Endgame

Part 4: Skirmishes

Summary: After the fall of Vos, there was nothing its Winglord could do to reclaim it. Nothing, that is, except to sell his bastard heir to the leader of the Decepticons. Starscream, however, has other ideas. He would not let Coldfront reclaim Vos.

Fandom: Transformers

Continuity: AU! G1. Pre-Earth.

Pairing: Megatron/Starscream

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Heh. Admit it, you thought I forgot about this story, didn't you? XD This is more than a bit over-due, and I do apologize for the delay, but I had some inspiration for a couple more scenes, and those scenes ran away from me and went postal – not to mention the irritation of trying to integrate those scenes seamlessly with what I had already written. As the added scenes nearly doubled the length of the original chapter, I'm not exactly displeased about this and hope you won't be, either. Just to give you guys a heads up: this chapter is longer than most of my one-shots. :P Things are starting to get going, finally, and though my strength is not in describing fight scenes, I gave it my all and am rather happy with the results. I'm happy about this chapter period.

"In the confrontation between the stream and the rock, the stream always wins. Not through strength, but through persistence."

-Unknown

"The Cruxian Plains," Thundercracker said as they came to a halt at the top of the ridge.

Beneath them, a barren wasteland stretched out immense and empty, a vast flat expanse that reached to the distant horizon and beyond. Here and there skeletal ruins jutted out of the ground, giving testament to the horrifying revelation that this had once been a city. "It's so …open," Starscream said.

"Yes," Thundercracker agreed quietly, wings twitching slightly in unease. Beside him, Skywarp openly stared in shock, for once quiet and still. "From what I understand, this used to be a city of miners and trades-mechs who were protesting the Dynasty's rule, before the Autobots completely razed it to the ground several thousand years ago. Not many of them survived that purge, and those that did later on went on to become the first Decepticon Warlord and his elite."

Starscream shivered, over-active imagination having no problem picturing the Autobots slaughtering every living thing in their path. Despite their currently civilian-based lifestyles and delicate frames, the Autobots of ancient times had been just as brutal and savage as any Decepticon was now, which was part of the reason why seekers had split from their control so long ago.

He heard the sound of voices and turned to look behind him. The three of them had out-distanced the rest of the hoard of mechs, and now the others were climbing the ridge below them, Megatron in their lead. Do to the sheer size of the hoard it had been next to impossible to arrange faster transportation, and, because of all the alt-mode-less younglings and slaves that had arrived load-by-load over several orns, they were now forced to walk back to Kaon. Their long trek across Cybertron wasn't just a matter of inconvenience, though. Megatron had his own reasons for moving at such a slow pace, one of which was allowing Starscream to adapt a little better to Decepticon culture while also allowing the Decepticons the time to get used to the idea that Starscream was now partially in control of them.

Coldfront had not been pleased. He was a seeker, a sparked-flier. Seekers, after all, were made to fly, not walk on the ground. Starscream, despite this viewpoint, was used to being grounded, and it showed. Compared to the other non-Decepticon seekers, and especially to his own sire, Starscream's movements were fluid and sure, though nowhere near as graceful as he was in the air. Coldfront, compared to all of the other fliers, was visibly struggling with both the slow pace and the extended periods of time on his pedes. The Winglord was miserable, angry, and getting more and more volatile with each day. Senator Ratbat had urged Coldfront to stay in Axion as his guest, but although Starscream privately wished his sire had, Coldfront would have none of it. The Winglord would stay with Megatron until the debt had been paid in full, until the army he'd been promised was following him back to Vos. There had been a great many threats issued on what would befall Megatron should the Warlord try and cheat him. Ratbat had merely smiled and wished him luck.

One look at his sire's clumsy, grumbling form convinced Starscream that he did not want to listen to any of his sire's complaints and thinly-veiled threats right now. A quick check of his chronometer told him that it was almost time for them to stop for the day. Although most of them could go on for much longer, the younglings and the sparklings that had been brought to the ceremony were bound to be hungry and tired, if not already recharging quietly in a slave's arms.

"I want to fly," he told Thundercracker. "Wait for me, and tell the rest of them to break camp."

Thundercracker smiled, a small glint of mischief in his optics. "And if they throw a fit?" he asked, obviously thinking of Coldfront.

Starscream was thinking of Coldfront as well. He smiled back at his two companions. "They wouldn't dare," he murmured quietly. He was Lord Consort now, bonded for all eternity to Megatron. Unless told otherwise by the Warlord, his word was law. Starscream knew that Megatron would not protest the early halt.

Skywarp, however, twitched his wings. "I hope your bonded doesn't keep him waiting for much longer," he said uneasily. "He'll leave when he gets his ten thousand warriors, and Megatron did promise."

Starscream and Thundercracker shared a look. "Yes, but…. Decepticons look upon this sort of thing differently," Thundercracker said quietly. "I told Coldfront as much, Ratbat has told him, but the Winglord will not listen. The Decepticons are not traders. Coldfront thinks he sold Starscream, and now he wants his promised price." He shrugged helplessly. "Yet Lord Megatron would say he had Starscream as a gift. He will give Coldfront a gift in return, yes, but when he feels like it."

Starscream smiled. "And one does not demand a gift, not from Megatron. One does not demand anything of Megatron."

"It's still not right to make him wait," Skywarp muttered. "I want him gone. He does nothing but bitch about how things are not being done as he wills them and twist my wings. Coldfront thinks he can take back Vos with ten thousand Decepticon warriors. I say give him the soldiers and let him try."

Starscream snarled. "Coldfront could not take back Vos with ten million warriors, let alone ten thousand. You're a fool if you think my Lord has any plans of wasting any of his warriors on Coldfront's ambitions."

It was Thundercracker's turn to be uneasy. "He means to back out of the deal?"

Starscream shook his head in negation, understanding where Thundercracker was coming from. To break such a deal was to be known as Oath-breaker, and there were few beings in the known universe that would ever deal with such a mech. Oath-breakers, if they weren't killed on sight, were not acknowledged. They existed unseen and unheard, and no being would help them. "There was a deal struck, and a deal to be honored, but it was not one between Coldfront and Megatron," he said, watching the two of them closely. Skywarp, practically raised in a society of hidden words and subtle power plays caught on immediately, gazed back at him solemnly, asking without saying a word if Starscream knew what he was doing, if there was a solid plan in the works. When Starscream nodded, he smiled eagerly, agreeing to whatever Starscream had planned with no questions asked.

Thundercracker's wings twitched, but he said nothing. It was not the support Starscream had been looking for, but it was not opposition either, and he would take what he could get. For now.

With a gentle twitch of his wings in farewell, Starscream ignited his thrusters and flew down the steep ridge and out into the wasteland, flying out much farther than he had originally planned on doing once he heard his sire's voice reach shrieking levels. Obviously, Starscream's order was sitting unwell with the older seeker, not that Starscream cared.

At the bottom of the ridge, the vast, empty expanse with its few skeletal remains was even more desolate and haunting than it had appeared at the top. Starscream cut off his thrusters and landed, completely alone in the silence and not caring. He was rarely alone any more. Cycle followed cycle, until Starscream could almost forget that he had not been born to the Decepticon ways. There was a strange sort if serenity to be found in the upfront culture. He woke every morning in Megatron's arms, sore and lightly dented but relishing every ache as he discovered them. Most of his day was spent walking with Thundercracker and Skywarp, occasionally joined by the two trines that were his honor guard of sorts, discussing the things they'd observed and learned during the nights. Starscream was learning much about his new people, and was finding himself re-evaluating his plans to include their safety in addition to his own. It was a new feeling for himself, thinking of others with intention to care for them.

He was here alone because he needed time and space to center himself, his new bond, and these new feelings, time and space he hadn't had since the bonding ceremony. His thoughts were chaotic, his spark wild and constantly spinning, and that wouldn't do. He needed to be clear of mind and thought in order to succeed in his goals. He could not afford a single mistake, not now, not ever. After all, he was no longer simply fighting for his own freedom – there were lives at stake here. Not just his, not just the Decepticons who he now were responsible, but Megatron's life. He could feel him, even now, a steady, forceful pounding in his spark, a conqueror, a tyrant-in-the-making, the insurmountable force upon which he could trust would never leave him – could never leave him.

He was so deep within himself that he had numbed his sensors to outside influences, which was stupid in retrospect, as he found himself suddenly on the ground, one wing torn and the other bent from the rough landing. The pain hit him like a smack across the facial-plating, and he accidentally allowed the pain to travel across the bond before he managed to get ahold of himself and close it off. The pain was bad, but he'd had worse before. Snarling, he climbed to his pedes, only to come optic-to-optic with his sire.

Coldfront was obviously displeased. "You dare!" the irate seeker hissed. "You dare give commands to me? To me?" His sire's elegant facial plating – so similar to his own, and yet so completely different – twisted into an expression that was dark and ugly. Coldfront grabbed him, shook him. "Have you forgotten who you are? Look at you! Look at you!"

Starscream did not need to look. He knew who he was better than Coldfront did; more importantly, Megatron knew who he was. That, as far as Starscream was concerned, was all that mattered.

Coldfront was still screaming at him. "…You, of all mechs, do not command me. Do you understand, you pathetic scrap-heap? I am Winglord! I will not hear the orders of some barbarian's slut, do you hear me?" One of his hands found Starscream's broken wing and tugged, causing another wave of agony that he barely managed to block from the bond. "Do you hear me?"

Starscream hissed and in one smooth movement, withdrew the dagger Ratbat had gifted him with all those cycles ago and slammed it deep into his sire's side. The dagger was so well made it slid through his sire's armor like it was made of organic cloth; the blade just long enough that it would scrap uncomfortably against Coldfront's spark-chamber. His sire released his wing with a pained gasp, and Starscream shoved him back as forcefully as he could.

Coldfront stared at him, optics pained but furious. Starscream had never defied him before, not like this. He'd never fought back before. Starscream knew that Coldfront was logically aware of the fact that he could not treat Starscream the way he had been before; logically, Starscream was no longer his to command or to hurt. But while logic might have once been able to calm his sire's vicious temper once upon a time, Starscream also knew those days were long since passed. Coldfront was capable of logic, but it had no true hold on his broken psyche. No, what ruled Coldfront now was insanity, dark and deep, barely hidden by the thin veneer of civility and the countless eons of tradition.

Starscream watched him calmly. Coldfront would try to hurt him badly for this, he knew. Try being the operative word. He grinned at his sire, taunting without words, practically begging the older seeker to try. He was not disappointed. Coldfront roared, reason gone, rage and pain all that was left. His sire lunged, hands out-stretched, claws ready to shred, but for as quick and strong as Coldfront was, Starscream was quicker, smaller, and he was thinking clearly. He ducked under Coldfront's reach, pivoting smoothly on one pede as he thrust his own clawed hands up and out, shattering his sire's canopy and lodging into the cockpit beneath it. His claws dug deep, and then he was pivoting again, ripping out two handfuls of internal wires, twisting away from his sire who was instinctively reaching for his wound.

He ended up facing the emptiness behind his sire, and with nothing short of sadistic glee, turned as swiftly as he could, braced a pede on his sire's back just between his wings, and ignited the thruster. The howl that escaped his sire's vocalizer brought a vicious smile to Starscream's face.

Coldfront collapsed onto the ground, leaking energon onto the scarred surface of the once-city, wire's in his chassis sparking and hissing, his back half-melted and smoking. Starscream walked around and paused in front of his sire, waiting. When Coldfront finally looked up, bewilderment and fury equal within his optics, Starscream crouched down, one hand immediately grasping the hilt of his dagger. Coldfront went absolutely still; all Starscream had to do was withdraw the dagger and plunge it down into his already wounded chassis; all Starscream had to do was reach up and slit his sire's throat and watch him bleed to death. Starscream was sorely tempted.

"I know exactly who I am," he said quietly instead. "I am Lord Consort of the Decepticons before I am a seeker, and as long as you travel with my new people and my Lord does not contradict my word, you will obey." He twisted the dagger slightly. "You will stop commanding the seeker's underneath my command as if they were yours to do with as you please, you will stop abusing Skywarp, and you will stop treating me like a simple-minded sparkling incapable of defending itself." He smiled, and it was not kind. "Do you understand?" he parroted back at his sire.

Coldfront glared up at him, but even the insane Winglord knew when not to press matters; he nodded his head, optics promising retribution.

Starscream sighed. "Not good enough." He twisted the dagger again, sharply this time, before wiggling it obscenely, drawing out the pain of having the wound widened. Coldfront howled again, but stayed as still as possible. Any further and the blade stood a good chance of piercing his spark-chamber. "I want you to say it," Starscream said almost pleasantly.

Coldfront scowled. "I understand," he hissed out.

Starscream smiled, and stood, drawing out the dagger as slowly as he could as he did so. "Good," he murmured. "I'm glad we had this little chat." Without waiting for an answer, he ignited his thrusters and raced off, being very careful due to the state of his wings. They would be repaired easily enough, but flying was tricky with bent wings – it could be done, if one knew what they were doing well enough to compensate, and anti-gravs helped a great deal.

Once he got to the encampment that was only just starting to settle down for the night, he sought out the medic, Hook. As soon as the mech finished his repairs, he casually mentioned the state his sire was in, and that he might need help getting back up the ridge, before walking over towards his bondmate and settling down beside him to begin the evaluations. Megatron, after all, still needed an Air Commander and Second-in-Command, and most of their evenings were spent watching the various fliers as they were put through their paces.

At first, Starscream had been allowed to watch only – neither of the two lieutenants that traveled with them could trust Starscream as far as they could throw him, and in attempting to keep harmony between Megatron and the two of them, Starscream had easily agreed to bow out of the discussions, though he certainly had more than a few things to say about the various performances. This lasted for all of a breem, before Coldfront, for once being useful, had despairingly remarked that if Megatron was fool enough to bond himself to a Winglord's only heir and not draw on the obvious expertise at his fingertips, well then, perhaps he should just take his ten-thousand warriors and leave now? After all, he had reasoned in an easily-seen-through attempt at forcing Megatron to uphold his end of the bargain, he didn't wish to see the last of his heir's die from another's incompetence.

Easily-seen-through attempt it may have been, but it had the added bonus of making both Soundwave and Shockwave think. Regardless of how the two of them felt about it, Starscream and Megatron's lives were forever intertwined now, and any Air Commander would be commanding Starscream should he and his entourage be included in any wars. If said Air Commander was not up to the task, and got Starscream killed, then so too would Megatron die. That particular scenario was not a likely one, as no Lord Consort had ever been involved in any battles the Decepticons may have fought – the job of the Lord Consort was to oversee civilian matters and ensure that the warriors had something to return home to. What was more likely to happen was the threat of an incompetent Air Commander failing to do his proper duties and getting Megatron killed, which in turn would kill Starscream.

In this, despite the image he was being forced to project, Starscream had proved himself invaluable to the Decepticon Warlord and his lieutenants. It was more than just being a heir to a Winglord; despite his rather demanding training, and although he had never attended any of the various War Academies, he had been …acquaintances with quite a few fliers from all of them, and knew what to look out for. It went without saying that the Decepticons were expert warriors while on the ground, but fighting in the air was something that was relatively new for them – the few fliers they did have were descendents of mechs who had felt that they had no choice but join or starve to death, or worse, in the Underground. They had seekers, to be sure – but of the thirteen they had, only nine had been able to form a stable trine bond, and none of them had been taught about the intricacies of fighting in the air, instead relying on a mish-mash of moves very obviously copied off of vid-files and raw instinct.

So Starscream spent most of his time in the evenings dissecting the moves of the auditioning fliers, speaking mostly to his mate, but loudly enough that his lieutenants could also hear what he said and comment accordingly. He went through the intricacies of the moves they did and how they either should have been done or what in particular they had improved upon. He listened to which of the fliers caught their attention and why, and either agreed or dismissed them, also giving calm, rational explanations for why he did so.

It was well known that some models were better at flying than others. Sparked fliers, in particular, were often better fliers than, say, a modified one, and war-builds like the seekers were always going to be better than the commercial-built. It was this fact that made the maneuvers that the modified and commercial builds performed all the more spectacular to watch. What a sparked flier could do instinctively took extensive training, much practice, and strong discipline for the modified and commercial builds to do. Starscream would much rather have a mech in command that had practiced their maneuvers over and over again until it was perfected over a mech who relied on his instinctive programming any day, even if those practiced moves weren't quite as graceful or as 'flashy'.

Naturally, this viewpoint upset quite a few fliers, the seekers who sought a place amongst the Decepticon Army – and his sire – in particular. Thus, it wasn't long into their trek across Cybertron before he was challenged to an informal Triage. Starscream smiled – a large, slightly demented bearing of sharp denta – as he not only accepted the challenge, but gave a reply that would set the tone for what Skywarp would later be heard calling "the total ownage."

"All of you," Starscream said, his tone amused.

Updraft, the chosen spokesmech for the seekers looking to challenge the Decepticon Lord's bonded, frowned in confusion. "Huh?"

"All of you," Starscream repeated obligingly, still smiling. "At once," he continued.

Megatron, sitting next to him and watching all this go down with cold, calculating optics, was also smiling – it was just a small quirk of his lip plating, but those who knew the Decepticon Warlord also knew that that small quirk might as well have been a full-blown grin. The Decepticons around them who saw that small quirk on Megatron's face stilled and turned their steady gazes onto the seekers. The sight of so many optics, all steady and interested and mildly threatening, coupled with Starscream's steady demented grin disturbed Updraft, and, uneasy, he glanced back at the group he was speaking for. The others shifted, but none offered to take back the challenge.

Thundercracker, beside him, hissed. "Are you out of your fraggin' processors? How can you even think about taking on all of them at once?"

Starscream shared a brief look with Megatron, before shaking his head. "Perhaps I will not be the last mech standing at the end of the match, but I can and will take most of them down with me."

"At least take us with you! Skywarp and I could at least fly with you as Trine – the rules of Triage at least permit that." the blue seeker appealed, obviously concerned with Starscream's apparent suicidal tendencies.

Beside him, Skywarp bounced in eager anticipation. "This will be so cool! It's been eons since I got to fight!"

Starscream studied the two seekers.

During their progressive march across half of Cybertron, Thundercracker and Skywarp had become his near-constant companions. Starscream had become inordinately fond of the both of them, and had done his best to get to know them for who they really were and not what they wanted Megatron and his sire to think them as.

Thundercracker, for instance, was a proud mech who studied history and culture almost obsessively, and had the current Emirate of Vos not banished him, would never have considered becoming a soldier. Although all seekers went to the War Academy, or, like Starscream, received private instruction in the art of war, most of them never used it; they attended 'secondary' schooling to train them for construction, teaching, medical, and other such professions. Thundercracker's dream had once been to become a teacher of sparklings, and the seeker's calm demeanor and almost-endless patience helped quite a bit in settling both the highly rambunctious Skywarp and the not-quite-so-noticeably easily agitated Starscream.

Skywarp, on the other hand, was just fun. Oh, sure the purple seeker knew about the harshness of life – he had been a pleasure-slave for most of his formative years – but despite what he had seen and suffered, he was genuinely glad to be alive. Skywarp was always moving, always talking, always planning pranks and then carrying them out. Already Starscream had determined that Skywarp had three modes: sneaking, doing, and caught. He suspected this might have annoyed him had it not been for the simple fact that because Skywarp genuinely liked him, he was constantly putting on shows that were geared to amuse Starscream, and Starscream's sense of humor was admittedly a little, well, dark. Starscream still didn't know why Skywarp was so taken with him – the fact that Starscream treated him as an equal, a brother almost, and not like the slave he technically was helped quite a bit there – but figured that that was a conversation that would have to wait until he was too highly over-energized to care about his own hubris.

He enjoyed flying and talking with the two of them, but he had never considered trining the pair. Perhaps he should have, considering how often he found himself seeking out their company lately, and vice versa, but still... "I can't," he said, holding up a hand when both looked like they were going to start protesting. "It's not a matter of not wanting to take you both, but a matter of practicality. I don't know what you're capable of, and neither of you have ever seen me in action." There would be more than one unwanted injury between them if he accepted their help, especially considering that there was no actual bond in place.

Thundercracker sighed and said nothing more, conceding to the wisdom of what he was saying, but Skywarp was frowning. When he opened his mouth to start protesting, Coldfront, who had been listening with a disgusted sneer on his face, smacked the purple seeker in the back of the helm before he could get out a single word. "No one interferes," the Winglord snarled. "Not in a Triage, informal or not. The challenge has been given, and has been accepted." When Skywarp started to protest, Coldfront growled, clawed hand grabbing the seeker by his wing and twisting, drawing a short shriek of pain out of the purple seeker, ignoring (or just not noticing) the way frames tensed and optics lit up in ire as the Winglord once again overstepped his bounds.

"Enough," Starscream hissed, wings flared high. His claws clenched as a strange possessive anger set his spark awhirl. A low, warning rumble sounded from the Warlord sitting beside him, and all mechs stilled again, watching warily to see if Megatron would chose to settle the matter himself.

Coldfront stared at him, optics narrowed, clearly remembering the "lesson" Starscream had taught him earlier, but also willing to brush it off as a fluke. Starscream could see the thoughts rolling though his sire's processor, could see the way the Winglord's claws tightened on Skywarp's wings as if intending to do permanent damage, before letting go. He would be more concerned about the subtle challenge, had it not been for the fact that Starscream knew Coldfront wouldn't be alive for much longer.

After glaring at the older mech, silently daring him to go for Skywarp's wings again, he eventually rose to his pedes and stretched, easing out the kinks in his joints from sitting so still for such a prolonged period of time. He glanced at all of his challengers, identifying how many there were (thirty-one: 8 complete trines, one loner, and the rest in pairs), and if any one particular seeker looked particularly worrisome. None of them did, he noted with some satisfaction. He smiled easily, and braced himself. "Well, shall we?" he asked, deliberately putting a mocking tone into the question, before jumping into the air and shifting seamlessly from root to alt mode not 3-feet in the air above his mate's helm. In the split second before his mass would have brought him crashing right back down to the ground, he ignited his thrusters. There was a sharp *crack* and he was off, breaking the sound barrier and leaving a trail of smoke and fire behind him.

It was an exceptionally impressive display, as most seekers needed to actually ignite their thrusters and fly for a few moments before actually transforming into their alt-modes. The group nominally headed by Updraft and his trine was no different, and all of them wasted further time just enjoying the site of Starscream's flying. All seekers loved to fly, and despite whatever problems they may have had with the new Lord Consort and his ideas, not a single one of them could deny that Starscream in the air was a sight to behold.

Eventually though, they joined him, leaping into the air en mass. Most of them scattered, possibly to attack as opportunistically as possible, most likely to hold off until the more ruthless of them had tired him out. Others formed formations that revealed their Academy training – there wasn't a wing a centimeter out of place as they flew, which would be their downfall. The ones who scattered knew enough about real aerial combat to know that against a single flier, formations were more of a hindrance than a help, especially when the lone flier's skills and weapons were unknown.

A swift backflip and a quick 180˚ turn had him charging the main formation. He fired missiles as he did so, forcing the main formation to scatter as they attempted to avoid both him and the projectiles. Several went down, not fast enough to avoid both. He kept the rest of them scattered, chasing them down one by one; it was easy, so easy. They were so young, so inexperienced, so naïve. They fought as though this was a training session, and not the informal Triage they had challenged him to.

He shifted from alt to root mode, cutting his anti-gravs and his thrusters and dropping instantly into freefall at a speed that clearly hadn't been expected by the startled tetra-jet beneath him, who had attempted to shift out the way. The other flier failed, miserably. Starscream landed with a triumphant shriek on the tetra-jet's cockpit, shattering the glass beneath the force of his weight and the speed of his impact. Immediately he dug his long claws into the flier's wings and tore before leaping off, transforming, and taking off with a sharp *crack* as he broke the sound barrier yet again. The jet, screaming in agony, went down.

The whole encounter had lasted only a few brief clicks.

Starscream was too fast for them to touch, too ruthless for them to counter, and too sensitive to his surroundings for them to trap. His skills – formations and movements beaten into him since a very young age by a sadistic and mostly-insane sire and ruthlessly reinforced by seven vorns of fending for himself in the underground societies of Cybertron against mechs that made these mercenary seekers look like spoiled hatchlings – came as naturally to him now as a spark-pulse. Like all other seekers, most of the tricks of flying were instinctive, but unlike most of his frame-kin who were content with their instinctive behaviors, Starscream had worked and worked at what he could do. Unlike most other seekers, who regulated most of the basic routines and programs associated with flight to auto-pilot, Starscream paid particular attention to all of them; his processor was more than capable of splitting his attention between all of these programs and flight itself, which allowed him several clicks of reaction time that none of the others had. Further complicating matters was the fact that most of his current opponents had never fought against grounders, and as such, weren't prepared to face the moves that grounders fought with, especially when they were in the air where grounders couldn't touch them. No flier shredded another's wings, it was known; and that was why Starscream would win.

Not because he was better than all of them combined (though one-on-one, he was), but because he fought viciously and without mercy, treating this informal Triage as if it were the real thing, as if his life truly were in danger. He used grounder tricks to bring his opponents down swiftly, and was already moving onto the next batch of opponents/victims by the time the rest of them realized what he was doing.

The panic.

Starscream delighted in the way their maneuvers became sloppy and disjointed as they realized that he wasn't playing their game by their rules but instead playing his own game that they didn't know the rules to. He barrel-rolled to the right, firing his missiles as he did so, never stopping to check to see if his shots had hit their marks before abruptly pulling out of the maneuver and pulling back to avoid a seeker attempting to turn his own trick against him. He hovered for a brief moment, waiting for the other flier to re-orient himself, and then transformed back into root-mode.

The last thing that seeker would ever see was Starscream's claws reaching for his face.

Starscream tore through these fliers with a vengeance, maiming and killing without discrimination. He could feel the steady pulse of his mate's spark, calm and even with the occasional surges of amused pride when Starscream pulled a particularly dirty trick. Megatron did not stop him, and if the Decepticon Lord wished this to continue, what could any other say?

Nothing. None of them could say a damned thing, and Starscream knew it. Just as he knew that if his opponents had been Decepticon seekers, Megatron would not be so silent. But they weren't Decepticons, and Starscream could already sense that regardless of who became Air Commander, Starscream would be doing quite a few 'crash courses' in the art of aerial combat.

He flew in steady circles above his mate, daring any to challenge him. None did. None would, not so soon at any rate. He swiftly transformed and landed, taking care to make the landing as light as an organic feather, and turned to face his mate, unable to hide the exultant grin on his face. His claws were still dripping with the energon of his victims, and all around him he could hear the screaming of those that were still alive. Megatron watched him with that strange little quirk of his lips, optics burning, face calm; approval, pride and slight arousal was .

"That was so cool!" Skywarp burst out, tackling him to the ground in a fierce hug. Starscream, despite the awkward and slightly painful landing, couldn't help but laugh and return the hug. "You gotta teach me that trick were you dropped right on top of that afthead and spring-boarded off!"

Starscream couldn't keep the grin off his face as Skywarp rambled on. He looked over at Thundercracker who was walking over to them, a slightly awed look on his facial plating. "How did you do most of that? I've never seen anyone fly like that."

Starscream didn't get a chance to answer. Coldfront appeared like a thundercloud above him, optics spitting fury. He reached down and hauled Skywarp off of Starscream with one clawed hand, claws digging into the smaller seeker's wings and piercing straight through as he tossed the screaming seeker off to the side in a display of strength that might have meant more if someone had actually cared. Instead, though Coldfront appeared to be deaf and blind to it, all his display was doing was earning the ire of those around them – most of the Decepticons liked Skywarp.

Once Skywarp was out of the way, Coldfront reached out and tried to haul him up in the same manner. Tried. But when he reached down, Coldfront suddenly found Thundercracker in his way, the blue seeker practically snarling, optics livid, wings flaring up and out in a display of dominance that the passive seeker usually would never have bothered to use. Starscream used the moment to pick himself off the ground, moving as swiftly as he dared – moving too fast would only provoke Coldfront into hurting Thundercracker to get to him, and that was something Starscream didn't want.

"Move," the Winglord snapped out.

Thundercracker snorted. "Not if you begged," he hissed out.

"I said move, seeker." Coldfront's wings also flared out, longer, thicker, and bigger than Thundercracker's own. "I will not tell you again."

"Good." Thundercracker said, this time raising both barrels of the guns attached to his arms and pointing them at the Winglord. "Because I won't listen, no matter how many times you tell me." There was a collective gasp from those around them that knew just how severe an offence Thundercracker had committed, but those gasps were few and most likely from the non-Decepticons in the group. Most were quiet; watching, listening, contemplating. Displays of dominance were many, frequent, and varied in the Decepticon culture. Not even Megatron had any peace from them – every now and then some mech got it into his helm that he was the biggest, meanest mech on the block, and Megatron had to bust said helm against the nearest convenient solid surface a few times to reassert himself. The day he didn't, the day he couldn't, Megatron would be replaced as leader of the Decepticons.

Such was the way of life here – only the strong deserved to lead. Though Coldfront didn't know it, what he did here and now would determine whether or not any Decepticon would ever give him even the illusion of respect again. Starscream did know it, just as he knew that if he remained as he was, allowing Thundercracker to fight his battles for him, any chance he'd have of gaining the Decepticons' respect and allegiance was next to nil. He'd been granted leeway so far because he was an outsider, but with each passing day he grew more and more accustomed to their culture, and soon he would be expected to live completely by their rules and traditions.

Coldfront's optics narrowed. His clawed hands clenched and stretched out repeatedly, and Starscream knew he was preparing to attack. He also knew that despite Thundercracker's strength, he was no match for Coldfront. On a technical point, neither was Starscream, his earlier success notwithstanding. But Starscream had the advantage of knowing how Coldfront moved, how he operated, and – to an extent – how he thought. He also had an advantage of speed that Thundercracker did not have, in addition to a much more compact frame that would present less of a target in the midst of a fight. Thundercracker was large and strong, but he was also too slow.

Coldfront would tear him to pieces, and wouldn't think twice about it.

"Thundercracker," he murmured, placing a placating hand against the back of one of his companion's wings. "It's alright. You can move."

Thundercracker tensed further. "He hurt Skywarp; he would hurt you."

Starscream smiled. "Yes. He hurt Skywarp, despite the …rules I had laid down for him earlier. He will be dealt with, soon, you have my word."

Thundercracker lowered the guns a fraction. "You swear it?"

"Yes."

Thundercracker nodded, and stood aside, wings still flared out, optics still glaring. But he was out of the way, which was all Starscream wanted.

Coldfront snarled at the sight of him, but did not move. Clearly he remembered how easily Starscream had broken through his attack the last time. Starscream would have to provoke him, or would be forced to charge himself, which would put the vast majority of any fight between them in Coldfront's favor. "You will deal with me?" Coldfront hissed out. "Who are you to even dare suggest such a thing?"

Starscream raised an optic ridge. "Your only heir, sire." He smiled, deliberately mocking.

Coldfront's facial plating twisted, fierce expression becoming something twisted and ugly. "You are no heir of mine, whore," he hissed out.

Starscream raised an optic ridge. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked mildly. "Lies? Really. Come now, sire. Surely you can do better than insults with no grain of truth?" He flicked his wings dismissively.

It was the wing flick that did it. Coldfront rushed him, faster than he had any right to be, considering his size, but Starscream was faster. Thankfully. He waited until just the last second before ducking down and then popping right back up, hitting Coldfront in his midriff and forcing the larger mech off his pedes and onto his back in a flip that had not a few of the spectators wincing. Coldfront reached out and swiped with his claws, but Starscream was already backing up, so only caught the tip of them against his left pede. The tips still bit deep, especially considering how thin his armor plating was in comparison, and he was very lucky that they hit nothing vital, like the wires that ensured he could walk.

Coldfront scrambled to his pedes, vents working harder than usual; the fall must have rattled something loose inside. Starscream smirked at him, flexing his own claws. He deliberately flicked his wings again, watching Coldfront watching him. Coldfront bellowed and charged again, and Starscream was just as ready. Again he ducked down, and again he used Coldfront's own momentum to flip the seeker. Only this time he didn't allow Coldfront the time to recover. Swiftly as he could, he withdrew his dagger, straddled his sire, and held the blade to the larger seeker's throat. Coldfront snarled and made to buck Starscream off, but Starscream pressed the blade down deep enough to sever one of the minor energon lines.

Coldfront went very, very still. Starscream smiled at him. "Do you know what your problem is, Coldfront?" he asked quietly. "You still harbor the illusions that you matter, that mechs respect you, that I am afraid of you. The truth is, you matter to no one and nothing. No one respects you, Winglord, no one wants you as their leader." He dug the blade a bit deeper, deep enough to nick one of the main lines. "You also labor under the impression that you will ever reclaim Vos." Starscream's smile turned cruel as he stared down at his sire, the mech who was watching him carefully. His sire's rage was slowly calming, not diminishing in the slightest, but rational thought was beginning to rear its head. "There was a deal struck, Coldfront," he said calmly, still smiling. "But it was not with you."

He withdrew the blade and stood, easily stepping over trembling form of what was once his greatest nightmare and walking away, helm held high. Around him he could already hear the whispers of the mechs who'd witnessed the confrontation. With any luck, he'd just cemented his place in their society. But if not, well… Coldfront was going to die regardless, so it didn't much matter, did it?

That night, after a round of celebratory 'facing that left them both staring dizzily up at the sky, Starscream broached the topic that had been bothering him ever since Thundercracker had unintentionally brought it to his attention. He glanced at his mate beside him, studying the strong features and the optics that even half-shuttered burned. "How much do you know of seekers?" he finally asked.

Megatron turned his helm and studied him intently for a long moment, before his lips quirked into a small smirk. "Have Thundercracker and Skywarp agreed to trine you?"

Starscream started, before he laughed. "Well, I guess that answers that question. And no, they have not, not truly, not for real. Skywarp has made his intentions as clear as can be expected from him; he has no wish to become just another soldier, and prefers a 'master' that treats him like a fellow seeker rather than an unintelligent side-show with perks. It is Thundercracker I am worried about."

Megatron shrugged and turned his gaze back to the stars. "Just be sure that your trine-bond is in place by the time we reach Kaon. You'll need every advantage you can get to win over the rest of my lieutenants and commanders."

"Ratbat said you summoned all of them to witness the bonding." The hoard that they were traveling with was huge – more mechs than Starscream had ever seen in one gathering – and while he had known intellectually that for as large as Megatron's army was, the civilian base must have been even larger to support them properly, to learn that he hadn't even seen the whole of it was …processor-blowing.

"It would not have been feasible to summon all of them – most of them are stationed off-planet with their own units and duties. Once we reach Kolkular, you'll be presented in video-conference with all of them." Megatron ran one hand down one of Starscream's wings, obviously enjoying the full-body shiver and the slight purr that escaped Starscream's vocalizer. "I have no doubt you'll do fine, provided we can get your fool of a sire out of the picture first."

Starscream pulled himself into a sitting position on top of Megatron, lips spreading into a devious smirk even as his hands started to trace irregular patterns into the broad chassis beneath him. "Hmmm… It will be soon, very soon indeed. It will take only one more incident before even those seekers that he has managed to con into following him wash their hands of him." He paused, smirk slipping. "Thundercracker will not like most of this once he finds out. And he will find out."

Megatron hummed vaguely, gaze focusing on Starscream's wondering hands with an intensity that told Starscream that he was becoming very interested in seeing where else those hands would go. "Will he become a liability?"

Starscream sighed. "I don't know. I want to say that he would join if only because he's inordinately fond of Skywarp – I suspect they will bond in several vorns if they both live that long – not to mention he is genuinely concerned for me for some reason I can't quite fathom. But I also know he is very proud and has a rigid sense of honor. He will see no honor in our future war, and he will see no reason for what must be done." Starscream met his mate's optics and held them. "But should he turn, I will not hesitate."

Megatron smirked. "I had no belief that you would." He reached up and caressed Starscream's helm before pulling him down. Starscream went willingly, eagerly even, returning the Warlord's kiss with the passion that only Megatron had ever drawn out of him.

They spoke of nothing else that night.

One night towards the end of their trek, shortly after Coldfront's public shaming and Starscream's quiet conversation with Megatron, Thundercracker found him. For once Starscream was by himself, needing the quiet to settle his once again turbulent thoughts. Even his bond was blocked, quietly and gently so as not to alarm his mate unnecessarily, but firm enough that Megatron knew not to go picking at the block. It was one of the first things that they had agreed on in regards to the bond – each were very private mechs, and neither wanted another in their heads all the time.

Thundercracker said nothing for a long period of time, simply standing quiet and still behind Starscream as he watched his sire. Starscream had been doing a lot of that lately, waiting for the perfect time to strike. He wanted this over and done with, as tired of acting as Megatron was tired of watching him act.

"You are going to kill him soon," Thundercracker finally said.

Starscream did not turn his gaze away from his sire, arguing pointlessly with the medic who was deigning to treat the temperamental seeker's latest wounds. "Yes," he said quietly. The time was coming; soon all his plans would come to fruition, and he'd finally have the vengeance he'd longed for since he'd been very young.

"He is Winglord."

"Yes," Starscream allowed. Not that it mattered.

"You could be Winglord." There was silence for a small moment before Thundercracker tentatively continued, "You should be Winglord."

"No," Starscream said immediately. Maybe once upon a time that was what he had wished for, what he had hungered for, but now…. Now there was something else, something more, a greater destiny than a stolen title that had fate not intervened would never have been his. His gaze finally left Coldfront and settled on his soon-to-be trine-mate, studying the older seeker intently. "My place is by Megatron's side," he said, calm and steady in the face of his decision.

"But, Starscream," Thundercracker tried to protest, obviously confused. And why shouldn't he be? To be Winglord was a dream of all seekers – to be so close, and not want it was something no seeker could understand.

Starscream smiled faintly before turning his gaze back onto his sire. "I am his consort, his bonded mate, Thundercracker. In the coming time of war, I will be the quiet in the storm. I will guide and protect his people and make sure that, win or lose, he will have a nation to come home to and mechs strong and ready to protect their wounded from reprisal." He gestured at Coldfront. "I already have more than he ever did."

There was a long stretch of silence between them as they watched the medic finally give up and stalk away, muttering about 'stupid, over-pretentious Lords who should rot in the deepest pit they managed to throw themselves in.' Finally, Thundercracker sighed. "There is to be war?" he asked, voice quiet and slightly pained.

Starscream nodded. "Yes, there is to be war." He gently reached out and placed a hand on one of Thundercracker's quivering wings, soothing the seeker whom he had learned had never dealt well with unnecessary violence. "It will span the whole of Cybertron and will crush everything in its path. It will be a storm of fire and death, and at the head of it will be my Lord."

"Then what better reason to become Winglord?" Thundercracker asked. "Surely, with all the might of Vos and the Free Provinces behind him, his victory would be further assured?"

Starscream sighed. "You don't understand – "

Thundercracker shrugged off Starscream's hand and whirled around to face him, optics bright and alive and slightly pleading. "No, it's you who does not understand! Think, Starscream! There is no better flier than you – as Winglord, you would have control over all the seekers, not just the two trines assigned to you. You could easily take the position of Second in Command and Air Commander, and under your rule, we'd rise above everything we ever were! We'd finally be a force to be reckoned with, and not a side-show circus for any mech who cared to look!"

Starscream reached out and grabbed Thundercracker, shaking him once sharply. "There will be a war, Thundercracker! And as mighty as my bondmate may be, not even he can fight a war on two fronts!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Think! Should I claim the title of Winglord, what then? Drive out the Usurper and unify the seekers again under one banner? And then what? How could I possibly demand all of Vos to fight for a cause they not only don't believe in, but would violently oppose should they learn of it? I would have my hands full on just keeping them in line, let alone deal with the repercussions of driving out the Autobots." He sighed tiredly. "I've been taught all my life that without a Winglord, Vos is nothing. Instead, Thundercracker, I find the truth of it written in the desperation behind my sire's optics: without Vos, the Winglordis nothing. It is just a name, just a title. It holds no power but that which others give it."

"But – "

"But nothing, my friend. It was a single seeker, no faster or smarter or stronger than any other who had the bearings to stand up to his oppressors and demand his freedom; it was a single seeker whose ideals gathered a following that eventually wrested control of Vos and its surrounding territories from both the Autobots and the Decepticons. Had the seekers wished to keep my sire in power, they easily could have done so. Instead, the guards that should have laid down their lives to protect my sire and his family simply stood aside and did nothing. The Usurper had twenty mechs by his side. Twenty. Every history I've read had always agreed on one point: No winglord has ever had a personal guard less than a hundred of the best warriors the War Academy could produce.

"Vos does not want a Winglord, Thundercracker. Vos does not need a Winglord. It is full of mechs who are tired, just as you are, of being reviled for something they have never had control over. They want to belong, to be able to attend the schools attended by most of the Cybertronian population without being mocked and jeered, to be able to love another frame-set in peace. Another Winglord is the last thing they want, the last thing they need."

Thundercracker stared at him for a long moment. "You mean to use the war to unite them."

Starscream smiled. "You are clever, Thundercracker, but no. As I said, I will be the calm in the storm; once the war starts I will do nothing for any mech not bearing the sigil of the Decepticons."

"You mean to just stand aside and watch as our frame-kin –!"

"I mean to protect my interests and those of my Lord's," Starscream interrupted sharply. "If that means turning my head and ignoring the deaths of any and all whom I may have once cared about in my old life, then so be it." He had to get this through to Thundercracker – for all that the older seeker wanted to be a Decepticon, and for all that he honestly wanted to trine him, Thundercracker was notorious already for being much too honorable for the Decepticons. Aside from the fact that Starscream honestly trusted and like the blue seeker, he wanted to trine him simply because Thundercracker would better balance out Skywarp than any other un-trined seeker he had met so far. However, if push came to shove, Starscream could afford to say goodbye to his friend. Permanently, if it came down to it, though Skywarp may never forgive him should it come to that.

"Now, should any mech or femme decide that they want to take the Decepticon mark – even if only as civilians and not as warriors, of course I will do all in my power to help them settle in. But I will not be able to afford to help those who will not make that choice, my friend. Our resources will be stretched thin as it is, if this war goes anywhere near as far as I believe it will."

"But – "

"No. I will fight my sire, and I will kill him. But I will not be Winglord. I will not be Megatron's Second in Command or his Air Commander, or any other position in his army. I am the Lord Consort of the Decepticons, Thundercracker. I am Megatron's partner, for good or ill. Even warriors need a safe place to sleep; even the most hardened fighter longs for a berth mate to welcome them home." He smiled easily at his friend, though there was a slight sadness to it. "I will not force you into this. Skywarp has already agreed, and we both would prefer you as ours, but I will not force you."

Thundercracker nodded, though it was clear he was still troubled. "I will have time to think on this?"

"Yes, though perhaps not as much as you would wish. Megatron bids my trine be completely in place by the time we reach Kaon – which I'm told is only another three rotations away."

"You will have my decision then." Thundercracker bowed slightly, then turned and walked away.

Starscream watched him thoughtfully, wondering. Eventually he turned away and began the short walk towards Megatron's side, already running through the list of un-trined seekers in his Lord's army, just in case.

So, yeah. Overdue chapter is overdue. XD This story will never be put on hold or hiatus, so you won't have to worry about that, but long periods between updates? Yeah. Sorry about that, but RL has become a bit more demanding lately. On the good side, I'm getting my life straightened out – that I've finally decided on a college major and have 18 more credits to go to get my degree is nothing short of a miracle – and once things settle down a bit, I should have more time to devote to the things I really love to do, like writing.

On the bad side, I have so many ideas and prompts to work with, and no time to do it all in. Between work, school, family duties and issues, medical issues, and sleep, I get maybe an hour to myself every day, and most days I'd rather just use that hour to sleep. XD

But this isn't supposed to be a bitching session, so I'll just drop that there.

Some notes and factoids about the Endgame!verse that you might find interesting, but so far will not be actually included in the main fic:

1. Cybertronians go through three main cycles on their journey to adulthood. The first is where a Cybertronian is considered a sparkling. Sparklings are armorless, and often defenseless. They are completely dependent on those that care for them. How long they are considered sparklings varies from mech to mech, but generally around 2-3 vorns of age, they enter into their youngling years. At this point, they gain their first set of armor, though it is flimsy enough that heavy scaring to the protoform can still happen if they're not careful. Younglinghood lasts until their 20th vorn of age, mostly due to the sheer amount of upgrades and schooling they go through. Cybertronians are considered full adults at 20 vorns of age, when they receive their final upgrades. Many Cybertronians, the seekers in particular, often already have their full adult frame, so for those, these upgrades are simply the programming necessary to function fully and without glitching in adult society. Those who don't receive this programming often turn out to be more than slightly unhinged, and often have severe intimacy issues.

2. Seekers were created to serve the Dynasty of Primes, to be their guardians and the protectors of the people; theirs was supposed to be a place of high honor. In reality, they were little more than slaves. Their treatment at the hands of the Dynasty of Primes led to more uprisings during the early years than the histories of Cybertron dare to even hint at. None of these uprisings were particularly successful until shortly after the Decepticons swept across Cybertron in a tidal wave of fury, cruelty, and outright death. Vos, despite its close proximity to Iacon, was considered Decepticon territory, and all seekers stripped their city and their society of anything to do with the Autobots. To this day, many seekers refuse to learn Iacos, the traditional language of Iacon and one of the few languages surviving unchanged since the Great Divide.

3. Shortly after the Decepticon occupation, a lone seeker started speaking out against their 'saviors', and eventually started an uprising that was more vicious than any other in seeker history. This seeker, the first to be dubbed Winglord, successfully wrested control of Vos from both the Decepticons who currently controlled it, and the Autobots who sought to reclaim it. He also wrested control of many smaller cities and towns around Vos and Iacon, and even some further down towards the heart of the Decepticon territories. Any city a flier called home, the Winglord controlled it – mostly from the shadows. Rather than incite another war so soon after the first one, he publically claimed control of only Vos, Tarn, and Praxus, and "liberated" the others, calling them the "Free Territories". Both Autobots and Decepticons had their Emirates and their spies in the Free Territories, but it was to the Winglord the people could turn to should either get too sure of their rule.

4. In an odd coincidence, the designation of the first Deception Warlord was also Megatron. He was a soldier turned miner, and had lived a relatively quiet and peaceful life with his mate and three younglings. When the Autobots shut down the mine he was working in, he had had no choice but to move to the once-city Crux. Crux was a sprawling, ramshackle city of mechs just like him – displaced miners, disgraced soldiers, and disillusioned Autobot workers. They protested Autobot rule quietly at first, mostly due to the fact that they could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone the families many of them had. The Autobots' response was to send a squad of warriors to the city and raze it to the ground, leaving a scar on the land that no Cybertronian dares to build over. The Cruxian Plains, as they are called, are left as a reminder that actions have consequences. Of the almost 50,000 inhabitants, only 900 or so survived, two of which were Megatron and his only remaining youngling, Altron. Megatron and the others retreated to Kaon – one of the few cities that were not controlled by Autobots, and not for a lack of trying – and eventually led the rebellion that divided the whole of Cybertron for millions of years. The rest is history.

5. The title of Winglord was not, at first, hereditary. The title of Winglord used to be given only to those who proved themselves first; a Winglord had to be intelligent, cunning, ruthless, protective, and willing to do what needed be done. It gradually became hereditary over the generations as some were disinclined to abdicate the "throne" in favor of those who proved themselves more worthy. And although the position is now hereditary, there is also a long and gruesome history of assassinations of the Winglord and his family – it was, in fact, how Coldfront's own sire had secured the position for himself. Oddly enough, though Starscream doesn't know it, he has a more legitimate claim to the title of Winglord than Coldfront ever did if one traced the ruling families and their survivors.

6. The announcement of Skyfire and Starscream's intent to bond was scandalous in every mech's mind, including Senator Vaerys', though he never protested. Starscream was still a youngling at the time, and still almost nine vorns away from his final upgrade. Skyfire, by contrast, had recently undergone his final upgrade, and there were many who questioned the morality of allowing the two to go through with their intentions. The only reason why Vaerys never protested was because he knew full well that despite Starscream's physical age, the seeker had seen and suffered too much to ever be really innocent to the ways of life. He was too smart, and too mature for his own good. Still, there were many who did not understand that, could not understand that, removed from the situation as they were. Although Coldfront was the most decisive in how he took care of the "problem," there was no guarantee that Starscream would ever have been allowed to bond his first love – there were many who would have paid good money to see the shuttle removed from the equation. The harming of sparklings and younglings, though more frequent than any would have liked – especially amongst those with the political power to prevent investigation – was one of the few crimes that warranted the death penalty. And Senator Vaerys was only a minor Senator; he had very little political clout with which to protect his only heir.

7. One of the few relics that lasted in Vosnian culture from their time under Decepticon rule was the belief that might makes right. Of course, this received its own spin from the seekers. A seeker who believes he has been wronged had the right to challenge another to Triage – basically aerial combat to the death. There was no limits to the amount of seekers that could call for Triage against a single seeker, but there were limits to who could help that seeker out. Only trine had the right to help. This often turned deadly for the challenger, because once the challenge was given, no other was allowed to interfere. So while a trine could accept the challenge, the challenger's trine was not allowed to join in unless all three had challenged to begin with. Whoever won the Triage was considered in the right, regardless of whether they actually were or not. More than one seeker used Triage as a means of legal murder. Informal Triages were those that were fought until surrender, not deactivation.

RnR?