WARNING: This story contains detailed robot gore and self-harm. If this is a painful or sensitive topic for you, please turn back now. I'm saying this for your own health and safety.

It had started small, scratches in the plating, nothing that couldn't be fixed with a little solder and a fresh coat of paint. Something Knock Out attributed to slips of the claws while the taller Seeker preened his wings, or accidental slips by Skywarp or Thundercracker while preening them for him. Nothing to worry about.

He should've anticipated the spiral. Especially after the fall of Vos. The once-shining metropolis destroyed by a mysterious air strike. All Decepticons who'd once inhabited it could only watch as their home crumbled and burned, reduced to ash and rubble by the projectiles.

Megatron had sentenced Starscream to the brig for one of his "you're being punished until I decide you've had enough" stretches, for daring to lash out at the warlord himself. Of course, it had done no damage nor left a mark, but it was the principle of the thing.

Being Vosian himself, Knock Out had understood, and, dare he say, sympathized, with Starscream's fury at their master's comment, but had remained quietly in his place beside Soundwave and Breakdown as Megatron retaliated against the silver Seeker. Metal struck metal, sparks flying, and Stacream's cries sounded throughout the bridge.

Starscream's squadron, including his two trinemates, watched silently from their place behind the officers, but Knock Out knew that every Seeker was infuriated that they were not permitted to vocalize their defense of their leader's actions. None of them, not even the pair at the front, went to Starscream's aid.

"Breakdown," the warlord had growled once the immediate retribution had ended. "Take the commander to the brig."

The medical assistant had looked down at his superior, who nodded once, before slowly lifting Starscream's unconscious frame and carrying him out of sight. It was now that Knock Out had dared to speak.

"My liege?"

"What?" Megatron had growled, flicking energon from his claws.

All courage to speak had hit the floor with the droplets of energon, shattering on impact, gone. Everything he had wanted to say had dissipated, so he had scrambled for the only sensible thing to say.

"… If I am not required, I shall… return to the medbay."

Now, two full lunarcycles later, the red Seeker was finally permitted to go down to the brig to treat any of Starscream's remaining injuries. He keyed in the code to the brig itself, and made his way down the stretch of hallway before reaching Starscream's cell.

His own wings shifted with the air pressure change, as Seeker wings are known to do. It was uncomfortable down here. He could see why the brig was such a punishment. Well, that, and the isolation, and fewer rations. But the air pressure alone was enough to drive a Seeker mad if they were down here long enough. Wings constantly shifting, preening would be impossible.

No way to comfort yourself.

He reached Starscream's cell, rapping on the bars. "Starscream? Are you conscious?"

When he received no answer, Knock Out merely keyed in the override to the cell door, and stepped inside. Knocking was a formality, also a wake-up. The cell was lit by a single flickering light overhead, the ceiling high enough to tease a flier into thinking he had some living space. A shape moved in the corner, just out of the light.

His optics tracked to it, and he padded closer. "Starscream?"

No response from the silver Seeker. Knock Out sighed, carefully tugging him into the light by the arm. "Now Starscream, really, I know you don't like physicals, but this is just…"

His words dissolved on his glossa. Starscream's wings… they were destroyed.

Energon had clotted in streaks over the plates, congealing at the edges of the numerous gouges torn into the plating. Exposed wires crackled, sparks falling from the frayed ends in showers each time one of the wings twitched. Rust had started to form around the edges of the wounds as well, the energon fusing to it.

Knock Out had seen Seekers over-preen before, had even done it himself, accidentally, of course, and was an old pro at treating that special kind of wound. One of Starscream's trinemates, Skywarp, a nervous little thing, was prone to overpreening due to his anxiety, but never had he seen them get this bad. In truth, he felt a little sick. Not because of the sheer gore, no, but because of the kind of inner horror and agony that caused a Seeker to do this.

Preening, usually a form of self-comfort, turned to self-mutilation.

"Starscream, what have you done to yourself?" the medic sighed, ignoring the uncomfortable shift in his wings as he lowered himself to one knee beside the second-in-command and touched a gentle servo to the edge of one ravaged wing. His voice had softened, no longer the voice of a medic to a patient, but of one Seeker to another. He looked from Starscream's wounds to his medkit, and shook his head. He hadn't been prepared to treat this kind of damage.

Nothing to do but open a , he figured. :Breakdown? I require an assist. Prepare a medical berth with a triage-grade kit on hand, then come down to the brig.:

:… everything okay, Doc?:

:Now, Breakdown.: He cut the comm., looking over the ruined wings again. He could only wait for Breakdown to get here now, and Pit knew how long that could take.

A gentle servo was laid on Starscream's shoulderplate as the crimson medic examined his wings. Starscream, though not really conscious anymore, batted at his servo weakly, small sounds of anguish escaping his vocalizer. Dried energon caked his claws, solidified into a thick crust that curled the slender, elegant digits into twisted, animalistic talons.

"I know it hurts, but you need to let me see. Hush now."

These wounds would scar, of that there was no question. He could treat them so that they wouldn't be as easy to see, but there would always be scars. He ran a gentle thumb over a seam in the wing that wasn't torn, the silver one instantly calming under his touch.

"There now. Just relax. We'll have you fixed up in no time."

—

Starscream awoke in the medbay in a very uncomfortable position. He'd been sat up, his wings not touching the medberth, and his claws were soaking in some sort of cleaner. He moved to stand, only to discover the smaller Seeker beside him, stilling him with a hand on his chest.

"Care to talk about it?" Knock Out asked.

"… about what." Starscream's voice was cracked and weak from lack of use over the past two lunarcycles.

"You ravaged your own wings, Starscream. I've never seen anyone do that to themselves. I've never even seen another mech do that to a Seeker. Now, either you're going to talk to me, or you're going to talk to Thundercracker. I'm sure he and Skywarp will want to know what their trinemate has done to himself."

"You leave them out of it! My wings were damaged when Lord Megatron administered the last thrashing."

His voice only seemed to get weaker when he raised it, and Knock Out just shook his helm at the commander. "Starscream, please don't act like I don't know what over-preened wings look like. Every Seeker's done it at least once, I know I have, and I treat Skywarp's anxiety-fueled overpreening all the time."

When he received no answer, the medic sighed. "Starscream, I can't release you until I know you aren't a threat to yourself or others. We've already lost Reflector to suicide, along with his deployers."

Starscream looked as if he wouldn't speak, but finally looked away from Knock Out. "You are Vosian, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then you shouldn't need to ask."

"Well, I've asked anyway."

The silver one exhaled. "… we cannot mourn our lost home. We are expected not to show our grief. I was punished for displaying mine. I felt my trine's agony, and yet I could not go to them, could not comfort them. For two lunarcycles, I felt them grieve for our destroyed city, and felt them fear for me, cry for me. You cannot understand that kind of pain."

"… No, I can't. But I can tell you that as soon as I've decided that you will not harm anyone, your trinemates will be allowed to come to you. That's the only relief I can offer. Your small pack of well-wishers will not be allowed in until you can handle their presence. I've suggested that you remain confined to berth for a full lunarcycle after you've been released. As your physician, I recommend spending that time with your trinemates and no one else." Knock Out rose, looking over his shoulder at the berth-ridden Seeker. "And you're also not permitted to preen your own wings until further notice."

"Now you're just being—"

Knock Out turned back around, folding his arms and cocking a brow ridge. His next two words were spoken in a dialect of Cybertronian exclusive to Vosians.

"Doctor's orders."