Chapter Text
“That is NOT how you earn anyone’s trust, Starscream!” Ratchet bellowed, his tone sharp enough to cut through the med-bay’s tense atmosphere. He seized the seeker by the arm, firm but careful not to harm him, though his frustration was palpable.
“You don’t just rush off on a mission without authorization! Do you have any idea how reckless that was? You could’ve gotten yourself—or others—seriously injured!” Ratchet’s voice rose as he gestured emphatically, pointing out Starscream’s battered and disheveled frame.
Starscream rolled his optics dramatically, pulling his arm free with an air of indignation. “Oh, spare me your lectures, medic! I only acted because you Autobots refuse to let me contribute in any meaningful way. You keep me locked up in those cramped quarters like some kind of prisoner of war!”
He crossed his arms, wings flicking in agitation, but his voice carried a tinge of bitterness that undermine his bravado.
Ratchet fixed Starscream with a stern, no-nonsense glare. “And why exactly do you think that is?” he asked pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest.
Starscream scoffed, his wings twitching in irritation. “Because you underestimate—”
“Because we can’t trust you!” Ratchet cut him off sharply, his voice echoing through the med-bay. “And this little stunt of yours? It’s only made things worse! You’ve done nothing to prove you’re reliable, and everything to show the opposite!”
Starscream’s optics narrowed, but he didn’t immediately respond, his mouth tightening into a thin line.
It had been six months since the day Starscream defected from the Decepticons, a move that had shocked both sides of the ongoing war. The Autobots, understandably cautious, had kept him on a short leash ever since, refusing to let him take part in missions or contribute in any significant way. To Starscream, it felt like a cage—tight quarters, limited freedom, and no respect for his skills. To the Autobots, it was a necessary precaution.
The med-bay doors hissed open, revealing Optimus Prime and Prowl entering side by side. Their expressions told two distinct tales—Optimus wore a tired, almost resigned look, while Prowl’s scowl radiated pure exasperation, his sharp optics fixed squarely on Starscream. To the seeker, both were equally grating.
“Starscream,” Optimus began, his tone steady, his expression softening to one of patient understanding. “I understand your desire to contribute, to be part of the effort to end this war, but—”
“You don’t understand anything!” Starscream cut him off, his wings flaring as his voice rose in frustration. “How long is it going to take for you Autobots to realize I want this war over just as much as the rest of you?!”
Optimus remained calm, though the exhaustion in his optics deepened. Before he could respond, Prowl stepped forward, his scowl hardening further as he fixed Starscream with an unrelenting glare.
“You,” Prowl snapped, his tone sharp enough to slice through Starscream’s protests. “Do you really think six measly months is enough to erase cycles of treachery and chaos? Do you honestly believe we should trust someone of your maniacal caliber in less than a single kilocycle?!”
Starscream stiffened, his optics narrowing at the accusation. “I defected,” he shot back, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Do you think I risked everything just to sit here and be treated like slag?! I am no traitor—not anymore!”
“And yet,” Prowl countered coldly, “here we are, cleaning up the mess you caused with your reckless actions.”
The tension in the room crackled, leaving Starscream glaring defiantly while Optimus stepped forward, lifting a hand in a silent call for calm.
“That’s enough,” Optimus Prime’s voice rumbled, carrying both authority and exhaustion. “It’s late. Ratchet, if Starscream isn’t in serious condition, please escort him back to his quarters. We’ll continue this discussion tomorrow—when everyone is… better recharged.”
Everyone nodded in agreement—except Starscream, who glared silently, his wings twitching in irritation.
-
The next morning, Starscream sat in his quarters, wings sagging in defeat. It wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to go. His movements were strictly monitored—he was confined to his quarters unless supervised, a humiliating reminder of his precarious position among the Autobots.
Not that he could entirely blame them. If the situation were reversed and he’d defected to the Decepticons, he would have been executed the moment he so much as twitched out of line.
Still, the isolation gnawed at him. These sterile walls felt more like a cage than a sanctuary. He hadn’t even managed to sleep properly, his thoughts swirling with frustration and bitterness.
A small knock at the door broke him from his trance.
“Who is it?” he called, his voice heavy with exhaustion.
“Ratchet. Who else?” came the gruff reply.
Starscream sighed, unsurprised. Throughout the past six months, most of the Autobots avoided him like a plague. The only ones who regularly interacted with him were Optimus Prime, the ever-patient leader, and Ratchet, the no-nonsense medic who seemed determined to keep him alive, albeit grudgingly.
“Come in,” Starscream muttered, leaning back in his seat. At least with Ratchet, he knew what to expect.
“Oh wow, you look horrible,” Ratchet said bluntly, his optics scanning Starscream’s less-than-ideal appearance with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
Starscream rolled his optics and crossed his arms with an irritated huff. “Have you come just to insult me, or is there actually a point to this visit?”
Ratchet snorted, folding his arms. “Yeah, yeah. Just here to make sure you’re not dead. Though by the looks of it, you’re close.”
Starscream shot him a withering glare, his wings twitching in annoyance. “How charming. Truly, your bedside manner is unmatched.”
“And I’m also here to escort you to the meeting room,” Ratchet continued, ignoring the jab. “Optimus wants to have a little chat about your impromptu mission.”
Starscream groaned dramatically, dragging his servos down his face as though the weight of the universe rested on his shoulders. “Can’t I just beg for forgiveness on my knees and be done with it? I could really do without another one of his lectures.”
Ratchet gave him an unimpressed look, optics narrowing slightly. “You did this to yourself, Starscream. Now get moving before I drag you there myself.”
With a resigned sigh, Starscream pushed himself off the berth, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. At least Optimus would likely be more tolerable than Prowl—though that wasn’t saying much.
Starscream strode through the halls of the Autobot base, his sharp optics scanning the space with muted disdain. At least they hadn’t slapped him in handcuffs this time—a small mercy compared to his first month here. Still, the idea that they thought a medic could stop him from escaping was laughable, and a little insulting.
As he entered the meeting room, the hum of chattering Autobots quieted instantly. All optics turned toward him, a mixture of distrust and curiosity flickering in their gazes. At the center of the room sat Optimus Prime, his calm, composed presence commanding attention.
“Starscream,” Optimus greeted, his voice steady but firm.
“Prime,” Starscream replied, inclining his head slightly, his tone carefully neutral.
“Alright, so!” Jazz, ever the lively and unexpected second-in-command, clapped his servos together to start the meeting. Starscream still wasn’t entirely sure how Jazz had ended up in that role, but he didn’t have the energy to dwell on it.
“Starscream,” Jazz began, his tone a mix of sternness and casual reproach, “you snuck out last night, went on a mission all on your lonesome, and didn’t bother asking for clearance. Not only did you injure yourself, but you also sabotaged a future plan we were working on.”
Starscream tilted his helm, wings shifting slightly as he considered Jazz’s words. He wasn’t entirely sure what they expected him to say.
“It was irresponsible,” Optimus interjected, his tone calm but firm. “We understand your desire to contribute, but you must recognize the lingering impact of your past alignment. Many Autobots remain uncertain of your true intentions and fear this could be part of a ploy orchestrated by Megatron—”
“As if that brute could think through a spy mission,” Starscream muttered under his breath, earning a few side glances from the room.
Optimus paused, his optics narrowing slightly at the interruption, but he pressed on. “This caution is not meant as a punishment, but as a necessary safeguard. Until we are confident in your loyalty, your involvement will remain limited. Once you have proven yourself, we will permit you to fully utilize your skills for the betterment of Cybertron.”
Starscream sighed inwardly, his wings drooping just slightly. Same speech, different day. “Understood,” he replied curtly, though the tension in his posture betrayed his frustration.
“Do you, though?” Sideswipe piped up from the audience, his arms crossed and his tone dripping with skepticism. “Optimus, the guy snuck out, wrecked one of our plans, and now he’s getting off scot-free? How is that fair?”
“I agree,” Prowl added sharply, stepping forward with his usual air of calculated authority. “Punishment is necessary, Prime. Without it, the actions are likely to repeat.”
Starscream’s optics flared with anger, and he shot up from his seat, wings snapping out in indignation. “This is my first offense, you slagging fool!” he screeched, his voice reverberating through the room. “What kind of warped sense of justice would—”
“Your first offense, yes,” Prowl cut him off, his tone icy. “But you’re a Decepticon. A first offense from someone like you isn’t just a mistake; it’s the beginnings of a potential rebellion.”
Starscream let out a sharp, frustrated growl, his claws curling into fists. “For the last time!” he bellowed, his wings trembling with rage. “I am not a Decepticon anymore!”
The room fell into a tense silence, Starscream’s words echoing against the walls. Autobots exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether to believe his outburst or chalk it up to his temper. Optimus raised a hand, silencing the murmurs before they could grow into open debate.
“Enough,” the Autobot leader said firmly, his optics focusing on Starscream. “This discussion is not about retribution—it is about understanding and moving forward. Starscream has already agreed to abide by our rules moving forward. Let us not allow mistrust to cloud the progress we have made.”
Sideswipe muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue further, while Prowl’s frown deepened. Starscream, for his part, crossed his arms and sat back down, muttering, “Progress. Right.”
The tension in the room didn’t dissipate, but Optimus continued as if it had. “Now, let us move on to how we adjust the plan in light of recent developments.”
Sunstreaker raised a servo with mock innocence, tilting his helm as he spoke. “Should we really be discussing plans in front of… him?” He pointedly turned his optics toward Starscream, the suspicion in his tone anything but subtle.
“Oh, for the love of Primus!” Starscream snapped, throwing his servos up in dramatic defeat. “Fine! I’ll leave! I didn’t want to spend another miserable nanosecond with you Autobot scum anyway!”
Without waiting for a response, the seeker stood abruptly, his wings bristling as he stomped toward the exit, muttering a string of insults that, while unintelligible, were undoubtedly unflattering.
Optimus opened his mouth, clearly intending to intervene, but Ratchet stepped forward, giving the Prime a sharp, knowing look. With a reluctant sigh, Optimus closed his mouth, letting Starscream go. Ratchet didn’t waste a moment before following the disgruntled seeker out of the room, his own muttered words lost to the sound of Starscream’s stomping.
As the doors hissed shut behind them, all optics turned to Sunstreaker, whose shrug was far too casual. “What? I didn’t say he should leave!” he protested, looking genuinely surprised at the attention. “It was a genuine question!”
The room erupted into a mix of exasperated groans and murmurs, Jazz pinching the bridge of his nose while Prowl muttered something under his breath. Optimus simply shook his head, his expression somewhere between disappointment and amusement. “Let’s focus on the matter at hand,” he said firmly, bringing the Autobots’ attention back to the meeting.