Title: A True Friend Stabs You In The Front 3/3Author: akisawanaGenre: SNAD. H/C.

Warnings: Vaguely slashy (TC/SW.) Sane! Starscream. Thundercracker possessing a spine. Me making shit up and lots of it.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Notes: Beta’ed. Yes, akisawana got one of her stories beta’ed. Stop the presses and all that jazz. Beta’ed by her boyfriend, the legendary Transformers Guru, even.

We won’t tell you what he said.

Summary: Skywarp speaks really bad French and Thundercracker can’t catch a break.

Thundercracker struggled to lean against the wall, made more difficult by the fact that he could not actually feel where any of his limbs were. Skywarp helped him to arrange himself, getting an angry look for his trouble. “What?” Skywarp asked.

Now that he no longer actually felt terrible, Thundercracker reverted to tough-guy mode. “I got it.”

“If you say so, buddy.” Skywarp moved off the berth and sat in the desk chair. Crossing his ankles on the edge of the table and leaning dangerously back in the chair, he affected a posture of bored indifference, but when he held still for more than five minutes, it gave him away. “I make you feel better?” he asked the ceiling finally.

Thundercracker smiled softly, though Skywarp couldn’t see it. “Yeah. You do.” Skywarp didn’t reply, so he continued, “you have for a long time.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“It wasn’t worth the risk.” Thundercracker shrugged one shoulder.

Skywarp dropped his chair down to look his wingmate dead in the optics. “You can’t trust me?”

Thundercracker’s optics slid over to the tip of Skywarp’s wing. “It’s not like that. I didn’t want to lose…” he paused to search for the right word, but the virus had eaten away any word he would have wanted to use, leaving him with words inadequate to describe what Skywarp meant to him. Skywarp waved his search off.

“Want me to get you some energon?”

“No.” Thundercracker shook his head. “I feel like slag.”

Skywarp took the hint and joined him on the berth once more, cradling Thundercracker against him in a manner that would have positively disgusted Starscream. “You should take some in,” he suggested. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“I feel better already,” Thundercracker declared.

Through the next three days, Starscream wrote code, and Skywarp watched over their wingmate, and the virus ate away at files. Late on the third day, or early on the fourth, Starscream burst in, not happy, exactly, but less agitated than normal. “Wake up,” he ordered. “I’ve got it.”

“Anti-virus?” Skywarp blinked at him, not completely up to speed.

Starscream snorted and perched on the edge of the berth. “Too easy. I wrote complete security routines for him. Much better than anything anyone else is running.”

“Are you sure they work?”

“I wrote them, didn’t I?” Starscream demanded. Skywarp didn’t say anything, but he felt the need to defend his work anyways. “And I’m running them now. They work.” He poked Thundercracker. “Did you kill him?”

“I’m not dead,” Thundercracker rumbled. His optics flickered to life, smoldering quietly, more dimly than Starscream was comfortable with. The sooner he had Thundercracker moping around, terrorizing the ground pounders and generally being a pain in his aft, the better.

“Ready?” Starscream asked.

“No,” Thundercracker replied, but he leaned forward and offered the data jack on his wrist anyways.

Starscream wired himself in and transferred the programs, then pulled out and patched in the recorder. “I’m going to shut you down manually so the corrupted files can be repaired,” he said.

“And if I don’t want you to?”

“Then Skywarp is going to sit on you and I’m going to shut you down manually so the corrupted files can be repaired.” Skywarp pushed Thundercracker to lie on his back and Starscream popped open his cockpit and pressed the three digit entry code that released the cover over the switch. “On the count of three,” he said, hand on the switch. “One.” He flipped it.

It took a full minute for Thundercracker’s systems to shut down, right down to his fuel pump. When the last whirring of fans stopped, Skywarp looked at his commander. Starscream’s hand was still in Thundercracker’s cockpit, and he had a thoughtful little frown on his face. “Starscream?”

“Did he not put up a fight because he knew he couldn’t win or because he’s a fool and trusts us?” Starscream mused aloud.

“Turn him back on, Starscream,” Skywarp said quietly. Until Starscream flipped the switch back, Thundercracker was dead. Technically, physically, literally dead.

Starscream flipped the switch on and closed Thundercracker’s cockpit with something resembling tenderness. Internal gears whirled as he booted up, lights along his pilot array flickering on and off to indicate status. They all came on at once, and then everything stalled. Skywarp waited a minute for it to resume, then fidgeted for another minute. “Let it scan,” Starscream said, optics burning on Thundercracker.

“Is it supposed to take this long?” Skywarp wondered.

Starscream snapped, “Yes,” but he laid his hand on Skywarp’s shoulder.

“Are you sure?” he asked five minutes later.

“It’s got a lot of files to replace, and even more to go through. Give it time,” Starscream told him.

“How long is it going to take?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Well how long did it take you?” Skywarp demanded, frustrated.

“I didn’t shut down.” All the lights on Thundercracker’s display suddenly blinked out and the comforting noises of a living robot slowed, then stopped.

“TC!” Skywarp cried, lunging for him.

“Calm down!” Starscream ordered, holding him back. “He’s just restarting. See?” Indeed, the lights were coming back on, systems audibly powering up. “I thought you were supposed to be the stable one of us,” he groused, letting him go.

Skywarp pulled the desk chair over to the side of the berth and covered one of Thundercracker’s hands with his own. When Thundercracker’s optics came online, brighter than they had been in days, Skywarp grinned down at him. “Darkwing!” he chirped. “Tu est bon! Je suis heureuse!”

The look of sheer panic on Thundercracker’s face at that was more than enough repayment for all the trouble he had been. Starscream saved the image to properly savor later and smacked Skywarp across the back of the head. “Your French is terrible,” he said. “Now get out of my way.” Skywarp obediently warped to the end of the berth, giggling. “Thundercracker,” Starscream continued, taking no notice of him, “sit up. I need to make sure it worked.” Thundercracker sat up and bent his head forward when Starscream tapped the back of his helmet. Starscream plugged in and scanned him while Skywarp grinned like a lunatic at them. “You’re clean,” he pronounced when he was done, switching Thundercracker’s sensors back on. Thundercracker shuddered as the sudden input overwhelmed him at first, and flicked his wings for the sheer joy of feeling air move against them –nowhere near flying, of course, but an unconscious gesture every Seeker made when his wings regained feeling. “Both of you are back on duty first thing tomorrow morning,” Starscream said.

“Today tomorrow or tomorrow tomorrow?” Skywarp asked, grinning still.

“Tomorrow tomorrow.” Starscream left, and Skywarp pounced.