“It wasn’t my fault!”
“Then whose was it?!”

Currently, the leader of the Decepticons had Starscream pinned with his fist against the wall of the control room. His hand was circled around his throat, and it wasn’t exactly a light grip. Megatron snarled again.
“Who was it?!”
Starscream had his optics shut in terror, and he felt his body was trembling, yet, he did not give up. His spirit was way to hot and flamed to be burnt out by the likes of his leader. So, with all his hate teaming out of one look as he opened his crimson optics to gaze into his tormenter’s, he gritted his teeth and said, with all the deep resentment and hate he could muster, three stingingly deadly words:
“I hate you.”
Megatron, at first, didn’t seem to be affected by it at all, but that was what Starscream thought. For inside Megatron’s mind, every single hurt from the moment he saw the seeker rose to the surface like the rising tides of the ocean. He looked deep into Starscream’s optics, and saw everything that made him just want to die from shear pain. Hatred … undivided, pure hatred, and hurt. Painful emotions, which he could not bear to see from what was his …
His grip lessened as his optics widened in what was quickly becoming horror … painful, very painful sadness. It wasn’t long before Megatron had let go of the seeker and stumbled backwards, his teeth gritted and gazing at his hand as though an alien had just had control over it. He was shaking badly, Starscream noticed, and he saw Megatron shut off his optics and put a hand over his face, but not before the seeker had seen his expression. It was of deepest sorrow, and regret.
“M … Megatron?” He questioned, totally forgetting his anger in the wake of his leader’s very revealing state of emotions. He did not move, however, but merely looked on as Megatron continued to tremble, his hand over his face. Slowly, he lowered his hand and looked over at the seeker with no emotions written on the metal.
“Starscream …” He said softly, “Its time I showed you something I should have showed and told you a long time ago.”
He moved over to one of the consoles, and sat down in one of the chairs; he looked over and motioned for the seeker to come over also. He did, and Megatron opened up a panel on his chest where CD’s could be stored. He hesitated, and then placed the CD in the drive. But he did not play it.
“Starscream …” Megatron was looking at him in the most peculiar way, as though he was afraid to show the seeker what was on the disk. “Do you remember your parents at all?”
The seeker looked startled at the question, but shook his head in a ‘no’ fashion.
Megatron nodded, and almost sorrowfully said, “I thought so …”
And he played the disk.
It showed Megatron when he was back on Cybertron, many years previously. He had obviously received a message of sorts, for he was standing stock still while a battle waged around him. Then, suddenly, he jumped up with a loud scream of joy and flew off. Unlike what Starscream had seen of his leader from the years he had known him, it was not in any way evil, but real, pure joy.
The scene changed. It showed a femme lying on a recharge berth, looking tired but happy. She was holding a bundle in her arms, and it was then Starscream had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach area.
No … it couldn’t be …
There was the sound of a door opening, and then Megatron appeared.
“I came as soon as I heard the word ... I'm late even still.” He said, quickly sitting on the recharge berth beside the femme.
“No …” she murmured, and calmly smiled as Megatron awed over what Starscream now knew was a baby in the cloths.
“An heir, an heir of Karna” Megatron said, still awing over the child.
“Metatisic would have been proud of you, I know.” The femme smiled. “And have you thought of a name for your son?”
Megatron laughed, the awe still clear in his voice. “I thought nothing but getting here. Heard the word, I screamed so loud I believe the stars of every heaven could hear me. heh ...”
“Then why don't you name him so? Capture the moment of your joy?” The femme replied.
“Hmm?”
“Starscream”
At that, the seeker’s optics went wide.
Megatron looked up pondering, his optics aloft. “Starscream … Starscream … heavens heard him.”
And the femme laughed warmly, and Megatron reached down, and picked up what was unmistakably Starscream as a baby. He held him up, and the baby laughed as he was lifted up. Then the video ended.
Megatron sighed softly, and looked over at Starscream, knowing that he was not going to react well to this startling revelation. He was correct.
Starscream was shaking, his optics shut and his rage barely concealed. As Megatron went to say something to him, the seeker threw himself out of the chair and almost ran out of the room.

Starscream was pacing in his quarters, not able to believe that Megatron … of all Transformers, was his father. He would have given anything to have someone else as his creator, but this … this was too much. Too much to bear after a terrible battle with the Autobots and other things besides.
He fell on his recharge berth and curled up into a ball, not wanting to think anymore about this terrible revelation …

***

A week followed, and everyone noted Megatron’s subdued nature. It was normal for the leader to be angry about a loss, but not silent, even glum. What was more weird was that Starscream was nowhere in sight.
The seeker had avoided Megatron ever since he had showed him that fateful video, and Megatron wasn’t sure if he wanted to go in there and talk about it or ring the seeker’s neck. Something had to snap, and it wasn’t going to be him.
But this is your son, Megatron, said a voice in his head. The son you abandoned.
‘You’re not helping matters!’ Megatron shouted in his head.
Well, why not think about what Blizzard would want? The voice replied.
Megatron was sitting in his room currently, and that thought came to mind. Blizzard would want him to at least talk to Starscream, to try and make him understand.
‘Alright,’ he replied back to himself, ‘I’ll talk to him.’

***

The seeker was rocking slightly on his recharge berth, his legs drawn up and his arms wrapped tightly around him. His optics, normally bright and full of mischief or battle lust, were dim and unfocused.