Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re late, Jazz,” Prowl said quietly, his doorwings flicking with impatience. He didn’t look up from the datapad he was studying, not even when Jazz sprawled himself with a loud groan on the chair across the table.

“Mech, yer askin’ a lot of me to be up this early,” was the grumbled reply, the spy slumping further into his seat. His helm fell forward against the tabletop with a thunk! and he reached forward blindly to snag the small energon cube that Prowl nudged towards him.

The Praxian set the datapad down. “This is important, Jazz. I need you to focus.” His doorwings angled up and forwards in a display of stern reproach.

Jazz wilted slightly. “Sorry, sweetspark, just got a lot goin’ on recently. Y’know, Spec Ops can’t run itself.”

“... I apologize.” Prowl’s wings went back to their resting position. “I did not intend to come across as so harsh.” Then his doorwings flicked up again, twitching this way and that, scanning the area for potential eavesdroppers. “Are we alone?” he asked, voice dropped to the faintest whisper.

“Sure, mech, I did a scan on the way in. Might be tired, but I sure-as-Pit won’t forget somethin’ like that.” Just to prove his point, Jazz gave an exaggerated look around, blue visor keen as it traced every shape and shadow in the cramped, disused meeting room.

“Good, then quickly, we must discuss.” Prowl produced another datapad from his subspace and passed it to Jazz. “Read that. It details all the new energon routes that will be coming to Iacon to help with the influx of refugees from Kalis.”

Jazz scanned over the charts and maps quickly. “You sure ‘bout this, Prowler? There seems to be a lot of ‘em. Will we even be able to protect all of these?”

"No," Prowl replied flatly, and at Jazz' expectant silence, continued. "We cannot protect all the convoys, and the Decepticons know this as well. That's why we simply won't protect all of them."

Jazz caught the implication immediately, finally sitting upright and his field flaring in excitement. "Ah ha ha! A trap! Oh, yer a devious mech, Prowl. Which ones are we thinkin'll be bait? The 'Cons are always skittish 'bout routes near the Rust Sea, so they'll almost certainly hit the one from Polyhex no matter what."

"I knew you'd have an answer." To any other mech, Prowl's would sound bland, but Jazz knew his conjunx well enough. Prowl's harmonics were definite--he hadn't just believed that Jazz would have an answer, he knew it in his spark to be true.

"Polyhex it is! I guess you'll want me to leave a coupla barely detectable gaps in our security? Just in case Sounder wants to listen in?"

"Naturally." Prowl gave a barely-there smile and a borderline arrogant flick of a sensor wing. "We wouldn't want the Decepticons misinformed on routes of vital convoys, would we?"

-----

Prowl sighed, and reset the digital map for the umpteenth time. Tapping in some commands to the console, the display flickered and showed a new new plan for the convoy diversion. Even with being next to certain the ‘Cons would strike the decoy from Polyhex, it still left a lot to plan around: who to guard the decoy for the ambush, who to guard the real convoys, the exact timing of when each convoy needed to leave so everything would be just right…

He stared down at the map, his tac-net humming with calculations for different squad configurations, and wished Jazz were there. His mate had been absent for two orns, collecting intel on enemy movements and strength, and while Prowl’s processor understood this as necessary for proper planning, that didn’t stop his spark from feeling lonely. The planning room the two used was just so empty with only one bot. Praxians weren’t meant to be alone.

The Aerialbots and Protectobots would be going with the real convoys, his tac-net decided, as the risk of them attracting Decepticon attention was far outweighed by their combined forms’ power. The Dinobots would be excellent for the decoy ambush, but a quick calculation showed that their absence from the front would be far too costly. The ambush would need some air support and accurate sharpshooters, to handle the expected air assault. Powerglide, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Tracks would be good fits, along with Moonracer, Bluestreak, and Skyfire--the shuttle coming in case they needed to quickly retreat.

One of his internal timers went off, and he stood. Stretching out his doorwings, he turned off the map and put his racing tac-net on pause. It was time for fuel with Bluestreak.

Prowl ducked in and out of the main mess hall as fast as possible, grabbing his ration and leaving without even so much as a ‘hello’ to anyone. Not that any of the other Autobots minded; Prowl was Prowl, and he always took his energon in private.

Settled in the quarters he shared with Jazz, Prowl sipped his fuel while waiting for Blue. The younger Praxian burst into the room only a few kliks later, cube in one hand and datapad in another, his sensor wings high in excitement. Instantly, the chatter started.

“Prowl! Oh, I’m so happy we can fuel together, it’s been so long since we’ve really been able to talk. I know everyone’s so busy because of the convoys--you and Jazz and ‘Bee and--Oh! Did I tell you that ‘Bee and I managed to get a copy of The Horror from Under the Rust? We can’t figure out how to turn off the Polyhexian subtitles, but it’s the real deal! Sunny and Sides told me that vid didn’t exist anymore, so when we get some time after the convoy mission, ‘Bee and I are gonna host a…” Abruptly, Bluestreak trailed off and his doorwings wilted.

“Blue? What’s wrong?” Prowl reached out with his field and tried to push as much reassurance as he could into it. “You and Bumblebee are planning something?”

Bluestreak shook himself and forcibly smiled, but his field was still melancholy. “It’s nothing Prowl, just… Will we have more time, after this convoy mission? I feel like we’re so rushed, all the time, and I know it’s a war and we can’t just stop but…”

“You aren’t… wrong or selfish to want to spend more time with your friends,” Prowl said after a pause, needing to phrase this just right. “I wish I could spend more time with Jazz, and both of us wish we could spend more time with you. We might not have sparked you, Blue, but we are your creators and I’m sorry that we haven’t been there for you.” He knew his tone was stilted, but he hoped his field could make up for it. Bluestreak was important, was his sparkling.

Blue’s field heaved with emotions, and he lunged across the table to half-hug his creator. His energon went flying, but neither Praxian cared as they shared a gentle press of chevron to chevron.

“A few more orns, Bluestreak. We should have more time then, just wait a few more orns.”

Chapter Text

Thundercracker pressed himself against the back wall of Megatron’s… throne room would be the best descriptor. It felt like every other Decepticon on base was crammed in with him, with most jockeying to the front of the room to be closer to their oh-so-glorious leader, who was leaning against his throne imperiously. But still, a few were like him and preferred to stay out of the blast zone.

Unfortunately, the rest of his trine was not among them. 

Starscream was in fine form, strutting about in front of the other officers and preemptively scoffing at whatever Megatron might say. Skywarp had managed to shove his way to the front row, and Thundercracker could see the excited tilt of his wings. No sense of self-preservation, those two.

Finally, Megatron yelled for silence, and when that didn’t work, fired up his fusion cannon. Just the sound of it powering on was enough to make the entire crowd go deathly still.

“We have retrieved important information from the Autobots!” he began. “We will be able to cripple them now, and steal their precious energon! And then, the Autobots will be finished once and for all!”

A cheer went up in the room, and Thundercracker dropped his optics and tried to look anywhere but his fellow Decepticons. This was the fifth time this metacylce that the Autobots would be defeated “once and for all”, but yet it felt like he was the only one to realise that it was just another failure waiting to happen.

He briefly met optics with Knock Out--who was also lingering in the very back--and the other mech made a discreet “he’s glitched” gesture and grimaced. Thundercracker nodded once, then pretended nothing had happened.

Okay, so two whole bots realised it was another failure waiting to happen.

Megatron silenced the room again, optics bright and sneer firmly in place. “Soundwave,” he commanded, “play the recording!”

Always dutiful, Soundwave did just that. “Laserbeak: eject. Operation: reconnaissance report.”

The symbiote perched on Megatron’s shoulder and his small built-in projector came to life. The image quickly came into focus: an awkwardly tilted but still reasonably clear view of an Autobot meeting room, crowded with their top officers. Instantly, the room full of Decepticons turned into chaos, with bots shoving each other down to try and get a better look at the video. Another alarming power-up of the fusion cannon was enough to get everybody quiet again.

“--and where will this energon be coming from, Prowl?” Video-Optimus was saying, voice gravely serious. Thundercracker felt his spark lurch with fear for Prowl; Primus knew Megatron asking a question like that was a death sentence.

“We can’t move the energon stores from Tyger Pax, or Rodion. The Polyhex garrison has enough surplus to send to Iacon, but the convoy will need a complex route to avoid a Decepticon attack.” Prowl passed a datapad to Optimus Prime, and Thundercracker felt his anxiety ease when the Autobot leader seemed pleased by the report.

Autobot command proceeded to discuss the complex route Prowl had suggested, if there should be an armed guard, and probably all sorts of important things that Thundercracker didn’t pay attention to. Instead, the Seeker found himself staring at one of the junior officers sitting the back--the grey and red Praxian sharpshooter. Bluestreak, that was his name.

His doorwings were quivering and drooping low, and every few kliks he’d nervously fiddle with the datapad in front of him. Praxian frame-language was close enough to Seeker that Thundercracker couldn’t look away, not when his coding was screaming at him that a fledgling was in distress. He pulled in his field as tight as possible and shifted from pede to pede, reminding himself that the Praxian was just some grounder, an Autobot--the enemy--and not a lonely Seekerling. 

It didn’t help.

The senior Autobot officers kept talking, and whenever Prowl--the only other Praxian present--would speak, Bluestreak’s doorwings would spike up in an anxious sort of interest and then drop back down. His blue optics brightened and dimmed irregularly with his obviously turbulent emotions.

Thundercracker felt anger rise in his spark, anger that a fledgling would be so neglected, but it was quickly replaced by a choking sense of guilt. How many Praxians were even left? And with the war, how much time would any of them even have to care for Bluestreak? They lost not only their entire city, but also nearly their entire population--even the Seekers got off better than that. The Seekers who had been the ones to destroy Praxus in the first place.

So caught up in his own thoughts, Thundercracker didn’t even notice the projection had stopped and that Megatron had begun outlining the plan of attack. He suddenly jolted to attention when second-hand pain stabbed at his wings, just in time to see Starscream picking himself off the floor after a vicious blow from their leader. He must’ve mouthed off again while Thundercracker had been distracted.

He hadn’t processed a thing from the meeting, and walked back to his quarters in a daze, hoping that maybe no one would notice his odd mood. 

As always, he wasn’t that lucky.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Skywarp slapped him hard on the back as they walked into their quarters. “You didn’t even bother helping ‘Screamer up.”

Thundercracker shrugged his wings and tried his best to keep his mess of emotions out of his field and the bond. “Nothing… just not feeling very good, I guess.”

“Well, you’ll cheer up after the battle. Nothing like a good, gorey fight to bring a smile to your faceplates, right TC?” There was a half-sparked hum of encouragement from the bond, but then it faded out as Skywarp lost interest in his mate’s mood.

The bond had been weak, lately, and that was discounting the fact that Thundercracker had been keeping his end blocked most of the time. It should’ve been concerning--deeply concerning--but all he could think about was that sad Praxian fledgling. So lonely… He probably just wanted someone to talk to, who would listen to him and take his feelings seriously, so he didn’t have to keep everything to himself. It was suffocating, to keep everything pushed down for so long, and it made your processor ache and your recharge a fitful mess and…

Not that Thundercracker knew from experience. After all, he was trined. He couldn’t be lonely.

Skywarp was excitedly narrating how many Autobots he was planning on killing, while Starcream--nursing a bent wing--alternated between declaring his superiority over Megatron and berating his trinemates. Thundercracker withdrew to the berthroom.

He was doing just fine .

-----

“There you are, lazy piece of scrap! You’re going to make us late !”

Thundercracker jerked out of a restless recharge to his trine leader’s harsh voice and even harsher claws. Scrambling off the berth, he tried to get his processor in order. He stumbled after Starscream and tried to take stock: he had apparently managed to recharge for almost a groon, his energy levels were only at 42%, and the scratches courtesy of Starscream were painful but minor. He knew he should fuel, that he would never hold up in a fight, but he muted his vocaliser. Starscream was in no mood to be reasonable.

“Finally joining us?” Skywarp chirped as he fell into step beside Thundercracker, as the now completed trine made for the hangar. His field was bright and cheery, and the contrast with the violent glee in his optics almost made Thundercracker veer away.

The crowded hangar made his plating crawl, especially when Starscream started shrieking orders and suddenly all optics were on them. Somehow, despite the massive room, Thundercracker felt claustrophobic and had to resist the urge to bolt. If his trinemates even noticed his distress, they didn’t react.

Megatron fired his fusion cannon into the sky, cackling wildly. “Decepticons, now is our time for victory! Transform, and destroy !”

Chapter Text

::Decepticons approaching from the south. They’re coming in fast from above, so prepare to come under fire,:: Powerglide reported over comms, his silhouette just barely visible on the horizon. He backflipped and flew low and fast back to the decoy convoy, doing a showy little spin as he passed overhead.

Bluestreak heard Moonracer sigh, the same way that Prowl did whenever Jazz got a bit too enthusiastic about teaching Sunstreaker and Sideswipe about proper pranking protocols. The young Praxian held his rifle tighter, and primed his shoulder cannons. Good news: the Seekers had fallen for the false intel and were about to “surprise attack” an ambush. Less good news: this meant everyone was about to get attacked by Seekers. On purpose, but still.

The fake convoy was out in front of them, taking one of the many winding routes next to the Rust Sea, and appeared reasonably guarded. Leaving it fully undefended would make the ‘Cons suspicious, but too much of a guard meant that they wouldn’t attack and remain tied up in Polyhex long enough for the real convoy to arrive safely. It was a delicate balance, one that Prowl worked himself into a processor-ache for, but finally the plan was all together.

Bluestreak hoped that after this, maybe everyone would be less busy.

It was… selfish, perhaps. But he was lonely and slaggit, his home city was a ruin. He was allowed to be selfish sometimes. 

He could hear the Seekers’ engines, far off but distinct: a dull roar layered with a high whine. He wished he could pop out from his hiding place and actually look for them, but his orders were clear. He and the rest of the ambush team were scattered and hidden in the treacherous cliffs that rose from the Rust Sea, undetectable by air so long as they kept their helms down. The cliffs were on either side of the narrow path the convoy was taking, and provided good air cover as long as you were careful not to get pinned down.

Bluestreak cycled his vents slowly, bracing himself. He never liked this part. The waiting.

The roar of engines grew louder.

Still waiting.

He wished he had someone to talk to.

The roar was unbearable and--

A burst of static over the emergency comm channel.

Bluestreak all but launched himself out of his hidey-hole, doorwings high and ready and cannons primed. 

The Seekers were just about to begin their attack dive when Bluestreak opened fire, nailing Dirge right on the wing. Moonracer, Arcee, and Strongarm fired too, from their scattered spots along the cliffs. The seemingly disorganised fire sent Seekers careening into each other as they had no idea where the next shot would come from.

The Decepticons abruptly pulled out, with a pale pink Seeker unable to make the sharp turn and crashing into the cliff face. They were scattered and trying to regroup from the surprise, not helped with the continued fire from the Autobots.

Then another burst of static in the emergency comms channel.

Bluestreak ceased fire.

The air support roared to life, with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe launching themselves in true Jet Judo fashion and Tracks clipping Thrust’s wing as the Seekers tried to retreat. Windblade, Airazor, and Powerglide came up from the left flank, guns blazing, and raced straight through the now-shattered Seeker formation.

And now, the hard part.

If the victory seemed too sudden and quick, the Seekers would fly off and potentially attack the real convoy. They needed to feign weakness, and right on cue Powerglide dove towards the ground in a flailing spiral. Tracks disengaged to follow him and the two made a good showing of being down for the count while the rest of the air support retreated to take refuge in the cliffs.

Bluestreak scrambled up a bit higher, ducked behind an outcropping, and watched. The Seekers twisted and turned in the air, and he spotted Starscream darting like mad amongst the chaos. The Air Commander was probably trying to herd and regroup his troops, but oddly his trine wasn’t with him. No one had spotted Skywarp--they always called when they saw him on comms because of what a risk his teleportation was--and Thundercracker was aimlessly circling out of blaster range.

It was strange, really, that Thundercracker hadn’t used his spark gift. That was one of the weaknesses of the cliff defences, but yet there hadn’t been any booms to send them all tumbling down. A lot of the fighting had seemed lacklustre, actually, and Bluestreak made a note on his HUD to talk to Jazz about it. Maybe something internal was going on.

Regardless, the Seekers got it together and slotted back into formation some ways above the Autobots, with a notable empty gap on Starscream’s wing where Skywarp ought to be. The Decepticons swung around and fanned out to strafe the convoy, and the Autobots on the ground took cover behind jagged outcroppings of metal.

Three of the five convoy vehicles were hit directly, with two going up in flames. The third didn’t even last that long and instead exploded so violently Bluestreak thought for a moment that maybe it was loaded with energon. But no, it was just a lucky hit to the fake charge Prowl had insisted the vehicles all carry; after all, this was meant to be convincing, and everyone knew that energon was volatile. 

It was looking bad out there, which meant that actually it was going well. By pretending to be helpless, they were buying precious time for the real convoys that should’ve gotten about halfway to Iacon. If they could distract the Seekers for just a few more groons, then the convoys would reach far enough into Autobot territory to be truly safe.

Easier said than done, especially for Bluestreak, but he’d certainly try his best.

The Seekers doubled back, planning for another strafe to take out the rest of the convoy, and the Autobots welcomed them with a return of fire. Bluestreak didn’t waste his shots, but instead carefully aimed until he was sure. With a measured blast from his shoulder cannons, he hit Slipstream right in the left thruster, sending her spiralling. She transformed mid-air to stop from crashing and made a wobbly retreat.

Moonracer made a similarly accurate shot and took out Acid Storm, the Seeker’s left wing smoking heavily. Another convoy vehicle still got shot, but that was no matter. One of the ones that had already caught fire went up in flames completely, and the Autobots on the ground did a great impression at being panicked and in danger.

…Maybe too good of an impression, because when he looked closer, Bluestreak could see that Tracks was genuinely injured. Had he been too close to one of the explosions, or had he failed to take cover in time? Or had--

::Skywarp!::

That was the entirety of the frantic comm burst before it cut off into static, and Bluestreak felt like his spark would spin out of its casing. 

The world exploded.

Well, not the world exactly, Bluestreak thought hysterically as he plummeted from the fracturing cliff. Only the part he had just been standing on, which certainly felt like the whole world to him in that moment because now he was falling to his death as Seekers wildly strafed his comrades below. Should he comm someone? He had only a nanoklik to decide and his instincts chose for him, sending a panicked distress burst to the nearest outpost. He wished his creators were there, but wasn’t even sure how they’d be able to help. But it’d be--

Shocking pain.

His processor briefly glitched, thoughts endless looping in his helm. I wish my creators were here, I wish my creators were here, I wish--

Time stuttered, and then abruptly he was brought back into awareness.

Pain, so much that it threatened to glitch him again. Rubble on top of him, crushing, a piece speared through his left sensor wing. Commlink scrambled and sending confused static. Optics cracked, but able to see rapid movement above. Seekers. The sounds of fire roaring, blasters, and engines.

Slowly, he was able to shunt some of the pain away to a subprocessor and finally think. He was on his back, one doorwing crumpled and the other pierced, and his HUD filled with urgent errors about internal damage that he dismissed without reading. No time. The weight of the debris covering him was slowly caving in his chestplate and if he didn’t figure out a way to move it he’d have even more problems to worry about.

He hoped the rest of the ambush team was alright. Skywarp’s sudden appearance was shocking, less because he teleported in and more because he actually competently accomplished something. Normally the black Seeker caused unmitigated chaos that hampered everyone equally, sort of like a Misfire with teleportation instead of bad aim. Had Misfire been a part of the attack, or was Bluestreak thinking of a different--

Bluestreak jerked himself out of his racing thoughts, processor swimming and disorganised because of the pain. He needed to get the rubble off himself. That was the goal.

Rubble… off.

He gave the largest piece and push and instantly realised that it would be far more difficult than he thought. Pushing the rubble up meant pushing himself down, which meant his battered doorwings being forced under even more pressure.

But doorwings were replaceable, and his spark wasn’t.

Shifting his legs to try and take some of the weight, Bluestreak shoved up with all his strength. The pressure on his chestplate eased, but his sensor wings joints groaned with the strain. If he held like this for too long, he would dislocate both his wings. Thinking quickly, he pushed up on only the right side of the debris and the hunk shifted over, sliding very slightly off his frame. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep his joints from breaking.

And now… he could do nothing but wait. He didn’t have the strength to get himself free, and even if he did his injuries were too bad to do anything to help anyone. 

::This is RS Outpost 6. We are sending reinforcements and an evac team. Repeat, we are sending reinforcements and an evac team.::

Dizzy with relief, Bluestreak nearly dropped the rubble. It would all be okay. All he had to do was not get crushed, or shot, or have too much internal damage or…

Maybe it wouldn’t be okay.

The battle continued, but Bluestreak couldn’t see it. He flinched at every blaster shot, not knowing who fired it or who it hit. Seeker engines made his plating shake. Without realising it, he had started to babble quietly, a running commentary about how much pain he was in. It accomplished nothing but it still felt good to say something.

Time passed, but also no time passed.

His chronometer was broken. His cracked optics finally gave up and offline completely, and his crushed doorwing went entirely numb. It was a relief from the pain, but also Bluestreak thought he should probably be concerned. Probably. It was… bad? Right. And his shoulders ached, horribly. It was important he held up the rubble, but he couldn’t understand why. His processor lagged and glitched. Maybe he should put the rubble down, let his shoulders rest.

Right. Good idea.

Crushing weight, chestplate compromised, doorwing dislocated.

Bad. Bad idea. 

Then… the weight was gone. 

A soothingly warm field. A gentle servo touching his face. A quiet, deep voice telling him things. Good things. That he was safe and it would be alright.

Bluestreak felt some hope in his spark. One of the evac team from RS-6. He was saved.

A little pinch, then sudden relief. Pain patches. It wasn’t even a strong one, but after so much pain anything was a miracle. He reached up blindly towards his rescuer, trying to push as much thank-you/relief into his field as possible.

His servo grabbed something and instinctively he knew it was a wing… And that’s when it sank in that the voice was speaking in Praxian. Praxian!

He quivered in excitement, broken doorwings trying to flutter a greeting, field a bright mix of joy/desperation/please-stay . The other Praxian paused, field pulling in tight for a moment, before continuing like nothing had happened. His field stayed nice and open, and Bluestreak relaxed into it. 

The relative lack of pain and the friendly field made him sleepy, and he felt himself drifting into recharge. That was bad, he understood, because he was on a battlefield and there were Decepticons still around. But… he was tired, and his processor was still lagging and he was safe.

He knew he was safe.

-----

Thundercracker was in danger.

Maybe he was just being paranoid, but one could never be too paranoid in the Decepticons. Not when every mech would be willing to stab you in the back for no good reason, if they even needed one at all.

The flight back to Kaon was… chilly. Skywarp chattered over the comms the entire time, and Thundercracker was silently grateful because it re-directed Starscream’s ire away from him.

The attack, while initially seeming successful, had turned out to be a massive failure. Starscream had investigated the destroyed convoy vehicles and found no traces of energon, meaning the whole thing had been a waste of time. They had been tricked. If he weren’t trined to the Seeker, Thundercracker would’ve flown as far away from Starscream as possible.

Aside from Skywarp, who was too pleased with his destructive abilities to read the atmosphere, the Seekers were withdrawn and tense. Many were flying poorly, injured and dented from the battle, and no one wanted to be the one to break the news to oh-so-glorious Megatron that his magnificent plan was a failure. Thundercracker’s plating shivered at what Starscream might do to their quarters. That mech could throw a fit when he was in a mood.

But mostly… mostly Thundercracker was worried if anyone saw him. 

With Bluestreak.

It had been purely impulsive. 

When Skywarp did his trick, teleporting small explosive charges around, the chaos was instant. Screaming, energon flying, fire and smoke everywhere. Autobots and Decepticons alike were thrown into disarray. 

And then Thundercracker saw him. The little Praxian fledgling. 

He was crumpled on the ground, impaled through the wing and with a massive hunk of debris slowly crushing his chest. He struggled feebly against the weight, managing to shift it some, but it was obvious he’d be crushed to death before any of the scattered Autobots could help him.

Thundercracker hadn’t realised that he’d landed, but suddenly he was by the fledgling’s side and cooing in Praxian. He hadn’t been able to speak the language in so long, but it still felt right. He didn’t say anything important, just little things like “Don’t worry, little one, everything will be fine now,” and “You’re safe, you did so well and you’re safe”. He hauled the debris off Bluestreak’s frame and tried to take stock of the damage. Centuries of patching up Starscream after a fight with Megatron were now suddenly becoming useful.

A pain patch was simple, and he used one of his personal ones. He quickly put a few sealant strips on the worst of the broken energon lines. Bluestreak’s field flared and he reached out a servo to the Seeker’s wing and--

Thundercracker froze. The Praxian knew he was a Seeker and it was only a matter of time before the rest of the Autobots swooped in and killed him. 

But, no. The fledgling… thought he was a Praxian too. And felt safe enough to drift into recharge. Or let himself pass out, which was more accurate.

Thundercracker had fled shortly after, concerned that one of the many other Seekers might have seen him. If he had been seen giving medical attention to an Autobot, well, he didn’t want to think about it. Still, the words “Shockwave’s experiments” flashed over and over in his processor, all through the entire flight back to Kaon.

He landed roughly and immediately slipped away from the fight brewing in the hangar. He heard the distinct sound of claws unsheathing as he fled into the base, trying to find a good place to sulk. Normally he’d just go to his quarters if he needed to brood for a groon or six, but what he needed most was to stay away from Starscream.

He ended up in the medical storage room, hiding behind a shelf full of spare diodes and thinking about his life choices. Where did it all go wrong? When he joined the Decepticons, or maybe when he didn’t desert after Praxus. Or, oh Primus, was it when he turned down that date with Highlight as a fledgling? Maybe Highlight would’ve been the one for him…

His intense brood session was interrupted by Knock Out, who popped his helm into the storage room and sighed dramatically. 

“Screamer must really be in a mood, then, if even you are hiding. Well, if you need to hide then I definitely do, so scoot over for your medic.” And with that Knock Out tucked himself under Thundercracker’s wing and leaned against the wall, eyeing the Seeker critically. “You look like a wreck. Don’t you ever do touch ups? And if those wings have seen a polish in the past decaorn I’ll eat my scalpel.” To offset the insults, he gave the Seeker a friendly pat on the arm.

“Thank you, Knock Out,” Thundercracker grumbled, but he oddly felt better. Maybe constantly isolating himself wasn’t great for his mental health. Who knew.

“Misery loves company, and you’re one of the most miserable ‘Cons I know. Maybe--and this is just a suggestion --you should try doing something about it instead of hiding in my storage closet? Just a thought.” Knock Out gave a grin. “I know you have them occasionally.”

Thundercracker shoved him lightly, but did consider the suggestion. It was basic, but he knew that he tended to be a more passive personality. It was his role in the trine, being the Anchor to his wayward trinemates, but there was a point when passivity became detrimental. Deeply detrimental.

And perhaps the solution to his problem wasn’t as complicated as he thought.

-----

Not complicated, but terrifying. Thundercracker centred himself by thinking about that moment when Bluestreak had mistaken him for a Praxian.It had been initially terrifying, but the sheer happiness and joy in the fledgling’s field had lit up the Seeker’s spark. His own presence could bring joy to someone who was lonely. Someone out there wanted to spend time with him.

That was all he let himself think about. That someone wanted to spend time with him.

And then he stepped into the office, and started his short speech with:

“Soundwave, I would like to request a favour.”

Chapter Text

“Really, Bee, you don’t need to wait for me. I know you’ve been looking forward to the vid party and you’re even the one who found The Horror from Under the Rust and figured out how to get the sound to work and really--”

“Blue. Bluestreak. Please just let me get a word in,” Bumblebee said with a fond smile, entirely used to his friend’s chattering. When Blue quieted down for a moment, he continued, “Yeah, I’m the one who found the vid but the vid party was your idea and you’ve been looking forward to it the most. Besides, you're my friend and I wouldn’t want to watch the vid without you.”

Bluestreak’s field flushed with happiness, and his less injured doorwing gave a weak flutter. “Thanks, Bee,” he said after a few moments.

“It’ll be something ta look forward to,” Jazz put in, looking up from his datapad. He had the more comfortable chair next to Blue’s med-berth and kept his field bright and open, perfect for Bluestreak to snuggle into.

The medbay had been busy, what with all the injuries from the convoy ambush and the general happenings of a war, but after a few orns most bots had been cleared for duty again. So now it was just Bluestreak, Tracks, and Lambda still recovering. Tracks would be out soon, Bluestreak guessed, but he himself would probably be the last to leave the medbay. A cracked spark casing was no joke, and his whole frame still ached from all the repairs.

“Ratchet!” He waved the medic over. “Ratchet, please could I just--”

“You’re not leaving the medbay until I say so, Blue, unless it catches on fire.” Ratchet could be such a killjoy sometimes. But he patted the young Praxian on the shoulder and his field carried some sympathy. “You’ll be fine in less than a decaorn, just be patient. And you ”--he fixed Bumblebee with a stern look--”should stop tempting my patients. And don’t you have a washrack to clean?”

Bumblebee wilted, and chuckled sheepishly. “...yeah, I do have a washrack to clean. But, really, it was all Sunny’s idea!” And with a few more protests, and a goodbye for Bluestreak, the little scout was off to scrape glitter paint off the walls.

“Gotta go soon too, Blue,” Jazz said apologetically, visor dimming for a moment. But then it brightened again and he grinned. “I’ll be sure ta make Prowler take an extra off-shift--Primus knows he needs the break anyway--so he can finish that Fullstasis game with you. You’ll be alright with just Ratch here for a bit?”

Ratchet huffed at the nickname.

Bluestreak managed a smile, but he knew his sadness was in his field. He just… didn’t want Jazz to go yet. “Yeah, I’ll be fine with Ratchet. We get along great! He has to stay in the medbay while I’m here, which means he has to listen to me talk. Sometimes he even says something back!”

The medic wagged a finger. “Don’t taunt your medic! And you, Jazz, you need to scram. Red Alert has been pinging me for the past five kilks that you’re late for shift.”

Jazz just laughed and sprang up from his seat, giving Bluestreak a quick kiss on the chevron before hurrying out of the medbay. Ratchet glared at him--in that strange, almost friendly way of his--until the doors closed behind him.

“Finally,” the medic said, “some peace and quiet around here.”

“Peace and quiet… everyone always says peace and quiet, but they don’t always go together. Really it should be peace or quiet. Quiet’s not always a great sign, with a war and all. Peace would be great, wouldn’t it Ratchet? Hard to remember what it’s like, because it’s been so long. Well, I’m sure you can remember better, being so old and all. What's that glare for? I wonder what I’ll be like when I’m old--”

And so Bluestreak continued, ensuring that there would be no quiet in the medbay for some time. It really didn’t matter to him that Ratchet only ever responded with the occasional grunt, if he even responded at all. Talking always helped, even if no one was around to listen. Of course, it was better if someone was around to listen but… well.

Things were less busy after the success with the convoy shipment, but less busy wasn’t the same as not busy. Jazz and Prowl were still high ranking officers and in charge of most things going on with the war, and unless Megatron and Optimus magically made peace the war would continue for a long time. And that meant that his creators would stay busy. 

It’d be nice if he had more friends. Not that Bluestreak didn’t have any friends, but everyone was always off doing everything for the war…Not that Blue didn’t believe in the war effort, but it was so hard . If only there were more young bots around, so he could talk to someone his own age, or maybe… just maybe… some more Praxians.

He fidgeted in the med-berth, wanting to get up and pace but knowing Ratchet would yell at him. He was still hooked up to some monitoring equipment, because potential spark injuries were something to be cautious about. Still didn’t make things less boring or lonely. He didn’t feel like reading or watching a vid, so what--

His personal datapad pinged, and he stared at it in confusion. Who would be messaging his ‘pad, instead of just comming him? But maybe it was some non-emergency alert, or an update or something. He tapped the screen, read the first two lines, and nearly dropped it in shock.

There was a data-message from an unknown ID, written in Praxian.

“ Good orn, I hope I’ve reached Bluestreak. I’m Skylight, the Praxian that gave you first aid during the convoy attack. ”

Bluestreak reset his optics, and then his datapad for good measure. But there it remained, the message in Praxian that promised to be everything he wanted. His spark whirled in excitement, and he had to resist the urge to run around the medbay in joy. This was real, he was really going to be able to be friends with another Praxian.

He had a brief moment of doubt--that it was too good to be true--but dismissed it. After all, who knew Praxian anymore except for Praxians themselves? And even Bluestreak thought his knowledge of his own language was lacking, seeing as how he never actually finished his schooling.

Making the conscious decision to take the message at face value, he read on.

“ There are no other Praxians on base, and it grows rather lonely out here so far from everyone. Security concerns mean that I am not able to vid-call or send images, which is a disappointment. But I would love to talk with you, so I thought you might like to write data-messages to each other, so we can keep each other company. I don’t know how quickly I will be able to get back to you, but I promise I will. ”

There was no internal debate about accepting Skylight’s offer; Bluestreak was already writing his reply. He felt briefly self-conscious about his own Praxian, which was much less formal and polished than the other bot’s, but hoped that Skylight wouldn’t mind. It was just nice writing in Praxian to someone who would understand.

“Hello, Skylight! Yes, I’m Blustreak and thank you for helping me. Ratchet says you saved my life. I would love to write to you, and I hope we can be friends. There are some Praxians here in Iacon, but everyone is so busy. 

I’ll introduce myself first. I’m Bluestreak of Praxus, creation of Jazz and Prowl. They adopted me after my other creators died. I was still a mechling when Praxus was destroyed, so I don’t remember everything perfectly. But my favourite place to go was the Spark-Crystal Gardens. Right now I’m a sharpshooter and work a lot with my friend Bumblebee. He’s young like me so we get along and understand each other. I talk a lot, and it helps me feel less nervous. I hope you don’t mind me writing a lot to you.

I’m still hurt so I can’t do much, but I’m getting better. It’s boring in the medbay, because Ratchet won’t let me go anywhere. But this is better because I can write to you. It’s too weird to talk about Praxus to a non-Praxian. They don’t really understand what it’s like for their home to be totally gone. I guess the Seekers understand, too, but I can’t really talk to any of them. I like just remembering things about Praxus, even though it does hurt. Prowls thinks that one orn, when the war is over, we can rebuild it. I hope he’s right.

Can I ask you some questions? I hope I’m not rude. Sunstreaker says I’m rude a lot, but I think he’s joking.

Are you a flier? Your name is Skylight, which sounds like a flier name. What do you look like? You’ve already seen me, so it’s fair if you tell me what you look like. What part of Praxus are you from? How old are you? What’s your favorite food? Can we be friends? Is this too many questions? Sorry if it is.

Thanks for writing to me. I hope you can write back soon!”

Luckily, Bluestreak did not have to wait too long. Which was doubly fortunate, because his fidgeting in the meantime had gotten him four exasperated sighs from Ratchet, and one stern glare. 

He had just finished a cube of energon--the energon in the medbay was actually really good--when his ‘pad pinged again and he nearly threw his empty cube across the room in excitement. It had been almost two joors of less-than-patient waiting and all he wanted was to know what Skylight thought, and if he wanted to be friends.

His good doorwing shot up with happiness when he saw that, yes, it was in fact a reply from Skylight. Bluestreak had to remind himself to read the message slowly, so he could fully enjoy it, instead of skimming it in his excitement.

" Good orn again, Bluestreak. 

I'm very pleased that writing to me can be a comfort to you. I feel that I should be doing more to help the younger Praxians, so if there's anything else in my power that can help you, please let me know.

Of course you don't ask too many questions. We're going to be friends, after all, so you can ask me anything. To answer your questions:

• Yes, I am a flyer. A light high-endurance Aerial, to be specific.

• I'm mostly silver, with some red accents. I have some light blue on my wings and chevron.

• I'm from the Quartz District, where most Praxian flyers are from.

• I'm almost a thousand vorns old.

• Hard to pick a favourite, but I think right now I'd say barium noodles in a manganese broth. My carrier always made them for special occasions and would put some neon powder on, for an extra kick.

I understand what you mean about trying to talk about Praxus. It was a historical event for the world, but more than that it was a personal event for us all. And to talk about it to someone who only understands it as a moment in history feels like our own emotional reactions are being reduced to statistics. I'm not sure it's something even the Seekers would understand, because so many more of them survived. Please know that you can write anything to me. I assure you it will not be a burden nor a bother to me in the slightest.

I also hope one orn we can rebuild Praxus, and maybe all of Cybertron. I think, if the war ends, we will be able to make it better. We've learnt from the mistakes of the past, so it would simply (or not simply) come down to not repeating them. But right now, it's all an 'if'.

You mentioned the Spark-Crystal Gardens, and I also visited them often. I have many, many stories that I'd love to tell you, so I'll start with this one.

First, I'd just like to say that I was a bit of a trouble-maker as a fledgling, and that you should learn from my mistakes I'm about to share.

I had only recently gotten my mechling upgrades, which meant I only recently had been able to fly. I doubt you’ve ever been around an actual fledgling flyer, but we are obnoxious . Like a regular obnoxious mechling, but we take off at random and tend to crash instead of land responsibly.

I was with two of my friends--also my age--and one of their sires who was watching us. The plan for the orn was that we would walk around the Spark-Crystal Gardens and then afterwards go to the flying course near the cathedral. The crystal gardens were very pretty, and we spent a while trying to find all the crystals that matched our exact spark colour. But then, as mechlings do, we quickly got bored.

My friend Galeforce had the idea that, instead of waiting until we got to the flying course to try our stunt-flying, it would be much more exciting to try it in the gardens. After all, surely nothing could go wrong!

We all immediately agreed that this was a fantastic idea, and split up to go to each corner of the garden. We decided that we’d all take off and race by weaving through the crystals to reach the centre pond, and that the losers would buy the winner an oil cake. 

Well, Galeforce’s sire caught on to this and managed to stop his creation from taking off (by grabbing her by the wings), but was too far away from me and my other friend to stop us. I took off and tried to fly as fast as possible without risking running into the crystals. I think my friend was less cautious, though, because I heard him squawk in panic followed by the crash of breaking crystals. He shot straight up to try and avoid the shards, but managed to get tangled in some of the netting they use to keep cyber-squirrels from eating the crystals.

I was so startled that I clipped my wing against one of the spark-resonance crystals and went into a tailspin. My instinct was to transform to see if I could get any semblance of control back, and I managed to slow myself enough to safely crash… Face first in the pond right in front of one of the security guards.

She wasn’t happy about a bunch of dumb fledglings damaging the crystals, so she laid into us and we spent the next two decaorns fixing the gardens. I’ll admit, flying through the crystals that low to the ground was exhilarating and I don’t entirely regret it. Especially because I won, and got that oil cake.

Writing this now, I’m not sure what lesson I want you to take from this. Maybe, have fun but don’t break things? Break the rules, but only when no one is around to check? I’m joking, but I do hope that you can still have some amount of the fun mechlings are meant to have, even during a war.

Thank you for being patient and reading my letter I’ve written you. I hope to hear back, and may there always be a spark of light in your life

~ Skylight”

Bluestreak hugged the datapad to his chest, fondness bursting from his spark. A friend! A real, Praxian friend who wanted to tell him stories and hear about his feelings! And maybe Skylight wouldn't mind helping him with Praxian?

He knew he was grinning like a fool, door wings high and waving in happiness, in the middle of medbay. But who cared! Ratchet could stare in confusion all he wanted, because Blue was not about to hide how he felt. He had hummed thoughtfully at Skylight's answers, thinking that it would be very interesting to talk to a Praxian flyer, because so far he only knew ground frames. And he laughed at the mechling misadventure, knowing that if--by some mishap or mystical time travel--he, Bee, Sunny, and Sides wound up in Praxus they would do the exact same thing. The thought hurt, because that could simply never happen, but it was also relieving to have a kind of shared experience with another Praxian, even just a theoretical one.

Mechling fun… wasn’t something Bluestreak got a lot of. Sure, he participated in pranks sometimes, and watched vids with his friends when they had a break, but really… really he didn’t know what it was like to just be young and carefree. Praxus had been destroyed when he was still a young mechling, and even before then the threat of the war had still loomed over the city. Maybe, as a newspark or a youngling, he had had a real sparklinghood, but he could hardly remember. 

He should probably feel more depressed about that, but Bluestreak was still far too elated about having a real, Praxian friend to talk to. It wasn’t time for sadness! And plus, he could always experience a normal sparklinghood through Skylight’s stories. He was sure it would be close enough to the same thing.

Still grinning to himself, he began his response to his new friend.

-----

Thundercracker fought to keep his smile off his faceplate, and keep his wings in a stiff, neutral position. Thank Primus no one was close enough to sense his field, because keeping his riot of emotions out of it was beyond him. The trine bond was closed off, like it usually was these orns, and even if it wasn’t, Starscream was too busy throwing one of his fits to pay attention.

To avoid his irate and violent trine leader, Thundercracker had tucked himself neatly into the small space between the berth and the wall, out of the way enough that he wouldn’t be considered a target. Starscream alternated raging in the small living area--where he mostly shrieked and threw datapads--and the berthroom--where he managed to shred all their good pillows. Thundercracker would have to talk to (ugh) Swindle about getting new ones.

But not even that could put a damper on his good mood. His spark was spinning wildly with joy, and he felt giddy like a fledgling able to fly for the first time. It worked! His ridiculous, reckless idea to finally do something had worked!

Sure, he still owed Soundwave a favour--and wasn’t that a terrifying thought--but he hadn’t been immediately turned into one of Shockwave’s pets. Soundwave had actually been quite willing to get him Bluestreak’s ‘pad ID, and hadn’t even asked for an explanation. After all, datapads weren’t particularly complex and didn’t have the same security breach risk that comms had, which was why Thundercracker chose them. As long as the file size was low, and he could spoof his ID to come from anywhere but Kaon, no one at Autobot HQ would bother to check some ‘pad messages. He hoped.

He hadn’t even been expecting a response from the young Praxian. After all, who believed a message from a random ID that refused to even send so much as an image capture? But Bluestreak was just so trusting--or desperate, or foolish--that he instantly agreed to be ‘Skylight’s’ friend. His instant barrage of questions had been both amusing, in how truly mechling-like they were, and terrifying.

Because, unsurprisingly, Thundercracker had not put much thought into this.

It made sense in his processor. Get the fledgling’s ‘pad ID, start messaging him pretending to be a Praxian, and keep him from being lonely. Simple. Only, not simple because his processor had the nasty habit of glossing over steps like “how to pretend to be an Autobot despite knowing nothing about them” and “what is your fake name going to be”.

He went with his time-honoured tradition of keeping as close to the truth as possible, while still hiding his actual identity. He knew he’d never be able to keep up the masquerade of being a grounder, but Praxian flyers weren’t exactly rare so it was fine to be honest. The story about the gardens was true as well. Really, the only lies were his name and lies of omission.

Primus, he’d even once had that paint job he described.

As fun as it was to share that personal story, to know that it would mean something to the fledgling, it still hurt. He couldn’t help but think of his flock, Vos, all his extended flock in Praxus… 

Time didn’t heal all wounds.

He understood, logically, that there was no way he’d be able to keep up the lie. That the chance of being caught out in some slip-up was a certainty. Knowing something he wasn’t meant to know, or not knowing something he was meant to know…

But as Starscream continued to wreck everything in his path, Thundercracker found himself not caring. When he re-read Bluestreak’s initial reply, it really didn’t matter. The fledgling’s overwhelming joy was so obvious, so precious, that nothing else compared. It would be a small price to pay to know that the little Praxian was happy, if only for a short time.

He knew that wasn’t the most rational thought process; actually, hardly anything he had been doing was rational by any stretch of the imagination. But he was a Seeker. A Seeker Anchor whose place was to mediate and care . And there was a mechling that needed to be cared for. Who, most importantly, wanted to be cared for by him . Or at least, that was how his (possibly overactive) protective coding was interpreting the message.

His spark ached to go and help Bluestreak recover from his injuries, even though his usefulness would be minimal. But Ratchet--as terrifying as any medic was to a ‘Con-- was the safest option. It was strange reading about these high-ranked Autobots, especially with how casually Bluestreak mentioned them. Leave it to the Autobots to be soft on military fraternisation during an actual world-ending war. 

He made the executive decision to ignore the revelation about Bluestreak’s creators.

Thundercracker didn’t want to act like a mechling, anxiously waiting for a reply, but he couldn’t resist double checking his ‘pad every few kliks to see if he got a response. 

“Aw, come on, Screamer!” With a bwomp, Skywarp appeared in the middle of their trashed berthroom. “Do we need to get you one of them scratching posts, like for a cyber-kitten?” He beamed, but his optics held that glint of mischief.

Wonderful. Thundercracker tried to make himself smaller.

Their trine leader rounded on Skywarp, plating puffed up like… well, like an angry cyber-kitten. Thundercracker muted his vocaliser to keep himself from chuckling. Starscream looked much less amused. “ Skywarp ,” he hissed, taking a menacing step forwards. “Why don’t I use your wings as a scratching post!”

Skywarp barked a nervous laugh and backed up quickly, crawling backwards on the berth towards Thundecracker’s hiding spot. 

“What? Sorry, there’s no need! Plus, I uh…” He looked around, made optic contact with Thundercracker, and grinned. That glint of mischief was still there. “TC and I have an appointment! Wow, so important--and we’re gonna be late seeyoubye !”

Vwop!

And then Thundercrack found himself unceremoniously collapsed on the floor of the flight hangar. 

“What a ride! It’s so easy to get a rise outta Screamer, he needs to get some thicker plating or somethin’. Oh hey, whatcha reading, TC?” Skywarp bent down to pluck the datapad from where it fell on the ground. 

Thundercracker arched his wings and hissed.

Skywarp stumbled back immediately, confusion on his face and wings. It quickly shifted to frustration, and he flicked a wing impatiently. “Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you’re gonna be like Starscream! Why can’t anyone take a joke around here? You’re meant to be the laid-back one.” He pouted, but almost immediately got bored with his own emotions and teleported away, saying something about Breakdown and ‘the best prank of all time’.

Thundercracker vented a sigh of relief, and snatched up his datapad. He’d need to be more careful with it. It getting into the wrong servos wouldn’t just put him in danger, but the fledgling too.

And, speaking of, just as he was about to subspace the ‘pad, a new notification chimed.

Chapter Text

Thundercracker sat with his back to the wall of the flight hangar, even though it awkwardly pinched his wings. He couldn’t risk a random ‘Con walking in and reading over his shoulder, not when this whole situation was enough of a gamble on its own. If anyone asked why he was hunched over a ‘pad in a corner, he’d make something up about Starscream and desk work and they’d just nod and walk off. He hoped.

Luckily the datapad’s screen hadn’t cracked when he dropped it. Bluestreak’s message came up and he was grinning before he even started it.

“ My dear friend Skylight,

I have always wanted to write that! I don’t get to write a lot in Praxian and I never finished school. Prowl taught me some writing but he’s busy, and it’s hard to remember. But now I have someone to write to! So I know it will be easier to remember because of you. You write so well in Praxian. I guess that makes sense because you’re Prowl’s age, and Prowl’s Praxian is really good too. Could you help me with it? I know you said no video calls because of data-restrictions, but what about text packets? At least to help my writing get better .

The idea of not being able to use Praxian, or Vosian , did something painful to Thundercracker’s spark. It was just another thing that the war had taken from Bluestreak, and being intangible didn’t make it less important. He made a mental note to write up some grammar material for the fledgling, noting (based on the letters) what areas Bluestreak needed help in. And maybe translation exercises would help…?

The letter continued:

“ I never really got into mechling trouble in Praxus. At least I can’t remember if I did. I did get into some big trouble as an older youngling once. Me and my friend Pulsar got bored at school, and we tried to sneak out together. I think the war had started then, so it was really hard to leave school early. Security was everywhere. Not like now, of course, because we’re actually fighting the war. But it was still a lot compared to before. 

So we wanted to sneak out. We decided that the best way would be to fake being hurt, and then run away on the way to the school’s medbay. Pulsar said she would be the hurt one, because she was the best actor. We wanted it to feel real and so we decided that she should really look like she was hurt. I thought that I could get her sensor wing to look like it was dislocated by pressing it down a certain way. I tried, but she had a hard time holding it there. I got a cord to tie it down, and tried again but… well…

I actually dislocated her wing.

Pulsar was screaming and at first I thought she was just acting. But then I realized that I had actually hurt her, and then I started screaming. Then the instructor came in, saw Pulsar’s wing, and then he started screaming. 

Obviously I got in a lot of trouble for that. It wasn’t too bad, because everyone knew I was sorry and that I didn’t mean it, but still. Being grounded sucks, and so does extra assignments. I wonder what Pulsar would think if she knew I was telling this story to you. She was always better at stories than me. I can’t remember if she died during the first attack, or in that decaorn afterwards. I guess it doesn’t matter .”

Whatever chuckle had been forming in Thundercracker’s vocalizer died at the last paragraph. Nothing described what the war did to Cybertron better than this letter, he thought morosely. Where every mention of a friend or sparkling playmate turned into the memory of their death. His wings tried to shudder despite being pinned against the wall, and his tanks churned.

Was he doing enough to make up for what the Seekers did to Praxus? It wasn’t even a question. No amount of pleasant small talk over text could compare to the ruin of an entire city, an entire culture. Most orns he was fairly certain that he deserved the guilt dragging at his processor, but moping in medical closets would do nothing to help Bluestreak. At the very least, he owed the fledgling safety, and the safety of his friends and flock. 

How exactly he’d try to ensure that no one hurt Bluestreak, or his adoptive creators, he’d figure out later.

Bluestreak’s letter continued on, oblivious to Thundercracker’s sudden crisis:

“ You said I could ask you lots of questions! So I want to ask, what’s being a flier like? I know Praxus had a lot of fliers. More than most places, except Vos and Polyhex. There aren’t a lot of Autobot fliers so I’m curious. I could ask Powerglide, or the Aerialbots, I guess. But Powerglide is really loud and I think he lies a lot. And the Aerialbots were made during the war, so it’s not the same. No offense to them. They’re great! And do a good job against the Seekers, I think .”

Thundercracker huffed, in a mix of amusement and exasperation. “They are doing a great job against us, the slaggin’ fledglings .” He had never been sure how to feel about being bested in the air by the Aerialbots: embarrassment, because Seekers were meant to rule the skies, or horror, because really fledglings shouldn’t have to be that good. Generally he settled on both, and debated how to express this to Bluestreak without being too revealing. 

And how to write about being a flyer without accidentally letting the whole Seeker thing slip. There were Autobot Seekers, but only a couple and he was pretty sure none were Praxian. Who knew trying to keep up a massive lie would be so hard.

“It’s only fair if I tell you what being a grounder is like. I bet you know a lot already, but I want to tell you! Sharing with friends is fun, and all my friends are already grounders. So you’ll be my first flier friend! 

So I have my doorwings. I don’t know if they’re like flier wings, but I like them. I think I use them like flier wings. Not for flying. I mean, with moving them when I talk, and feeling things around me. I love it when my friends and my creators pet them. I bet it feels good for fliers too! Do you use any special wax or polish? Sunny is always trying to get me to use this weird wax, but I think it feels weird. Is it different because you fly?

Flying must feel great. I know I love driving a lot, so I bet it’s similar. I don’t think my Praxian is good enough to explain how it feels, but I’ll try. You feel everything. More than normal feeling because your spark feels it too. The ground is so fast under you and you have to try hard for every turn. And the speed makes it so hard, but so good. It’s a fight with speed, I guess. And you have to win .”

Huh. Thundercracker had really never given how grounders would feel about driving much thought. After all, they weren’t flyers so they didn’t matter. But… this made a lot of sense. And it was startlingly close to how flying felt. His processor then started down the path of wondering if Bluestreak would like to fly, and how fun it would be to take him for a--

No. That couldn’t happen. They’d never be able to meet.

His wings quivered without his permission. Slagging letter bringing up petting and wings and--how long had it been since Thundercracker had had someone really, genuinely pet his wings? It was fine. He was fine, and not lonely, and doing fine . He forced himself more firmly back against the wall, ignoring the twinges in his wing hinges just like he ignored the rest of his emotions. He was meant to focus on Bluestreak.

… and he shouldn’t insult the fledgling’s letter. After all, Blue thought he was a Praxian Autbot and probably enjoying all the wonderful wing-pets that were apparently normal over there. And Thundercracker wasn’t jealous about it.

“ I can’t wait to get out of the medbay, because ‘Bee and I are going to watch The Horror from Under the Rust . Sunny and Sides will be there too! Jazz said he might be able to watch part of it too. I hope so. I know he’s really busy, but I want to spend more time with him. Prowl too. But I don’t think Prowl would like watching a bad old horror vid. He would get annoyed at the bots for being stupid and running into dead ends. And he notices all the special effects problems. But Jazz likes to give the characters bad advice and laugh at them. So I think he’ll like the vid! I hope he can watch it with us.

Do you like vids? Are you more like Prowl or Jazz? I’m like Jazz, because I also like talking to the characters. And my friends, and just in general. I’m glad I can write to you, Skylight. I talk to myself anyway, but it’s nice to have someone to talk to. It makes everything exciting! Because I can think about how fun it will be to tell you everything later. You won’t mind that, will you? I know some bots find me annoying. But I really want to share everything with you. Even the small things like a funny joke or if I got a different flavor of energon today. Is that okay?

Anyway, I’m actually really tired now. It’s probably because I’m still hurt. I’m going to go recharge now, so I hope you have a good orn!

Bluestreak ”

Thundercracker checked his chronometer. It wasn’t too late, yet. He still had time before last shift rations, and when Starscream would expect him back in the quarters. His spark for once felt light, and spun with giddiness, at the idea of Bluestreak being able to wake up to a letter from his friend.

Chapter Text

“And if you managed to aggravate those injuries, Primus have mercy, because I certainly won’t!” Ratchet brandished his best throwing wrench in Bluestreak’s face, giving that look he used when he thought a patient was particularly careless.

“I’m not going to be racing or anything--though racing sounds really good right now, I mean I haven’t been able to drive in ages and I’ll have to see if a track is free-- what was I saying? But I’m not doing that! We’re just watching a vid, and Jazz even says he’ll be there the whole time! See, how can I get hurt with such, such responsible supervision!” Bluestreak wiggled his doorwings happily, spark so light with joy he thought he might just float away.

Ratchet looked less happy. “Jazz doesn’t belong in the same sentence as ‘responsible supervision’. But, well. Yes, you’re cleared to leave medbay and resume light duties, but you’re coming in here tomorrow for a check, and then every decaorn after until I say otherwise. And don’t try to get out of it, Bluestreak!” Again, with the wrench in the face and the firm stare. 

“Of course, of course! No complaints here, I love getting check-ups!” That was a complete lie, no one liked getting check-ups. “I’ll tell you all about the vid tomorrow, Ratchet. We’re finally watching it, and I’m so excited and I’ll give you the exact play-by-play and--”

“--and now I’m regretting everything,” Ratchet muttered, all but shoving Bluestreak out the medbay doors.

Freedom at last! Bluestreak didn’t hate the medbay, like some bots did, but being in there with nothing to do for a whole decaorn was rough. Ratchet wasn’t exactly chatty while on duty, and neither was First Aid or Ambulon. But in the end, it was much, much better than most medbay stays he’d had in a while.

His creators were waiting outside to meet him, and he greeted them both by throwing himself into their arms. Jazz laughed and pretended to stagger under his weight, and Prowl gave a small chuckle and a happy wiggle of his door wings. Everyone’s fields were warm and bright, and if he tried, Bluestreak could almost pretend they were a normal family having a normal orn.

“Alright, now c’mon Blue. We’ve already got it all set up for ya, and I wrangled my schedule so I can watch the whole vid. There’s silica crisps and everything!” Jazz positively beamed, and Bluestreak couldn’t help the elated gasp that burst out. A whole evening, able to spend time with Jazz and his friends! It was a dream come true.

“I hope it wasn’t too hard for you in the medbay.” Prowl leaned over and touched their chevrons together. “I know I couldn’t visit much, and I apologise. Tomorrow, I’m taking a longer evening fuel and we can all have dinner as a family.”

This time, Blue’s legs gave out and he clung to his two creators, vibrating with joy. It was more than a dream come true! Every part of his processor, every corner of his spark, sang. He could hardly remember ever being this happy. Everything just came tumbling out, as it usually did with him. 

“I’m just so happy, I can’t believe it! Being able to spend time with everyone, and watch the vid and talk to ‘Bee and and-- and have a real dinner! I’ve missed being able to fuel with everyone, it doesn’t taste the same on your own and I’m not the only one. I know Skylight agrees with me and he was great about keeping me company and we’re best friends now, but it’s not the same as being together physically like this. A field and a hug--”

“Skylight?” Jazz prompted, tone very light. “I haven’t heard of him, is he coming to the vid screening?”

Bluestreak took a moment to recall what he said just a klik ago. “Oh! No, no, Skylight isn’t in Iacon. He’s out near Polyhex. He was the one to give me first aid when the ambush-not-ambush exploded, and we’ve been writing letters to each other! I just got one right before being let out of medbay, see?” Bluestreak pulled out his personal datapad and showed the most recent message to his creators.

Jazz and Prowl both stared at the visible section with obvious interest.

“ Your sentence structure is a little simple, but I know you’ll get the hang of dependent clauses soon. The more you use them, even if you do it incorrectly, the better you’ll get. Language is just like any other skill in that way. Just try to remember that verbs take an extra inflection in the dependent clause - it can be odd, but you get used to it. 

As for other languages, I know Cybex-Standard (obviously), some Polyhexian, a bit of Vosian, and I can read and write in Primaral Vulgar and Old High Auraen. That last one is the precursor language to Praxian, and if bots think modern Praxian grammar is tough, they haven’t seen anything until trying to get through OH Auraen poetry.

I’ll head off your question right now: I learned two dead languages because I wanted to read the classics, but I couldn’t find a translation I liked. So I decided to cut out the middle-bot and learn to read everything myself. No translator needed! And it opened up a whole world of ancient scripts and poetry for me to read, since only the most well-known get any kind of accurate modern translation. I’ve been working on some translations of my own, as a side project, but it’s hard to find the time. I’m sure you understand .”

Prow’s door wings twitched. “I’m glad your friend is so well-read, and can help you with your Praxian. His looks wonderful.”

“I’d hope so!” Bluestreak laughed. “I mean, his designation is Skylight .” He stressed the designation’s subglyphs to make sure his creators got all the details: Praxian, Autobot, flyer, friend.

“He sounds like an interesting mech,” was Jazz’ comment, and he started to lead the trio down the hallway to the shared quarters. “You’ll have to tell me all ‘bout him after the vid, how about that?”

Bluestreak’s door wings fluttered. “Of course! I’d love to, I mean we’ve written so much and he’s just a wonderful mech. I know you’ll like him, he knows so much and he’s always so patient about all my questions and never says I’m annoying or rambling or anything.”

“That’s good he understands you so well,” Prowl said after a slight pause. “I’d be interested in seeing more of these letters; Skylight seems like… an interesting mech.”

“Oh he is!” Bluestreak beamed, glad his creators approved of his new friend. “He’s told me all sorts of stories about getting into trouble as a mechling, and getting to visit all kinds of places before the war. And he-- and he understands--”

It wasn’t often that words failed Bluestreak, but how could he possibly explain the comfort he felt from sharing his grief with another bot? The connection was something beyond language, so he tried another tactic.

“Skylight understands, because he was there .” There was no misunderstanding what ‘there’ meant, and Jazz and Prowl both wrapped him up in their arms and fields and let that sentence speak for itself.

“I’ll take notes,” Bluestreak decided as he and Jazz walked into the quarters, Prowl giving his spark-felt goodbye. “So Skylight can experience everything with me. I’m sure he’d like this kind of vid, right?”

“Baby Blue, everyone loves a bad horror vid.” Jazz plopped down onto a couch and gestured to the promised silica crisps. “Even Prowler, though he’ll never admit it.”

The others joined them shortly: Bumblebee, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, and Hot Rod. ‘Bee immediately pounced on him for a hug, knocking him into Jazz and nearly sending the bowls of silica crisps flying. Sunny and Sides took their usual positions on the floor in a haphazard nest of pillows (because “chairs are for the weak” according to Sides). Hot Rod was Hot Rod, and sprawled himself sideways over a reclining armchair, legs hooked over the arms and bending over backwards until his helm almost touched the floor. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable, but he was like that, and if he wanted to watch the whole vid upside down, more power to him.

“Are we all ready?” Jazz pinged the screen on, and the vid was already queued.

“Wait! I’ve gotta take notes, let me just…” Bluestreak pulled out his ‘pad and started a draft of his next letter to Skylight. He couldn’t help but smile as he scrolled back through some of the previous messages.

“ Being a flyer is all about freedom. That’s the best way I can put it. You get up in the sky, surrounded by wind, and there’s nothing that can stop you. No horizon you can’t cross, no storm you can’t beat. When you fly, you have no worries left in the world .”

and

“ I understand what you mean. An entire city is too much to mourn at once. You’re not being selfish for wanting some time to process everything; that’s a perfectly reasonable wish, one that everyone should respect. Sharing helps. Loneliness, I feel, can only make everything worse. And if you don’t feel ready to talk to anyone, it can still help to write things down just for yourself. ”

and

“ You can always share anything with me, no matter how significant or insignificant it feels.”

Skylight had admitted to not watching many vids recently, so Bluestreak owed it to him to take some great notes and--

“--take notes?” ‘Bee pulled the ‘pad out of his servo. “Does Prowl want a write-up of the vid or something?” He chuckled, and then frowned when he realised he couldn’t read any of the text.

“Blue’s got himself a pen-pal,” Jazz said, smoothly plucking the ‘pad from Bee’s grasp and returning it to his creation. “And reading other bots’ messages is rude, Bumblebee.” It was said lightly, but the rebuke got through all the same.

“Right, right. Sorry, Blue.” Bumblebee wilted a bit and smiled sheepishly.

“No worries! Now, we’re all ready so let’s start this vid!”

Lights dimmed down, and the title flashed triumphantly on screen to a series of bombastic orchestral hits: The Horror from Under the Rust! . The unremovable Polyhexian subtitles cheerfully blocked the names of the starring actors.

-----

“ Skylight!

I’m writing this as I watch The Horror from Under the Rust . So it’ll be like you’re right here with me! And maybe since I’m writing to you, I won’t talk so much and bother Sunny (but Jazz talks a lot during vids too, so I think Sunny will get annoyed anyway).

Okay. It starts with this mech on the shore of the Rust Sea, posing for a photo shoot. I think he’s a model or something, but Sunny says he’s not attractive enough to be a model for anything. The sound mixing is really bad, so you can’t hear any of the dialogue and everything is just loud wind noises. And then bam! Suddenly he’s gone and a big scare chord plays (just a klik too late).

The actual hero is here, she’s an investigator from Iacon and the subtitles keep spelling her name wrong (it’s True Sight, not Ture Site). Her assistant is this Vosian Seeker, Lightcrash, who is really rude and talks all formal. I hope he won’t be just another Seeker stereotype. So Sight and Crash are looking at the Sea and she says:

‘Whatever this is… it came from under the rust.”

And it’s just so bad . The music gets all dramatic and everything. Sides threw a silica crisp at the screen.

Okay, so in Polyhex now. It really just looks like Kalis but with different street signs. Jazz is telling me that the Polyhexian subtitles are actually wrong, and are from a completely different vid about younglings fighting mecha-saurs. We’ll have to see if we can find that one!

Oh scrap I missed some of the exposition. Wait, I don’t think it was important. Just True Sight and Lightcrash arguing about nothing - they really made Lightcrash a jerk, huh. It’s all ‘you grounder this’ and ‘but grounders wouldn’t understand’ that. I don’t really know any Seekers, but all the Aerials I know aren’t jerks like this.

Another attack! Primus these effects are bad. The rust is brown spray-paint with some glitter, and the Horror is just a convoy with a tarp over him. This scene goes on for a while - Hot Rod is saying it’s only filler, because they’re reusing a lot of shots. Sideswipe just wants Crash to get slagged. I’m hoping he learns to be nicer.

I think now True Sight and Lightcrash are investigating more, but I can’t tell because the score is so loud so I can’t hear the dialogue. Jazz says the subtitles are still saying things like ‘Quick, grab the Terror-saur’s tail!’ and ‘AAAUURRRGHHHH’. So that’s no help. 

We’re back at the beach, and I really don’t know what’s going on. I think that last scene was important, but we’re all confused. Sunny is criticising the focus on the shots, and Sides thinks it’s going to be a ‘everyone dies’ kind of vid.

The Horror is back! It’s apparently some kind of mad scientist’s experiment, because all horror monsters are. But it’s still just some mech under a brown tarp. True Sight and Lightcrash are running away, and why aren’t they transforming? Lightcrash isn’t trying to take off or anything--he’s spent most of this vid bragging about being a Seeker, but he isn’t going to fly?

OOOOHHH, maybe it’s foreshadowing! Maybe Crash is actually not a flier at all, and the arrogant Seeker act was overcompensation. That actually makes so much sense!

Oh, now he’s pinned down by the Horror and he's finally trying to fly away. His thrusters set the tarp on fire.. I don’t think there was any foreshadowing, I think he’s just stupid.

Jazz is yelling for True Sight to punch the Horror in the faceplates because ‘it always works!’ but she just (finally) transforms and bolts. I know Lightcrash is a jerk, but leaving him to offline like that? That’s cold!

Wait. She’s back. I guess the Horror’s secret weakness was being hit by a high-performance vehicle, because True Sight just ran it over and now it’s melting into slime. Huh.

I really thought they would both die! I’m not sure how the plan worked -- and Jazz is really mad, because he wanted to see them get ‘totally rusticated’. I think the vid is wrapping up, and I liked the character arc for the--

They’re kissing now? Was this a romance the whole time??? But the two of them argued all the time! Just 5 kliks ago, True Sight was going to let Crash just grey in front of her, but now it’s true love? I’m confused, and Bee is also confused. Jazz is laughing so loud I can’t hear the vid anymore, and Hot Rod is ranting about ‘authorial intent’. Sunny looks like he’s going to be sick and-- oh well that’s not a nice comment about Seekers. I’ll leave that out.

Credits are rolling now and I still don’t understand, but Sideswipe is telling me that the fighting was meant to be flirting. He was about to say something about Megatron and Starscream, but Jazz cut him off. But we all agree that it was a great time, even if--no, a great time because the vid was so bad. That’s what makes it good!

I wish you were there with us (see my hypothetical! I’m getting better!) while we watched the vid. But I hope the notes make you happy! I’m so glad you’re my friend, and I hope you have a great orn.

Your friend,

Bluestreak ”

-----

“‘Warp?” Thundercracker said for the fiftieth (not really, but it felt like it) time. Finally, his trinemate online his optics and made a noncommittal hum. “Can you help me find a specific vid?”

That got his attention. “Finally going to have some fun, eh TC? So what gets your fans spinning--”

“No! Not that, Primus, Skywarp. An old horror vid. A classic, from Kalis.” Maybe calling it a classic was too much, but it would definitely get Skywarp to shut up about cooling fans. “I think Swindle has a copy, but I already paid him way too much fixing our berth after Starscream… Starscream’d it. So.”

Skywarp lifted his wings in an exaggerated ‘I’m listening’ posture.

“If you can grab it for me, I’ll cover your next two monitor shifts.”

Bwamp ! Skywarp was gone before he even finished the sentence.

Thundercracker put his helm in his servos. “He doesn’t even know what it’s called .”

Chapter Text

“We need to say something,” Prowl said, apropos of nothing.

Jazz didn’t even twitch, too used to how his conjunx’s processor tended to work. The two were settled into Prowl’s office, datapads and maps strewn about the desk in a haphazard way that meant one of two things: the end of the world, or an upcoming staff meeting. Sometimes it felt like the two were the same thing.

“‘M not clairvoyant, Prowler. Context can be nice.” Jazz leaned back and put his pedes on the desk, knocking a handful of ‘pads off. “But… to Blue?”

Prowl flicked his doorwings. “He’s happy. I want him to be happy. But…”

“Skylight. Yeah.” Jazz made a low whistle. “Mysterious Praxian aerial who for some reason can’t send any pictures of himself to verify his identity.”

“I know of every Praxian Autobot, even if I don’t know them all personally. There isn’t one named Skylight.” In a rare show of expression, Prowl frowned and pressed his servo against his chevron.

“Could Skylight be half Praxian? Or been raised by Praxians but not have the frametype?” Jazz suggested, patting Prowl on the back. But they both knew it was a slim chance. And add on that Skylight said he was an aerial? Flight frames weren’t unheard of in the Autobots, but they were far from common, and one of the specific frametype he described would be rare indeed.

“Whoever he actually is, his Praxian is genuinely good. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was natively fluent. And all his details about the city--at least in the letters Blue has shown me--are accurate.”

“Alright, so…” Jazz set his pedes back on the floor and stood up. “Why d’ya think we have to say anything?”

Prowl’s doorwings twitched, in that Jazz-you-need-to-elaborate way of his.

“I’m the head of SpecOps. If strange or suspicious info starts being exchanged, I’ll know about it. The security risk is low, and is now none ‘cause I know ‘bout it and can intercept any leaks before they even get out. But, I mean… it’s ‘pads. They wouldn’t be my first choice for spyin’, y’know?” He sighed. “Really, it just looks like a bot is trying to cheer Baby Blue up. He’s been lonely and wants to talk to a Praxian, so they message him and lie about who they are. A bit odd, but I get it. Our only dilemma is how long we let it go on for.”

Prowl nodded, expression still somehow more serious than normal. “For now…” He paused, after visibly collecting his thoughts. “I say we let this continue. At least until the front stabilises and we will be able to spend more time with Bluestreak ourselves. It would be… unfair, to deprive him of a friend, however deceptive, when he has no one else.”

“Then we agree. I’ll be watchin’ the messages like a technohawk and shut the whole thing down if it starts turning suspicious. But I hope it doesn’t. It’d just break Blue’s spark.”

“You’d think, with us as creators, he’d be a bit more cautious.” Prowl frowned again, doorwings angling down.

“Or maybe , he’s so trusting because he knows that his creators are always lookin’ out for him?” Jazz gave an easy smile. “If my creators were a master tactician and a super-spy, I know I’d recharge easier.”

Prowl’s doorwings flicked, amused. “You might be onto something.”

-----

Starscream rattled his wings, ignoring the twinge of pain it sent up his backstrut. “If Megatron would just listen to me for once, and not go off on egotistical rants the moment I try and criticise him, we might get something done around here!” The walk back to their quarters after a fight with their glorious leader was always humiliating.

“There there, Screamer,” Skywarp said, not even attempting to sound genuine. “Megs is bound to bite it at some point! And then you’ll only have to fight Soundwave and Shockwave for top ‘Con.”

“Oh? You don’t think I’m capable of taking Megatron on on my own? You think I’ll have to wait like a coward for the Autobots to do it!” Starscream all but hissed out.

“...what? I never said any of that! And don’t snap at me, TC and I were the ones to scrape you off the wall after you got slagged again.” Skywarp’s wings shot up, outraged. “Some trine leader you are! Won’t even say ‘thank you’ after we--”

How dare he! Starscream snarled at Skywarp, wings arched high, his field brimming with fury. It wasn’t Skywarp’s place to question his trine leader; Starscream was the Drive, Starscream made the decisions and these two idiots only had to follow and not screw it up. Skywarp wasn’t meant to think or challenge him or--

“Alright! Primus, we get it, you both had a bad orn.” The rumble of Thundercracker’s engine cut through the rapidly escalating posturing. “Let’s at least get back to our quarters, and not fight in the corridor where everyone can see us.” With that, the blue Seeker brushed past them and continued down the hall, grumbling with a muted vocalizer.

Starscream narrowed his optics, but followed. Technically, Thundercracker was just fulfilling his role in the trine as the Anchor, namely stopping the two more emotional trinemates from killing each other. Not that Starscream was emotional; he ran on pure, hard facts with no bias at all. So really, there was no need to look into Thundercracker’s action, except…

Well, he’d just been different lately. Less glum and boring, more active and motivated. Instead of spending all his offshift lying around moping, he wrote on his datapad or watched terrible old pre-war vids. Actually, he did that while writing on his datapad, so was he still trying to delude himself into thinking he could be an author? Regardless of his misplaced ambition, he had been much more… cheerful lately, if cheerful was an adjective that could ever be paired with Thundercracker in the first place.

And as the trine leader, it was Starscream’s duty to investigate any changes in his trinemates.

The door to their quarters closed behind them, and Skywarp’s wings angled up again as he prepared to continue the fight. But ever the cunning strategist, Starscream didn’t rise to bait and instead addressed Thundercracker. “My my, has there been something in your energon? You’ve been so chipper lately, TC.”

Both other Seekers froze for a moment, unable to understand Starscream's clever diversion. After a few kliks, Thundercracker managed to get his processor working enough to respond. “Uh, have I? I didn’t--I guess I didn’t notice. Did you notice, ‘Warp?” His wings flattened down against his plating, twitching.

“Yah, I guess you’ve been a bit more, um… Happy’s a strong word. Fine. You’ve been more fine recently.” Skywarp looked confused even as he said it, optics flicking between his trinemates. “Why you askin’, Screamer?”

“Oh, no reason.” But any bot with half a processor would know that just meant ‘yes, but I’m not telling you’. Starscream resisted the urge to smirk, and failed. “I’m just glad you’ve found something to fill the time, instead of feeling sorry for yourself.” He gestured to the datapad that was Thundercracker’s new constant companion, and the blue Seeker hugged it against his cockpit protectively. Hm. 

“Yes. Yes, I’ve uh, started working on some personal… things. Writing things. That are personal. Some poetry and scripts.” He clutched at the ‘pad so tightly that Starscream thought it might break. “Personal.”

“Oh don’t look like that, TC, we don’t wanna read your sappy poetry anyway. Not any action, just feelings and slag.” Skywarp punctuated this with a slightly harder than friendly shove, and then left to get some energon cubes.

Starscream made a note to try and sneak a peek at Thundercracker’s writing some other time, but marked it as low priority. Out of all the ‘Cons on base, he was the least likely to do something foolishly risky or borderline treasonous. Aside from this little blip, he was always predictable, especially for Starscream’s processor.

-----

He knew he shouldn’t, but he really wanted to.

Bumblebee stared at Bluestreak’s datapad, carelessly left out on a rec room table as the Praxian went off to check something with his creators. It was rude to read through a bot’s private ‘pad (as he had been amply reminded by Jazz), but… it was just out! Not even locked or password protected; he’d assumed that Blue would inherit some of his creators’ more paranoid tendencies, but it wasn’t the case.

And ‘Bee was curious. Deeply curious.

Because… a penpal? Who had had one of those in the past millennium? Nobody, that’s who. Those were from before the Golden Age, before file data transfers, when you had to physically hand over every message to the recipient. Or send it via air-drop or pigenoid or whatever it was that bots in those vorns did. But now? You could comm, for Primus’ sake, or at least send proper datapackets instead of relying on the overly-simple datapad messages.

Bumblebee had tried to wheedle out more information from his friend, but while Blue loved to talk about everything under the moons and more, apparently his strange penpal buddy was something he could actually mute his vocaliser about. All ‘Bee had managed to get was a designation and frametype: Skylight the Aerial, like he wouldn’t have known from the name.

“Does that ‘pad hold the secrets of the universe or somethin’?” Hot Rod plopped his energon down right next to ‘Bee, startling him. “You’ve just been staring at it for kliks. And not eating your rust sticks.” He sat down and reached out to take one, but Bumblebee smacked the servo away absentmindedly.

“It’s… Uh, do you remember when we watched that vid? Right after Blue got out of medbay. And he said he had to take notes for his friend, his penpal .” He pointed at the ‘pad. “It’s all on that ‘pad, but I know I shouldn’t look because--Primus, Hot Rod!”

Hot Rod had already grabbed the ‘pad and started scrolling before ‘Bee had even finished his sentence. Somehow, he had also snagged a rust stick and chewed on it happily. “Yeah, I don’t see the big deal you’re making out of this. It’s not even in Standard Cybex, so we can’t even snoop if we tried.” He tossed the datapad back with his typical dramatic flair.

“I knew that, Hot Rod, I looked at it before. And Jazz chewed me out about it!” He reset his vocaliser, realising he was being a bit loud in the middle of the rec room. “I think it’s in Praxian. I mean, I don’t know any other languages that would make sense for Bluestreak to be writing in. And sure, I don’t know it, but I didn’t know how much would be in Praxian. Or if I’d, I don’t know, be able to translate it or something.”

That last part had been a mistake to say, because Hot Rod perked up instantly. The ‘pad was back in his servos in an instant.

“Where’s my auto-translate… there it is! Okay, so which one do I pick? I guess anything, so might as well do the most recent--”

“ Hot Rod! ” Bumblebee tried and failed to snatch the datapad from his friend. “We are not, I repeat, are not reading anything private that Bluestreak has written.”

“You’re right,” Hot Rod said glumly, spoiler flattening out. “My auto-translate is just giving me a bunch of garbage, so whatever Praxian this is, it's too much for it. Probably some old literary slag.”

Bumblebee made a note to reevaluate his friendship with Hot Rod, preferably before he died of embarrassment. “It’s an important and complex language. Auto-translate has always been terrible with the Auraenii languages anyway. Why do you think Jazz is always offering good shanix to anyone for Vosian-to-Cybex translators? We should just put the ‘pad down and-- why are you getting out a dictionary?”

“Move over, I’ll need your help with this. It’s an old Praxian-Cybex phrasebook, we might be able to cobble a rough translation of a couple lines together.” At Bumblebee’s utterly unimpressed stare, Hot Rod added quickly, “Oh come on! I know you’re curious, and besides, we at least need to know what the relationship is like-- we need information to be supportive friends.”

It felt weak, but Bumblebee was curious enough to beat down his reservations and scoot over. Putting their helms together, the two bots took frantic notes and immediately realised that translation was far, far harder than they thought.

“Primus, does this start with the verb? What kind of order is that!”

“Wait, what is this suffix? And what’s that weird subglyph, is that modifying an article ?”

“I have never seen this punctuation before, what in the Pit does this mean?”

For all their hard work, the end result was woefully terrible:

“Skylight friend-(me? mine?) towards

Creates the joy-state me: letter-(you?) read-because. Want I you towards: feel-state the wing-you good-to. Dislike-strong-certain I injury-state.”

“So.” Hot Rod set their work of groons down with finality. “That was a bust. This just in: Primus is against snooping on your friends.”

“And that’s even with ignoring all the suffixes and bits we couldn’t figure out,” Bumblebee said, still trying to puzzle out the few lines they ‘translated’. The first one had to mean, to my friend Skylight, so that meant that possessives--

It didn’t matter. What mattered is that Bluestreak was happier now than he had been in metacycles, and if that was because of some weird Aerial who only wrote in Praxian, then that was that. It wasn’t ‘Bee’s job to understand, it was his job to be happy for his friend.

… but he really did wish he could understand it, if only a few sentences.

-----

Contrary to what many Decepticons believed, Soundwave did in fact have emotions and even his own opinions at times. Occasionally, very occasionally, he even disagreed with High Command.

Megatron had slammed Starscream into a wall this time, the impact badly bending the Seeker’s wings. His trine had managed some crude first aid before dragging him away, still hissing and growling, with frantic apologies (from Thundercracker) and exasperated laughter (from Skywarp). After that disaster of a strategy meeting, Megatron had pulled Soundwave aside and demanded that he increase surveillance on those ‘troublesome Seekers’, especially any of them associated with ‘that treacherous traitor Starscream’. The redundancy irked Soundwave, who valued efficiency in speech, but he obeyed Megatron as always.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

Starscream was, as was commonly known, treason waiting to happen. But his daily routine was boring, and while Soundwave could admire the schedule he kept to, it did not make for riveting material to monitor. His thoughts tended towards rigid and caustic, with the occasional random leap of logic that left Soundwave’s processor swirling trying to keep up.

Skywarp was the worst in that regard, with his thoughts leaping around in his helm as if his teleportation was a part of each and every system. Aside from his hobby as a very physically violent prankster-- who inspired Rumble and Frenzy far, far too much-- he wasn’t a candidate for treason, or a confidant of Starscream’s. 

Thundercracker… well. His thoughts had certainly been less heavy lately. They had never jumped around like his trinemates’, always being much more flowing, but before that flow was usually locked into a downward spiral. Now while it probably wouldn’t be considered healthy by any normal standard, for a Decepticon it was as good as it got.

And, speaking of--Thundercracker’s datapad message had just been sent. It was nothing for Soundwave to intercept and examine it. For security purposes.

Most of it was simple pleasantries, updates on vid viewing, and language lessons. What caught Soundwave’s attention was a short anecdote in the middle:

“ It’s important for mechlings to spend time together and have fun. Primus, it’s what a sparklinghood is for! Or at least, that’s what it should be. We all have a duty to make sure that our creations grow up in peace and happiness, and we’ve failed you, Bluestreak. That’s not your fault. When you get upset, when you get angry or sad or stressed, that’s not you being irrational--actually, it’s the most rational and normal reaction you can have to a war. There’s not much space left anymore for mechling games, but I might be able to help out.

Even before the war, there would sometimes be little political scares. I call them little, because compared to now they’re nothing but a speck of rust in the sea, but at the time they felt huge. We would stay inside our home and try to play games to pass the time until our creators told us it was all better. My favourite was ‘Are you there, Malwarty?’ Basically, you offline your optics and stand across from another bot, who also offline their optics. You each get a piece of soft lead. When you’re ready, you ask each other, ‘are you there, Malwarty?’ and then start wailing on each other with the lead. Whoever gets hit first loses.

It’s a pretty stupid game, but that’s what makes it so fun. Get some friends together, and --”

::Any updates for me, Soundwave?:: cut in a comm from Megatron. Startled, Soundwave let the message through on reflex and vented in frustration. ::I won’t tolerate treachery or weakness like those Autobots. Those Seekers must be up to something!::

::...Negative. Command trine: not engaged in suspicious activity.::

It was true, Soundwave told himself. A Seeker caring for a fledgling was perfectly normal. He didn’t lie to Megatron, he just selected the more important data to present.

Spying done, Soundwave set off to find his cassettes. He knew a game that Rumble and Frenzy would love to try out.

Chapter Text

To my dear friend Skylight:

Reading your letters makes me so happy! I really hope your wing feels better. I know I always hate being injured. Especially on wings. Mine are sensor wings so it's not the same, but it still hurts! I bet it's worse for you, because now it even hurts to fly. At least injuring a sensor wing doesn't make walking around hurt.

Have you been able to see Ratchet at all? Well, probably not. He's a field medic and works in Iacon, and he wouldn't go to Polyhex to do maintenance. I hope the medic you have on base is good! Proper maintenance is really important.

My friends keep trying to ask about you… but I don't want to tell them much. Maybe it's selfish, but I like having you to myself. I know that's not true, and that you must have lots of friends (because you're so nice!) but I like the letters just being for us. They're special to me, and I don't think my friends would understand very well. They're still my friends, and I love them, but they don't seem to understand why I'd want a Praxian penpal or why writing helps me.

I guess what I mean is that you are special to me.

I have to get back on shift (monitor duty) but I'll write more later! We're going to try out that Malwarty game tonight.

Bluestreak 

-----

Dearest Bluestreak,

I need you to know how… how touched I am that I'm special to you. With all my spark, all I want is for you to find some happiness and I'm honoured that I have been able to bring you some joy. You are very special to me as well.

I think it's perfectly normal to not tell your friends everything in your life. Just because you love someone dearly, doesn't mean that you have to share absolutely everything with them. You are still your own bots and I'm sure there's things that they don't tell you. Some of us are more private than others.

I hope you enjoy the game. Also, have you ever seen Turbofox Chase 4: Save the Moons with Style ? It's absolutely terrible, you'll love it.

Always,

Skylight

-----

[Excerpt from Bluestreak's letter, date 59-28.5)

I'd say Malwarty was a success! If this is what you mean by mechling fun, then I think I'm all for it! Ratchet isn't the biggest fan though…

Oh right, you weren't there! Sorry! I knew you suggested the game, so my processor decided that meant you must know what happened when we played. So it went like this:

Me, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, and Sideswipe. Sunny was taking the orn to detail himself since he just got back from the front. I explained the game and we got some lead and the first two were me and Bumblebee. 

You'd think it'd be easy to hit a bot standing right in front of you, but it's actually really hard! I didn't use my sensor wings because that seemed like cheating.

Bee and I just started flailing at each other, wildly missing. Cliff and Sides shouted unhelpful directions at us but pretty soon we were all laughing too hard to even talk. I think Bee actually fell down completely, and when he tried to stand back up I managed to catch him on the helm.

Then it was Cliff and Sides, and I'm not sure if you know them but I'll say this: when they decide to compete, they want to win. You'd think it was a duel to the death. 

They started wailing the lead in big swings at each other and Cliffjumper goy a bit too into it because his piece flies out of his hands and crashed into the ceiling. Yes, it broke the lights. But instead of stopping, he decided to tackle Sideswipe. And for not being able to see, he did a good job!

Of course, Sideswipe just bashed him on the helm with the lead and declared himself the winner, so there wasn't really a point. But it was funny!

Me and Sideswipe were next. We weren't sure about playing any more, because of the whole broken lights thing, but in for one in for two, right? Our match ended pretty quickly.

Because with his first swing, Sideswipe got me right in the face.

He apologized of course, he literally couldn't see what he was doing, but it still hurt a bit so we went to see First Aid. He patched up my faceplates (it was really minor, just a scrape) but… then he told Ratchet and somehow I ended up telling the whole Medbay that we broke my ceiling lights.

I don't think my creators are going to like it, but… I mean, of course we're doing it again!

-----

[Excerpt from "Skylight's" letter date 59-28.9]

Ouch! Sorry the game didn’t go as planned, but it sounds like you managed to have fun anyway. You could always try strapping pillows and things onto yourself before a match; you look ridiculous, but your optics are off anyway so it’s not like it matters. And it certainly beats being hit in the face like that.

And yes, that’s exactly what I mean by mechling fun! Mechlings do stupid slag, it’s part of being that age. You try something, it blows up in your face, you get in trouble and learn from it. Or maybe not that last part, because some mechlings--and I was one of them--don’t learn too quickly.

And I don’t want to blame someone else for all my fledgling mishaps, but about 90% of them were Galeforce’s fault. Granted, I had a massive crush on her so I let her talk me into just about anything, but all the ridiculous things we got ourselves into were usually her ideas. And it took me a long time to finally get some sense knocked into my processor.

So if you ever worry that you or your friends are being too rambunctious, don’t worry, you’re far from the worst anyone has ever dealt with. And if my carrier didn’t offline me after the Art Museum debacle, then your creators won’t be mad that you broke some lights during a parlour game.

I’m realising as I write this that you, of course, don’t know what I mean by ‘Art Museum debacle’. It was one of the last stupid things I did as a mechling, because it’s what made me finally learn my lesson… more or less.

Like most of my mechling incidents, this one was also Galeforce’s fault. One of the key parts of being a mechling is figuring everything out: yourself, relationships, and the world. As a youngling you take what your creators tell you and just believe it, but as a mechling you want to figure it out yourself. This might be me trying to make what’s coming next sound more reasonable.

Galeforce had heard that if you touched anything in the Art Museum of Praxus, all these alarms would blare, the exhibits would snap closed, and the guards would running-tackle everyone in the room. Her carrier told her that when she was a youngling to get her to not touch the exhibits, and now as a mechling she wanted to figure out the truth.

But not herself, of course.

So Galeforce dragged me to the museum and explained everything, and then asked me to try and touch one of the pieces. Obviously I refused, because I didn’t want to get tackled or have my creators lecture me. So she switched tactics, and instead dared me to do it. At that point, I had no other option but to do what she said.

To explain myself, I was pretty shy as a mechling. I didn’t like talking to new bots, and preferred reading or doodling to going to parties or hanging out in big groups. But what friends I did have, I’d have done anything for. I wanted to impress my friends and fit in so they’d stay friends with me. It probably wasn’t healthy. Honestly, I haven’t really changed much. 

What I mean with this is, that when Galeforce switched from asking me to daring me, I felt like I had to do it. Also, she was my crush and I thought she was just the prettiest flyer around. She even wiggled her wings at me when she dared me, and I remember getting so flustered about it.

We walked around the museum a bit, scouting out what a good piece to touch would be. Galeforce came up with a plan to block a guard’s line of sight with her wings so I’d have a better chance of getting close enough to an exhibit.

We ended up picking a small crystal carving set as the target. It was in an open case near the entrance, right before where the building splits into two wings. The traffic meant a lot of other bots to hide us, since we weren’t the biggest mechlings around; though as flyers, we were larger than the typical grounder mechling.

Galeforce got into position, loitering around in front of a guard and pretending to be waiting for her creators. I started creeping up to the exhibit. I’m sure I looked extremely suspicious; I’m pretty awkward now, so as a fledgling the awkwardness must’ve been off the charts.

Finally, I made it to the crystals and reached out to touch a random one--I remember it was the small dolomite amulet. And, surprise of surprises, an alarm went off.

Despite our plan and everything we talked about, I honestly hadn’t expected an alarm to go off. I don’t know why, it’s obvious now that of course there’d be an alarm for when someone up and touches an exhibit.

Another fun fact for you about fledgling flyers: when startled, our first reaction is to bolt, and to bolt straight up.  

So yes, I set off the alarm and then immediately launched myself into the ceiling. It was pandemonium below me, with bots all running into each other and yelling, trying to figure out what was even going on. The guards saw me pretty quickly, what with me being the only one airborne, but I had decent reflexes for once. Not useful reflexes, because my reaction was to race out of the museum and try to get altitude outside. 

It was as I was climbing above the museum’s main spire that I realised something very, very important: I was still holding the amulet.

Yes, I had just robbed the Art Museum of Praxus.

I panicked so badly I actually fell out of the sky, but managed to catch myself before actually crashing. The guards were waiting for me on the ground, and I genuinely thought they were going to kill me. Not quite sure why, but that’s all I could think. I might have even said something like, ‘please, I don’t want to die’ as I landed.

The guards handled it very well. They could tell I was already terrified, and so didn’t lay it on too thick as they took back the amulet and gave me a stern talking-to about museum property and all that. What probably helped was that my carrier was there, because he had wanted to meet us at the museum, and was more furious than I’d ever seen him in my life. That lecture that night was something I’ll never forget, and I was banned from spending time alone with friends for metacycles.

The lesson I learned was: don’t let yourself get talked into stupid slag, even if the bot is the hottest on Cybertron. I can’t say I’ve always kept it in mind, but ever since then I’ve been a lot more responsible. Or at least I try harder to be.

I’m not sure how applicable this is to you, so I’ll broaden the lesson a bit: don’t do things you aren’t sure of just to impress other bots. That’s the classic peer-pressure talk, I know, but being cliche doesn’t make something wrong. I trust that you and your friends know each other well enough to not feel like you have to do these kinds of things.

Chapter Text

“ Dear Skylight,

Today has been a slow orn… ”

-----

He had finally been cleared for normal duties, and what did he get? Nothing exciting, nothing like testing Wheeljack’s inventions or scouting the border, no. He got to stand guard at a meeting room, while Command had some kind of discussion about… the front? Or maybe it was about how much silver to sprinkle over energon in the morning. Bluestreak hadn’t been told.

If he had been on duty with ‘Bee or Hot Rod or even Warpath or somebody halfway interesting, that would’ve been one thing. But he was on shift with some random bot transferred in from Polyhex, called Hardplate or something like that, who never smiled. And was the death of fun brought to life.

Maybe Bluestreak should be nicer. He didn’t know Hardplate (or … Steelplate? What was the name again?). Maybe the other bot had some kind of reason for being so joyless. Maybe he had a rare condition that meant that if he ever smiled, his entire face would fall off! That would make sense.

Bluestreak’s doorwings twitched, more theories swirling in his processor. Was Hardarmor a Spec Ops bot in training, and this boring guard job was to test his patience and ability to stay stoic while infiltrating the enemy? Or! Or was he a Decepticon spy, and he never smiled because Decepticons couldn’t smile, except for when they were grinning maniacally and gloating about… what did Megatron gloat about? Usually the “complete destruction of the puny Autobots , and their pathetic leader , Optimus Prime!”

Hm, that was a pretty good impression he did in his imagination.

…Steelplate was from the Polyhex garrison. Had he ever met Skylight?

This was too much for Bluestreak to keep internal, and everything came tumbling out.

“Hey so I’m Bluestreak, but I think I already told you that before. You’re from the Polyhex base, aren’t you? I think it must be stressful, being so close to the front but not actually at it yet. Is that a liminal space? Sideswipe keeps talking about liminal spaces recently, so I keep thinking about them. Polyhex! You know other bots there. Unless you aren’t from the Polyhex garrison because you’re a spy and that whole part was a cover story--or maybe you are a spy that wants me to think you’re a different spy, and so that’s the cover story for your cover story. Anyway. Have you met a flier called Skylight? Uh, he’s silver and red and blue and Praxian, likes poetry and once accidentally robbed a museum.”

The other bot slowly reset his optics. “No.”

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway.”

-----

“ I tried to make some small talk but I don’t think it went well. He just kind of looked at me like I had lost my processor somewhere two floors down, and ignored me the rest of the time. It was so boring, I started trying to come up with rhyming couplets about the Dinobots to pass the time. It didn’t go well, since not much rhymes with Grimlock.

He (the bot I was on guard duty with) had never met you! Even though both of you work in the same base. I guess I always thought that you’d be really popular and have all sorts of friends, since you’re so nice and supportive. Who doesn’t want to be friends with someone like that! But maybe you’re actually shy-- I know you said you were really shy as a mechling (sorry, fledgling. Not used to that term yet!) but I thought… It sounds rude to say ‘outgrew it’. Sorry, I don’t mean that. Anybody can be shy! It’s not something you outgrow, like a youngling frame. You just were the one to reach out to me first, so I kind of assumed. 

I hope that whatever friends you do have are great! All my friends are wonderful, even if we argue sometimes. ”

-----

“Sunny, I’m telling you, no one can tell the difference between those two polishes. You’d need an electron microscope. You’re pointing it out to me, and I still can’t tell the difference!” Bumblebee gestured helplessly to the two patches on Sunstreaker’s forearm that were--apparently-- done with two different polishes.

“Well, that’s because you live like a barbarian and apply wax without even polishing properly. And you think semi-gloss and gloss are interchangeable!”

“ In a pinch! Don’t quote me out of context!”

Bluestreak leaned over to stage-whisper to Sideswipe, who was sprawled sideways over a lounge chair. “Are you going to break them up?”

Sideswipe just grinned, and raised his cube in a mock toast. 

Sides’ and Sunny’s shared quarters were usually half a mess and half impeccably picked up (they split the rooms down the middle), but this orn it was all a mess. Because Sunny had accidentally used some Ultra Supreme Full Gloss finish when he meant to use the Brilliant-Sun Supreme Full Gloss, and trashed the place in honour of ruining his appearance. Apparently. Because, like Bumblebee, Bluestreak also couldn’t see a difference between the two, not that he was going to say that out loud. 

Sunstreaker was lecturing on the finer points of detailing, when Bumblebee finally had enough. He reached out and… made a tiny scratch on Sunny’s finish.

“There! This whole problem was you being too indecisive about if your finish was ruined enough to re-do. Well, now it is! I saved you two joors of moping.”

Bluestreak muted his vocaliser to keep from bursting out laughing.

Sunstreaker did not look like he agreed with Bee’s assessment.

Sideswipe, finally, decided to step in.

“Alright! Thanks for the great show everyone, but I’ve got a room to clean and a brother to detail. So why don’t you two bots get out of here before everything goes supernova, and I’ll see you at dinner?” He patted Sunny on the shoulder, and probably told him something over the bond about how murdering a fellow Autobot would look pretty bad on his record. 

Bluestreak wiggled his wings in goodbye, and bolted out the door with Bumblebee right on his bumper. 

“I’m not sure if you averted a crisis, or created one.” Bluestreak knocked his and Bee’s shoulders together as they walked back to the mess hall. “Let’s grab some xenon tarts--I think there’s extra tonight since Arcee ate them all by herself last time.”

-----

“Have you tried these lithium crisps? I got them from Rumble.” Skywarp held up the packet. Of course, since he had been eating them while talking, it came out more like “‘aveyatri th’ lithi cris’? Gottem f’ Rumbl”. Luckily his trine had experience understanding all kinds of mumbling.

“Got them? Does that mean he gave them to you, or you stole them from him?” Thundercracker flicked up his wings and scanned their berthroom just in case any angry symbiots were lurking in the corners. Primus, he’d need to check the vents too. And under all the cushions and--

"--llo? Finally, you're listening." Starscream commanded the room as he always did. How Thundercracker managed to not hear him at first was one of life's mysteries. "You two need to get those flight checks done. I don't care if I have to drag you to Medbay myself, you're getting the check-up done. Don't think I haven't seen you trying to tighten those cables yourself, Thundercracker. And Skywarp, you're consistently listing a good five degrees even while sober!"

"Uh, yeah, but then when I'm overcharged I fly straight!" Skywarp gave a double thumbs up, accidentally spilling some lithium crisps in the process.

Starscream gave up, and turned to fully face Thundercracker. "I know you hate Pharma, but he's one of us and he understands flight systems! He'll --"

"He'll knock me out, and I'll wake up with half my internals missing! And if bits of me are going to be sold, then the only one handing them over to Swindle will be myself. At least then I'll have the shanix to get hammered before I grey." Thundercracker resumed his search for cassettes. No one under the berth covers, good.

"You're another Seeker! He wouldn't do that. Not like that grounder hack you always prefer."

"I trust Pharma about as much as Megatron trusts you ." Wow, taking an actual stand. Was this what it felt like to have a spinal strut? "I'll get the check, but I'm getting it with Knock Out." He honestly didn't like the idea of a grounder touching his flight systems, but any grounder was better than Pharma.

For once, Starscream accepted defeat without trying to literally claw his way into victory. "Fine. But you, Skywarp--"

Skywarp was nowhere to be seen.

Starscream stood very still for a moment. "I… hate teleportation." Then, with measured strides, he left the room.

Thundercracker did find Ravage hiding underneath a lounge chair, but the cassette agreed to leave Thundercracker and his belongings out of whatever revenge was headed Skywarp's way.

-----

"Bluestreak,

I also haven't been having an exciting orn, but that's for the best. Right now I'm waiting for a medical check, and there's nothing more surreal than a Medbay waiting room. But I'm glad that it's empty, even if that means boredom for me, because the alternative would be far worse. I think we all need a calm orn every now and then.

At least the waiting gives me time to work on some poetry. I mentioned in the last letter some traditional Praxian poetry styles, but sometimes it’s nice to work in something more loose and less prescriptive. There’s a good Polyhexian semi-free verse style I studied that’s good for slow moments like this. The first line is an eight-syllable question, and then the following lines are an answer to the question.

Where is the end to this waiting?

Waiting is a place,

We find ourselves in

That has infinite ways out

If we know where to find them.

Ah, the medic is ready for me, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

-----

“For the love of Primus, stop twitching!”

“I’ll stop twitching if you stop yanking at my wings!”

Knock Out and Thundercracker scowled at each other, neither willing to give up ground. Thundercracker’s wings twitched again, fluttering to stretch out the cables the medic had been tweaking. Ugh, this whole thing was a waste of time. He’d go back to his quarters and figure out how to do it himself; it couldn’t be that hard to tighten some cables?

“Don’t even think about doing it yourself!” Knock Out wagged a finger at him. “That’s how you fray something, and then we’ll both be wasting even more time.”

“How did you know that’s what I was thinking of?” Thundercracker obediently sat back down on the medical slab, but made sure to glare so Knock Out knew he was still unhappy about this whole thing.

“You tilt your wings a certain way when you’re planning something-- all you Seekers do, actually. For Starscream it means he’s about to declare himself the New Leader of the Decepticons , for Skywarp it means someone’s about to get pushed down the stairs. For you it means you’re about to do something stupid that you for some reason think’ll be helpful.” Knock Out moved behind him and telegraphed his movements so there would be no surprises when his servos started digging into the complicated flight mechanisms.

“...I’m helpful! I do helpful things all the time! Like stopping Starscream from slagging you , to give an example.” Thundercracker wanted to give a wing flick for emphasis, but tamped down on the reflex. Stupid maintenance.

“And I thank you for your service. You want a touch up? Free, for a friend of the medic.” Knock Out gave one last pull on a cable, and then gave a pat to Thundercracker’s shoulder to signal the procedure being finished.

Finally. Thundercracker flexed his wings. Begrudgingly, he admitted they did feel a lot better. “This is a real offer, yeah? Not coded flirting or something like that. Because I can’t flirt, and also I don’t go for grounders.”

“And I don’t go for wings, so we’re all good. Let me find the swatches so we can colour match. What’s the stripe colour? Medium primary-red, where did I put that…”

-----

“So I got a free touch up out of it, at least. The stripes on my wings get faded or scuffed quickly, depending on what I’ve been flying through, so I needed one. I admit I sometimes leave them in pretty bad shape because it can be such a hassle. I’m trying to put more effort into maintenance lately, I’ll see if I can stick with it.

As for why someone might not know me despite being on the same base… While I wouldn’t describe myself as shy, I am more introverted and generally keep my helm down. I prefer being in the background, as opposed to being the main character, you could say. I know some bots who can’t stand being out of the centre of attention, and that could not be farther from me.

I’m touched that you consider me such a good friend, and I want you to know that I feel the same way about you. You’re always kind and enthusiastic about sharing, and also enjoy hearing about things just because they make other bots happy. 

I hope the rest of your orn is wonderful.

Your dear friend,

Skylight”

Chapter Text

Bluestreak refreshed his ‘pad again. No new message. It was late, and he wasn’t really expecting anything, but it had still been orns since Skylight had last responded. Had something happened to him? Bluestreak had gotten all the news he could about the Polyhex outpost and it didn’t look like there had been much beyond light skirmishing for that decaorn, but even light skirmishing could cause serious injury. He wished, not for the first time, that he had a comm frequency to try, just to know that Skylight was alright.

He set the ‘pad on the stand next to his berth and finally offlined his optics. It’d be fine, Skylight was probably fine, and he could check again in the morning. The chances of Skylight being dead or gravely injured were low--but low wasn’t nothing, and plenty of times bots got hurt and even died on routine patrols where it seemed like everything--

A notification cut through his anxiety spiral. He lunged for the datapad.

“ Dear Bluestreak

Sorry for getting back to you so late. I always try to get back to you at least on the same orn, so I apologise that it’s been so long. I hope the past three orns have been pleasant, and please know that if I take longer than normal to reply to you, it’s not because you’ve done anything wrong or upset me.

I owe you an explanation, so here it is: I got in some trouble with my CO for insubordination, so I got stuck on two all-orn shifts. Since I was on duty the whole time, I couldn’t leave my post to reply to you. I wanted to reply as soon as I got off shift, but I ended up falling into recharge almost immediately so I’m just getting to it now. Again, I’m sorry.

How did dinner with your creators go? I’m glad that they were able to make time to eat with you; I know it doesn’t seem like much in the face of everything else we lost, but I do think normal social interactions like a family dinner are one of the main casualties of the war. Shifts and patrols and drills-- these things make it hard to do normal things that we all used to do.

I think your poetry is really improving! Especially your use-- ”

Bluestreak stopped reading there, and froze. With a feeling of dread, he reread the second paragraph. And then again. Was he reading correctly? Did Skylight really mean that he was forced to stay on duty for two full orns for insubordination? Did he get breaks to rest, or to even fuel ?

There was no way he was recharging now. He sent a ping to Jazz, knowing he’d still be awake, and waited for the response. Within two kliks, his creator opened up a private comm.

::What’s up, Baby Blue?:: Tone was hard over comms, so Jazz manually tacked on his usually light hearted and supportive attitude as tags.

::I’m worried that-- I think something-- Skylight told me--::

::Alright, alright. We can solve this, yeah? But I need you to back up and tell me what’s happening? I’ll be coming over in a klik.::

Bluestreak used that time to gather his thoughts, and skim through the rest of the letter to see if it cleared anything up. But all it seemed to do was confirm his suspicion that Skylight really had been forced to stay awake, without fuel, for two entire orns. This couldn’t be an official punishment, that was just actual torture!

Jazz slipped into the room. “Hey hey, so what’s going on? Something about Skylight?”

Bluestreak vented. He wasn’t the best at keeping what he said coherent, but this was important. “Skylight sent me this letter. He hadn’t gotten back to me for a few orns, and his explanation was that he was on a punishment shift that lasted two-straight orns . I don’t think he was even allowed to fuel and I’m worried about him because that’s… that’s…”

“A clear example of abuse of power and something where we need to step in immediately. Did he seem surprised by the punishment? Or indicate in any way that it was excessive?” Jazz sat heavily on the bed, suddenly unusually serious.

“No. I mean, just read it.” Bluestreak handed the ‘pad over.

Jazz read carefully, obviously making notes on his HUD, and handed it back. “This is concerning. If he’s not exaggerating, then this means that the mistreatment at Polyhex has escalated to the point where it’s become accepted as normal. I’m in touch with Prowl and Ultra Magnus, and we’re going to be launching an investigation.”

“What do I say to Skylight? I don’t think, I mean, he always says he likes to keep his helm down. I don’t think he’ll like that he caused all this.” Bluestreak looked back at the letter, at how Skylight glossed over his horrible treatment and so clearly wanted to move on and talk about happier things.

“Don’t tell him. We don’t want anyone to know that this investigation is happening. And… and it’s safer. It happens, Blue, where bots get nervous about speaking out and go to whoever it is they’re exposing and… it doesn’t go well. Just be sympathetic and keep him calm. Yeah? We’ll fix this.”

-----

“This is concerning and suspicious,” Prowl opened.

“To permit communication between your creation and an anonymous sender is--”

“-- we know , Mags,” Jazz cut in. “Both you said it ‘bout fifteen times now. I’m telling you, until now everything was perfectly normal. Even boring.”

Ultra Magnus and Optimus still looked sceptical, but after Prowl assured them that he had run the chances of a security breach with Jazz monitoring the messages, they dropped the issue in favour of the more pressing (in Prowl’s opinion) subject.

“It is unlikely that… Skylight is on the Polyhex base proper. For an incident such as this to not be reported by any other member of the base, it is more likely that this is taking place on a smaller outpost.” Magnus pulled up a list of Polyhex outposts and pinged them directly to the others.

“Try these ones first,” Prowl said, pinging back with a selection. “They’re the ones that sent reinforcements to the energon convoy ambush, which is where Skylight is meant to have been.” He then sent another selection. “And these are the outposts within the personnel rotation that he is most likely to have been transferred to.”

The outpost system was complex and something of a logistical masterpiece and/or nightmare. With different smaller outposts in rings around a large, main logistics hub, bots were rotated through inner and outer outposts at regular intervals. It meant that burnout from long periods at the front (or simply from being stationed at the same place for metacycles) was reduced; it also meant that tracking down the real identity of “Skylight” would be that much harder. It wasn't a matter of one outpost, it was a matter of all of them.

But right now, Prowl wasn't too concerned about finding out who Skylight really was. Jazz had that under control, and he said it was nothing to worry about. What mattered was abuse of power; this was a world-ending war, but that didn't mean some CO on a power trip could starve his subordinate on a whim. 

“We know he’s an Aerial, and he may have some Praxian heritage of some kind. Not the frametype, or Prowl’d already know about him, but at a minimum language fluency. Knows a bunch of other languages, at least conversationally, and likes poetry. I'm not sure if he has any close friends, since he never mentions ‘em.” Jazz tapped the table display, and it lit up with all his (more-or-less) confirmed biographical data on Skylight. “We don't know his real designation, or his appearance beyond frametype.”

“How can we be sure he's an Aerial? Or stationed at Polyhex at all?” Magnus gestured sceptically at the display.

Jazz’ visor flashed, but Prowl flicked a doorwing and hummed before his conjunx could get any further. “I do understand the doubt, Magnus. If this mech isn't honest with his designation, why take his word on anything else? But I've also read many of these letters, and the level of consistency with some details is beyond a simple lie. Small things--a turn of phrase, a reference--that most bots overlook, are all there and point to him being a flightframe with some kind of connection to Praxus. I've run the probabilities.” 

“As for the Polyhex thing, well.” Jazz pulled up the very first letter on the display. “He knew that Blue was saved by a bot from the Polyhex outpost -- that info was never announced, y’know. So the only bots who’d know would be the ones who're there . And none of the ambush team saved Blue, I checked with them. So it had to be one of the Polyhex crew, and Skylight was at least a witness, since he knew about it. Thus, it is proven.” He ended the impromptu speech with a flourishing hand gesture.

Magnus dipped his helm, conceding the point.

Optimus studied the biographical data, optics dimmed. “This strikes me as…I don't want it to be true, but ignoring the crimes of the past does nothing to help the present. But this, this resembles a classic Functionist punishment, doesn't it?”

They all mulled over the information, a cold horror creeping into the room.

Prowl started, “A soft-spoken Aerial, interested in subjects outside his function… ”

“... accused of acting above his station …” Jazz continued.

“... and punished beyond all reason to learn his place .” Magnus’ voice rumbled with finality. A restrained anger lit his optics and crackled in his field.

“We will investigate all the outposts. I will not tolerate this cruelty in my ranks.” Optimus spoke with the conviction of a true Prime. “We are not the Senate.”

-----

“Seriously, TC, quit dozin’ off!”

A sharp pinch to the tip of his wing, and Thundercracker was very much awake. He shifted his plating, and resisted the urge to rattle his wings. He did not resist the urge to let out a short hiss at Skywarp’s idea of help.

“Don’t blame me! We’re all stuck with double-shifts-- and I’m not the one who got himself in trouble for mouthing off.” Skywarp chuckled. “It was kinda funny, though. Normally it’s Screamer slaggin’ off Megatron. But at least you got off easy!”

Thundercracker sighed, but knew it was true. He had gotten off easy. A two-orn punishment detail was nothing compared to what Megatron did when he was in a bad mood. Ripped plating, shredded wings, cracked spark casings-- that was a real Megatron-grade punishment. Standing around hungry for two orns was a slap on the servo.

He hadn’t been thinking that orn, when he voiced his concern. It had been monumentally stupid. Megatron had announced a new grand strategy, one that focused on creating momentum by driving a strong offensive towards Iacon. And Thundercracker couldn’t keep himself muted, and said, “But sir, last metacycle, wasn’t our Iacon offensive repulsed?” The silence that fell afterwards was enough to choke on. Thank Primus Megatron was feeling merciful that orn. 

It was simply bad timing that he was coming off the punishment shift when everyone was being forced to pull double-duty. Some battle or other, nothing noteworthy enough to get a real name, had nonetheless injured enough bots that everyone needed to pick up the slack for a few decaorns. And that meant no time to rest even though he had so desperately wanted to. He didn’t even have much time to read Bluestreak’s letters, despite his best efforts to make up for those two orns of no reply. At least this orn he was paired with Skywarp, and not Dirge. Nothing was worse than a patrol shift with Dirge.

An alert popped up on his HUD: Energy levels at 20%. It was followed by a request to disable tertiary systems, which he rejected. On patrol was not the time to turn off targeting assist.

He arched his wings high to scan for vibrations, and peered down the dark streets of the Kaonite ruins. An empty, optics dull and near-lifeless, peered back at him from shadows of a derelict house.  “All clear here. You?”

“Unless we’re countin’ the trash, there’s nobody.” Skywarp struck off down the street, wings casually tilted like he was taking a stroll. The obviously active cannons ruined the image. “And if you fall asleep again, I’m leaving you here!”

Was it the exhaustion, or the hunger, or something else that made Thundercracker snap? He didn’t know. But suddenly he was in Skywarp’s faceplates, field bristling with anger/frustration/loneliness . “ Just leave me? I’m your trinemate , Skywarp-- I’m the Anchor! You can’t abandon me somewhere when it’s convenient for you. I wouldn’t leave in the streets of Kaon if you passed out. And you know why I’m so tired? Because--”

“Because you slagged off Megatron! How’s that my fault? When you’re always the one lecturing us to keep our vocalisers muted!” Skywarp jabbed at his cockpit, optics narrow.

“And for my entire punishment detail, you didn’t even stop by to see if I was alright. Let alone bring me a cube! I have always snuck you energon when you needed it, but I see now I was wasting my time!” Thundercracker’s engine rumbled threateningly, and Skywarp actually took a step back.

“Well… you’re the Anchor, yeah? You do the, the caring stuff and the energon and all that. I dunno, I do whatever. Vibe stuff.” His wings twitched. “Y’know, why aren’t you mad at Starscream? He’s the trine leader, go yell at him. Not my fault that he didn’t tell me to help you out.”

Because you can’t figure out I might not want to starve on your own , Thundercracker did not say. He was tired, and hungry, and being angry at Skywarp had not fixed either of those things. “Let’s just finish the shift so we can go back to base.”

He didn’t want to yell at Starscream, even though it was deserved. He wanted to lie down, take a nap, and have some fuel while reading Bluestreak’s newest letter. He had gotten the notifications for two of them, in rather short succession, but hadn’t had time to read anything. He was just relieved that Bluestreak hadn’t been upset or worried about his absence, or his slow replies the past decaorn.

-----

“Dear Skylight,

I hope you’ve been well these past two decaorns. I know you’ve been busy, and your CO has been making you do extra work. Have you been able to get any more rest? Don’t worry about writing back if you’re too tired. I hope you can at least read this and know that I care about you. Please try to take care of yourself, and stay safe.

I just wanted you to know that I don’t think it’s right, how your CO has been treating you. You’re an Autobot and more importantly your own mech, and he doesn’t get to treat you like you’re a disposable. No one should be treated like that.

Please, if someone treats you like that, could you let me know? I know it’s scary to report things, but you’re the one who always tells me that talking can help. 

Sorry if this was too much.

Bluestreak”

“Skylight,

Hopefully things will get better soon! I heard about the arrests by Magnus and Prowl, and you should know that Optimus Prime is so furious it’s like he glows. Jazz calls it his ‘burning justice’. I don’t know if you caught the speech, since you’ve been so tired, but if you missed it, here’s a transcript (in Cybex Standard, sorry! I couldn’t figure out how to translate it right):

‘PRIME: Mere joors ago, there were a series of arrests carried out in the Polyhex area, arrests of officers now accused of gross abuse of power. This was done after an extensive investigation carried out by SIC Prowl and Chief Enforcer Ultra Magnus revealed abuse carried out by these officers in the Polyhex outposts. 

This abuse of power was not random. No, it came from the same source that has given us this war and destroyed our homes: Functionism. To target a bot for their alt-mode, to mistreat subordinates based on shape and the offensive notion of caste. In Polyhex, the victims were heavy machinery and flightframes, forced to endure cruelty that it would be forbidden to inflict on a prisoner. And yet this mistreatment was not reported.

I do not say this to blame the victims of abuse. They were systematically stripped of their power; naturally they would fear greater retribution if they reported anything. No, that is no failing, to want to keep yourself safe from unknown harm. The failing is on us, those on the outside, for not seeing what was happening and taking action sooner. The failing is on us, to not enforce our own standards among our ranks. The failing is on us, when we assume that because all is well with us, so too must it be for others.

So I ask you, Autobots: are we the Senate?

CROWD: No!

PRIME: Are we Functionists?

CROWD: No!

PRIME: Then we must prove it! It is not enough to stand here and claim to be different. We must go into the world and prove that we are not the Senate, that we are not Functionists, that we are in fact Autobots and that Autobots stand for the freedom of all! ’

The crowd went wild after that. Prowl tells me that there’s going to be new procedures in place to check on outposts more often, so this sort of thing won’t happen. 

Are things going alright over there? I hope you’ve at least been able to get some actual recharge!

Write when you can, but no worries.

Affectionately, 

Bluestreak ”

Thundercracker vented, his wings fluttering without his permission. Primus help him, was he moved by some Autobot Prime’s speech? Ridiculous. He was just happy to know Bluestreak cared for him, and that he thought he should be treated well. But really, the punishment hadn’t been that bad. Really. The Autobots were just soft.

…not that he wanted them to be hard, come to think of it. Because that would mean that Bluestreak could get a punishment like that. And there was no possible way that a sweet bot like him could deserve anything like that!

He read through the letters again, making notes on his HUD for his reply, when he had the energy. His nap had helped a lot, as did the energon, but it’d still be a while before he truly felt--

--wait.

He read the second one again, actually taking everything in.

…since when were the Autobots against the Senate?

Chapter Text

“ Dear Bluestreak,

Thank you for including the speech, I found it very moving. I appreciate the lack of blame, from Optimus Prime but also from you yourself, about… everything, I guess. Sometimes things feel normal, or too far gone, and so you don't bother thinking deeper about them because that's how it is. But it doesn't mean that they're good. Or that you agree with them, or want them to keep going. Taking things for granted works both ways.

Sorry if that doesn't make much sense. I've got a lot on my processor, and I'm still figuring out a lot for myself. 

I do want to thank you, though, for being supportive. Of me, and all the parts of me. Maybe in Iacon it's different, but out here it's hard to find a bot who wants to discuss poetry and war trauma and honest emotions. Especially with a flightframe. So thank you.

With all my spark,

Skylight”

“Dear Skylight,

I'm so happy to hear from you again! It's been a busy few decaorns, I know. Prowl and Magnus and Prime really meant it when they said they'd be going after any of these neo-Functionists. The trials are wrapping up quickly because Prowl’s on prosecution, and you know how he is.

Maybe you don't actually. I forget sometimes that most Autobots don't actually interact much with Prowl personally. But he's driven and once he turns his tac-net to a task, it gets done. And he really, really doesn't like that old caste system.

And no one ever should blame you for getting hurt! If someone hurts you, that's on them and not you. It shouldn't be your job to have to defend yourself, because no one should be doing anything to hurt you in the first place.

We've all had a lot to think about lately. If it helps to write to me, please do! You always read my rambling letters, so I want to read yours too if it'll help. You always told me that putting thoughts out there for someone else can be useful, and you're right.

I've been thinking about a lot, too. Mostly about how I really don't understand certain things. I'm young-- not the youngest Autobot, obviously, but one of them. I was a sparkling when the Senate was killed, and a youngling when Praxus was destroyed and I got adopted into the Autobots. So for me, this was all stuff I learned about. The Senate, the caste system, Functionism… I didn't live through it, not like you did or like my creators did. So I might know about all this, because I learned my history, but knowing isn't understanding. Right?

I mean, growing up with Jazz and Prowl, no one ever told me I wasn't allowed to be something. When I got my mechling upgrades and my alt mode, Ratchet even told me he could change my alt to something else if I wanted it. I don't even know what my caste would be, if the system was still around, but I know Jazz and Prowl can list off their full caste designations if you ask.

This might be a terrible thing to say, but I think I'm grateful for the war. Obviously not for what it's done to our home, or to any of the other cities it's destroyed. So many bots have died, and so much has been lost. But if we didn't have the war, how could I have become friends with you? What sort of things might the Senate have done to me, or to Praxus or Cybertron in general?

I just keep hoping that one orn, when the war is over, we'll be able to build everything again but better.

Love,

Bluestreak ”

Bluestreak read over his letter twice before sending it, nervousness fluttering his door wings. He hoped Skylight would understand what he was trying to say about the war. He wouldn't dare say anything like that to his other friends. Bee would probably just be confused, but Sunny and Sides and Hot Rod.. yeah, he didn't think they'd agree. At all.

Best to not mention it.

He could probably talk about it with his creators, though. 

Bluestreak brought it up at family dinner that evening.

Prowl’s optics dimmed, not with any particular emotion but simply from processing. Jazz made his distinctive thoughtful hum and tilted his helm back.

“... I do understand,” Prowl said finally. “I don't think I could ever describe my own feelings as gratitude, but I understand. This is the history that we're living, and for all its horrors and death, we at least know it. Any hypothetical future without the war… we can't know that it wouldn't somehow be worse, and the uncertainty is what creates fear.”

“And you're right t’ be afraid of what the Senate mighta done. They were a nasty group. If I hadn't been… busy at the time, well.” Jazz grinned, sharp and dangerous. “I woulda loved to get Senator Gistratus between the optics personally .”

Bluestreak quickly searched his archive for Senator Gistratus. He knew she had been the last Senator for Polyhex, and he was pretty sure-- yup, there it was. She had reintroduced indentured servitude to Polyhex, and planned to expand its scope until she had recreated the debt slavery from the Primean Age. Her death had been no loss to Cybertron.

“Maybe grateful was the wrong word. It's so hard to explain everything when it's something I feel but there aren't words for any of these things. It's easier when you talk in person because you can use your field and the harmonics and writing is so much harder to get that across, and I really wish Skylight and I could meet up and I could explain myself better and--”

“We know, Baby Blue, we know.” Jazz gave Prowl a long look. “Hopefully one orn you’ll get t’ meet up with Skylight. That’s what a lot of this comes from, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve just been thinking and thinking -- he’s a flier, and I don’t remember much about how fliers got treated in Praxus. I don’t think my other family knew any, and that means that I probably would’ve never gotten to meet Skylight without the war and, and, and he’s so kind and thoughtful and my friend and what would it be like without him?

Without you , and without everyone else and why did we take so long to get rid of this slag!?” Bluestreak’s field flared out, crackling with confusion/anger/longing . 

“That’s what we have to reckon with every orn.” Prowl stressed the subglyph on ‘we’ to indicate ‘Autobot’. “We knew about everything, about the civil war that would certainly come, and then we didn’t stop it. So now we have to prove that we are better. It would be easier if the Autobots and Decepticons had come together from the start, and eliminated the Senate together… but that’s not what happened.”

Bluestreak’s doorwings quivered. “I can’t imagine seeing everything and then not… How could you not even say anything?”

“Saying somethin’ would get you shot, remember.” Jazz’ casual way of dropping that made it even more horrifying to think about. “And--and I’m not defendin’ this, just explainin’-- the Autobots were formed ages ago specifically to follow and support the Prime. That’s what we did and what we still do. After Sentinel proved himself to be almost as bad as Zeta, we started breakin’ off and trying to find something else to be. What does the political vanguard of the Prime become, when it disagrees with the Prime? So we got busy with a bunch of internal arguing that we all know now was pointless.”

Bluestreak knew the next bit of history by spark, like everyone else on the planet. “And so the Autobots were in Iacon when the Decepticons attacked the Senate in Kaon, and Sentinel was shot so we got Optimus as Prime.”

“After nearly a decade, yes, Optimus became Prime. That’s another path we can only wonder about.” Prowl’s voice softened. “If Optimus had gotten the Matrix sooner, reinvented the Autobots sooner, could we have still ended this with peace?”

Jazz patted Bluestreak on the back, field warm and extended. “And we won’t ever know, so it’s not somethin’ to worry about. The Senate was terrible, we didn’t do enough to stop them, so now we gotta fix it and prove ourselves. And that means making sure the ‘Cons don’t might-is-right their way to the top, and also making sure we don’t remake anything that was better left grey.”

-----

“Dear Bluestreak,

I'm glad Prowl and his tac-net are on my side. I haven't had much personal interaction with him, but he strikes me as a formidable opponent.

Honestly, I'm happy you don't have any first hand experiences with real Functionism. That was my life and I don't want it for anyone.

Of course, in Praxus things were much better for flyers than most anywhere else on Cybertron, excluding Vos and maybe Polyhex. We didn't need passes to stay out at night or go to certain districts. There were no official laws restricting where we could live. Medics couldn't refuse us treatment if we were sick or injured. We got the same legal protections that everybody else did. But better isn't the same as perfect.

I loved Praxus and I still love Praxus. But some orns I also hated it. My carrier needed special permission to work as a secretary-- he had to pass an evaluation to prove he wasn't too violent for desk work. And after decades of hard work, he never once got a promotion. I always wanted to be a writer, but even in Praxus my education stopped at basic literacy to focus on ‘more relevant subjects for my frametype’. I had to pass a test and get a waiver to get into a university to get my shot at studying literature.

I loved Praxus, I just wish that Praxus had loved me back.

I understand how you feel about the war, though I'm not sure I feel the same way. For me, it's too big to decide how I feel about it as a whole. I know I certainly mourn the loss of all those deactivated. And I know I’m not sad that Functionism is (mostly) gone. But grateful or angry or depressed… There’s too much. Maybe one orn I’ll be able to sort it all out, but I’m not sure at this point.

Sorry for being so morose. I don’t want to sound like I’m not grateful to Command for everything they’re doing. I’ll always appreciate everything Optimus Prime has done for us.

As always

Love,

Skylight”

“Dear Skylight,

I think I understand some of what you mean with the war. You’re my creators’ age, so you remember so much more of how everything was before. Some orns I can’t even fully remember what I’m mourning and it still hurts so much; I can’t imagine what it must be like to have so many memories of everything that’s gone.

The more I learn about Functionism and everything that comes with it, the more I hate it. How convenient for the Senate, to make a caste system that puts themselves on top of everyone else for all time. Well, not all time, it turns out. You do sometimes have to hand it to the ‘Cons, the Senate really did deserve it.

You don’t need to worry about sounding ungrateful. You can feel more than one thing at a time-- feeling depressed about the war doesn’t mean that you hate Optimus all of a sudden. But honestly, you don’t have to be grateful, either. That was a horrible thing that happened to you, and kept happening to you, and everyone would understand if you were angry about it. I know Jazz had words with Prime about how overdue this was. You should’ve heard him! 

If you are frustrated, it’s fine. And if you aren’t, that’s fine too! There’s not a right way to feel. And I normally don’t like to use being Jazz and Prowl’s creation but… if you do have concerns, or criticisms, or are just upset with how things are being done around here, you know that I have their audials --”

Thundercracker’s wings trembled. He turned off the datapad.

Those letters gave him too much to think about. It couldn't possibly all be true, but why would an Autobot lie to (who they thought was) another Autobot in private correspondence? Unless all the messages were being monitored and writing the wrong thing…

Thundercracker shuttered his optics. Primus, he really didn't think anything through. Of course everything would be read. It didn't seem like much was being censored or edited, judging by how specific the responses were, so at least it seemed restricted to simple spying. Not like under Zeta Prime, where any and all private messages (comms, pings, data-packets, whispers ) were ruthlessly cut apart to preserve the Glory of Cybertron. And Primus forbid if you got caught even accidentally repeating something treasonous…

Was he putting Bluestreak at risk? … Actually, maybe not. After all, his adoptive creators were Jazz and Prowl, and no matter how terrifying Thundercracker found them, he knew in his spark that they wouldn't let something happen to Bluestreak. Praxians rivalled Seekers in their tendency for strong creator coding, and there was no way Prowl would allow one of the few remaining Praxians to be reformatted or get his face taken off. And Jazz… well, Autobot SpecOps was something to be feared, and they were notoriously loyal to each other.

…That might mean that Thundercracker was at more risk than he initially thought, but no matter. He'd made his choice. And likely SpecOps would be more merciful to him than Shockwave.

Right. Time to get things straight.

Thing one: Bluestreak did not blame him.

Thing two: Jazz could apparently openly criticise Optimus Prime to his face and not get slagged.

Thing three: apparently the Autobots hated Functionism and also the Senate. And were… happy that the Senate was massacred. By the Decepticons.

Thundercracker wasn’t sure which of those last two was the hardest to grasp, but it all made his processor spin. If the Autobots were against the Senate, and the Decepticons were against the Senate... What was the war even--

No. He couldn't be thinking about this. Those sorts of thoughts got you sent to Shockwave, and taken apart and reformatted into something no one could ever recognise again. The Decepticons stood for what they had always stood for: the liberation of mecha from the tyranny of Senate rule. If the Autobots felt that way too then... Well, he must be misunderstanding something. Bluestreak could be an outlier, since Praxus was far more progressive than many other cities. But that didn't explain Optimus Prime's speech or the comments about Jazz and Prowl and nothing about this made sense.

What did the Decepticons stand for, if the Autobots didn't stand for the Senate? What were they even rebelling against?

Time to take a walk.

It was probably not the best use of his time, since downtime was still scarce with the personnel shortage, but he couldn't sit and ruminate any longer. Thundercracker subspaced the datapad and paced a tight circle in the shared quarters, trying to get his field under control, before stepping out into the corridor. A nice good walk wasn't a replacement for a flight or what he really needed--for things to be simple again--but it was what he could get. Things weren't going to go back to being simple, ever. He wrote letters to an Autobot basically every orn and considered him... a friend.

He focused on the sound of his own pedes. His venting. The feeling of his spark spinning aimlessly in its casing. He was alive and not thinking and that was what mattered. There was nothing to worry about.

Vwop !

Wonderful.

Skywarp's timing was proof that some great cosmic power existed and wanted to ruin Thundercracker's orn specifically. What he did to deserve any of this... actually he did know what he did. Praxus.

Skywarp took one look at his trinemate, with wings rigidly fixed into the everything-is-fine position and field so carefully empty of any emotions, and scoffed. "Moping again? I thought you stopped doing that after you started writing your diary or whatever. What is it this time?" But the harmonics were clear: that wasn't a genuine question.

But... "Hey 'Warp, where'd you get those two cubes from? I'm pretty sure rations were already handed out a joor ago." Thundercracker eyed the cubes warily, not sure where Skywarp might have gotten them from.

"Eh? Oh, I grabbed them from someone. These extra patrols are the worst, honestly. And then 'Screamer goes on and on about how he'll be leader of the 'Cons and I nod and you sit in the corner and look sad and--" Skywarp flicked a wing, annoyed. "Did your turbopuppy die or somethin'? What's your problem today, TC?"

Thundercracker vented, knowing he needed to stay calm. Snapping would do no good. Accidentally revealing what had been occupying his processor would get him killed. "When you say you grabbed them, what do you mean?" He knew the answer even as he asked.

"Uh, I mean I grabbed them." At Thundercracker's silence, Skywarp gave an exaggerated huff and then spoke slowly, as if to a hatchling. "Nacelle hadn't finished, and I wanted them, so I took them. And he's short and a loser so he can't get them back, so they're mine. You understand now? I grabbed 'em."

"Stole them, yeah."

"It's not stealing ," Skywarp stressed. "They're mine. It's not stealing if I deserve them more. I can teleport and I'm a better shot and I'm faster. Nacelle? What can he even do, anyways? Can't manage to keep his own energon safe, spends all his time on reports or whatever."

"I know Nacelle pretty well, 'Warp. He's on the logistical staff and is our assistant quartermaster, so those reports are how we know if we even have any energon to begin with." Thundercracker's voice rose as he spoke. "It's pretty important that we know what kind of supply we have, don't you think? I'm taking one of those, and giving it back to him. He does a lot of good work for the cause, and you--"

"I do more work for the cause than just about anybody! Hello, teleportation? Sound familiar? And they're mine now, TC, so if you think that Nacelle deserved them so much, then you can try your luck at taking them from me !" And with another Vwop ! Skywarp vanished, the sound seeming more angry somehow than usual.

Thundercracker sighed. He really messed that up. He should've asked for a cube under the pretence that he needed a pick-me-up before a patrol, and then just sneaked off and given it to Nacelle himself. Nothing got Skywarp more riled than the idea than being told to do something (by anyone other than Megatron, of course). He shook his wings, and tried to think. He had a bit of extra energon stashed away, like any good Decepticon, so the real trick would be giving some to Nacelle without attracting attention, or making the other Seeker feel like this was some kind of power play.

Favours, it all came down to favours. The true currency of the Decepticon army.

And he still owed one to Soundwave, and tried to ignore that as much as possible.

Thundercracker made his way back to his quarters, quickly scanning for eavesdroppers or anyone else lurking in the corners, and rummaged through his "worthless" collection of datapads and image-captures. The energon wasn't well hidden by Decepticon standards, but anyone breaking into this room would be looking to steal from Starscream, not his lower-ranking trinemate. Extra cube subspaced, he was just about to check the personnel schedule to find where Nacelle might be when he got a proximity ping.

“ What have you done to make Skywarp vanish like that? He’s not responding to my pings!” Starscream took up the entire doorway, his wings were so wide with indignation.

“I told him he needed to stop stealing from the supply staff, and he bolted. Can you leave me alone?” Thundercracker did not have the patience to deal with Starscream right then. 

For once, Starscream backed down. “Ah, doing that again, is he? Well, don’t snap at him next time. You’re the Anchor, Thundercracker, and you better start acting like it.”

Thundercracker mumbled some meaningless excuse and slipped out of their quarters. Hopefully he’d be able to catch Nacelle before he got off his shift at the monitor station, and conveniently leave a cube behind after mentioning that one time Nacelle forged a report for him. 

-----

“--but don’t feel like you have to say anything. I don’t think you’re lying or anything like that! If you say everything is fine, then I believe you. But I know that making an official report is scary and sometimes you just want something to be done without it being on record. And this also doesn’t mean that every time you say something, I’ll be sharing it with my creators. That wouldn’t be right either. 

I guess I just want you to know that I’m listening, and if you want me to help, then I’ll try my best. Even if you only ever want someone to talk to, then I’m here and that’s what I’ll do! You’re my friend, Skylight, and you might be in Polyhex but I’m with you, okay?

I had a long conversation with my creators, and one thing that we kept talking about was how we need to make sure we aren’t repeating the same mistakes. If we want to talk about Functionism in the past tense, then we need to make sure it’s in the past for good. No one is more deserving of something than anyone else, not because of alt mode or intelligence or strength or anything. And if we believe that, then we have to stick to it.

There’s no point in rebuilding Cybertron if we just do all the same things that destroyed it in the first place. But I believe that we can do it.

And I was thinking: my creators call me Baby Blue, since I’m their creation. I think we should have nicknames for each other too! I’m not your creation, so I was trying to think of other nicknames we could do, like Sky Blue since I know you want to take me flying sometime. Do you have any nicknames? Skybright might be a fun one!

With all the love in my spark,

Bluestreak”

Chapter Text

"Dear Blue,

Your Praxian has improved so much in such a short time! I know you felt embarrassed about your writing before, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. Writing isn't the final word on language, and Praxian is a hard one anyway, even for Praxians ourselves. It's not related to too much, outside of Vosian and a probably dead Crystal City dialect, so when you're reading and writing in Cybex it's not doing much for Praxian. That and no one around can speak it, since it's so different from everything else that not many bots bother to learn.

And let's be honest, Praxian writing is nonsense anyway. Why do we have to write out the punctuation with sub-glyphs? No one else does that, because it's terrible.

Anyway, great work on your poetry as well! You have a very solid grasp of meter, which can be quite difficult for some bots, so that's something to be proud of. And you should be proud of your work in general, I think. Being expressive and honest is a skill, even if it might not feel that way to you. Of course, don't feel like you have to share every poem with me. Some things you write only for yourself, and that's fine.

How have things been with your creators? I know you said Prowl is still wrapping up the last cases against the bigots, and I won't even guess what Jazz is doing. Have you still been able to have family fuel? And you don't have to answer this question, but I'm curious: what language(s) do you speak with each other? I assume of course that Prowl speaks Praxian, and I'm glad you have someone to speak it with consistently-- one of smaller things I miss is being able to share a good Praxian pun. I don't know anyone here to talk to.

Writing to you is always a joy.

Winds at your wings,

Skylight"

Bluestreak grinned at the praise for his poems, and his writing in general. It was true he had gotten much better over the metacycles they had been writing to each other, and he knew that the whole time, but it validating to hear it from Skylight. Skylight, who had studied literature! Bluestreak knew that having a degree didn't mean you were necessarily smarter than anybody else, but it still meant something.

During his at this point habitual rereading, he noted again that Skylight always used the most formal designations for Prowl and Jazz, even including the little Autobot tag that no one bothered with and writing out the full "respect" subglyph that only got used on formal reports. He always wrote all the officer's names like that, ever time he mentioned them, and he never once used any of the shortened forms for Optimus Prime. He even wrote out Prime fully, in the old religious way like from Nova Prime's reign, and not in the shorthand that had become mostly standard.

Well, some bots were just formal with the officers even when they didn't need to be. Bluestreak knew that Ambulon took ages to not call Ratchet "sir" every sentence, and he still used Prowl's formal designation when talking to him. Skyfire, too, always used the old way to write Prime in reports and spoke more formally overall. It was probably another thing that Bluestreak never bothered to do since, well, Prowl was his creator. Who talks about their creator like that? And when your creators are the SiC and TiC, you tend to see a lot of High Command and hear Jazz gossip about how Ironhide and Chromia spent a whole meeting gruffly flirting and listen to Prowl complain about Magnus' use of footnotes and "footnote-related targeted harassment" and... where was he? Right. High Command.

Bluestreak knew them as bots, so it was easy to forget that for most they were officers first and foremost. Still, he hoped that Skylight didn't feel like he needed to be extra respectful or he'd get in trouble or something. Sideswipe told Ironhide to frag off on a semi-regular basis and nothing ever happened.

He checked his chronometer. Still some time to write a quick response before patrol.

"Dear Skylight,

Thank you so much for all the encouragement these past metacycles. It means a lot to me! Especially since I know you studied writing and so know these things formally. Prowl has noticed improvement too, even in my word choice when I speak!

And for that question: usually we speak a mix of Cybex Standard and Praxian, with Jazz throwing in some bits of other languages too. Jazz is decently fluent in Praxian; he still asks for help with writing (he'd agree with you that Praxian writing is nonsense!) and reading technical things, but for a conversation there's not much he can't handle. We still do a lot of Cybex, just because also that's what he tends to default, but Prowl and I usually speak to each other in Praxian. And Jazz is Polyhexian, so a lot of that gets thrown in too, though I don't always understand it that well. To an outsider our conversations must be a mess to listen to!

Things have been going well here, overall. Obviously the cases are still the main subject of interest for bots, but no one is being mean about it. Prowl will be happy when it's over, if only because then he can start working on other things that need to get done. Thanks for the vid recommendation, by the way, Jazz and I were able to scrounge up almost the entire Manganese Metal Mayem series (we couldn't find the third one) and finished it only a few joors ago. When you said they were low budget nonsense, you weren't kidding! I think my favorite one was the fifth, where the mechanoid-eaters show up out of nowhere halfway through and suddenly it's a zombitron vid. Prowl was less amused, but he liked them in his own way, which involves lots of writing and footnotes citations. Jazz and I just yell at the screen, like normal bots.

Maybe this isn't something you would know, but what makes Praxian so hard for other bots to learn, anyway? Obviously I don't think it's that hard, but I grew up speaking it and so I know that doesn't count. Is it actually that different from other languages? I don't know if I've ever really put much thought into it before -- Praxian is Praxian, and Cybex is Cybex, and I didn't think about it past that. But now I am thinking about it, and I guess we do put words in a different order than Cybex, and we have possession as a subglyph and not a suffix. I'm sure there's lots more differences, but is that what makes it hard? Because I didn't find it hard to learn Cybex Standard at all as a sparkling, so why would it be hard for everyone else to learn Praxian? And how related are Praxian and Vosian anyway? I haven't heard much Vosian, I wouldn't say, but I don't think it sounds much like Praxian.

Also, I've been workshopping some nicknames for you, if you don't mind! Obviously you don't have to like any of these, and I won't use something unless you're okay with it. So Sky is the easy one, because it's right there in your designation, but it might be too easy. I think Light is a bit weird, but there's also Skybright, which I think sounds great. But it also sounds kind of similar to Sky Blue, so it might get confusing I guess. Just some ideas!

Have a great orn,

Bluestreak"

"Dear Sky Blue,

I also like the sound of Skybright. I usually don't go by any nicknames, but as a sparkling and youngling I got called a few different nest-names. I'm not sure if grounders have a version of this, actually. Essentially, when we're young we get a few names to use and then pick one after a while, usually when we we get our mechling upgrades, to have as our designation. This is because we tend to have pretty drastic changes from youngling to fledgling, so any old name might not fit anymore. Anyway, my nest-names were Rainstorm, Raindrop, and Droplet because I was small and blue and liked falling. After my mechling upgrades I changed my colours around and picked Skylight, partly inspired by my sire, Lightsong. So any of those work as nicknames for me, too.

As for the questions on Praxian:

Now I didn't study linguistics, mind you. My expertise is in literature, but I did take some classes on the subject while learning the classics. And of course I taught myself Old High Auraen, but that doesn't make me an expert in it.

But roughly, from what I can remember, Old High Auraen split off into High and Low Auraen around when the Vosian Lowland Outpost started having actual permanent residents. Low here just refers to elevation; Vos is much higher in altitude than Praxus. Eventually Low Auraen, with a lot of influence from Krustallish (an old Crystal City language) became old Praxian and then obviously modern Praxian. This is why bots would call the high-class Praxian dialect Crystalline, by the way, since it had the most Crystal City influence. And then High Auraen became Old Vosian, which has more Polyhexian influence, and then modern Vosian. So modern Vosian and Praxian are related, but not so closely that understanding one means you understand the other. It certainly helps with learning, though.

I know a bit of Vosian, but it's a hard language to get the accent right. So many clicks and hums you have to time just right, and the closest thing I think we have in Praxian is the trill-whir. OH Auraen doesn't have that many clicks or trills in it, so I'm pretty sure that means Vosian added them down the line. Why that happened, I can't tell you.

You're right about the word order. In Praxian and Vosian, we start with the verb and then put the subject, but the vast majority of other languages put the subject first. We have everything with suffixes, which is fairly common actually in smaller amounts but not to this extent. Cybex Standard isn't going to let you put eight suffixes on one noun. The big one, though, is the one that makes Praxian (and Vosian) hard to learn. And it's about verbs. See, Cybex Standard has a very regular set of conjugations and easy tense marking. We, for some reason, mark number on the verb itself but have person as a subglyph. That's like if you had to say ‘the stars’ by saying ‘star-s’ and ‘the’ at the same time! And that's not getting into the irregular stuff when it comes to movement or state-change verbs. And then tense. Praxian and Vosian use harmonics for tense, something they and only they do. Imagine trying to learn a language and finding out that, because you said something with slightly lower harmonics than usual, everything you just said is completely wrong.

So yeah, going from an irregular system to a regular one is generally easier than the opposite. Cybex Standard didn't become the standard for nothing; it's easy to learn and millennia of being a contact language has made it even easier.

As a bit of proof that Praxian and Vosian are weird in the same ways, here's what I know to say in Vosian:

Sunu. Fi(u)cc kiharwu(e’)-r’iit Skylight.

- Hello. Be(3rd-p)-one designate-object-me Skylight

Fi(s’e)cc kkor’i ta-nar? Uss(r’e)cc ar’ii maru(e’).

- Be(2nd-p)-one you question-how? Feel(1st-p)-one I good.

Which of course is: Hello, my designation is Skylight, and, How are you? I am feeling well.

That's pretty much exactly how Praxian does it. Old Praxian looks even more similar-- it still used r'iit for 'me', even.

And if you want to say 'I love you’, in OH Auraen, well...

Dzrisaäc r'îth wa'chhu,

Skylight"

-----

Prowl felt more than heard Jazz chuckle beside him. “Care to share?”

“It's letter time. Blue sent out a whole list a potential nicknames for Skylight, and it looks like they're sticking with Sky Blue for our Baby Blue.” His visor dimmed, indicating he was reading something on his HUD. “Real cute, Prowl, real cute. And now I have some more info on Skylight: previous youngling names, and his sire’s designation.”

“You know there's an easier way to find out who he really is.” Prowl knew that there was no point in saying this, but he still liked to remind his conjunx. “Datapad transmissions are archaic and thus annoying to trace, but you could do it in a joor. No, half a joor.”

“Oh. Well, this got interestin’.” Jazz’ optics lit up, and his frame language shifted from his carefully maintained casual slouch; now he resembled a cybercat on the hunt.

“Hm?” Prowl lifted his doorwings in the ‘go on’ gesture.

“Look. Now I won't pretend to know Praxian as well as you, but right here is Skylight claiming to not know Vosian that well. And then, when he goes to give a few basic phrases…” Jazz highlighted the Vosian.

Prowl studied it for a bit, before leaning back. “I'm not sure what I'm looking at,” he admitted. “I don't know any Vosian.”

“I can't say I know much, either. But I know what it looks like when it's written properly, and I know what makes it hard to learn.” Jazz paused, turning the phrases over in his processor. “This here, when it's just meant to be basics. He includes the, the… I don't know what to call them. The reliability, the evidence marker. I have no idea what these things are meant to mean, but I know what they look like, and I know I've never seen a bot use them unless they were completely fluent.”

“... Now why would he lie about knowing less Vosian than he really does?”

“Mech, when I find out, you'll be the first to know.” Jazz's field was bright and crackling with energy. He loved a good, challenging hunt.

-----

"Hey, hey, hey. Star? Star? Hey."

No response.

Primus, Skywarp was so bored.

Starscream was ignoring him, like he usually did, and after getting yelled at by Thundercracker, he didn't really want to spend too much time with TC either. Like, seriously, what was so bad about taking Nacelle's energon anyway? If Skywarp didn't steal it, some other 'Con would've. But Thundercracker always got all weird about it. Starscream at least understood that it was no big deal, unless someone tried to steal from one of them, of course.

"Screamer? Hey," Skywarp tried again, then got some inspiration. "I have a great idea that'd be really fun and--"

"--I'm not interested in having fun, Skywarp." Starscream's voice dripped with derision. "Some of us actually have important things to do."

"Isn't checking on a trinemate important?"

"Try again." Starscream didn't even look up.

"TC's on patrol for once, and I'm pretty sure he left his stuff in the medbay with Knock Out. We could finally get our servos on that 'pad he's always using and see what he's writing!" Skywarp's wings fluttered in excitement, and he could feel his spark begging to teleport.

"Why the interest now?" Starscream tried and failed to look bored. Skywarp knew better. Screamer couldn't handle the idea of there being gossip out there he didn't know about, especially if it involved his trine.

"He's just so protective of it, not like his normal poetry an' feelings slag. It's gotta be something juicy, you know it!" Skywarp had a hard time thinking of something juicy that Thundercracker would be writing, since he was just so impossibly boring, but sometimes the most boring mechs were the ones with the best secrets.

"It is my duty as the leader of this trine," Starscream began, and Skywarp instantly tuned him out. It was the same "I'm the trine leader yada yada, do as I say I'm so important" spiel that he always gave. When it sounded like he was maybe getting to the point, Skywarp bothered listening again. "--and therefore it is unacceptable for me to be ignorant about the happenings in my trine. So you, Skywarp, shall go and fetch this datapad and--"

Vwop!

Knock Out's section of the medbay was always organised and polished, just like the mech himself. It didn't look anything like the rest of the medbay, with scattered parts and bits of torn plating laying around, still stained with energon. Honestly, Skywarp didn't get Knock Out. If you clean up all the energon and rusted bits, how are bots supposed to know they're in a medbay at all?

The medic himself wasn't there, luckily, thought Hook was busy organising doodads in his own section. The Constructicon only briefly glanced up, but went back to his work with a sigh when he saw it was just Skywarp. The Seeker made short work rummaging through Knock Out's neatly kept stacks of 'pads and sensors, flipping through medical texts and other boring slag until he found it. Thundercracker's datapad. Partially hidden but still distinctive, with the slightly wear on the bottom and sides from his constant anxious grapsing. 'Pad in tow, Skywarp teleported out of there, not bothering to set anything back to where it was. Who cared if Knock Out knew someone had been through his stuff? He was some grounder medic.

Back in the quarters, Skywarp presented the 'pad to Starscream, his wings wide with delight. "Look! Lookit Screamer, now we'll finally know whatever non-boring slag he actually gets up to."

Starscream's reaction was more muted, but still obvious enough to Skywarp. He did that thing with his wings, where they tilted to hone in on one single point, and that always meant some good old fashioned Screamer scheming.

"Wonderful. In just one moment I will have access and -- oh, that was easier than I thought." Starscream's wings flicked with real surprise, then fluttered. "Of course, it shouldn't have shocked me so much. We both know that Thundercracker is lacking in common sense and proper knowledge of security, unlike myself."

"Yeah yeah, you're so smart, I know. C'mon, what's it say?"

Starscream's optics brightened, but then slowly grew dimmer and dimmer as he scrolled through the files. "No. No, this isn't Thundercracker's datapad." He suddenly whirled on Skywarp, plating puffed out. "You imbecile! You can't even steal a datapad properly, and yet I'm stuck with you--"

"--Eh? What do you mean? It's his! It's TC's! Lookit, it has the little scratches and the faded colour and everything and--"

"--and it's all in Praxian!" Starscream hissed. His wings shook, threatening to rattle. "Look! All these recent files, every last one, and not one is in Vosian. Nothing even in Cybex Standard!"

Skywarp adjusted his optics, trying to make sense of the strange glyphs on the pad. It definitly wasn't any language he could read, though it did look a bit Vosian-y if he thought about it. "Okay, so it's in some other language or whatever. Can't Thundercracker read some old scrap that no one speaks anymore? Auro-whatever. That slag."

The look Starscream gave could shatter spark crystal. "First of all, it's called Old High Auraen and it's the precursor to Vosian, and is certainly not slag! Secondly, this is Praxian, and I can count on one servo the number of Decepticons who can write in Praxian. Thundercracker isn't one of them."

"Ah, whoops." Skywarp shrugged. "D'ya want me to put it back?"

"Unless you want Barricade bursting in here in the middle of our recharge, yes." Starscream tossed the 'pad back, reverting back to being bored and ignoring Skywarp completely.

Skywarp sighed. That was a wash. But, as he teleported back to medbay to chuck the 'pad somewhere, he brightened back up. Some new rookie fliers were just arriving from Helex, and it was always a blast seeing how badly he could startle one. He once made a cargo transport slam into the ceiling hard enough to set off the base-wide air raid alarms.

Maybe this orn would be fun after all.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee was doing a very bad job at pretending not to snoop. Bluestreak almost wanted to comm Jazz about how bad his junior operative was doing, but that would've been a bit mean. But it was so, so hard to resist when Bee was sidling up next to him with all the subtlety of Powerglide after three cubes of high grade, and leaning over his shoulder to catch a not-very covert glimpse of the datapad.

Hot Rod, maybe, was worse. Rather than even try for stealth, he sprawled himself across from Bluestreak in the common area, and every few kliks gave pointed, knowing looks at Bluestreak and wiggled his spoiler. He attempts at sneaking a look at Bluestreak's letter... didn't even deserve to be called sneaking, because he just outright tried to tilt it towards himself so he could read it. Maybe, though, it was better, because he wasn't pretending to be anything other than a gossip.

"Alright, cut it out," Bluestreak all but snapped, after Bumblebee's leaning got a bit much. The other bot apologetically got out of his personal space. "What do you think I'm writing on this thing anyway, the location of the lost moon?"

Bumblebee fidgeted. "I can guess what... well, not what you're writing, but who it's for."

"The new bestie, Skysign. Skywing? Nope, Skylight. Got it!" Hot Rod sat up, and shot Bluestreak double finger-guns. Primus, he was too much. "We just wanna know everything about him, and why you're talking to him, and all the juicy, personal details. Is that too much?"

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean--" Bumblebee cut himself off with a click, resetting his vocaliser. "Yes, that's too much, because no. We don't want to know everything about him. That's weird, we don't need to know that." He glared at Hot Rod, who pouted. "We don't!"

"Look, this is my thing, okay? We all can have our thing! And that thing can be private, like how Hot Rod likes to race laps against himself and doesn't let anyone else be on the track when he's doing it, or how Sideswipe plays the crystal-harp but only when he thinks no one can hear him, and Prowl builds these little models of old spaceships that he got into because of uh, that one bot. The doctor, y'know, with the eyebrows? His designation, it's right there... Rang? Yeah, Rang." Bluestreak's doorwings twitched. He glanced between his datapad, and his two friends. "What were we talking about?"

"Your thing with writing to Skylight, and how it's private," Bumblebee said. "Which I respect! But I mean... it's weird, right? This Aerial no one else here knows and you writing to him like you're characters in a historical vid. We just... want to make sure he's okay, yeah? Not shady or being mean or giving bad advice or anything like that."

"Take my word for it, then. My creators know about these, Prowl even reads them sometimes. You think Prowl and Jazz are going to have someone shady writing me letters?"

"I'm pretty shady, myself. Which is impressive, considering I'm so hot." Hot Rod pointed at his grinning faceplates. And then he draped himself across the table, face down. "And I'll die if I don't get to know anything about Skylight."

"If you really can't handle it, then you can ask... three questions, and I'll answer you." Three questions was probably a safe amount. Plus, this was Hot Rod, and for all his gossip-loving ways, he was terrible at actually asking good questions.

"Thanks! This is really generous," Bumblebee said.

"Me first!" Hot Rod slammed his servos on the table. "He's a flier, yeah? Can he out-fly a Seeker? Like, is he faster or more manoeuvrable? What kind of flight frame is he, anyway?"

Bluestreak briefly reset his optics, and chuckled. Yeah, Hot Rod's idea of an interesting question certainly was not everyone else's. "I'll just count that as one question, and I guess I don't know. About him out-flying a Seeker, I mean, because I've never seen him fly and he's never mentioned it. I know he's a light Aerial, but not a racer. He's built for long distance, not speed, so I don't think he could out-fly a Seeker like that. Maybe over a long enough time."

Hot Rod nodded, humming in thought. "Okay, so does that mean--"

"I think Bumblebee should probably get a chance," Bluestreak said, taking pity on him. Hot Rod was hard to compete against when it came to anything relating to speed. Or being loud. Or both.

Bumblebee smiled, gratefulness in his field. "So we know Skylight is Praxian and a flier, but when did he join the Autobots?"

That gave Bluestreak pause. When did Skylight join the Autobots? Judging by some of the stories he told, he definitely wasn't part of the Autobots back when they directly served the Prime. Also, as a flight frame he probably wouldn't have wanted to be involved with them anyway, because they were pretty bad for fliers until... "After the fall of Praxus, like most Praxians."

The mention got a moment of respectful silence, even from Hot Rod, and some soft murmurs of sympathy. But then again, Hot Rod actually probably understood better than Bumblebee. Bee was from Iacon, basically the one city still around that even somewhat resembled what it used to before the war. Hot Rod was from Nyon which... was as much of a ruin as Praxus and Vos.

After the pause, Bumblebee started again with, "In Polyhex, was Skylight--"

"So, what are you writing about?" Hot Rod spoke right over Bee, optics bright.

"Last question!" Bluestreak turned the datapad up towards them, like it'd mean anything at all. "And I'm writing about how annoying it is that my friends keep bothering me when I'm writing!"

"Dear Skylight,

I hope everything is going well. I've been finding it a bit difficult to write lately, not because I don't want to or can't find the time, but because my friends are being annoying. I know they mean well, but I wish they'd stop looking over my shoulders when I'm writing to you. They can't even read Praxian, and they know it, so I don't know what they think they'll accomplish. Maybe they hope that if they keep looking at it, magically it will turn into Cybex? But mostly they've been trying to ask me questions about you, and I did answer a few of them just to get them to be quiet.

I know they're just concerned, and also interested in my new friend (though it's been metacycles so I don't think you're very new anymore), but why can't they leave me alone when I ask? I try to be grateful to them, because they really do want to connect with me about something that they know I care about, but still. I wish they understood a bit more about privacy, sometimes.

How are things at Polyhex? Jazz told me you've been getting more raids at the border recently. Please stay safe! I don't know what the Cons are up to (obviously, no one does) but hopefully it will all die down soon.

Anyway, I have to go on shift in just a few breems, so I'll send this now and write you a better letter later!

Have a good orn,

Blue"

He sent the letter, and the moment he tilted the 'pad down, Hot Rod's face was microns from his optics.

"So Blue--"

"--I have a shift soon, Hot Rod. Please. I already told you about Skylight." Bluestreak subspaced the datapad and moved to stand.

"Told us? We got to ask three questions and then--"

"Hot Rod, shut up." Bumblebee smacked his friend upside the helm. "Sorry about him, Blue. He's... Hot Rod. He can't help it. We really appreciate you answering our questions, and... well, sorry for being pushy about it. It's probably not very helpful." He grinned in his sheepish, apologetic way.

"No, it's okay. I know you just want to talk to me about something I care about, but... Skylight isn't the base gossip about who Mirage might be hooking up with, or keeping up with Sideswipe's homemade pedeball brackets. Y'know? This is, this is..." It wasn't often that Bluestreak found himself at a loss for words.

Even Hot Rod seemed to understand that this meant something, and his spoiler wilted. "I've been an aft, haven't I."

"That's nothing new, Roddy," Bumblebee said, patting him on the back.

It earned him a withering glare. "Sorry 'bout that, Blue. I guess I am annoying. Feel free to complain about me to your flier friend all you want! That's what friends are for. Annoying each other, and complaining, and laughing it off?" This last part was said as such an obvious suggestion, with Hot Rod leaning in dramatically, that Bluestreak couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Yeah, Hot Rod, you are annoying. But Sunny also thinks I'm annoying, so we can be annoying together! Just listen to me next time when I tell you to frag off for asking about Skylight. If I want to tell you about him, I'll tell you myself. No need to try and manifest Praxian fluency." Bluestreak flicked his doorwings. "But seriously, I have a shift soon and I don't want Red Alert coming after me because I'm late. So see ya!"

-----

Thundercracker chuckled. Nosy friends were a universal experience. When he was a young adult, his friends made it their mission to figure out who he was supposedly secretly dating... which was no one, but they managed to fabricate an entire potential trine for him out of nothing but pure gossip. At the time, it had been deeply frustrating, but looking back as an adult, it was obvious they had only genuinely wanted for him to be happy and were simply confused about how to actually help. They had cared so much that they went to such stupid lengths to try and keep him safe from figments of their imagination. It was good the Bluestreak had friends like that, friends who cared and would look out for him. Also annoying, but friends usually were.

Maybe it made it harder for Thundercracker, what with his story liable to fall apart under the merest scrutiny, but he tried to not think about that. And anyway, unless they started writing to each other in Cybex Standard or Blue's friends magically learned Praxian, there was no risk from that corner.

(Prowl and Jazz could both read Praxian. He tried to shove that to a sub-processor and forget about it. Not important.)

Lying in his berth, wings and back sore from all the flying and getting shot at-- Bluestreak was right about them stepping up attacks against Polyhex-- Thundercracker offlined his optics and wished, not for the first or last time, that his friends were there. His old friends. Galeforce, who he never managed to work up the courage to ask out... Backdraft, who he could read poetry with without embarrassment... Downwind, who understood what it was like to belong to two cities... and Pulsar and Fly-by and Jade and Lightyear and...

"Ow!"

That was his only warning before a pillow struck him on the side of the helm. He sat up, optics onlining probably too fast with his systems screaming about potential danger. Beating his defence protocols down, he glared up at Skywarp, who glared back from where he stood in the doorway.

"If you need my attention, 'Warp, you should comm me." He flattened his wings and laid back down, pulling out his datapad again. Maybe he'd reread some old letters...

"I tried that, and you ignored me. Look, TC, you can have a pity-party whenever you want, but remember to close the bond off before you do it. You're gonna give Screamer and me some weird spark damage if you keep it up." Skywarp thumped on his cockpit to demonstrate.

Thundercracker winced. He sat up and flicked a 'sorry' with his wings. "Didn't know it would hurt that bad. It should be fine the rest of the off shift. I'll try to keep my mind off... off anything like that."

"You better, or Starscream'll rip your wings off. He's trying to do some science whatever and--," Skywarp reset his vocaliser and launched into a perfect impression of Starscream," -- my endeavours require the utmost concentration, you imbecilic excuse for a trinemate. " He shrugged. "Or at least that's what he told me when I tried to play keep-away with some of the glowy bits."

"Maybe don't mess with any glowy bits that Starscream has brought into our quarters." Thundercracker was not a scientist, and didn't understand much more than the basics, but from personal experience he knew that glowy science had a high likelihood to explode and he didn't want to have to scrounge up new pillows... again. He laid back down, turning the pad back on.

Skywarp's displeasure melted away suddenly, and his wings flared in excitement. "Hey! If you wanna make it up to me, tell me what you've been doin' with your new best friend?"

Thundercracker just barely remembered to close off the bond in time, because the sickening lurch of fear would have certainly gone through to his trinemates. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but he could feel his plating shake. "Y-yeah?" Even if he wanted to say more, he couldn't, not with his vocaliser threatening to give out. His processor looped over a dozen different possibilities, all of them bad. His wings trembled. How much did Skywarp know?

"The slag? What's wrong with you?" Skywarp scrunched his faceplates. He turned to yell into the common area, "Screamer! Screamer, I think I broke TC, he's all shaky and scrap. What do I do?"

Starscream appearing in the doorway did not help Thundercracker calm down. The icy grip on his spark only tightened, and he subspaced the datapad out of sheer panic. Or no, would that make him look more guilty? But if they knew that he was using it to message someone, then did that mean there was nothing he could do to look innocent? Or would trying to look innocent only make it worse and--

"Primus, you really did break him." The voice was distant. "What did you do?"

"I don't know! I asked about the 'pad thing again and he starts freaking out."

"Ugh, I'll have to ask Soundwave about that then, if he won't tell us himself." Pedesteps. Then, "Hey! I'm talking to you, scrapheap. Sit up and get it together, or I'm going to Soundwave." A pause. "Come on, I'm your trine leader. Or are you going to disobey me? ... fine, have it your way! Impossible to get good trinemates... not like the good orns back..." The voice was getting farther away. "...Skywarp... follow... now!"

Silence.

Even with the bond closed, his optics offline, Thundercracker could still tell when his trinemates left the room. The emptiness felt impossibly huge. They were going to Soundwave... and if he told them anything, then it was over. Thundercracker didn't want to die. He didn't want Bluestreak to die. He wanted to write his letters and pretend everything was going to be fine. He wanted to think about his fledglinghood in Vos and Praxus and share it with someone who cared. He wanted to remember his friends...

He wanted his trinemates to come back, so he wouldn't be alone.

-----

Jazz combed through the latest few letters from their mystery maybe-Praxian, making annotations as he went. The language quirks, references to creators and social upbringing... Everything was a trace of who this mech actually was. The recent language information, especially the knowledge of Vosian, burned at the front of his processor. There was something here, if he could only find it. Surely the number of bots with these traits was small enough to find, given enough time. But he needed to keep building his profile.

On the board, he shifted the "Vosian Proficiency" over to the top, and added a note: "Could be due to Vos' importance to flight-frame's broadly, or Praxus' ties there. Why lie about knowledge? Afraid of reprisal or genuine humility." He surveyed his work, and reworked the groupings again, this time organising by cultural traits. Flight-frame traits, Praxian signifiers, language knowledge, social class, and the fourth for anything that didn't quite fit. Flight-frame traits were easy: Skylight used enough idioms and told enough personal stories that there could be no doubt about that. Beyond flight-frame generally, he was definitely not a rotor or any kind of shuttle, which did leave a wide range of sub-frametypes he could be. Everything from stunt-frame racer to small transport, but Jazz was leaning towards one of the more active Aerial frames, though one with large wings. Language knowledge was a host of mysteries, most centred around the Vosian, but the Praxian fluency was at least indisputable. Pre-war social class was odd, because Skylight had obviously been flight caste but was able to get an exemption, so likely his family hadn't been in poverty as that would've been prohibitively expensive. And the fourth category...

Jazz stared at his board, servos at his hips, visor dim with thought. Some of the traits were simply too specific for him to ignore. Praxian had singular, dual, and plural inflections, and sometimes when Skylight mentioned his creators he inflected them for plural... did he have more than two? It wasn't rare for Praxus, but certainly noteworthy, so Jazz noted it. His overly formal terms for officers and strange assurances that he felt grateful to Prime could be just a personal quirk, or him being self-conscious knowing that his letters were likely being read by over-protective creators, or something else. Relating to his previous caste? Very likely. His treatment of Blue resembled strong creator or protective coding, rather than simple friendship, while Blue did tend to inspire protective instincts in most older bots, it usually wasn't to the extent of making a false identity to reassure him via proxy.

He finished writing his speculative notes, and got out a 'pad with some roster data to start searching, when Prowl walked into their shared quarters. Shared quarters which Jazz had taken over with his note-board and datapads of annotated letters, all the furniture shoved into one corner so he could view it better while standing in the middle of the room.

"Should I be concerned about you?" Prowl's utter stoicism made the whole thing even more absurd, and Jazz couldn't help but laugh.

"Nah mech, we're good. Just finished the annotations on the latest letters from dear-Skylight. Impressed?" He gestured to the board.

"If you just gave me this data and the names of every 'Bot who served in or near Polyhex at the time of the ambush, I could have my tac-net solve this in an orn."

"You sure?" At the incredulous lift of Prowl's doorwings, Jazz quickly elaborated, "I'm not doubting the tac-net. It can move through probability like nobody else-- like nothing else-- in existence. But when it comes to bots, well... We ain't exactly rational, are we? And I know it can take some of that into account, but how much? This whole situation is irrational. I mean, the core problem is that we don't know why Skylight isn't fessing up to who he is. It doesn't matter who statistically matches all these traits the best, because we need to find our answer to that question. And that answer is somewhere in here ." He waved his servo to encompass all the personal information he had catalogued. "And this? This is my space ."

Prowl gave a small smile, inclining his helm. "True. The tac-net is noticeably worse with incomplete data than a knowledgeable bot." He took a few kliks to take in everything Jazz had recorded so far. "I wouldn't have thought to note some of these traits--I would have likely filtered them under simple idiosyncrasy and discarded it-- but you are the expert here." He paused, and his smile grew amused. "It doesn't help that you like a pet project."

That got a laugh out of Jazz. "We all need our hobbies!"

-----

"I didn't mean to break him, I swear!" Skywarp protested, but Starscream didn't care and continued to drag his useless trinemate down the hall.

"It doesn't matter what you meant! Now we have to wait for him to get over it, and Primus knows how long that will take. He's supposed to be filling out requisition forms today, and if he's in there having some breakdown, do you know who has to do that? ME!" Starscream rattled his wings. Ugh, Thundercracker had to be doing it on purpose, timing these episodes of his to when it would be least convenient. Couldn't he schedule it out to fit Starscream's plans?

"I can always get someone else to do it! Dirge never has anything better to do," Skywarp offered, still struggling to break free from his trine leader's grip. But no bot escaped the fearsome grip of Starscream! And plus, if he was too dim-witted to try teleporting, then he deserved to be dragged around.

"I don't care about Dirge. I care about why Thundercracker decided to panic. That 'pad of his is in his subspace, so we can't read it, but Soundwave will have to know what he's up to.  It's his job to keep track of shady characters."

"That's like, every Decepticon. D'ya think he keeps track of what I'm doing on my 'pads?" Skywarp snickered. "I kinda hope he does, I wanna see his face when he goes through some of those vids... Oh, but his faceplates never really move, hm, so that's..."

"Irrelevant!! No one cares about what you're doing or thinking, Skywarp. You aren't intelligent enough to plot." Starscream couldn't help the pride that crept into his voice. Yes, intelligence was the real key to leadership. And leadership must be won on the battlefield of schemes and plots, where he would naturally--

"So does that mean you think TC is smart enough to treason? 'Cause... I know he writes a lot, and I think he got to study someplace--"

"--yes, I recall him saying so when I first spoke to him, back when we were trying to get everyone accounted for after Vos. Literature. It's not the kind of education that's useful so I didn't bother putting it into his file when I became the Air Commander." Starscream remembered at the time, feeling faintly impressed at Thundercracker's depth of knowledge in classics and history, which of course led to him asking if it wouldn't be better for them to stick together. But as the Air Commander and second in command of the Decepticons, he developed a new understanding of what mattered in the world. When Starscream had gotten his chance to study, he chose Xenobiology and Nucleo-physics, because that was the knowledge that created power .

"Yeah. And so I guess he's smart, but is it scheming smart? I mean, he's never done this before. Well, no, he's freaked out before. But not tried to hide something. Has he?" Skywarp's wings twitched.

"We shall find out!" Starscream finally released Skywarp, because they had arrived.

Soundwave's office.

Starscream went to ping the door, but it slid open on its own. Ugh, they were expected. That ruined the drama he had been planning, of bursting in triumphant to report possible treason.

"Starscream: concerned about trinemate." Soundwave got right to the point.

Skywarp groaned. "Oh come on! Which of them got into our quarters again? Rumble? No, I bet it was Laserbeak this time."

"Right, wonderful, then you know what I'm going to ask. Why is he acting suspicious like that, and is he plotting something?" Starscream, for once, wished that the three of them hadn't gotten into the habit of keeping the bond blocked off. You couldn't lie with your spark, after all, and treachery would be that much easier to detect.

Soundwave's visor remained impassive. "Thundercracker's behaviour: expected." Starscream resisted snarling, because really, how dare he ! Implying that he knew Starscream's trinemate better than he did, when he was just some grounder host with delusions. Ugh. Soundwave continued on, "Command Trine: known to be erratic. Skywarp: low risk for treason. Thundercracker: acting within known parameters. Starscream: highest risk for treason."

Starscream scoffed. Of course he was the highest risk, he was the trine leader! He was the one that made all the decisions, not the two idiots he was stuck with. If anyone in his trine was going to be committing treason, it would be him ! "I'm not asking which of us is highest risk, I'm asking if Thundercracker is plotting!"

"Yeah, he won't let us read through his personal stuff!" Skywarp pouted.

"Behaviour: expected." This time Soundwave pitched his harmonics for finality, and Starscream seethed. Being dismissed like this was unbecoming, but shredding the communications officer would probably be more unbecoming, so he instead very maturely stormed out.

"...I feel like he didn't answer our question," Skywarp muttered.

"He did." Starscream continued his elegant power-walking. But as he said it, his steps nearly faltered.

...

Wait.

Did he?

-----

Prowl listened to the reports from Polyhex, his tac-net churning through data so quickly he could feel the power draw. The rest of High Command seemed similarly occupied, optics dim with thought and fields pulled in.

"Thank you for your report, Apex," Optimus said, inclining his helm to the garrison leader on the view-screen. Apex looked tired and worn, with obvious welds that hadn't been painted over yet. "We shall be reinforcing the Polyhex garrisons soon, I assure you. Expect the reinforcements..." Here he trailed off and looked to Prowl.

"Any dispatch from Rodion could reach Polyhex within two orns, if they go by ground. A dispatch from Iacon would take four orns, unless the troops are shuttled, in which case it would be within an orn. I do not believe that Rodion has enough transports to make shuttling a dispatch possible." Prowl's tac-net had already crunched these numbers. Normally a dispatch from Rodion wouldn't take so long, but the recent acid storms had destroyed the roads. His tec-net predicted that Optimus Prime, with 94% certainty, would prefer--

"They will arrive within the orn. Have your shuttle landing pads prepared."

Apex saluted. "Thank you, Prime. We will be ready." The call ended.

"I'll get the reinforcements ready, Prime, unless Prowl 'r Magnus has special requests on who stays or goes." When there was no response, Ironhide stood. "I never know why they're so obsessed with Polyhex... been trying to get their claws into it."

"It used to be theirs, in the beginning, and you know Megsy doesn't take that kind of insult well. Autobots? In his city? Got nothing to do with strategic value, I'll tell you that." Jazz had his pedes kicked up onto the table.

"Regardless of why the Decepticons are so determined on taking Polyhex, we must defend it. The reinforcements must reach the city soon, or we risk losing the city, and all those sparks who still call it home." Optimus rose, that resolute glint in his optics. "Polyhex will not fall."

Chapter Text

Polyhex clung to its remaining beauty jealously. The Rust Sea shoreline cut a brilliant contrast of silvery metal and greenish crystals against the frothing rust. The cliffs sheltered the city with shining and stark effectiveness. Polyhex's towers spiraled out of the ground like they had grown from it, and even with the war and devastation, tiny dots moved about the criss-crossing roads like quartz-ants. Thundercracker tried no to dwell on them, on the fact that somehow Polyhex still had something resembling a civilian population. It didn't matter. Viewed from so high up, they were tiny specks to be scattered before the Decepticon's might. Polyhex was an Autobot city, and that meant mostly grounder; its glory days as the second flyer city of Cybertron were over. It wasn't a disgrace to attack it. Those measly quartz-ants down there were nothing... Thundercracker didn't have to care about their worthless sparks because... because...

Because some of them might be Bluestreak's friends.

He wobbled in the air. Skywarp gave a curious wing dip, and Starscream simply sent a blunt ::Stop thinking:: over comms.

Of course. Thundercracker was fine. And not having another breakdown in as many orns. He could handle it.

The formation of Seekers flew on.

This was meant to be the finale, the head-on assault to finally break through and take back Polyhex once and for all. As always when Megatron made such boastful plans, Thundercracker muted his vocaliser so he wouldn't point out all the other times they'd tried this. He'd made a suggestion once, and got rightfully punished for it. He could learn. Even if Megatron couldn't.

Starscream had drafted the aerial assault plans and had been very clear that Thundercracker was one of the linchpins of the grand attack. Polyhex's cliffs protected it from most direct ground assaults, not to mention all the bad weather from the Rust Sea, but they were crystalline and prone to rock slides... especially if provoked by say, a large shockwave. And so Thundercracker, for once, got the best fuel that orn and Starscream had even waxed his wings to be sure there would be no unwarranted drag.

It had been embarrassingly pleasant, if Thundercracker ignored that he was about to go out and kill a bunch of bots.

What a terrible contrast, he thought, as Polyhex edged closer and closer. Physically his frame was in the best condition it had been in a while, and his spark felt like it might spin itself to pieces. Some orns he nearly regretted his idea to write to Bluestreak...

No.

No he didn't regret writing to Bluestreak. When he wrote to Bluestreak, he could make his fledgling happy and give him a piece of Praxus, if only for a breem. And... and he wanted to write in Paxian again, and share his stories to someone who would read them and care and Bluestreak needed someone who wasn't in Autobot High Command to talk to about Praxus and feelings and ... and... He just couldn't regret it. Not for anything.

Not even when knowing more about the Autobots was making it harder to fight them.

::Hey, Screamer, did we bring ground troops with us?:: Skywarp's comm cut through Thundercracker's thoughts. ::...And since when did we paint our shuttles like that?::

::Of course not! We don't need grounders coming in and tramping around and --::

Thundercracker directed his attention to the location ping Skywarp sent along with the comm and...

::More importantly,:: he broke in, interrupting Starscream's diatribe. ::Since when was Skyfire back on our side?::

Because there he was, the unmistakable shape of Skyfire, flying alongside a dozen other smaller shuttles, most looking to be mere vehicles.

A sudden, sharp pang of hatred~longing flared across the bond before Starscream got a hold of himself and closed it off. Thundercracker, pettily, wanted to comm him and ask why their glorious trine leader was allowed to let emotions leak across the bond, but he knew better. Starscream was in fact dramatic enough to transform and fight him in the air on their way to an actual battle.

::Alert!:: Starscream sent out a formation-wide priority ping. ::Autobot transports spotted! They must be shot down before they can reinforce the city. Port wing, starboard wing, you go after the vehicles. Centre wing, we attack the shuttles. And Skyfire is mine!:: Even with the limitations of comms, Starscream managed to put real venom into his words. And without further ado, the formation split and raced off.

Thundercracker didn't quite strain to keep up with Starscream, but he certainly wished his trine leader remembered that one of his trine mates was not exactly built for speed. But Starscream was pretty well beyond remembering much of anything in that moment, his flight path as direct as possible straight to Skyfire. Thundercracker kept his sensors on high alert, knowing that the Autobots wouldn't be stupid enough to send troop transports undefended. He hoped the Aerialbots wouldn't be there, but too late.

The transport formation shifted, revealing their escort where they had been hiding in the middle.

Time for a fight.

-----

"Get ready for a fight, everyone," came Skyfire's voice, echoing in that weird way it did when they were in the cargo bay. "We've got Seekers on us, and Starscream is on his way to intercept. Hold on to something."

And that was the warning they got before Skyfire banked sharply, throwing bots against the hull. Bluestreak grabbed one of the internal supports, briefly wondered if it felt weird for Skyfire that he was gripping so tightly, and then decided to worry about that later. He could feel the acceleration, and the roar of Skyfire's engines only grew louder as they suddenly pitched forward and swung to the left. Hopefully the Aerialbots and the other Autobot air support were able to keep the worst of the fight away from the transports and shuttles.

Another sharp turn and Bluestreak nearly lost his grip, for a moment hanging near completely sideways. He never considered just how fast Skyfire could fly if he wanted, but he could feel it now in the sheer force of the acceleration. But no matter how fast Skyfire could go, it was still nothing compared to a Seeker. To one Seeker, in specific, who had a grudge against--

There was a momentary lurch, and Bluestreak felt Skyfire's very frame quiver. The shuttle couldn't hide his field from his passengers, and they all winced at the flash of pain~fear. He wasn't sure if it would help or not, but Bluestreak still extended his own field and tried to push encouragement and comfort into it. It was the least he could do.

"Apologies for the rough flight," came Skyfire's voice again, noticeably tight. "I'm compensating, but one of my thrusters is out. We'll be landing ahead of schedule, as soon as Silverbolt gets Starscream off my wings. Please stay calm, and do your best to stay in one piece."

And then they rolled.

The tight spiral sent everyone tumbling, helms and pedes and chassis slamming into each other like they were in a rock tumbler. In the midst of all this, a comm was patched through. ::This is Polyhex Airfield Beta-Seven. Skyfire, you are clear to land whenever you are ready. Have the troops ready to depart.::

"You heard the Airfield Commander," Skyfire said. "Once we're right way up, get in positions to disembark. We're on a tight schedule."

Getting into positions would be easier without the evasive maneuvers. But Bluestreak tried his hardest, not complaining like some of the other bots, because he knew Skyfire was doing his very best. Primus, the mech had been injured and he wasn't even meant to be combatant! And they were there, safe behind the shuttle's thick plating and daring to complain about the flight. Normally Bluestreak would shrug off the complaints... but they weren't his to shrug off, were they? And the treatment of flight-frames had been on his processor lately, so instead he noted on his HUD if any of the comments were beyond the typical standard-issue grumbling.

They pitched forward sharply, and Bluestreak cringed at the rattling sound of Skyfire's thrusters. How badly hurt was he? They decelerated and jolted to an ungainly stop, Skyfire's bay doors opening the moment he touched down.

Bluestreak and the others streamed out of the cargo hold... into a nightmare.

The skies over Polyhex roared with engines and gunfire, with nothing visible but flashes and smoke. Every now and then a Seeker would fly low enough to skim below the haze before darting back up into the pandemonium.

The ground wasn't much better, with huge swaths of the city lying in ruins... more than usual. Buildings in crumpled heaps, the roads torn and useless, craters left and right from bombs and artillery... And this from only some testing raids, not even a full scale assault like the one now. Wold there even be anything left, if the Decepticons won? Would they really fight to get the glory of ruling a pile of rubble?

Bluestreak knew the answer to that.

He got a ping from the Airfield Commander for his assigned location, and sent back an acknowledgement. But first...

He turned around and headed back to Skyfire.

The damage didn't look too bad, all things considered, but Skyfire was certainly lucky he had such thick armour for reentry. He had probably gotten two, maybe three direct hits on his left wing and thruster. The thruster was smoking badly, energon leaking to form a spreading pool on the runway. Two medics were making hasty repairs, just a patch job so he could get airborne again, and Bluestreak darted past them to stand near the cockpit. He knew it wasn't really important, since the cockpit was part of Skyfire's chest and not his head, but it felt more polite to speak to his cockpit instead of the thrusters.

"Skyfire!" Bluestreak shouted over the battle noise. "I just wanted to check that you were okay! And say thank you, for flying us in under fire. I hope you aren't hurt too bad, and that you can get out of here safely."

Skyfire made a two-toned hum, his field stretching out to touch Bluestreak's with no-worries~gratitude. "Thank you, Bluestreak. And I hope the flight wasn't too rough for you. I know my hold isn't laid out with those kinds of maneuvers in mind." There was a pause, as the medics continued to work. "The injury looks worse than it really is. I'll be back in the air in a breem or two. Though... I'll be staying here, in Polyhex."

Bluestreak checked the mission brief, pretty sure that Skyfire was meant to leave as soon as he dropped everyone off. And yeah, there it was-- the shuttles were to leave Polyhex and get back to Iacon and prepare in case they needed to send another wave of reinforcements. "Uh, you sure? I mean, you got hurt and I know you're a scientist and Prowl is always explaining to everyone you're a non-combatant and I don't think the medics here can help you a lot. No offence to them! But we're kind of still under attack and it seems hard to do repairs when you might get shot, you know?"

A little nudge from Skyfire's field reminded Bluestreak that maybe he could stop rambling in the middle of a war zone. There was no hostility or even frustration, just a sense of soft determination. "I understand there's no requirement for me to fight, but I am still armed and capable."

Bluestreak started to protest, "Oh! I never meant that you weren't able to fight, just that you're a scientist and no one can make you. Except the Decepticons but I mean--"

"Exactly. Starscream is... my history. And given that he's targeted me--again--I feel like I should help... deal with him. At the very least, if I'm in the air and fighting him, he'll be too distracted with me to do anything else. I know Starscream, and his tunnel-vision is an easy weakness to exploit." Skyfire's voice was calm, even as his field started to flare in intensity, but there was still a slight edge to it. He used a strange subglyph attached to Starscream's designation that Bluestreak had never heard before, but he knew in the middle of a bombed airfield was not the place to ask.

"I'm not Prowl. but taking Starscream out of the fight, even only mentally, would probably be worth it compared to another batch of troops... but it's not worth your spark. I..." Bluestreak twitched his doorwings, unable to find the words. He wasn't really close to Skyfire--not many bots were--but the shuttle had become a familiar presence in Iacon and Bluestreak had a profound respect for his ideals and defection. It was one thing to be an Autobot because you always had been, but it was another to be one because you had made that hard, conscious decision. Bluestreak tried his best to push his feelings into his field. "Winds at your wings, Skyfire."

Skyfire's field jolted with surprise, then a warm happiness. "...Thank you. And may skies be clear, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak nodded, and then transformed and raced off to the eastern quadrant. Behind him, he could hear Skyfire's thrusters roar to life. Hopefully nothing would happen to the shuttle, but Bluestreak knew that Starscream was viscous.

No time to worry about that now.

He navigated the torn up roads without difficulty. Vorns of practice and a strong, generalist frame made swerving around rubble and tackling buckled pavement second nature. He quickly spotted the small garrison he was meant to be reinforcing, as they requested another sharpshooter to keep the worst of the strafing runs at bay while they finished setting up fortifications. The commander greeted Bluestreak with a simple ID confirmation ping and a comm burst with location data. Bluestreak replied with his acknowledgment and drove out to circle the area, trying to spot a good vantage point to set up. He had his regular shoulder cannons, naturally, but he had also come with a larger sniper rifle just in case.

A nearby building, partially burned but clearly the remains of some kind of storage tower, was the perfect spot. Bluestreak transformed and made the tedious climb, all the while hearing Seeker engines whine overhead. The smoke was still too thick for normal visuals, but that was just one more reason why he had brought his rifle...

Reaching the top of the building, he unpacked his rifle and assembled it with practiced ease. Snapping the specialised scope into place, he vented once to steel himself, and then got ready. Through the scope, the Seekers popped up as bright bursts of light, their contrails streaming behind them. Autoot fliers had their spark signatures registered so there'd be no friendly fire due to the haze, and Bluestreak steadied himself and took the first shot.

The Seeker spun out, dipping low enough to become visible and recognisable as Thrust, who awkwardly banked and glided away. Bluestreak took another shot at a Seeker preparing to strafe the garrison, which missed but still forced them to abandon the attack. Another shot, another Seeker downed or damaged or distracted, and kliks passed into breems. And--

A sharp double-boom crashed down from the sky.

Bluestreak gasped, the sound briefly numbing his doorwings, but that was a small problem compared to...

::Thundercracker is destabilising the cliffs! Repeat, Thundercracker is destabilising the cliffs! All air units, focus pursuit on Thundercracker. All ground units, retreat from areas at risk for collapse.::

He jerked his helm to the side, scanning the base of the cliffs for signs of collapse. He was too far to see if the crystalline structure had cracked, but he wasn't about to take his chances with sticking around. While the garrison wasn't particularly close, if the cliffs crumbled in a violent enough way, they'd still get showered with shards. So Bluestreak subspaced his sniper rifle and swung over the side of the building, skidding down the side and landing hard at the bottom. After resetting his gyros from the shock, and getting an all-clear from a system check, Bluestreak transformed and drove towards the southeast, towards the coast and away from the cliffs.

It was odd though. Thundercracker was definitely capable of shattering structures like the cliffs in one boom, but while it had jolted everyone, it didn't seem like the shock wave had done much damage. With all the smoke and haze, he probably couldn't get proper visuals to know how close to get. And now with everyone gunning for him, hopefully he wouldn't get a second chance to wreak havoc.

Bluestreak drove further, plating clamped tight. The smoke over near the shore wasn't as thick, but it was still enough to obscure the sky and make it impossible to tell if a Seeker was coming until they were right on top of him. But yet normal shelter wasn't an option, what with the potential for sonic booms to bring any building down, so being exposed was somehow his best option.

Once he felt he was a good distance from the cliffs, Bluestreak went back into root mode and crouched behind a buckled piece of road. It was the best cover he could manage, give the circumstances. Out near the edge of the city, the battle wasn't as fierce, but the harsh sound of engines still filled the air and every now and then, the blurry silhouette of a Seeker became visible through the smoke. He didn't dare fire and open himself up to attack while out in the open, and so far from the garrison, so he stayed put. But kept his sensors and weapons online, naturally.

He made a quick survey of the area, making sure that he wasn't in any danger. There was a large communications tower nearby, but with the terrain it didn't look like it'd collapse it his direction unless hit at just the right angle. The Rust Sea was visible from his spot in the street, a wide band of red on the horizon that stretched forever. He checked his comms again, to see if there were any updates about the cliffs, or if there was anything from Skyfire or his creators.

A horrid metallic crunch rang through the air, followed by an ominous creaking. Bluestreak looked up and saw the hole punched through the communications tower, a web of crack racing out from it. He transformed and bolted, just in time as the top storey crumpled and plummeted. It fell in two huge chunks near where he had been standing.

He waited a klik, then transformed again and crept forward slowly, doorwings high and primed.

Dense smoke rose from the base of the shattered tower. While it was still standing, the tower's creaks and groans were a constant reminder of the threat. But he needed to know what had collided with it, a downed Seeker or a missile or something else entirely. He hoped it wasn't some new long-ranged cannon. The Decepticons didn't need any more weapons. But the dust was so thick he couldn't see, and even his sensors had a hard time penetrating.

He crept closer.

The bulk of battle continued in the distance, with the roar of Seeker engines and laser fire and tires squealing. Something raced overhead, and he froze, but the 'Con flew on and ignored the lone grounder crouched in the dust.

Very near him, someone coughed.

His doorwings flared and his optics snapped to the direction of the sound. He hadn't been mistaken, that was the very distinct sound of air intakes clearing.

Through the haze of smoke and dust, two red optics glowed.

Bluestreak primed his shoulder cannon.

Good news: the Decepticons didn't have a new super-cannon.

Bad news: he was face-to-face with a downed Seeker.

He didn't open fire, though. They might be the enemy, but that didn't mean shooting a potentially helpless 'Con was the right thing. If the Seeker shot first, though, then he wouldn't hesitate. But a capture, perhaps, would be useful...

The dust slowly settled, and Bluestreak made out the hunched silhouette. No way to tell how injured, but they still had both wings at least.

The Seeker had certainly seen him, and those wings snapped forward and rattled. A low hiss cut through the battle noise.

"My cannon is primed, Seeker. Do not fire. If I detect your weapons coming online, I will shoot. But I will not harm you if you remain--"

An ominous rumbling sounded. The red optics brightened. "Don't threaten me, Autobot. I can bring this tower down before you have a chance to fire." The deep voice... The rumbling like thunder...

Oh slag.

The rumbling grew louder.

The dust continued to settle.

Thundercracker glared up at him from where he was hunched on the ground, wings arched defensively. The thunder grew and the debris at their pedes quivered and--

The noise stopped.

The Seeker had frozen, wings half up in shock, optics so bright they were white. He bared his teeth, but instead of firing up his sigma or his weapons, he pressed himself into the ground and lurched away. Bluestreak stood stock still, too bewildered to react, because... what? Why threaten to bring down the tower and then suddenly decide to stop and crawl away? And not even try to fight back? He didn't seem that hurt...

But now that Bluestreak could see clearly, he spotted one crucial injury: a piece of shrapnel piercing through Thundercracker's left thruster. Energon welled around it sluggishly. Right, that explained it then. Thundercracker must have been betting on being able to fly away after bringing down the tower, but then got his diagnostic that he was grounded and realised he didn't want to die. An Autobot was more merciful than falling rocks.

He didn't have a tac-net, but Bluestreak knew was in risky territory. It was one thing to try and capture some random grunt Seeker, but Thundercracker was trined to Starscream and Skywarp, which meant that one or both of them was almost certainly on their way to save their trinemate. But also, the potential value of capturing a Seeker trined to the Air Commander...

He took small step forward. Time to try his luck. "I know you're grounded."

-----

"I know you're grounded," Bluestreak said, but Thundercracker barely registered the words.

Primus, what had his life come to.

The attack on Polyhex was not meant to end like this.

... in multiple ways, really.

The assault obviously was doomed to fail now, with too many reinforcements swarming the ground and even the skies. They hadn't been able to take out those shuttles in time... which now Thundercracker was grateful for, despite his then-frustration. To think, he could have been that close to shooting Bluestreak out of the sky, and not even knowing it. His spark lurched at the thought, and he pressed himself further into the ground. If he was small and harmless, maybe Bluestreak wouldn't kill him.

Whatever happened, he needed to make sure Bluestreak didn't kill him. He... Skylight couldn't die like that. Not now, not after everything.

"--worry, I know you're injured," Bluestreak said, and Thundercracker got the sense he had missed a lot. "I'm not interested in shooting you. I promise, if I wanted to shoot you I could've done that ages ago and oh wait, Primus I'm sorry, I shouldn't be saying things like that when I'm trying to not threaten you, can you forget I said that?"

Thundercracker muted his vocaliser so he wouldn't laugh. How wonderfully Bluestreak, to get stuck in a ramble in the middle of pointing a deadly weapon at someone. He wanted to comment on it, joke like he usually did when writing but...

"Let's start again. Keep your weapons off, and your sigma down, and I won't shoot you. I'm not interested in shooting an injured mech. I'm going to come closer, and put stasis cuffs on you, and you aren't going to fight me." Bluestreak somehow looked... menacing, as he took another step forwards. Black and grey and red, optics bright and focused, splattered with energon and weapon ready to kill. This was what the other Decepticons saw when they encountered Bluestreak.

They didn't know he wrote poetry, or liked bad action vids, or always looked forward to spending time with his creators. They didn't know he grieved for a city he hardly remembered, or thought the Senate was wrong, or wanted the war to be over so they could rebuild all the cities. They didn't know Bluestreak was Thundercracker's friend.

...and neither did Bluestreak.

He was close. Close enough he could probably lunge and snap those cuffs on. This was bad. Thundercracker could not get himself captured by the Autobots-- Starscream would never let him hear the end of it. And everyone knew how the Autobots treated Seekers, because the Senate and... wait, the Autbots apparently didn't like the Senate. So... they probably hadn't kept all those old punitive codes for flight-frame prisoners around, which meant that maybe...

Would getting captured by Bluestreak be the worst thing in the world?

It might give him a chance to tell him... but no. No, there was no way. That kind of lie, of prolonged deception, was such a betrayal that Thundercracker was certain of the outcome. If he tried to pull something like that on any Decepticon, it'd end with a drawn-out deactivation to make him feel the emotional pain he'd inflicted. Bluestreak, he hoped, would be kinder... but even in the best case, he couldn't imagine the scenario having an ending where Bluestreak would ever speak to him again.

And Thundercracker knew he was selfish.

He couldn't lose Bluestreak as a friend... but maybe the truth was the best option. Maybe it would be the best for Bluestreak.

His processor spun itself in circles, and his spark quivered.

And then--

Vwop!

-----

Skywarp.

Slag!

Bluestreak threw himself backwards, landing hard on his back. He refocused his cannon.

So close! He had been so close! Literally moments away from cuffing Thundercracker and getting a transport, but more than that... He thought he was getting through. Thundercracker had stopped looking furious about two sentences in, and after a while even the raw terror was replaced by a... maybe it was wishful thinking, but by a nervous thoughtfulness. If he could've persuaded him that being captured was a good alternative to fighting, then they'd have the upper servo with everything else and then... Skywarp. Ruiner of Autobot plans. And Decepticon plans, too. Plans in general didn't last long after coming into contact with Skywarp.

The same Skywarp who was eyeing him up like a turbohawk. The cant of the wings, the sharp brightness of the optics, the unsheathed claws and bared fangs... Seekers were hunters, through and through. And Bluestreak was not fond of being the prey!

But Skywarp jolted, as if remembering the whole reason he was there, and bent down to Thundercracker's side. They had a conversation, likely in Vosian though Bluestreak couldn't hear it well enough. And then, with a brutal jerk, Skywarp yanked the piece of shrapnel out of Thundercracker's thruster. Bluestreak couldn't help but wince at sympathy at the sound of rending metal. Thundercracker, though, had barely reacted, only staring at his now profusely-leaking thruster in a daze.

Now Skywarp turned back to him, and Bluestreak aimed for the Seeker's cockpit, but didn't like his chances. Shoot Skywarp, and risk him teleporting away in time and then be open to Thundercracker. Or shoot and hit Skywarp, and still be open to Thundercracker anyway. There was no way he could get both in time, and who would be close enough to back him up with all this chaos? His processor raced. Could he manage to get away somehow? Maybe he could fire on Skywarp and then transform and rush Thundercracker? It'd certainly surprise him, though facing a Seeker's claws didn't sound much better than a gun. He could--

His sensor's pinged him. Skywarp's weapons were online and fire-ready.

Skywarp grinned, a terrible thing made of fangs that slashed over his faceplates. He lifted his arm.

Bluestreak braced, still stuck between options as his processor frantically tried to pick something. Anything.

...And Thundercracker lurched up and shoulder-checked Skywarp's arm down.

What.

The two immediately descended into what was obviously an argument, full of flared wings and hissing and ... Huh, Vosian did kinda sound like Praxian. Bluestreak recorded the audio on reflex. If he couldn't capture a Seeker, at least he could bring some kind of info back.

Seemingly settled, though still bristling at each other, the two Seekers transformed... or rather, Thundercracker transformed, with quite a few painful grinding sounds, and Skywarp grabbed hold and Vwop! Both were in the air, Skywarp transforming right after, and sliding underneath his trinemate to support the unsteady flight. At the very least, Thundercracker would be out of commission for a few orns.

Bluestreak cycled his vents, and disarmed his cannon. He felt like he had been hit by a shuttle.

::All units, Thundercracker was downed and has been evaced by Skywarp. Current location unknown.:: Bluestreak sent out the comm in a daze. At least the cliffs were safe to get back to, now. He transformed and made a slow drive back to the garrison, his processor struggling to make sense of what just happened.

So, Thundercracker apparently hadn't wanted Skywarp to shoot him. Did he think it was an unnecessary risk? Did he not want to waste time getting back into the air and retreating? Seekers didn't like being grounded, and no one liked being exposed during a fight. Or did he feel some kind of debt to Bluestreak, since Bluestreak had been trying to capture him instead of going for the kill?

What a mess. At least he had that audio of the argument and maybe something could come of it. He might be able to puzzle out a lot of it himself, with Skylight's help, based on similarities with Praxian.

But that was for after the battle. Right now, he needed to get back to the garrison and find a new sniper's nest.

-----

"Well... that wasn't great." Skywarp helped Thundercracker limp over to one of the temp med berths.

The impromptu medbay was really just a haphazard tent in the middle of nowhere on their side of the border closest to Polyhex. Thundercracker was lucky that his status got him a berth, no matter how uncomfortable, since the poor grunts were having to lie on the ground on tarps to keep the dust out of open wounds. Pharma, ugh, was the only medic on staff and looked positively gleeful as he bounced from patient to patient, probably planning on how to steal their internals or syphon their energon or whatever medical malpractice he loved most.

"Why can't we have any other medic here," Thundercracker grumbled, lying down and shifting to not pinch his wings.

"Your favourite red mech can't drive here on time, sorry," Skywarp said, spitting out 'drive' with no small amount of derision. "How'd ya manage to get hurt like this, anyway?"

"Shot, then hit a comm tower on the way down."

"Oh! That big hole in it was from you? That's kinda impressive." Skywarp slapped some patches on the pierced thruster to stem the worst of the leaks. "No wonder you look like slag, TC."

Thundercracker just hummed in response, suddenly exhausted. Now that he wasn't at risk for being shot at, the pain had jumped up a few levels in his priority tree. He had barely noticed when Skywarp had ripped the shrapnel out of his leg before, but now he wished he had paying enough attention to ask him to be more gentle. Primus, Thundercracker's entire framed ached down to his struts. And that wasn't even counting the knot his processor was steadily tying itself into, attempting to figure out the... everything with Bluestreak. He just wanted to get a pain patch and go into recharge, and have all his problems be solved when he woke up.

"What kind of disaster was that!"

Wonderful, Starscream was here.

"We couldn't disable even half of those transports, because all of you can't outfly some Autobot hacks who were sparked out of the ground not even a millennium ago! And Ramjet, your clumsy flying cost me my shot at that filthy traitor Skyfire, and Slipstream, don't get me started on your appalling--"

Thundercracker tuned him out. Maybe, as his role as the Anchor and therefore a mediator, he should point out that publicly berating a bunch of injured bots, most of whom were all forced to sit on the ground because of poor planning, wasn't a great strategy for morale. And maybe he should point out that Starscream did nobody any favours by rocketing off on a single-minded pursuit of Skyfire and leaving the rest of them floundering without orders for the entire battle. But he was tired, and Starscream never listened anyway, so instead he offlined his optics and waited for Starscream to noticed him.

After going over, in detail, how Nacelle, Acid Storm, Needlenose, Thrust, Misfire--why had they even brought Misfire in the first place?--, Bitstream, and a few others, had personally insulted him via poor flying and poor shooting and being 'idiotic imbeciles that couldn't so much as open an energon cube without help', Starscream finally got around to his own trinemates.

At the very least, Starscream could never be accused of favouritism.

"Thundercracker! That sonic boom was nothing more than an engine backfire and you know it. Why didn't the cliffs come down? You're good for one thing and one thing only, and then you go and squander our only chance!"

Not bothering to online his optics, Thundercracker kept his voice down as he replied, "Sorry. Visibility was bad and I couldn't find the right altitude. And then everyone was out to shoot me and I didn't get a good chance." There. That was believable.

Much to his surprise, Starscream moved on without belabouring the point. "And you, Skywarp, you can teleport anywhere and cause any kind of damage and what do you use your gift for? Picking up our useless trinemate after he gets himself downed."

Thundercracker propped himself up on his forearms, wings jerking back. Okay, that was crossing a line. Everyone else noticed it too, and there was a soft muttering and displeased cant of wings spreading through the injured Seekers. How could someone imply that saving a trinemate wasn't useful?

Skywarp, for his part, also looked offended. "Hey! He wasn't just downed, y'know. He went through a whole building, and got cornered by an Autobot. What, would you have left him there?"

Starscream scoffed. "Please. Autobots are soft. They're too cowardly to finish off an injured opponent without giving a self-important speech first. Thundercracker should have shot the Autobot and gotten back into the air himself."

"Nu-uh, this wasn't any random Autobot. This was that Praxian sniper, and you know that Praxians hate Seekers! He wasn't going to make a speech, he was going to cuff TC so he could take him away to Iacon and... and do whatever it is that they do to Seekers! Probably keep him locked in a dark room like in the old flight-prisons." Skywarp... he sounded so confident. Had he somehow managed to see something that Thundercracker missed?

Obviously, the Decepticon Seekers had played a big role in the destruction of Praxus, to Thundercracker's eternal shame. But would Bluestreak really want to capture someone to torture them? He couldn't... in all his letters he was so sweet and happy to be friends with a flyer, there was no way he could then turn around and agree to shut a Seeker up in a tiny enclosed space. He had been so horrified at the idea of Thundercracker not getting fuel for two orns, and that wasn't even a harsh punishment. Surely...

But this wasn't about flyers, this was about Seekers. And Thundercracker didn't think Blue had ever written anything particularly hostile to Seekers, but he might be holding that back to avoid upsetting his Aerial friend Skylight. If Bluestreak ever found out who Skylight really was... if Bluestreak knew his friend wasn't just a Decepticon, but a Seeker and an active participant in the destruction of their home city, there was no way Thundercracker would ever be forgiven.

Starscream and Skywarp were continuing to argue, descending into hissing and rattling wings and unsheathed claws. The other Seekers shot Thundercracker pitying looks, holding their own silent conversations with their wings. He got snippets--"what kind of trineleader"... "he's the air commander but" ... "the way he treats them"-- but didn't bother keeping his optics online for long enough to follow anything in particular.

"Well, now that Starscream has shifted his attention, I can get started on you," Pharma said, too-sweet and affable.

"Get me able to fly on my own, then servos off. Knock Out is my medic, he'll do the rest back in Kaon." Thundercracker waited a klik, then added, "And he'll be checking your work, Pharma." Primus. He hoped all this could be over with so he could be back at base, lying on some decent pillows, and rereading his letters.

-----

"Dear Skylight,

I hope you didn't get hurt during the battle at Polyhex; I didn't get more than dented up, though one of my sensors blew from Thundercracker's sigma. It was a quick fix, so no worries about that. Hopefully after this the 'Cons will lay low for a while. I know Thundercracker was injured, and Skyfire tells me he crumpled one of Starscream's wings, so at the very least the Command trine is out of commission for a decaorn, at the minimum.

I really like Skyfire. I don't think I've ever mentioned him before, but that's because we never really talked at all. Outside of saying hi when we pass in the halls, and such. But I think it was brave of him, to come over to the Autobots even though he knew it'd make him a target. Plus he's really smart, and also really nice, so I'm glad he's here. Primus knows we need a normal, sane scientist to keep Brainstorm and Wheeljack in check.

So here's something interesting. During the battle, I found Thundercracker downed near the outskirts of the city. I was planning on capturing him, because can you imagine that? Actually capturing one of the Command Trine? Anyway, Skywarp stopped that, but the two had this argument about, I think, shooting me or not. I'm not sure, but I think you can help me, because I saved the audio from the argument! And you're right, Vosian really does sound similar to Praxian now that I'm listening to it. So I think if we work together, we can figure out what they were arguing about.

I know I probably can't send you the audio directly, but I'll try to transcribe it. What do you think? I think it'll be fun!

Love,

Bluestreak"

Chapter Text

"... so yeah, he didn't actually get a chance to shoot me because Thundercracker stopped him and that's when they had this weird argument that I recorded, and -- hey, listen, it really does sound like Praxian in some parts. Like that right there, that's 'rricu', I think, so I guess Skywarp is calling Thundercracker a glitch and I just think that this could be important? I mean, we don't have that much information about the Command Trine, and I'm sorry I couldn't actually capture Thundercracker but--"

"--Thank you, Bluestreak, for your report," Optimus said, gesturing for Bluestreak to sit back down. "I agree that the audio you have recorded could be of high value, once translated. While it is disappointing that you were not able to make a capture, the reality is that it would have been high-risk, and so your decision to abandon that course of action was the correct one. I commend you for your bravery and determination, as always."

"Thank you, sir!" Bluestreak remembered to dip his doorwings politely, grinning at all the senior officers in the debriefing room. It had been two orns since the battle at Polyhex, and about three joors since they got back to Iacon. "Wait, actually, Prime... can I add a commendation to my report?"

Optimus seemed surprised, but it was always hard to tell given the whole battlemask thing. "Of course, Bluestreak, anyone may add a commendation to a report." Typically only senior officers did that, to recognise a more junior officer or an unranked bot, but for Bluestreak...

"I'd like to commend Skyfire. He's the one who transported me to Polyhex, while being targeted by Starscream, and after landing he went back into the air to distract Starscream for the rest of the battle. And he's really nice and I think the shuttles don't really ever get commendations because they aren't really shooting anybody but Prowl is always saying that logistics is most of the war so I think--um. Yeah. My commendation is Skyfire." He waited a klik, then sat back down.

"I would like to second this," Prowl said. "All of our transport operatives acted with particular bravery in the face of the Decepticon air assault, and while some vehicles were damaged, all troops were able to land and deploy with minimal delays. It is also true that Skyfire's decision to stay and draw Starscream's fire, while against his standing orders, did have a material benefit to the operation as the Seeker's were noticeably less coordinated without their Commander."

"Understood. Skyfire, and the other shuttles, will be specially commended for their role in the battle and the vital part they play in our war effort." Optimus then nodded to Ratchet, who was prepared to report on the state of casualties.

::Hey Blue,:: came a private comm from Jazz. The mech himself was sitting perfectly nonchalant at the end of the table, visor bright in apparent rapt attention. ::I've started working on that audio file but I think you'll do better, with your native Praxian. And do you think that friend of yours could help? Since he seems to know so much about languages.::

::I was about to write to ask him! I'm trying to transcribe the audio as best I can, and then we can work on the transcript to figure out what they're saying. I think he'll be able to help, since he might not really know much Vosian, but he definitely knows more than me.:: Bluestreak did his best to be like Jazz and pretend to listen to the rest of the debrief. The end couldn't come soon enough, when he could finally get back to his quarters and write his letter to Skylight.

"Dear Skybright,

I hope you are doing well. I don't think I saw you in Polyhex, but of course we were all pretty busy and not worrying about trying to meet up. I hope you aren't hurt, or if you are hurt, that you aren't hurt too badly. I know a huge part of the attack was in the air, so you were probably up there fighting while I was on the ground. I bet you did an amazing job-- we all did an amazing job, really, since we won. Looks like the 'Cons won't be getting Polyhex back any time soon!

I also wanted to write to you to let you know about something really strange that happened to me during the battle. I saw something crash into a comms tower, but when I went to investigate, it turned out to be a someone, and not only that, but Thundercracker! Can you believe it? Me, face-to-face with on of the Elite Trine? He didn't really try to defend himself at all--I think he was hurt pretty badly--so I was going to capture him when Skywarp showed up and well. Teleported, since that's his thing. But that's not the strange part, because honestly that doesn't seem that weird except for the fact that it happened to be a very important Seeker.

No, the strange part was that Thundercracker stopped Skywarp from trying to shoot me.

I'm serious! I don't know what he did it, but the two argued for a bit before flying off and I got an audio recording of the argument. I'm hoping that I'll be able to translate at least pieces of it to understand what's going on here, because that was very very weird. Like, there were two of them and one of me, and even though Thundercracker was pretty hurt, he wasn't so hurt that he was out of the fight. I know it's wishful thinking, but I think that maybe Thundercracker didn't want me to get shot because I hadn't hurt him when trying to capture him. Decepticons are still bots, after all, and we can all feel some kind of gratitude or sympathy and not want someone to die.

I'm still working on transcribing everything from the audio, but hopefully it'll go a lot faster since Jazz is helping me! He really wants to hear about your ideas, since you know Praxian and also Old High Aurean and so might be able to figure out the Vosian based on share roots. I'll let you know when we finish and I'll send it right over, so we can work on it together. It'll be a lot of fun!

Love and Light,

Bluestreak"

-----

Thundercracker had Knock Out check him twice to make sure Pharma hadn't done anything to him during the field repairs, and luckily everything was where it should be and working fine. Except for his thruster, of course, which still ached and throbbed even with the pain patch he had been given. Flight system damage always hurt more during self-repair, something about micro-complexities and unique energon distribution and all sorts of other medical nonsense he couldn't understand.

But he did understand Knock Out's final orders, which had been directed not at him, but at a disgruntled Starscream. "He's grounded for at least a decaorn, light duty only and plenty of recharge. He'll be coming back here for me to clear him to fly, and he will not be doing any kind of patrolling or what-have-you until I clear him!"

"You can't do this!" Starscream had hissed. "He's my trinemate and--"

"--and he won't be for long if you have him fly with his thruster like that! The internal damage was severe and we don't have the parts to fix it, so it's self-repair only. You make him fly, and he risks permanently damaging his flight systems. In the meantime, I don't know, borrow Bitstream. He's blue, right?"

Starscream seethed and snarled and Starscream'd and finally gave up.

So now Thundercracker got something more precious than high grade: leisure time. Of course, leisure time where he couldn't fly and had constant, low-level pain, but it still counted. He wrote some poetry, and even worked a bit on an old prose story he had never had time for, and reread some of his favourite books: Here Rests the Sky, Sparklight, and of course the Aurus Prime trilogy. He always wished the author hadn't died before finishing the sequel trilogy and decided to spend a nice few joors trying to plot out how it would have happened. Obviously Aurus was going to get together with Tetronix, no matter how much some bots might think that she'd get with Tempest.

Thundercracker wasn't really paying attention when he got the notification for another 'pad message, too engrossed in trying to piece together some of the foreshadowing, but when he idly skimmed the message a few kliks later, that all changed.

"...oh slag." He had to be reading it wrong. There was no way that Bluestreak had recorded his and Skywarp's argument and was getting Jazz involved in translating it. Primus. But no matter how many times he reread the message, it remained stubbornly the same, and Thundercracker resisted the urge to throw the datapad at the wall. Not only had the battle in Polyhex gotten him hurt, it had put him in a position where he might have injured Bluestreak (or vice versa) however unknowingly, and now Jazz was going to be looking into him?

"I am cosmically unlucky," he said aloud in the empty berthroom, staring up at the ceiling with the 'pad clutched to his cockpit. "And Jazz and or Starscream is going to murder me."

He cringed at the thought of what Starscream might do if he found out that the Autbots got their servos on any kind of inter-Seeker relationships. It was bad enough, from his perspective, that the Autbots knew about trines and trineleaders from their own traitorous Seekers, so in Starscream's processor anything relating to Seekers was a Decepticon secret. So Thundercracker and Skywarp's argument, their very very personal argument, being the object of interest for the head of Autbot SpecOps? That was bad on so many levels that Thundercracker didn't bother thinking about all the individual ways that it would frag everything up.

But he had to respond to Bluestreak, because he was still Skylight, and Skylight would respond to Bluestreak.

... and Skylight--friendly Autobot Skylight who loved to teach about language and writing and history--would absolutely want to help Bluestreak with a translation.

Primus. Who knew trying to maintain another fake identity would get so weird, because now Thundercracker and "Skylight" wanted completely different things.

Right?

...Did Thundercracker want to help?

Bluestreak was always so eager and understanding, friendly and empathetic. Even when he had Thundercracker at his mercy, he still tried to speak as kindly as the situation allowed and hadn't hurt him. Bluestreak wanted the war to end so they could fix Cybertron, and he never wrote negatively about Seekers, even though it would be fully justified. If ever there was a bot that deserved Thundercracker's help, that wouldn't abuse the information from that audio recording, it was Bluestreak. And Thundercracker wanted to help Bluestreak.

But helping Buestreak meant helping Jazz, and Jazz...

Jazz was still Bluestreak's creator. Thundercracker reminded himself of that. If worst came to worst, he might be able to get some sympathy out of the 'Bot after all.

"Dear Bluestreak,

Thank for always checking in on me. I am mostly unhurt, though everyone in the air got a little banged up--how could we not with fighting that intense? I also hope that there won't be any more attacks on Polyhex, since we all need some time to rest. I'm glad we didn't meet during the battle, because that was already our first meeting (though you were mostly unconcious) and it would be bad luck if that were our second, too.

I'm also glad, in a way, that you didn't capture Thundercracker, though I know how helpful that would be. I just fear to think what kind of target it might have made you, if you had succeeded. I'm sure your creators feel similarly.

I can't say I can help any with explaining what happened-- it's definitly odd and out of character for Decepticons. Especially Skywarp, since he usually takes any chance he can get to get one over an Autobot. I know you haven't ever fought him in the air, obviously, but I haven't known him to never not take a shot when he has one. Whatever it was they made them not attack, I feel it was fortunate. Sometimes luck can be on your side during a battle, and I think it was for us.

I don't know how much I'll be able to help with trying to translate with a transcript, but I'll try my best. Let me know when you finish.

Have you been able to plan anything more with your friends? I know you wanted to try spending more time with them but obviously the battle got in the way. How have Hot Rod's efforts to be more mature gone? I feel like I don't need to ask.

As ever,

Skylight"

-----

Bluestreak sighed, wiggling his doorwings happily.

"Stop moving so much, you're making it harder," Bumblebee scolded, trying to smooth the wax onto Bluestreak's plating. "And then Sunny will say something like, 'see? no one but the fabulous Sunstreaker knows how to manage a finish' or some slag like that."

"Sunny will say that no matter what, because in his optics, no one will ever look as good as him. We might as well not bother, since to compared to him we're all rusty junk, but it doesn't even matter to me if it's even, Bee. It feels nice and it's relaxing and it protects from dust and grit so who cares if it's not perfect looking? If it's bad that just means I can get it redone sooner!" Bluestreak chirped, and cuddled more into the pillows. "And whenever you do it for me, I do it for you, so really it doesn't matter what Sunny thinks because you'll always be getting polished anyway. And his standards are weird anyway, since he doesn't think Tracks is attractive, and I'm pretty sure everyone else can agree that Tracks looks good."

Jazz, sitting with his legs tucked under him on a chair nearby, chuckled. "Mech, that's what Sunny says. We all know he's jealous, because you can't put two arrogant showoffs in the same room without them being jealous of each other. And Tracks has that accent, and poor Sunstreaker is from Tarn and t' be nice about it, that dialect doesn't have the best reputation anymore. Not that I'm one t' talk." He played up the Polyhexian accent a bit at the end, grinning.

Bluestreak nearly sat up, but remembered in time to not send Bumblebee sprawling. Instead he jerked his doorwings up and said, "Tracks' accent... is Vosian, isn't it? He's from Vos? Does he speak Vosian?"

"Yah, Tracks is Vosian, and I know what you're thinking, and I've already tried. He's not the best at understanding the Seekers. 'Parently, despite the fact he can fly, he was considered something like a grounder in Vos and never learned much of the flyer dialect. He can read it though, which is always useful when we can grab some datafiles." Jazz' visor flashed. "He might be good help when you get that transcript done."

"Sounds good to me," Bluestreak said, settling back down on the pillows and muttering a bit indistinctly after that. Skylight, Tracks, Seekers and Aerials and Vos, languages and strange arguments... it all spun around his processor, but not in any kind of pressing way. Merely idly thoughts as Bumblebee finished his wax, and then he got up to do Bee. After the two of them spent a few breems just sitting together, plating and fields warm, not saying anything. Or rather, Bumblebee didn't say anything, and Bluestreak made his typical idle chatter that everyone knew was safe to ignore.

It was nice.

After all the stress with the battle and reports and the mad scramble that happened even after a victory, Bluestreak hadn't had a quiet moment for three orns and it felt good to sit there and do nothing. Doing nothing with a friend and one of his creators was even better. He wished that Prowl could be there, that Sunny and Sides and Skylight could be there, but for now 'Bee and Jazz were perfect. A quiet orn with friends and family...

-----

"Dear Skylight,

I'm glad everything is going well for you, and hopefully you can get all your dings fixed quickly!

I do know that capturing Thundercracker would have been a big risk, but everything we do on a battlefield is a risk. If we didn't think risks were worth it, we wouldn't be fighting the war at all! But I do still appreciate your concern... and you're correct, that my creators agree with you!

Sunny, Sides, and Hot Rod haven't been able to get their schedules to work where we can spend much time together, but we still have meals at the same times most orns. Bumblebee and I have similar schedules right now so we've been hanging out, but mostly enjoying the quiet. You know, the normal stuff, doing each other's touch ups and wax and reading our own books in the same room. Sometimes I can have a nice evening with my creators, but they're usually pretty busy as you can imagine.

Cliff and 'Bee and I are planning getting another vid screening together, but we aren't rushing it. Sometimes it's nice to not have a shedule to stick to.

How is it going with your friends in Polyhex? I know you said you're shy and kind of keep to yourself, but I know you have to have at least a few friends. Have you been able to spend time with them? Fuel or touch-ups or read poetry together? There's got to be at least one other bot out there who loves poetry. You just don't talk about your own friends much, and I talk so much about mine, that it feels a bit uneven sometimes! I bet you have so many cool and interesting friends.

Love,

Bluestreak"

"Dear Sky Blue,

I think the best orns are quiet orns. It helps that my favourite hobbies are reading and writing, but I do believe that everyone needs some good quiet every now and then. Even those who normally thrive on excitment can't keep going forever with no break. Touch-ups and wax and relaxing sounds like a perfect orn to me, and may you and Bumblebee have as many quiet orns like that as you want. Maybe not now, but in the future, perhaps.

I do have some good friends at Polyhex, though not many. One of them is much more into appearences than me, and honestly is something like Sunstreaker's secret missing other twin--so triplets then, what a disaster that'd be! He's actually quite nice though, and helps me with touch-ups on my wings, which are hard to do myself. My other close friends I haven't been able to see as much lately, but we used to spend a lot of time together joking around or talking about basically anything or flying. It was nice, but sometimes things can get in the way. I'm glad you and Bumblebee have been able to match up your schedules so well.

Mostly I've been reading and doing a bit of writing, and enjoying my own quiet time. I enjoy it so much more now, compared to when I was younger. I took a lot for granted, but we all did.

May you have peace,

Skylight"

Chapter Text

"Bluestreak! Good orn, and thank you for coming. Truly. And thank you for the commendation, it was... it was much appreciated by me, and by the rest of the shuttles." Skyfire ushered Bluestreak into the lab, bending down a bit at the waist so the Praxian could better see his expression.

Skyfire's lab was about as different from Wheeljack's as it could be. There weren't mystery inventions lying around on tables, or random explosions, or strange markings and mathematical equations hastily painted onto the walls and ceiling. Everything was neat and organized, with a clearly labeled storage system on the one side of the lab and marked out stations for the different processes on the other. Also naturally everything was much, much bigger than in Wheeljack's lab, as Skyfire was much bigger and probably didn't want to spend his work shifts banging into everything. So the place was scaled perfectly for the shuttle, meaning that it all dwarfed Bluestreak.

"I do hope you don't feel like you owe me anything," Skyfire continued. "It's wonderful for you to volunteer, of course, and I love the help, but we're all bots doing our jobs. Even when we get hurt, that doesn't mean that you need to... make it up to me."

"Oh don't worry about me! That doesn't matter-- I mean, it does matter when bots get hurt, because we're all bots and we matter, but what I mean is that I don't feel uh. The word. Debilitated. No, indebted. That's the one. I don't feel like that because while I'm sorry you got hurt, and I'm always greatful for what you do, I know we're all bots and we're all equals and we're all trying to help. And I want to help you, because, well, you're nice and I think we should be friends." Bluestreak then winced. "Sorry, wrong way to say that. Gotta remember to not tell other bots how to feel. I would like it if we were friends. There, that's better."

And their maybe-friendship was off to a great start because Skyfire took in the entire ramble with a fond and patient smile and his wings were high and happy. "I would like that too. And good to know, since I'd feel bad if you felt like you couldn't say no or back out."

"I can't keep my mouth shut, don't worry, you'll know if I hate something." Bluestreak beamed. This was going great! "So where is the the whatsit, the um..."

"Personal gravitational alternator. It's over here, and we'll start after a brief rundown. You'll need to know what sorts of sensations to pay attention to. And I assure you, it's very safe, I've tested it multiple times both in lab trials and on some participants."

"Yup, the Aerialbots. Slingshot bragged about being picked to test it for an entire orn until I thought Silverbolt was going to die from embarrassment."

Skyfire chuckled. "Yes, the Aerialbots. But this is meant to be for ground frames, so I need a ground frame to test it. And you volunteered, and I know that you tolerate rough flying well, so I'm hoping this will go well."

"And you're not Wheeljack, so this isn't going to blow up or turn me purple or teleport me to the middle of Prime's office. Perfect." It was a reasonable concern to have, seeing as how all of those things had happened, and Wheeljack wasn't even the worst of the scientists. Brainstorm was a true... well he preferred the term genius, but...

"I assure you it will not explode, and if at any moment you feel uncomfortable and want to stop, there is an easy quick release that will deactivate the device immediately." Skyfire took the device from its stand and held it out. In his servo it looked comically small, but of course it was actually a sizable thing with some rough edges owing to being a prototype. Since it was made by Skyfire, and not Wheeljack, it didn't have any mysterious glowing bits or blinking lights. "You put it on so it centres on your centre of mass, and make sure the straps are comfortable and don't get caught in your plating."

Bluestreak carefully put it on, arranging the cords around his doorwings, and started a bit when it connected to his chestplate with a slight magnetic suction. "Alright it's on. I know it's a gravity thing and that it's for passengers, but how does it work?" He asked mostly for Skyfire's own benefit; Bluestreak didn't get much when it came to science, but he knew bots liked to talk about their interests, and Primus knew that he liked to talk too.

Skyfire brightened. "Of course, let me explain. So it works on a wavelength of subspace and by..."

He went on for some time, and Bluestreak did his best to follow along and nodded at all the right points. Skyfire probably knew he couldn't understand the vast majority of the technical jargon, but was too overjoyed about an audience to mind much.

The actual testing of the device--which was meant to help prevent injuries sustained by passengers of shuttles during rough flights--was strange but not unpleasant. Bluestreak understood why it was tested on flightframes first, since it involved a controlled but still turbulent test flight to see that it could actually respond to the varying forces properly and reduce the discomfort. It worked decently well, but of course wasn't perfect he got some minor dents for his troubles.

After the testing, and filling out his report and answering all the questions, Skyfire thanked him profusely. "A lot of ground frames really can't stand flying and I would hate to force someone to go through something that uncomfortable when there are others that don't mind. So thank you again for your time, and hopefully we can have this working smoothly soon for everyone."

Bluestreak happily went on his way, field glowing with enthusiasm. It had been fun, really, though maybe not exactly at the time when he was getting thrown around a cargo hold. But he truly didn't mind flying. Actually, he rather enjoyed it, and then his processor started wandering...

What would it be like to really fly? Not just in a shuttle or a spaceship, but actually be out and flying and feeling it on his plating? He might be able to talk Silverbolt into taking him flying, but he felt a twinge in his spark at the thought and new, immediately, that he wouldn't want to be taken flying by anyone but Skylight. Would Skylight be big enough to life him? He wasn't a particularly large Aerial--or at least it didn't seem it from the letters--but Bluestreak wasn't that heavy and a simple takeoff would probably be possible. Imagine that, the two of them together in the sky--Sky Blue and Skybright--with nothing to worry them but gravity.

Bluestreak could almost feel it with his spark.

He realised, with a start, that he had been standing in the middle of the hallway, and he quickly darted back to his quarters. Daydreaming about flying was all well and good, but he had someone to meet and oh he just knew--

He opened the door to his quarters, and Tracks was already there, arranged like he expected to swarmed by admirers at any moment.

Tracks grinned, and his wings flicked and flared in what was probably some Aerial show-off display. "I understand you are in need of some of my expertise?"

He's Sunstreaker but blue and flying, Bluestreak reminded himself. You know how to handle Sunstreaker. He's helping you out, so be very nice even if he's the second most annoying bot on base. Third? Definitely top five.

"Good orn, Tracks. And yes, I was hoping that you could help me with something--I'm sure Jazz explained it when he comm'd you..."

"Dear Skylight,

The transcription is moving along pretty well! It's still not done, partly because I'm trying to come up with a system for writing some of the stranger Vosian sounds that is still consistent. It's hard since I can't really tell what's a click or hiss that's meant to be a word, or one that's just ... well, hissing. Luckily, we have Tracks on base right now, and while he doesn't really speak the same dialect as the Seekers, his Vosian is similar enough that he can at least decipher all the different sounds. It's going a lot faster now that he's helping.

Jazz is also helping out, of course, both because he's my creator and the whole SpecOps thing, obviously. I remembered that you said modern Vosian has Polyhexian influence, and now that he knows to listen to it, he's actually recognizing some words! A lot of insults are pretty much unchanged, as it turns out.

Once we get the transcript done, I'll send it over to you and we'll start piecing it together. I'm really excited to work on something with you, especially something so important! Imagine what kind of information we might be able to get out of this. Even if it's just a personal argument, any little bit of data helps. Now I sound like Prowl!

Mostly I've been thinking about flying, since I've spent a lot of time with Tracks and Skyfire lately. (I've been helping Skyfire out with some prototype testing. All perfectly safe! He's a very careful mech). Tracks loves to go on and on about the joys of flying almost as much as he loves to talk about himself, and I do admit I'm jealous. I know that right now it's too much to ask, not of you but in general, but I would like to go flying with you at some point. When we can, even if that's in centuries if the war takes that long.

I know if I asked, Skyfire would take me up. But that's not the point, you know?

Love,

Bluestreak"

"Dear Bluestreak,

It's wonderful that you've been able to get so much help on this! I admit I did not know that Tracks knew any Vosian, but I recognise that was an assumption on my part, and an incorrect one. It's wonderful too, to hear that Skyfire is doing well. I heard about his injuries during the battle and hoped they weren't too serious.

I think with some of this Jazz will be more useful that me, just because... He's Jazz, and it's his job to know about other bots and understand them. I might be able to translate a few words here or there, but I don't think I'll be able to come with any good reasons for why two Seekers would act like that.

I admit, I've thought about flying with you too. I hope one orn, we might be able to. There is always something special about being in the air with someone.

Clear skies,

Skylight"

He had just sent the message when he got the ping. From Soundwave.

Thundercracker sat bolt upright.

It was simply a time and location coordinates, for an open area not too far outside the main base.

The kliks ticked by, into breems... into a joor.

It was fine, he tried to tell himself as he walked like a mech condemned through the halls. He wasn't about to die, because Soundwave was logical and wouldn't risk murdering one of the Command Trine right outside the main Decepticon base. He'd do it somewhere smart, like with a "stray shot" in the middle of pitched battle. Because bots ask questions and then Megatron could find out that Soundwave was the one that gave him Blue's datapad signature and--

Oh, but Soundwave was so smart he'd probably be able to spin that too, wouldn't he? Like, being able to frame it like a loyalty test to see if Thundercracker could pass or not and since he had been kinda-sorta helping Jazz these past few orns that was definitely a mark for the "kill" column and --

"--ndercracker." Soundwave sounded as near to shouting as he could ever get. There was something dangerously close to an emotion in his voice. "Thundercracker: will cease thinking."

Thundercracker reset his optics, and wondered if that was a real command or a veiled threat. Or was a mix of both, and Soundwave meant that if he didn't stop thinking and obey the command, that the punish would involve the very real removal of thoughts, either through--

"You ain't good with directions, are ya?" Rumble put his servos on his hips, and stepped forward from beside Soundwave to stand just in front of Thundercacker. And then... he kicked him in the shin, hard.

"Alright, and what was that for?" Thundercracker took a half step back, and finally registered in his processor that he had walked all the way to the coordinates. There was nothing and no one, but ruins and clear skies. No one but Soundwave, and all his symbiotes who were fanned out behind their host, and why would he bring all of them along? And for Rumble to be so bold as to kick him was a bad sign and did that mean that Soundwave was also going to be aggressive and--

"Primus, if you make him glitch and die before we can fly, Rumble, I'm going to drop you off the roof!" Laserbeak snapped, swooping down to skim over Rumble's helm.

"...what?" Fly? They wanted Thundercracker to fly?

"Yeah, Seeker, we need you to take us up. Not made for this low altitude flying, ugh." Buzzsaw perched on Soundwave's shoulder and flapped his wings.

"What." They were cryo-condors, literally perfectly made for soaring and... Right. Soaring and high altitude flight, but cryo-condors preferred living in high elevation or, at the very least, in tall buildings, because takeoff was taxing and they struggled to find altitude over flat terrain. Flat terrain like the ruins of Kaon unless one of them wanted to make the trek to the Manganese Mountains and get shot near the border.

Soundwave flashed his visor, a show of expression so blatant that Thundercracker wondered if he somehow imagined it. "Thundercracker: not to be harmed. Request: Thundercracker assist symbiotes. Thundercracker: will comply."

"Yes sir, of course, sir," Thundercracker agreed quickly, dipping his wings in deference and wondering when his spark would stop spinning so fast. "Are... Do you still request that I stop thinking?" He really didn't think he could manage that.

"Negative. Previous thoughts:... unpleasant. Current state: acceptable."

Thundercracker suppressed his nervous chuckle at the idea that his anxiety had given Soundwave a processor ache. And if one mech having a bad orn could do that, how did the host stand being around any Decepticons at all, since they were basically guaranteed to have something wrong with them; it was basically a prerequisite for joining the faction at this point.

Oh. Wait. Maybe that was depressing. Now Thundercracker felt bad for Soundwave.

"How, uh..." He directed his attention to the two cry-condors, both now perched on Soundwave's shoulder. "How would you like me to do this?"

Laserbeak twitched and shuttered her optics. "Right. So we thought it'd be easiest for us to get in your cockpit, and then you get to altitude and we pop out and fly around. You can stay up too, if you want, or land at that point. We don't need help coming down."

"You'll definitely both fit in my cockpit," he said, not without anxiety. In either mode his cockpit was particularly vulnerable, given the close proximity to his spark and just about all his major systems, and the idea of someone being in there, able to mess with things or...

"Symbiotes: will not harm Thundercracker." The way Soundwave said it, it sounded like both a reassurance and an order. "Risk of deactivation: high for all involved."

Despite being told to his face that he'd probably die if the symbiotes wanted, it was still comforting for Thundercracker to know, because Decepticons were nothing if not self-preservationists. No one would be dumb enough to make the flight-frame they were riding in crash, especially not Soundwave's cassettes.

"Well then, we can go up... if everyone is ready? Ratbat, are you coming?" Thundercracker stepped away from the group to give himself ample room to transform.

Ratbat seemed startled to be asked, but quickly recovered and replied, "Ah, no, I don't do that cloud stuff."

Thundercracker supposed that made sense, since Ratbat's root mode was meant for caves and other enclosed spaces. The idea of wanting to fly around inside felt like a contradiction, but Thundercracker supposed that it must be natural for some bots. Still, he'd take the open sky any orn.

He was transformed and just starting to slide open his cockpit when a scuffle broke out between the cassettes. Frenzy was yelling and Rumble had broken out the pile-drivers and Laserbeak and Buzzsaw circled above them both, occasionally giving passing smacks to the helm. Ravage simply slunk off and curled up near a small outcropping, looking distinctly unamused.

Soundwave placed himself between the four squabbling symbiotes, and forcibly dragged Rumble and Frenzy apart. "Explain."

"It's not fair! I've always wanted to go up and see--"

"--if anyone is going to be flying it's going to be us because that's what--"

"--can fly whenever they want, but I can't and I--"

"--he's going to change his mind and leave and it'll be your fault--"

"Quiet," Soundwave ordered, but they continued to argue over him. He tilted his helm and rolled his shoulders back, and for one horrific moment Thundercracker thought he might hit them. But instead Soundwave only let out a vent and repeated, much louder, "Cease!"

The symbiotes fell silent.

"Laserbeak, Buzzsaw: flying with Thundercracker. Rumble, Frenzy: remaining."

Rumble and Frenzy grumbled and whined, but made no attempt to restart the argument.

"Well," Thundercracker began, shocking even himself. "My cockpit isn't big, but if you don't mind being cramped on the ride up, I think I could fit all four of you."

There was a pause, and then Frenzy threw up his servos and cheered. "Flying! Real solo flying!"

Rumble darted to where Thundercracker was transformed and ready, and his field crackled with excitement. The others followed quickly, and while it was a tight fit, they could all be reasonably comfortable. Thundercracker braced himself against the strange feeling of not one, but four different bots in his cockpit, and took off.

He kept the take off gentle, not worrying about maximizing his rate of climb or anything like that. No one was shooting at him, and he had only been cleared to fly again by Knock Out the orn before. Which probably explained the timing of this all, now that he thought about it.

The symbiotes, cramped as they were, still pressed their faces to the glass of his cockpit as he ascended, making excited coos and chirps. He knew, in his processor, that they weren't little Seekerlings being given their first taste of sky, but the tingling excitement in their fields was the same. He remembered his first taste, being little more than a sparkling held in his carrier's arms as he was taken up by his creators, feeling the shift in the wind and seeing the world dance below him. He felt then a sudden sharp pang of sadness, that Soundwave wasn't able to come with them. It didn't feel right.

As Thundercracker approached altitude, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw got more and more impatient, squirming and wriggling and flapping their wings. He didn't say anything, just flexed the glass of his cockpit a bit so it made a sharp sound, and they quieted down. Frenzy and Rumble were rather strangely calm, seemingly transfixed by the view.

Finally, at the right height, he leveled out and slid open his cockpit. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw launched into the air with squawks of triumph, and Rumble and Frenzy stood to brace themselves on the edge of the cockpit, looking down with awe.

Feeling suddenly brave, Thundercracker pinged them and opened a short range comm channel. ::If you get on either side and hold on, you can step outside the cockpit and onto my wings. I'll slow down for you.::

::What if we fall out?:: Rumble asked, but he was already starting to try to climb out of the cockpit.

::You think I wouldn't catch you? And even if I couldn't, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw definitely could.::

Satisfied, the two clambering out of the cockpit and slowly made their way onto his wings. Slowing as much as he dared, Thundercracker held perfectly level as they got comfortable. Pleasant surprise and sheer awe washed over him from their fields. It was as close to truly flying they could ever get.

Laserbeak and Buzzsaw altered their winding loops to twirl back and flank Thundercracker, managing to keep up with his slowed pace. And like that, they were all flying, Thundercracker and Laserbeak and Buzzsaw and Rumble and Frenzy, all together. They wheeled in the sky, Thundercracker carefully banking as to keep his passengers safe. Fields mingled and blurred into a wave of joy-rightness-flock-YES.

After two joors, they finally landed, Thundercracker setting Rumble and Frenzy down gently, and getting a surprisingly genuine thank-you from their fields. He felt a little dizzy, everything distant and unreal. Everything since he had taken off had been so... nice, it felt more like a memory. Thundercracker, newly fledged and flying for the first time with his creators; Thundercracker, an adult flying through clouds with his friends; Thundercracker, shaken but hopeful flying with his new trine...

He thought he might be sick.

"Thundercracker: fuel." Despite being as abrupt as always, there was a certain shift in Soundwave's harmonics. Something that softened the order, made it feel a bit less military.

Soundwave held two cubes, energon solids having already been distributed to the cassettes. One cube was the brighter pink of flyer-grade, and Soundwave extended it to Thundercracker without even glancing at him. The host's attention was firmly on his symbiotes, who gathered around him happily, chirping and humming and purring.

Thundercracker drank silently, the sense of unreality slowly dripping away as he fueled and let the sounds of a happy family wash over him. The ground under his pedes was solid, and his thrusters were still warm from flying. It had been his first real flight since being cleared by Knock Out. His wings tingled with the memory of the wind.

Something set off his close-proximity sensor, but for once he didn't startled, simply flicked a wing and glanced over. Buzzsaw was hovering near his shoulder, tipping his head to the side. Thundercracker ventured a guess and gave the cryo-condor a nod, and he promptly landed.

"That was nice. Thank you," Buzzsaw offered, sounding sincere. His field was warm and relaxed, a familiar rightness in it that came from flying. "And... thanks for talkin' to us like bots. Asking us the questions, and not Soundwave."

Thundercracker nodded, still feeling too distant to respond, but Buzzsaw seemed to understand. The cryo-condor remained there on his shoulder, a comforting weight, until they had all finished fueling.

It was clear the favour was over.

About to transform to fly back to the base, Thundercracker hesitated. "Uh, Soundwave, sir? May I... um, that is this might be insubordinate and actually I think--"

"Thundercracker: speak." Was Thundercracker hearing things, or was that amusement in Soundwave's tone?

"Right! Of course, sir!" Thundercracker straightened his wings. "I was wondering if I could ask a question."

"Question: permitted. Answer: not guaranteed."

Well, good enough. Thundercracker really couldn't hope for anything better.

He steeled himself. "Why... this. And why me, sir? You could have taken a shuttle up, or gotten someone else to do it."

"Laserbeak, Buzzsaw: wanted 'true flying'. Transport vehicle: inadequate." When he said true flying, he paused and inflected it just as flight-frame would, obviously directly quoting. And... it made sense. True flying wasn't just about being in the air, or altitude or thrust or lift, it was about flock and experiencing the sky. And a cold lifeless vehicle could not share the sky.

"I understand. But that still leaves..." How could he phrase this without it sounding like a veiled threat. "It's a risk. Anyone flying up there with the cassettes. I owe you, but still. Sir."

Soundwave remained silent for a few kliks, assessing. The symbiotes quieted down as well, either out of genuine interest in hearing the answer or because they somehow knew they should. "Flight request: high risk. Other flight-frames: liable to put symbiotes in danger. Thundercracker: low risk; would not willingly harm symbiotes."

Thundercracker nodded, his wings making the motion for a formal 'yes' without any thought, but he wasn't satisfied. So Soundwave figured that out of all the flight-frames to take his cassettes flying, he'd be the lowest risk. Not only that, but that he wouldn't willingly hurt the symbiotes. And Thundercracker knew it was true, because he was himself, but how could Soundwave know that?

As if answering his thoughts, which for all he knew was the actual truth of the situation, Soundwave continued. "Thundercracker... Thundercracker: understands."

And surrounded by Soundwave's symbiotes, with their fields open and warm and trusting, who looked up at their host with real affection in their optics, Thundercracker nodded again, and meant it.

Chapter Text

Finally--finally--after far too long owing to his best resources being important to the war effort, Bluestreak's transcript of the Seeker argument was complete. It was probably terrible and unpolished, and way more of it was complete guesswork that he would like, but it was done. Jazz had left his tell-tale series of footnotes, because he couldn't help but use them as commentary for every thought that ran through his processor even when it annoyed Prowl to no end, and even Tracks' personality shined through with certain phrases in the margins (things like, 'this is low class rabble' and 'a devastating blow! unseemly'). Bluestreak knew, of course, it would obvious to anyone who read it just who the main transcriber was since he wrote like he talked, which meant: a lot. He hoped the majority of it would at least make some sense.

"And then we'll see what the expert himself has to say," Jazz said, sipping his energon. They were eating together, without Prowl since he was over in Kalis, and Jazz watched with a bright visor as Bluestreak drafted his letter to Skylight. He had that look on his face, that "I know something no one else does" face, with a bit of his "I'm patiently waiting for everyone else to get the joke" face.

Bluestreak pointed at him. "You. I know that look. Is there something I don't know that you know, or that you know you don't know that I don't know I don't know or something I know you don't, wait that... You know! What I mean!"

Jazz had started laughing about halfway through Bluestreak's muddle sentence, and wasn't about to stop anytime soon. "Blue, Blue," his vocaliser crackled with static as he tried to speak. "Bluestreak, you have t' understand, that one: that's just how my face looks, and two, it looks like that because I always know something other bots don't know. That's my job, Baby Blue. so yeah, I have some ideas about Skylight, but I also have ideas about Tracks and Ironhide and everybody else I ever meet. No need to go around and start accusin' me." His tone was still light, and his smile meant that he genuinely wasn't upset.

Bluestreak still fluttered his doorwings in apology. "Not what I meant," he said quietly, then at normal volume, "I know you like to do your--" what was that Prowl always called it? "--SpecOps paranoia planning--"

"-- is it paranoia if I'm right?"

"--and I'm not accusing, I know that you don't tell me because it's really honestly not my problem." Bluestreak then shifted, his plating fluffing out and then resettling. "But I do feel... I mean, this is different, you have to agree. Not just because Skylight is my friend, 'cause I have lots of friends and I'm not worried about whatever file you have on 'Bee or Sunny. But he's, Skylight's..." Bluestreak's words so rarely failed him.

"Is it because he's Praxian?" Jazz asked, gently, still smiling. But it was a smile that was soft and honest.

"No? Or, maybe at first it was. You know? That's why we initially became friends, because he's Praxian and he understands, but it's... I mean, you read the letters, Jazz." That wasn't an accusation, it was simple truth. Obviously Jazz was going to read everything. "Skylight is... I don't know how to describe it. He's more than a friend, and I know I haven't truly met him yet, but he's... he's Skylight." He stressed the designation, the subglyphs clear: friend-important-family.

Jazz, if he was surprised, hid it perfectly. He nodded slowly, his field open like it always was with Bluestreak. It was all warmth, tinged with thoughtfulness and a touch of concern. "I think I get it. Alright, then I'll tell you what I've been thinking: Skylight knows more Vosian than he initially told you."

"Wait, really?" The idea didn't compute in Bluestreak's processor. It simply didn't make sense that Skylight would outright... Lie was maybe too strong, but be purposely deceptive. Why would he do that, did he not trust Bluestreak? But surely simple knowledge of a language shouldn't be--

"Don't start racin' that processor wondering 'bout him not telling you." At Bluestreak's startled look, Jazz only chuckled. "We might be your adoptive creators, but you still picked up our habits just fine. You have the same thinking face as Prowl." Jazz sat up a bit straighter. "And so I know you're probably thinking all sorts of things, but it's probably very simple. Lots, and I mean lots, of Aerials speak a little bit of Vosian. Some are even conversational, or near fluent, but there's two things. One, like Tracks, they usually don't speak the main 'official' version and so don't think what they know counts for anything. Two, given that for a while most Vosians have been our enemy, they get into a habit of downplaying what they know. You don't wanna seem like a traitor."

"But it's knowing Vosian, how is that meant to make a bot a traitor?" But even as he said it, Bluestreak knew the answer. He sighed, and grumbled, "Why are bots so terrible sometimes..."

Jazz shrugged. "I wish I knew. But anyway, yes I do think that Skylight knows a bit of Vosian, so I'm interested to see what he'll understand."

"Me too, honestly. I really just want to know what all that was about."

"Dear Skylight,

It's finally done! The transcript is pretty long, especially since I included all of our notes and the descriptions of actions (that I could remember). We're trying to piece it together, and any help would be wonderful! It definitely seems like a personal argument, just from our initial transcription process, so we don't need to understand everything. Despite Jazz being the nosiest bot alive --and Prowl being a close second -- Decepticon personal relationships aren't high priority intel.

I guess what I mean with this is, is don't stress about it. We appreciate any help but we know you're busy, because aren't we all! But it could be something to do on more boring shifts, at least.

And hopefully all our notes are helpful and not annoying. We might have gotten close to personal commentary at the end there, but Jazz swears it's an Autobot tradition so I left it in. Feels free to add your own! Everyone loves a good footnote.

How's everything been going in Polyhex? I think it's storm season over there, so does that make the flying worse or better? I know I hear flightframes on base complain about bad weather making things hard, but also Powerglide loves to talk about 'fighting a storm'. I know I hate trying to drive in a storm, but for me the wind is something that gets in the way of what I want, but for flying it's probably different. I don't know! I tried talking about it with Tracks and Skyfire, but Tracks doesn't like storms because they mess up his finish and Skyfire doesn't really 'get' suborbital flight much anyway.

Sparklit orns,

Bluestreak"

-----

"Dear Bluestreak,

I'll answer the question about flying first: yes, I love flying in storms. Not all flightframes do, simply because many are not really built for it. It's no fun to get helplessly tossed about, I'm sure. But I am an Aerial able to handle a storm quite well (if I may brag for a moment) and I find them exhilarating. It does of course make things like patrols much more difficult, but for personal flights there's nothing better. It's the truest kind of flying.

I guess I wasn't expecting the transcript to be so long, but then again, of course it would be. I've been looking through it, and using your notes, and I think I can help--"

Thundercracker stared at his datapad. Was he really going to help the Autobots? Cheering up Bluestreak, telling himself that he'd translate a few things, all of that was fine. But this, actually contributing to something that Jazz was working on, wasn't something his processor could easily gloss over. But he had to-- Bluestreak needed his help, and he said he would. He wanted to help Bluestreak.

And, after all, it wasn't like the argument had been that important anyway. It wasn't like he was revealing classified secrets, just that the Command Trine argued sometimes. Which should have been obvious to the Autobots anyway. It wasn't really treason, maybe a bit disloyal at most.

Conscience soothed, Thundercracker settled into how to "translate" the transcript without accidentally revealing too much. Because Jazz would be reading this, and wasn't that a surefire way to get the spark spinning.

His argument with Skywarp hadn't been particularly deep, not that he remembered.

After he shoulder-checked Skywarp, his trinemate was obviously upset and started with an array of swearing and insults that probably wouldn't demand an exact translation.

Thundercracker, of course, had retaliated, "Don't go calling me a traitor, and get me out of here. We don't have time to be shooting random Autobots when I can't even fly!"

Skywarp hadn't taken that well. "We'd have time to be shooting Autobots if you didn't just run into me, you little glitch! C'mon TC, what is your problem--"

"Oh, I'm the glitch? You haven't even given me any first aid before you go and start taunting a 'Bot--"

"--Who has slaggin' cannons on his shoulders! I'm taking out a threat that was going to shoot you--"

"--taking out a threat by what? Standing there and menacing him before waiting to even get your cannons online? I know you 'Warp, and I know you'll drag this out and waste our time while I'm grounded!"

"Waste our time? I'm the one wasting time? And stop acting like you can tell me what to do! You're the Anchor, fine, but that doesn't make you the trine leader all of a sudden."

"You're right, I'm just the Anchor. But do you think Starscream will be happy that I'm dead, because you took the time to shoot an Autobot and argue with me instead of getting me to safety?"

With that, the argument was pretty much over and Skywarp had gotten him into the air and away.

... and how was he meant to half translate this without basically admitting that he wasn't just there, but part of the conversation.

Thundercracker vented. It was fine. He was fine. He did all his best thinking under pressure anyway, not counting all the times he didn't. This would go great.

"-- so I've worked through it as best I could. Starting at the beginning, Jazz's notes are spot-on here, as far as I can tell; it really seems like most of this is derived from Polyhexian. Assuming I'm reading the key correctly, it looks like there's a lot of quick-whistles and those repeating short vowel sounds. That's typical for Polyhexian, so this is probably mostly loanwords... which means probably mostly swearing. I doubt I can elaborate more than Jazz here, except that all these hisses you've noted down are (I think) actually words. Don't give this too much weight, but based on where they go and how Vosian is suffxing like Praxian, I think these are topic markers. Which is odd, since you normally don't need so many topic markers, so it probably means something particular here.

The next bit that isn't just insults, is in the imperative (the marker looks pretty unchanged from Old High Vosian). And not the polite imperative, either, though I'm sure there's plenty more ways to say 'please' that I'm simply unaware of. Some of these have roots I recognise, though I'm guessing on a few. It seems like Thundercracker is giving an order to leave, and (obviously) doesn't want Skywarp to shoot you. The next lines have a lot more insults again. I think the main gist of this is that Skywarp wanted to shoot you, but Thundercracker thought that killing you would be a waste of time. Not sure if that's insulting or not, but at least you're alive!

For the ending portion, Tracks' note here is correct: that is Starscream's designation, just in a common shortform. With the words I can understand in the sentence, but most important is the mention of Starscream and the fact that they left after, I assume it was some kind of threat. Or maybe Thundercracker can sort of 'channel' Starscream's authority when he's not around, to get Skywarp to follow orders.

That's my best literal translation, though I'm not able to help when it comes to understanding why anything happened. Thundercracker, being the injured one, wanting to just get out and not be grounded in the middle of a fight makes sense, but this doesn't explain the result of the argument or why he won in the end. At least from personal experience having to fight him, Skywarp doesn't seem very much like a bot who listens to reason, but maybe he's different when he's not shooting at Autobots and teleporting around like a a black-and-purple kremzeek."

With totally-not-trembling servos, Thundercracker sent the message and only then realised he forgot to sign off. It was totally cool. Everything he wrote was plausible, and if they found a better translator for the audio he wouldn't look like a massive liar. There was no need to feel anxious or stressed or panic about the possibility of SpecOps head Jazz finding out he was a Decepticon. His spark felt fine and his venting was under control and he was--

Thundercracker curled in on himself and stared down at the datapad. Shakily, without even knowing what would happen until it did, he wrote:

"Hi Sky Blue,

sorry that was abrupt. I'm actually not feeling well today. I've been anxious. hope it can still be okay

Skylight"

It sent.

He slowly uncurled and leaned back on the berth. Why had he sent that? He'd be glitched to let any bot know a weakness, especially an easily exploitable emotional one. But somehow it hadn't made him feel afraid, and even trying to tell himself to be more worried about it wasn't working. Bluestreak didn't want to hurt him-- he knew that. Bluestreak wouldn't mock him for not feeling well, or admitting to being anxious, because Bluestreak wasn't cruel or conniving or power-hungry. He was sweet and kind and wanted everyone to be happy. And if there was a bot that Thundercracker could trust with his feelings, it was Bluestreak.

It was something every Seeker knew implicitly: you could trust your flock.

-----

"Skylight,

I'm so sorry you aren't feeling good this orn-- please don't feel bad about anything! I know it's awful when you get anxious and suddenly it feels like everything you're doing is ruining something. But it isn't -- you're one of my best friends, and I want you to know that I care about you. And if you're worried about anything, or want to complain about stressful things going on, or just want me to send you a bunch of messages about my orn to distract you, let me know. I want to help you if I can, and however I can.

Don't think that any of this is somehow bothering me, or inconvenient or any of that slag. When we first started writing, you let me know you were here to support me and that goes from me to you as well.

May the winds shift,

Bluestreak

PS: here's my personal comm frequency, so you can call me if you really need to"

Venting sharply, Bluestreak sent the message and then got up to pace around his habsuite. The thought of Skylight being anxious knotted up in his spark, as did the fact that the Aerial almost seemed embarrassed by his own feelings. Which was even more ridiculous considering the amount of times Bluestreak confided in him about fears, and got nothing but warm reassurance.

"I don't understand it," he said to himself, lying on his berth. "Sometimes it's almost like... I mean, sometimes it just doesn't make any sense..."

-----

::It's making more sense now.:: Jazz made sure to manually add a 'teasing-sly' tag to the comm. message, because slag that like infuriated Prowl to no end.

::I wouldn't call this making more sense, but I agree we now have a larger data-set.:: Prowl as always sent only the bare lexical items. ::I can infer your tone perfect well, Jazz. You don't need to spell it out.:: And in a --though not as rare as bots might think-- moment of humour, Prowl added his own 'resigned' tag.

::Trine stuff is always weird. Polyhex had trios and things, and so did Praxus I know, but Seekers. Mech, why do the Seekers always have to be different.:: Jazz mentally sorted through his vast, but not always vast enough, array of cultural information about the different cities and frametypes. ::I know they've got certain roles or something. There's a trine leader, we know that, and we know good ol' Screamer is the trine leader. But I still can't tell you what the other two are.::

There was a slight delay, which was the tell-tale sign that Prowl was waiting for his tac-net to get back to him. Interesting. Jazz fiddled with an image capture on his desk; Prowl was probably doing the same thing, but in his office in Tyger Pax where he was getting in the crystal-weeds with the logistical planning there.

Another klik, and then, ::Certainly the trines aren't random. A quick check shows that in fact they are often very predictable in terms of composition. We have very few Seekers, but they all follow a pattern that the Command Trine, at least superficially, also follows. One that is organised and focused, one that is spontaneous, and one that is calm and reserved.::

::I know, I've tried asking our Seekers about it--not directly, mind you, I'm not rude--but they have a hard time explaining. How do you explain something that happens so naturally, anyway? It'd be like a mech walking up to me and asking what a conjunx is. There's not much of an answer you can give.:: Jazz vented and tilted his helm from side to side, despite knowing that Prowl obviously couldn't see him. ::Gives a better picture though. Seems like it's not just the trine leader that has authority. The other two have their own rules they have to play by even when Screamer isn't around. Makes sense that TC would be the one who could also give orders; he's probably the most reasonable of the three. 'Course we could be thinking of this all wrong, but I have my bots keeping an optic on things. We could always stand to know more about the Command Trine.::

::And now we know some more about our Skylight, too. He certainly knows quite a bit of Vosian; it'd be hard to translate as much as he did without being conversational.:: Prowl held the line open but silent for a klik. ::Between that, and his anxiety, it makes me wonder about his background.::

::You noticed too? Of course you did, why do I ask. Yeah, he seemed worried, and while he might be worried about anything, I see your meaning. A Praxian Aerial--or near-Praxian, or Polyhexian, or whatever--with maybe some Vosian heritage and having lived under Functionism... I wouldn't want anyone to know, either.:: For all Jazz wanted to believe that the Autobots were better than that, there were some things that no amount of good intentions could change. You did your best, you fought it when it came, but there wasn't much of a way to stamp it out for good.

Jazz neglected to mention how Bluestreak had said Skylight's designation. That, he decided, wasn't something to be learnt over comms.

Chapter Text

Bluestreak woke up, and knew before he checked what pings he would have. The reminder that he had no shift, the time and place for the remembrance, Jazz offering support, and Prowl confirming he'd be over for breakfast. Bumblebee's simple but honest sympathy; Hot Rod's awkward attempts at sincerity; Sunny and Sides' always surprisingly sparkfelt understanding. This far into the war, after all the death and destruction and despair felt by them all, there was no pity left. Only commiseration and something like the warmth of a servo on your back.

It was the anniversary of Praxus' destruction.

Despite technically having been there, Bluestreak could remember very little about the event. His memories were confined mostly to sensations, feelings, and little snatches of detail preserved against all odds: a series of two-toned rumbles, the cool dampness of the little nook he hid in, the ground shaking, a gentle servo reaching through rubble towards him, voices speaking over each other in terror or relief. Mostly he remembered fear, that certain kind of fear that only younglings could have, when they knew they were afraid of something but were too young to understand what it was they were actually afraid of. He didn't understand death yet, he remembered. He knew it was something that could happen, but he didn't understand it. But nevertheless he had known to be afraid.

It was the other Praxians, the ones who for whatever reason hadn't been in Praxus at the time, who knew the actual facts of the attack. The number of Seekers and the time frame and the number of bombs and casualties and how long the rescue efforts took. They had had a different fear, the kind of paralysing helplessness that came from being too far and too late. But Bluestreak thought that all was nonsense. After all, he had been there and what good had that done anybody? It was for the best that Prowl hadn't been in Praxus that orn, because he would've died, and then who would have pulled Bluestreak out of the rubble?

Bluestreak checked his pings, and they were exactly what he predicted.

He got out of his berth and stood there, in the middle of his room. Everything seemed reduced to a series of steps, carried out simply because they had to be. Move the right pede, then the left, and then the right again. He was going to get energon, because Prowl was coming to fuel with him, and so he had to. But there was no real feeling or meaning. Should there have been? Some orns, when it was the anniversary, he didn't feel sad and then wondered if he ought to feel more sad. And then there were orns like this one where he felt something sort of like sadness, and wondered if ought to be feeling something else.

Prowl pinged permission for entry, and Bluestreak granted it. It was another one of those things that always happened; normally, Prowl and Jazz didn't use the formal pings before entering Bluestreak's hab, but instead knocked like in old-fashioned pre-war homes. But both Prowl and Bluestreak felt the need to keep that kind of normal domesticity separate from the anniversary, which was also why they fueled in Bluestreak's room and not Prowl's quarters like usual.

Skylight would probably have something interesting or meaningful to add about that, Bluestreak thought as he served Prowl his energon. Something like, we need to make space for new traditions because that's how all traditions once started. With a jolt, his realised that this was something fully new for the anniversary: this would be the first one since he met (for a definition of met) Skylight.

Bluestreak took a sip of energon, and noticed Prowl's slightly canted door wings. "Just thinkin'," he said. "A lot's happened this vorn."

Prowl hummed in agreement, and Bluestreak wondered if they were thinking about the same things, or if Prowl was imagining the volume of reports and battles and logistical problems he had solved. Milestones came in many forms; most likely, he was thinking of all of it, in the way only a bot with a massive tac-net could.

"Do you want to do anything different this vorn?" Prowl asked, like he did every vorn.

"No," Bluestreak answered, like he did every vorn, though he did take a few kliks to actually think about his answer before saying it. It would be different if Skylight was in Iacon, rather than out in Polyhex. How many Praxians were out at Polyhex, anyway? Did Skylight have anyone else to be with for the anniversary?

They finished fueling in silence, simply feeling each other's fields. When they finished, they wordlessly stood and left Bluestreak's room. They didn't need to talk, since they had done this--how many times? Too many, probably, but also never enough.

The walk through the base was quiet. Not silent, because a base was never truly silent unless everyone was dead, but quiet because everyone understood the gravity of the orn. Any bots they passed in the corridors nodded their greetings, but did not speak; the whole base, and it even felt like all of Iacon, was holding its own solemn vigil.

Along the way, he mentally composed a letter to Skylight, to send later.

"This was probably a hard orn for you too, but I guess I shouldn't assume that. You can never know how other bots are going to feel, and that's fine. I know it'll be hard for me, because it always is, but it's starting to feel a little different at least. I've been thinking about some of the stuff we've been talking about, about grief and mourning and the past, and I don't know. It just feels a little different this vorn."

He probably wouldn't send that; he probably wouldn't send anything to Skylight this orn, no matter how many drafts he wrote. Something about it felt off; maybe because he was trying to write it before actually going to the memorial.

Bluestreak wondered, not for the first time, if the Decepticons did anything similar for Vos. The Autbot had their own memorial for Vos, but the anniversary wasn't marked with the same weight since so few Autobots were Vosian. Surely the Seekers had to have their own communal mourning. Regardless, the Autobots never attacked on that date, and the Decepticons never attacked on this one. Some lines, it seemed, were too much to cross.

Bluestreak and Prowl met up with Smokescreen outside the main exit of the base, the one that led out to Iacon proper. None of them spoke either, and any outside observer would probably assume they had to be using comms, to fall so in sync with each other.

They left the base and drove in silence to the memorial. Along the way, a few others joined them: a pale green femme Seaglass, the dark cycle Heliotrope, a pair of twins Twister and Shimmer. The other usual members of their gathering, Chrysoberyl, Stride, and Silverline, were absent, the three being out near Tetrahex. The spots they usually took were left open.

The memorial itself was modest, and tucked away in the central park of Iacon. It consisted of a small crystal obelisk, in traditional Praxian mourning grey, etched with a spiral of names that slowly grew smaller and smaller until they seemed to be simply thousands of tiny scratch marks. The immediate area surrounding it was a garden planted with pink and white spark flowers. It was nothing compared to the splendor of Praxus, but it didn't need to be, and in fact shouldn't; owing to the war, and risk of damage or direct attack for large distinct landmarks, the decision to keep it discreet was unanimous. There had been no attacks on the anniversary itself, but no one wanted to tempt the 'Cons by having a large gathering in a location easily spotted from above.

Not that they were a truly large gathering -- even with the three absentees present, the total gathered in Iacon rarely hit more than twenty when all the civilians trickled in. A bit more than a dozen was typical; they were spread out across the remaining populated centres of Cybertron, and even if all the Praxians left got together they could reasonably fit across two rooms. Granted, there were still neutrals out there, however few, and potentially some were Praxian, plus an unknown number of Decepticons. But the number was still small, in a way that gave Prowl something of crisis whenever he thought about it. And Bluestreak wasn't sure he wanted to be at a memorial service with Barricade, even if he was the only other Praxian left.

Once the civilians arrived, they fanned out in front of the obelisk. One of the civilians, a very lightly built white and gold Aerial called Lightbreeze, stepped forward to leave a carved crystal flower at the base of the memorial. Bluestreak noted, almost absently since he felt like he was drifting outside of his own frame, that there were no other Praxian Aerials present; Silverline, one of the ones in Tetrahex, was a flightframe, but it never occured to Bluestreak before how doubly rare a Praxian Aerial would be. It would have to feel even more isolating, he thought, and he wondered if Silverline and Lightbreeze were in touch with one another.

Did Skylight have any other Praxian Aerials to talk to? ... did he have any other Praxians to talk to, in general? Surely there were some others out there, at Polyhex, even if they weren't close friends. But Bluestreak remembered the mistreatment of flightframes at the outpost bases, and suddenly doubted that any other Praxians out at Polyhex would be good friends for him to have.

Prowl's servo on his shoulder made Bluestreak realise just how far off he had drifted. Lightbreeze was in the middle of a giving a few words, a eulogy for her grey conjunx. Each vorn, she gave a different anecdote about her; Bluestreak wondered if she'd run out before the war ended.

Seaglass stepped up next, and simply bent down and knelt for a few kliks in front of the obelisk, with her door wings dipped in reverence. She had, Bluestreak remembered, been a priest of some sort before the war. One of kind that wandered the streets rather than staying in the temple, to give energon to anyone to asked.

Prowl then stood, not in front of the obelisk but beside it, and like every vorn recited from The Creation Primaris,: "Therein lies the horror with creation, that it must one day cease. And therein lies the beauty with creation, that it may never cease. Two concepts locked for eternity, in a loop of starts and stops and beauty and horror. It is our power to harness this. It is our power to create the beauty from the horror."

And then, without knowing he was doing it until it was done, Bluestreak stood in front of the tiny gathering. The glowing optics--blues, but some golds and greens-- flared with shock, since in all the vorns he had never stepped forward to speak. Was he going to say anything? What was he going to say? His processor felt strange.

Words came out of his vocaliser. "I'm not sure how I feel this orn. Somehow, this anniversary is different than all the others, and I think... I think it's because I've walked away from it. Finally, after so long, I've walked away." Concerned showed on Prowl's faceplates, and Bluestreak realised that he'd jumped to the middle. He wasn't making any sense, but he couldn't stop himself.

"There is this idea, that this all has to make sense. That there's some great Cosmic Scale. That good and bad must be in balance. That if good things happen to you, it's because you deserve it, and the other way around. Or that if something good happens today, it's because it's balancing something bad that will happen in the future. And we live like this, we live to balance the Scale. If we're too happy, if we do too much good for ourselves now, we tip the Scales and doom our futures; so we try to not be happy, because if we can be unhappy like we should be, then the Scales will eventually give us Praxus back." Bluestreak felt his own door wings quiver, and his vocaliser crackled. "But it's not real. There's no Cosmic Scale. Praxus wasn't destroyed because we secretly deserved it, and it won't be doomed forever if we let ourselves be happy now.

"I think I've walked away from the Scale. It's not real. I just... I just want to be happy."

Bluestreak went to stand beside Prowl.

Prowl leaned in towards him, field extended and warm. "I want you to be happy, too."

The others joined them, one after the other, huddling close with fields overlapping in a sea of understanding. Bluestreak might not have made much sense, but they knew. And they agreed. All of them wanted to be happy, but maybe they weren't ready yet. Weren't ready to walk away from the Cosmic Scale, but that was fine. They had time.

They had each other.

Chapter Text

Primus, Thundercracker thought, if you're listening to me, just let me sleep through the orn.

Primus, who was either not real or not listening, did not grant Thundercracker's wish.

There were multiple pings already, and reminder pings, and reminder pings for the reminder pings since he hadn't left his berth for a full groon into his shift. He didn't want to get up; he wanted to write to Bluestreak, to make sure his fledgling was okay, but he also didn't want to bother him on such an important orn. Bluestreak was Praxian and Thundercracker was a Seeker, the ones who destroyed Praxus.

Thundercracker was not Praxian -- he never got that formal dual citizenship because despite his carrier being Praxian, the whole egg thing had thrown the normal process through a loop that never got smoothed out in time-- though he also was not not Praxian... But in times like these, on the very anniversary, it mattered who was or wasn't. There wasn't room for the maybes and sort-ofs.

So no writing to Bluestreak. He had Prowl, he'd be well taken care of.

Finally, nearly two groons late and with Starscream threatening to drag him to Pharma, Thundercracker actually reported for duty. It was a loud orn, since a not insignificant number of Decepticons would take any excuse to celebrate, even the destruction of one of the great cultural centres of Cybertron. Thundercracker dodged overcharged bots with a grimace, thankful that his "total party killer vibes" (according to Skywarp) stopped any of them from inviting him to join in. He could probably keep calm if no one spoke to him, but being asked to drink to the destruction of Praxus would probably end with him putting someone through a wall.

Right before the entrance to the wardroom, some kind of fight had broken out. Two heavy racers had a mostly grey mech with no discernable alt pinned to the ground. A big purple warframe, with a bright red visor, had a skinny little beige and orange mech by the neck-cables, lifting him fully off the floor. Energon pooled around everyone’s pedes. The beige mech--he worked in logistics maybe, wasn’t his name Lever?--kicked helplessly, his vocaliser spitting nothing but static.

“When you walk by me, you’re gonna call me ‘sir’ or you’ll get worse than this,” the big purple mech snarled. Even from down the hall, Thundercracker could hear the creak of plating being damaged.

“Fulcrum meant no offence, Cablecutter,” said the mech being held down. Thundercracker recognised his voice, identifying him as Krok, one of the lower ranked tacticians. “I’m his CO, so let him go and we can talk about this between the two of us.”

One of the racer’s scoffed, and cuffed Krok on the helm. “I heard you’re a monoformer, ‘nd a glitched one, at that. Why’re ya even in charge of anybody? Can’t fight the ‘Bots, can’t do anything.”

Krok only repeated his plea for the mechs to let Fulcrum go.

“This one isn’t worth anything. Lookit him, he’s too weak to defend himself. And you know what we do to the weak?” The purple mech smiled, something wide and feral. “Just what we did to Praxus. It’s what they deserve, all tho--”

Thundercracker’s claws raked down the mech’s face. He squawked, dropping Fulcrum, who promptly crawled away clutching his throat. The two racers gaped for a moment, optics bright, before fleeing. A harsh roar roar drowned out anything they might’ve said, and it slowly dawned on Thundercracker that the sound was his own thrusters. He manually overrode them to cut them off, and settled his flared armour and hiked wings.

The purple mech, energon dripping down from four gashes, stared in complete shock. 

“You better leave,” Thundercracker said, still internally reeling. This was far from his normal behaviour--his motto was practically ‘helm down, look the other way’. Clawing somebody’s face was not either of those things.

As the attacker fled, Krok pushed himself up and nodded respectfully. “Uh, thank you, sir. I’m going to make sure Fulcrum is alright, now.”

Resetting his vocaliser, Thundercracker said, “Y-yeah, that sounds great. You can take him to Knock Out, if he needs it, just tell him I recommended it.” The moment dragged on, being more and more unbearably awkward as Krok remained at attention. “Yeah, so that’s it. I hope Fulcrum is okay… I’ve got a meeting now.” 

He waited just long enough to see Krok get Fulcrum to his pedes and start helping down the hall, when he all but fled into the wardroom.

"Finally, someone has decided to join us," Starscream drawled, as much as a mech with his vocaliser could, anyhow. The wardroom was sparsely occupied, being only the Command Trine and the Coneheads-- Thundercracker took a little joy in knowing that his delay meant that everyone had had to put up with Dirge for an extra two groons.

Skywarp had what looked like truly weapons-grade highgrade that belonged in Shockwave's lab, rather than being consumed. He did not offer Thundercracker any. Small mercies.

It was easier, at least, to keep his mess of feelings out of the bond, since they all had been doing it so much lately. Really, it should probably have been concerning, but Thundercracker had so many things piling up in his processor labeled for thinking about ' later ', that one more wouldn't hurt.

"Now that we are suitably off schedule, we can start the orn's tasks and actually get this attack planned." Starscream folded his arms in front of his cockpit.

Skywarp, halfway through a cube of that terrifying highgrade, waved a servo dismissively. "Fly in, shoot shoot, whhssssskkkkkk uughhhhaaaa-- that's the Autobots all dying-- and then fly back." He accompanied this with elaborate gestures.

Starscream looked about ready to throttle Skywarp, so Thundercracker stepped in as was his duty. "I think Screamer wants something a bit more, uh, actionable than that, Warp."

Ramjet pounded on the table. "No, I agree with Skywarp. We can take some lousy Autobots, plan or no plan! Why d'we need some ' battle strategy' or ' tactics ' -- we're stronger than them! We can burst in and clear out the whole base anytime we want! We're the Seekers; Kalis is nothing compared to Praxus."

Thundercracker managed, just barely, to suppress his flinch.

Starscream scoffed. "Of course Kalis is nothing like Praxus, it's some dirt city filled with nobodies. But we hit Praxus before this became an all-out war, so we don't have surprise anymore. And we are going to use battle tactics, Ramjet, because just while you're too stupid to turn on that processor of yours, the Autobots have Prowl ."

Ramjet didn't look convinced, but before he could protest again, Starscream lunged across the table and slammed the other Seeker's faceplates down with a viscous crunch. "Remember," Starscream hissed, "we might be stronger than the Autobots, but I'm stronger than you ."

Ramjet, cupping a servo over a cracked optic, frantically nodded. Dirge and Thrust, plating clamped down tight, nodded as well, staring down at the table. Starscream sat back down, still hissing. Skywarp took another sip of his highgrade and chuckled.

"You're not here for your opinions, Ramjet," Starscream continued, tone scathing. "You're here because Primus knows what I was thinking when I made your trine co-leaders on this attack. But you have your place, and it is there listening to my orders. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Winglord," Ramjet muttered.

 Praxus was gone, Thundercracker thought. Praxus was gone, and when they had been told of the plan to destroy it, they had all been promised that it would be the start of a new era. No more would their people struggle under the yoke of a system that hated them, demeaned them; no, by destroying the Jewel of Cybertron, they would prove that the old way was dead and gone, and the new way--the freer, Decepticon way--was here to stay.

There certainly was a Decepticon way, and it seemed here to stay, but Thundercracker wasn't too sure it was freer.

Starscream spoke, gave his plans and belittled everyone in the room. He was stronger , he was smarter , he was the one ordering a whole wing to act as a sacrificial diversion so he could get his shot at glory and take down Prowl. Thundercracker drifted further and further away. It all turned into a blur of raised, angry wings and harsh shrieks and prickling fields.

Weren't things supposed to be different?

It was wrong, he had been told, to have only a few bots at the top and everyone else bowing and scraping and suffering underneath them. It was wrong for the workers, the grunts and the laborers, to be treated as less than their know-it-all superiors. It was wrong for some bots to be disposable so others could have a better life, a more comfortable life, a more glorious life. The shape of society should not form a pyramid, it should create equality.

Starscream believed that since he was the Winglord, he was better-- or maybe the other way, and he believed that being inherently better made him the Winglord. But there he was on top, with his little pawns at the bottom, who by virue of being incompetent fighters were useless to the cause.

The old ways were wrong because they elevated the useless bots-- the nobles, the desk workers, the socialites, the artists, the leeches-- and pushed down the useful. Decepticons achieved equality when they venerated the useful, because the useful were strong, the useful were deserving . And if you weren't strong it must be because you weren't deserving. So the strong could take and the weak could take it, because that was the true natural order. A genuine inversion of the previous status quo... A mirror image.

A mirror image merely copying the original.

Thundercracker decided he didn't like the Decepticon idea of equality.

"--ong with you!" Starscream was shrieking.

"I'm tellin' you, he's been like this the past few orns. I thought he was over being so mopey, but I guess not." For a mech who had just drunk enough high grade to knock out a small platoon, Skywarp's speech was surprisingly steady.

"Yelling at us about our competence, and here's TC not even paying attention..." Ramjet grumbled, just barely audible.

"You better shape up by the time of the attack," Starscream warned. His optics were dim and threatening. "If you get yourself grounded like you did last time, I'll leave you there to rust."

The other Seekers all winced at that, but no one said anything. Thundercracker tried to pry himself out of his daze, but the monumentality of his revaluation daunted him. Did he believe in the cause? And if he didn't...

Starscream hissed, growing shrill. "Are you listening? Your function is to follow my orders!"

My function is to live, the banners had said.

"Yes, Starscream, I'm listening," Thundercracker managed. His processor whirled. He had an entire subroutine start up for the sole purpose of catastrophising. If Soundwave was reading his thoughts, it was over.

Granted, Soundwave knew about his fraternizing with an enemy for ages, and had done nothing. So maybe Thundercracker was safe there.

He was certainly not safe with Starscream, whose field fizzled with irritation so strong it made static blur in Thundercracker's optics. Starscream had always had a temper--what Decepticon didn't?-- but recently... Even other Seekers had thought him excessive. And trying to remember pre-war relationships was difficult, but Thundercracker was still pretty sure they involved a lot less yelling and insults. But what was he supposed to do? Starscream was a prickly glitch and there was no way Thundercracker would be able to change that, and leaving was just as impossible. Praxus was already gone, Vos was already gone, Cybertron was just about already gone.

The entire time, Starscream had continued elaborating on his plans to attack Kalis, and Thundercracker made sure to be superficially paying attention. He dipped his wings respectfully and agreed with everything when asked, as expected. There were no further incidents for the rest of the meeting, and after a joor, Starscream let them all scurry out to the rest of their shifts.

"What a slagger, eh?" Skywarp slurred, the high grade finally having caught up to him. He knocked his shoulder into Thundercracker's. "But you gotta stop bothering him like that, y'know? Ya get all sad, and we can't help but get mad at ya."

Thundercracker's wings flicked with annoyance, and he otherwise didn't react to Skywarp's attempted sympathy. Instead he stalked across the base, every bot giving him a wide berth, and finally found the barely-used medical storage closet. Primus bless Knock Out for letting him hide in there.

The closet was cramped, but whatever claustrophobia was offset by the sheer quiet. Finally, a space away from other Decepticons, with their overcharged ranting and gleeful celebration of death, and away from his own trinemates, with their open scorn or unintentional slights. His processor ache, which had built up over the course of the meeting, slowly abated. His subroutines terminated and left him with a clear helm.

Tucking his legs up against his cockpit, Thundercracker rested his helm against the wall. The ghost of his revelation lingered. It all felt too little, too late; so he had finally decided that the Decepticons were wrong, but only after dedicating at this point most of his life to them. Too late to stop the destruction of Praxus, the escalation of the war, anything. There was nothing left for him to do but continue as he always had.

... that couldn't be it.

His spark rebelled, and he felt his thoughts drawn back to Starscream's plan for Kalis. Specifically, Starscream's plan centred around killing Prowl at Kalis. Bluestreak's creator Prowl. Bluestreak, who Thundercracker had promised to protect.

His wings quivered, and his vents whined. Even at his most defiant, all he had ever done was voice a few half-sparked complaints and write letters containing no useful information to a fledgling. Treason, real true gets-you-excecuted treason, had never been something he even considered. But Prowl...

He forced himself to calm down.

There still was something for him to do.

Chapter Text

Kalis had never really been a beautiful city, like Praxus or Crystal City, nor an important one, like Iacon or Vos. It didn't have the industry of Kaon or Tarn, or the long history of Tetrahex or Simfur. It had always been sort of... there, simply a place that bots lived and not any more or less than that. And now, with centuries of war, Kalis had retained its modest purpose. Praxus and Vos were gone, the history of Tetrahex was burned, the industry of Kaon twisted... but here Kalis stood. Still a place that bots lived.

It looked worse for wear, naturally. Especially from the air. The criss-crosses of streets when viewed from above became a confusing tangle where detours and diversions had to cut through rubble, and whatever mimght have been pleasing about the architecture had long since been bombed away. Simple, rugged buildings remained with their scorched exteriors and prominent reinforcements. When the Decepticons weren't in the process of mounting a massive assault, Thundercracker assumed that bots still walked the streets or drove to and fro, and he marveled at the novelty of it.

It was an unnatural novelty, of course. Before the war every city had bots walking around, simply going about their orns. But cities controlled by the 'Cons had a tendency to not retain much of their civilian populations. After all, civilians didn't fight and those who don't fight are useless. Unless they were able to scrounge for their own energon, bots left Decepticon territory, as they knew they'd be getting nothing from their overlords. Autobots tended to waste a lot of resources managing their civilian populations, keeping them fed and out of the war as much as possible, which... was probably not a waste.

What good was winning the war if everyone on Cybertron was grey?

Making one last loop, Thundercracker swung back around and landed at the field headquarters Starscream set up. 'Headquarters' was being quite generous, as no one had bothered with any structure or even a tent, and it consisted of a couple stacks of emergency rations, some medical supplies, and a holoprojector to display a map of the attack.

"They know we're here, obviously," Thundercracker reported. "So far no one has left the defensive perimeter, and there doesn't seem to be any large gathering of troops. It looks like the city has been evacuated, however."

"It doesn't matter that they know we're here," Starscream scoffed. "They won't be able to understand the true scale of my masterpiece of an attack. They haven't even prepared their defenses properly."

"They have at least gotten all the civilians out of the city, or in raid shelters, so it's possible--"

"No it isn't!" Starscream's wings flicked, annoyed. "There's no way they can know what we're planning, unless there's been a leak somewhere."

Thundercracker muted his vocaliser to keep himself from pointing out that, at the very least, using a member of the Command Trine as a scout was a fairly large tell that something more than a normal raid was going on.

He had initially protested the idea, along with Slipstream, when Starscream first proposed Thundercracker scouting. But Starscream, perhaps correctly, questioned the loyalty of his fellow Seekers and demanded recon from the only assuredly loyal bots on hand: his trinemates. Thundercracker had thought Starscream to be pretty audacious, to question the loyalty of others while he was Starscream. And he couldn't shake the feeling that somehow this was all a test...

"In a groon, the left wing will finish preparations and we'll be ready to attack. Our central thrust will drive us right--"

Waahh-thooom!

Starscream's vocaliser muted so fast it shorted. A plume of smoke rose from the nearest defence tower, and alarms blared through the city.

And over comms came, ::I swear! Not my fault! That was all Ramjet, not me! I told him it was stupid and you wanted us to wait but--::

Starscream's field flared, bristling with an anger so strong Thundercracker flinch away. ::Skywarp! What have you--::

::I just told you it was Ramjet!::

"Does this mean we're starting the attack... Now?" Thundercracker said, sheepishly. "Or are we calling the whole thing off."

Starscream raised a fist. "We are no Autobot cowards! We are Seekers, and Seekers fight no matter the odds. Decepticons, it's time to rise and destroy!"

Underwhelming speech, Thundercracker thought to himself as he transformed. Not really much of a boast to point out you don't understand tactics. Five out of ten.

The haphazard formation raced to the city, Seekers in varying stages of battle readiness. Acid Storm looked to be missing half his missiles, Hotlink's flamethrower was disconnected, and Thundercracker himself only had a fraction of the ammo he'd normally bring. No incendiaries this time, not that he had been planning on shooting much to begin with.

Now that he was in the air, actually flying off the battle where Starscream was planning to kill Bluestreak's creator, Thundercracker felt his plating rattle. For all his ideas and maybe-changes of spark... He had never done anything more than think about it. He whole life he had wanted something, a purpose, to do the right thing, and yet he had ended up here.

How would this time be different?

How would he ever be able to--

-- Thundercracker slammed down on that thought. Not the time. He shoved it off to some corner of his processor and focused on Starscream. This was what he needed to do, and if he spent the whole battle in doubt, he'd seal Prowl's fate.

-----

Bluestreak's doorwings twitched, shivering at the sudden vibrations. In one of the underground bunkers, the Autobots all took a moment to look at each other, as the shaking slowly stopped. Alarms blared, above and below, and everyone got the simultaneous highest priority ping to start the counterattack.

"I don't get it," Bluestreak found himself saying. "Are they really starting their attack now? We've been following their forces and I'm pretty sure Powerglide said that half of them were still no where near ready to attack and that was only a few kliks ago so why--"

He cut himself off when he go the next priority ping, which was a warning that Skywarp had been spotted in multiple locations around the defensive perimeter. Ah. So that was why the attack started so early, then.

Kalis swarmed with bots. Prowl's careful logistical planning and traffic models ensured that the flow of traffic was swift and sure, bots easily able to get to their assigned locations without delay as the city rapidly readied to retaliate. Bluestreak, as one of the designated sharpshooters, drove in the opposite direction of most of the bots to set up on a high, reinforced spire in the northern quadrant. He ascended, the sounds of the battle distant but ever-present, and continued to comb through his alerts.

Two pairs of trines attacking the southwest tower, easily repelled by heavy firepower. An obviously mistimed attack by a lone Seeker at the comm centre, who was promptly downed. The Command Trine and three escort trines, forced to abandon their strafe of the city centre. The initial massive flak counter attack overshot, owing to there being half the expected number of Seekers.

Bluestreak reached the top of the tower and carefully unpacked his rifle, scanning the sky. A few Seekers here and there, that one looked to be Slipstream doing some additional recon, and was that Misfire wheeling above the Kalis HQ? He could shoot at the ground and miss, so Bluestreak didn't feel too concerned.

But as he combed through all the active Seekers with his scope, tagging potential ideal targets, he noticed the Command Trine flying in aimless loops around the city. They flew one loop, then doubled back and flew another in a series of concentric circles... were they looking for something?

He tried to narrow in on one of them-- a hit on any of them could do some serious damage to their strategy-- but they were too careful in their flight pattern and maneuvering.

He took a careful shot at a cream and blue Seeker diving after Powerglide instead, nailing them through the main tank. Now aflame, the Seeker wisely peeled off and abandoned the attack. Powerglide did a little corkscrew of gratitude, or maybe he was just showing off, and whipped around to harass the Seekers from above.

Speaking of harassing from above...

Engines roared in unison, and a a general standard-priority ping went out: Silverbolt, reporting that the Aerialbots were entering the combat zone.

The fliers shot overhead, Slingshot even taking the opportunity to buzz the tower Bluestreak was in.

The Seekers immediately scattered and then reformed into a slightly more cohesive formation, and it helped that they seemed like they actually had their main force ready. The Command Trine halted their strange circling and slipped into the forward wing.

Had they been looking for the Aerialbots this whole time?

But Bluestreak could theorise later-- right now, there was a war on.

-----

::Primus, just wonderful,:: Starscream complained, as they got into position. ::The little Seeker-wannabes are here and while we waste our time fighting sparklings, Prowl will be slipping away! If you hadn't been so glitched in your processor, Skywarp--::

::Ramjet's fault!:: Skywarp insisted. He teleported away momentarily, then popped back in like nothing happened. ::And I don't even think we've seen Prowl once. Just that other Praxian, uh the kinda blue one. What's-his-face. Bluestreak?::

Bluestreak isn't blue, Thundercracker nearly snapped. He's red and grey. Smokescreen is blue and red. But then his trinemates would wonder why he knew the Autobots so well, and how was he supposed to answer that?

::Prowl is definitely black and white, unless he decided to change his colour scheme for the first time in centuries,:: was what Thundercracker actually said.

::Don't think you're off the hook, either, Thundercracker!:: How could Starscream manage to screech over comms? ::If you weren't so useless, you would have used your spark-gift and shaken these pathetic grounder buildings to pieces! And then where would Prowl hide from me?::

Thundercracker decided to not point out that his ability had never been that powerful, not even close, and at most from this height he could break some windows and maybe blow out some audial receptors. But replying was very much the last thing on his processor, as the Aerialbots decided to open fire.

Despite Seekers being--obviously-- the best flyers on Cybertron, Thundercracker was not the most agile in the air compared to others. Starscream, for once accurate in his own arrogance, was truly the best flyer of their time and Skywarp of course had teleportation to augment his aerial feats. Thundercracker had power and endurance, but his large frame meant sacrificing some speed.

But experience and skill were worth more than ununtrium. Thundercracker folded his wings in and spiraled--the Aerialbots, like all bots, did not fire truly at random but in a pattern of sweeps, and he could twisted between those sweeps to avoid the majority of the blasts. And as for the rest...

...three alerts on his HUD of minor armour scorching, and one overheated relay. Because what skill and experience couldn't handle, plating could.

There were some benefits to being one of the larger Seekers.

Case in point, he was heavier than all the Aerialbots bar Silverbolt, and so when Air Raid swooped close to get some point-blank shots, Thundercracker didn't have to dodge. Instead, he accelerated and barreled right through the hapless fledgling. The Autobot recovered quickly, but chose a less durable Seeker to target next.

Multiple aerial opponents, with multiple being faster than him, would normally be the exact situation for Thundercracker to live up to his name. But Nova Storm nearly slammed into his left thruster, and he watched with something like horror/humour/exasperation as Thrust and Dirge, each trying to dodge Fireflight, slammed right into each other. He didn't want to imagine the kind of chaos a sonic boom would wreak.

::It's him! Idiots, to me! Guard my wings, I'm going in!:: Starscream cut in over comms.

Thundercracker's spark froze.

He had hoped, more than anything, that maybe nothing would even happen. Prowl would stay underground, or not even be in Kalis by some fluke, and everything would be normal. They'd take some losses, pretend it was a great victory anyway, and Starscream would throw a fit in their quarters while Thundercracker could figure out how to solve his growing list of problems.

No time for thoughts, or second-guessing. He scanned the ground as he banked towards Starscream's position, and spotted a black and white figure darting between spots of cover. He heard Skywarp's distinct vwop be interrupted by a sharp electric crackle. A ping came in a klik later: Skywarp was retreating.

Thundercracker slid into position by Starscream's wing. They banked together, in unison despite everything. As they wheeled in the sky, surrounded by carnage and blaster fire, Thundercracker couldn't help but feel something in his spark, something almost tender that shifted into grief. Why, why did things always have to turn out this way?

They zeroed in on Prowl on the ground, whose sensor wings jerked up in alert. They weren't close enough to truly see detail, but Thundercracker imagined something like determination on Prowl's faceplates. Bluestreak always described him as a determined, steadfast mech.

Closer, and Thundercracker heard Starscream powering his rays.

Closer, and why wasn't Prowl diving into cover? Why wasn't he--

Closer, and now Thundercracker really could see Prowl's expression, and his guess had been right and--

Closer, and Thundercracker swerved ever so slightly and clipped Starscream's wing.

Starscream jerked to the side, twisting sharply with none of his usual grace. His engines stuttered, and he wobbled for just a moment, and that was all the opportunity Prowl needed. A shot, clear and straight, struck Starscream dead-on, and then the Praxian was back in cover.

Thundercracker, more than a little numb, ducked under Starscream's chassis and helped steady his flight as they made a retreat.

-----

“Dear Skylight

I know you probably weren't there, but the battle for Kalis had some of the best Autobot flying I've ever seen! Superion obviously is a force to be reckoned with, but even separately the Aerialbots were giving the Seekers a fight for their lives. I think I saw Silverbolt nail Skywarp mid-teleport!

Obviously I wasn't doing any cool aerial tricks, but I still had my job. Sharpshooter isn't always glamorous or exciting, since I'm not really at the true front, but it's what I prefer. I think it's the Prowl in me, since I get such a good view of the whole battle. The movement of troops, the push and pull, the big picture. But then it's the Jazz in me that thinks about from a musical angle, rather than tactically.

The opening measures weren't impressive for either side, honestly, but that's because I think the Cons accidentally attacked before the bulk of their forces had shown up. So our response was initially premature. But once everyone actually got here, there was some real music.

The crescendo, obviously, was Prowl getting that shot at Starscream. Y’know, quite a few bots think Prowl is a pad-pusher, and while he does prefer planning to fighting, he still knows how to handle a weapon. You should see him practise with Jazz, or me for that matter. And I think Starscream believed the same thing, or he would never had done that kind of direct dive.

Of course, like I said, the Aerialbots were making the skies their own, so the Seekers weren't manoeuvring as well. And somebody must have nailed Thundercracker, because he clipped right into Starscream mid-approach. And lucky for us! Prowl had been out of cover, and while he had been readying his own shot, there's no telling who would have shot first.

But Prowl got Starscream right on the nosecone!

Prowl tells me it's likely only a superficial injury, but Jazz is betting Starscream’s pride will be DOA at Kaon.

More important than anything else, though, is that we held and civilian casualties were avoided. The Cons won't be able to do a big attack like this for a while, and I'm looking forward to the break to catch up on the reading recommendations you've sent me! I'm halfway through “One By One, Two by Two” and I'm still torn about who the killer is going to be.

When we did commendations this evening, a few bots suggested Thundercracker to get one. Which, well, obviously we can't do. But I do hope he won't get in any trouble for knocking into Starscream, or at least hope it won't be unreasonable. After all, accidents happen, even if they sometimes are helpful for the other side.

But what luck for us!

Have a good orn,

Sky Blue"

Chapter Text

"Primus, could you get any more tense, TC?" Knock Out chuckled and adjusted a strained cable in the Seeker's back.

But instead of making his own comment, or even giving a long-suffering sigh, Thundercracker instead jerked his helm to the side and stared blankly at the medbay wall.

Knock Out cleared his intake, and rolled his shoulders. Alright, so a bad orn, then. Most 'Cons had more bad orns than good, and with everyone in that awful mood after the Kalis disaster, it was no wonder. Knock Out would rather be melted into slag than be bonded to Starscream, especially with how snippy and prickly he got after a failure. Those claws of his were sharp.

He focused on the maintenance and noted the field welds on Thundercracker's plating. Most of the Seeker's damage, aside from the pain in his wing, was cosmetic. He hadn't complained about the blaster damage to his chassis, but also what good Decepticon admitted to an injury?

Knock Out tapped Thundercracker's wrist. "Let me run a diagnostic. I need to make sure those shots you took weren't serious."

Thundercracker gave a full body twitch, like he had forgotten where he was. "Hm? Oh, right. I guess I did get shot," he said, mostly to himself. "Sure, do whatever you need."

"I'll be quick," Knock Out assured, and prayed to Primus or Unicron-- or whoever was in charge of their miserable sparks--that he didn't run into Starscream until the Seeker calmed down. With the mood he must be in, to make his trinemate act like this, Knock Out would get shredded to ribbons.

The diagnostic revealed no serious damage beyond some plating burns, which were too minor to do anything over. He finished adjusting Thundercracker's strained wing cabling, and patted the big Seeker on the shoulder. "All done. Though, if you'd like, I could fix those scuffs for you and do a few touch ups. A treat, for one of my best patients."

Finally, Thundercracker reacted. "I'm your best? Me? Primus, Knock Out, now I feel bad for you. We need to get you some mechs who do what they're told and don't try to adjust their own gyros."

"Why you thought you could do that on your own, I'll never know," Knock Out grumbled, but fondly. He got the buffer and the right shade of blue paint. Most Seekers would never let a ground frame touch them, let alone do something as socially intimate as touch ups. Thundercracker himself, while he had always preferred Knock Out to Pharma like any sane mech, didn't used to allow this sort of thing either. But the past vorn he had slowly gotten a little more friendly. Now, he didn't even flinch at a grounder carefully buffing out burn marks, and even hummed contentedly at the attention.

Ah well, Seekers were strange. And if Thundercracker wanted to buck tradition and become something resembling friends with some grounder Kaonite trash, then who was Knock Out to dissuade him.

-----

"Skywarp," Starscream said, and for once Skywarp actually perked up to listen. It was the way he said it--low and calm and serious--that sent that mix of dread and excitement down Skywarp's backstrut. Calm and serious Starscream was devious and plotting Starscream. This could end very well or very badly.

"Yeah?" Skywarp stepped closer. It was just the two of them in their quarters, since Thundercracker was getting his wing checked by that grounder medic.

Starscream folded his servos behind his back, wings held in that careful neutral position that meant sharp emotions bubbled just below the surface. His field was tight and unreadable; his optics narrow and so bright they seemed white. "Kalis."

"...yup. I was there. You were there too. Explosions, fire, smoke. Great time." Skywarp resisted the urge to ask questions, knowing that it'd just slag Starscream off and make the whole thing take longer. Trine leaders liked to be dramatic, and for Screamer that translated to taking his time dragging out the point.

"Did you notice anything odd with the battle?"

"Uh." He shuttered his optics. Starscream very rarely asked him for his observations or opinions. "No? I mean, we lost, and that's kinda weird since we planned it so well and we're the warframes. But it was a battle. They're all the same. Shoot shoot, energon, ahhhhh." He did his best dying Autobot impression. He kicked his processor, trying to dig back into anything he might have tagged as unusual during the fight. But all his memory banks had were some notes on teleportation and a reminder to beat Ramjet's aft in a few orns.

"Yes. Yes, it is odd that we lost and that our carefully laid plans, somehow, did not come to fruition," Starscream said, stressing the word 'somehow' in a way that jogged Skywarp's memory.

"You missed that shot at Prowl-- that's a big one. Slaggin' unlucky." But even as he said it, Skywarp's processor whirled. "Or, I guess... Didn't TC run into you when you fired? 'S weird because the bond is 'spose to make it so we fly in sync."

"Indeed." Starscream's voice tightened. "Indeed it is weird. Have you noticed that our flying has been worse lately?"

Skywarp's wings twitched. "Maybe? But also the rations have been bad so it's hard to fly straight anyway."

"Maybe. But we've never run into each other. So don't you think it's odd that right when I'm taking the crucial shot, our dear Thundercracker clips my wings?"

Ugh, Starscream was doing that thing where he stressed a bunch of words and used fancy subglyphs that probably were all mysterious and subtle and hidden-meaning-ed, but all it did was make Skywarp's audials hurt.

"Yup, it's odd."

"Has he been acting like himself, lately?"

"TC?" At Starscream's nod, Skywarp continued, "Yeah, I guess. Moping around, writing in that datapad, reading those awful romance bookfiles."

"And yet..." Starscream's wings flicked and then went rigid. "And yet, you see, I think he's been acting very unlike himself. Think, for once, and you'll understand."

Skywarp groaned and tipped his helm back. "Primus! Screamer, just tell me what you think or tell me to slag off already. You know I'm not gonna be able to guess, and I just told you I thought TC was fine."

Hissing something about idiots and trinemates and useless mechs, Starscream drew himself up to his full height. It only made Skywarp chuckle, because he and Starscream were the exact same height and no amount of posture or haughty stares could change that. Thundercracker, obviously, was the tall one out of the three and Starscream couldn't hope to stand taller than him, so Skywarp honestly didn't know why their trineleader even bothered.

Either not hearing the chuckle, or choosing to ignore it, Starscream went on in his best bossy voice, "Obviously, we've been considering this all wrong. Yes, we've been blind to the truth. Thundercracker does something like this, and we assume that he has acted on a recent impulse. But...?"

Ugh, he was staring at Skywarp expectantly. "Uh, I don't know. I mean, impulsive doesn't really sound like TC. That's more my thing, or yours if you're in a mood." Skywarp wanted nothing more than for this conversation to be over, but he knew that teleporting away would only mean Starscream would track him down... and then take twice as long as punishment.

"Precisely. See, that processor of yours can function after all." If Starscream was any more smug, his smirk would be smirking. "So it's not an impulse. This must have been something that has built up over time, over a long time. So when we ask ourselves, has dear Thundercracker been acting different lately, we can't think of only this past decaorn. No, we must think to these past metacycles, this past vorn. He started writing in that datapad, all the time. Nearly every orn, sometimes multiple times an orn, and he never let us see what it was. Why hide that? And the answer..."

Here Starscream trailed off, his voice going quiet and hard, and despite himself Skywarp felt a shiver of something cold go up his backstrut. No he wasn't smart, and he never was, but a bot didn't survive being in the Decepticons by being stupid either.

"We... I mean, you don't really think..." Skywarp couldn't bring himself to say it. Thundercracker couldn't be doing anything stupid. He was boring and safe and never wanted to step a pede out of line. Stupid was Skywarp's job, and treason was Starscream's job, and Thundercracker's job was to not do either of those things.

"I think what we should have been thinking this whole time." Starscream rattled his wings, and Skywarp jumped. "He never caused problems before, and we confused it for loyalty to the Cause. Well, I'm finding out what's on that datapad, and we're going to really see who's loyal."

Normally, Skywarp would crack a joke about Starscream being the shining example of Decepticon loyalty, but... but right now, his whole frame felt so heavy and shaky he could barely bring himself to nod. It couldn't be right, but if it was... if it was... then... the Cause had to prevail.

-----

Jazz was staring at his connection wall again. The more progress he made, the closer he got to completing his profile on Skylight, the less happy he felt about the whole thing. It had started as a passing hobby, a puzzle with low stakes that he could solve and show off to Prowl... But now...

With each new piece of information, the pool of possibility shrank until there were no other options.

"Prowler?" Jazz motioned his mate over. "I need you for a klik."

Prowl was busy himself with his own puzzle: trying to run probability on all the after-action reports on Kalis. The Decepticon attack had been haphazard, even more so than usual, and the root cause of it needed to be found. Bad planning, poor communication, inter-faction conflict or a combination of all three; but something had been off, what with the premature bombing and strange circling and Starscream's failed shot at Prowl. Despite this, Prowl must have sensed Jazz's strange mood, because he was there in a nanoklik. "Is everything alright?"

Jazz put a servo on Prowl's shoulder, looking him right in the optics. He smiled, but it got stuck somewhere halfway between a feral grin and a grimace. "I'm gonna start talking, and after I'm done, I need you to sit me down and tell me I'm just bein' paranoid." The forced lightness in his tone did nothing to ease Prowl's anxiety.

"Jazz..."

"For metacycles now, going on a vorn, I've been picking away at who Skylight might be. Made a whole game of it. After all, he'd obviously end up being a friendly but shy Aerial who didn't want to admit to Blue that he wasn't really Praxian. Easy. A nice fun problem to work on during downtime. I've got my board and my notes and I screen every letter for more info to build a file. And it's fun! And I start narrowing in on who it could be.

"And then my best bot gets eliminated because of a new piece of info. But that's fine, I still have plenty of others. Polyhex and its outposts have tons of bots. And then I eliminate more. And more. And I get this weird feeling..."

"Jazz," Prowl started, not liking where this was going. "Are you suggesting that somehow --"

Jazz barrelled on. "I'm suggesting and I need you to tell me I'm wrong. Because I've been working at this for a long time now, and every time I get close, I find a new piece of intel that ruins the whole thing. And now? Now I've managed to eliminate every single bot at the Polyhex garrison. Including minor outposts and transfers."

Surely, that was an exaggeration, or... "Obviously some of the information given in the letters is purely false and you've accidentally included it in your assumptions. Because we know that Skylight has to be from the Polyhex garrison, at the time of the ambush."

Jazz shook his head, visor bright. "No. No, see, that's the assumption we've been dragging around. Obviously Skylight has to be from the Polyhex garrison, because he knew about Blue's injuries and field aid when no one outside of that battle, and High Command, knew about it. But..."

Prowl really didn't like where this was going.

"Really our assumption should have been: Skylight was present at the Polyhex ambush."

Prowl really, really didn't like where this was going.

"And I've slowly but surely eliminated every Autobot off the list. And you know what that leaves us?"

"I can't... Please don't say that you think Skylight has secretly been a Decepticon this whole time." Prowl threw every piece of data to the tac-net and upped the urgency. He needed the reassurance that this was nonsense, and yet.

"Well, I don't have t' say it because you just did for me. But... Think about it! We never considered it because, well, it's just too ridiculous. A Decepticon, writing friendly letters that don't even fish for information. That can't be it. But! If he wasn't an Autobot, then there's only one other option. And there are certain things that I feel I know for certain about Skylight.

"He's a flight-frame, who's fluent in Praxian and Vosian. He has been flagrantly abused by authority, and is slavishly formal when writing about officers. He hates and fears the Senate. He had more than two creators, and refers to his family as his flock. He's mentioned hatching. He has strong creator coding and a drive to protect those with a particular kind of social code and frame language.

"Prowl, you know that if this were any other situation, we wouldn't even bother digging any further. The mech's a Seeker, and we call it an orn."

"But this is not any other situation." Prowl was disconcerted that the tac-net was taking so long to reject the idea of Skylight being a Decepticon. Not only that, but a Decepticon Seeker. "This is about a mech who has been talking with Blue for nearly a vorn. A vorn, Jazz. Why would any Decepticon do something like that?"

"Remember back when I said that we were working with incomplete info? It's coming back to bite us, again. When we assumed Autobot, the mystery was why the bot would hide his actual identity through Skylight, but the being a friend and wanting to help Blue out came built in. Now with a 'Con, it's obvious why he would use a fake ID, but we're missing the motive. And I think... why's the motive have to be different?" Jazz held up a servo to stop Prowl from interjecting. "I know, I know. But c'mon Prowl, it's me. We don't have to pretend around each other that all 'Cons are emotionless monsters who eat sparklings for breakfast. We've got ex-Cons and they've got their quirks, but they're regular bots. Why wouldn't a Praxian want to talk to another Praxian?"

Prowl mentally kicked the tac-net, trying to get it to work faster. Why was it still trying to crunch probability? "You said Praxian there. You think that we have a Praxian Seeker on our servos? They weren't unheard of, but not nearly as common as Vosian or Polyhexian Seekers. It wasn't common for them to join the Decepticons either; Praxians in general overwhelmingly went for the Autobots or neutral."

"I'm thinking at least some amount of Praxian, culturally thought maybe not in frame. I'd have noticed if there were any Seekers with chevrons flying about." Jazz turned back to his connection board, as if staring at it more would change the conclusion. "All the more reason for him to be desperate. Imagine, being Praxian or part Praxian, and wanting to be around your own people and what are your options? Barricade. I'd take my chances fraternising with the enemy, too."

"And you've thoroughly eliminated all Autobots that were present at the Polyhex ambush." This wasn't a question, since Prowl knew that if Jazz said he'd eliminated a suspect, he meant it. "Are we going to reconsider that assumption? That Skylight has to be a bot that was present at the ambush? If he apparently doesn't need to be an Autobot, then why not overhaul all our assumptions."

With a wave of his servo, Jazz brushed the idea aside. "I did think about that for a moment, and I have been looking into all Aubot Aerials. It feels impossible that a bot not at the battle could know that Blue received field aid, but it also feels impossible that a 'Con would do any of this at all. That's why I need your tac-net to tell me all of this is nonsense and I'm glitched."

Prowl gritted his dentae. "The tac-net... is still processing."

"Still? Oh... I woulda hoped that it would be an instant rejection." Jazz shifted on his pedes, field drawn in. "I haven't tracked the 'pad ID yet. I didn't want to start on that before talking to you, because... Well, because what if I'm right? I don't wanna be right, which is weird because I love being right. But in this case, I want to be wrong so bad, Prowl."

"I know. I want you to be wrong too. But..." Prowl's doorwings shot up. Finally. "The tac-net... finds the data incomplete but probable. Without a full dataset there's no hope for a full probability breakdown, but... right now it's more likely than not that you're right, with the data that we have."

"... that's not what was meant to happen. Not with any of this. None of this was meant to happen. Skylight was meant to be some nice shy Autobot I'd drop a message to and bring over to Iacon and then we'd... Primus. What are we meant to do now?" Jazz's field slowly loosened, twining with his mate's in a warm embrace of reassurance.

"We'll figure it out." Prowl kicked the tac-net and the results off to a subroutine. He probably should be instantly reporting the findings to the rest of High Command but... it felt wrong to do that, without figuring out how to break it to Bluestreak first. "It's probable, not certain. And you said you haven't tracked the 'pad ID yet? We need to do that before anything else so we know without a doubt."

"We shoulda done that to begin with. Ah, hindsight." Jazz leaned back into Prowl's chest. "I'll get started on it, and we'll know soon. It's more than a simple spoof, but it doesn't look like there's anything genius to it. And then after... we find out how to tell Blue. At the very least, we don't need to worry about reporting a leak; I've been monitoring these the entire time and nothing remotely classified has been sent. I'd be comfortable handing everything in those letters straight to Soundwave, there's nothing in there for him to use."

"After we recharge. The answer won't change." Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz. And hoped that his tac-net was overestimating the chance that Jazz's not-so-wild theory was correct.

Chapter Text

It seemed like he might get away with it.

Thundercracker nestled down into the shredded pillows of the berth-- Starscream had been quite upset about the disaster of a battle-- and let his spark slow its frantic spin. Starscream had been angry, but hadn't seemed angry at him specifically. Skywarp as always noticed nothing. Soundwave hadn't burst through his door to drag him off. No one had to know.

He had left his datapad with his other personal things; subspace was safe, but not without danger, since a well aimed shot could still reach into it. Thundercracker eased himself out of the berth, debating for a moment staying in for just a few more kliks. Rummaging through the stacks of decoys--old Vosian phrasebooks, the first copy of Megatron's manifesto, a series of terrible harem romances-- Thundercracker flicked his wings. Maybe he left the pad with Knock Out? He tended to do that if he felt his trinemates, or nosy cassettes, might be looking through his things.

Thundercracker should’ve seen it coming.

He had clipped Starscream’s wings, in the middle of a firefight. Of course the other Seeker was going to retaliate. Why had he let himself be lulled into a sense of security when it wasn’t immediate? They got back to Kaon and Starscream hadn't tried to shred him, and he assumed that meant he was out of danger. And assumptions were deadly, because Starscream wasn’t just screechy and full of himself, he was the trine’s Drive for a reason.

He could, on occasion, plan ahead.

But Thundercracker wasn’t like that. He didn’t plan, and never had, because if he had been the kind of bot to plan ahead then he wouldn’t be fighting on the obvious losing side, now would he? He wasn’t as recklessly, thoughtlessly impulsive as Skywarp, but he thought with his spark and look what that got him.

It got him Starscream, barging into the middle of their living quarters, wings angled up and out in an obvious power-play. He fixed Thundercracker with a hard glare, and a mocking smirk twisted his faceplates and that transformed into an all out predatory grin. His field crackled and filled the space with rage and satisfaction. He motioned for Thundercracker to stand up, and so Thundercracker did, standing silently in front of his trineleader.

“I see you’re confused,” Starscream began, in his talking-down-to-the-masses voice. “I was too. After all, why would my… loyal trinemate suddenly decide to clip my wings mid-battle? So unlike you, Thundercracker.”

“I’m sorry,” Thundercracker tried, hoping he could sound apologetic. “I know I can be clum--”

“Quiet! Do you think I’m stupid, like you? You aren’t a clumsy flyer, and never have been. So, why would you clip my wings? And when I had such an important Autobot in my sights…”

He trailed off meaningfully, optics narrowing ever so slightly. “But don’t worry, dear Thundercracker. I solved this little mystery of ours.”

Thundercracker froze. Literally. Well, maybe not literally, but it felt that way to him. Like ice breached his spark chamber, his energon turning solid in his lines. His processor glitched, stuck on the sensation of dread, of death. Any moment, he expected to get a request to go into emergency stasis.

“Yeah?” he managed, after some kliks.

“Oh yes. It will all be over soon, don’t worry. You should’ve come to me when this whole thing started. I know how to handle blackmail.”

…what.

Thundercracker almost corrected Starscream on instinct, but managed to mute his vocaliser and simply nod in agreement. The sudden relief made him dizzy, and he hoped it seemed like a reasonable reaction. His wings quivered.

Blackmail. Sure.

Time to figure out who was blackmailing him.

Starscream tipped his helm, sending out some kind of comm probably, and flattened out his wings in a display of determination. “Alright. We’re going to need to head out for this. I’m worried about being overheard, especially if we start naming names.”

“Of course!” Thundercracker agreed instantly, then wondered if he was maybe too enthusiastic. He needed to act natural, but what did that even mean? He was so awkward anyway, maybe Starscream wouldn’t even notice.

The walk to the hangar was empty, thank Primus, because Thundercracker didn’t want to deal with any more stress than he already had to. The hangar itself was also empty, save for the omni-present scattered junk and energon stains. There wasn't even Ramjet moping in the corner, even though his cleaning detail wasn't over for another decaorn. Starscream led the way, as always, his pace brisk. Which was a good thing, because when they were in the air Thundercracker had no idea where they were even going.

::Where’s ‘Warp?:: he finally asked over comms, after about a full joor of flight.

::Ah… I had him scout out the area ahead of time. So he’ll already be there.::

The answer was unconvincing at best, but Thundercracker didn’t want to push his luck. Bots with questions they didn’t want to answer shouldn’t go around asking questions, or something like that. There was a great saying, a nice Praxian turn of phrase that captured the idea. How did it go?

::We’re landing, pay attention!::

That wasn’t it.

But Thundercracker landed anyway, transforming to stand behind his trine leader. They were… somewhere. The landscape was mostly rugged hills, with signs that once there might have been a small town somewhere nearby. It took a klik for his location to update, and the middle of nowhere near a fairly uncontested part of the border wasn’t where he expected. But it was a nice, secluded spot where no one would overhear anything, so it made sense. There had to have been spots closer to base where they could have spoken, but Starscream worked in mysterious ways.

Starscream walked slowly and deliberately to a small depression surrounded on three sides by a sharp incline; it looked like a crater from an explosion, with one side melted away from erosion. Thundercracker followed, a little put off by Starscream’s quiet determination, but the Seeker was always a bit dramatic.

Sure enough, once the two of them were in the middle of the strange crater, Starscream whirled around and theatrically bowed.

“As always, I am a loyal Decepticon.” He looked up and smirked.

With the kind of abrupt clarity that always came once it was too late, Thundercracker realised that this was a massive trap.

“For once, a job well done, Starscream,” Megtron rumbled from behind him.

He could hear the others now, walking out from where they must’ve been ducked down in the craggy landscape. The whispers, the laughing, the terrifying hum that came only from a crowd that knew they’d be soon rewarded with violence.

Thundercracker was at his own execution.

But somehow that wasn’t what made his spark lurch. No, he could deal with that. After all, it was bound to happen at some point. If the Autobots didn’t get him, then his own side would. He couldn’t fear something that inevitable. The only thought racing through his processor was:

Oh Primus, what if they tried to go after Blue.

He had been stupid. Everything he had ever done in his miserable life. Even when he had tried to do something good--bring joy to his lonely fledgling--he couldn’t help but ruin it. And now Bluestreak was going to be hunted down, because ever since Vos, everything he tried ended in failure.

Megatron was still speaking, giving some long monologue about “loyalty” and “traitors” and “the Decepticon cause”, and slowly he made his way to stand in front of Thundercracker, who had remained frozen in place. Soundwave flanked him, and Starscream moved to stand on his other side.

“It first came to my attention that we had a traitor in our midst some time ago,” Megatron continued, his audience fanning out eagerly to either side of Thundercracker. “There were a series of suspicious outgoing connections on our network, but yet we couldn’t pinpoint the source. Of course, it didn’t dawn on us that the source could be something as primitive and unassuming as a mere datapad, so we overlooked it for some time. But now…”

Vwop!

Skywarp appeared, hovering slightly above Megatron’s head. Held out from his chestplate, as though it might burn him, was a datapad. Thundercracker's datapad.

His trine standing by Megatron's side... hurt. There was something so deeply unnatural about it that his spark lurched. On instinct, he tried to reach out on the trinebond, to do… something. Anything. But he’d never know what he was trying to do, because when he reached out, it just wasn’t there.

Nothing.

The shock made him waver where he stood, something the surrounding ‘Cons took as fear, leading to an avalanche of jeers. How had that happened? He hadn’t ever felt a break, or a loss. It had somehow simply faded away from neglect, and now his trinemates weren’t even his trinemates.

He really didn’t have anyone.

Megatron took the ‘pad and held it up, triumphant, so the crowd could see. “Now we have answers! Loyal Decepticons, this datapad is the source of the outgoing messages. Of course, Thundercracker here wasn’t a complete bolthead, and encrypted the incriminating contents of the messages--”

--he what? Thundercracker never encrypted anything, because he was in fact a bolthead and never thought a thing through in his life--

“--but he could not hide the receiver!” Megatron’s grin was positively maniacal. “Soundwave, if you please?”

Thundercracker couldn’t do it anymore. What was the point of putting on a brave face, when his action was dooming one of the last innocents alive to a miserable death? He collapsed to the ground, wings limp with despair, and gave up. He didn’t cry or beg or scream; he didn’t deserve to, since he was guilty. The guilty didn’t get to beg for mercy, and if they did, they certainly didn’t receive it. He was going to get Sky Blue killed, and this was his deserved punishment.

He almost missed what Soundwave actually said: “Soundwave: identified recipient. Identity: unable to be fully determined, but is confirmed to be Autobot.”

A ripple of shock, horror, and elation swept through the crowd. Nothing was better for entertainment than the execution of a real traitor!

Thundercracker could barely pay attention to all that. His processor spun like he had been struck on the helm, and his spark felt like it ripped itself to pieces with all the emotional whiplash. Soundwave… lied? To Megatron? He couldn’t believe it. He had assumed that the TIC had ignored the ‘pad messages because, frankly, he had more important treason (Starscream) to worry about. But now?

Soundwave was loyal, eternally loyal. Every Decepticon knew that to their spark. And loyal Soundwave was lying, to Megatron, on Thundercracker's behalf... For what? For the sake of an Autobot, the enemy?

A memory of flying, of a shared sense of care for the young, curled through Thundercracker's processor. But was that really enough, to justify this?

The only explanation was that Thundercracker had actually been executed earlier, and now was in his dying hallucination. He hoped it would last a while, and maybe could conjure Blue up for him to say goodbye. Poor little fledgling. He hoped Blue wouldn’t take the sudden loss of Skylight too hard.

Megatron was still talking. Even in hallucinations, all he ever seemed to do was give speeches and fire up that fusion cannon. Which he was doing just now, after throwing Thundercracker’s ‘pad down with finality.

“Going to beg for your life now, Seeker?” The whir of the cannon powering up was so loud, Thundercracker almost missed the question.

This was like that short story he liked. ‘The Occurrence at Technowl Bridge’, that was the one.

In a trance and deathly calm, he answered, “But I’m already dead.”

A smirk. "Indeed you are."

…

Those keeping secrets shouldn't seek answers. That was the Praxian phrase he had been trying to--

Time fractured.

There was the distinct sound of the fusion cannon firing. Thundercracker had always hated it, what a ridiculous weapon--

The crowd's cheers--

Skywarp looking away--

The wave of error messages, of damage reports: Fuel system offline. Unable to detect cooling fans. Unable to detect spark support. Spark critically damaged--

The fusion cannon firing--

Those keeping secrets--

Canopy shattering, plating melting away--

Starscream, his wings flared--

Pain, spark deep--

Spark critically damaged--

The fusion cannon--

--shouldn’t seek--

Bluestreak. Blue. Blue, I'm sorry--

He couldn't think. His processor short-circuited. But he was guilty. He needed to apologise.

A comm-line to Bluestreak's personal comm.

:: Sky Blue. Sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so--::

--answers.

Spark critically--

[Entering emergency stasis]

-----

“You spelt ‘vainglorious’ wrong.” Prowl angled the datapad so Jazz could see it. “Missed the angled diacritic over the--”

“Mech, that’s literally in a footnote. Is the rest of the report fine?” Jazz wasn’t nearly as irritated as he sounded; Prowl was Prowl was Prowl, and this was just what he did.

The original plan, of recharging and figuring out what to do about the Skylight Situation the next orn, had hit a snag: they couldn't recharge. So Prowl passed the time proof-reading Jazz' updated profiles on all the high ranking 'Cons, since he could do it and have the tac-net going at the same time. Jazz had been preparing what he might say to Baby Blue, when he actually tracked that 'pad ID. It was... It was hard. And every few kills, they both expected the tac-net to spit out a new report telling them it was all madness, and Skylight was an Autobot after all.

And the kliks ticked by.

Enjoying his distraction, Prowl replied primly, “If you’re going to use a footnote to call Megatron a ‘vainglorious aft’, you should spell it correctly.”

That got a chuckle, despite the stress thrumming in Jazz' frame. “Yeah yeah. But I mean, what else are footnotes for--”

The door to the habsuite slid open, and Bluestreak tumbled in, not waiting for it to open fully.

“Baby Blue?” Jazz was about to make a quip, but froze when he felt the riot of panic that was Bluestreak’s field.

“He’s dying!” Bluestreak cried, garbled with static. Prowl leapt up and supported his trembling frame. “Oh Primus, he comm’d me and he’s--”

“Who comm’d you, Blue?” Jazz sent out a high-priority alert, and a status request from all of Bluestreak’s friends. Hopefully whoever was injured could be found in time, if they could calm Bluestreak enough to get the info from him.

“Skylight. Skylight comm’d me.” Bluestreak’s optics were so bright they were almost white. “I know it was him, and he just said he was s-sorry and then it cut off and… and…”

“Send me the comm history and frequency.” Jazz had always found that concrete orders helped. He skimmed through what Bluestreak pinged him with, and tried to keep his emotions from leaking into his field. Calm. Project calm. It was what Blue needed. “There’s enough of a signal echo. Location… there, out in the middle a’ nowhere just on the ‘Con side of the border.”

::The likelihood of this being a trap…:: Prowl’s private comm began.

::Mech, I know. Still, this is our chance to find out who ‘Skylight’ really is, deactivated or not.:: Out loud, Jazz said, “I’ll comm Ratchet, Skyfire, and some backup and we’ll head out as soon as OP gives us the go-ahead.”

“Which he did a klik ago; I was ahead of you there.” Prowl was too concerned to sound smug, and what a strange thing for Jazz to miss hearing. “Hanger, now.”

Primus, Jazz thought, I don’t talk to you a lot. But if you care, at least a little bit, then don’t… don’t break Blue’s spark.

Chapter Text

They flew fast and direct. Skyfire carried the groundframes-- Bluestreak, Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, First Aid, Ironhide, Skids, and Chromia-- and the Aerialbots flew in a tight protective formation around them. They had scrambled the group together in record time, helped along by Prowl’s gift for logistics and planning, but the mood remained grim. Skyfire’s field pulsed a single-track determination, and Ratchet hadn’t even bothered with his usual blusters about getting woken up in the middle of his recharge cycle.

Bluestreak shifted restlessly from sitting to standing to sitting again, dimly aware that he might be annoying Skyfire with all the moving but not having the ability to stop himself. He was the only one talking in the hold. “--and I know it’s him because he called me Sky Blue, and he’s the only one to ever call me that because we agreed on the nicknames in the letters, and I would call him Skybright because just Sky is too short and why did he apologise? For getting attacked? And that’s if he did get attacked because maybe he just got hurt some other way, like crashing or getting caught in a storm and maybe he’s not so badly hurt after all?”

No one had any answers for his questions, not that he was expecting anything. First Aid only looked up from where he was re-checking the emergency medical supplies. “Ratchet and I will do everything we can, Blue,” he said, and it wasn’t a comfort.

"Everyone always does what they can, because it's not like you do what you can't. Because of course if you can't do it, then you don't do it. But what you don't do isn't always what you can't do, because sometimes you can do something but don't. That's a lot of can's and do's and can't's and don't's and maybe I should stop repeating those words like that, but now all I can think about is--"

::My long range sensors are picking up movement, heading south-southwest. A faint signal.:: Skyfire reported, the first time the shuttle had said anything since they took off.

“Most likely Decepticons; it's their side of the border. With that heading they're travelling away from us, but we should take action to avoid detection regardless.” Prowl said, in his neutral authoritative tone. He relayed the same information on comms to the flying escort.

:: Understood,:: was the simple reply, and Skyfire made a sharp descent. Low altitude flying was undoubtedly awkward for the shuttle, but he had enough practice to make it reasonably smooth, and it did a wonderful job confusing long range motion detection.

“Do you think those ‘Cons hurt Skylight?” Bluestreak paced. His processor tangled itself with half formed queries and fragments of predictions. “Since they’re heading back to Kaon, does this mean they might be taking him prisoner? Why would they want to capture him? Or was this an ambush and now they’re fleeing because they know reinforcements will be coming?”

Somewhere, he knew one of the possibilities was that the ‘Cons were leaving because Skylight was simply grey, but he refused to believe it. Skylight was his friend. He couldn’t deactivate, not like this. He wouldn’t.

Hadn’t Bluestreak already lost enough?

The kliks dragged on, filled only by Bluestreak's chatter and the occasional update over comms. Surely they could fly faster? Or would that risk detection from the Decepticons, thereby jepordising Skylight's safety more than arriving later? Bluestreak felt himself overheating. More precious kliks.

"We're coming up to the location now, Blue." Jazz laid a servo on Bluestreak's shoulder. "Get ready to land."

::I'm not detecting anything via short range on the ground. But something small and stationary wouldn't register, anyway.:: Skyfire began braking for landing.

::And visual?:: Prowl asked, over the communal channel.

::Visual is too much dust and the ridges make for bad sight lines. Could be anybody down there.::

::Then let's be prepared for anybody.:: Prowl said, and closed the channel. He shot Jazz a look, one that Bluestreak couldn't figure out.

But none of that mattered, because Skylight was down there, and hurt, and they were going to save him. Because Autobots saved others. Bluestreak's door wings hiked up. They'd save him-- they had to.

Bluestreak was up and stumbling before Skyfire had even fully braked, his door wings high and already straining for sensory data. The bay doors opened to a rush of dust, which settled to reveal the bleak crags of the borderlands. Bluestreak had had many fantasies of how he and Skylight might meet-- Skylight being able to visit Iacon and getting introduced to all Bluestreak's friends, that was his favourite -- but they never took place somewhere like this. Somewhere desolate and miserable, like all the suffering of the war embedded itself into the very ground.

Despite his own desire to barrel over the near ridge and start screaming Skylight's designation, Bluestreak heeded his creators and stayed close to Skyfire while the Aerialbots did a sweep from above.

::No hostiles found. Whatever Decepticons have cleared out. There's a small residual signal from the ridge over there,:: Silverbolt reported, sending the coordinate range.

::Copy. Stay aloft in case anyone comes and circles back, but keep below long sensor range. We'll approach the ridge.:: Prowl managed to sound even more curt over comms than usual.

"C'mon, Blue, let's help your friend, yeah?" First Aid said with forced cheer.

It was then Bluestreak realised that he had frozen on the spot, while the others had already started towards the coordinates. He transformed and raced after the medic. They made simple, methodical arcs within the range, following the signs of activity: thruster burn, tire scuffs, and transformation marks. There had been a truly massive group of 'Cons, and the Autobots scoured with an ever increasing sense of urgency. Fields buzzed, tense and withdrawn.

The ridge looked like all the others, really, but somehow it loomed far higher. The crags and angles carried a greater menace. Bluestreak's plating rattled; he knew, deep in his spark, that something bad had happened.

The wide clearing came into view and with it--

A frame. Crumpled and curled up and fading to grey, but a frame. Bluestreak saw wings, saw the tinge of blues and reds, and his spark flared.

"Skylight!" he cried, transformed, and bolted forwards. He didn't stumble over the rough terrain, and he didn't falter even at the sight of the massive pool of energon.

Ratchet still reached the frame first. The old medic only hesitated for a moment before launching into field repairs: clamps on major lines, stasis stabilizer active, transfusions and portable spark support engaged, and a million other things Bluestreak had never concerned himself with until that moment. First Aid got to work a klik later, hooking himself into Ratchet, and the two moved in perfect sync to try and tame the worst of the damage. Skylight's entire chest had a hole punched through it, from the top of his cockpit to the start of his pelvic plating. Anything not simply gone had been melted to slag, and only the faint light from his spark remained as a sign that this was where a bot's internals should be.

"Skylight? Oh Primus, oh that looks bad, what're we gonna do I mean..." He stared helplessly at the greying frame, the pool of energon, the limply dangling wings. This was his friend, one of the bots who understood him the best, and he was dying. Bluestreak knew little about actual medicine, but he knew plenty about Ratchet: a quiet Ratchet meant a critical patient.

And Ratchet hadn't spoken a word.

Bluestreak's processor looped. He was dimly aware of a low but urgent conversation happening behind him, of exclamations of disbelief, but he could only stare at his friend's frame. There was nothing he could do.

There was energon. There was grey plating. There was something on Skylight's wings. There was nothing Bluestreak could do. There was a cracked datapad -- something on his wings -- was greying plating -- something -- purple -- grey --

There was

Decepticon

Wings

There was--

There was a field against his, warm and supportive, and he wavered between recoiling or leaning into it. Conversation flowed around him. He registered the speakers and information automatically, with no further feeling.

"--A Decepticon! We are not bringing some 'Con back to our HQ, I don't care what letters he writes! Those creeps probably set this whole thing up as a trap to get us to take in a spy. And I am not risking my security with a Seeker running around Iacon. Can you imagine what Red Alert will say to this?" Ironhide.

"Mech, I know, but this isn't some 'Con. This is Thundercracker. And trap or no trap, this is a chance to get one of the Command Trine-- do you know what I'd do to get this opportunity? And here he is, falling right into our servos! We have to take him, at least for Spec Ops." Jazz.

"Shouldn't we-- I mean, maybe it's because I'm a medic-- but shouldn't we still help him? Decepticon or not, he's dying and helpless and part of our oath is protecting those who cannot protect themselves." First Aid.

"There is a possibility this has been planned from the start, yes. I cannot ascertain the exact probability at this moment, but initial outputs indicate that it is small simply given the length of time for the correspondence. There are less time consuming ways for the Decepticons to attempt to place an agent amongst us, that do not take an entire vorn." Prowl.

"Take that small probability, Prowl, and make it zero. There's no way this was an intentional trap. I have treated enough injuries to know what a bot is likely to survive, and trust me, this was not meant to be a shot he walked away from. This was a direct hit to the chest at point blank range with a fusion cannon-- Thundercracker was not meant to survive. And he still might not." Ratchet.

"I admit to my own biases, but I am in favour of assisting Thundercracker. In my experience with the Decepticons, he was a reasonable mech, and not one for some kind of scheming deception. Of course, I defer to our leadership for our course of action." Skyfire.

"It-- this can't be him. There's a mistake. This is a mistake. Skylight is a Praxian, a Praxian Aerial Autobot, who gave me first aid and wrote me letters and is my friend. Thundercracker is, is, is-- not him. Can't be. I don't believe it. I don't believe it." Bluestreak.

"Bluestreak," said Prowl, in barely more than a whisper, and Bluestreak realised that he had been shouting. "Blue, let's step over here."

The two stood awkwardly off to one side of the ridge, while Jazz and Ironhide and Chromia continued to debate. Ratchet and First Aid worked on in silence, having said their piece and dedicating their attention entirely to their patient. Who was Thundercracker. Not just a Decepticon, but a Decepticon Seeker, and not just a Decepticon Seeker, but a member of the Command Trine. And who, apparently, comm'd Bluestreak using his private comm frequency and called him 'Sky Blue' and that had to mean--

And yet, even as Bluestreak's processor raced, hard enough he though it might become audible, Prowl remained perfectly composed. Not even a twitch in his door wings, or the slight dimming of his optics that meant his tac-net was rapidly re-calibrating.

"You aren't surprised," Bluestreak said, and it was an accusation.

Prowl at least had the common sense to flinch. "Ah. No, I'm not. Not entirely, anyway. But please, Bluestreak, believe me: this is still a revelation. Jazz and I merely figured it out two and half joors ago, and were debating how to tell you."

"Tell me that Skylight's really Thundercracker." Saying out loud made it that much more real, and Bluestreak thought he might be sick. This... none of this was how it was meant to be.

"Tell you that Skylight was, most likely, actually a Decepticon and potentially a Seeker. We didn't know who-- Jazz didn't get that far-- but we had discussed the possibilities and my tac-net agreed with our conclusion. I promise you, until this evening, we believed Skylight to be an Autobot as well." Prowl rested a servo on Bluestreak's arm, and then pulled him into a hug.

Bluestreak simply let himself be held, optics offline and audials turned down to tune out the argument happening on the other side of the ridge. Prowl's field was warm and steady, offering unconditional support with no judgment. Bluestreak sank into it, his own field a disaster of anger and anxiety and betrayal and hurt. His friend-- his dear friend, who encouraged him to be honest about his feelings-- had lied. Had been nothing but a lie, and for what reason? Thundercracker wasn't Praxian; he was a Vosian Seeker through and through.

Skyfire said that Thundercracker wasn't one for deception, but clearly he was mistaken.

Had this been some kind of game? A dare? Something for a bored Seeker to do in between raids and -- Primus! They had both been at Polyhex! Bluestreak had... Bluestreak had nearly capture Thundercracker/Skylight and Thundercracker had, had, had avoided shooting him. Shouldered Skywarp and argued with him against shooting Bluestreak. Half-translated the transcript out of Vosian for Bluestreak, in a way that hid his identity but yet was strangely helpful.

Suddenly, the whole thing shifted in Bluestreak's processor, and he burst out laughing.

"Baby Blue?" Prowl asked, gentle.

"Sorry, it's-- Skylight is Thundercracker. I recorded Skywarp and Thundercracker arguing about shooting me. Skylight helped translate that so--so Thundercracker translated his own argument with Skywarp to me." Bluestreak broke into giggles. "Can you imagine his face, when I asked him to help?"

He felt Prowl's smile in his field. Was that even a chuckle? "It... certainly is making some things far more ridiculous, in hindsight. And... revealing."

Bluestreak nodded against Prowl's plating, thinking back to the battle at Kalis; Thundercracker had clipped Starscream to... protect Prowl? Because he was Bluestreak's creator? But Thundercracker was a life-long Decepticon--he had taken part in the destruction of Praxus--so could there be another motive? Starscream schemed like his spark depended on it, which could be true, so did he put his trinemate up to this? But Ratchet said that this was almost certainly not a set up, and Skyfire said Thundercracker wasn't deceptive... but he lied for an entire vorn.

His laughter dying down, Bluestreak flattened his door wings against his back. "It's... it's so confusing, Prowl." And then, venting with purpose, he tried to shuffle his thoughts into some kind of order. "Alright. Alright. Thundercracker. We're pretty sure it's been him the whole time."

"Looks like it. Skids looked through the damaged datapad, and while he can't read either language, it's definitely in Vosian and Praxian, and contains files addressed to you." Prowl slowly released Blue from the hug. His voice was as soft as it ever got. "I do wish this was different, but we do anything about that now. So we need to start planning what to do next."

"Are... are we taking Thundercracker back to Iacon?"

Prowl tipped him helm, probably reviewing pings, and gave a half-smile. "Well, with what Ratchet is like, if we leave Thundercracker here we can say goodbye to our CMO. You know how he is with patients. So we're taking him back with us. The real issue is what we do after that. And what you might want to do after that."

Bluestreak nodded. "I... I don't think I can plan that right now. We don't even know if..." If Thundercracker is going to survive, he didn't say.

"That's fair. One step at a time, then. Get Thundercracker to Iacon, and step two is wait." Prowl turned to face where the others were stilled clumped on the ridge. "I think they're mostly done, now, if you'd like to rejoin them and we'll see when Thundercracker can be moved."

They made their way back to the others, where it seemed that the matter of security and stray-Seeker containment had been sorted out. "He's comin' with us, once Ratchet feels he's stable enough. We still have the trine bond issue, but that's far enough in the future we're leaving it there. He'll recover and once he can talk for himself, we'll settle on long term plans," Jazz said, once Prowl and Bluestreak got close enough. Ironhide and Chromia had the exasperated expressions of all bots who lost arguments to Jazz.

They waited another tense breem, as talk died away and there was nothing but the uncannily quiet medics working to save a 'Con's life. Finally, Ratchet leaned back. "Let's get him in Skyfire, and get back as quick as we can. He needs real spark support, but this should hold until we can get to Iacon. And then... we'll see."

They carefully maneuvered the Seeker into Skyfire's hold, made all the more awkward as Ratchet had to remain connected to him the entire time. And as they flew back to Iacon, Bluestreak stared at the Seeker's plating-- the little purple badge that stabbed him in the spark-- and felt his thoughts rattle around his processor.

But. First step, get to Iacon. Then...

Then we'll see.

Chapter Text

The Well of All Sparks…

A frame was lying down. Horizontal? Gyros weren't functioning.

The Well was quiet. Everything hovered right on the edge, just out of reach. Out of reach of what? A frame was lying down. Strange. Frames shouldn't be in the Well.

The spark spun in its casing. Something was wrong. Casing? Frame? Something was wrong. The spark spun. The spark… hurt.

Something was wrong.

[ERROR: cannot detect spark support]

This was not the Well.

The spark spun, distressed. Where was it? The casing. The casing was damaged. Spinning. Faster faster. Where was its frame? The casing was damaged and its frame was inert. Faster and faster and faster. Why wouldn't the frame respond?

[CRITICAL: spark destabilised]

Spinning faster and faster and--

[CONFIRM: external spark support detected. Leaving emergency stasis…]

Its frame? Yes! The spark pulsed joy. The casing was damaged but the frame was there. Not the Well. Home.

[CONFIRM: entering medical stasis. Reboot sequence initiating…]

The spark spun happily. The processor rebooted and came online into the peripheral awareness of medical stasis.

-----

Medical stasis. So he really wasn't in the Well.

Great. Thundercracker couldn't even deactivate properly.

He was lying down. Medical stasis. Medbay? Sure, why not. The majority of his processor was offline and what was online couldn't do much -- that was the point of stasis.

System logs. He could access those. He opened them, and then immediately closed them again. Primus, he had more errors and damage reports than he'd ever seen in his life. Memories were offline, so he couldn't know what happened.

His major systems sent updates about the external life and system support. Everything from his spark to his temperature was being externally regulated. The insistent errors started to die down, now that his frame wasn't moments away from falling apart.

[ERROR: unable to locate trine bond]

What.

His spark hurt. He dismissed the error.

A new alert. He was growing to hate alerts. It was a request for medical access to his system overview. Yeah fine, he approved it. Even in stasis, he was exhausted. His spark was exhausted.

Another request. This one came with a query, asking him to send errors and damage reports in priority order. And another set of requests for monitor access for different major systems.

Thundercracker opened the system log again. Primus there were a lot of alerts. He forwarded the spark damage and casing error threads, as highest priority. What else? He started approving the monitor requests.

He was exhausted.

Primus.

He granted full admin access to all his systems.

Now maybe he wouldn't be bothered by requests anymore.

He could feel the other bot slowly probing each system, and it was nice having someone else handling all the alerts and errors for once. He could fully drift in the enforced calm of medical stasis.

-----

Ratchet nearly disconnected entirely when Thundercracker granted him full admin access. Primus, the fusion cannon blast (or maybe the emergency stasis) must have fried his processor, because there was no way any mech, let alone a 'Con, would grant access like that. But Ratchet was a medic, and a good one, and so after his nanoklik of surprise he shunted everything off to a subroutine, for later processing, and got to work. The life support was doing its job and at least for the next joor or so, the Seeker would remain relatively stable.

After that...

Ratchet worked in silence, First Aid coming to assist once Prowl got him caught up with everything. Aid patched into Rachtet, Rachtet patched into Thundercracker, they were a nightmare of cables and forwarded error pings. The spark was obviously the highest priority, and the two medics carefully adjusted the direct spark support to match the rapid spin. The false laser core sat strangely on the melted remains of what must've been the spark chamber, humming in that dreadfully toneless way. The spark wouldn't stop counter spinning, threatening to destabilise again despite the direct support. Ratchet upped the energy field, mindful that too high would fry the spark just as surely as any weapon blast.

And there it went again. He could see it flipping in the ruins of the chamber, tendrils lashing out to nothing. There had to be something...

Normally Ratchet was a stickler for medical ethics and wouldn't go rummaging into his patient's code, but this was an emergency if he ever saw one. Thundercracker had already granted him the access, and if it saved the Seeker's life, he hoped he could be forgiven.

The code and processor were almost as slagged as the frame, not that Ratchet was surprised. Trying to handle that many catastrophic errors, not to mention regular trauma and emotional systems, would be enough to fry out Prowl for decaorns. He was careful not to change anything--Primus knew he wouldn't want to alter a glyph and break the Seeker's entire brain--as he flew threw the mess of coding and processor errors. The system errors regarding the spark had been solved, or as solved as they would be without rebuilding the spark chamber from scratch, so the real problem had to lie here.

A problem hiding in a sea of problems.

Much of them he mentally tagged for later, like the intense chronic stress and the severe insomnia, but none of them were connected to the spark. There had to be a reason why it was twisting like that, almost as if...

Oh.

Ratchet found the problem.

It was looking for someone.

Nowhere, not in his code or processor or system or even in his spark, was there any sign of a trine bond.

He opened a comm channel to Jazz. ::Update on the trine issue. There's no trine bond. His spark is trying to find it and it's making him destabilise.::

::Good new, bad news,:: was the reply, the attempt at humour falling extra flat over comms. ::Do you think it'll offline him?::

::If we can't mitigate this, yes. I'm no Seeker expert, but a broken bond is a broken bond. Get over here and help.::

-----

Bluestreak felt better curled up in a ball, if only slightly. His helm protected, his doorwings tucked carefully by his sides, he was at least physically safe. He kept his optics offline, and focused on listening to his vents. His vocaliser made soft hums and clicks, but he couldn't even bring himself to speak actual words.

Next to him on the berth, Jazz shifted and then stiffened. His field pulled in tight, and he patted Bluestreak lightly on the shoulder. "I gotta go, Blue."

"Ratchet commed?" He didn't know what he wanted. Did he want Thundercracker to be conscious? Did he want Thundercracker to be locked in permanent stasis? Did he want this whole thing to be an elaborate Decepticon scheme, and any klik now Skywarp would teleport in and take his trinemate away?

"Yeah, he commed. I gotta get to medbay." His creator's field was controlled, but Bluestreak thought he felt a flicker of concern.

Jazz stood up, visor dim.

Bluestreak's processor whirled, and he raced through every possibility. Processor damage or coding corruption, or full recovery or strange rust disorders. Thundercracker waking up and being cruel and callous, or Thundercracker waking up and being just like Skylight--

"What's happening?" was all he ended up asking.

"He's got no bond on his spark, and it's destabilising." Jazz tilted his helm, clearly responding to or sending out another comm.

Maybe it was the dryly factual way Jazz said it, or just hearing it out loud without any reassurance afterwards, but it struck Bluestreak like a bolt through the spark. Destabilising. Dying. Thundercracker was going to die.

Skylight was going to die.

He still wasn't sure what he wanted, but he sure as Pit knew what he didn't want:  he didn't want Thundercracker to die.

If he died, then that was it. No chance to see what he was like or not like, to find out if they would be friends or enemies or nothing. Bluestreak knew that whatever he wanted with Thundercracker, whether it was to scream in his face or to hug him or ask him why everything felt like too much, the Seeker needed to be alive.

Bluestreak uncurled from the berth and hopped up next to Jazz, doorwings flared wide. "I'm coming with you."

-----

The Seeker looked marginally better, Bluestreak decided, though that was a low bar. It wasn't hard to have improvement over a giant hole melted into the chassis, so complete sparklight leaked out. The hole was still there of course, and so was the visible spark and slagged chamber, but for once the amount of equipment in the medbay looked comforting rather than imposing. Thundercracker had more things hooked up to him than Bluestreak had ever seen before, and he couldn't begin to name most of them or guess their function. But he could identify the spark support, awkwardly clamped to the remains of the spark chamber, and he knew enough to tell that the readouts on the monitor were bad.

Ratchet glanced up from the Seeker's chest, optics distant. Probably going through system reports. First Aid's servos darted this way and that, securing energon lines and removing fried circuitry. Neither medic commented on Bluestreak accompanying Jazz, and the only acknowledgement of their presence was a brief ping to come to the medical berth.

"Don't put too much into it," Ratchet warned. "An overwhelmed emotional response won't be any better. Calm and steady is what we need." There were no threats or swearing or dramatics, only orders. Bluestreak felt his plating clamp down.

"Let's give him a chance," Jazz said softly, nudging Bluestreak to stand on Thundercracker's other side. "Ready, Baby Blue?"

Baby Blue... Sky Blue...

Bluestreak nodded, and then the two bots extended their fields.

They meshed easily, decades of experience letting them mingle without pause, and washed over Thundercracker's spark warmly. They didn't project any strong emotions, just calm - safe - we're-here - not-alone, and the destabilised spark quivered at the not-touch. Higher emotions based from the processor were blocked by the medical stasis, so there was only the raw feeling of the spark. After a long klik, the strange staticky distress bled away, leaving behind confusion and longing.

Field therapy was preferably done by actual friends or family (or flock) but this was as close as Thundercracker could get in Iacon. Sparks by their very nature were sensitive, and sudden bereavement of a bond could send even a healthy spark into shock. One that had recently been exposed to a fusion blast…

But slowly, and with an edge of desperation, Thundercracker’s spark extended its own field and meshed with Jazz and Bluestreak’s. With every wave of calm - safe, the longing dwindled until there was just lingering confusion and returned pulse of safe? - trust - thank-you.

“Keep that steady,” Ratchet said, and reached over to adjust the spark support. “Stay here for a couple groons, a joor if you can. He’ll need this every orn until his spark stops trying to shred itself.” But that last part was said with Ratchet’s typical exasperated annoyance, and Bluestreak found himself smiling.

Maybe this could work out after all?

He and Jazz stood there for the next joor, simply being a pair of calm, stabilising fields for Thundercracker’s spark. It was a little easier to think of the mech as Thundercracker without flinching, when his spark was so obviously pleased with the field contact. Ratchet and Ambulon cleared out destroyed circuitry and plating, and hooked in temporary connectors. The output on the monitors slowly grew more normal.

And over that joor, watching the medics work and keeping his field perfectly even, Bluestreak felt some of the sharper edges of his feelings wear away. Without the shock of the moment, or the looming devastation of death, he could actually think about what might happen. No spiralling thoughts, no panic, just his processor working through some situations. And, probably, Thundercracker would be willing to talk to him. Out of the Command Trine--or former Command Trine, really-- he was the most reasonable. Bluestreak didn’t have Starscream or Skywarp on his servos; this was a mech he could hold a rational conversation with.

And that, truly, was all he wanted. To have that moment to sit and talk and maybe understand why. Whatever happened after… he could handle that as it came.

… and maybe, he and Thundercracker might be able to have that conversation in Praxian.

-----

The room was warm. Pleasantly so, just the right temperature to be cosy. It was quite welcome and maybe even a little surprising; fights had broken out over the temperature controls at Kaon before, since grounders and flight frames had different preferences.

Thundercracker shifted, just a bit. He was lying down, on something that was certainly not his own berth. Medical? Probably. His processor came online slowly, relevant information trickling in alongside a pile of updates and alerts. He slogged through the priority ones, noting the apparently extensive repairs. Those couldn't be right but--

His chronometer cheerfully displayed a date a full two decaorns past what he was expecting.

He reset it.

No change.

Thundercracker onlined his optics.

His processor was still playing catch up, registering audio input (quiet, with the faint noises of functioning machinery) and tactile sensors (no pain, but in the fuzzy way that suggested pain patches). He stared at the ceiling, terrifyingly unfamiliar, and tried on instinct to reach out to his trine.

But his spark simply... Couldn't reach out. There was nothing.

... Just like when he had tried reaching out before his execution.

Processor finally fully online, Thundercracker caught halfway between trying to bolt from the berth and freezing on place. Where was he? This was not the medbay at Kaon, which was never this quiet, and it was not any other medbay he'd ever been in. The ceiling supports, the slight vaulting, the off cream colour, all of it was alien. If he was with the Decepticons, then this was one of Shockwave's tricks. And any minute now that slagger would glide into the room and jam a spike-jack into Thundercracker's helm, assuming that hadn't already happened.

Some of the machines, that he belatedly realised he was hooked up to, started whirring and one made a warning beep. His spark hurt, and his wings trembled against the berth. Would the equipment give him away? Was it better now to feign unconsciousness or sit up and pretend to know what was happening?

"Good orn, Thundercracker," came a forcibly pleasant voice to him left.

Thundercracker launched himself upright, or rather attempted to. But his relays and sensor net were uncooperative and sluggish, so he did little more than lurch in place and jerk his helm to the side.

"I'm First Aide. You're currently in an Autobot medbay, after we found you injured," the Autobot continued. "Do you remember anything?"

Smart Decepticons knew to keep quiet around Autobots; the glitches could use any little word as a way to work their way in like rust infection. Smart Decepticons knew that even Autobot medics--especially Autobot medics--were dangerous.

Thundercracker was never a smart Decepticon.

"Bluestreak?" he asked. His vocaliser warbled.

"He's perfectly alright. He's been visiting you, while you have been in stasis. Once we make sure you're all set to stay awake, and we get a few administrative tasks squared away, he can come by." The Autobot's voice was full of cheer, but neither that nor the happy glow in his optics could distract Thundercracker from that deadly phrase.

'Administrative tasks' meant interrogation, and interrogation meant Jazz. Who was Bluestreak's creator. And now almost certainly knew who Skylight really was.

"Now, if you feel up to it, we can get started on the assessment, or you can take a nap and we'll do it in a bit," First Aide said, cutting off Thundercracker's Jazz-centric panic.

The Seeker managed to dip his wings in consent, then remembered grounders had a hard time with wings signs, and nodded. The assessment was... oddly simple and gentle. A few basic questions-- what's your designation, can you tell me something in this room -- and a checklist of his systems and if he was in any pain. Ratchet, the terror himself, joined after a few kliks and it was only Thundercracker's memory of Bluestreak's praise for the medic that kept the Seeker from hissing. As it was, Ratchet mostly poked at his chest and wings, coaxing the paneling and joints into moving and asking if any positions hurt. His wing hinges were sore, and his entire cockpit twinged with that dull ache of a full repair settling in, but no signs of anything important still being broken.

The surreality of it all lulled Thundercracker into a kind of dazed calm, helped along by the lingering exhaustion. He should be panicking. He should be clawing at these medics and trying to escape. But instead he kept thinking about the fusion cannon, about his former faction and former trine. And the Autobots were... perhaps not kind, certainly not friendly, but decent. Decent mechs checking their repairs.

"I'm not understanding," he found himself saying. "I know I comm'd Bluestreak. I know you want to interrogate me. But I'm not understanding."

First Aide cocked his head, confused, but Ratchet seemed to piece it together. "Right now, you are one thing and one thing above all else: my patient. And I don't attend my patients in the brig. And while Optimus and Jazz and all the others want to talk to you-- talk, not interrogate -- nobody is doing much more than saying 'good orn' until I give the go-ahead."

Thundercracker nodded. Did he believe that? He wanted to. A medbay with medics not trying to harvest his internals beat a brig, with closed-in walls and cold floors and SpecOps agents just waiting for their chance to extract intel from a lonely Seeker who--

"Let's get you a little energon," Ratchet said, overly loud. First Aide moved to gingerly help Thundercracker sit up.

The Seeker managed a few sips of midgrade, simple but nourishing, before he felt himself start to drop back into recharge. The two medics settled him back down on the berth, this time with a blanket draped over his frame. He drifted, his overworked processor desperate for a chance to actually process the deluge of information. Maybe, when woke up, he'd be able to talk to Bluestreak?

Chapter Text

Bluestreak paced. Then he stopped, stared with apprehension at the medbay doors, and paced some more. It would be fine! He was just about to talk to Skylight, who was Thundercracker, but who was his friend for over a vorn even if he was lying about who he was but that was probably understandable given the circumstances and--

A ping from Ratchet cut off his internal run-on sentence. :: He's awake, Blue. You can come in but Primus help you if you panic him, your aft is out of my medbay.::

The doors opened and Bluestreak darted in, his door wings high, field crackling with energy. He dimly registered Ratchet and First Aid, standing off to one side near the pile of medical monitors, but his optics focused solely on the Seeker in the medical berth. Thundercracker’s wings flicked and fluttered in a way reminiscent of a Praxian’s, and those red red optics were bright. The berth had been positioned to help him sit up

A few kliks went by, with both simply staring at each other. There was so much to say-- too much to say-- that it all tumbled into silence.

Except silence didn’t last long with Bluestreak around.

“Oh Primus, I was so worried about you since you were so grey and there was so much energon everywhere but you look so much better now even if you are still hooked up to half the medbay and the welds aren’t set yet and the new plating hasn’t been painted but Ambulon does a good job with that, so don’t worry it’ll be a nice matching blue and then you might be able to walk around and see the base and meet some bots and my creators and --”

“-- it’s nice to finally meet you too, Bluestreak,” Thundercracker said, faint amusement in his voice. “It’s, uh, good to know that I was reading your letters correctly.”

He did tend to ramble in his writing, didn’t he? Bluestreak chuckled. Then it registered that he had spoken in Praxian without thinking, and Thundercracker had answered in kind. Which obviously he had to know Praxian, if he was able to write it so well for so long and yet…

“You, um, you don’t have a Vosian accent when you speak. I mean, when you speak Praxian, but you do when you speak Cybex-Standard.” He then winced a little at his own words. Of all the things they needed to talk about, he brought up accents?

“Ah, yes. I did hatch in Vos, but my carrier was Praxian so I grew up speaking Praxian, and of course we had my extended flock in Praxus. I wasn’t a citizen, because the laws assumed two parents rather than three and so required half Praxian heritage, and we didn’t get the appeal sorted out before… everything uh…” Thundercracker’s voice trailed off, and he jerked his gaze away. Those big wings managed a very pathetic droop.

“So that means you weren’t lying? Well, obviously you were about the Autobot thing and not being a Seeker and all that, but everything else . That was all true?” Maybe Bluestreak should have been more concerned about the main deception--being a Decepticon, hey is that a pun?-- but that was an impersonal lie, something necessary. But everything else, the little stories and the poems and the advice… if all that had been honest…

“I’m actually not a very good liar.” Thundercracker sounded embarrassed, almost; Decepticons must have weird standards for what made a good bot. “So yes, everything except my real identity was true.” His wings suddenly shot up, and he faced Bluestreak again with a panicky expression. “And I wasn’t trying to get information or spy or anything! I promise, I started writing to you on my own because I just wanted to help and I only ever wanted to make you happy and feel better--”

“--alright! Alright, let’s have a break,” Ratchet cut in. “No idea what you two are saying, but our Seeker needs to calm down before his spark sends him back into stasis. So try some venting and settle down, and you--” this was addressed to Bluestreak “--I remember telling that no patient distress was allowed.”

“I didn’t make him panic!” Bluestreak protested. “He did that all by himself.”

“... it’s true,” Thundercracker added, sheepishly. “Please don’t be upset with Bluestreak, he’s been very pleasant. I got myself worked up on my own.” 

“If you say so,” Ratchet said, still giving Bluestreak an unimpressed scowl.

Thundercracker’s wings fluttered and pressed low against his back. “Really, it was my fault.”

Ratchet cocked his helm, like he did before saying something cutting, but then sighed and said, in a very gentle tone, “Thundercracker. Bluestreak isn’t in trouble. If I decide that this conversation is getting too much for you, I’ll have him leave the medbay and that will be literally all that happens. No one is going to do anything to Bluestreak. If it helps you to remember, his creators are Jazz and Prowl and do you really think they’d let anything happen to him?”

Bluestreak almost protested--just because his creators were high ranking didn’t make him above the rules-- but then he remembered Skylight/Thundercracker writing about being starved for orns as punishment. If that was how Decepticons apparently did discipline, then perhaps it was for the best that Thundercracker believed that Bluestreak was above the rules. At least for now, until he learned that no one was getting starved at Iacon.

“I know Ratchet probably seems scary to you,” Bluestreak said in Praxian, “but he’s actually got the softest spark you’ll ever see. He yells a lot but he’s our medic , he’s not going to let anybody get hurt.”

“Seems like a good medic,” Thundercracker said, his wings back to a more neutral position. 

Ratchet evidently thought the Seeker was calm enough and stepped back to give the illusion of privacy. Bluestreak bobbed his door wings in thanks, and then his processor caught onto something that Thundercracker had said during his panicky ramble. “You started writing to help me?”

---

This was going far better than Thundercracker had dared hope. That wasn’t a high bar, granted, as he had still been half-expecting Jazz to drop down from the ceiling up until Bluestreak walked in. But Bluestreak had entered, and they were… talking. Just normal talking.

And Bluestreak was so Bluestreak with his rambling chatter, a perfect match for his writing style, and he had spoken in Praxian without hesitation, like he maybe wanted to continue their friendship despite everything. He hadn’t scoffed at the idea of Thundercracker being a third Praxian, or made any comments about Seekers, or said anything negative at all. Thundercracker still managed to panic himself, because it was one of his many skills, but now he had a far trickier problem on his servos.

Problem: how in Primus’ name did he explain his nonsensical decision to start writing letters to Bluestreak?

Well, he had just admitted to being bad at lying, so he ought to give the truth a chance. “I saw you on some footage that Laserbeak took and you seemed so… sad. And young. Like- like a little Seekerling. And then near Polyhex you got so injured and I couldn’t just leave you . After, I guess I wanted to make sure you were recovering alright. And that you had… someone to talk to.”

Bluestreak fell silent-- or as silent as it seemed he ever did, as he was still humming softly-- as he took it all in, and Thundercracker tried to keep himself from panic no. two. Was it too vague? Not vague enough? Far too unbelievable, despite being more-or-less exactly what happened? Should he have thought of a more believable lie?

It didn’t help that, despite a vorn of writing to Bluestreak most orns, he still didn’t fully understand Autobots. They had no firm discipline, and did things like render medical aid to their enemies, and the reasoning simply eluded him… but perhaps he was thinking of this the wrong way. He was imaging the world through Autobot-and-Decepticon, but certainly that wasn’t how Bluestreak thought of things.

Thundercracker’s wings twitched, as the kliks of quiet grew longer, and he let himself remember the peaceful and painful memories of before. He certainly wouldn’t have let a mech die on the streets of Vos, even if they had been a different caste or a wanted criminal. Family and flock was everything, in Vos and in Praxus, and no one would ever think to mock someone for their fear or a show of vulnerability.

“I felt lonely, too,” Thundercracker admitted. “Things weren’t… going well, and I guess I needed someone to talk to, too. Talk and be Thundercracker with.” He said his designation in a way he hadn’t heard for centuries, with the traditional flock-claim intonation and the Praxian half-tone harmonics. 

Bluestreak nodded, with both his helm and his wings, and smiled. He stepped closer, and his field nudged against Thundercracker’s, tentative but warm. It felt so familiar somehow, already soothing. And best of all, there were no snide remarks or a reprimand for weakness, and Thundercracker felt foolish for being worried about them at all. This was Bluestreak .

“I’m… glad that you wrote to me.” The statement hung between for a moment, and Thundercracker felt himself break into his own smile. “I admit I was upset when we found out that Skylight was, well…. I was just so shocked, since I really hadn’t been expecting that at all, and obviously no one had been expecting that because I’m pretty sure Red Alert would have set himself on fire if he knew I was writing to a ‘Con--no matter how nice the ‘Con-- and then where was I going with this?” Bluestreak’s door wings shrugged and he continued on. “Regardless, I’m still glad because I think… if what you say is true, and you really weren’t lying or trying to uh, misrepresent yourself or anything, then that means that I was becoming friends with you .”

“I enjoyed our letters very much,” Thundercracker said. “They started because of, well because of a lot of things, but they continued because I wanted to write them because I wanted to hear from you. Hear about your day, your friends, what you were reading or watched recently. I wish that it hadn’t… ended up like this.”

Bluestreak tilted his helm. “Uh, with you in Autobot custody after getting shot? Yeah, that’s… not how I expected any of this, either.”

“I mean more… I thought I would get to choose, how and when to reveal everything. Maybe build up to it a bit, so it wouldn’t be so sudden. You know, mention I’m actually a Seeker and see if you take it well, and then try to work in being a Decepticon… somehow. I didn’t think that far.” He hadn’t thought about it in any practical sense at all, really, since he had always assumed that Bluestreak would hate him on principle. But it was a nice idle imagining, and didn’t reflect reality even a little bit, what with the execution business.

“You thought I would mind you being a Seeker?” Bluestreak sounded puzzled, but then sighed. “No, I guess that’s fair. There are a lot of bots who really don’t like Seekers for no reason.”

“It’s not really for no reason .” Thundercracker winced. Why had he said that? But they couldn’t avoid the point. There had been sound logic behind his belief that Bluestreak would hate him immediately, and it all rested on Praxus.

“It’s, well… maybe not no reason, but not a good one. It’s not like being Seekers is what made you attack Praxus. You attacked because-- well I still don’t really know why, to be honest. But it was about the Decepticon Cause, in the end.” Bluestreak remained composed for the entire time he spoke, but then after his plating clamped down and the warmth of his field edged towards anxiety.

“It was about… well. We were told it was about the message; Praxus was neutral, so we’d be proving that those who stood idly by were in fact enemies to the Cause. In reality, I think it was more about jealousy. Kaon and Tarn were nothing compared to the cultural legacy of Iacon and Praxus, and obviously Iacon remained impossible to destroy. But Praxus? Praxus was doable.” Thundercracker tried to push some support into his field, but stayed alert in case it was unwelcome. “Really, Megatron is just a spoiled sparkling. His toys have to be the best, and if yours are better, he’ll take them. And if he can’t take them, he’ll ruin them instead.”

---

Was this better or worse, Bluestreak wondered. Would it have been better for him to learn that Praxus really was, in some backwards way, revenge for the destruction of Vos? Or was this, the flailing of a petty warlord with no plan beyond breaking what he didn’t like, relieving in its sheer random meaninglessness? To be part of some grand plan or just another bystander shot in the crossfire of war? Bluestreak had the truth now, and he couldn’t tell if it was bitter.

Thundercracker’s field pulsed with a cautious comfort, and Bluestreak reached out and let it mingle more with his own. The decaorns of field therapy meant that, no matter that this was their first real conversation, their sparks already had something of an acquaintance. 

“And you were there,” Bluestreak said, barely audible. 

To his credit, Thundercracker didn’t flinch or look away or deny it. He just nodded, his wings bobbing along.

“I guess… I guess that’s all I wanted to know.” This certainly made some of the things ‘Skylight’ said take on a different meaning. This was something big, far too big to understand or reconcile within one short conversation in a medbay. It felt a little pointless to ask if Thundercracker was sorry.

“I wish I could say that I made a stand, or tried to argue against the attack or… or did anything, really, but it wouldn’t be true. I wanted to, because Praxus was-- I felt like Praxus was my second home.” Thundercracker’s field pulled back. “I talked to Skywarp, and he told me to stop worrying about it, and believe in the Cause, and that was that.”

That was that. So much wrapped into that little phrase.

“Then you say the Cause, you mean uh, I assume the ‘rise up and make a new world where nobody is in charge and nobody is starving and there’s no slavery’ cause. That Cause? And not the ‘burn everything to the ground and take everyone’s stuff because we’re stronger and better than you’ sorta cause.” Bluestreak liked to consider himself fairly familiar with the original goals and aims of the rebellion; it helped that Jazz had started out as something of a Decepticon sympathiser before the cracks started to show. “You don’t really seem like that type.”

Thundercracker chuckled, a little weakly, but his field trickled back in. “Yes, I’m more of the original Decepticon type. Get rid of the caste system and stop arresting bots for liking poetry, and maybe have some decent standards of living for everyone. At the beginning it was actually…” Thundercracker’s wings fluttered, and he offlined his optics for a moment. “Vos had just been destroyed, so it was like climbing out of the ruins into a new flock. It uh, it started to go pretty wrong after a while. It started being about how maybe some bots are simply better after all, and the real mistake was that they had been put on the bottom at first. And then you have the ‘Cons who are there for a fight and don’t care what ideology they have to follow, as long as they can shoot somebody.”

Thundercracker didn’t say that like he just had some revelation in the medbay; it sounded like something he had known, on some level, for a long while and had simply never been able to tell anyone. But then…

 “If that’s how you felt, if you knew it was wrong, then why… then why stay so long?”

Onlining his optics, Thundercracker tilted his helm back and sighed. “...Sunk cost, I suppose. I mean, you start thinking that it’s going to be great, that you might get your servos dirty but in the end it’ll be worth it. And so you fight and it’s bad, but not too bad, right? Because in the end … So you can keep going, and going, until you have to keep going because if you ever stop… If you ever stop, you won’t reach ‘in the end’, and if you don’t reach that, then what has all this death been for ? It can’t be for nothing , so there’s no choice but to carry on. Just keep going. And going. And by the time you realise that there might not being that ‘in the end’ to reach, it’s gone on too long for you to change.”

“...you don't still think that, do you?” 

Thundercracker turned his gaze back to meet Bluestreak’s optics. “Do you ?”

“No,” came the reflexive answer. After a klik, Bluestreak suddenly settled, knowing it was true. “I don't think anyone is incapable of changing.”

And he wasn't entirely sure on Seeker frame language, but that tilt to Thundercracker’s wings looked… happy?

“I'm glad you think so,” Thundercracker said. Then, he muttered darkly, “I hope your creator agrees.”

“Creator? Both my creators are so nice! You have nothing to worry about because they really liked how happy you made me with your letters and I know they read them too and thought they were interesting and Prowl thinks you have good taste in literature or something, and Jazz liked all your vid recommendations so everything --”

A sharp smack on the shoulder, and Ratchet’s sharp tone cut through. “I don't know what you're saying, but I understand the designations all the same. Every time you say those names , his spark frequency spikes. Knock it off.”

“But I'm trying to tell him he doesn't need to worry!” 

“It's…alright, Bluestreak.” Thundercracker gave the least convincing smile of all time. “I'm sure Jazz will be very, um, very fair with me.” His plating and field pulled in tight.

“Is the interview now?” Bluestreak looked between Ratchet and Thundercracker. He knew Jazz would be having an in depth conversation of his own with their newly acquired Seeker, to help with the whole what-do-we-do-with-him situation. But Thundercracker, despite looking so much better compared to decaorns ago--again, not a hard feat-- still seemed so broken and tired. And Autobots were nervous about talking to Jazz, sometimes; how would a sorta captured Decepticon feel?

“The interview, which is not a euphemism for anything, happens when I say it can.” Ratchet glanced at his patient. “So definitely not any time this orn. I give him five kliks before he starts going into recharge.”

“Oh!” Bluestreak looked, and now he could see how much dimmer Thundercracker's optics were. Even staying awake for a brief conversation was exhausting for a bot that injured. “Well, then, I hope you recharge well and… and get better! I want…” What did he want? “I want to talk to you again soon!”

“Me too, Sky Blue.” 

Chapter Text

"I'm not sure Ratchet is being actually reassuring, there," Jazz said. The conversation between their Seeker 'guest' and Bluestreak had just ended, with Prowl providing live translation for those in Command who couldn't follow the Praxian.

"I still demand that we have a guard detail! He's awake now, and Ratchet didn't disable those claws, so who knows what that Decepticon might do when we least expect," Red Alert said, looking to Ironhide for support.

But Ironhide looked thoughtful, his optics dimmed as he finished Prowl's translation. "He's already not what I was expectin'. The 'Cons shot him for treason for writing to Bluestreak, but if he's telling the truth, then they were... sorta right."

"Ratchet has assured us that Thundercracker can cause no harm in his condition, and I trust his judgement. After all, we just watched Thundercracker have a single conversation and now he's soundly recharging." Optimus was firm. "A mech in that state could hardly be a threat to a youngling, let alone our capable medical staff."

Red Alert grumbled a bit, but bent his head.

Jazz chuckled. "I'll let Ratch know ya defended his honour, OP."

"My initial analysis of the conversation indicates that Thundercracker has been truthful. His word choice, demeanor, and ... confession would all be unlikely in the case of purposeful deception." Prowl pinged everyone with the statistics.

"And we can be sure he's not lying?" Optimus sounded hopeful.

"Reasonably sure, yes. Thundercracker is not Starscream -- if we had that Seeker in here, the situation would be quite different. But all data we have on Thundercracker, from SpecOps to the very letters he wrote, shows he favors honesty and diplomacy in these situations."

"I'll ask Ratchet when I can interview him," Jazz said, swinging his pedes on the table to a chorus of long-suffering sighs. "Obviously not now, and probably not tomorrow. But it should be sooner rather than later, since right now he's got nothing but time to stew with that anxiety. And while I think killing a mech via sheer anticipation would really add to my reputation, Ratchet would hack me to bits." He thought for a moment. "And Blue would be sad."

"Please refrain from indirect murder," Optimus said. "I hope the interview goes well, and that he might consider officially leaving the Decepticons. From this small conversation... It seems likely."

---

Prowl set the cubes down on the small table, arranging and rearranging them as he waited for Bluestreak. Jazz didn't comment on his conjunx' restlessness, to Prowl's relief, and simple continued his annotation of the transcript from the medbay.

"Thundercracker's personal pronoun-- he switches between these two, tr'ii and orsa. I know the second one pretty well, but that other one I don't recognise." Jazz tipped the datapad towards Prowl.

Prowl skimmed the paragraph, not that he needed to. "Tr'ii is older, and more closely related to Vosian. It's more formal, but I know some flight-frames prefer it because it still carries some of that connotation of being the flier pronoun."

Jazz' visor flashed and his field flared with excitement. "Sweetspark, you just made my orn. A whole new factor to add in..." He went back to the transcript, chuckling in that way that meant danger.

For his part, Prowl had fed the entire conversation to his tac-net to analyze for deviations from Thundercracker's known behaviour, and for anything of tactical use that might be gleaned from it. So far, the most vital piece of information had also been the most obvious: Megatron had no plan.

Privately, Jazz and Prowl and most of Autobot High Command had suspected as much for vorns, even centuries, but to have it confirmed and in such a blunt manner was... Prowl didn't know whether to feel gratified or ripped off. He was right, he had been right, this entire time that Megatron devolved into mere brutality with only the veneer of ideology layered on top... But that meant that there was truly no purpose to the war. They had long ago shed anything meaningful beyond survival, and that meant that even Praxus had been for nothing. Destroyed for nothing.

He set the tray of little jellies down with more force than he meant to.

There was no changing the past, he reminded himself. He was a rational bot, who knew better than to linger on these things. What mattered was the next step. What mattered was Bluestreak.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Bluestreak took that moment to burst into Jazz and Prowl's quarters. Truly, Bluestreak was constantly bursting into places since he lacked the subtly to enter normally outside of emergencies; understated entrances were difficult for a bot constantly running his vocaliser.

"Jazz, Prowl!" Bluestreak added the 'creator' subglyph to each of their designations. "It's always so nice to have fuel together and I know we'll have so much to talk about because of Thundercracker, and I always thought that it was too stranger for him to be Skylight since that barely makes any sense but I think after talking to him that it's really lining up and he really does feel like Skylight... Or does this mean that Skylight feels like Thundercracker? The two names are really tripping me up because I knew Skylight first but of course he's always been Thundercracker, so it's not really correct to say that Thundercracker is like Skylight--"

"Are ya gonna fuel tonight, Blue?" Jazz interrupted gently, his field light with amusement. "Not that I don't enjoy the conversation, but we can't have you starving."

Bluestreak chuckled, and sheepishly took a few gulps of his energon. Prowl and Jazz shared a look; there were, at least, some things that never changed.

"We're thinking that in a few orns, maybe the orn after tomorrow, Jazz will conduct his interview and we'll start the actual legal process." Prowl popped an energon jelly into his mouth, but he couldn't savor the flavour as much as he usually could; his processor was simply being pulled in too many directions. "I'd say that the initial conversation went well, but of course I'd like your opinion as well."

"I would... I would also say it went well. Uh, it's all really surreal, but I think I felt... relieved mostly. That he still seemed the same, that he didn't lie, that he wanted for us to stay-- to be friends. Uh, no hostility or anything and he even seemed really protective of me when he thought that Ratchet was going to hurt me or whatever that was." Bluestreak paused, his door wings lowered with thought. "Mostly... Mostly I'd say that my impression was that he wants to try. He seemed so... sad about the Decepticons, and it didn't feel like this was some recent thing. He really thinks that we're going to kill him or something, though, so be nice!" This was directed pointedly at Jazz, who only sighed fondly.

"Blue, I hate to say it, but I think me bein' nice will only freak him out more. I gotta be at least a little scary, or he's going to think I have something even worse planned for him. I know you've spent the most time actually interacting with him, but I'm still the expert on 'Cons-- even reluctant 'Cons-- and they have a certain mentality." Jazz raised a servo when Bluestreak seemed about to protest. "You know me, Blue, I'm not somebody who thinks 'Bots and 'Cons are different species or something. But he's been living a different way so long, that he thinks that's how everything works. Like, he thought Ratch was gonna slag you for being too loud in the medbay. When a mech thinks like that, you have to change your approach or you'll just get everybody confused."

"And then... the legal drama begins..." Prowl muttered, mostly to himself. He could already hear the debate... Red Alert and Ironhide and Chromia and Optimus... and Jazz not doing a thing to make anything easier.

This would be a long few orns...

---

"Getting sent to the Pit would be a mercy compared to what I'll do to you, Jazz. You are not going to send my patient into shock. Do you need me to repeat that again, or has it sunk in?" Ratchet folded his arms across his chest and looked like a white wall of metal.

"I think I got it from the first dozen times, but thanks for reminding me." Jazz gave his most charming smile, the one he knew annoyed Ratchet the most.

"If I say you need to leave, you leave, and if--"

"--And if I don't listen to you, you'll dissemble me in my recharge and mount my helm on the medbay doors as a warning. Yes, Ratchet, I know." Jazz dropped the teasing tone. "Please, I need to get this started. The longer this wait goes on, the longer TC in there has to worry his pretty helm about it."

Ratchet vented, and then uncrossed his arms. "Yes, yes, you're right. Forgive me, a few less polite guests have wanted to pay Thundercracker a visit."

Jazz hummed, low and just slightly menacing. "You reported that, I assume?"

A scoff. "Who do you take me for, Jazz?" But there was no heat in his voice. Ratchet waved Jazz in. "Please don't kill him."

"I do my best!" The chipper attitude back on, Jazz waltzed through the medbay doors to greet his lovely interviewee.

Thundercracker already had his optics fixed on the entryway, the bright red growing even brighter when Jazz stepped in. The Seeker's wings quivered, rapidly alternating between a harsh forward arc and being pinned down and back, before finally settling low. His plating was tight against his frame. Ratchet, or maybe Ambulon, had taken the time to repaint the repairs a matching blue, so he looked like a whole mech rather than some animated scrap, though the effect was partially ruined by the monitoring equipment still hook up to his chassis.

"And how are we feeling this fine orn? Less like slag than when we found ya, I hope." Jazz hopped up onto the med berth next to Thundercracker's and swung his pedes back and forth with a grin. He gingerly extended his field to see if the Seeker would reject the contact; surprisingly, the other's field did not recoil at the mild mingling.

"I'm... feeling well, all things considered," Thundercracker offered, after a klik. Somehow, his posture had grown more rigid and his optics were nearly white. His field buzzed with enough fear Jazz could taste it.

"Good, good, since it'd be a massive waste of time if you deactivated on us. Put in all this work, not to mention all those parts, and then you keel over anyway? Primus, it'd be embarrassing!" Jazz cocked his helm. "I'm sure you get what I'm saying, right? You would pitch in to help with logistics and supply." That wasn't tagged as a question.

Thundercracker's wings twitched. "Of course you know about that. Yes, I would sometimes help out Nacelle with his work because he'd help cover my shifts, and it was my job to replace everything that Starscream broke, so it's... yes, it's very irritating when all your hard work goes to waste." Some of the tight anxiety loosened out of his posture.

Jazz could just about hear Thundercracker's processor overclocking trying to figure out the implications and double meanings, or if everything was simply a mind game to make him think that there were double meanings in the first place. "I am sorry about your trine bond, by the way. It does make my job easier, but that's something I don't wish on any mech. Well... I'd wish it on a few, but you aren't on that list."

That caught the Seeker off guard again, and he simply nodded. "May I ask..." He trailed off, and looked away. "No, I'm sorry. Continue."

Deciding not to push it, Jazz moved on. "Primarily, I'm here to figure out our next steps. To do that, we need to know what you're like, and what you want. So, I want you to be honest and answer me if I ask you something, and I also want you to correct me if I'm making a wrong assumption. Is that going to work, or is that too much?"

"That's uh, I will certainly try to always be honest to the best of my knowledge and uh, I'm sure you won't need any corrections, sir." Thundercracker's wings made a complicated fluttering-flick before settling back low.

So he's calling me sir now, Jazz thought. Well, there's worse things to be called. But the most important thing was that, no, Thundercracker would not be correcting any wrong assumptions, not that Jazz had thought he'd be so lucky. Most captured 'Cons tended to be either all arrogant aggression, sneering that they'd break themselves free any klik now, or all overly tense cooperation. Yes, Autobot, sir, I will answer any questions and yes, sir, I know all of the Decepticon plans and of course, Autobot, sir, I can tell you the secrets of the missing moon and Solus Prime as well, no need to hurt me, sir.

Somehow, the second type was always harder to actually get anything useful out of.

But Jazz had a powerful weapon this time.

"I'm sure this will go smoothly, yes," he said. "Sorry for not conducting this in Praxian, by the way, or Vosian for that matter. I'm good enough to follow Praxian, but I'm not the conversation partner like Bluestreak is."

The implication did not go unnoticed, and to Thundercracker's credit he did not seem surprised that Jazz had been listening in. "I didn't say anything that wasn't true, when I was speaking with Bluestreak. I know it might be difficult to believe, because of some of the things I said, but it was all true."

"I believe you." At Thundercracker's incredulous stare, Jazz shrugged. "Hey, I'm not an idiot here--"

"--Oh! I never meant to imply that, sir, really--"

"--and I know that over a vorn of letters, ending in you getting near-fatally shot, means you probably actually care for Bluestreak." And some that had stopped feeling like an impossibly strange thing very quickly. If ever there was an Autobot that could inspire protective feelings in even the most cold-sparked bot, it was Bluestreak (not that Jazz was biased or anything). "And if you care enough about a bot to befriend them when it means risking your life, why would you lie to him during your first face-to-face conversation? Plus, I'm assuming you didn't try and save your spark by ratting Bluestreak out--"

"--I would never," Thundercracker hissed, vehement, his wings snapping up. Then he cleared his intake and dropped his wings, with a mumbled apology. "But... Soundwave knows."

"Well, of course Soundwave knows."

"He didn't say, though."

Alright, Jazz was certainly missing something. "What do you mean, TC?"

The nickname earned a twitch and small huff. "I mean, that before uh. Before I was shot. Sir. Soundwave announced why, but he never said it was Bluestreak. Just an Autobot, even though he knew."

"That sounds like him," Jazz said, because it did, but relief still welled up inside him. He knew that his strange, somewhat convoluted and nightmarish 'working relationship' with Soundwave would be worth it.

"I... well, I suppose it does. He did say..." But then Thundercracker didn't continue. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go off topic, sir."

"Oh no! By all means, I wanna hear about Soundwave. My best friend, my sworn enemy, the Unicron to my Primus or maybe it's the other way around." He grinned.

Thundercracker took a moment to figure out if Jazz was serious or not, and evidently decided that he was. "I uh, owed Soundwave a favour, which I thought would something horrific but all he wanted me to do was take his cassettes flying. And after, he told me that I... understood. So... so it does sound like him, to not tell all the 'Cons about Bluestreak."

It took a good portion of Jazz' training to not react to what Thundercracker just said, because... Because, Primus, did he know what that meant? "Soundwave had you fly his cassettes?"

"Yeah, I took Buzzsaw, Laserbeak, and the twins up for a bit. I guess it's hard for the cryo-condors to get altitude in Kaon," he said, so casually like it was normal for hosts to trust other bots like that.

If Primus Himself had risen up from the floor and told Jazz that Thundercracker was trustworthy, it couldn't have meant more than Soundwave letting the Seeker take his cassettes. Every bot in SpecOps knew how strong the bond between host and symbiote was, and so they always let the little terrors go with as little damage as possible; in return, Soundwave would do his own best to protect the Autobot agents, because family was family no matter how strange. And if Thundercracker had been permitted to be around Soundwave's symbiotes like that--have them in that deeply vulnerable position-- then...

"Sounds like fun, and also maybe terrifying," Jazz said, instead of anything whirling around his processor. "But good to know that nobody will be gunning for Baby Blue. Not that they'd get far," he added, with a dark chuckle.

And even though Jazz mostly expected that remark to be met with a fearful flinch, as it often was, instead Thundercracker raised his wings and nodded with grim determination. Oh, Jazz kind of liked this mech. Their fields hummed with shared protectiveness.

"Uh, sir? Why... why does your field..."

"Feel familiar? Huh, I guess Blue never told you." Jazz mentally skimmed through everything Bluestreak told the Seeker. "Well... Blue and I, and even Prowl a few times, pitched in to help while you were out. Field therapy, for the trine bond break."

"Oh." As the kliks dragged on, it became apparent that Thundercracker couldn't manage more of a reaction then that; the shock of Jazz having helped his spark was probably too much. Jazz decided to push on.

"So you got shot for Blue instead of trying to save your own plating, and you aren't too into this modern 'Con philosophy of slag you it's mine I'll take it." He finally stopped his aimless leg swinging and actually sat up straight. "The real question is this: what do you want?"

"Uh. Is this a trick question, sir?"

"Nope."

The Seeker looked unconvinced, his plating tight against his protoform. "Aren't you supposed to be the one with demands? Like, information and that sort of thing, and then telling me what will happen to me and where I'll be held."

"If you were any random captured Decepticon, yeah, that's exactly what would be happening right now." Jazz didn't remark on how Thundercracker assumed he'd be imprisoned regardless of anything else. "But it's fairly obvious your case is special. Even outside of everything with Bluestreak, how accurate is it to even call you a Decepticon now?"

Time moved in slow motion. Jazz could read every twitch of plating, every change in luminance in those red optics, every flicker in those wings. It started with tension, sweeping up from the pedes, the wings arching back and the optics flaring bright with shock, but then just as quickly it dissipated. Thundercracker's optics dimmed, the plating loosened and one wing canted down as his mouth dropped open. And suddenly he straightened, his wings evening out in a position Jazz recognised from Prowl: the confidence of a final breakthrough when he finally worked out an answer for a longstanding problem.

All of that, in one klik.

Thundercracker resettled his wings into a lower, respectful position. "That's true, sir. I was cast out from the Decepticons which means... which means I'm a neutral now, I suppose."

"Exactly. So, neutral, what do you want?"

"Uh, to live, I guess."

Jazz couldn't help but laugh. "Alright, good choice, but maybe sound a little more sure a yourself. And... do you want to stay neutral and get out of here? Stay in Iacon? Get off planet? Defect for real?" Thundercracker jolted at that last suggestion. "That's what I mean, when I ask what you want."

"I... I can't leave. I'd die."

"We aren't going to cut you loose when you still need medical attention, you know."

"I actually did figure that one out, sir," Thundercracker said, sounding a little proud. "Ratchet gives the impression that he actually cares if I live. But I meant that I can't go on my own, because I have the biggest target on my back outside of Optimus Prime himself. And I can't go off world, because Seekers can't live alone and who would I be able to find out there?"

"Alright, so sounds like you want to stay with us, then." Jazz shrugged, like it didn't matter to him. "Stay in Iacon, go to a different city, hide at some outpost somewhere... what'll it be?"

"I... I'd like being able to see Bluestreak," Thundercracker said softly.

"Figures. So probably sticking around in Iacon. You have strong thoughts on your new neutrality?"

"I don't want to be an Autobot," came the immediate response. Realising how that might sound, Thundercracker fluttered his wings in what was probably an apology. "Uh, no offence? Uh, sir. But it's not me. I wouldn't... mind... helping, if it could make things easier for Bluestreak or for... you, I suppose. You are his creator."

"That I am," Jazz agreed cheerfully. This was going far better than he expected. "And I'm sure he'll appreciate any help you feel comfortable with giving."

"That's... that's all I want," Thundercracker said. "Uh, is this when you tell me what you want?"

"Some of it isn't up to me, since we gotta get High Command together and figure out the legal stuff, but here's the quick version: I want some information for SpecOps about Seekers and your former trine, I want to know whatever you can tell me about Megatron and Starscream, I want a good working relationship with you, and I want Bluestreak to be happy." Jazz thought that was enough honesty for one orn; Primus knew he normally dragged this out more, but he was feeling nice. And he didn't want Ratchet and/or Bluestreak to kill him for terrifying the poor Seeker... who was turning out to be fairly decent...

"And in exchange for this, I get to... live in Iacon unharmed and spend time with Bluestreak?" Thundercracker sounded like he expected a catch.

"There will be other requirements, probably something like a parole, but yeah. That's basically how this will work."

"I... Obviously I don't mean to imply anything, sir, but it all feels very..." Thundercracker struggled for a klik.

"You can call me a liar, mech, it's true so I won't take offence." Jazz chuckled. "But in this moment, I'm telling the truth."

"It doesn't feel like the information you could get from me would be worth the resources already used for my repairs, or continued fuel and housing, or the fact that once Starscream finds out I'm not grey, he'll be targeting here even more," he said, reluctantly like he thought if it were spelled out, the Autobots would rescind their deal and throw him to the cyber-wolves.

"But think of it this way: there's a big benefit for us for you to not be a Decepticon. If you aren't with the 'Cons, you can't help them by bein' your reasonable self. And so if you're with us, we know where you are, we know who you're helping -- which is us, by the way -- and we know that you are safe. Because Starscream wasting his time on a personal vendetta sounds like a perfect headway into cracking Decepticon air superiority, and we can't use that advantage if you're dead in a scrap heap." With the sheer pragmatic answer out of the way, to calm that Decepticon sense of realpolitik, Jazz leaned in and added, "Plus, Blue likes another mech around who speaks Praxian and you can't be his friend if you're being re-executed. I did say one of my goals was for Bluestreak to be happy."

Luckily for him, Thundercracker seemed to be considering the dual reasoning seriously. Decepticons tended to mystify the more well-meaning Autobots with their inability to believe altruism or the general idea that not everybody was secretly planning on shanking you; Thundercracker wasn't too bad, all things considered, but Jazz knew there would've been a disaster if a bot like Bluestreak or First Aid did this instead. It was already a miracle that TC believe Ratchet wasn't secretly plotting on murdering him, though again Decepticon practicality probably won out; a medic wouldn't kill a mech they'd just spent orns fixing, because it was a waste of time whe n you could just leave the bot to die in the first place.

"Oh! And one more thing," Jazz said, recalling Ratchet's comment about 'less polite guests'. "If anybody tries to bother you, how 'bout you comm me, yeah? Or Ratchet or Bluestreak, even, if the idea of having my comm frequency gives you night terrors." Judging by Thundercracker's dumbstruck expression, that would be the case. "You are in our custody, and under Ratchet's care, which means no one can mess with you. I doubt anyone will try, if they know what's good for them, but I figured I'd let you know." Jazz didn't bother explaining what the actual punishment for such behaviour would be; they could settle the differences between 'Bot and 'Con ideas of discipline another orn.

"This was really the interview?" Thundercracker's wings were cocked slightly forwards, and it reminded Jazz so much of Bluestreak when he got frustrated.

"I can be nice!" Jazz protested, despite knowing all the evidence to the contrary. "And seriously, Bluestreak would be so sad if I hurt you. And really, you're far from the worst 'Con. I mean, I have to deal with Rumble and Frenzy all the time, so this is a great change of pace. I've been reading all the letters you wrote to Blue, too, and it'd be a shame if I couldn't get a follow up to some of those stories. Robbing the Museum of Praxus, really?"

"Oh Primus," Thundercracker muttered, covering his face with his servos. What followed was a string of Vosian, though Jazz could only understand the swearing.

"Hm, I guess I have to add one more thing I want and it's this: translate Vosian for us. Do you know what I'd do to get a good translator? You'd be indispensable." There. That ought to help the Seeker's anxiety that the Autobots would throw him out; if he was useful, then they had to take care of him.

"Translation isn't that hard," Thundercracker said, the liar, dropping his servos but still looking faintly embarrassed. He fidgeted a bit where he sat, and Jazz figured this was probably the limit for his endurance.

"Alright, well thank you for talking and we'll be seeing each other a lot in the future." Jazz hopped off the med berth and made a show of stretching. "Somebody will tell you when we nail down these legal issues, and--"

"--are you and Prowl spark bonded?" Thundercracker blurted out, and then froze. "Primus, don't answer that! Sorry, so sorry, it's not my business and really you shouldn't be telling anyone if you are and --"

"-- not we're not," Jazz answered. This was likely the question Thundercracker'd wanted to ask initially when Jazz brought up the trine bond. "We'd like to be, but it's too much of a risk right now. If this war ends, then that's what we'd like to do."

The Seeker nodded.

Jazz gave a cheery wave and made his way out of the medbay. Just before he could close the doors behind him, Thundercracker called out,

"I hope you and Prowl can be bonded soon."

Jazz smiled. A real one. "Me too, mech."

Chapter Text

“So that's how we actually found him there--”

“Thundercracker,” Sideswipe said.

“-- I know it's a little weird --”

“ Thundercracker .” That was Sunstreaker.

“--but really we've talked and he seems really genuine --”

“ Thundercracker ,” said Sideswipe and Sunstreaker together.

“--and will you please stop repeating that!” Bluestreak snapped that last part. He could handle shock, surprise, suspicion, or any amount of alliteration, but just saying Thundercracker’s name over and over was getting old. Hot Rod had reacted with more maturity to the news that best-penpal-ever Skylight was secretly a Decepticon this whole time.

It had been impossible, of course, to keep the Seeker being in Iacon and in medbay a secret, but his real/fake identity and true reason for having been found had not been revealed. Partly to give High Command some time to sort out what would even happen, and partly to give the ‘relevant parties’ i.e. Bluestreak time to explain before his friends found out he had been writing to a Decepticon this whole time.

Hot Rod had given a simple ‘huh’, Bumblebee cocked his helm like a turbo-puppy, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker did their best petro-parrot impression.

“ Yes , I know it's super weird. But we talked for a while the other orn and even Jazz thinks Thundercracker is being honest about this. I don't think everything going forward is really settled, but it's looking like TC is going to stay in Iacon for a while and help out a bit. With intelligence and translation and Seeker stuff, not shooting because he's definitely not getting a weapon any time soon and really I don't even know how long it will be until he can even fly again so that--”

 “Are you really calling him TC now?” Sideswipe made a disapproving sound.

“He’s going to be helping us, Sides, and he’s been writing to me for the past vorn--”

“--and he’s been our enemy for a whole lot longer , Blue.” Sunstreaker scowled. “Look, I’m not trusting a Seeker. That’s just how it is. I don’t care if he’s been writing as Sky-whatever, I don’t care if he says he’s sorry and he’ll be your friend. The fact is he’s a Seeker .”

Bumblebee hissed. “Uh, Sunny…”

But Bluestreak didn’t need help. “Alright, and? So he’s a Seeker. We have Autobot Seekers, in case you forgot, Sunny, so him being one shouldn’t matter unless you think frametype controls your morality. And if you do, then I’ll drag you over to Magnus and he’ll write you up and you can recharge in the brig. You don’t have to like him-- he’s a Decepticon, or was, for a long time-- but you can’t bring frametype into this. You just can’t , Sunny.”

Sunstreaker visibly deflated. “Alright. Alright, yeah, that was too far. I just… I just don’t like this, Blue. He’s gonna hurt you. He is-- or was-- trined to Starscream, for Primus’ sake.”

“Well, frankly, you don’t need to like it. I’m the one who’s going to be talking to Thundercracker. If you never want to be in the same room, you could probably do that, it’s not like anybody can force you to get along. But you… I just need you to understand that this is something I’m deciding for myself. I’m not asking for you to approve or anything, just… give it a chance. Give me a chance, yeah?”

Sunstreaker looked away, but Sideswipe picked up the conversation. “I can’t say we’re happy but… alright. We can at least trust that Jazz an’ Prowl wouldn’t put you in danger on purpose. So fine.”

“I think Thundercracker’d be an interesting mech to talk to,” Hot Rod said, with his customary nonchalance despite the energy buzzing in his field. “If you, uh, think he’d be up for something like that. I dunno how talkative he is.”

That was… not what Bluestreak thought Hot Rod would say. “Maybe? Later. Definitely later. Right now he gets really tired after only a little bit since he’s still so hurt, and Ratchet will kill you if you strain him, but… maybe later? I don’t really know how much he’ll want to talk to anybody, I mean, who isn’t me since he was pretty clear about that part. He’ll probably like to talk to you more than Jazz.”

“Not sure that’s a high bar, Blue,” Bumblebee muttered. Bluestreak ignored him.

“Yeah… I just think… So don’t judge me or anything…” Hot Rod shifted where he sat, his spoiler twitching. “But it might be nice to talk to him. We don’t have a lot of Vosians, and I’d rather die than interact with Tracks, but it…” He vented. “Nyon was destroyed by Zeta Prime. Not the Decepticons. It wasn’t like Praxus.”

And Vos had been destroyed by Sentinel Prime. There were few Vosian Autobots, but even fewer Nyonites in general; their city had been devastated perhaps the worst of all. Bluestreak thought back to ‘Skylight’s’ careful words about grief and assurances that there were no wrong feelings.

Bluestreak was confident. “Yeah, I think he’d agree to talk with you.”

Hot Rod smiled, and even Sunny and Sides refrained from making any more comments about potential risks. There were certain things that anybody could tell not to push on. The troublesome trio-- even if he ever called them that out loud, they would surely kill him for grouping them together like that-- left a groon after with a promise not to spill anything to anybody until there was an official announcement. That left Bumblebee and Bluestreak alone in Bluestreak’s room.

“You can’t blame them for being surprised,” Bumblebee said, after a klik. “You can’t blame me for being surprised. But… I do really want this to go well. Maybe not as much as you, but can you imagine? We have a high ranking Seeker, who can help out with intelligence and tactics and translation, and who can give us insight on everything SpecOps has ever wanted to know and he’ll even do all of it willingly !” Bumblebee was about vibrating with excitement. “And that’s the best part!”

“I hope it is! I don’t really want to think about anybody getting information un willingly from a mech who is o-or might be my friend!”

Bee flinched. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m talking… Like, eventually we want this war to end. And for us to win.”

“Obviously.”

“And then, when it ends, what are we supposed to do? Like, not even in the future-planning sense, where we gotta figure out how to remake cities and society. I mean, what are we supposed to do right then ? We win, and we have a bunch of ‘Cons, or ex-’Cons, sitting around as prisoners, and what do we do? We can’t just kill them all --ethically, I mean-- but we don’t really have the time or energon to wait centuries for them to change their minds in prison.” Bumblebee had leaned forward while talking, his field buzzing. Moments like this reminded Bluestreak hard that his friend was in SpecOps like Jazz, and just like Jazz had some of those same drives to dig and know and plan .

“I’ll be honest, I haven’t really thought about it,” Bluestreak said, a little sheepish. Most of his thoughts about the war were more directly immediate, restricted to the next vorn, or little more than daydreams about futures where all those nitty-gritty problems had already been solved.

“Considering we really don’t know when the war is ending, I get it. But I think about it a lot. It’s my job to think about Decepticons.” Bumblebee then gestured sweepingly in the general direction of the medbay. “And out there? Out there, that’s our solution! Thundercracker shows up, and proves that even this far into the war-- even with a ‘Con as high up as him-- we can have bots who don’t want to fight . Who want to make things right, or be friends . We have one ‘Con who was unlucky enough to get caught, but how many more are out there, feeling those same things? Thundercracker being here means that we win, and we’ll find ourselves with a bunch of ‘Cons who want peace just like us.”

Bluestreak smiled thinking about it, his door wings fluttering, and there was something like pride on Thundercracker’s behalf in there too. The Seeker really had been brave, hadn’t he, and without knowing it had proved that this war could have a happy ending after all.

---

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bluestreak, it’s a normal thing to wonder,” Skyfire said, smiling down at him. 

“I know, but I don’t want you to think… I don’t know, something terrible about you or-or your past or anything.” Bluestreak restrained himself from fidgeting with the science-y looking equipment on the table in front of him; despite Skyfire being a far more careful mech than Wheeljack, science was still liable to burst into flames if improperly handled.

“I know you don’t think anything like that. And ignoring my history as a Decepticon doesn’t really help either. It’s pretty reasonable to wonder how it felt to transition from ‘Con to Autobot, and it’s not like you’re asking in some… leading or suspicious way. You want to help Th-… uh… your friend, yeah?” he asked, stumbling only a little.

Bluestreak wanted to undo this conversation. “Oh Primus, it’s probably so weird to ask you because he’s like, your ex’s ex? You can forget about this, I should go and then--”

“No, no it’s fine! I mean, it is awkward, but… Well, Thundercracker isn’t Starscream. So it’s not as awkward as it could be. And… awkwardness aside, I am the best bot to ask, since I interacted with Thundercracker personally. I wouldn’t say we were friends, but we were acquainted.” Skyfire shuffled his wings, in a movement simultaneously alike and yet completely different from Thundercracker’s.

“Well, then, thank you. Really. It means a lot that you want to help, and it'll probably mean a lot to Thundercracker in the future. Assuming you want to interact with him, that is, I don't want to assume --”

“--there’s no need to worry there, the assumption is accurate. I never would have struck up a conversation with Ambulon if we crossed paths while purple, but here we are on good terms. I think every defector knows the others, if only to feel less alone.” Then Skyfire’s expression changed. “Thundercracker will definitely struggle with that the most,” he said, partly to himself.

“Being alone?” Bluestreak's door wings tipped in confusion.

“I know what you're thinking: how could he feel alone when he'll have me, and all the other defectors? Well, as far as I know, Thundercracker is the only Seeker to have defected. And Seekers are different , even more so than other flight frames. However…” Skyfire waved a servo absently, looking for the word. “However dysfunctional the Decepticon Seekers are, they're still a flock , and flock is everything to Seekers. Even if he doesn't miss any of the bots themselves, he'll miss the flock. Aside from the usual things, that's going to be the hardest adjustment.”

“Can a flock only be other Seekers?” Bluestreak asked, already thinking through all the Autobot Seekers he knew-- not that there were many-- but hoping Skyfire would say no.

The shuttle did not disappoint. “A flock can be with bots of any frame type. Typically they're other flight frames, but, well… look at yourself, Bluestreak. I don't think a Seeker would go to such lengths for a bot outside their flock.”

That made Bluestreak flush with something warm and happy. “So then we need to work on making TC a new flock here.” He spoke with determination, like he already knew it would be true. The he thought to something else Skyfire'l had said. “What did you mean by ‘the usual things’?”

“Ah. I thought you'd ask. I'm sure you've noticed that Ambulon and I share some… quirks.”

Bluestreak thought about it. “You're both very polite, and focused on your work.”

“Well, thank you. And we both take our fuel alone and don't openly disagree with anyone.” Skyfire then made a sound and pressed a servo between his optics. “Well I've started disagreeing, if only because Wheeljack can't take a hint and is liable to set Iacon on fire. But I digress. We're used to a more, shall we say, hostile work environment, and some of our coping strategies have stuck with us.”

Bluestreak thought back to when Skylight said his CO had him starved for ‘back talk’ and shivered. Hostile work environment, indeed. “Okay, so I've gathered that officers are … cruel and petty and on the worst sort of power trip. And I guess… is fuel an issue? It probably is.”

“I imagine the supply issues have only gotten worse. I defected relatively early, so rationing was still functional when I was a Decepticon, but more recent defectors have different stories. But mostly… you can't trust anyone. Maybe a few bots very close to you. Maybe. But certainly no one else.” Skyfire’s voice pitched down as he spoke. “Everyone is waiting to stab you in the back, maybe literally. If you leave your energon unattended, it'll be taken, and it's your fault for not watching it. If someone steals from you, it's on you for being weak and letting them. If someone hurts you, same thing. Anyone higher up than you, stronger than you, can do whatever they'd like to you, and so bots take it out on those below them until there's no one left but each other.”

“I can't imagine,” Bluestreak said, his voice small.

“I know, and I'm glad, honestly. It's miserable. So for us who leave it takes a long time to realise that we can trust someone. That if we let our guard down, this won't hurt us. Everyone we meet isn't simply lying and waiting for the moment to strike; they might actually want to be friends. Officers are not out to get us; if we voice an opinion, we won't be punished for it. But even after centuries I still fall back on old habits, and I don't think I could address Optimus Prime casually if I tried.” Skyfire chuckled. “Luckily he's understanding about it.”

“Okay, okay,” Bluestreak said, his processor whirling. He wasn't focused and methodical like Prowl, or wide-ranging and creative like Jazz, but he still-- through some cosmic coincidence -- inherited his adopted creators’ abilities. “If it's not too hard, could you make a list of some sort of common triggers? Red flags for Decepticons, that sort of thing.”

And Bluestreak was planning.

---

::Please remind Ratchet that it is your idea for me to inform Thundercracker,:: Prowl comm’d to Jazz, as he stood waiting for the medbay doors to open.

::It was you or Prime, sweetspark, and we know Prime would almost certainly scare our poor Seeker to death. And he deserves a break from me.:: That last part was tagged ‘humorous’.

Prowl might have responded, but Ratchet made his appearance then and gave his standard lecture about safety and not killing the patient and the usual. Prowl knew his place, stood for the required amount of time, and then was permitted entry into the medbay.

Thundercracker was sitting up fully, under his own power, and looking alert mixed with a healthy and understandable amount of wariness. His wings twitched at the sight of Prowl, and then dipped in-- assuming Seeker frame language was similar enough to groundframe Praxian-- a gesture of respectful greeting. The kind you gave to a superior. Hm.

“Good orn, Thundercracker,” Prowl started, in Cybex Standard. He was careful to leave off the ‘Decepticon’ subglyph from Thundercracker’s name. “Do you have a preference for language for this discussion?”

While his expression didn’t change, Thundercracker’s wing shot straight up. “If it’s all the same to you, Prowl,” he said carefully, using all the correct formal markers, “I’d prefer Praxian.”

Prowl simply nodded, helm and door wings, and continued on in Praxian. “You will be leaving the medbay soon, as Ratchet has determined you are well enough to be without spark support and intensive monitoring. High Command has come to a decision regarding your legal status and future here in Iacon.”

“So I will be staying in Iacon?” Thundercracker sounded hopeful.

“Yes, you will be. It’s frankly the most logical place for you to be, from a risk and security standpoint, and it has the added bonus of being what you requested yourself.” Prowl left out the debate that had taken place until everyone was well convinced of this truth; he had lectured with the help of his tac-net until it was thoroughly understood that risking such a valuable asset anywhere but their most defensible location was foolish in the extreme.

Thundercracker dipped his wings in thanks. Slowly, his field loosened and brushed against Prowl’s. Prowl hadn’t helped as much with the field therapy compared to Jazz or Bluestreak, but he had been there enough that the Seeker’s field felt more familiar than not. He let them mingle; it was good to reward friendly social behaviour.

“Further, after… considerable discussion, we settled on a recognition that you are officially no longer a Decepticon, owing to the obvious attempted execution. You are not an Autobot, so it remains that you are hereby declared Neutral. However,” Prowl started, and noticed that the Seeker’s plating clamped down, “you cannot be recognised as a Neutral refugee, so you are to be considered a surrendered Neutral combatant. You will not be a prisoner, but neither do you have free movement; you are to be treated as a ward of Autobot Command, under probation with the end result of becoming a protected Neutral.”

Prowl pinged Thundercracker with the legal definitions of the necessary terms, assuming that the Decepticons did not differentiate much between Neutrals aside from those they shot at and those they didn’t. Autobots recognized Neutrals as both combatants or non-combatants, and those with protected or non-protected status, with the protected being treated as Autobot civilians albeit without certain privileges. Non-combatants were always protected, but combatants could apply for the status and often had it granted, so long as they promised to more-or-less cooperate with the Autobot government; Iacon had something of an unofficial Neutral garrison, they had collected so many protected Neutral combatants over the centuries.

After some kliks, Thundercracker asked, hesitant, “As a ward, who will be my guardian?”

“Jazz.”

“That can’t be right.” Thundercracker reset his optics. “Oh Primus. Are you serious? He’s Jazz .”

“I know, I know,” Prowl said, because he really did understand. His tac-net did a reboot when he first heard, too, even with the full context. “But this was needed to get everyone to agree to these terms for you. We can’t have your guardian be low-ranking, or someone you might ever be able to overpower or outwit when fully recovered. We also can’t have anyone who will resent you, or use their power over you for cruelty. And Optimus Prime is right out,” he added, dryly. “So we didn’t have many options. Jazz suggested himself, as he is further outside of the typical Command hierarchy and that would give you more protection. And you two had a pleasant conversation recently.”

“...pleasant,” Thundercracker repeated, consideringly. “I suppose it was alright,” he admitted. “Jazz is terrifying but… he… it feels like…”

“Jazz understands Decepticons,” Prowl finished. “And he is terrifying. So now Jazz will be your guardian, and no one will dare go against him . And more than that, Jazz wants Bluestreak to be happy, so you know he won’t hurt you.” That was just about everything Jazz had told him to relay to Thundercracker after the initial disbelief. Prowl still found it amusing and exasperating in equal measure that Jazz almost-immediately wanted to take Thundercracker in like a lost cyber-kitten; Jazz had assembled his SpecOps personnel out of strays and outcasts, and he hadn’t shaken the habit.

“There are additional terms for your probation, including your contributions to Intelligence, which I’ll ping to you now. Please read the conduct requirements and ask if you have questions. I believe you should find them reasonable, though if something will not be, please tell us before it becomes a serious problem.” Most of the conduct rules were either standard regarding not harming other bots, or revolved around staying near and reporting to his guardian. They tried to keep a Seeker’s needs in mind, to allow supervised flight time and social interaction, but none of High Command were Seekers, so it fell to Prowl as the nearest expert as at least a fellow Praxian.

“This is all… ah, I mean…” Thundercracker’s wings flattened down in a gesture Prowl hadn’t seen before, but his field tingled with a building aimless energy.

“You have time to read through everything. We will not proceed without your consent, and Ratchet certainly would not let anything force from the medbay against your will. If you have questions, you can comm me and ask, or ask Ratchet and he will pass the question along.” Prowl pinged Thundercracker with his personal comm frequency. “Thank you for being patient while we settled the legal issues.” Thundercracker really didn’t have a choice about that, but bots tended to like being thanked even if they didn’t do anything.

“I’ll… I’ll look everything over. Thank you.” Thundercracker met Prowl’s optics directly, and his wings made a complex fluttering-dip. “Thank you.”

---

The medbay doors closed behind Thundercracker.

Standing was a slightly novel experience after so long, and he had to manually set his gyros. But now he was finally out, free of the medbay and without Ratchet’s direct protection. 

“Alright, ready to see your new home?” Jazz leaned a hip against the wall, head cocked and a careless smile on his face. 

“This is surreal,” Thundercracker sub-vocalised, in Vosian. In Cybex, he said, “Yessir, I’m ready.”

Jazz chuckled and led the two down the corridors. They were quiet, and Thundercracker assumed that the path had been cleared ahead of time so that they would not encounter anyone on their way to his new quarters. He assigned a subroutine to keep track of turns and lengths of hallway. 

“I know it's been a while since you had anything but medgrade,” Jazz started. “But do you have any flavours you particularly like? Some of them are harder to get consistently, like sweet-crystal because everyone and their sire scrambles for it, but at least you can try a bit of variety.”

“Generally I prefer metallic flavours,” Thundercracker said, after only a moment’s hesitation. This was a normal thing to ask a mech you would be in charge of for the foreseeable future. “Mixes with sour are best.”

“Oh mech, you are right . I forgot that Polyhex gets our hot-and-sour dishes from Vos. Nothing better than sour-spicy manganese with a little silicon wafer to cut the heat.” Jazz had his helm tipped back and visor dimmed, like he was savouring the taste as he spoke.

“...I’ve never had it like that. It was more common to eat manganese with shaved lead relish.” This was still normal, Thundercracker assured himself. He absolutely wasn’t making small talk with Jazz.

“What's your spice tolerance? D’ya like to crank up the heat?” Jazz’ grin toddler Thundercracker all he needed to know about the mech’s own preferences.

He flicked a wing. “I suppose I'm average.”

“Average for a Vosian Seeker, or average for everybody else, because you know those are two very different things when it comes to spice.” 

That got a smile and half a chuckle from Thundercracker, because… well, Jazz was right. “Don't I know it. It's not my fault nobody else can handle a bit of kick. I'm average for a Seeker; I like some heat, but I'm not eating pepper-quartz plain.” Skywarp would do things like that, and Starscream too; Starscream couldn’t actually tolerate the heat well enough, but he’d be slagged if Skywarp could do something he couldn’t.

“Well lucky for us, neither hot or sour tend to be running low, so you should be able to have it whenever you want. I don’t know the availability of lead relish-- I’ve tried it before, ages ago, but never really paid attention to if we have it. You could always try making your own, if it’s not too complicated. I might be able to help you, depending.” Jazz made a sharp corner and they were slowing down, stopping in front of a suite in a fairly isolated and out-of-the-way section of the base. “I’m a decent cook, if I’m allowed to say so myself, not that Prowl always agrees with me. He thinks that you need to follow the recipe down to every particular sub-glyph, but I say cooking is an art and I’m here to make some music!”

Jazz keyed open the suite, and pinged Thundercracker with the access code. “It’s a bit bare in here, but I’ll be bringing things over soon and get it more decorated.”

The suite was plain but well arranged, with chairs and a sofa arranged to make the central area more spacious. There was a small round table and a few extra scattered cushions, but otherwise the main room was, as Jazz said, rather bare of anything personal. There were two more rooms, connecting to the central area at opposite ends, and Jazz sent another ping with the code for the one on the left.

“So this place is actually mine, but after I finally moved in with Prowl it’s mostly been an office and extra place to have SpecOps meetings. I keep all my clutter with him, too, also to keep my agents from vandalising my stuff. Don’t worry, I made sure they know to leave you alone.” Jazz gestured to both the other interior doors. “I’m taking the one on the right, and you’ll have the left since it’s bigger and I figured you’d want the space. Sorry about the lack of windows, but the ceilings are at least high. If you need something to decorate with, extra furniture, or we left something out, just let me know and I’ll see if I can find something. And here’s the suite energon dispenser; not as much variety as what you can get in the actual mess hall, but we have the main flavor mixes.”

Thundercracker dipped his wings and tried to take it all in. After failing that, he at least made his way to the energon dispenser and, after getting a nod from Jazz, figured out the main settings and got a cube of medium-sour flier grade. He stood, holding the cube to his chest, gazing about the living area with bright optics. The medbay hadn’t felt like home, but it had started to grow familiar, and now this was new .

And a lot .

“If… if it’s alright, might I see my room?” Thundercracker needed to fuel and lie down.

“Sure thing. This suite is yours, you just need to tell me if you’re going somewhere. Do what you want, mech.” Jazz waved him off, and sprawled himself on the couch in a way that was simultaneously casual and yet perfectly posed.

Thundercracker entered his new room. Having one to himself was… odd. He had always shared with someone, whether his siblings or his trine, but the security was appealing. Aside from Bluestreak, he didn’t exactly trust many Autobots to share a room. It had a berth, a small stand, a couple shelves on the wall, and… that was it. Someone had piled some extra blankets and nesting materials on the berth, and tucked on the stand--

Nearly dropping his cube, Thundercracker lurched forward. 

A datapad sat on the stand, and something told him… He set the cube down and, servos shaking, turned the ‘pad on. A little blinking note appeared, in Praxian: “We fixed this up for you!”

It was his datapad. His .

Thundercracker sat on the bed, absently grabbing a pillow to clutch. This was when, he knew, the shot came. The storm. Something. Because good things didn’t just happen like this, not to him .

But… But maybe now it could actually be better.

Chapter Text

"Now all Jazz will talk about is spicy food, and that got Hot Rod to try eating some traditional Polyhexian hot sauce-- but I think Jazz was lying about the traditional part, since he was grinning the whole time-- and Hot Rod about put his pede through the table he was screaming so hard." Bluestreak set his cube down on the table, and carefully arranged the little array of condiments; it wasn't every orn that they had four bots for breakfast. "Anyway, why doesn't Praxian food have any spice to it? I guess there's a few things that add a tiny bit of hot-agate but it's not like we put pepper-quartz in anything like the Polyhexians and apparently Vosians do."

Prowl mixed into his cube his typical ratio of cobalt and enough mercury to curdle coolant. "It probably comes down to Crystal City. Just like how the language borrowed from Crystal City became prestige, so did the cuisine, and Crystal City cuisine is strongly salty and sweet. We kept the strong sour flavour just like Vos but started to switch out spice for saltiness. And Praxus is farther away from Polyhex and the Rust Sea, anyway, so the variety of spices wouldn't be as good anyway."

"All that stuff seems so weird now," Bluestreak said. He stirred in a bit of lead, for that heavy metal sweetness, and a dash of mercury for a sour tang. "If everybody knows you're not from Crystal City, why would they think that you talking with that accent means you're rich or fancy or whatever? But we probably have all sorts of weird things we're doing now, that in a few centuries everyone will be confused by." He thought about the brief fad amongst young front-line soldiers to wear splattered pink paint like it was dried energon from an injury. Yeah, they still did plenty of strange things.

"Military culture will quickly become incomprehensible to those who did not live it," Prowl said. "And that's what we want."

Bluestreak nodded, mumbling about fashionable paint jobs and mechs with questionable taste in polish. It could be strange to think about, that they were fighting to, in a way, actively eliminate their own way of life; normally bots fought for the opposite, didn't they? But most other wars hadn't been on this scale, mobilising all but a small fraction of the population and lasting for centuries. Most other wars hadn't lasted long enough for the war to develop a culture all its own. But they had one now, lives lived in shifts and patrols and where base-slang became the new language and rank was a standard part of interactions. What would interacting with civilians be like, with no Decepticons looming large? What would being a civilian be like? No rank, no patrols, no schedule... How would he know what to do?

"Jazz will be here shortly," Prowl said quietly.

Bluestreak set his door wings and made sure the table was arranged properly. This would be the first family breakfast with Thundercracker; the Seeker had only gotten his new quarters the orn before last and was still settling in. Jazz updated the others on his progress, and they all agreed some normal social interaction would be a good first step, with Jazz and Prowl prepared to conveniently leave if their combined presence was too much. Though, apparently, Thundercracker had been taking well to having Jazz of all mechs as a guardian. There were Autobots that wouldn't be able to handle that.

"Helllooooo and good orn, everyone!" Jazz chirped, springing through the doorway. He had two modes for mornings: utterly dead or far too enthusiastic. "Got anything good ready for us?" 

A klik later, Thundercracker poked his helm through the door, and after another nanoklik, the rest of the mech followed. In sharp contrast to Jazz, who sprawled himself on his customary seat and started playfully tugging on Prowl's door wings, Thundercracker stood nearly to attention and dipped his wings in a slow and graceful motion. "Thank you for having me, Prowl," he said in Praxian. 

Matching the formality, Prowl stood and dipped his door wings in return. "And thank you for gracing my table, Thundercracker." He pronounced the new subglyphs-- ward, Neutral, friend-- on the Seeker's designation carefully. 

Thundercracker sat down in the chair left for him, one with a back cut low for the size of his wings. There was already a standard cube waiting, and he traced the edge absently with a clawtip.

"So we've got mercury here, for sour since I know you like that, and there's some lead and rust flakes for sweetness, and there's the neon powder for a little zing and the hot-agate for spice, and manganese if you want something savoury. Oh, and sodium and lithium, of course." Bluestreak pointed to each canister as he spoke, angling himself in his seat to be nearly beside Thundercracker. "I usually do an even sour-sweet, but Jazz was telling me all about spicy food so now I want to try that again. I mean, I've had plenty of different spicy things, but I don't think I was always really trying to like them, just sort of get through them, if that makes any sense."

"I think it does," Thundercracker said, after a klik. He kept his gaze on the table, and his wings were unnaturally level. Was that a formality thing? "Trying something because you feel you must is going to be different than trying something when you truly want to." He carefully selected a measure of the mercury and, after a glance up towards Jazz, a good-sized pinch of the neon powder.

"Was there any flavour hard for you to try? I feel like the hardest ones are sour and spicy, but if you grow up with them all the time then obviously that's no big deal."

Thundercracker tilted to face Bluestreak better, and seemed to visibly force himself to relax. "Well, there are still some Vosians who don't like spice as much, so it's not a given that because you grow up with it that you're going to like it. But I think for me it was harder to get used to very salty foods. I remember my carrier made some Praxian sweets once, and when I tried one I didn't realise it had a sodium filling. I think I spit it out, actually." One wing flicked. "That and crystal-tastes, generally. Sour-crystal and sour-metal are so different, it's hard to think of them as being the same at all."

"Yeah I think I've seen Sideswipe spit it out." Bluestreak chuckled. "How was I supposed to know that salty candy wasn't a thing everywhere? If I had known, I would have warned him, but even with a warning, it's not like you can really properly guess how a food is going to taste until it's on your glossa and then it's a little late, you know?"

"I was thinking," Jazz broke in, "that we could start callin' ya Big Blue, TC."

"Uh, you just called me TC," Thundercracker said, cocking his helm; a wing tip dipped in unison. "I already have a nickname."

"Well sure, but you can never have too many. If ya hate it, I won't bother, but I thought it'd be.. y'know, cute." Jazz shrugged.

"Cute," Thundercracker said flatly. He looked to Bluestreak, as if for help.

"TC seems like more of a general nickname, like how Bluestreak gets shortened to Blue." Prowl had his 'explaining voice' on. "But only a few bots, like Jazz and I, ever use Baby Blue. If we have a particular nickname for you, it would signify that we... go together, like a set. And you'd match with Bluestreak."

That would be really cute, Bluestreak thought. If he and only a few other bots called Thundercracker Big Blue, and Thundercracker was the only one to call him Sky Blue with his creators using Baby Blue, then they'd be... it almost seemed like something a family would do. Bluestreak's door wings shot up, and he looked at Thundercracker pleadingly.

"Ah, well." The Seeker shifted in his seat. He stirred his energon. "I guess... it would be practical. Just, please give me some time to uh, get used to... everything."

"Of course, mech, of course." Jazz shoved a hunk of hot-agate directly into his intake. "No need to rush into anything. Big Blue can be just for us."

"We can match!" Bluestreak fluttered his door wings. "Even if we're the only ones who know, we'll still be matching!"

"It does sound nice," Thundercracker said quietly. He sipped his energon and his optics dimmed; Bluestreak could feel the satisfaction in his field. The energon the 'Cons were getting must have been dreadful, if pretty basic flavoured rations got this sort of reaction. Bluestreak made a note on his hub to get something actually nice for this evening.

He thought over his schedule for the day, and wondered for a moment--

"You are not getting out of doing inventory," Prowl said firmly.

Bluestreak grumbled. "Oh come on, that's not fair! I didn't even say anything, and your tac-net just knows anyway..."

"That wasn't my tac-net, that was me being your creator. And inventory needs to be done and you are very good at differentiating between the loose ammunition."

"Ugh, it'd be so much easier if it wasn't loose to begin with." Bluestreak waved a servo around. "I know, I know, it's captured and that's just how it is, but can't we ever capture sorted ammunition some time? Why does it always have to be in big mixed piles?"

"Decepticons don't like logistics," Thundercracker said, with heavy exasperation. "Primus forbid you take the time to record where something is, or how much of it you have. Instead we get mechs like Swindle which... I mean, how do you think he got that name? So we have no idea what anything is, and so you just throw it all in a crate and hope." His wings then jerked. "Ah. I mean, uh, they get mechs like Swindle. And so on. That'll take some getting used to."

"Yeah, habits are hard. I've been practicing so I don't call you the wrong name, but don't be alarmed if bots still end up calling you Thundercracker," Jazz said, using the version with the Decepticon rather than Neutral subglyph. "Now, if they insist on calling you that after being corrected, well that's when ya get me and I'll take care of business."

Thundercracker hesitated. "...and what's 'taking care of business' a euphamism for?"

Jazz shrugged. "Anything you'd like. I mean, we have rules, I'm not gonna do anything against the set of laws and guidelines you got handed earlier, but... you know... If a bot wants to be mean and nasty, they can get to learn from the best, with the best being me."

"It is very much for your benefit that Jazz is your guardian," Prowl added, in a low conspiratorial tone. "He gets so competitive; he'll be the best guardian any ward has ever had, or die trying. Dying is an exaggeration, he will not literally die--"

"--no, no, I might," Jazz said, folding his arms across his chassis. He grinned. "I've got my pride, and if your pride isn't worth dying for, than what is?"

"And we know you don't think that," Prowl said. "You might as well have 'survive at any cost' written on your helm."

"It'd look better across my aft."

"Are you sure? The space might be inadequate. I can think of many other phrases that could fit, however..."

Thundercracker, mostly done with his cube, leaned over to whisper to Bluestreak, "Are they really always like this?"

Bluestreak chuckled. "Oh yeah, all the time."

---

Leaving breakfast to go to his shift was harder than usual, but Bluestreak knew that things had to get done; there was a war, after all. Inventory was important, so matter how much he wanted to stay and keep talking with Thundercracker and his creators, Bluestreak had to go. They all did, obviously: Prowl to hash out some supply distribution scheme with the research and development team, Thundercracker to familiarise himself with Autobot legal standards, and Jazz to go over something with Mirage before taking Thundercracker for some translation work.

Which left Bluestreak to do inventory. 

He wasn’t intentionally slowing his pace as he walked to the incoming supply room, not really he promised, but it was hard to be enthusiastic about sorting scavenged scraps. Sure, sometimes you did find something actually kinda cool but most of the time it was basically all slag.

“Hey, did something happen, Blue?” Bumblebee popped in beside him, nearly making him jump.

“‘Bee! Primus, maybe Jazz has been teaching you stealth too well, but I guess that can’t really happen given your work and all since it’s so important that you be able to sneak around all the time. Uh, what did you ask?”

Bumblebee knocked their shoulders together. “I was wondering if something happened. You seem kinda sluggish.”

“Oh! Oh no, nothing bad, don’t worry, I just have to sort through captured ammo and it’s going to be a slog, especially after breakfast since that went so well and I really just want to get to tonight, yeah? This orn is going to drag, ‘Bee, I can feel it down to my struts.” Bluestreak shook his door wings for emphasis. “My struts .”

Relief tingled in Bumblebee’s field. “I’m glad everything went well! It wasn’t… too awkward or anything? I feel like having a former ‘Con for breakfast with your creators would be… strange. For maybe everyone involved. No offense, but Prowl doesn’t strike bots as the real warm and fuzzy type, yeah?”

“No that’s… pretty fair to say. But honestly, I think too much warm and fuzzy would be weird for TC, you know? Like try to imagine a role reversal, and suddenly you are surrounded by Decepticons who are all being super affectionate all the time. It’d be freaky!” Bluestreak let Bumblebee digest this a moment, and the other bot grimaced and nodded. “So Prowl being mostly all business was probably for the best, but it’s not like he’s a lump of lead or something. I mean, he’s at least a lump of lead that can occasionally smile.”

“I think there are Autobots who wouldn’t believe that,” Bumblebee said with a chuckle. “But you think he’s adjusting well? He being Thundercracker, obviously. But I don’t know, this is probably a big adjustment for everyone involved.”

“Yeah, you’d be right about that. It’s not like they’re always sharing a suite, since they might have to be in different cities for all sorts of reasons, but Jazz and Prowl normally do so it’s a little weird for them to definitely both be on base at the same time but in different rooms. Not too big to get used to, but it’s still there. Obviously Jazz’ routine is pretty different now in general. But I think we’re all doing well, Thundercracker included. Breakfast wasn’t eventful or anything like that, we just talked about food preferences and nicknames and stuff.”

“I bet Jazz has already assigned TC a nickname.” Bumblebee shook his helm in mock exasperation. “But I’m really happy it went well for everyone! Especially since, you know, I’m going to be working with Thundercracker now. It’s good if we can all get along. I promise when I talk to him, I’ll make a good impression; I don’t want him thinking your Autobot friends are all like Sunny and Sides. Some of us can be nice!”

“You’re probably the best introduction to SpecOps a mech could ask for. Can you imagine if we started out with, I don’t know, Punch? Oh Primus, do you think he ever talked to Counterpunch?”

Bumblebee stifled a laugh. “I think we’ll be easing him into the whole, hey SpecOps has been spying on you since forever thing. Though maybe it wouldn’t freak him out too much, considering Soundwave and all that.”

“I can’t imagine living on a base with Soundwave, but I guess he does have that whole…” Bluestreak gestured vaguely. “ Thing he’s got with SpecOps. So maybe he’s not all bad.” Jazz talked about Soundwave enough that Bluestreak had a healthy mix of fear and admiration for the ‘Con.

The chatting had sped up Bluestreak’s pace from the dejected shuffle it had been before, and he found himself outside of the incoming supply room far faster than he thought he would be. He bid farewell to Bumblebee and with a heavy vent, actually went in to start his shift.

He found the meandering section for ammunition, the stuff in haphazard heaps since the ‘Cons apparently never bothered to keep things orderly. He settled in for some agonising boredom, and tried to plan what he might suggest to watch with Thundercracker that evening.

Bluestreak thought either Mithril Sea Madness: Return of the Zombie’s Revenge or The Sludge from Old Polyhex could be good choices; he had a better quality copy of Sludge but Jazz had seen MSM: RZR and was adamant it was the best-worst vid he'd ever seen. Apparently all the actors had spoken different languages so no one had understood the directions on set, and it ‘became a transcendent experience to watch’. Prowl had told Jazz to stop exaggerating so much.

Ammunition sorting left a lot of time to think about other things. Bluestreak knew all the rounds so instinctively he could leave the actual identification to a subroutine and let the better part of his processor think about actually interesting things. Which was good, because this really was one of the most boring tasks; it was so boring, he was genuinely looking forward to when he switched to monitor duty for the rest of his shift. Plus, he was in the inventory room with Brawn, who was looking over explosives, and Huffer , who couldn’t let a moment pass without assuring everyone that he didn't want to be there and had better things to do. Alright, that was some exaggerating, but Bluestreak was allowed to get irritated sometimes.

He checked his chronometer. Just one more joor of this and then monitor duty and then finally his off-shift.

---

“Heya, ‘Bee, good orn. Here's our new colleague, TC. TC, ‘Bee.” Jazz gestured happily between the two of them. “Hope you're ready for some good work, since Blaster and company got us something good.”

Thundercracker dipped his wings, and made sure to give the little Bumblebee a hopefully friendly nod. He recalled that Bumblebee was one of Bluestreak’s good friends, and he needed to make a good impression. Plus, if he was going to be working with Autobot SpecOps, then it'd be useful to be on decent terms with the bots themselves. He recognized that Jazz, as ever, had been rather clever in making sure his first introduction into SpecOps was with the kind young Bumblebee.

And he hadn't known what to expert by his workplace, but the main living area in his and Jazz's shared quarters wasn't it. Surely spies operated in dark warehouses or hazy recesses in bars, not on comfortable furniture in perfectly well lit rooms. Jazz had even set out little snack sized cubes and some sweet jellies.

“It's actually really exciting to work with you!” Bumblebee said, and the earnestness and easy trust was so similar to Bluestreak that Thundercracker felt himself grow protective immediately. That had to be bad, but also Autobots were really strange, so maybe it wouldn't be so terrible.

“Bumblebee is primarily here for observation and notation, so he might ask you to repeat yourself if he needs to get something down exactly. And, as Ratchet has pounded into my helm, you are still healing, TC, and will be for some time, do if you get tired and need a break, just say so and you can go rest in your nest.”

Hearing a grounder call it a nest was strange; usually they always called it a berth regardless of how many pillows and blankets got piled on.

“Alright,” Thundercracker said finally, when it seemed the others were waiting for him to say something. He better get to business and show he was willing to work. “What do you need me to translate?”

“Rewind got this nice sample of some Seeker chatter, but we can't really figure out what's going on beyond the very basics,” Bumblebee said.

Jazz picked up the thread. “We've already ID’d the Seekers involved: the three Rainmakers, Slipstream, and Misfire. Our initial, pretty rudimentary, attempt has let us in on a potential mission these five are going on-- or potentially even bringing in Sunstorm for some reason as he's mentioned a few times-- but there's obviously a lot going on we simply aren't getting.” After pausing to let that be understood, Jazz played the audio.

It was decent quality and not terribly long, but Thundercracker immediately caught why they couldn't piece together what was actually happening between the five Seekers.

“Yes, Acid Storm is trying to get Slipstream to go with him and his trine on a raid to target infrastructure in uh, oh you call it the South Crystalfields? The area south of Kalis. Sunstorn isn't going, he's…” Thundercracker dimmed his optics. For some reason, revealing Decepticon secrets felt like far less of a betrayal than revealing Seeker secrets. But maybe if they hadn't been so eager to remain mysterious to the grounders, then…

After a few kliks, he clarified, “It's just… it's not difficult, or I mean, it is but…” His wings dropped a bit. His first job, the thing that the Autobots kept him alive for, and he couldn't even manage it.

Luckily Jazz understood without needing any explanation. “So is this difficult to translate, or is it more difficult to explain?” 

“The actual words aren't hard, but the meaning is more complex than just what's on the surface.” Thundercracker let himself feel a touch relieved; Jazz seemed to actually understand that translation was far more than simply swapping out words one-to-one. “This is a social situation, and it gets complicated pretty quickly.”

“So this is a lot more than confirming some orders?” Jazz rolled his shoulders. “That's kinda what we figured. Take your time to think out how you might explain it. Good info beats fast info every time.”

“Alright.” Thundercracker let his processor run through the whole situation, and he tried to start from the beginning-- the real beginning, without taking any cultural base for granted. “This is a war but trines still… matter. So Acid Storm might be even in rank with Slipstream, but socially Sunstorm is Slipstream’s trine leader despite being her subordinate, and so Acid Storm is asking Nova Storm to go ask permission from Sunstorm to borrow his trinemate for a non-routine patrol.”

“Is there a reason our extremely green friend can't ask himself?” Jazz asked.

“It's… it's complicated. Like a lot of these things. Generally it's the trine’s Anchor that handles negotiations between trines, unless the trine leader is also the Anchor or this is an informal situation, where the trine leaders would just talk directly. If the trine leader is the Anchor, then they go themselves or send the trine’s Drive. So Acid Storm is a Drive, so he sends Nova Storm as his Anchor to talk with Sunstorm directly, as Sunstorm himself is also an Anchor. Slipstream is the Drive but since this is about her, she's not part of the direct discussion. And Misfire is Sunstorm and Slipstream’s Vibe, so he's there to make sure everyone keeps the negotiation going without stalling.” 

There was a klik of silence, and then another.

“Mech, you weren't kidding when you said complicated,” Jazz said, a little strained. A half muted chuckle escaped him. “Alright. So we'll be learning a lot about Seekers, I take it. And…” He fixed Thundercracker with an appraising but not unkind stare. “So in your trine, you were the Anchor? I can’t exactly imagine your trinemates in the negotiator role.”

“...that’s correct. Starscream is… was our Drive, and Skywarp the Vibe.” Never had the past tense come so unnaturally.

Jazz nodded. “Alrighty then. I s’pose you might tell us if there’s anything we need to do for you, Seeker-wise, given that it seems there’s a lot more to this than we thought.”

Thundercracker briefly glanced at the little sipping cubes on the tray, one carefully made to his own preferences. “I think… things will probably be okay.”

---

Bluestreak threw another blanket on the couch, and fluffed the four pillows in turn. He had been in Jazz’s quarters plenty, but it had always more resembled a lounge or a meeting room from an old historical vid about smuggling or something. But now it had been shifted, the large planning boards and extra chairs removed to make room for a more conventional couch and some chairs, all designed with wings in mind. He had some snacks on a low table-- silica crisps and some lithium wafers, alongside argon jellies dusted with pepper-quartz and then the obligatory rust sticks-- and two cubes of energon for dinner.

Jazz would be coming with Thundercracker soon; the two had been taking a walk out in one of the courtyards, to give the Seeker a bit of sky since he hadn’t been able to fly for a while and windows weren’t exactly in plentiful supply. Depending on how his healing went, he could get cleared for flight within the next few decaorns and then they’d figure out how to deal with that whole situation. The one flaw to Jazz being Thundercracker’s guardian was, of course, that Jazz couldn’t fly, so someone would need to get deputized. Debate was already underway.

With one more adjustment of the cushions, Bluestreak settled himself on the couch to wait for all of one klik before getting up to pace. And, as always, he talked.

“I'm not anxious about Thundercracker, it's more like I'm anxious for Thundercracker, or I'm anxious about this whole thing because it could really go wrong and I so don't want it to go wrong. It went so well this morning and we all got along, but what about when it's just me and him? What if we end up not having anything to talk about, or I accidentally say something that terrifies him, or he thinks I'm annoying when he's around me for longer than a breem or so? I really felt like we were such good friends for so long and I'll mourn this, if I can't keep it. Is that crazy? Mourning someone when they're still alive? Mourning someone who actually never really existed in the first place? I just don't know.” He stopped in the middle of the room. “I just want this to work.”

He flexed his door wings and slowed cycled his vents. This would be alright. He believed that Thundercracker wanted this friendship to work just as much as he did. The two of them together would be able to make it through any problems or misunderstandings. The Seeker wouldn't be here, in Iacon, if he didn't care.

---

Primus, Thundercracker cared so much about tonight. It had to go well.

With how productive, if exhausting, his own orn had been, he figured he wouldn't be thrown out if he and Bluestreak couldn't be true friends. But Jazz might kill him if he made Bluestreak unhappy. And Prowl would also be there, probably staring menacingly. And little Bumblebee would be sad. 

So it had to go well, but there were so many ways it could go wrong. Thundercracker could be too awkward or talk too much about boring things, or get anxious and not talk and all and then Bluestreak would think that Thundercracker hated him and would be upset, or maybe worst of all there might simply be too much bad history between Autobots and Decepticons, because Thundercracker might be technically a neutral now but he had been a ‘Con for do long and what if that was insurmountable and--

“Mech, hey. Hey. Big Blue? Why don't ya vent for a moment.” Jazz didn't touch him, but extended his field to brush firmly against Thundercracker’s. “It's been a pretty long orn for you. If you're getting overwhelmed and want a night by yourself, Blue will understand.”

But did Thundercracker want to be alone? No, he just wanted everything to go perfectly. Was that too much to ask?

He and Jazz were about halfway to their quarters from the courtyard, but slowed their pace when Thundercracker started spiralling. He felt a little steadier after venting and taking a moment to fully reset a few subsystems; he could use a full reboot, but that would have to be during recharge.

“I still want to try,” he said after a klik. “I’m… worried. What if… what if…”

“What if,” Jazz said, commiserating. “I get it. If you feel up to it, I won't tell you no. So c'mon, let's get home.”

Home. Huh.

Thundercracker followed Jazz a respectful pace behind, until they reached their shared quarters. Jazz pinged the door.

When they entered, they were greeted with a couch piled with blankets, a table with a variety of snacks and some cubes, and one Bluestreak with bright optics and fluttering door wings.

“Hi!” Bluestreak chirped. “I'm so glad you're here, I got everything ready but if there's too many blankets you can put the extras on the floor, or if there's not enough I can go get more, and--”

“Alright, Big and Baby Blue,” Jazz cut in gently. “I'm going to be in my room and work on some exciting desk work. If you need me, send a ping, but otherwise I'm not bothering you two.” Jazz gave them both a jaunty wave and made for his room. “Have fun!”

Thundercracker tipped his wings in farewell and then faced Bluestreak. For a few kliks the silence stretched on, Bluestreak nearly vibrating with the effort of staying quiet, before Thundercracker said something. “Thank you for setting everything up, Bluestreak. It's quite kind of you.” That was a normal thing to say, right?

“Oh of course! I mean, I know you live here now, but you still probably don’t know where everything is yet and I figured you’d be tired after everything with Jazz and not want to move furniture. Is this alright? I might have gone overboard with the blankets but it’s just so cozy!” Bluestreak’s door wings fluttered with delight; he really did look like an excited Seekerling.

“No, it’s a good amount of blankets,” Thundercracker said, starting to peel away the layers to reveal the actual sofa underneath. “And are these really all for us?” He gestured to the array of snacks on the low table, trying to gauge if this was a normal amount of food for an average orn. He had obviously seen more lavish displays-- Megatron liked the occasional grandiose feast after capturing some outpost or bridge or whatever-- but he couldn’t help but run mental calculations on what Swindle would try to charge. And it wasn’t cheap, because of course not.

“Oh yeah, I grabbed these with Hot Rod earlier. I still had most of my points from this decaorn, and he got the rust sticks with his.” Bluestreak then registered Thundercracker’s visible noncomprehension, and added, “Right, you obviously don’t know the point system. We get a certain amount of points per decaorn you can use to get extras, like candies or fancy wax. You’re allowed to gift or trade types of points with other bots. Sunstreaker always trades his food points for more polish and wax ones, for example. And if you want something one orn but already used your points for it, someone might spot you, and then you will get them something next decaorn. Normal rations, like standard energon and stuff, are outside the point system.”

“I sort of wish the Decepticons had something like that, but knowing us-- them, whatever-- it probably wouldn’t work anyway. Someone would find a way to bully everyone out of their points and then resell everything back for twice the cost. That or bots would flat out ignore and just bully the poor supply mechs out of whatever they wanted.” Thundercracker pinned his wings back. “Uh, sorry. I probably shouldn’t be bringing things like that up. It seems like a good system, and I’m glad that Hot Rod could help you.” He hadn’t interacted with Hot Rod at all, aside from exchanging fire on the battlefield, but from Bluestreak’s letters he seemed, if not responsible, then still reasonably trustworthy enough that owing him a favour wouldn’t end poorly.

“It’s… I don’t mind you know, though I admit I feel a bit sad to think about how you had to live. And how all the ‘Cons currently have to live. I mean, we’re all still mecha here, you know?” Bluestreak sat down next to him and started fussing with the veritable nest of blankets. “But if you're uncomfortable, we can talk about other things! I got two new-- well they're not new , but you know what I mean -- vids and we can pick which to watch. There's The Sludge from Old Polyhex , a classic that's kind of silly now but apparently was really groundbreaking when it came out. And then Mithril Sea Madness: Return of the Zombie’s Revenge. Or maybe it's Revenge of the Zombie's Return. You get the idea.”

Thundercracker’s wings shot up, nearly dislodging the blanket he's draped on his shoulders. “Wait, wait. They made more Mithril Sea Madness vids? I watched that one when it came out!”

“Really? Was it good?”

“Primus no, it was dreadful. Still the best thing I saw that vorn. They got these big name actors from Iacon and Crystal City, but the director only spoke Altihexian, so no one knew what was going on. And that’s not getting into the fight on set…” Thundercracker thought back to what was, apparently, the first of many Mithril Sea Madness vids; the plot escaped him, as it had probably escaped all the viewers, but the blatant confusion of the actors stuck with him over the centuries. It was like they had all been from different planets.

“A fight? Jazz didn’t tell me about that,” Bluestreak said eagerly, leaning forwards. Gossip was what truly brought everyone together.

“Well, maybe there wasn’t one during this vid’s production. But in the first one, the two of the leads from Crystal City had some ongoing family rivalry that sort of… spilled over and turned into an actual fight on set. They both got arrested and the Iaconi lead had to bail them out of jail so they could finish filming, but for the rest of production the two refused to speak to each other. Their shared scenes were… interesting to watch.”

Bluestreak cocked his helm. “I don’t think I’ve seen the first one. I’ll ask around if anyone has a copy, because that really sounds like a good time. And all that happened and it still got… five sequels somehow! It’s kinda miraculous.”

“I think they paid most of the crew and extras in engex so… they probably didn’t need to make much to profit.” Thundercracker reached over to snag an argon jelly; if his creators were there, they would’ve scolded him for eating snacks before his actual meal, but it had been so long since he had an argon jelly that he hoped they would forgive him. He popped it in his mouth, and fought against his initial instinct to hide how good it tasted; no one was going to jump out of the walls and take it away if he enjoyed himself. Because it was a good candy: perfect firm but yielding texture, nice and sour, with that spicy finish.

“Aren’t they good? I’ll be honest, I ate a few before you got here because I just had to try them. I thought the pepper quartz would be too strong for me, but it’s actually really good. Especially if I pair them with the lithium crisps.” Bluestreak’s field buzzed with happiness. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed a servo against Thundercracker’s wing, which jolted slightly at first but then fluttered and pressed into the touch.

“The textures probably go well together,” Thundercracker said, rather distracted. But he did reach for his cube, figuring he should have real fuel.

“I’ll put on the vid, if you’re ready. I hope you won’t mind the running commentary now that we’re in person.”

Thundercracker snuggled further into the sofa, the too-many blankets forming a cocoon around him. Bluestreak’s field meshed perfectly with his, and the gentle petting soothed something very deep in his spark. This… this was how things were meant to be, weren’t they? Soft and full of friendly chatter and good food…

“Don't you worry, Sky Blue, I think this will be perfect.”