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Things, slowly, returned to normal.
As normal as Starscream could force them to be.
His trine remained ignorant and Megatron awkward, but the routine of life at war made the situation easier. He returned to his regular duties, took part in raids, shot at Autobots and threatened humans. And he was fine.
He was fine.
But on a night he laid alone in his berth and dwelt on memories, the scents and sounds and sensations of that Megatron on top of him and inside him, heavy and unrelenting, broad and powerful. The purring rumble of his voice. The firm grip of his huge servos. The bites to his neck and wings.
The push of his spike, stretching-
Starscream always gave in and touched himself, struggling to wring out even one measly overload just so he could spent the rest of the night wallowing in self hatred, wondering what was wrong with him.
He wondered if taking another partner would fix it, fix him, but the idea of letting another mech into his berth... someone touching him... it didn’t appeal.
Still, he found himself watching Megatron. His Megatron. Watched his strong back and shoulders as he fought in battle, found himself wanting to curl his limbs around them and let him take care of all these urges and wants, just like the other Megatron would.
But he couldn't. Megatron knew the details, or some of them at least. He knew enough to know Starscream was used goods. He’d have no interest in being a berth substitute for his alternative self.
As time passed, the urges worsened.
Starscream felt that he needed it, needed something, the disgusting primal urge to be filled like that, used like that. His own touch wasn't enough. The sleepless nights were leaving him weak and lethargic. He’d gone off his fuel. His processor had grown sluggish.
It had been three months since his rescue, but Starscream felt worse now than he had when he’d first come back, when he was still barricading his door and flinching at Megatron’s shadow.
His trine had grown suspicious. They kept asking questions. Why did he take you? What did he need? Why are all the intel files about it classified? What really happened? Why can’t you just tell us?
When he couldn’t ignore it any longer, he went back to Hook.
"I told you,” the Constructicon sighed impatiently. “You came back clean. No viruses. No bugs. No one has messed with your processor."
"A hardware issue then.” Starscream refused to leave the repair bay without an explanation, without the potential of a solution. “Something is wrong."
“…I know.” Hook looked uncomfortable. He rubbed the side of his face and didn’t answer for a while. "...Starscream, I'm not a psychiatrist-“
“Good, because I'm not looking for psychiatric help.” Starscream tried to cut him off. It wasn’t that. He wasn’t crazy or traumatised. He was… it was something else.
"I think you may need it.” Hook held his ground.
"Don't be so melodramatic. It’s a hardware issue! Obviously.”
Hook was still glaring, but knew better than to try winning the argument. "Fine. What hardware issue?”
Now it was Starscream’s turn to scowl, wondering how on Cybertron he was meant to put it all into words. Words that wouldn’t just lead Hook right back to suggesting he get psychiatric help. It didn’t help that Hook knew the other Megatron had slept him -Megatron had told him so when he’d first brought him here.
But Megatron didn’t have all the facts and so neither did Hook. He could see it in the way they looked at him -or avoided looking at him- that they thought he’d been forced. He hadn’t. Not always. Perhaps only at first. He always overloaded. It had never hurt.
He had always just …let it happen. It was easier to let it happen, because then it wasn’t...
“I’m experiencing some chemical imbalances,” he decided, because that was the most likely issue anyway. “The energon there tasted different. It may have affected me.”
“Yeah, the fuel.” Hook muttered, far from convinced. “I’ll get Mixmaster.”
Hook commed his gestalt mate, and they had a whispered conversation by the door, out of Starscream’s audial range, obviously about him. Starscream had to fight back the powerful urge to storm out in a huff at their complete lack of professionalism, but he needed this fixed. He wanted to be himself again.
So he tolerated it.
Mixmaster gave him a tight nod in greeting when he approached his medberth to take a sample of his energon. He moved away to a work station with it, and he and Hook reassumed their whispering as they ran the test.
Starscream gripped the edge of his medberth and glared at the floor, waiting for the results.
He heard the machine beep and looked over. Hook and Mixmaster were staring at the readouts in silence, unmoving.
Starscream’s patience was wearing thin. “Well?”
“…Run it again.” He heard Hook suggest, nudging Mixmaster back towards him.
“What is it?” He demanded when Mixmaster drew another sample of his energon.
“Er, machine glitched. Sorry, Screamer.” He mumbled.
Starscream watched as he and Hook ran the test again. Again, when it beeped, they stared and said nothing.
“For Primus’s sake-!“ Starscream began, moving to get up.
“Stay there, I’m going to take a scan.” Hook announced quickly, moving to grab the equipment.
“I told you there was something wrong!” Starscream snarled, laying back on the berth so the scan could be completed, “If you’d just listened to me-“
“Lie still.” Hook ordered, running the scan over him. “Don’t move.”
Starscream tried, but his limbs had begun to shake. Something was wrong, wrong enough to fluster Hook, and Hook could rarely be bothered to give a scrap about patients on their deathbeds.
What had been done to him? What had he been left with?
The scan came through and Hook and Mixmaster stared at it together, their expressions solemn but unsurprised.
“Show it to me.” Starscream ordered, sparkrate climbing. He reached for it, but Mixmaster held it away, hesitant. “Show it to me!”
“We need to …I think we need to bring Megatron in…”
Starscream shook his helm, mouth dry, throat tight. He knew what would be on the scan. He knew what Megatron had done to him. What he had left him with. What he’d been unknowingly carrying around in his chassis all these months, feeling slow and tired and nauseous, symptoms hiding behind the stress of his recovery.
Finally, Hook took pity on him. He passed over the scan.
A dark mass had formed in Starscream’s gestation tank.
A protoform.
Megatron’s sparkling.