Chapter Text
Starscream was irritated.
Megatron had only posted two stupid rose videos and yet, somehow, he had managed to get more subscribers and likes than him.
How?!
Maybe it was because the sneaky aftport had made an appearance on his channel.
The humans had all thought he was sweet.
Ew!
Well, perhaps it was time Starscream went over to his place with a photobomb of his own!
He set up his camera on his wing, positioned so that it could see the nose of his jet mode while he flew.
It meant that he would have to go fragging slowly, because otherwise it would probably get lost en route, but it would be worth it.
Aerial shots, transformation shots...
That alone was sure to get interest!
He set it to live-stream and cleared his vocaliser.
"Apologies for the strange camera view. I am about to take you on a brief flight! Come with me to call on my idiot father!"
Without further explanation, he transformed at his habitual run and took to the air.
He didn't have his computer with him, so there was no text-to-speech or like/subscribe count, but Starscream felt confident about this video.
He chatted to the camera, not realising that the wind would snatch his voice away, and performed a few playful loops and rolls.
He screamed at an eagle to "GET THE FRAG OUT OF MY AIRSPACE, YOU FEATHERED FREAK OF A MENACE," while he evaded a bird strike deftly.
Then he transformed for the final approach, snatching the camera from his wing as soon as he had arms.
As he searched for Megatron, he saw his home for the very first time.
The neat, English Country Cottage sort of garden that looked out of place surrounded as it was by crops, sheep, cows, pigs and fowl runs.
The helipad that was kept clear and obviously well used.
The runway area, much to the young jet's irritation, was only partially visible beneath paving, gravel and flower beds.
It was the building, however, that drew Starscream's attention.
The roof, apparently, was made almost entirely of tarpaulin.
The wall on the north side was bowing outwards.
There appeared to be wasps either in the wall, the roof, or both. Not harmful to a Cybertronian of course, but certainly detrimental for a building that looked to be a strong sneeze away from collapsing.
How the frag could Megatron exist in this dump?!
All the while, naturally, his dermas relayed his thoughts to his audience on YouTube as they entered his helm.
He landed neatly on his pedes (he was, after all, his father's son) and inspected the exterior of the ramshackle building.
"The fragging windows are boards! Flight frames need light – we need to see the horizon and sky! That is why I have big window doors! This is... it's a fragging mental breakdown waiting to happen. Maybe even a fuel pump attack waiting to happen. These need to be fixed! Megatron! Are you here, you fragging idiot? Megatron?"
The house... if it could really be called that... was dark and quiet.
Starscream tried the door.
It didn't budge, but kicking it down would likely not have been difficult.
All the same... he would not do that unless Megatron failed to respond at all.
He huffed, ruffled his plating, settled his wings and strode towards the back garden.
The fragging idiot was not hard at work.
Mainly, it seemed, because all the work was done.
There was not a weed or dead head in sight.
The compost heap was full.
Megatron was lying beneath an apple tree that was large enough to conceal him from the air.
He was lying, ironically, on tarpaulin.
He had a pale blue chamois leather hanging from one fist.
It was monogrammed; OP.
He appeared to be recharging.
He was certainly snoring like a congested pig.
As Starscream approached, Megatron coughed, sniffed, wiped his nose with the chamois and rolled onto his other side with a groan.
The Seeker frowned at his turned back.
"Megatron, your house is a disgrace."
"Hbph," came the response, along with a petulant shrug.