Dust and Ashes

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG-13
G1
Thundercracker, Skywarp
mid ’86 movie
For tf_speedwriting  prompt ‘at a memorial service’

 

They met in secret, which at first had delighted Skywarp, who had been tickled by the idea of cloak-and-dagger stuff.  But later, he had chafed. It felt wrong.  Not only ungrateful and cowardly, but wrong for everyone.  But Galvatron had forbidden any mourning. Had forbidden any mention of Starscream’s name. His designation was to be stricken from the records, as if his whole life, his whole essence was somehow erased. As if it had never happened.

Starscream was dead.  Gone. Vaporized.  The height of his triumph, his ‘crowning glory’ (Starscream had made the joke himself, about the ceremony, preening before a mirror, his face for once smoothed of its tension lines, his whole demeanor loose and happy).  Gone.  Charred and blown away into space.  There hadn’t been enough, save what might have blown into their joints and gears, to salvage.

It was hard for Skywarp to believe, even though he’d seen it himself, been so close that he felt the heat from Galvatron’s cannon blast, felt the concussive waves against his chassis. He knew Starscream was gone, but it was still, in some way, unbelievable.

It’s because you’re an idiot, he told himself.  Trying to find some strange comfort in mimicking Starscream’s acid tone. It..didn’t help.  He followed Thundercracker numbly down the corridor, under the city, with enough metal and plascrete between them and any of Soundwave’s spies.  “Where are we going?”  he whispered.

Thundercracker paused, ahead of him, looking over his blue wing. “Hall of Heroes.” His mouth quirked on the last word, as if finding it inappropriate. Starscream had maybe not been much of a ‘hero’ but he had been a leader, and more than that, their Trine leader.  “Last place Galvatron would think to look.” Thundercracker flicked his wing, ailerons rustling, as he continued down the dimly lit corridor. 

The Hall of Heroes looked and smelled and felt abandoned.  As if the Decepticons had given up on the hypocrisy of the idea altogether. 

Electrum statues of mechs Skywarp couldn’t even name lined the walls, staring down at him grimly. Skywarp shook his head. “Starscream doesn’t belong here.”  These faces were uniformly angry, mean.  Starscream had his moments, but Skywarp wanted to remember Starscream in those other moments—happy Starscream, laughing, or with that devious glint in his optic when he was formulating a new plan, or with that sweet dismay when he fell afoul of one of Skywarp’s pranks. Or that arch, exquisite victory that had painted itself across his whole body, not just his face, as he had looked out over the assembled mechs, his purple cape flowing, shimmering behind him like a regal contrail.

Not these…angry, dour mechs.  Megatron belonged here, maybe.  Or Galvatron.  But not Starscream. 

Thundercracker gave a snort.  “It’s what he said he wanted.”

“He did?”

Thundercracker shrugged, stopping to look up at one of the statues. ‘Dery’ the base said.  Dery was hideous, if the statue was at all accurate.  Bloated and choleric, with heavy fists that looked too used to punching, and a low helmline that made it seem as if strategy beyond brutality was alien and scorned.  “One time. Long time ago.  Back when we were so young death seemed,” his wings shifted, embarrassed, “it seemed unreal.  Like it would never really happen to us.”  His mouth twisted bitterly. “He always said he was going to live forever.”  The optic shutters blinked.  Thundercracker turned away, looking down the hall. 

Skywarp pouted. “He never told me that.” He felt left out. It wasn’t fair! He was part of the Trine, too!

“Long time ago, Skywarp.”  Thundercracker sighed. “A lot’s changed since then.”   Thundercracker moved down the hall, his heel thrusters tinging softly on the parquetry.  Thundercracker stopped, turning. “Do you think he believed in this?” He threw his hands wide.

“Believed in what? Statues?”  Starscream, Skywarp thought, would have liked the idea of a statue of him. Especially one nice and electrumed.  Except Starscream would have wanted to be alive to see it, to watch the light glint off his gilded angles. Skywarp remembered the way Starscream had turned and craned, admiring himself, after he’d dipped into that lagoon place on Earth.  The memory brought a bittersweet smile to Skywarp’s face. THAT was the Starscream he wanted to remember—light and life and vanity, irrepressible, confident.  Impossible to ignore. 

Thundercracker rolled his optics. “No, not statues.  If he believed in the whole cause.”

It was Skywarp’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. I think he just wanted to be leader. It didn’t matter of what.”

Thundercracker’s optics grew hard, then seemed to flicker. “Yeah,” he said.  “Know what, Skywarp? Sometimes I think you’re not quite as dumb as you look.” 

“No, I probably am,”  Skywarp said, almost cheerfully, for a klik, until he remembered why they were here.  His face fell. “I miss him.” 

Thundercracker looked away. “Yeah, me too.”  He pulled out a small baggie full of black dust—all that the two had been able to collect from their own armor, the blastmarks from the floor. All that remained, physically, of Starscream.  “So, what do we do?”  He looked lost, and the baggie looked pathetically small in his black hands.  Not that anything was big enough to contain all of Starscream. 

Skywarp looked around the room.  “There doesn’t seem like there’s room for another statue.  Maybe we could just…scatter them all over the room.” It struck him that Starscream would like that—being all over everyone, being the main thing in the room. 

Thundercracker looked at the baggie. “He’s scattered all over fraggin’ Cybertron.”

Skywarp drooped. He’d said something, apparently, dumb again.  “I don’t know. It just seems that this way, maybe, that would be part of it—all over Cybertron—outside and in.” 

Thundercracker laughed. “He’d love that.” And the laugh started bitter but grew wider, more open.  He shook out a handful of black dust, and held the baggie out to Skywarp.  He tossed his handful high in the air, watching it disperse.  It glittered in the dim light like flickering stars. 

Skywarp threw his handful up a moment after.  For a long time they stood, watching the dust swirl. There must be, Skywarp thought, some air current or ventilation in the room, because the dust stirred and eddied restlessly, almost alive, refusing to settle. Kind of like Starscream.  “One day,” he promised, “we’ll build you a statue, too. But not down here in the dark.”

The dust roiled, almost as if it heard him.  Skywarp felt his optics prick with unsheddable tears. 

 

 

Comments

[sasami-moon.livejournal.com]

That was so beautiful and bittersweet at the same time. Even though Starscream was a bastard, his Trine was like his family. So it's only right that they miss him. Family may not get along from time to time, but we always still care about one another when it's all said and done.