SOOTHE YOU

⬵⤁

"Is the battle cry,
The battle cry,"

⬵⤁

As he surfaced back to consciousness, Jack curled in tighter as he felt a warm blanket brush against his skin. His arms ached and throbbed, but if it meant just keeping this warmth a little while longer he did not care.

Realizing the newfound mobility of his arms his eyes shot open, and he dared to look around. Bringing out one of the aching appendages he noticed the manacle around his wrist were gone, and in its place were snow-white bandages. Upon further investigation he realized these same bandages were covering him from head to toe.

"Jack."

The soft voice prompted him to sit up, however the motion cost him and he hissed in pain. Blunt, gentle digits helped support his damaged frame, perse optics gazing at him with concern.

"When Megatron told me you slipped into stasis, I feared you might have suddenly succumbed to blood loss," Ratchet explained, speaking quietly. "I'm glad to see you're awake."

"Where am I?" His speech felt and sounded a little slurred, though the true origins of why that was the case was anyone's guess. Jack merely assumed he was tired, however it could have been due to the copious amounts of energon he had drank, or the blood loss, or the overall horrific treatment he had been  subjugated to; or, lastly, it could be a combination of all three.

"You're still on the Nemesis, in your holding cell," Ratchet gently stroked his cheek. "I stayed here to monitor your condition."

Jack leaned deeply against the extremities which held him, taking comfort in their warmth. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. "How long have I been out? When did I get out of those chains?"

"Two and a half days," the medic informed him. "As for the chains . . . I requested lord Megatron release you from them for comfort measures while you heal. Your joints were indicating severe inflammation, and I was afraid too much discomfort would stall the healing process and lead to possible infection."

"Thank you," Jack whispered, closing his eyes with a sigh. His shoulders did ache, his fingers gently playing with his wrappings. He knew who had placed them there, and was rather surprised by how adept and impeccable the repairs were. The tightness was not too much, he could bend his elbows, fingers, and rotate his shoulders with minimal inhibition. He felt the bindings around his chest, keeping his ribs secure and minimizing their painful throbbing. Part of him wondered if Ratchet had instructed the warlord on the correct procedure, however he doubted Megatron's pride would allow him to let another tell him what to do. He likely just researched it himself.

"I lost a lot of blood," he mumbled, not really sure what else to say.

"Yes," Ratchet agreed. "I warned Megatron he needed to be more careful. Humans are much more fragile than I believe he understands."

"Or he could just not torture me at all," Jack replied bitterly, grimacing as he moved again. Everything ached.

The medic cringed just a touch, continuing to support his charge.

"I have requested he allow you to remain with me," the former Autobot confessed. "However, he believes you still must be . . . broken."

"I am broken, Ratchet," Jack hissed, feeling his eyes burn as tears pricked the edges. "I have been broken over, and over, long before I even got here; every night I woke up screaming, and every day I wish things had been different. I still do."

He felt the tears start to run down his cheeks.

"I should have never left you," he said forlornly. "When Starscream had us escape I should have refused and stayed with you, because . . ."

"What would have changed, Jack?" Ratchet inquired. "You would have only experienced what you are now sooner had you remained. I cannot always protect you, as much as I want to."

The human hung his head. "I don't know . . ." he mumbled.

Gazing at his hands he watched a tear fall, realizing with a start it was tainted an inhuman blue. Another fell down to join it, just as vibrant as the last.

Ratchet hesitated. "What is that?" He questioned, his optics spinning slightly to zoom and focus.

A part of Jack suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed, pulling his hand back even as a digit reached out to take it. "It's just a tear, Ratchet."

"No, no," Ratchet's optics narrowed. "Is that . . . energon?"

The human looked up at him, a little surprised by not only his attention to detail, but the apparent fact Ratchet did not know what was going on.

"It's a tear," He croaked, for some reason feeling a deep desire to hide the truth from the medic. He realized he wanted to protect Ratchet - if he confronted Megatron about it, the former Autobot may potentially incur punishment. The last thing Jack wanted was for Ratchet to endure more pain.

He was so tired . . . and yet he still cared.

"Jack, why would there be energon in your bodily fluids?" Ratchet demanded, his voice rising a few decibels.

The human cringed. "What do you think he's been feeding me?" He asked. "I've been here for, what, days? Weeks? Months? It's not like the 'cons have a cantina for humans."

There was silence, so thick Jack wondered if he would suffocate in it, looking up to see purple optics gazing at him intensely.

The moment stretched out for a long time. "How many doses?" Ratchet asked, his voice painfully quiet.

Jack silently tried to count in his head, but he realized how much it had all blurred together. The first dose had been a painful, choking struggle. The most recent one had been less painful, up until he decided to lash out at the warlord. Between then . . .

"I don't know," he admitted. "At least two? Maybe more? It's hard to tell . . . I wasn't really 'tuned in' for a long time. For obvious reasons."

"He could have poisoned you, killed you," Ratchet's voice was rising once again. "Why would he risk that?"

"Because he doesn't care, Ratchet," the human snapped back bitterly. "If consuming the energon killed me, then oh well - he has Mirage to torture and get information from."

The medic stared at him, his digits curling around his charge and bringing him close to his chest.

"I'm getting you out of this, Jack," he said softly. "You do not deserve this pain."

Jack's heart rose just a touch, however he was cynical. "You won't be able to convince him to let me go."

Ratchet shook his helm. "Not let you go completely, however he will allow me to keep you. And I believe you would be the safest in my care."

The human frowned, though he was not surprised by this answer. Why would he think that Ratchet would set him free? Of course he would remain in the clutches of the Decepticons, regardless of his condition. Ratchet was loyal to them now. One look into his optics was all it took to remember who had mastery over his spark.

"Good luck convincing him," he said, not bothering to hide the sharpness of his words. "He seems to like making me scream."

Ratchet's flinch was intense enough the human could feel it through his servos, and even his chest, which the human was curled up against for extra warmth. The motion caused a small sliver of regret to settle in Jack, yet he tried to ignore it. He was nothing but a prisoner to the former Autobot, who would only place him in a gilded cage if his master gave the permission.

"Jack . . ." the medic's voice was soft. "You and I have been through much together, and it pains me to see this unfair pain wrought upon you. I will do whatever it takes to convince Megatron that it is in our best interest to have you with me."

"And who is 'our,' exactly?" Jack retorted. "You and your master?"

"No, Jack - us. You and I. It has always been us, since the beginning of this tumultuous journey. I know we were never close before, but this has changed things." He explained softly, gazing down at the bandaged human. Having seen Jack prior to his repairs, Ratchet knew what scars he would bear for the rest of his life. Megatron had not been gentle, however he justified the roughness with discipline, and Jack's unwillingness to bend to him.

He shook his helm as quiet thoughts invaded his processor. He had so many questions, and he bitterly wondered if Megatron would humor him, or if he would attempt to deceive his servant.

He had, at first, concealing Jack's presence in New Darkmount before Ratchet found out through Mirage. Though he had justified it satisfactorily - so Ratchet believed.

Is that what I truly think? Or is that him, through the Dark Energon?

Suddenly he was confused, the cognitive dissonance making his helm spin. He kept Jack close, his thumb gently running up and down his back in a reassuring, touching gesture. It also calmed him as he tried to realign his thoughts.

Jack was being punished for being on the side of the Autobots, the liars and dissenters which threatened to destroy the delicate peace Megatron had established. Once he paid the price - which the dictator himself had set - then he would suffer no more. Ratchet did admit that he himself had undergone intense suffering at the hand of the tyrant, however he understood why. Ratchet had resisted to see the truth, and in retaliation he had been penalized. When he finally understood, Megatron had done nothing but reward him; and when he had more doubts, the tyrant gave him reminders. Eventually Jack would realize this, and accept what he had denied for so long.

Yet still . . .

"I must go speak with him," Ratchet sighed, setting his charge back down on the floor. "Hopefully, when I return, you will be allowed to remain with me."

"Yeah," Jack was not exactly ecstatic about that. He curled back up on the floor, keeping the blanket tucked tight against himself. Watching Ratchet leave, he half-expected someone like Soundwave to come in and replace his manacles. Yet after a few beats of silence, he shot up and looked over at the pile of his belongings, the thought pinging in his head like a lightbulb.

The gun. They left me my gun.

He quickly drew the blanket closer and rose to his aching feet, cringing as he forced his muscles to warm up and carry him to the pile the Decepticons had left. In it was his combat vest, coat, and pants. Despite the discomfort the lack of a soft, civilian-clothes layer brought, he re-clothed himself. Looking at the M4 Carbine, he hesitated, realizing that if he was armed, Megatron would likely order his men to shoot and kill.

But would I rather live here, or die trying to get out?

Grabbing his ammunition magazines he checked them, realizing he still had quite the arsenal. And each one, if aimed correctly, could kill a Cybertronian easily - or at the very least, cripple them.

A deity must have been smiling down at him, or perhaps Lady Luck, because the Decepticons had been sloppy. Likely Megatron thought he would be restrained at all times, and thus would never have access to his weaponry. Or, perhaps he believed he had broken the human to the point where he was not functional enough to even consider using such a weapon. A much lesser likelihood was the simple underestimation of humans and their technology, but whatever it was Jack would not complain.

Regardless of the maniac's thought process, Jack now had a way out. It would most certainly be a shootout, but at this point . . .

Nothing, not even death, could be worse than this.

So he loaded the gun, glancing over at the camera. He turned, aiming and sliding his finger into the trigger. His body stilled, the camera focused on him as he lined up the sights. With a single shot he shattered the device, the bullet cleaving straight through it with an electric burst.

Gritting his teeth, Jack swung back around to face the door, keeping the butt of the M4 Carbine against the crook of his shoulder. Then, he waited; he anticipated Soundwave would be the Cybertronian sent to investigate why the camera no longer worked, though Jack did not care if he already knew. All he needed was a chance to down any mech who came to investigate, then he would escape.

Or at the very least, take out as many 'cons as he could before the end.

⬵⤁

Agent Fowler stood on the catwalk, overseeing the damaged body of Optimus Prime and the various machinery it was hooked up to. His dark eyes wandered from that to the strange device which rested between the Prime and a second table; and next to that stood its future occupant.

Starscream's wings twitched anxiously, his nerves crackling as he mentally prepared himself. He wondered if it would be strange to be trapped in his own mind, however he would take it over losing what might be their only hope for survival.

"You shouldn't have to do this," Sierra stood next to Fowler, speaking directly to the Seeker who had taught her so much. "There has to be another way, Starscream."

"I have already sought other options, however the damage to Optimus Prime's frame is too extensive for us to repair," he replied, as if reading from a script. "Even the most practiced medical experts would have difficulty, and as such we have little chance. We have already lost his spark once, and I refuse to stall for time and risk permanently losing what may be our salvation."

His red optics gazed up at her, unsure what the expression on her face was. He considered Sierra a friend, which was rare, and he realized it panged his spark to potentially leave her behind. As different as they were, they shared many honorable moments on the battlefield. She would have made an excellent Seeker, in his humble opinion, proven by her adept ability to weave and dance with him through the skies. To leave her behind . . . yes, it would be painful.

There were tears in her eyes, yet she refused to cry. Not here, not now. Surely it would all work out? Surely they could find a way to make this all work . . .

"If you're ready, chief, we ought to get this done as fast as possible," Wheeljack spoke up, gesturing to the medical gurney at the Seeker's side. "Since we're kind of doing this without approval from anyone else except Ultra Magnus and Agent Fowler. And we're running on what little borrowed time we have."

Starscream nodded silently, hesitating momentarily before he laid down on the table. He was used to this feeling, having been beaten multiple times by Megatron and forced to spend hours healing in the Nemesis medical bay.

This may be the last time I am ever in this position . . . helpless and afraid.

Good.

"Ready?" Wheeljack asked, pausing only briefly to ensure Starscream confirmed he was prepared before flipping on the neuron refractor.

Starscream closed his optics, flinching as he felt a tingle run down his entire frame. His helm suddenly felt expansive, as if it had downloaded hundreds of empty files with extra space inside for . . . something. As fast as everything had widened, he felt a rubber band snap back into his mind, restricting it tightly and forcing it into a small, suffocating box. With the snap back of his mind came burning fire across every nerve fiber, and he realized the intensity varied with each area of his body. Mere moments after the pain began, it became apparent just where each portion hurt the most - every place Optimus Prime had suffered damage.

Wait, wait, I need to be in my body. Not his!

The Seeker panicked and screeched in response, his claws digging into solid berth. He squirmed and kicked, feeling strong hands hold him down and incoherent shouting filled his audio receptors.

A roar in his audio receptors intensified into a deafening crescendo, then faded. Like soft waves of an ocean before a storm silence overcame him, his body sinking back and shutting down.

Yet he was still somehow awake.

Oh for Primus' sake.

"Starscream?"

The voice was deep and baritone, belonging only to one leader. In the darkness another Cybertronian materialized, his frame unmarred with both arms hanging down at his sides. Optimus Prime was confused, gazing at the former second-in-command and attempting to puzzle out what was happening.

"It appears our mad plan has somehow worked," the Seeker croaked, tilting his helm. "How do you feel, Optimus Prime?"

"I . . ." A pause. "Unwell," he confessed. "I do not know what has happened. What is this 'mad plan' you refer to? How are we communicating?"

The Seeker's wings twitched, though in reality it was merely a sensation and not something his physical body had done. "It is a long story, but I will try to make it brief."

He launched into the explanation, telling the Prime how they had managed to find and repair the neuron refractor, the Seeker volunteering himself as the subject to save the Prime from truly dying. Yes, his chassis was now empty, however that meant their sparks were essentially one entity. Optimus Prime would survive to live another day, even if it was in the frame of a very different Cybertronian.

Optimus listened quietly, his faceplates betraying a multitude of emotions - sadness, anger, then finally understanding. He contemplated their situation, looking at Starscream curiously.

"I must confess, I am surprised by your sacrifice, Starscream," he admitted.

"Yes, well, many things have changed," he answered, being a bit dismissive about it. As much as the praise stroked his ego, it was almost embarrassing that such a selfless act was a surprise. "I suppose I have come to discover it is more fulfilling to aid those in need than attend to my own selfish desires." He paused, then continued, wanting the awkward moment to pass. "Surely with you in my head, there is some way for you to access my memory files. That should catch you up on everything."

The Prime paused, his optic ridges furrowed. He was concentrating, and then Starscream felt it. It was a distant feeling, however he could sense Optimus sorting through the various memories, the sharp archivist flicking through each one briefly and scanning them with near effortlessness. He absorbed everything easily, as if they were his own, nodding while his optics looked off into the void in which they stood.

"I see . . ." he murmured, coming upon the most recent files. His expression became somber, recalling the past several days - perhaps even weeks, though Starscream had since lost track - with a sad note. "Bumblebee is online . . ."

"Yes, but we have lost two more," Starscream sighed, his guilt evident. He felt partially responsible for the capture of Jack and Mirage, both of them having been volunteers for the mission. He could have easily stopped the former for going, however he had bought into the delusion that re-visiting the trauma through field work would somehow heal the broken human. Instead, it had given Megatron a chance to swipe Jack back under his demented control.

Optimus refocused back on Starscream, the pair facing each other and both understanding the gravity of the situation.

"What have you planned, now that we must inhabit the same body?" The Prime asked.

"Well, truthfully, I was hoping you would take over the Autobot faction," Starscream confessed. "I am not a warrior like you are, Prime. However, what services I can provide, I will. I understand Megatron better than most mecha - perhaps even you. Combined, we may be able to finally defeat him."

Optimus' optic ridges furrowed. "Perhaps," he agreed. "It is convenient that I am able to access your memory files - but those experiences are yours. Your input would be most useful."

"I am glad we are in agreement," the Seeker said with amusement, his grin falling when he saw the Prime's image flicker. "What-"

"I believe I - we - are waking up," Optimus flickered again, gazing at his servos. His optic ridges furrowed only briefly, then he winked out of existence, and Starscream saw light.

"Hey chief, you there?" Wheeljack's voice was faint at first, filtering through static which filled his audio receptors. "Come on, follow the light . . . you're almost there . . ."

"Probably not the best thing to say," Miko piped up. "Since, you know, Optimus almost died."

"Commander Starscream, how do you feel?" Ultra Magnus' face filtered into view, next to Wheeljack, his stern expression broken only by the minute deepening of his frown, betraying his worry. Starscream blinked, however it was not by his own volition.

"Ultra Magnus . . ." He had not said anything at all, and yet his voice spoke. It held an odd inflection to it, the Cybertronian realizing with a jolt that he was not in control of his own body.

So it seems Optimus is the more domineering out of the two of us. Fascinating. But also annoying... I at least hoped to have some control!!

"Optimus?" Bulkhead's jaw dropped a little bit, his optics brightening. "Is that really you?!"

"Whoa. What happened to his optics?" Miko questioned, making Starscream immediately wonder what in the Allspark happened to him. Was he horribly disfigured?

"I . . . I apologize. I am just trying to regain my senses," he looked around the room, gaze settling on the empty shell which now resided beside him. The armor was much more grey than he remembered, an ode to how truly damaged he was. His frame had been dying, despite all efforts to try and prevent it.

Starscream found it immensely unnerving to be in his body, and that was it. He was merely being, without any autonomy to his name outside of his own thoughts. Under any other circumstances the air commander would have had the equivalent of a mental breakdown, freaking out as he attempted to make sense of what was going on. In truth, Optimus was probably the only 'bot he would consider his independence safe with, as ironic as such a statement was.

"Wait, so how come big guy is the one that wakes up? Where is Starscream?" Agent Fowler questioned.

"Did he . . .?" Optimus recognized Sierra, despite never having known her.

"Starscream is still present," Optimus Prime assured them, taking an immensely long time sitting up, many moments passing as he carefully moved each digit, familiarizing himself with the nuances of Starscream's frame. It would take getting used to. "He is . . . within me."

"Not the kind of voice in my head that I'd want," Wheeljack said, bringing forth a scanner. "How do you feel?"

"Disembodied," Starscream replied, Optimus pausing as his voice echoed through his consciousness. "Quite unpleasant. But I suppose that is a side effect of doing the right thing."

"We are still trying to decide," Optimus confessed, taking inventory of his state while allowing Wheeljack to stand him. He looked back towards his body, realizing his chest plates had opened up slightly - as much as they could given the damage they had sustained. "Where is the Matrix?"

"It presented itself the moment your consciousness left," Ultra Magnus shifted, revealing the glowing relic behind him. "However, none of us have accepted it . . . we believe you are still the most worthy, sir, of carrying it."

Standing up without actually doing so gave Starscream something akin to motion sickness, realizing this was going to take a lot of getting used to. Though Optimus looked sure of himself, adapting well to his new environment, the Seeker knew better. He was like a newborn babe, trying to redefine his center of gravity while also becoming re-accustomed to a second arm and two extra wings.

"Do you . . . still truly believe that?" Optimus never disclosed his insecurities so openly, however the time he had spent alone truly made him think. "Despite my best efforts, Megatron has still overtaken both Cybertron and Earth. As much as I wish to believe my leadership abilities have not wavered, I know that with our defeat, it will make this war even harder. I have faltered many times, lead my friends into battles that they have been unable to walk away from. Yet will you still follow me?"

"We never stopped believing in you, Prime," Agent Fowler was the first to speak. "Yes, Megatron won this round. Yes, we've lost a lot of good people to this war. But that doesn't mean we stop. We brought you back because we believe in you. We're not out of this fight yet. You just gotta have faith, Prime. We do."

"And if I finally did something worthwhile for nothing, I will never forgive you, Optimus Prime," Starscream interjected.

Optimus knew the truth. Starscream was just as tired as he. And yet they kept fighting, the Seeker trying to justify his actions in an attempt to balance the misdeeds he had done in the past - just like Optimus. Despite the quite obvious differences, they had more in common than an initial once-over might lead a person to believe.

"We will follow you anywhere, Optimus," Bulkhead declared. "We knew what we signed up for; and we wouldn't have done it if we didn't believe in you, in the Autobots!"

Optimus listened to his friend, a gentle smile falling upon his faceplates. Though they might be soldiers, Team Prime was his family, and it would be a tragic disservice to abandon them now. They needed him, just as he needed them. He swore he would fight Megatron to his dying breath - and that was not there just yet.

Stepping forward he approached the Matrix of Leadership, feeling odd as the slender muscle cables responded with grace which was unnatural to him. Yet he took it a step at a time, approaching the glowing device. The relic rose in the air in response to his presence, coming optic-level with the consciousness of its former host.

Starscream felt what appeared to be a trickle of cool water over his mind, realizing that as they gazed into the depths of the Matrix, it too gazed back. His reflection bounced off of the unnaturally bright metal, revealing red and blue optics - the left a glittering vermillion, the right a sparkling azure.

The Matrix hesitated for one, two spark beats, then Optimus reached out. As thin claws wrapped around the handles, chest plates opened in response, an intense light flashed through the room. It blinded everyone in range, Optimus shutting his optics as the warmth hit them like a ton of bricks, the sensation familiar and welcoming.

We are worthy.