#9arco95

"What are you thinking about?"

Starscream, without hesitation, without fear, without anything but a dry, tired voice and a tired ache in his ember, answered, "About the first time I wanted to kill you."

"Really? Mind sharing?"

Starscream continued glowering at the ground. Suddenly, a hand reached out, squeezing his arm. He winced, teeth grit; congealed, pus-like energon drained from one of the nearby wounds. The hand loosened, and Starscream invented harshly.

"My hands around your throat," Starscream said hoarsely. "Crushing your vital fuel lines first. Squeezing tighter and tighter, until armor and plating buckles. Until your head and your body are separated."

"That's quite dark; even for you, Starscream."

Starscream rolled his dim optics up to the figure moving around him. "If I could make you feel the pain of all the lives you took... I would make you suffer, I would. But I... I'm not you. I'm not a complete monster."

"Careful. You're getting very close to becoming one, with such dark, dark thoughts."

Starscream scowled. "What does it matter to you? I'm no threat. You've taken more than just my legs from me. You've stripped more from me than just my armor. What do you care? It's one freedom I will not allow you to steal from me."

"Why would I want to do that? I'd hardly be interested in a vegetable."

"What do you want anymore?" Starscream hissed. "When you've destroyed everything, and there's nothing left... What then? If anything, you're the miserable one. You're just driving yourself into a prison of loneliness."

A chuckle. "I guess that's why I keep you around. I'll be needing the company, after all, once I've plunged this universe into flames. Isn't that right?"

Starscream frowned. He felt another need to purge, but there was nothing left in his system to expel. "You'll get no companionship from me, Optronix," he growled.

Optimus smiled beneath his maskplate. "Then what would you call this conversation? It's keeping me quite entertained," he said.

Starscream's few remaining fingers curled into shaky fists in the manacles. He bit his tongue and remained quiet, despite his furious ember pulsating.

"Now, now," Optimus hummed, tilting Starscream's head back and up. The Seeker was too wounded, weak, to fight back. He did manage to glare daggers at the Autobot commander's despicable face, however. "Don't go quiet on me now. Especially when I know you've so much to say."

Starscream's lips tightened into a thin line. He remained silent.

"You would ramble on and on for hours over the things you loved, you know," Optimus reminded. "Like, for example, Crystal City."

Starscream stirred, optics brightening. That wound was still very, very fresh, and it took all his remaining, dwindling strength not to try and lash out. He clenched his jaw and looked away.

Optimus chortled. "Fine then. You may pout," he teased. "You always look so very cute when you pout. So I'm not complaining." He walked back around the Seeker, pressing his hand to a dented, broken wing. Starscream stiffened. "Besides, if I wanted to hear you cry, I know just what to push, what to pull. What to stroke... what to caress..."

Starscream ground his teeth. "You..." His optics were wet with coolant; he squeezed them shut, forcing back the tears. "I h-hate... you..."

Optimus dragged a finger along his back, up his second wing--well, what was left of it. "Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings," he sneered. "It wasn't that long ago, was it? Not even a month, I'd say. Together in an embrace, your arms held tight around me, and you whispered in that ragged voice that only I could draw from your lips..." He leaned down, whispering against Starscream's audiol, "'I love you, Optronix.'"

Starscream flinched.

"How easy love turns to hate, and yet hate still implies you care to some degree. I don't think, in the end, you'll ever quite get rid of me." Optimus snaked around an arm, digging his fingers into fitting holes around Starscream's exposed ember. The Seeker gasped. "Here. I've left my mark, forever."

Starscream swallowed. "Don't... don't touch me..."

Optimus laughed. "Where are those barbs from earlier? Are you faltering, Starscream?" He pat Starscream on the head. "Getting a little emotional, maybe?"

Starscream grit his teeth, snarling, "I'll--I'll kill you. I s-swear to Primus, I'll... I'll kill you," he sobbed.

Optimus chuckled. He walked back to Starscream's front. "See?" He hummed, swiping a thumb gently beneath Starscream's optic. "I told you I knew what to push."

"I'll kill you!" Starscream shrieked, lunging forward a pathetic two inches. Optimus didn't move, just watched him. "You vile, poisonous, disgusting spawn of a glitch...!"

"Now there's no need for name calling," Optimus chided. "It's not very cute." He pinched Starscream's cheek, only to nearly get bitten. "Ah, yes! This is much better."

"Get out!" Starscream howled, his voice glitching, dry and bleeding. "Get out!"

Optimus sneered, snapping out a hand and taking Starscream's by the throat. Starscream went stiff, wide-eyed. "Look at that," Optimus hummed, head tilting, "you vow to kill me, and yet there's still so much fear in you. Talk is only talk, Starscream."

Starscream growled. He could feel fresh energon trickle from the gash in his nose. "Let me... let me go..." he whispered harshly.

"I'm afraid I can't. And neither can you."

Starscream gulped. Optimus expected another threat, another pitiful spewing of profanities, but then Starscream's optics turned a miserable shade of blue, and he sagged in the Autobot's powerful grip. "Why?" he asked, his voice so tiny and so very sad.

Optimus felt a wonderful chill run up his backstrut.

"Love hurts, as they say," Optimus replied, opening his maskplate. He leaned down, kissing Starscream on the cheek.

Starscream did everything in his power not to cry.

Eventually, he failed.

It was not that Swindle was particularly insistent on spending time in here, and yet - just one look at his roughly patched-up frame made energon curdle in Blurr's tanks. It was wrong - the whole thing was so wrong and so irreversibly damaged, but... Swindle was here. What could he even do, turn away?

He wished he could-- he wished he could go and ask for qualified help. He wished he could straight-out yell at Swindle, the way he thought he'd yell at him when he first saw him with a giant hole in his chestplate. He wished he could somehow fix this, but he couldn't trust him, and he couldn't leave him, and Swindle just... smiled.

Blurr felt nauseous.

This was actually often why they ended up here more often than not; it was a desperate attempt to make this feel right. At least, in the bar, with Swindle, he could pretend... not at home, though, never at home. His recharge slab seemed cold and empty, even though the ex-con spent only like one or two nights there. But Blurr knew now that he could have invited Swindle over any time. The fact that he didn't was not important.

Blurr could have done it now. But it wasn't easy - Primus, nothing was easy here - ever since Blurr returned home as a winner, almost exhilarated for the first time in thousands, millions of years and trying to quench the nagging sense of worry-- and deciding to stay at the bar for the night, found Swindle sitting on the floor inside.

"How did you get in?" Blurr had asked after a moment of silence. There was a small pool of energon under Swindle. Blurr had not heard of him ever since he went off one night and everything went to Pit.

"I know your code," Swindle had said. He hadn't seemed remorseful. Just... thoughtful.

He-- of course he did. Blurr might as well had given him the code himself. How many times had Swindle leaned against the walls of Maccadam's while Blurr fiddled with the door? How many times after had Blurr reached out and--

He strode towards the storage room, didn't glance back to check if Swindle was following. He would. He didn't have anywhere to go.

Apparently. It still struck Blurr as odd that Swindle came to him of all people. He was already somewhat patched-up, energon leaking out only occasionally. Someone took care of him.

And then Swindle came here - not to explain himself (because he didn't) or to apologise (pff, right) or just in case Blurr wanted to know he was okay. There was nothing of that kind. Swindle didn't look like he knew the reason he came here either, and that was a small consolation.

So Blurr took him in; offered him a place, gave him energon once in a while. Never asked questions.

There wasn't much to say now. But every evening before the bartender left, Swindle thanked him. It kind of stung. Maybe that was the point.

The merchant paused at the bottom of the steps.

"Swindle?" Blurr called out, unsure.

"Th-there's somethhhh--" a shiver passed through him, he convulsed a couple times, and then suddenly - violently - changed shape, sending cans and barrels flying in all directions.

"I'm-m... I'm not sure what's-- whhhhhhhhhhh-- khhhh--"

Blurr rushed over in a whirl of motion, catching Swindle right as he transformed back and almost fell over.

Swindle gave him a faint smile. Blurr could see a hole in his chest. Lying on his floor, bleeding out. No.

No, he would not let it happen.

"What the heck?" Blurr inquired.

"I-I dunno," Swindle was still trembling, excessive energy flying off him in waves. Blurr gripped him closer. "I-it was like my t-cog just... gained control over my whole frame." He rubbed his fingers over his side. Blurr put his hand there as well.

Swindle stared at him in slight confusion, and Blurr realised that he just gripped his splayed fingers as tight as he could.

"Sorry," he muttered, slowly letting Swindle go. "You really should go see Flatline."

"Mmhm, not sure anybody would be glad to see me right now," the merchant chuckled darkly.

"I'm," Blurr said. He wasn't glad. It was exhausting. But Swindle was here. "We'll figure it out," he added helplessly.

There was something soft, terribly familiar in the other's expession. Blurr remembered being so comfortable in Swindle's presence. Wishing to just stay here.

"You shouldn't be here now,” he blurted out. “I mean, it's, what if you start transforming again, what if I come back and all my stock is just— gone?”

Swindle’s expression slowly gave way to a blank, closed-off look.

“Yeah. You’re right, of course. Hate to be the one to ruin all your business.”

His smirk looked horrifying. Blurr imagined himself (выгоняющим Свиндла) to the street. It was even more horrifying.

“No, I mean, that’s not—“ Blurr cringed. “Let’s go home. I mean. Let’s go to my place.”

Purple rectangles flared.

“Are you… sure?”