Thundercracker snarled as he twisted to avoid the other craft. It took him a moment, working through the haze of grief-induced rage, to even recognize who it was. When he did, his flight wavered, wings wobbling a little. Another brief hesitation, another choked snarl . . . and he banked sharply, diving groundward.

He shouldn't have been doing what he was doing. Even at his worst, he knew that. But until that moment of recognition, he'd Just. Not. Cared. But then, suddenly -

Megatron.

And not just any Megatron. That Megatron. The negative polarity one. The one he not only got along with, respected, but actively wanted proud of him.

He transformed mere meters from the ground, landing on his feet . . . and collapsing instantly to his knees, curled over into a submissive pose, but stiff - body rigid, wings high, fingers digging into the rocky earth under his hands. His optics were bright, his body trembling, and his fans rattled loudly with the stress of running too hard, far too hard to be healthy.