Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Nemesis hung heavy in the void, a shadow against the starlit expanse. Silence reigned in the ship’s corridors, broken only by the faint hum of machinery. But within the warship’s command center, tension crackled like electricity. Starscream stood at the helm, posture rigid, optics narrowed with thinly veiled contempt as he looked down at his fellow Decepticons.

“We should strike the Autobots now!” he snarled, his voice a shrill whip. “Their defenses are weakened. If we wait any longer, they’ll regroup, and this opportunity will be lost!”

Soundwave stood silent, unreadable as always, though Starscream could feel the disdain radiating from the communication officer. To his right, the Seekers—Skywarp and Thundercracker—stood at uneasy attention, their optics flicking between their commander and the looming figure behind him.

Megatron watched Starscream with a glint of cruel amusement. The Decepticon leader leaned back on his throne, his massive frame exuding power and authority. He let Starscream’s words hang in the air, deliberately prolonging the silence, savoring the tension.

“And what would you know about strategy, Starscream?” Megatron’s voice was low, cold, a rumble that made the room seem smaller. “Your last plan cost us half a battalion. Do you enjoy watching our soldiers fall because of your incompetence?”

Starscream’s fists clenched, metal grinding against metal. “That was not my fault! If they had followed orders—”

“If they had followed orders, they would have been led to slaughter. Much like you would lead us now.” Megatron’s optics gleamed, a dangerous warning. “You are a fool, Starscream. Always so eager to prove yourself... and always failing.”

The Seekers exchanged wary glances. Skywarp smirked, barely concealing his amusement. Even Thundercracker’s faceplates twitched in the beginnings of a sneer.

Starscream’s wings twitched, his posture coiled with barely-contained rage. His vocal processor strained to keep his tone level. “If you’re too cowardly to take action, then I will do it myself! I don’t need your permission to lead!”

The room went cold. Soundwave’s visor flickered, recording every word. Megatron’s expression did not change, but the air seemed to grow heavier. He rose slowly, his immense frame towering over Starscream, his shadow casting the Seeker in darkness.

“You dare speak to me of cowardice?” Megatron’s voice was deathly quiet, a whisper of impending violence. “You, who hides behind others and takes credit for victories you had no part in? You, who flees the moment the battle turns? You are nothing but a coward in the armor of a warrior, Starscream.”

Starscream’s courage faltered, his spark pulsing erratically. But his pride was stronger than his fear. He sneered, his chin tilting up defiantly. “At least I am not chained by my own arrogance. You’re weak, Megatron. Weak and blind.”

It happened faster than anyone could react. Megatron’s fist slammed into Starscream’s chassis, sending him crashing against the far wall. Metal crumpled under the impact, the wall denting from the force. Starscream collapsed to the floor, energon leaking from his mouth, his optics flickering.

Megatron stalked toward him, each step heavy with menace. He reached down, hauling Starscream up by his throat, his grip unyielding. “You are not fit to command. Not my army, not my warriors... not even your own wretched spark.”

He threw Starscream down, disgust twisting his face. Starscream hit the floor hard, pain flaring through his systems. He tried to rise, but his limbs trembled, servos protesting. The other Decepticons watched, their optics cold, uncaring. Not one of them stepped forward. Not one of them spoke in his defense.

Megatron turned away, dismissing him as one would discard broken scrap. “Take him to the medbay,” he ordered. “I want him functional for the next assault. I’ll not give him the satisfaction of escaping his failures through death.”

Two Vehicons moved forward, dragging Starscream’s limp frame out of the command center. As he was pulled down the corridors, humiliation and fury warred within him. He hated Megatron. Hated him with a passion that burned hotter than his pain.

But beneath the rage, a whisper of truth gnawed at him, cold and merciless. Megatron was right. He had failed—again. He always failed. And they all saw it. They all knew it.

A flicker of movement caught his attention. A small frame, peeking from around the corner. Wide optics that mirrored his own. Jet.

His sparkling watched him with fear, shrinking back as the Vehicons approached. Starscream’s chest tightened, a different kind of pain twisting within him. Jet took a step back, his small wings trembling.

“Pathetic,” one of the Vehicons muttered. “Even his brat knows he’s worthless.”

Rage flared, but it was fleeting, swallowed by shame. He tried to reach out, tried to speak, but his vocalizer sputtered, static crackling. Jet flinched and ran, disappearing down the hall.

Starscream’s arm fell limp, his spark sinking. His own sparkling was afraid of him. Afraid... or ashamed.

He didn’t know which was worse.

The medbay was cold, sterile. Starscream lay on the repair slab, systems struggling to stabilize. His optics flickered, unfocused, staring at the ceiling. The shame was suffocating, pressing down on him, heavier than Megatron’s blows.

He was the worst. The worst second in command. The worst mate. The worst father.

The worst Decepticon.

His spark pulsed weakly, pain seeping into every corner of his being. He was a failure. A coward. A fool.

He was nothing.

The ceiling blurred, vision dimming. And in that moment, he hated himself more than he ever hated Megatron. More than he hated the Autobots. More than anything.

Because the worst part was knowing that they were right.

He was the worst. And he always would be.

Chapter Text

Megatron watched the Vehicons drag Starscream’s limp form away, his optics cold, his expression unreadable. The Seeker’s energon smeared the floor, a trail of shame that led out of the command center.

Weak. Pathetic. Worthless.

He had spoken those words so many times, spat them like venom. And every time, Starscream proved him right. Every time, the Seeker failed him. Failed their cause. Failed to be anything but a disappointment.

Megatron’s fists tightened, his claws scraping against his palm. The anger simmered beneath his armor, searing hot and corrosive. Starscream had dared to challenge him. Again. In front of the others. Again.

He should have killed him. It would have been merciful.

Yet he didn’t. He never did. No matter how many times Starscream defied him, no matter how often he schemed and plotted and betrayed... Megatron let him live.

He turned away, his shoulders tense, his frame rigid with barely-contained fury. The other Decepticons watched him, their gazes wary, fearful. He could feel their judgment, the silent accusations. They thought him weak for sparing Starscream. They questioned his loyalty for keeping him by his side.

They didn’t understand. They couldn’t.

Megatron strode out of the command center, his heavy footsteps echoing down the corridor. He moved with purpose, his pace relentless, his mind a turbulent storm. He should have let Starscream rust on the battlefield the first time he failed him. He should have torn him apart for his treachery, scattered his remains across the cosmos as a warning.

But he hadn’t.

The medbay doors slid open, and Megatron entered, his presence filling the room like a dark cloud. Starscream lay on the repair slab, motionless, his armor cracked, energon seeping from his wounds. The medics scurried back, their fear palpable as they bowed and fled, leaving him alone with the unconscious Seeker.

He stood over Starscream, optics cold and unfeeling. The Seeker looked small, fragile. Vulnerable. His wings hung limply over the sides of the slab, his frame twisted, his face contorted in pain even in stasis.

Weak. Always so weak.

Megatron’s lip curled, his disgust flaring. “You bring this upon yourself,” he growled, his voice low, menacing. “Every defiance, every failure... you force my hand. You leave me no choice.”

But Starscream did not answer. His optics remained dark, his frame unmoving.

Megatron’s fists clenched, his anger boiling once more. He wanted to shake him, to force his optics open, to demand an explanation. Why did he have to be so infuriating? Why did he have to push him to such extremes? Why did he have to be so... so... Starscream?

The anger twisted, curled, became something else. Something hollow. Something cold.

He turned away, his optics burning. He caught his reflection in the medbay’s glass panel. A towering figure of power and might. A conqueror. A tyrant.

A monster.

His optics narrowed, his expression hardening. That’s what they all thought, wasn’t it? The Autobots, the humans, his own soldiers... They looked at him and saw a monster.

They weren’t wrong.

His mind flickered back to the hallway. To those wide optics staring in horror as Starscream was dragged away.

Jet.

The sparkling had seen everything. Seen him beat his carrier to a broken heap on the floor. Seen him destroy the only figure of safety he knew.

Megatron’s spark twisted, the faintest whisper of shame curling through him. He had been so focused on punishing Starscream that he hadn’t even noticed Jet was watching. That he had terrified his own offspring.

He remembered the way Jet had flinched, the way he had shrunk back in fear. Fear... of him.

His fists tightened, metal groaning under the pressure. Of course the sparkling was afraid. Everyone was afraid of him. It was how he ruled. It was how he kept order. It was how he maintained power.

But Jet...

The sparkling was so small, so delicate. So easily broken. Just like Starscream.

Megatron’s shoulders tensed, his armor plating shifting uncomfortably. Jet would grow strong. He would make him strong. He would teach him to be ruthless, to be powerful, to be a conqueror. He would mold him into a Decepticon worthy of the name.

Even if it meant making him hate his own sire.

Megatron turned back to Starscream, his optics narrowing. “You make me do this,” he whispered, his voice harsh, cracking at the edges. “You make me into this.”

Starscream didn’t move, didn’t hear. His chest rose and fell with shallow vents, his frame twitching as his systems struggled to repair themselves.

Megatron looked at him—really looked at him. And all he saw was his own failure.

Starscream was his second in command. His mate. The creator of his sparkling. He was supposed to be strong, cunning, reliable. A force to be reckoned with.

But he was none of those things. And whose fault was that? Who chose him? Who kept him? Who let him become this broken, treacherous, pitiful creature?

He had done this. He had made Starscream weak. He had made Jet fearful. He had made himself a monster.

The realization sank into his spark, cold and heavy. He was the worst leader. The worst mate. The worst sire.

The worst Decepticon.

His optics dimmed, his frame rigid as he forced himself to look away. He turned on his heel, striding out of the medbay without another word, the doors hissing shut behind him.

His spark throbbed, raw and aching.

He hated Starscream. Hated his weakness, his defiance, his failures. Hated how he kept coming back, again and again, no matter how many times Megatron broke him.

But he hated himself more.

Because no matter how much he beat Starscream down... he could never make him strong.

And no matter how hard he tried... he could never be anything but the worst.

He was the worst. And he always would be.