Work Text:
And you’re gonna love, you’re gonna love again.
(I said it’s too late to apologize…)
It’s to late to apologize.
I...I lose my mind.
Maybe heaven right now is a devil or angel away
That won't change
Together we vow that our colors will sparkle the faith
I will find you.
City of Dreams (Dirty South & Alesso)[Vocal Bootleg]-DJ Trademark
I love this song for this pairing. It’s a nice little remix that portrays all those little confusing emotions that go into a relationship like theirs. Shows the bad with the good, how some things can’t be forgiven, only moved past. I could write an essay on this remix in how it relates to this ship, ugh.
And I told myself “Hey, that’s a neat idea! I bet I can make a cute little ficlet out of that! I can totally stretch it to around five pages!” Aha. Ahaha. AHAha.
Fuck me.
Pairings: Wheeljack/Starscream
AU/Universe: Without giving away the farm, this very loosely ties into Self Sabotage. A lot of the culture here is seen in glimpses over there.
Warnings: Abuse, toxic relationships, bloodplay? Sorta? Marking, old wounds, cultural differences/culture shock, scars.
It took Wheeljack far too long to realize that while Starscream didn’t need to be in the lab, he wanted to be in the lab.
To be fair, no one had bothered to tell Wheeljack the seeker used to be a scientist.
He still remembers the day he found out, when he’d come to his lab to find Starscream elbow deep in one of Wheeljack’s projects. No one in his life had ever been stupid enough to touch one of his projects, and he’d reacted appropriately (no matter how much Starscream denied it.) The resulting panicked argument had quickly escalated from a few panicked questions about Starscream’s sanity to the specific details of Wheeljack’s project. Or rather, specifically, what Wheeljack was, or was not doing wrong.
Which then led to said project nearly blowing up. Both mechs had been forced to work quickly when one of the beakers emitted a high pitched squeal it definitely shouldn’t have. Wheeljack had been forced to begrudgingly admit at the end that Starscream did, in fact, know what he was doing.
Admitting he knew what he was doing was not the same as giving permission to continue working on Wheeljack’s projects, however. Not that Starscream saw it like that.
Several more of these occasions, and they developed a system.
One that oddly enough, worked for them.Projects were split into two catagories, “group” projects (not that it was really a group-no matter what the intentions of the project was to begin with or who else was supposed to be helping with it, it always came down to just Starscream and Wheeljack) and personal projects. They did not touch each others personal projects, unless it was an absolute necessity. In the end, it caused Starscream to spend a lot more time in the lab, with Wheeljack.
The scientist would complain, if Starscream didn’t keep getting him funding from seemingly nowhere. He feels a bit like a bought mech, but Starscream had him working on world-saving problems too. Problems he knows he can help with, with some time and the right equipment.
Things that he can impact. Make a difference with.
Starscream makes sure he has plenty of them.
In return Wheeljack stays silent on the weird thing growing between them. He’s hesitant to call it friendship-because who wants to be friends with Starscream? The very thought is enough to make Wheeljack cringe and yet, here he is.
It’s not as bad as many people think it is, at least. The more time he spends around the seeker the worse he feels-because Primus they actually have things in common. Starscream is much more than the persona he shows the world he tries so hard to rule, and finding each new hidden piece fascinates Wheeljack. His fits of temper and loud tantrums can’t hide how much he cares about some of his projects, not when Wheeljack is close enough to feel his field. Can’t always turn away fast enough when his optics light up with happiness when an experiment succeeds as planned. Can’t hide the way he relaxes around Wheeljack, just ever so slightly-but enough for the ‘stang to observe.
And it is easy to observe, the difference blatant, when he watches Starscream go from addressing the crowds and calling out orders, to casually stirring some new concoction.
The seeker seems to try and fight it, with snarls and smug insults but Wheeljack knows they’re growing closer. Knows it when he realizes he can start to read Starscream’s body language, knows Starscream knows it when he pushes Wheeljack out of the way of overturned acid.
It’s enough to make a bot think the conceited aft actually cared.
‘Is that so far fetched though?’ The subject of Starscream’s-whatever- towards him chases Wheeljack, lurking in his mind and he often turns it over for introspection. It’s always there, something he idly returns to when his processor wanders and he looses himself in his own thoughts.
Starscream really doesn’t have anyone. Not a spark in the universe to turn too, and Wheeljack’s not really surprised when the seeker cracked and admitted it. Not surprised when Starscream spends even more time with him either.
He often wonders when the last time someone was nice to Starscream just because.
Currently he doesn’t have time to reflect on this though. He should be focused. He’s elbows deep in a project. He thinks it can help Windblade, maybe even the Lost Light, if he can get a hold of them. He has to finish and test it first before it can help anybody and he’s working hard to get it there.
This includes practically living in his lab. He’d made a home out of a small corner, installed an energon dispenser and a cot and went back to work. When you sleep in a place long enough, especially one like this, you tend to let your guard down and its Wheeljack’s misfortune that on the day he finally does, Starscream comes back early.
He hadn’t meant to keep his mask off for this long. Not that it mattered. Starscream wasn’t due to be back for another two hours (-and when had they all started using Earth time rather than Cybertronian?) and Wheeljack wanted to eat while he worked. It’s been a long time since he’s been surprised, normally mechs knew to ping him before setting a pede near his lab.
Starscream, as everyone knew, was not most mechs.
The lab door opens with a soft whoosh, and Wheeljack turns, surprised. He watches the red seeker stride in, wings held head and head higher. He’s talking the instance the doors are open, making some kind of grand sweeping gesture as he prowls about the lab.
Wheeljack can see his face-his optics aren’t on him yet but are rolling dramatically, the devilish smirk far too calculated. He’s talking about something-Wheeljack doesn’t know what. He’s too busy trying to inch his way over to his mask. If he can reach it, he can quietly pop it back on and avoid the whole mess everyone makes of it. The gasps, the pitying stares, the condescending questions about why he hadn’t gotten it fixed yet. Followed, of course, by equally condescending medical advice (as though he hadn’t heard all of it) when he told them the truth-the scars had been too deep, left too long, for him to fix now. They had healed improperly and not a medic alive would replace them. To remove them, to fix them, he’d have to nearly remove his whole head. It was a risky procedure before the war and now there just weren’t the resources available to pull it off. No matter what form his body scanned or transformed into, his face would always have the scars. That’s what happened with protoform injuries.
It just wasn’t as simple as everyone made it out to be.
Starscream’s reaction, he thinks, will be worse. He’s the vainest mech Wheeljack’s ever encountered. It was sadly earned-because he was also the most beautiful mech Wheeljack had ever encountered. Anyone had encountered, really. Starscream’s beauty was just as spoken of as his infamy and how much people generally wanted to kill him. It’d been legend in the Autobot ranks for thousands of years that the reason Megatron hadn’t done so himself was because Starscream was a great lay.
It wasn’t like Starscream didn’t know about all that, either. The mech played right into it. He was a master flirt-he wielded his looks like a weapon. Another reason Wheeljack had tried to stay far, far away from him. Not, as the current situation proved, that that had done him any good. Not when Starscream decided to take a liking to him, of all mechs.
In the end Wheeljack just isn’t fast enough. He’d asked a few questions. Tried to keep Starscream distracted in the chemicals the seeker had picked up. It hadn’t worked, Starscream had turned. Shot that devilish grin right at him.
It dropped right off Starscream’s face when the seeker registered what he saw.
Wheeljack pulled his field in, mentally preparing. Primus how he hated this! Every single time it happened he swore to just install a feeding slot into his mask and every single time he let himself be distracted enough afterward to forget.
Starscream's own field pulls in abruptly. Unusual-Starscream could lie with his field just as well as he could with his face. Emotions and expressions all played into his weapon-cache. It was how he flirted so well. How people bought all those lies. Starscream lied like sparklings played. Naturally and with great glee.
Wheeljack’s vents spit out a sigh before he can stop them. He’s bracing himself mentally and he’s so caught up in doing it that he doesn’t see Starscream move.
The seeker’s a literal blur--across the room in a second. Wheeljack swears, jerking back automatically. He’s weapons online--it doesn’t matter that half of Starscream’s are uninstalled. That the war's over. You don’t blow off an former enemy who moves that fragging fast!
Starscream doesn't care. He’s up in Wheeljack’s face. The scientist catches sight of movement of hands and he shoves back, only to stumble into a long table. He was too slow-trapped between a wall and the aforementioned table, and Starscream’s advancing on him, optics glued to his face.
“Who.” He snarls, voice low. Wheeljack blinks at that. The damage-the twisted metal that rips through the lower half of his face, is clearly old. The scars go straight across his mouth. It’s obvious that it used to be jagged metal tears, tears that have been smoothed down over the decades. Starscream’s optics rake over them, as though visualizing the attack that had caused them.
“Tell me and I will ruin them.” There’s a dark promise with the word ruin. It goes straight through Starscream’s field and into Wheeljack’s-even if all he can teek himself is the vast pit of confusion he’s falling into.
All he can focus on it Starscream’s voice. Coarse. Staticky and broken. It’s been awhile since Wheeljack’s heard it like this-the seeker’s been careful with his glitched vocalizer since he made supreme leader (or whatever he’s calling himself now.) It’s obviously an emotional response, this whole thing feels like an emotional response--but to what? Wheeljack had expected him to be angry about the potential backlash against the seeker’s own public image--not angry about--well frag he didn’t even know. Who cared how he got the scars? No one did, after the initial questions. Certainly no one got this angry. It was war. Slag happened.
No, mechs were always focused on trying to find a way to fix it rather than just leave Wheeljack be.
Starscream’s still ranting. “Who in the pit claimed you?!” And yup there it is, proof that he’s left this dimension and gone straight into a different one. What was the show the humans loved so much? The Twilight Zone?
Yeah. His processor drifts to the theme song, as though that will help his current situation.
“Claimed?” He says, because that’s all he can get out.
Starscream practically bristles. His armors fluffed up, wing’s high and out-he’s gone into a full on threat display if Wheeljack’s ever seen one. His field is vibrating he’s so angry--yet when the hand that’s been hovering by Wheeljack’s face this whole time finally lands, it’s gentle. He’s surprised by that. How careful Starscream is as he traces the scars down.
“Who. Did. This?” Starscream’s optics are blazing-Wheeljack’s close enough to see emotions war within them. Cool, calculations fight with instincts. If this wasn’t so weird he’d wonder which one caused what action.
He is weirded out though, so he answers softly, confusion lighting his voice. “No one did. Starscream.” He adds on, because the seeker doesn’t appear to hear him, “Starscream. No one gave them to me. I got them from bomb shrapnel.”
Red optics blink slowly then narrow, as if in disbelief. Wheeljack curbs another sigh--a bad habit he’d picked up from the humans.
“An IED was hidden in the building I was helping evacuate. It detonated and I got caught up in the blast. There was a lot of them planted around the town we were in. A lot of mechs were hurt. Our supplies were low, and there were others worse off than me.” Wheeljack vaguely realizes his hands have wandered to Starscream’s shoulders. Whether he’s holding the mech off or trying to get him to believe him, Wheeljack isn’t sure. “By the time I got medical treatment it was too late. It was too risky to fix, so I just added a blast mask and went on with my life. No one caused it.”
He doesn’t like the way Starscream’s staring at him--a wild thing, just on this side of losing control. The seeker’s field seems to alternatively try to wrap around him and beat him in anger. He’s still so confused-why on earth would Starscream think this had been inflicted in battle? He would have had to allow something like it to happen-or rather, had a mech who had been intent on creating specific damage like that. To get damaged that badly he would have had far more injuries of the same caliber, he’s sure of it. Obviously he doesn’t, and it doesn’t make sense for him to replace all but one piece of damage.
Yet that’s what Starscream’s mind went straight too.
The seeker’s easing back now. Slowly. Carefully. His servo’s trace one more, delicate line down Wheeljack’s face before they leave completely. Starscream pulls back, no longer in his space and seems to settle back into himself.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ Wheeljack thinks, because he can see the other scientist fall back into his snarky, ruler persona. Starscream’s still a little off and he’s got a window here, to figure out what in the pit just happened.
“Why did you think someone inflicted the damage?” He asks. Straight to the point like a good scientist.
“I thought you’d been attacked.” Starscream says, trying to sniff through his vents. He’s aiming to sound casual, unaffected. Trying to spin it into something selfish, Wheeljack would bet on it.
He’s not succeeding.
“Don’t tell me you couldn’t tell it was an older wound. We both know you did.” Wheeljack counters. He puts just a touch of condescension in his voice-anyone else would interpret it as the scientist being insulted that Starscream thought him dumb enough to fall for it. Except, he knew for certain Starscream would take it the exact opposite-and assume he was insulting the seeker.
The seekers wings lifted, going high on his back. Ah, he’d struck a nerve! “Well pardon me for caring about one of my citizens! I was only trying to figure out what happened. If someone attacked you they very well could be after me-”
Starscream’s pulling away but Wheeljack’s not letting go. He’s bein’ gentle about it, the mustang makes sure he is, but he’s also firm. “Cut the crap, Starscream.” He snaps. Ah, human swears. So effective against those who had been on Earth. So perfect to get that more vulgar effect. “Tell me the truth.”
Starscream pulls free of his grasp with a snarl. There’s enough violence there to convince Wheeljack not to chase him. He’s not getting into a physical fight, not over this. He’s avoided one this far with the ex-air commander. He knows this is mostly because of Starscream- the volatile seeker seems to let him get away with more. Let’s him say things he won’t let others voice around him. It’s one of those things people like to point out to him-their weird little relationship. (Other people have a lot of words for it, whatever it is. Labels Wheeljack’s not sure what to call it at all, other than acknowledge that it’s something, and that it’s there.)
He briefly considers putting the mask back on as Starscream paces away. The quick glances the seeker sends him as he angrily picks up and slams down equipment convinces him not too. Clearly the scars are bothering him. Wheeljack didn’t get his answers. He’s not the one acting like a lunatic here.
So he steals a page from the twins book and he makes it worse. Leaning back, tilting his head just so. When it hits the lab lights at a certain angle, it’ll light up his face-ah yes there. He saw that twitch. He waits for the seeker to glance over again-Primus, whatever this was it was bad, Starscream wasn’t usually this obvious-and yawns.
It has a devastating effect on his face.
His species doesn't need to yawn. The amount they vent from their mouths isn’t enough to do anything for them. It doesn’t have the relaxing effect-or any other effect-as it does to humans. A lot of mechs had picked up the habit though, along with the human curses, the movies, the timekeeping methods and the music. What it does do, is stretch his scars in horrifying directions. It makes them more prominent, showing his face as the destroyed thing it is. Under direct lighting?
It’s even worse.
Starscream’s given up even the pretense of pretending he’s not looking. The seeker’s staring, transfixed, and Wheeljack can feel the building rage from across the room. Of all the puzzles that Starscream’s quirks and general personality have been, this one is definitely the most confusing.
It feels an awful lot like he’s angry for Wheeljack, not at him and if that isn’t the weirdest thought the ‘stang’s had all day, he’d eat his latest project. Even defensive of him, to a point.
‘’Who claimed you!?’
And maybe that’s the key to all this. The word ‘claimed.’ Not who attacked you, who hurt you, or who ripped your face up. Who claimed you. The word jiggles something in his processor and he pours over it as he stares Starscream down.
He steps his game up as he thinks. Clearly the light isn’t enough-but he’s got a few more tricks up his sleeve. He reaches a hand up, scratching a hard line down a scar. As though it itched. Wheeljack’s been told by one of the few people who had ever seen him with his mask off, to please Primus never do that again, so he knows the effect isn’t anything good.
‘There we go.’ Starscream’s wings flare out aggressively, armor slowly rising. The seeker grits his teeth. His optics flash-for a moment Wheeljack swears he teeks something else in that stormy field. Lust? But that can’t be right, who the frag would ever find something like this attractive, let alone Starscream, who is definitely far from flirty right now.
Wheeljack raises one optic ridge in challenge. That’s what this is now, a challenge. He’s not backing down and he’s never known Starscream too either-at least, aside from Megatron centered situations. (But even then he’s a cunning glitch. Wheeljack’s never meant someone who could be that apologetic without ever meaning a single word.)
Starscream seems to get that part, at least. The seeker x-vents so hard Wheeljack can practically see the air leave him. “You wouldn’t understand.” He says finally.
“Try me.” Wheeljack’s good at playing cool. He’s had a lot of practice. Mentally, he strains. He feels like he knows what this is. Like he’s faced this. Or at least been told. The ‘stang can’t get it though. It’s alluding him and he resists the urge to growl, keeping a look on his face he knows makes the scars ugly.
Starscream’s gone back to staring at them.
“It’s,” And for once the seeker seems lost for words. He pauses for a moment, and Wheeljack almost takes a screenshot just to capture the moment. He doesn’t bother though-it wouldn’t be worth the fallout “--a cultural thing.” Starscream finishes gracefully.
“A cultural thing.” Wheeljack repeats, because okay, what the frag.
“A Decepticon thing.” Starscream corrects. The condensation is back in his voice. Wheeljack’s oddly relieved to hear it. Sarcastic, narcissistic, I-know-more-than-you! Starscream he can handle. Angry, weirdly...protective? Yeah, that was a good word for what he felt come from the other, protective, Starscream he had no idea what to do with.
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.” Well that’s just frustrating. Except, for once, Starscream doesn’t seem to be doing it on purpose. Wheeljack’s processor has jumped on the idea of this being some kind of weird, Decepticon thing. Is chewing threw it, and the scientist can almost feel the answer. It’s right there, a blank space of information he knows he has. He roots for it as he goads Starscream on, determined.
“Well you sure aren’t trying too.”
He’s about to add a few insults, nothing too big but enough to egg Starscream on.
He never gets to though, because Starscream’s pulling a cord out of his arm. Wheeljack’s optic ridges raise in genuine surprise this time. The cable unspooling is thin, a near-translucent silvery color that reflects the lab around them in bokeh colors. It looks small, delicate in Starscream’s servo’s. The seeker holds it carefully and for the briefest instant he seems to hesitate, before clearly coming to a decision and stepping forward. Towards Wheeljack.
He offers it up.
“I’m not letting you in my head.” It’s out before Wheeljack can stop himself. It’s true though, so he let’s it stand. Starscream doesn’t react.
“I won’t be. You’ll be in mine.”
Oooo that sounds like a trap. Starscream, willingly giving him access? Not in a million years.
Yet there he is, optics blazing, cord held out between them.
Wheeljack stares at it, then at Starscream. The seeker is determined, his wings, held out. A solid wall, offering a challenge of his own.
This is one of those life changing moments-Wheeljack can feel it
The humans had always talked about time slowing down during moments like this. How you could feel the weight of your decision rest on your shoulders. He’d thought it was an organic thing, but he can feel it now.
He can reject the offered cord. He can walk away.
Or he can accept it. Plug it in.
It might be a trap. It’s not Starscream’s MO- he’s spent enough time around the seeker to know what he’s prone to do. What his schemes look like. This is too sudden. Too rushed. This makes no sense, has no tactical advantage. He’s got nothing to gain here.
‘But,’ A voice in his processor whispers. ‘It’s Starscream.’ One never knew with Starscream. Not really.
He thinks it over, looking at the cord, then at the seeker.
And he makes his choice.
Time snaps back into place as he picks up the cord, opening his medical ports. He plugs it in and is accepted into Starscream’s memories.
He thinks it might take a moment but it doesn’t, instead giving him instant access to a select group of memories. Memories all carefully given-Wheeljack’s no medic but he’s helped Ratchet enough to recognize some serious firewall power when he sees it. No wonder Starscream was alright letting him in like this-he’d see only what the Seeker chose to give him. Nothing more. Nothing less. He has no access to anything else, and as the first memory changes the scenary around him, pulls him in, he thinks he should try and talk Starscream to at least letting Ratchet look over whatever he’s done here. The things they could do with protection like this…
But his thoughts are lost as Wheeljack is finally, fully connected.
The first thing he sees is Megatron.
More than that though is a wealth of information. Information that doesn’t make all that much since in the beginning-it’s accompanied by a number of images, memories flashing by. It all returns to Megatron though. It all centers around him.
“You are more than your function!” Bellows the tyrant. He’s standing on a podium in a massive, dark space-Wheeljack sees mining equipment. “You are more than your alt mode! You are more than what they say you are!”
A large crowd has gathered around him. Their cheers are loud enough to shake the floor-but they quiet down every time Megatron speaks. “I propose a new order! I propose a world where you are treated by your own talents, whatever they may be! I propose a world where the strong look out for the weak, where we work for one another, where we protect one another!” The words are booming, loud enough to make Wheeljack wince. The image of the speech slowly fades as Megatron continues, falling away to a series of images.
Of mechs getting fangs and claws installed-civilian types who had never used a weapon before and didn’t have the appropriate mods to install guns or lasers. A culture rises before him-a culture of mechs whose strengths determine what your position is in life. Wheeljack had never realized it but the ‘Cons really did have a broad definition of strength. Some of Starscream’s memories featured mechs whose strengths lay in other areas beyond the physical realm. Mechs who became equally as powerful as their bulky counterparts.
A culture where mechs use their chosen trades to barter. “Everyone is good-can be good-at something!” Megatron’s voice, so young it’s nearly unrecognizable from the gravelly dark yell Wheeljack’s used to hearing. Starscream’s memories flash through a series of mechs; medics, gun-crafters, engineers, scientists. None of them strong, all of them using their talents to gain protection. Starscream takes him through the evolution, the ideas that would cement the Decepticon way. The idea of stronger mechs laying claims on weaker ones. Weaker mechs using their positions and talents to barter themselves, to team up with ones who could protect them.
The mechs he’s been shown now all have scars of various kinds-most of them purely cosmetic. Something a mech is choosing not to heal. Some are outlined in paints, directing the optic to look right at it. Wheeljack doesn’t understand at first, how these scars and etchings connect with the idea of protection, of safety, that Starscream is projecting.
It’s not until he see’s one mech mark another that he begins to get it.
The marks, the scars, were a physical claim. A promise of protection.
A contract.
Wheeljack watches through Starscream’s optics as a medic purposefully consents to being marked by another mechs fangs. His head tips back, eyes closing as the massive mech over him holds him carefully, fangs going to his throat. The punctures are deliberate, carefully put-Starscream pairs this memory with an audio piece of a different medic.
“In return for your protection, I promise to always put you and your needs first above all others.”
It’s a chain, Starscream explains, without ever speaking. A weaker mech is claimed by a stronger one, who in turn is claimed by a stronger one, and so on so forth. This system was meant to show that everyone had something to offer. No matter what. Everyone could have their own purpose in life. It’s a warrior culture, something so completely foreign to Wheeljack that he’s having trouble comprehending why the marking part is so significant, but he understands some of it.
“You didn’t see he was Claimed?” A voice he doesn’t recognize snarls in fury. “You mess with him, you mess with all of us!”
That is more pointed and it clicks. The pieces falling into place. To an outsider, this system looks barbaric. The idea of being claimed, being what he sees as owned by another is horrifying to Wheeljack-but to a Decepticon it’s comforting. Someone stronger is looking after you, is watching out for you. It’s more than that though, it makes you a part of a system, a unit. In successful ones everyone has a reason to look out for one another, no matter how much fighting or arguments take place. You can sleep easy knowing you have a team looking out for you. For mechs who were raised in the gutters, the lower castes and those who had to fight their whole lives for every scrap, it makes sense.
It helps a bit, when he realizes that a large part of this system is the ability to consent. It was designed to let you walk away-the culture is built around the idea of a partnering like this being mutually beneficial. Both parties must consent for that to happen.
‘You and Megatron weren’t consensual.’ Wheeljack thinks, but as always, Starscream’s two steps ahead of him.
Megatron appears once more-he realizes they’re back to the very beginning. When the Decepticons were an unnamed guerrilla group barely making the news.
He sees Starscream.
He’s see’s the romance, the heavy looks. The awe. He see’s the appeal. The reason so many followed Megatron. The charisma, the unfairness of their situation. The hopeless finally given hope. A fighting chance-if only they take it.
Starscream takes it.
He grabs onto it with both hands and his actions don’t go unnoticed. Wheeljack’s never been attracted to Megatron in his life, never had one single stray thought about the warlord, but for a split second he understands what Starscream saw. The strengths. Promises. So many promises.
Wheeljack watches the moment Megatron claims Starscream. The seeker half drunk on high grade, fully drunk on the power around him. Megatron being careful, oh so careful, even as his fangs wrap around the seeker’s throat. Denta scrapes against metal-Starscream let’s out a moan that hits Wheeljack dead center. Lust builds-Wheeljack isn’t sure whose it is at this point, as Megatron bites down hard enough to drill holes and Starscream arches into the bite. Energon runs down his throat when Megatron finally let’s go but there’s so much affection, aftercare, that there’s no doubt it’s consensual.
The memory turns, twisting away. Wheeljack almost protests, makes a move to go back even though he has no control. He’s never seen Starscream like that. Happy. Openly awestruck and he wants to see it again. The warmth in those red optics that he knows hasn’t been there for centuries.
Everything falls away. Emotions plummet and Wheeljack watches them fall. Watches Megatron make decisions that makes his council uneasy. Watches Starscream begin to be ignored when he makes an effort to fix flaws. Watches the backlash, the snarls, the very beginning of the relationship both Decepticons were known for. He sees a particularly bad battle-so many unnecessary deaths-sees Starscream rage, storm his way into Megatron’s throne room. He see’s the resulting argument. Sees Megatron snap and grab Starscream by the throat. Watches from the seeker's wide optics as the warlord carries him out to his private chambers, throwing Starscream on the bed in a heap. He’s there every step as Starscream sits up, whirling around. Just getting off the berth and on his feet when Megatron’s on him.
Starscream’s screaming at him to stop but Megatron’s stronger, and he’s got the seeker flat on his back in seconds.
“Submit.” He growls, but Starscream doesn’t show his throat. He’s not there. Not in a safe space. Doesn’t feel protected but attacked and he fights. One hand comes up, transforming into claws too fast for the warlord to dodge. Starscream leaves sparks as he rakes across his leader’s face.
Wheeljack feels his terror as Megatron whips his head back and roars.
Hands come around his throat, choking, squeezing. Megatron’s smashing Starscream’s head against the berth. He’s pinned down, one wing straining hard from the stress put on it. His pleas aren’t heard. His shouts die, pain replaces anger. Pain that won’t stop, oh Primus frag make it stop, but he can’t. Starscream’s begging-he’ll do anything, please!
Megatron yells for silence, snarls and snaps at him, but Starscream doesn’t hear him. He keeps pleading instead. Make it stop make it stop makeitstopmakeitstop-until Megatron’s had enough. He let’s go and Starscream’s vents finally kickstart, drawing in air.
His arms fly to his throat.
They never make it.
Megatron had transformed his own claws. He slams one into Starscream’s shoulder holding him. The other comes down in an arc, slashing through the seeker’s throat. Wheeljack watches, horrified, as cables rip and snap. As Megatron’s claws go deep enough to destroy his vocalizer. Tear through necessary equipment.
He see’s Megatron leave Starscream like that when it’s finally over. Lock him in. Let no one else help-not a medic, not his trine. Not even Soundwave. Starscream doesn’t know how long he’s in there, so Wheeljack doesn’t either. Long enough for several days to pass. Long enough for Megatron to have to bring him energon and laugh as it leaks out of the holes in his neck. Watches Starscream unable to talk, barely able to walk, fight not to starve.
He only get’s a medic when Megatron grows bored and throws him out.
He’s “good” for a few months after that. Meek. Traumatized, Wheeljack thinks, but Starscream doesn’t see it that way. He watches the seeker’s looking in the mirror, at the massive silver lines that decorate his broken throat. Hook had fixed what he could but he’d been ordered not to replace anything outright. Starscream’s no longer just marked by a few pretty etchings. He’s been ravaged. Reclaimed. Every time he talks- his vocalizer learning to work around the damage- it's a reminder of who he’s been taken by.
Who controls him.
It takes him two months before he rebels.
Idiotic for waiting so long, is the best thing Starscream can think about himself. Strong. Is all that can come from Wheeljack. The Autobot scientist had come back from a lot of things but nothing ever like this. Nothing like having your entire culture blow up in your face. Nothing like having the people you loved and trusted turn on you so violently. He’d known the environment was toxic but he had foolishly thought it always had been. That Starscream had walked into it willingly.
He see’s the truth now. Who would have gone to Megatron if he had started like that? How could he have grown such a dedicated army? No the madness was a slow descent, and Starscream’s given Wheeljack front row seats to watch it play out.
Starscream touches his throat. Feels the damage. Tells himself he’s going to fix this, that he won’t let what all they’ve done be for nothing. He makes his way to a medic-a lesser known one. One who only knows who he is, not his personal history. One that will fix him where others wouldn’t dare touch. His vocalizer is fragged he’s told. He can’t come back from it-his voice will always be damaged.
Which is fine, as long as it appears he’s fixed it.
He goes back with a new throat and a mind determined to de-throne Megatron. Take over. Save their species or die trying.
In the end he thinks his glitched vocalizer is what saved him. Time and time again, he had failed to do what he needed to do. He failed to stop Megatron-if anything growing madder with the old fool. He’d let Megatron pull him down in the end, and no matter what he did, he couldn’t change his voice. Megatron had marked him permanently that way.
It was something neither one of them could forget.
It’s supposed to end there, Wheeljack’s sure of it. The memories fade out, his vision twisting one last time as though preparing to disengage. Except he can still feel Starscream. His emotions. His thoughts.
His thoughts about Wheeljack.
For a single moment, the scientist sees himself. Standing in the lab, pouring some chemical or other. Watches his own optics light up when Starscream tells him about the break in a formula they’d been working on. Thoughts that aren’t his pass by-that all the others looked at Starscream like a toy to frag or a power to kill. That he’d always been hunted, in one way or another. That he’d had to prove his cunning, his smarts again, and again, for a number of reasons-but not to Wheeljack. Never to Wheeljack. There’s desperation there. Rage, and awe. Anxiety over his position, self-assuredness in how good he is, paranoia that that won’t be able to keep it all.
Wheeljack feels how it all disappears, the second Starscream see’s him step into a room.
The quiet desperation seems less. The problems face-able. A flash of loneliness goes by so quickly the scientist barely catches it but it’s there, and its void when they’re together.
Wheeljack see’s himself smile, the corners of his optics crinkling up and he feels a flash of affection, and he knows Starscream hadn’t meant to show him that.
It melts into today, into the moment Starscream saw Wheeljack’s face, his scars. The possessive fury that wells up inside, at the very thought that someone dare claim Wheeljack like that. Mark him as Starscream had been marked-in a way that had purposefully given him life-long damage.
The Decepticon culture ingrained in the seeker didn’t even consider the idea that the scars had come from battle damage. Damage like that, Wheeljack should have been repaired immediately. To have kept those scars would have to have been a purposeful thing (And here Wheeljack realizes that Starscream didn’t even consider that he couldn’t reach a medic, was unable to get the supplies needed.) and the only reason Starscream can come up with is something a few millennia old now.
It finally disappears as Starscream unplugs his medical cord, detaching himself from Wheeljack. The scientists blinds as the lab appears around him, letting himself adjust. He watches Starscream briefly, trying to see if the seeker even realized what he’d revealed.
He sees nothing though, or rather Starscream gives nothing away. Wheeljack struggles for a moment (because if he hadn’t felt like he’d fallen into an alternate dimension before, he sure as slag does now!) and wonders how he can approach this. If he even should.
He had never wanted to get this tangled up with Starscream, of all people. It’d been complicated enough when they were not-quite-friends.
Starscream’s not moving away, still oddly close. Wheeljack impulsively, almost unthinkingly, takes advantage.
He slowly raises a hand, running a servo down Starscream’s neck. Where memories allow him to see the scratches, even if he knows they’re not there. He lets his servo rest there, light as a feather. Tracing. Starscream jerks, just enough for Wheeljack to realize the seeker had meant to pull away but had stopped himself. Was holding himself.
Blazing red optics met Wheeljack’s in a defiant challenge, and he didn't know what this was. Just that neither of them had intended it. It was something though, and with a deliberate slowness, Wheeljack makes his second life-changing decision of the night.
His head tilts up and back, exposing his throat. This isn’t his thing, not even close, but they had always known that there had to be some middle ground between ‘Bot and ‘Con culture. And this?
This is something he can do.
His voice sounds funny when he speaks. It’s lower. Heavier. It’s the voice of a bot hoping to Primus he’s making the right decision.
“You do mine,” He says, watching as Starscream realizes where he’s doing with this, “and I’ll do yours.”
Starscream freezes for a moment, the only thing giving it away being the too still wings. “Do you understand what you’re asking?” Starscream’s voice is still higher than normal. Scratchy. That odd note’s still in it.
Wheeljack thinks he recognizes it.
“Yeah.” He says. “I do.”
Starscream steps up to him, bumps their chests together. Wheeljack holds his ground. Let’s his arms move, from Starscream’s throat to his face. He cups it gently, watches the emotions the seeker tries to hide play there. He bends down, drawing their faces closer.
Starscream meets him halfway.
As far as first kisses go, it’s not the best, or most processor-blowing he’s ever had.
It is however, his last. Because of that, even among all the uncertainty of the moment, it’s his favorite.
The mark, an etching more than anything, that Starscream gives him is beautiful. It’s a few swirls down the side of his throat, light silver against the dark grey metal. His own claim isn’t nearly as pretty. Wheeljack doesn’t have claws or fangs. He does have a laser scalpel installed in his finger though, and he uses it to draw an atom. It’s small, something he knows won’t affect Starscream’s over-all appearance as a political figure, but also something he knows the seeker will appreciate.
He’s right.
And of all the times he’d forgotten his mask, let his scars show-this, this is the only time he’s ever been happy for it.