure his legs had been blown off, Starscream thought he should probably take a look.
He went to push himself up but Thundercracker’s servo on his shoulder held him down against the stiff, hard metal med-berth. “They’re working on it. Don’t look.”
Starscream frowned, but decided to take Thundercracker’s advice and not look. But he was still suspicious, so instead he tried to wiggle his toe-pedes to see if anything would happen. Unfortunately, his sensor net was so numbed he didn’t know if it was achieving anything.
“What are you doing?” Skywarp sounded amused.
“None of your business,” Starscream huffed, “Who blew my legs off?
“Prime, apparently,” Thundercracker said softly. Starscream wracked his processor, trying to remember who ‘Prime’ was. “Megatron wants to talk to you about it.”
“Fine.” Starscream agreed. Mostly because he couldn’t remember who that was either.
“Maybe in a few hours,” Thundercracker shook his helm. “You’re not... you’re kinda-“
“I say he get it over with while he’s still too high to talk back.” Skywarp leaned over Starscream’s prone form to whisper at Thundercracker. As if Starscream couldn’t hear them speaking right over the top of him.
“He’s not in his right mind.”
“Yeah, so Megatron can’t hold him responsible for what he says,” Skywarp grinned, then waved to someone unseen, calling. “Tell him he’s awake!”
“Warp.” Thundercracker bit out, looking angry.
“It’ll be fine. These post battle de-briefs go so bad when he’s sober, throwing a bunch of sedatives into the mix can’t make it any worse.” Skywarp reassured confidently.
Whatever Thundercracker might have wanted to say in response was interrupted by the sound of someone heavy approaching, Thundercracker ducked his helm and vacated his post at the side of the berth, moving to join Skywarp on the left instead.
In his place a tall scowling mech came to stand, looking down at Starscream.
Starscream looked him over appreciatively. He was handsome, broad shouldered, with a strong jaw, rugged features, and a great big obnoxious cannon on his right arm. What wasn’t there to like?
“Starscream,” his handsome visitor growled, obviously quite angry about something. “Once again you’ve defied orders to the detriment of yourself and this faction. What was so difficult to understand about a simple retreat order? What do you hear when I speak? Circus music!? If Soundwave hadn’t returned for the sorry wreckage of your frame you’d have been taken apart by the humans and repurposed into playground equipment by now! What suicidal glitch addling your processor convinced you it was wise to engage Prime? Prime? Alone, no less!?”
Starscream hadn’t really been listening so he didn’t have a response to... any of that. However, “is that a fusion cannon?”
The mech blinked at him, confused. He glanced briefly at his cannon and then towards Starscream’s trine. He didn’t respond.
“I’ve dabbled in fusion weaponry before, you know,” Starscream continued, trying his best to flirt despite his numb glossa and muddled head and lack of legs. “I could tune that cannon up for you?”
The mech’s confusion morphed back into anger, “I’m not interested in your favours, Starscream, I’m here to-“
“You’re from Tarn,” Starscream realised, finally pinpointing the lilting accent that had been bugging him since the mech had started speaking. “Tarnish. I’ve always been a fan of gladiatorial combat.”
The mech’s mouth opened then shut again.
“ ...Yes, I know,” he managed after a beat.
Starscream could hear muffled snickering behind him, coming from one of his trine -Skywarp, probably. He ignored them.
“You could have been a gladiator yourself, with a frame like that,” Starscream let his optics track up and down the impressive frame appreciatively. The snickering turned into a loud snort. Thundercracker hissed something angrily.
The mech folded his arms across his broad chest. He didn’t look angry anymore. More intrigued.
“I was.” He said simply.
“No, I would have noticed you,” Starscream shook his helm, and tried for a wing flutter. Sadly, it was more of an awkward twitchy flick. “I would have remembered.”
“Why’s that?”
“Few of those low-caste brawlers were as handsome as you are.”
“Okay,” Thundercracker stood up suddenly, wings nervously trembling, “Sorry my Lord. Starscream is on a lot sedatives. Too many, probably. Maybe we should-“
“-Get out of here?” Skywarp stood up and gripped Thundercracker’s shoulder. “Give Screamer the chance too shoot his shot?”
“No I-“
“Thank you, Skywarp,” the handsome mech agreed with a firm nod, “I can take it from here. You’re dismissed.”
“Oh Primus,” Thundercracker muttered as Skywarp started herding him out of the medbay, the rest of his words fading out as they walked away, “He’s going to get his head blown off next...”
Starscream didn’t mind. He was more interested in getting to know his tall, dark and brooding Tarnish visitor better, now that they were conveniently alone.
“I happen to be an Air Commander, you know,” he gloated, hoping to impress.
The mech tilted his helm with a smirk. “Is that so?”
Starscream smirked back, happy it was working, “Oh yes. A Decepticon Air Commander.”
“A Decepticon? I believe I’ve heard of them.” The mech propped himself up against the bulkhead beside the med-berth, speaking conversationally. “Now, who is it that leads the Decepticons again?” He queried.
Starscream scowled. “Some outmoded old fool,” he scoffed, waving him off.
The mech’s glare was back, but there was still a hint of amusement to the spark in his optics, “It wouldn’t be Megatron, by any chance?”
Megatron? Starscream pursed his lips and looked up thoughtfully. Now, why did that name sound so familiar?