Chapter Text
The vast, empty landscape stretched out before them, the afternoon sun beating down mercilessly. Arcee and Optimus Prime walked side by side through the barren terrain, heat waves shimmering across the cracked earth. In the distance, mesas rose from the horizon while a lone buzzard circled overhead against the harsh blue sky. This remote location was Optimus's choice — far from the base, away from distractions, a place where troubled thoughts could be aired.
Arcee looked down, kicking at a small rock with unnecessary force, sending it skittering across the parched ground. "Why did you bring me out here, Optimus? If this is about the mission in the canyon, I nearly had that Decepticon scout. If it weren't for the—"
"Your increasing aggression concerns me," Optimus replied evenly. "You've been taking unnecessary risks. Endangering yourself and sometimes the team."
Arcee's optics flashed defensively. "I'm doing my job. Taking out the enemy."
"There is a difference between fulfilling your duty and seeking vengeance," Optimus countered. "I've watched you change since Cliffjumper's passing. Your anger burns bright, but it blinds you."
Arcee stopped walking, her fists clenched at her sides. "Sometimes I still expect to hear Cliffjumper's voice on the comm," she said softly, her anger giving way to raw pain. "His jokes... even those terrible ones. And then I remember how we found out Starscream tore him apart, and I—" She broke off, looking away.
"The hatred consumes you," Optimus observed quietly. "It drives you to hunt our enemies with a ferocity that puts you, and others at risk."
"What am I supposed to do?" Arcee demanded, voice rising. "Forgive them? Forget what they did?"
Optimus's voice was gentle but firm. "Loss leaves wounds that never fully heal, Arcee. But in time, they become bearable. Your rage won't bring Cliffjumper back. It will only lead you down a path that dishonors his memory."
As hot wind brushed across their faces, Arcee stopped suddenly, pointing ahead. "Optimus, look!"
In the distance lay a crumpled metal form, half-buried in sand. Sunlight glinted off exposed chrome as they approached, picking their way through scattered boulders. They recognized Starscream's mangled body against the rust-colored dirt, his sleek, aerodynamic frame a stark contrast to the dusty plains they walked upon.
Energon leaked from multiple ruptures in Starscream's chassis. His slender, elegant wings were bent at unnatural angles, one nearly torn off completely. Deep dents covered his lithe frame, and his faceplate was cracked, revealing damaged circuitry beneath. His right arm, more slender than a typical grounder mech's, hung by just a few cables, sparking occasionally.
"Starscream," Arcee observed coldly, looking down at the fallen Seeker sprawled in the dirt. Despite his high rank, he appeared small and vulnerable from her standing position—a stark reminder of how much smaller fliers tended to be compared to military-class grounders. "Looks like Megatron finally had enough of his treachery."
Optimus knelt to examine the body, his shadow completely engulfing Starscream's smaller frame. A small cloud of dust rose from the impact. His fingertips hovered mere inches from Starscream's faceplate, not quite touching. "These injuries are consistent with Megatron's handiwork. The fusion cannon blast to his midsection... the precise, calculated damage to non-vital systems."
"Megatron wanted him to suffer," Arcee noted, a hint of satisfaction in her voice. She noticed Optimus's hesitation, the unusual gentleness in his normally stoic demeanor, and frowned slightly.
Optimus's optics narrowed, lingering perhaps a moment too long on the elegant curve of Starscream's jaw. "And then discarded him out here like scrap metal." He paused, his expression troubled, voice dropping to a near whisper. "Even for Megatron, this level of callousness toward his own second-in-command is... disturbing."
Arcee shifted uncomfortably, her satisfaction fading as she took in the scene - a once-proud Decepticon commander tossed away in the desert to be forgotten. For a brief moment, she felt an unwelcome pang of empathy for the lighter-built flier, whose finer features and more vulnerable construction made the damage seem all the more brutal. She quickly pushed it aside, though she couldn't help but notice how Optimus's gaze lingered on Starscream's silver frame, now bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.
Suddenly, Starscream's wing twitched, the sensitive appendage responding to some internal system reboot. The delicate panels shifted with an almost musical sound.
"He's still functioning," Optimus announced, relief coloring his voice in a way that made Arcee glance at him sharply.
Her voice turned cold. "Barely. Let's leave him. After what he did to Cliffjumper, he deserves to rust out here."
"That is not the Autobot way, Arcee," Optimus reminded her.
"He wouldn't help us!" she protested. "He'd laugh if our positions were reversed."
"Perhaps," Optimus acknowledged. "But I am not Starscream, and you are not a Decepticon. We have a choice in how we respond."
Arcee crossed her arms. "So we just forget everything he's done? The Autobots he's destroyed? Cliffjumper?" Her voice raised in volume, lashing with her audio system into screeching feedback.
Optimus placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his massive frame steady against her trembling. "I forget nothing," he said, his voice solemn. "But vengeance and justice are not the same, Arcee. To abandon him here would be an act of cruelty, not justice."
The tension in her frame eased slightly at his touch. "And if he recovers only to betray us? To kill more of us?" Arcee challenged, though her voice had lost some of its edge.
Optimus's optics met hers steadily, his hand remaining on her shoulder. "And that is precisely why we must help him. We cannot let our enemies define who we are. The moment we abandon our principles is the moment we lose what we're fighting for."
Arcee turned away, conflict clear on her face, but she didn't move from under his steadying hand. After a long moment, she sighed heavily.
"Fine. But how are we even going to transport him? He's damaged badly, and moving him might make things worse."
Optimus nodded, already calculating. "Then you and I will need to stabilize his main energon lines before we move him."
Arcee knelt reluctantly beside Starscream's broken form, examining the worst of the leaking lines. "I think we'll need to disconnect his damaged wing completely. It's barely attached and will only cause more problems during transport."
Optimus's optics widened slightly. He grabbed Arcee's arm gently but firmly, pulling her a few steps away from Starscream's prone form. "No, Arcee," he said in a low voice. "A Seeker's wings are integral to their identity and sensory systems. Even damaged, they contain neural networks that connect directly to their central processor. Removing it improperly could cause psychological trauma even after physical recovery."
Arcee looked up at him skeptically. "Since when are you an expert on Seeker physiology?"
Optimus Prime's expression softened momentarily. "Before I became a Prime, when I was still Orion Pax working in the Iacon Hall of Records, I cataloged extensive medical and scientific data. The archives contained detailed anatomical studies of all Cybertronian frame types, including Flier frames."
Arcee nodded reluctantly, her skepticism fading. "So what do we do? These energon lines are pulsing erratically."
Kneeling beside Starscream's broken form, Optimus carefully assessed the damage. "We must stabilize the main thoracic line first. It feeds directly to his spark chamber."
Arcee produced a small welding tool from a compartment in her arm. "I've got this. Basic field repair."
As she leaned in to begin the procedure, energon suddenly spurted from one of Starscream's ruptured lines, splashing across her chassis with a sizzling hiss. She jerked back with a curse.
"Careful," Optimus warned. "Seeker energon runs at a higher pressure than ours. Their systems are optimized for aerial maneuvers."
Arcee wiped the glowing blue fluid from her plating with disgust. "Great. Now you tell me."
The desert wind picked up, blowing fine sand across Starscream's prone form. Optimus gently brushed it away from the exposed circuitry. "We need to clamp the line before attempting to seal it. Here—" He produced a small tool from his subspace and handed it to Arcee.
"Hold this steady," he instructed, guiding her hand to a particularly damaged section where energon pulsed in irregular spurts. "His self-repair protocols are attempting to reroute flow, but the damage is too extensive."
Arcee's fingers were surprisingly delicate as she applied the clamp, her movements precise despite her reluctance. "Like this?"
"Perfect," Optimus confirmed, already working on another leaking line. "Now we need to seal the secondary fuel lines before addressing his wing."
They worked in tense silence for several minutes, the only sounds the soft hiss of the welding tool and the occasional ping of cooling metal. Starscream's systems occasionally sputtered and whined, his frame twitching involuntarily as they worked.
"His sensory network is still partially online," Optimus observed grimly. "He can feel this, even in stasis."
Arcee's optics narrowed. "Good. Let him suffer a fraction of what Cliffjumper did."
Optimus paused, his massive hands hovering over Starscream's damaged chassis. "Arcee."
Something in his tone made her look up, meeting his steady gaze. She sighed after a moment. "Fine. I'll try to be... gentler."
As they continued working, Starscream suddenly convulsed, his damaged wing scraping against the ground with a screech of metal. Arcee instinctively moved to pin him down.
"No!" Optimus warned sharply. "Don't restrain his wings. It will only trigger his defensive protocols."
Instead, he placed a steady hand on Starscream's shoulder, applying firm but careful pressure. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, tracing the intricate seams of the Seeker's plating. "Focus on his central processor connections. There—" He pointed to a cluster of delicate neural lines near the base of Starscream's helm. "If you can temporarily disable those pathways, it will ease his discomfort."
Arcee hesitated, then carefully inserted a thin tool into the indicated port. Starscream's frame immediately relaxed, the tension visibly leaving his mangled wings.
"How did you know that would work?" she asked, genuine curiosity replacing her earlier skepticism.
"Before the war," Optimus explained, returning to the leaking energon lines but with a gentleness that seemed at odds with his massive frame, "I once assisted Ratchet in emergency repairs on a downed Seeker. He had been caught in a sudden avalanche while on an energon search expedition. Their neural pathways are mapped differently than ours—prioritizing flight systems and spatial awareness." His optics lingered on Starscream's frame for a moment before darting away.
As they worked, the sun began to sink lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the desert floor. The temperature dropped rapidly, metal contracting with soft pings.
"His main lines are stabilized," Optimus announced finally, sitting back on his heels. "But this is merely temporary. He needs Ratchet's expertise." His voice carried a note of concern.
Arcee nodded, wiping energon from her hands onto the sand. "What about the wing? It's barely attached."
Optimus examined the damaged appendage thoughtfully, his fingertips brushing across the delicate edge with surprising tenderness. "We need to immobilize it for transport. If it shifts during movement, it could sever completely."
He detached a section of his own armor plating from his forearm, the metal glinting in the fading light. "We can use this as a splint."
Arcee watched as he carefully positioned the improvised support along Starscream's damaged wing. "You're sacrificing your own armor for him?"
"A small price to pay," Optimus replied simply, using the welding tool to secure the splint in place. His faceplates remained neutral, but his optics lingered on the Seeker's face with an intensity that didn't escape Arcee's notice.
Working together, they managed to stabilize the wing in a position that would minimize further damage. Starscream occasionally emitted soft, pained sounds, his systems cycling weakly. Each sound seemed to make Optimus's movements more careful, more precise.
"That should hold until we reach base," Optimus declared, surveying their crude but effective handiwork. The desert floor around them was stained with spilled energon, now drying to a dull blue against the sand.
Arcee stood, stretching her joints after the intensive work. "So how do we transport him? He's too damaged to transform, and we can't exactly drag him back to base."
Optimus knelt beside Starscream, his massive frame dwarfing the Seeker's slender form. "I will carry him." Without further explanation, he slid one arm beneath Starscream's shoulders and the other under his knees, lifting him with careful precision. The Decepticon's limp form pressed against Optimus's chest plates, his head lolling against the Autobot insignia. For a brief moment, Optimus's ventilation systems hitched, his optics dimming slightly as he adjusted his hold.
Arcee raised an optic ridge, noticing the unusual care with which Optimus cradled his enemy. "I could help, you know. We could fashion a stretcher—"
"This is... safer for his wing structure," Optimus explained, his voice oddly modulated. "The less movement, the better." He held Starscream's frame close to his chassis, one hand inadvertently brushing against the edge of the Seeker's remaining intact wing. The appendage fluttered in response, causing Optimus to freeze momentarily, his cooling fans activating with a soft whirr.
If Arcee noticed the reaction, she chose not to comment on it.
Optimus activated his comm link, his deep voice steadier than before. "Ratchet, we need a ground bridge. And prepare the medical bay. We have a... patient."
As they waited for the bridge, Arcee looked at Starscream's broken form nestled against Optimus's frame, her expression conflicted. "This doesn't change anything, you know. What he did to Cliffjumper... to countless others."
"No," Optimus agreed solemnly, his thumb unconsciously tracing a small circle on Starscream's arm where he held him. "It does not erase the past. But perhaps it offers something equally valuable."
"What's that?"
"A chance to make a difference," Optimus replied, as the swirling green vortex of the ground bridge materialized before them. He stepped forward, Starscream's lightweight frame held protectively against his own, the Seeker's elegant features illuminated by the otherworldly glow of the bridge..
…
In the medical bay, Ratchet worked diligently, his skilled hands moving with practiced precision as sparks flew from his tools. The harsh lights of the medical bay glinted off Starscream's damaged chassis, highlighting the elegant curves of his aerodynamic frame. Optimus stood nearby, his optics never leaving the prone form on the berth. When Ratchet briefly stepped away to retrieve a tool, Optimus's hand moved unconsciously toward Starscream's wing edge before he caught himself and withdrew it. Arcee paced anxiously, her footsteps creating a rhythmic pattern against the metal flooring, occasionally glancing between the Seeker and her leader with a puzzled expression.
Finally, Ratchet stepped back, wiping his hands on a cloth as he assessed his work. "There. His systems should stabilize now," he announced, satisfaction evident in his voice despite the unusual patient.
"Great," Arcee muttered, crossing her arms over her chassis. "We just saved the Decepticon who's tried to destroy us countless times." Her voice dripped with sarcasm, but beneath it lay genuine concern about the consequences of their actions.
Optimus sighed, "What would you suggest we do with him, Ratchet?" Though his face remained impassive, there was a subtle undercurrent of something more complex in his tone.
"We could return him to Megatron as a gesture of good faith," Ratchet offered, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced of his own suggestion.
Arcee's optics narrowed as she stopped pacing. "Or use him as leverage. The Decepticons might be willing to trade something valuable for their second-in-command." Her tactical mind was already calculating the potential advantages. "Besides, Megatron would do anything to prevent Starscream from spilling all his secrets. He knows too much."
Optimus shook his head firmly. "We will not use threats against a wounded prisoner, regardless of what intelligence he possesses. That would make us no better than Megatron—who, need I remind you, apparently tried to terminate him. We are Autobots. We hold ourselves to a higher standard."
"Yes, but he might possess valuable intelligence on Megatron's latest plans," Ratchet added thoughtfully, glancing down at his patient. "If he recovers here, under our care, he may voluntarily share information that could give us a tactical advantage. Starscream has always been... politically flexible. His loyalty to Megatron has wavered before, and keeping him close could prove useful without compromising our principles."
Optimus opened his mouth to respond, his optics fixed on Starscream's damaged form. "Perhaps there is also value in offering sanctuary to one who has been—"
Their strategic discussion was interrupted by a sudden groan from the medical berth. Starscream's optics flickered to life, the crimson glow weak at first, then strengthening as his systems came online. Confusion clouded his features as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings.
"Where... where am I exactly?" Starscream's normally strident voice was subdued and disoriented as he struggled to focus his optics. "These are not my quarters." His slender fingers clutched at the edge of the berth, as if seeking something familiar to anchor himself.
The Autobots exchanged surprised glances, their expressions morphing from suspicion to confusion as they observed his genuine disorientation.
"Stop playing games, Starscream," Arcee snapped, stepping closer to the berth. "Your acting skills aren't going to save you this time." Her stance was defensive, ready for any sudden movement from the Decepticon.
Starscream's optic ridges drew together in genuine bewilderment as he gingerly touched his head plate. "How do you know my designation? Have we met before?" His voice held none of its usual sarcasm or guile. "My memory banks seem to be... incomplete somehow." He looked around the room with the lost expression of someone in an entirely unfamiliar world. “Did I get caught up in an accident?”
Ratchet took a step closer to the berth, his expression shifting to focused professionalism as he lifted his medical scanner. "Let me get a more detailed neural scan before we continue this conversation," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. The device hummed to life, projecting a pale blue light that swept across Starscream's helm in a slow, methodical pattern.
The Seeker remained still, his crimson optics tracking Ratchet's movements with wary curiosity. As the scan progressed, Ratchet's expression shifted dramatically as he read the scanner results. He motioned urgently to Optimus and Arcee, gesturing them away from the medical berth where Starscream lay looking confused and disoriented.
"A moment, please," Ratchet said to Starscream, his tone professional but gentle. "I need to consult with my colleagues about your condition."
Once they were huddled in the far corner of the medical bay, Ratchet lowered his voice to an urgent whisper.
"By the AllSpark," he breathed, showing them the scanner's display. "His neural circuitry has been completely reset to pre-war protocols. The impact must have triggered a deep memory purge." He glanced back at Starscream, "He has absolutely no memory of being a Decepticon—or anything from the war."
Arcee and Optimus turned their heads in unison, looking from Ratchet's scanner to the Seeker lying on the medical berth. Their expressions were a mixture of disbelief and cautious curiosity.
Starscream was sitting partially upright now, his crimson optics wide and alert as he calmly took in his surroundings. There was none of his usual sneering contempt or calculating watchfulness—instead, his face held an open, almost scholarly interest as he examined the medical equipment around him with the detached curiosity of a scientist rather than the wariness of an enemy combatant.
"Impossible," Arcee whispered, her voice barely audible. "He has to be faking it. This is exactly the kind of elaborate deception he would orchestrate."
Optimus watched intently as Starscream gently tested the mobility of his repaired wing joint, his movements lacking their usual dramatic flair. "I'm not certain, Arcee. Look at his optics—there's no recognition there. No fear. No guile." He paused, his deep voice thoughtful. "Just... curiosity."
Indeed, Starscream was now examining the Autobot insignia on a nearby tool cabinet, his head tilted slightly as though trying to recall where he might have seen the symbol before. His fingers traced the outline in the air, his expression puzzled rather than hostile.
Ratchet cleared his vocal processor. "The scans don't lie. His core memory files are completely inaccessible. Whatever he was before the war—before Megatron—that's who we're dealing with now."
Starscream suddenly looked over to where the three Autobots were huddled in discussion. His optics flickered with confusion before he called out, his voice lacking its usual screechy quality.
"I apologize for interrupting your consultation," he said politely, "but I really should be getting home. My trinemates must be worried sick about my absence by now. It's not like me to disappear without notice." He attempted to sit up further, wincing as the movement pulled at his repairs. "Could you perhaps tell me where I am and how I might contact them?"
The three Autobots exchanged bewildered glances.
"Trinemates?" Arcee whispered, her voice pitched low enough that Starscream couldn't hear. "What in the Pit is he talking about?"
Ratchet's expression softened with sympathy. "Oh dear. He still thinks his trine is alive. Before the war, Seekers operated in trine formations—groups of three that lived, trained, and flew together. The bonds were almost as sacred as spark-bonds."
Optimus's optics widened slightly. "Are you saying—"
"Thundercracker and Skywarp," Ratchet confirmed grimly. "His original trine. They haven't flown together since early in the war. Thundercracker was eaten by pirahacons, and Skywarp by gnaw during the war."
Arcee's expression shifted from suspicion to something approaching pity. "So he's wishing to return to ghosts."
Optimus turned back toward their patient, his faceplates arranged in a gentle expression. "Starscream," he began carefully, "there is much we need to discuss about your... current situation."
Starscream's frame tensed visibly as Optimus approached the medical berth, his wings hiking upward in an instinctive defensive posture. Though his memories were gone, his body's reflexes remained intact—a Seeker's evolutionary response to perceived threats. The subtle movement didn't escape Optimus's notice, and he stopped a respectful distance away, his massive frame deliberately angled to appear less imposing.
"Starscream," Optimus began, his deep baritone gentled, "I understand your confusion. My name is Optimus Prime. These are my medical officer Ratchet, and my lieutenant Arcee." He gestured to each Autobot in turn. "We found you severely injured in the desert. Your systems had sustained critical damage."
Starscream's optics narrowed, flicking between the three strangers with growing unease. "That's... most kind of you. But I really must insist on contacting my trine. Thundercracker tends to worry, and Skywarp will probably be flying search patterns by now." His voice took on a note of aristocratic impatience, though it lacked the malicious edge the Autobots were accustomed to hearing. "I appreciate your assistance, but if you could simply provide me with a communications link—"
Ratchet stepped forward, medical datapad in hand. "Starscream, our scans indicate significant trauma to your neural network. Your memory circuits have been... reset." He exchanged a glance with Optimus before continuing. "What is the last date you remember?"
The Seeker's brow furrowed in concentration. "It was the third cycle of the stellar orbital. I was attending a meeting at the Science Academy in Vos regarding my latest research on space bridge technology." His expression brightened. "Actually, I was scheduled to present my findings to the High Council next week. I should really—"
"Starscream," Optimus interrupted gently, "that meeting would have been over four million stellar cycles ago."
The color drained from Starscream's faceplates, his crimson optics flickering as his processor attempted to reconcile this information. "That's... that's not possible. You're mistaken." His voice rose slightly, the first hints of his familiar screech emerging. "This is some kind of elaborate prank. Did Skywarp put you up to this? It's exactly his style of humor."
The Autobots exchanged pained glances. Arcee stepped back, her arms crossing defensively over her chassis. She couldn't bring herself to watch what was coming next.
"Starscream," Ratchet said, his gruff voice unusually soft, "there's more you need to know. Cybertron has been through a devastating civil war. Many cities, including Vos, were destroyed. The planet itself is currently uninhabitable."
A strangled sound escaped Starscream's vocalizer. "Vos? Destroyed? No, that can't be right. It's the greatest Seeker city ever built. The aerial formations alone took thousands of years to perfect. The architecture—" His voice broke off, static crackling around the edges. "You're lying. Why are you lying to me?"
Optimus moved closer, his field extending with compassion. "I wish we were, Starscream. But what Ratchet says is true." He paused, his optics dimming slightly. "There's more. Your trinemates, Thundercracker and Skywarp... they were lost during the early days of the war."
The effect was immediate and devastating. Starscream's entire frame went rigid, his wings snapping upright before suddenly drooping to their lowest position. A keening sound rose from his vocalizer—high, thin, and piercing—the traditional Seeker cry of mourning. It was a sound none of the Autobots had ever heard from him before, raw and unguarded in its grief.
"No," he whispered, shaking his head in denial. "No, I would know. I would feel it if they were gone. The trine bond—" His hands clutched at his cockpit, fingers scraping against the glass as if trying to reach his own spark. "I would have felt them extinguish."
Ratchet moved forward, medical instincts overriding caution as Starscream's vitals began to spike dangerously on the monitors. "The severing happened millions of years ago, its long been felt."
Starscream's vents hitched, his cooling fans working overtime as his processor struggled to manage the emotional overload. "And... and I? What happened to me during this... war?" He looked down at his own frame, as if seeing the battle scars and modifications for the first time. "These alterations—they're weapons systems. Military grade." Horror dawned across his features. "What did I become?"
The silence in the medical bay was deafening. Arcee looked away, her optics focused intently on the far wall. Ratchet busied himself with the medical equipment, suddenly finding the monitors fascinating.
It was Optimus who finally answered, “I think this is enough stress for one day, you should rest”
Starscream's optics flashed with indignation. "Rest? I don't need rest! I need answers!" His voice rose sharply, edging closer to the screech they all recognized. "You can't simply tell me my entire world is gone and then expect me to just... power down!" His hands gestured wildly, wings flicking with agitation. "My trine, my city, my—my entire life!"
Optimus raised a placating hand. "I understand your distress, Starscream. But your systems are still stabilizing from extensive repairs. Emotional strain will only complicate your recovery."
Ratchet stepped forward, scanner in hand. "Your neural pathways are already showing signs of stress. Continuing this conversation risks triggering a cascade failure in your memory circuits." His voice, though gruff, carried genuine medical concern. "Whatever answers you seek will still be here after a proper recharge cycle."
Starscream's shoulders slumped, the fight visibly draining from him. "I suppose there's little point in arguing with medical expertise," he muttered, his tone carrying a hint of the academic deference he once held for scientific authority. "But I expect a full explanation when I awaken." He settled back against the berth, wings adjusting to a more comfortable position. "And I want to know everything—especially about what happened to my trine."
Optimus nodded solemnly. "You have my word." His optics lingered for a moment on Starscream's face, taking in the unguarded vulnerability that had replaced the usual scheming expression. There was something strangely captivating about this version of the Seeker—the scientist he had been before the war had twisted them all.
As Ratchet administered a mild sedative through the medical port in Starscream's arm, the Seeker's optics dimmed slowly. Optimus found himself unconsciously stepping closer, his field briefly extending toward the drowsy Decepticon in a gesture of reassurance that surprised even himself. After a moment's hesitation, he gently placed his large hand on Starscream's shoulder, the touch both cautious and comforting. The Seeker's optics flickered once at the contact before finally going dark in sedated recharge.