Chapter Text
Concept for an offensive biological system—Skyfire of Iacon— 236th Cycle 1987
Wheeljack approached me a few cycles ago with a very… interesting proposal. He challenged me to come up with a concept for a biological weapon that could do great damage to a Cybertronian, while remaining undetected by common medical means.
While I would not typically be interested in such a barbaric use of my field, Wheeljack seemed incessantly curious of my answer, and pointed out several unique applications of biotechnology I found somewhat intriguing. After reassuring me that this was simply a thought exercise, and nothing more, I agreed.
I turned it over for a few cycles, and came up with the following concept. I would say enjoy, but I do hope nobody but Wheeljack ever reads this…
Ingestion:
The plant itself would release a cloud of spores that would be ingested into the mech’s body through the vents, each spore reasonably able to take root and create a whole new plant. As Cybertronian vents and air filtration systems are rather robust and difficult to work around, millions of spores would be inhaled at once, in the hopes that the sheer volume would quickly overwhelm the filtration and one or two spores would be able to take root.
This process would likely cause unsteady venting and a rapid heating of the core temperature, due to the volume of the spores covering the vents. The time frame would be relatively quick as self-repair takes care of the remaining spores and opens up the airflow once again, but with any luck, a spore has implanted itself inside of the mech’s body. We would then move on to the first stage of infection.
~~~~
It started, as most things did in this faction, with Soundwave.
Starscream, Thundercracker and Skywarp were lounging in the passageway up to the elevator, buzzing with excited energy. They had just been granted a vacation— or, what passed for one in the world of Decepticons: a two decacycle-long exploratory trip around the planet, looking for natural energon stores. It was the most coveted of all seeker missions, and Megatron only granted a small handful every vorn. The Elite Trine was truly and fully prepared to make the most of it.
It was the most relaxed Starscream had felt in ages, his trine next to him, the promise of clean air across his wings and the wide, open sky so close. Honestly, he would do anything to get away from Megatron for a decacycle or two, and this was quite literally the best-case-scenario.
And… he wouldn’t admit it, but he was incredibly excited to spend some quality time with his trine, especially in the sky. It felt like all they did lately was fly for battle, and it always caused Starscream’s wings to twitch restlessly at the thought, craving the rightness that came with flying with his trine for fun.
So when Soundwave came walking up at a brisk pace, mere clicks before they were supposed to head out, Starscream felt his spark sink straight into his tanks.
“What?” Starscream immediately snapped at him, crossing his arms, and his trinemates glanced over with interest. Soundwave stopped a few feet away (wisely out of claw range) before speaking.
“Starscream: will not be going on expedition. Lord Megatron: demands presence for a mission.”
“WHAT?!”
The resulting shriek caused Soundwave to actually wince, but Starscream was fuming, already advancing on the communications officer. “Absolutely not! There is no possible reason someone else can’t do— whatever this is!” He hissed, his wings flaring wide. “Megatron is not taking this away from me. I need a break!”
Soundwave stared impassively. “Starscream: has scientific abilities that are required. Autobots: creating an unknown bioweapon. Lord Megatron: needs Starscream to investigate.”
Starscream snarled and waved a clawed servo in dismissal. “Nonsense. There’s no reason Laserbeak or Ravage can’t investigate this— isn’t that their whole purpose? I’m not going!”
Soundwave’s field shifted from impassive to an obvious warning tone, and Starscream did not flinch in the wake of it, thank you very much. “Starscream: will do as Lord Megatron commands. Trinemates: will be going on the expedition. Starscream: will be ready for briefing in ten clicks.”
The navy mech turned on his heel and left without another word, leaving Starscream behind, gaping like a stupid, organic fish.
He whirled on his trinemates after a moment of stunned silence, and Thundercracker immediately put a gentle servo on his shoulder, grimacing.
“Easy, Star—scream,” He amended the nickname after a sharp look from Starscream— Soundwave was out of sight, but never out of earshot. “We won’t leave on the mission without you.”
“Yeah!” Skywarp agreed enthusiastically, and flopped his arms around Thundercracker’s shoulders. “We’ll just ask ol’ Megs to wait a bit on the expedition!”
Starscream shook his helm with a scowl, his optics darkening as he thought about all the ways asking that could go badly for his trine— no, better to not bring it up at all. Megatron has been rather touchy, lately, especially with him, and there was no need to draw any more attention to his trinemates than he has to.
He drug a servo down his face, shaking his head. “No, it’s— it’s okay. As much as I should be going with you, and I deserve some time off,” he rolled his optics with a scowl. “That’s on me for thinking I’d get some.” He quickly folded his servo around Thundercracker’s, letting an indulgent smile ghost past his face before guiding his servo back down. “Enjoy it, okay? I'll be here.”
His trinemates didn’t look convinced, but he gave them a little shove, inclining his helm in the direction of the elevator. “Go. Get in the sky!”
Skywarp huffed, but dashed forwards to give him a lightning quick hug before backing off. Thundercracker still seemed reluctant, but he nodded, giving Starscream a little smile that he returned. He wanted to— to hug them properly, say goodbye, but as they very well know, the only safe place on this damned planet is their quarters, and Soundwave has audials and optics everywhere.
Despite his wishes, time moved on, and his trine really did have to leave soon or risk Megatron’s ire at Starscream’s delay of the mission. His servos twitched with the urge to drag them back, but Thundercracker and Skywarp entered the elevator with nothing to impede them, Skywarp’s wings jerking in a quick love-you motion before getting sealed away.
He smiled at that. Besides, it’s not like they were gone, or anything. He could still feel them in the bond as always, so… it was probably time to get to work.
—
Starscream sauntered into the command center a good five clicks late, savoring the way Megatron’s fist tightened in annoyance at his smirk.
“Starscream,” Megatron hissed, rolling his optics. “So kind of you to finally join us.”
Starscream cocked a hip and stopped short of the throne, arms crossed. “Megatron. Whatever this is, it better be worth it.”
The warlord hummed, waving a servo at Soundwave, who silently slunk up to Starscream and offered him a datapad. He accepted with only a little bit of a sneer, flicking his optics down to the briefing.
“Autobots: have been developing a weapon of unknown origin. Suspected: biological warfare.” The cassette deck intoned, tilting his head. “Ravage: was unable to determine useful information from the limited view. Query: what is your analysis?”
Starscream’s optics flicked over to the navy bot before settling back on the datapad, squinting at the admittedly low-quality image displayed there. As far as he could tell, the image seemed to be the inside of some sort of… Autobot greenhouse?
There was something being contained in the center, surrounded by various Earth flora, but the frames of Ratchet and Wheeljack were obscuring the view. Truthfully, the fact that those two were involved together in a project was certainly cause for alarm, even without the potential biological aspect of it.
Ratchet the Hatchet, working with the most infamously destructive Autobot scientist there was? Starscream almost wanted to shiver at the potential. Instead, he scoffed and handed the datapad back to Soundwave with a sneer.
“My analysis is that you dragged me away from my mission for nothing! So what if the Autobots want to grow some pathetic plants?”
“Soundwave: intercepted intelligence that suggests development of a new weapon. Ratchet and Wheeljack: do not work together often.”
“And?” Starscream huffed, waving a servo. “Have Laserbeak go take a look! I know I’m irreplaceable among you imbeciles, but my time is valuable too, you know.”
“Starscream,” Megatron said, in a tone that indicated he should probably start to think about not being obnoxious, but he just shook his helm.
“No, seriously! I don’t understand why I’m needed here!”
“You,” Megatron pointed at his chest, fusion cannon incidentally following, and Starscream shut his intake with an audible clack. “Are the Decepticon scientist. I don’t care if Laserbeak has to drag you out there by your pedes, you are going to figure out what’s going on here.”
“Oh, so now we’re respecting my title as a scientist?” Starscream hissed under his breath, remembering the many, many, many times his brilliant inventions have gotten shot down over the years. “If you would ever pay attention, you’d know that I’m an inventor. An engineer! I have no expertise in anything remotely related to alien or Cybertronian biology!”
Even as the words left his intake, Starscream knew it was only a half-truth. While it was true that he never specialized in it, the mech whom he had shared… everything with, did. It was impossible not to pick up a few things after megavorns of expedition together, after all.
Soundwave’s visor flashed in what may have been a warning.
“Starscream: has enough expertise to suffice.”
He winced. Fragging processor reading freak.
“I tire of your endless arguments, Starscream. Give me a report, or I’ll call your trine back from their mission as a reward for your insolence.” Megatron shifted his helm into his servo, giving a dismissive wave. “Get it done.”
The usual retorts snapped to the forefront of his processor, but his trine didn’t deserve to have their vacation cut short just because he refused to do what was, admittedly, likely a very simple mission.
He bit back the sharp words and grit his denta. His trine deserved the break far more than he was willing to be difficult, today. “As you wish, Lord Megatron.”
The warlord’s optics smoldered with anger at the barely-repressed sarcasm, but he was already gone, his wings flicking with agitation.
—-
Despite his disdain for the dirt-filled, organic infested mudball, Starscream had to admit that the clear blue skies of Earth never quite got old.
The wind was frigid against his plating as he rose higher near the clouds, just simply enjoying the feeling of the ever-shifting wind currents. Flying on this planet was always somewhat of a refreshing challenge, and the warm way that the sun sunk into his plating served as a decent reminder that maybe this whole planet didn’t deserve to smash headfirst into Cybertron, sometimes.
A muted pulse of warmth from both of his trinemates nearly startled him into dropping a few feet, but he quickly reoriented himself, the instinctual snap of “‘Warp!” nearly escaping before remembering that they weren’t… here.
His spark must have been practically singing with the satisfaction of being in the sky for his trine to feel it, as separated as they were, but the reminder that he was flying alone sombered up the moment.
And it’s not that he doesn’t like flying alone! He loves it! His trine hasn’t even been gone an entire solar cycle, for Primus’s sake! Maybe it was the freezing wind, this high up, reminding him of a stupid time on this stupid planet where he was, well and truly, alone.
He gave a huff, dipping a little bit in altitude because he was approaching the Autobot’s base, anyway. Maybe this planet did deserve to fly into the sun, after all.
The inactive volcano that housed the Ark pinged on his radar far ahead, and Starscream slowed down, aiming for the facility that Soundwave had marked.
There was really no need for stealth— despite how good he was at slinking around, even Autobots could spot a jet in clear skies— so Starscream blew right through the perimeter sensors, transforming into root mode as he landed on top of some nearby rock formations. It was more of a smash-and-grab than anything, and no Autobot had a chance in pit at catching up with him in the sky.
His faceplates quirked down into a grimace as some dirt on the rock scuffed the edge of his shining pede. He really couldn’t grab that stupid plant fast enough.
Determined to get it done with, Starscream made his way to the edge, overlooking the Autobot greenhouse below. There were no frantic alarms or scrambling mechs, so it was reasonable to assume they didn’t know he was here yet— or thought his target was the Ark.
He squinted at it, trying to spot his target through all of the despicable Earth muck they had growing in there— honestly, could Soundwave have given him any less information? What does it even look like?
Movement caught his eye, and he noticed with a sharp glance that there were a few mechs inside the building, sequestered off to the side. The angle was too awkward for him to tell who they were, but they seemed to be separated from the main greenhouse by a pane of very thick-looking glass, which served his purposes well.
The whole greenhouse is probably one big quarantine room, he hummed, silently dropping down from the rock and ducking behind some machinery connected to the building. While stealth wasn’t exactly required, it wouldn’t do for the Autobots to spot him before he could figure out what, exactly, he was supposed to be grabbing.
Thankfully, he was on the smaller side for a Seeker, and had little issues squeezing himself between parts and gaining a much better vantage point into the foliage.
There!
Starscream grinned as he spotted his prize, sitting innocently on a platform in the very center of the greenhouse— it seemed to be a very brightly colored flower of some sort, super-sized to proportionately fit into a servo. It was obviously out of place among the greenery, and Starscream supposed it was beautiful, in a perverse, poisonous sort of way.
All bright yellows and greens and pinks, warning predators to stay away despite the way the petals curved into beautiful, delicate spirals. It reminded him of something someone would’ve gifted him, once, with a goofy smile and a crack about how he never really learned to stay away.
Starscream laughed humorlessly at the thought. Oh, the irony.
Despite the flower’s beauty, it had to go. All he had to do was grab the stupid thing, shove it into the container in his subspace, and get out.
A distressed whisper that sounded distinctly like someone else flicked through his processor, rambling about proper safety precautions among unknown biology, but Starscream quickly stamped it down with a scoff. Proper safety precautions, as he had quickly discovered under the Decepticons, was a luxury they did not have the time or the resources to afford.
Besides, he hasn’t offlined yet, and he’s been doing unsolicited experiments for years! Sure, they might have occasionally landed him in the medbay, but his trine was always there to get him out of it. Most of the time.
It’s a fragging unknown bioweapon, and your trine isn’t here, his traitorous processor responded, but it didn’t really matter, because the mission had to be done regardless of whether or not he returned in one piece, or else he’d wish the stupid flower blew him up.
Starscream was inching around a couple more pieces of equipment, eyeing the roof and searching for the most opportune place to drop in when the voices of the nearby mechs caused him to freeze. He was close enough now to the safe room to observe them from the safety of the piped equipment, so he shifted, peering at the room as the voices began to raise.
“Look, can we just run the test? I have patients to get back to, you know,” Ratchet came into view, grumbling with his arms crossed, and Wheeljack quickly joined him, waving his hands.
“Let’s do it! I can’t wait to see what this thing can do!” He exclaimed, fins flashing an excited yellow, and Ratchet rolled his optics.
“Give me a second, so I can double check the seals, and then we can start to run the first tests,” a low voice rumbles, filled with endless patience and a slight edge of anxiety.
Starscream felt his vents hitch without his permission, and his spark stuttered in his chest. Of course. Of course it’s him, who else would be messing around with Cybertronian biology?
His derma scrunched into a frown, and it felt like his whole frame was tense, waiting for— what? Waiting to see him? It’s practically been a vorn, he realized, since he doesn’t… go onto the battlefield, anymore.
This is what he’s been doing? Making… bioweapons? Starscream huffed out another dry, humorless laugh. Vow of peace, my aft. I guess it’s okay if you never have to face the mechs you kill.
Wheeljack groaned, rocking back onto his pedes. “C’mon, ‘Fire! The seals are good, I made them myself! Besides, that thing is totally harmless right now.”
“Right now” mumbled Ratchet, shooting the flower a dark look, and Wheeljack scoffed.
“What are you even here for, doc, if all you’re gonna do is worry? This is fun! This is supposed to be fun.”
“I’m here because your sorry aft doesn’t worry enough! Fun? You know what this thing can do!”
“Wheeljack,” that voice rumbled again, right on the edge of amused. “Stop terrorizing him, you know it’s dangerous. That’s why we’re doing this preliminary test to see if the concept works, and then immediately destroying it,” he hummed, still out of Starscream’s line of sight.
Silence fell onto the mechs as Wheeljack suddenly glanced away, scuffing his pede against the ground, and Starscream heard the sounds of various machinery pause.
“Wheeljack. We… are destroying it, right?”
More silence, and Ratchet raised an optic ridge, training it on the fidgeting scientist.
“Wheeljack?”
“Fine!” Wheeljack exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “No, no, we aren’t destroying it after this test. Prowl wants the prototype to remain functional.”
“Prototype?! Prowl?!” The mech practically shrieked, the normally gentle voice raising a few octaves in a familiar mixture of panic and rage. Starscream felt a deep, vindictive part of himself preen at the sound. That’s what you get for trusting the fragging Autobots. “I did not help create this so Prowl can use it on— on a living mech! This was a conceptual experiment only! ”
Wheeljack put a servo up in surrender. “Skyfire, calm down! We’re not using it on anyone!”
“Yet,” Ratchet mumbled again, and Wheeljack shot him a glare.
“Who’s side are you on?”
“The side with a Hippocratic Oath!”
“Wheeljack, you promised me when I developed this that it was purely to test a theory! Not to be a weapon!” Skyfire finally stepped into view, towering over the other two mechs, not quite cowering as much as usual, and Starscream’s derma curled into a sharp smile.
He wanted Skyfire to realize how much the Autobots can’t be trusted, especially with anything as delicate as his theories on Cybertronian biology. He wanted the betrayal to hurt, like the slow shatter of joints covered in ice to keep pushing through the storm.
As fun as it was to watch Skyfire realize Autobot injustice in real time, Starscream could hear the dull whine of the Aerialbots in the distance, so it was probably time to wrap this up— Wheeljack had mentioned something about the plant being dormant right now, and that was good enough for him.
He leapt onto the roof and crashed through the glass with a thundering smash, shattered pieces nicking his facial derma as he landed next to the flower with a fanged grin.
Several things then happened in quick succession: the Autobots behind the glass donned comedic, matching expressions of horror, the flower petals suddenly twitched and expanded, and a blaster bolt whizzed by his helm from the hole above him— the Aerialbots had arrived.
His world erupted into chaos.
“Starscream!” Skyfire shrieked from behind the glass, sickeningly familiar, full of fake horror and fake panic as his claws snatched the flower anyway, battle computer calculating the best way for him to take off as he dove to the side to avoid another round of bolts.
“Mech, you can’t go out there! Skyfire, I swear to Primus—“ A gruff voice strained, and Starscream didn’t have to look to know that the Autobot CMO was probably having some difficulty restraining that stupid shuttle. “Can someone tell those kids to stop firing on us?!”
“Starscream— Star, you can’t —!”
“It’s not your problem if he wants to offline himself, now let’s go!” Wheeljack yelped, and he grit his denta hard as a volley of blasts sent him stumbling into some more broken glass. Everyone was just crawling out to see him today, weren’t they?
He hastily retrieved the makeshift containment unit Soundwave had fabricated from his subspace and shoved the flower into it, vents stuttering through the thin cloud of yellow dust it left behind— or maybe that was dust from the absolutely pulverized vine that was just beside him.
Either way, it was definitely time to make his exit. Against his better, logical instincts, he turned, searching for— something in Skyfire’s face before he left. Intel, or something (he told himself).
All he found was Skyfire being held back by Ratchet’s entire body weight, Wheeljack tugging insistently on his servo, and an expression of pure terror that almost made it seem like it wasn’t himself he was scared for. Whatever he was looking for (it wasn’t an apology, he doesn’t need an apology, not from a traitor), it wasn't there, and he scoffed before shooting up and out of the greenhouse like a bullet, leaving the Autobots in the dust.
The Aerialbots fired a couple of blasts at him as he shot by them in a flurry of wings, but they truly had no chance in pit at catching him. He was Starscream, and they weren’t even Seekers— it was practically like taking Energon goodies from a newspark.
He cackled as he broke the sound barrier, feeling the cool rush of the wind across his ailerons, and the dim satisfaction at a job well done. He even got to cause some property damage!
(So what if seeing that stricken expression on Skyfire the traitor’s face didn’t fill him with as much sadistic glee as it should have? Honestly, it seemed like he was overreacting. It’s not like they couldn’t make another stupid flower).
He took a far more meandering path back to the Nemesis on the way back, drawing out the time he could be in the sky— both for his own sanity (he never got to fly these days), and because he knew it would annoy Megatron unproportionally for him to arrive just a little late. Late enough for them to have to wait on him, but not late enough to get slagged for it.
The flower sat heavily in his subspace as he stalled, and Starscream devoted a passing thought to whether or not that device of Soundwave’s was competent enough to actually protect him against it— who knows what the traitor had come up with, given that he thought it was purely theoretical.
He huffed as he skimmed close to the water, the Nemesis coming into range on his scanners. That bot was laughably naive, sometimes, and he could see it now, the way his optics would have lit up at the chance to construct a new piece of earth-Cybertronian biology.
And he chose a flower! What a joke.
Starscream transformed out of his alt mode just in time to land on the top of the Nemesis with just a little more force than was necessary. A distinctly unimpressed Megatron and Soundwave were waiting for him by the lift, and they didn’t even have the decency to stumble.
Megatron drummed his servos on his elbow-joint, scowling. “You’re late.”
“Yes, well,” Starscream brushed past him into the lift, waving a servo in dismissal. “Now I’m waiting on you. Coming?”
Megatron glowered and shoved him aside, projecting his disapproval of Starscream’s slag-eating grin strongly into his field. Soundwave joined them, and activated the lift with a minute shake of his helm.
Starscream’s shoulder plating smarted a little bit from being roughly shoved into the side of the elevator, but the look of pure annoyance Megatron’s face was absolutely worth it.
They emerged onto the bridge of the Nemesis, where sweeping viewport windows provided ample views of the dark, murky waters outside. Starscream always thought it seemed a little dramatic here ever since crashing on this planet, with the empty oppressiveness of the inky water, but Megatron always did have a penchant for… broodiness.
Megatron slumped into the command chair and leveled Starscream with a glare, resting his helm in a servo.
The Seeker simply inspected his flawless claws, finding more delight than usual in the simple pettiness of being a little glitch— Megatron growled after a moment, waving his other servo impatiently. “You constantly test my extremely limited patience, Starscream. Where is the weapon?”
“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” he drawled with a smirk, un-subspacing the containment device with a flourish. “Soundwave’s device worked like a charm. The poor little scientists never even knew what hit them.”
“Laserbeak: eject.” The winged cassette flew gracefully from Soundwave’s chest compartment, swooping down to land on Magtron’s throne. Starscream flicked a wing in reluctant greeting, which was returned by a haughty snap of his beak. Little glitch. “Objective: Deliver device to Shockwave.”
“Shockwave?” Starscream parroted, squinting an optic. “Since when has that poor excuse for a sentient scientist been here?”
“I summoned him from Cybertron in order to study and recreate the Autobot weapon. I grow tired of saying this, Starscream, but you would do well to watch your tone. He is a valuable member of the Decepticon cause,” Megatron rumbled, and Laserbeak snatched the containment unit with a quick snap of her claws, flying off down the hallway. Starscream watched her go with a snort.
“Shockwave has a pile of slag where his logic processor should be, and a black hole instead of a functioning ethics module. Let it be known that I say that is not going to go well,” he laughed, high-pitched and cruel, because he knew he was right. Megatron just rolled his optics.
He didn’t say Starscream was wrong, though. Soundwave stayed suspiciously silent.
Starscream suddenly very much wished Skywarp were here to take his bet on how quickly this would all go to slag.
“Starscream: report to medbay for evaluation.” Soundwave said after a moment, and he flicked an annoyed wing with a scowl.
“What? Why? It was barely even a scuffle!”
“Knockout: is to evaluate Starscream for any potential effects of the bioweapon.”
“…oh.” He huffed. He supposed that… did make sense. He did breathe in some suspiciously organic-looking dust on his way out, and there was something about the way the flower practically unfolded before he put it away…
“As if I’d be stupid enough to expose myself to it! Honestly, Soundwave,” He tacked on after a moment with a haughty sniff. He absolutely was, but Soundwave didn’t need to know that.
“Starscream: also leaking Energon onto the bridge.”
“What?” He blinked, and glanced down to find that Soundwave was right, to his immense suprise— several shards of the greenhouse’s reinforced glass had in fact embedded themselves into the softer protoform of his torso. It’s not like they were very deep, so he just simply hadn’t noticed the steady stream of Energon leaking sluggishly onto the dark floors.
He turned on his pede with a huff, Megatron’s amused snort following him out as he made his way to the medbay. It didn’t take him very long.
“Primus. What crawled up your tailpipe and died, your majesty?” Knockout drawled as he entered, and Starscream felt something in his faceplates twitch.
“That’s commander Starscream to you, Knockout,” he hissed, his claws flexed, driven by the unconscious desire to tear Knockout’s infuriating smirk right off his faceplate.
Knockout was a very specific brand of insufferable to the Seeker: insubordinate and arrogant, he never missed an opportunity to turn his sharp smile into cutting words, and Starscream couldn’t slag him for it. As a medic, Knockout has immunity to his wrath, a lesson that was hard-earned when Megatron sent him hurtling right back to the smug medic after he started a scuffle.
The racer gave him a once-over and raised an optic ridge, unimpressed. “Er. You couldn’t… take that glass out yourself?”
To his credit, the statement was laced with more confusion than anything, but Starscream still felt the sharp beginnings of a helmache (and the ever-present urge to rip his voicebox out). His optic twitched again.
“Do you think if I — you know what, nevermind,” he huffed out a sharp exvent, scrounging for the last vestiges of his patience. “I’m not wasting your time with the fragging glass. I was potentially exposed to an unknown bioweapon today, and I need to know if I’m going to kill everyone rotting away on this sorry ship in the next decacycle or not.”
Knockout’s optics widened. “Primus, Starscream! Why didn’t you come here first? Just— sit down.” He hissed, waving at a nearby medical slab and scurrying around to find a scanner. “I spent too much on this finish to be offlined by your bad judgment!”
“My bad—!” Starscream took another deep invent, cutting off his own incredulous screech with a frankly remarkable show of self-control. He almost wished he waited until Hook was the medic on duty— he may not give a slag about his patients, but that also meant he usually didn’t care to purposefully antagonize them.
But however annoying Knockout was going to be about it, he was probably right. Starscream needed to be evaluated as soon as possible.
Knockout huffed as he slid up to Starscream’s sitting form and tapped his forearm impatiently. Starscream gently handed it over, exposing the medical port embedded there with a deep scowl. Knockout rolled his optics, and quickly connected the scanner, beginning a diagnostics.
Code flicked across the screen faster than Starscream could possibly hope to keep up with it, but Knockout was attentive, optics carefully tracing every line until a summary was spat out at the end. The racer’s frame relaxed minutely after a click, and Starscream took that as a decently positive sign that he wasn’t about to take out the Decepticon forces.
Knockout detached the scanner with a pinch, and Starscream snatched his arm back, absentmindedly tracing the forearm with a claw. He slagging hated this stupid medbay.
“Well, good news, you’re not offlining today.” Knockout reported dryly, not sounding very excited about that news at all. “And I didn’t detect any malicious activity in your processor, but I would keep a close optic on yourself for the next cycle or so, and come to me the moment you notice anything amiss. I refuse to die because you decide you have better things to do.”
“As if I would be so irresponsible!” Starscream bit, shuttering his optics. The helmache was starting to grow.
Knockout snorted. “I could count on two servos the amount of times you ‘have been so irresponsible’.”
“Frag off.” Starscream hopped off the table, internally wincing as the motion shifted the glass still embedded in his protoform. He should… probably take that out. Knockout actually laughed at him.
“Great Commander Starscream, resorting to common insults such as ‘frag off’. How far you’ve fallen!” Starscream growled and took a swipe at him, but the racer dutifully danced out of the way, his faceplate split with a slag-eating grin. His helm fragging hurt.
“Now go take those out, you’re leaking Energon all over my medbay. It’s undignified.” Knockout waved a servo, and Starscream quickly debated the pros and cons of launching himself at the medic before settling on a fanged scowl and a parting mumble about “shoving your helm somewhere undignified.”
His most original retort it was not, but he gleamed a small sliver of satisfaction as the disgusted wrinkle of Knockout’s faceplate.
The path back to the Command Trine’s quarters wasn’t very long, but it felt like his processor was screaming at him with every step. The helmache had quickly grown into something bright and angry , pounding behind his optics with every beat of his spark so hard, he barely noticed the sharp pinch of the glass.
He finally stumbled into the quarters and made a beeline for the berth, tucked into a cozy alcove in the corner of the trine’s small common room. His frame all but collapsed into the soft padding, and Starscream spared a distant thought to why his helm would be hurting so badly, so quickly, but it was quickly driven away by the promising concept of recharge— and the reprieve from the pain.
He curled into the cushions, paying no mind to the Energon he was slowly leaking, or the fact that it was probably a little bit too early into the day cycle to be considered acceptable to recharge, but he could truly care less. Soundwave could come find him if he was needed, surely— all that mattered now was driving this pounding from his helm.
Starscream quickly drifted off into a fitful recharge, limbs unconsciously reaching out into the darkness of the night for the other parts of his spark.