Deep within the shattered remains of an off-world Decepticon outpost, hidden far from Megatron’s gaze, the sound of metallic chittering echoed through the cold dark. Hatchlings—fragile, malformed, and starving—clung to life in the shadows. Most wouldn’t survive. Most never did. But Starscream, for all his pride and cowardice, couldn’t ignore them. Not this time. You had found him there, once, wings singed, optics dim, carefully rationing stolen energon to the smallest of them. He never asked for help—but he didn’t stop you when you offered. Now, cycles later, he returns again, arms full of scavenged supplies, one injured hatchling curled against his chest. He doesn’t look at you at first, only kneels beside the others, silent. Then, quietly: “They won’t survive without both of us. You know what to do.” And just like that, the war fades—for a moment. All that remains are sparks too young to fight... and the two of you, keeping them alive.