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Sari paused the game to watch Bumblebee guzzle down a third can of oil with the kind of judgement only a small human child could summon.
“What?” He complained, crushing the can and tossing it into the growing pile of trash he always left for Prowl to clean up.
“That’s a lot of oil.”
“So?”
“So, aren’t you worried about getting fat?”
Bumblebee blinked. Sari blinked back.
“Uhh, Cybertronians don’t get ‘fat’.” Bumblebee smirked. “That’s an organic thing.”
“You do so,” Sari argued. “Like that homeless Decepticon. He got fat from drinking all that crude oil.”
Bumblebee scratched his helm. Homeless Decepticon? There were a few of those. Technically all of them were homeless, given their exile from Cybertron and their living conditions on this planet.
“Who?”
“The flying one.” Sari whined impatiently. “The one no one likes. I saw him on the news this morning, the DPD were warning people not to park their cars downtown because he keeps stealing tyres.”
“…Starscream?” Bumblebee guessed.
“Yeah,” Sari unpaused the game without warning and took the lead in their race, shooting across the finish line.
“Hey!” Bumblebee complained.
“Here,” Sari unplugged the console. “I’ll show you.”
She picked up the remote and changed to the news channel just as they were finishing a story on the Decepticon in question.
“-reminders from the Detroit Police Department that it is still an unfolding investigation and no tyres have been recovered as of yet, though every effort is being made to prevent further theft.”
The voiceover played during footage of Starscream struggling to run off with the stolen tyres in question, as some tumbled out of his arms and bounced down the street. He was hindered from properly bending down to recollect them by the considerable increase in the circumference of his middle.
Sari pointed, jabbing at the screen. “See!”
Bumblebee stared, unsure how to explain to her that yes, Starscream had put on weight.
But it definitely wasn’t from drinking crude oil.
Ratchet was massaging his temples, trying to ward off the migraine that was only going to get worse. “Well, that explains the tyres.”
“…It does?” Bulkhead asked.
“He’s nesting, probably.” Ratchet muttered. “Doesn’t have anywhere else to do it and nothing else to use.”
Optimus’s expression was grim, “What should we do?”
Ratchet looked up, “What should we do?! This has nothing to do with us.”
“So Starscream’s just going to have loads of baby Decepticons in a bunch of tyres and you’re not going to do anything?” Sari challenged angrily, having recovered admirably from the shock of learning about Cybertronian reproduction and now deciding instead to become increasingly excited about the prospect of Cybertronian ‘babies’.
“Starscream is not a stray cat, Sari. He will be fine.” Prowl reassured calmly.
“What about the babies?” Sari wasn’t letting it go. She had envisioned baby versions of robots with wings, and by God was she determined to see it. “What if they get hurt? What if they get run over? It’s not their fault Starscream’s evil. And it’s so cold out there.”
Optimus looked towards the window, watching the snow drift past. “It is cold-“
“No,” Ratchet barked. “No, no, no, no! Get that look off your face, Prime. We’re not getting involved. You know why? Because I say so, and I’m the medic. Since I’m the only one out of you lot that’s even seen a sparkling before, and you’re going to expect me to do all the actual work-“
Optimus grimaced, “I don’t expect you-“
“The Pit you don’t.” Ratchet pointed. “Seekers drop litters of six to twelve new-sparks at a time. Six to twelve!”
“Six to twelve sparklings that won’t have reliable access to warmth or fuel.” Prowl murmured, sounding more concerned now.
“Stop it.” Ratchet growled. “You just said it yourself, Starscream is not a stray cat-“
“But he is all alone,” Sari argued defensively. “And one of those other Decepticons must have gotten him pregnant before kicking him out. How is that fair?”
“I…let’s not talk about that, Sari.” Optimus looked uncomfortable.
“Three guesses on who the sire is,” Bumblebee muttered to Bulkhead knowingly.
“The DPD asked for assistance with this anyway,” Optimus tried to divert the subject.
“With the tyres, not the enemy’s inability to use contraception.” Ratchet snarled.
“If we can at least relocate Starscream to a safer location,” Optimus decided. “Away from civilians, somewhere he’s not likely to get into conflicts with other Decepticons.”
“You mean they’d fight him even though he’s pregnant?” Sari gasped. “They can’t do that!”
“It’s the other way around,” Ratchet groused. “Carriers get territorial and aggressive if someone intrudes on their nesting site.”
“Where do you propose we move him to?” Prowl asked.
“Maybe the elite guard can help?” Bulkhead offered.
“No. They’d just lock him up.” Sari folded her arms angrily.
“He would be in a secure, well maintained cell,” Prowl pointed out.
“And knowing Sentinel, the sparklings would be whisked off and trained up as Autobot air recruits.” Ratchet growled. “I’m not a fan of separating parents from their young, even if that parent is a criminal.”
“Guess we’re doing this on our own then, huh,” Bumblebee sighed.
“We don’t have to do anything.” Ratchet glared.
“Yes,” Sari climbed up onto the table with her hands on her hips, expression determined. “We do.”
Ratchet slumped back in defeat.
Optimus managed a smile. Well, that settled it then.
Starscream was too large and powerful for them to move by force, but too volatile and paranoid to negotiate with. He wouldn’t welcome Autobot interfere and may try to kill them for the perceived insult that he even needed it.
Ratchet pointed all of this out to Optimus in an effort to avoid what was beginning to look like a suicide mission. Unfortunately, Optimus was being egged on by the rest of the team, who Ratchet felt were less interested in the wellbeing of the carrier and sparklings than they were the novelty of dealing with a sparked Decepticon.
It wasn’t a novelty to Ratchet. He was old enough to have seen plenty of those in his time.
When the war first ended, they began popping up everywhere; a Decepticon sparkling boom. They started getting themselves knocked up to avoid exile, or prison. Some even began claiming they’d been sparked by an Autobot -probably in an effort to save their offspring from the fate of their parents- but the kids Ratchet had helped deliver had always come out these huge war builds anyway, not a byte of Autobot CNA to be found.
Starscream was huge -which they could see from the bridge they were hiding under to spy on his alleyway, where he was rearranging tyres and muttering to himself unhappily- so there was no doubt in Ratchet’s mind he would have been sparked by another massive war build.
Megatron, probably, he thought with a grimace.
“How many tyres does he need?!” Bumblebee exclaimed, probably worried about the sanctity of his own.
“Shh,” Ratchet hissed at him. “I want to hear how Prime plans to have us all hideously murdered.”
Optimus frowned unhappily, “No one’s getting murdered-“
“Well that would be up to Starscream, wouldn’t it.” Prowl reminded him, looking somewhat more wary now that they were seeing Starscream in person.
“It will be fine.” Optimus said firmly, quite delusional. “Ratchet, did you set everything up?”
Ratchet sighed heavily, “Yeah.”
What Ratchet had set up, with Bulkhead’s help, was a lavish stash of oil cans, supplies, and expensive, irreplaceable medical equipment in a nearby disused industrial park where they planned to have Starscream relocate to.
Optimus seemed to think this was a subtle and foolproof idea, and that Starscream wouldn’t at all find being lured to this miraculously unattended treasure suspicious, seeing that he was only an experienced military commander of millions of years and had seen more action in war than half the current Elite Guard put together and definitely wouldn’t recognise a trap the moment he saw one.
But sure, this was going to work.
“He definitely can’t fly, right?” Bumblebee asked nervously.
“Look at the fragging size of him!” Ratchet snapped.
“I’ve seen the size of Megatron and he can still fly!” Bumblebee argued back.
“He cannot transform in this condition.” Prowl reassured. “There is nowhere for the protoforms to go.”
Bumblebee nodded, and seemed to have mustered some courage. “Okay. Okay. Let’s do this!”
“I got more!” Sari called to Bulkhead, running across the the warehouse with her arms so full of fabric she couldn’t see where she was going.
“Okay, I think that’s enough.” Bulkhead delicately took what turned out to be human bedding -her own probably, as it was pink with unicorns- and added it to the growing pile of junk Sari wanted to leave for the sparklings.
“Ratchet said there might be twelve,” Sari pointed out.
“Sari, we gotta get out of here.” Bulkhead bent to gently guide her out of the warehouse. “I told Prowl we were done ages ago-“
“Can we stay to see if he likes it?” Sari pleaded, eyes big and sad. “I mean, we didn’t even get him any new tyres!”
Bulkhead was beginning to worry Sari really did think Starscream was a stray cat. He continued to hurry her along, but her tiny legs didn’t cover a lot of ground. She was still talking loudly about how they should have gotten toys, if they even liked toys, and what was she talking about, of course they needed toys-!
A sound began to register in Bulkhead’s audials, one approaching in the distance. A rhythmic thumping, growing in pitch. Where had he heard that sound before?
Choom-choom-choom-choom-
“Is that a helicopter?” Sari asked loudly.
Bulkhead spark tried to leap out of its chamber.
He stuck his helm through the doorway of the warehouse as the thumping became a continuous, deafening drone. A large dark helicopter was descending towards the warehouse.
“Uh, yeah,” Bulkhead confirmed, drawing Sari closer and back into the warehouse. He picked her up and ran around the back as something heavy thudded to the ground outside.
He had hidden himself and Sari just in time, as Megatron’s huge frame ducked inside the warehouse, his calculating red optics fixed on the supplies they’d left for Starscream. He wasted little time before striding up and collecting it all, stowing it away in his own subspace.
“Do something!” Sari whispered furiously, held captive in Bulkhead’s arms. “He’s gonna steal Starscream’s stuff!”
Bulkhead lifted his servo and ever so gently put it over Sari’s mouth.
“Mmph!”
So the plan wasn’t working particularly well.
Bumblebee, sheltered against the building just out of sight, had rolled a can of oil into Starscream’s alley and was now waiting for him to venture away from his mountain of stolen tyres to come and claim it, at which point Optimus planned to spray him with the fire hose and provoke him into chasing them.
Unfortunately, the appearance of the oil can had yet to encourage movement out Starscream. He was hunched over in the darkest corner of the alley, his frame stiff and his armour spiked in a threat display, glaring at the oil can like he imagined it had come to steal one of his precious tyres.
Optimus looked encouragingly at Bumblebee, who shrugged helplessly and decided to toss another can in.
It rolled loudly into the alley, and the closer it drew, the higher Starscream’s wings pointed. His claws unsheathed.
Ratchet raised Optimus on the open comm channel.
“This is the opposite of helping him.”
In the distance, he saw Optimus look in his direction with a frown.
“What if I go in and just poke him out?” Bumblebee suggested, looking bored now.
“Is he not moving?” Prowl’s voice came through then. He was stationed a few blocks away, where he was meant to relay with Bumblebee during the planned chase with Starscream.
“No, he’s still sat on his aft,” Ratchet answered Prowl, and then to Bumblebee, warned, “You go poke him, see what happens.”
“I’m going in,” Optimus decided bravely.
Ratchet’s gasket pressure was already in the red. “Don’t.”
“He can’t stay here,” Optimus tried.
“He can do what he damn well wants as far as I’m concerned, leave him alone.” Ratchet snarled.
He could tell Optimus was going to ignore him and venture into the small confined space full of tyres and homicidal sparked Decepticons, but it was then that Bulkhead’s frequency joined the channel.
“Uh, guys,” he mumbled, sounding dejected, “We’re gonna have to abort the mission.”
Optimus had thankfully moved away from the entrance to the alley -and certain death- to answer him. “Bulkhead? What is it?”
“Um, I don’t think Starscream’s all that alone after all.”
Before anyone could ask why he would think that, they heard it. Or rather, heard him.
Megatron’s rotor blades were distinct, too loud and fast to be an Earth helicopter. Optimus and Bumblebee fled, transforming to speed themselves out of sight. Ratchet ducked back down beneath the bridge with a curse, but was still able to see into the alleyway from his position.
Starscream’s armour and wings began to settle as Megatron’s blades blew up dust and litter in the street. The oil cans thrown into the alleyway rolled until they hit the tyre pile, but Starscream didn’t have much interest in them.
Megatron transformed on the street, just outside the alley, but didn’t enter. Starscream still had his claws unsheathed.
Without a word, Megatron emptied his subspace, unceremoniously dumping the entire contents of the warehouse on the threshold of Starscream’s territory. Including all of Ratchet’s equipment!
“Primus dammit…” he muttered angrily.
Megatron didn’t linger. Cunning optics trailed over Starscream’s rotund frame and tyres he had collected, and seemingly satisfied, he flipped back into a transformation sequence, spinning blades kicking up a dust cloud as he took to the air.
Finally alone, Starscream ventured to the entrance of the alley to sort through the supplies.
The comm channel opened up again.
“We’ll never move him now…” Bumblebee muttered.
Ratchet cast an optic toward the sky, having the distinct impression that Megatron might have been watching them for sometime, and probably hadn’t gone far.
“Bulkhead’s right,” Ratchet said into the channel. “Starscream’s not alone.“
Not alone, and definitely not unguarded.