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One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Starscream lets out a sigh of relief, letting a small cloud out of his mouth into the frigid air.
Every child playing in the snow is accounted for.
Snow isn't strange weather for Witwicky in December, but snow so deep that it could reach Nightshade's knees in some places… there were theories that it could be something other than human climate change causing it. That's what several bots were doing at the Malto’s farm, discussing what Decepticon or GHOST leftovers could possibly cause this, all over some warm cubes of energon.
Not bad enough weather to constitute an emergency, yet.
Starscream was invited to this discussion, and even contributed a list of locations Decepticons liked to store their gadgets, but when the kids got bored and went outside… it felt wrong to leave them unsupervised.
So he sits under the barn’s eaves, watching them play.
One.
Two.
Thrash and Mo come tumbling down the hill of snow, their latest attempt at snowboarding leading to a wipeout. It's all giggles, though.
Three.
Four.
Nightshade and Hashtag are making snow angels, and there's a lively discussion about whether or not Nightshade using their wings to make the wings is in the spirit of the tradition.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Jawbreaker, Twitch, and Robby are making a snowmech. It gives off the energy of Optimus Prime, but lacks any features.
Eight.
Aftermath is collecting sticks and rocks. “To make snowballs more lethal,” he said, but they look like they'd work really well for the snowmech nearby.
Nine.
Spitfire is jumping from tree to tree, shaking snow off the branches to try and ambush anyone who walks underneath.
Everyone is aware he doesn't like the cold. Only one (alive) mech on the planet really has a chance at guessing why, but he's been really polite in not bringing it up.
That's why there was only one attempt to invite Star to play.
He declined, because involving himself would require some of the kids to be out of his sight.
They seem to understand his reasoning.
Cybertronians aren't made for the cold. There is a point at which energon will crystallize and freeze. A temperature easily found on this planet.
Of course, thermoregulators in a cybertronian’s body, the insulation of their plating, and the fact that the energon is under pressure and constantly moving makes existing in these temperatures possible for a limited time. For larger bots, the sheer volume of energon in them should make this planet's average conditions negligible.
Should, being the key word.
Not only were the Terrans much smaller than average, but they don't run on energon. They run on water.
At least, a substance both soluble in and mostly indistinguishable from water.
Not only does water have a higher freezing point than energon, but the only reason they're even able to play in the snow is because the weather is below freezing. It's just frozen water!
Luckily, he's not the only one with that concern, and many of the kids were sent out with protective gear.
One. Two.
Starscream doesn't fully understand how humans regulate their temperature, but he's aware clothing assists in that. Mo and Robby are completely covered in fabric, only their heads free from the warmth. Though Mo is wearing what she called “earmuffs” to protect her ears “in style”, as she called it.
Three. Four.
Twitch has a hat with pockets sewn specifically for her audial flares, and a sweater that buttons in the back.
Thrash has a scarf, and a sweater that matches Twitch’s.
Five. Six. Seven.
Nightshade has a scarf with heating elements sewn inside, that everyone called a fire hazard, but seems to be working well so far.
Hashtag has a pair of arm warmers in garish rainbow stripes, and a furry pair of leg warmers covering her tires. She called it “the y2k fit”,
Jawbreaker is wearing a feat of engineering, a garment that can transform from pants in his root mode to a sweater in his alt mode, using some clever design tricks. And a hat, but the hat isn't special. He needs someone to put it back on his head every time he transforms to alt-mode.
Eight. Nine.
Aftermath and Spitfire refused to wear anything warm. He's a little worried.
He adjusts his own warm item, a blanket folded in half loosely wrapped around his neck like a scarf. It's not as effective as it could be, but he can't bear to have it any tighter.
The barn door opens behind him, but he doesn't pay it any mind until an energon cube enters his periphery.
Starscream looks up. Bumblebee offers him a warm cube of energon, that Starscream gladly takes.
“Any accidents?” Bumblebee asks, sitting down next to the seeker.
“Not yet,” A small sip of energon, “They're very creative children, they'll find a way,”
“I can take a shift watching if you wanted to head in,”
He considers Bee’s offer for a moment.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
“I can't.” Starscream shakes his head, looking into his cube.
“Any… particular reason?”
A dozen different explanations sit on his glossa, some lies, some half-truths… but he decides to wash them down with another sip of hot energon instead.
Bee nods, “That's what I thought you'd say,”
The Camaro gets comfy, leaning on the wall of the barn.
Snowflakes start to fall again.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
“You're counting Mo and Robby too?” Bee asks.
“Hmm?” Star looks at him, bewildered.
“You're tapping your glass,”
“Ah, I.. hadn't realized. But, yes. Yes I am. Humans are mostly water too, right?”
“That's right, but….” Bumblebee trails off, “I guess that's a good thing to fret about,”
…
A snowflake lands on Starscream's hand.
He takes a moment to look at it, in its tiny, crystalline beauty. What a wonder there's so many of these things that it's causing equal amounts of logistical issues and fun.
One. Two.
Thrash and Mo are trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues.
Three. Four.
Nightshade and Hashtag are assessing a technical problem with Nightshade's scarf. Hopefully it's “not enough heat” and not “fire risk on their neck”.
Five. Six.
Jawbreaker and Robby are rolling the snow for the head of the snowmech
Seven. Eight.
Aftermath and Twitch are decorating the body of the snowmech like professionals, but it's unclear if each ever told the other what mech they're making.
…
…
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
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Eight
…?
One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight ….?!
Robby.
Mo.
Twitch.
Thrash.
Hashtag.
Nightshade.
Jawbreaker.
Aftermath.
“Kids, timeout!” Starscream stands up, turning the heads of everyone outside, “Where's Spitfire?”
“Oh she's-” Twitch starts, before actually looking around, “uh.”
The rest of the children look in their immediate area, to no avail. Bumblebee scrambles to his pedes to help.
Starscream marches into the snow.
“Hey, calm down,” Aftermath groans. “She's probably hiding just to freak you out,”
“Mission accomplished, then!” Starscream snaps, already surveying the area “No games will be happening until everybody is accounted for,”
A few groans, but no real protests. Starscream does not care for their complaints.
…
The team of ten makes short work of the small area, it's not long before Starscream finds the correct pile of snow under a freshly cleared tree.
Metal strikes metal.
He grabs her, pulling Spitfire out from under the snow.
Her rotors are dim, her wings retracted, eyes half shut and completely dark. Her spark crackles a little slower.
“Found her!” He shouts to the rest of the group, pulling her close to his chest.
With a big fwoomph, Starscream runs his chest turbines backwards, blasting Spitfire with hot air.
The remaining snow on her melts.
…
Come on.
…
One.
Two.
Th-
“AUGH!” Spitfire jerks in his arms, scrunching her face, “What the- Wh- A- Stop blasting me with your tit!”
Starscream doesn't stop, but turns down the intensity of the air, holding her up to appraise her condition.
Still mostly limp, some frost on her extremities, sluggish movements in the hands and arms… but awake, and pissed.
He takes his scarf from his neck and wraps it around Spitfire, “You scared us. I, and many others, told you to bundle up!” He places her back in the line of fire of warmth.
“F-frag you!”
Aftermath is next on the scene, “I thought you were dead, again! Fucking idiot,”
“You're shivering t-too, bastard!” She spits back.
“Hey, hey,” Bumblebee cuts in, “We should be going inside anyway. C’mon, hot drinks for everyone!”
That inspires cheers in the kids, and they start to file back to the barn.
“Oh! Wait!” Jawbreaker shouts.
He scampers back to the snow mech, gently setting its head on top, drawing a quick smiley face on it with a claw.
“Alright, now let's go in!”
….
It's warm in the dugout. The way the doors make for a pretty good airlock, underground is a good insulator, and a fake fireplace outputting real heat in the center of the living space.
Three Cybertronian-scale couches surround it, covered in blankets and pillows to make lounging comfortable.
“R slash TV too high” Hashtag says, leaning back comically into the arm of the couch.
Nightshade sputters, “Do you want it in the fire?”
“I'm just making an observation!”
The TV that's…. at a normal height plays a cartoon about four humans and a… dog? Starscream can't really correlate the design to any dog he's ever seen, but he's not paying much attention anyway.
He's watching Spitfire fumble with her water. She's still very cold, and quickly getting frustrated with how sluggish her joints still are. Her rotors still hang limply behind her, though the fact they keep trying to flicker online is a good sign she'll recover quickly.
Still messes with her balance in the meantime.
Spitfire abandons her cup, and stomps over to Starscream, sitting in the corner of a couch.
She stands between his feet, hesitates with a glance to the ground, before looking up at him with arms outstretched, and the saddest frown, audial flares drooping, big big eyes blinking.
“Oh!” Starscream coos, folding immediately, “It's okay,”
He scoops her up, cradling her on his shoulder, right against the latent heat of his engi-
Tiny, ice cold hands dart in between his neck plating.
Starscream shrieks, leaning forward and grabbing at her wrists.
“Spitfire! Spitfire let go-” He trails off into a strangled, quiet wail as Spitfire breaks into a cackle.
She's latched onto a few sturdy cables, almost impossible to remove her cold little hands.
“I am going to throw you into the fire!”
“Try it, old man!”,
Starscream manages to wriggle her free, but instead of acting on his threat, he puts Spitfire in the center of a blanket. Before she can escape, he folds a corner over her body, then a bottom corner over her shoulder, then rolls her up, making sure every limb is tucked in. Just her head is sticking out of her new swaddle.
“Wh- hey!” She thrashes in her cozy prison, “let me out!”
Instead, she's cradled and cuddled to Star’s shoulder again.
“If you're going to act like a sparkling I'm going to treat you like one,” he scolds.
“OOOOH!!” Hashtag points at Spitfire, “Get fucking burrito-ed, idiot!”
“I'm not a burrito!” Spitfire protests, wiggling like a worm.
Starscream gently rumbles his engine, hushing her like a sparkling.
She stops wiggling… then a few minutes later stops swearing, until minutes after that she's asleep.
“Woah, what?” Bumblebee leans over, checking if she's really unconscious.
“It was a matter of time, being cold like that can sap your energy like nothing else,” Starscream says, gently rubbing her back.
“You really know a lot about this, huh?” Bee leans on the back of the couch.
“Do you wish to be swaddled next?”
“Forget I asked.”
….
“Hey, thanks for helping watch the kids while we took care of that weather controller,” Dorothy calls down the dugout ramp.
…no response.
She enters the dugout, chuckling softly when she recognizes the scene before her.
Jawbreaker in his alt-mode, curled up around Nightshade right in front of the fire.
Mo, Robby, Twitch and Thrash cuddled in a pile, mostly hidden under cushions likely meant to be a blanket fort, now collapsed.
Bumblebee, steadily being crushed by both Aftermath and so many blankets but too asleep to notice.
Starscream, also dead asleep on a couch, but instead with Hashtag sprawled over him, her favorite blanket over them both.
…where's Spitfire?
Dorothy circles the room, letting out a sigh of relief when she spots the little drone, curled up in Starscream’s arms, half wrapped in a soft blanket.
Everyone’s accounted for.