Chapter Text
Starscream barely acknowledged his return.
Bumblebee found himself confused, almost hurt—of all the receptions he'd imagined, this somehow hadn't been one of them. Perhaps it was too much to expect a hug; Primus knew showing open regard for another mech might actually put Starscream in stasis. But all he'd done was inspect Bumblebee, as though he was assessing the threat Bumblebee posed—and then ignore him point-blank.
It was bizarre. It was jarring, to go from being nattered at more or less constantly to this. He found himself watching Starscream whenever he was in his periphery, waiting for something to change. This didn't go unnoticed, unfortunately; Optimus went out of his way to reassure Bumblebee he never had to be alone with Starscream again, which wasn't exactly his problem here. Windblade looked like she had her own suspicions, but they remained unvoiced.
Then Bumblebee realised he recognised the way Starscream kept looking around himself. That was what he did when he was looking for him, for his Bumblebee, for a ghost he couldn't pick up with peripheral sensors like he would any other mech. Did he actually still think Bumblebee had been a hallucination the entire time? It would explain a great deal.
It was also exactly the kind of thing Starscream would do. Bumblebee was becoming reluctantly familiar with the winding ways he went about the most straightforward concepts.
Old habits died hard. When Starscream dropped his entourage of 'Cons and sneaked off into a side room, Bumblebee followed him. He had to be extra careful he wasn't seen—not as easy now that he was back in realspace and had so many people's attention on him. After so long not being spoken to… Bumblebee would never say he wanted to go back to that, of course not, but he wasn't entirely used to being perceived. There were no eyes down this corridor, at least.
Besides, Windblade suspected Starscream was up to some sort of scheme already, and that was true more often than it wasn't. If Bumblebee could find out more, all the better. He could actually tell someone about it now.
He got to the door in time to hear Starscream say "Bee?" more miserably than he'd ever heard him sound. Starscream was standing in the middle of the room, facing the large window, his wings canted so low they had to ache. Everything about him looked despondent. "Where did you go?"
Okay, this was embarrassing. Bumblebee was about to step closer and speak up when Starscream turned—and spotted him immediately. His face brightened in genuine happiness… before his eyes flicked to Bumblebee's hand: he no longer had a cane. That joy vanished like a light had been shot out, leaving behind irritation and disappointment.
"Hey, Starscream," said Bumblebee, somehow endeared by this obstinate display.
"Whatever you've heard of my insanity," said Starscream, snippily, "it's true. All of it. Now go mingle or whatever you've been doing." He gestured dismissively. It would've been believable, too, if Bumblebee didn't know his tells as well as he did.
"I'm not in infraspace anymore," said Bumblebee, smiling slightly. He took that step in. "I don't know why only you could see me while I was in there."
Starscream glanced furtively at him, then away—before looking back, his eyes wide, as if something in Bumblebee's expression had confirmed it for him. "You're lying. How did you—Rattrap said something, didn't he. Or Windblade."
"They didn't need to say anything," said Bumblebee, shrugging. Windblade had tried to approach it obliquely but she'd seen he didn't want to talk about it right then, and she hadn't raised the topic since. He wondered how much she'd put together about his experiences; if she'd figured out just how long 'dead' Bumblebee had kept Starscream company.
"Prove it," said Starscream, clearly already convinced. He was shaking, though nearly imperceptibly, and his wings were mantled forward in a way that meant bad news. Just a few degrees of change in their angle, but Bumblebee had grown adept at reading those tiny shifts. "Prove you were there."
"Windblade's the one who's been eating the jellies in your drawer, not Rattrap," said Bumblebee, starting with something small. "She doesn't think you'll mind."
"I do mind. I mind horribly, actually."
"And I know what you originally intended for Chosen One Day," Bumblebee continued, smiling. Because it wasn't a difficult guess, "Including the message Longtooth was supposed to broadcast."
"Ugh, don't remind me," said Starscream, the corner of his mouth twitching a little at the memory. He considered Bumblebee for a long moment. "I suppose I couldn't keep you all to myself." His tone was a little too solemn; the attempt at levity fell flat.
"Don't even joke about that, Starscream," said Bumblebee, chuckling, shaking his head.
Starscream wasn't smiling, though. He was looking intently at him, his eyes focused tight and glowing like molten metal. Bumblebee understood, for a moment, what the more high-strung MTOs meant by seeker-stare, and it was as much a scan of an opponent's vulnerabilities as it was an intimidation tactic. He'd seen it trained at Windblade dozens of times, but never at himself. Not until now. (Not even Thundercracker had tried.)
He stood straight and met that stare head on. He might not have haunted Starscream for very long, but he knew him well enough: he wasn't in danger—not physical danger, at least.
Starscream stepped closer, closer, until he was close enough to touch. Bumblebee felt his eyes scanning him over and over. He could almost hear him evaluating how much of a threat Bumblebee was now, with everything he knew. When Starscream reached out, though, his fingers didn't quite meet the plating of Bumblebee's cheek.
What an interesting place to go for first, instead of a shoulder or even the top of his head. Bumblebee brushed his face against Starscream's hand, possessed by something not entirely kind, and saw the armour on Starscream's frame flare and settle in a wave from head to foot. His wings trembled slightly. He looked a little like someone had slapped him.
"You okay?" asked Bumblebee, feeling a stab of pity. Had he expected Bumblebee might spare him and turn out to be a hallucination after all?
"Never been better," croaked Starscream. His hand moved slightly, and Bumblebee felt a thumb touch the corner of his mouth. Light as a fallen leaf, or a curious Earth bird on his hood. He stayed perfectly still.
He was not entirely surprised when Starscream yanked his hand back and whirled away. (Though he was a little disappointed, and not entirely sure why.) Silence settled over the room for a long, awkward moment, while Starscream hiked his wings back up to their unaffected usual and Bumblebee pretended not to watch.
"Why are you here?" Starscream asked, finally. He sounded bored. Why was he still hiding his emotions from Bumblebee now that he knew the truth? Bumblebee wasn't sure what he'd expected—there was no way they could return to what they had before. He knew what Starscream was like. If he'd hoped to gain something with this confrontation…
"I wanted to see what you were doing," Bumblebee said, and that had enough of the truth in it to satisfy both of them.
Starscream responded exactly how Bumblebee knew he would. His wings hiked up in defence, and he crossed his arms. "Well, now you know."