#Trying to keep this quasi canon compliant just in case

[blade-liger-4ever]

Taking some inspo from @smokescreenimusprime's Dark Infection AU & your Chromia HC (and Arcane being absolute brainworm), imagine if after getting hit with the dark star saber, Smokescreen starts to hallucinate Chromia & his dead guardians with visuals eerily similar to Jinx's to show us how heartbreakingly young he still is. Made worse if up until now, he was seriously compartmentalizing his grief.

The worst ones are when Arcee-or is it Chromia? The blue keeps shifting but the angry disappointed eyes are the same, he never wants to see them again but he can't look away- is scolding him and he's an Elite Guardsman then a street urchin and he's stumbling backward into a wall while bigger bots demand shanix/energon he doesn't have then forward out of the room those bullies once locked him in-

How long these hallucinations last depends entirely on how much angst/torment you wanna put our fav TFP boi through ;)

Just, Smokescreen not having a good time & having to realize Trauma isn't a competition. Because hey, what if deep down, what scares you isn't people leaving but people abandoning you? Leaving implies a return, abandonment means forgetting, ignoring, your existence simply does not/no longer matters.

(Here's a small snippet I wrote inspired by this scene:)

"I-I only wanted to help." Smokescreen sobbed, tears stinging the wounds left by sharp, slender digits digging into his cheeks. "I only wanted to help-!"

"I told you to stay away!" Chromia could pack a punch, he knew she could but he's not sure which hurts more, her fist or the hatred in her optics.

"Chromia-" she's leaving. He's used to seeing her leave but this- this is different, she's not leaving him, she's abandoning him, she's never coming back. "Chromia, PLEASE! COME BACK, PLEASE!"

His sister fades, and even her rust is swallowed by the sea of purple.

Well. Someone woke up and chose violence.

Alone in a Sea of Memory

Racing outside wasn't an option. The second he did that, his signature would be visible and the Decepticons would be on him like rust on a corpse.

Or, worse, the other urchins would jump down from the catwalks and rooftops above to snag his portion of energon that he'd gotten today.

Smokescreen tried very hard not to jog down the hall of the base, the lighting shifting to the dim yellow rays of the Mithrilian sun as the walls around him morphed into high and worn buildings. Gritting his denta, he reminded himself that it was just a memory. Nothing tangible, nothing threatening. If he just walked down the hall, he could -

Among the stalls, shadows darted behind older mechs. Shadows he knew well.

Speeding up, Smokescreen kept his helm high and took various turns in the Mithrilian streets before arriving at the old, weather-beaten bar his guardians called home. The pain in his Spark both abated and increased at the sight of the faded jade color on the building, and tucking his energon close to his chest, Smokescreen punched in the number and entered, swiftly turning around and locking it behind him.

Turning on his heel, he blinked as he found shiny barracks instead of the various tables and counter he expected to see, not to mention the femme who usually cleaned and served at the bar.

Smokescreen squeezed his optics shut, the sudden blackness having a tinge of violet surrounding it.

No. This isn't real, he thought, steeling himself and willing his pulse to return to a normal pace. You're imagining things, Smokey. Get a grip, or you'll fall behind.

Those last words weren't his own invention. Rather, they had been Chromia's; her way of encouraging and focusing him in the Sea.

When was the last time he'd seen her?

Smokescreen's optics snapped open, and immediately he was flooded with various remembrances. The tussle they were involved in after a run to get prescribed supplements for Roller, the time Chromia had come running to find he'd dealt with most of the other urchins, the day she left for Special Operations, the last video call he'd made to her before the attack on the Hall of Records.

What had happened to her? Was she still alive? If so, did she think he was dead? Would she be proud of him for coming so far? For joining Optimus Prime?

"We need a team player, not another child."

That sentence - it'd been spoken by...Arcee. He knew it was Arcee who had said that, just as she'd said many other uncomfortably disparaging things.

....So why did she suddenly sound like Chromia?

Smokescreen blinked, and all of a sudden Chromia materialized before him. She was always a few meters taller than him, but now she seemed to take up the whole room. Her blue optics (They were both hers and not hers, belonging to Arcee as much as to Chromia) bored into him, and as his sister's form flickered before him, her ocean blue plating took on hints of rust all over her frame.

"What's wrong with you? Didn't I teach you anything back in the Sea?" Chromia snapped, glaring down at him.

Legs suddenly feeling weak, Smokescreen pressed himself against the door for support. Summoning all the courage he had, he forced out of his mouth, "You're not real. You're not here. You left with Ironhide, and he'll be rusted over before he lets any of the 'Bots under him die."

That was the comfort he'd given himself first on his day of escape, and then virtually every single day on Earth. It was a desperate hope, but deep down Smokescreen knew it was true (he PRAYED it was true).

His sister scoffed. "And what makes you think running around will impress these guys?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. "Prime's dealt with Megatron himself, how could you possibly hope to prove yourself to him?"

"Optimus doesn't need anyone to impress him," he replied automatically, and he inwardly cursed for engaging with the phantom.

"That fembot is right: you don't take anything seriously," Chromia growled.

It was like all the fight had been drained out of him by that single sentence. Sliding onto the floor, Smokescreen muttered, "No. No, you don't mean that - you know that's not what I'm like."

"You didn't consider Roller's condition that much when you made a run for shanix that day," Chromia continued relentlessly. "You didn't even stop to think that Aileron would have been a victim of that sawed off punk Skywarp seriously either."

The burning bar, the desperate searching for his guardians, the only family he'd had after Chromia left to provide for him - it all came rushing through his helm. Smokescreen trembled, and could only weakly shake his helm in the negative.

"I spent my whole life fighting to give you a chance, and this is how you repay it?" his sister asked disgustedly. Words caught in Smokescreen's voice box, and he couldn't figure out how to refute her accusation. Abruptly she shook her own helm, then turned away.

"I'm done wasting time on you," Chromia hissed, walking away.

Smokescreen stared after her, watching as indigo outlines of Roller and Aileron appeared and disappeared before his optics.

"No," he whispered. "Chromia, please - don't leave me. Chromia, please, come back. You're my sister - Chromia! I need you - I love you - don't leave me, please."

The mad escape from the Decepticon prison ship, the arrival on Earth, all the times he'd disappointed Team Prime after helping them as best he could - it all seemed pointless as his sister, his best friend and hero, walked out of his life.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Smokescreen buried his face in them and began to cry, murmuring, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorree. Sister, please, forgive me. Do not walk eway, Chromia. Come home, please."

He hardly noticed his accent, so well hidden from others, slip out along with the tears.

Smokescreen didn't know how long he'd stayed that way until a gentle rap sounded on the door. Sniffing, he looked up just as he heard on the other side, "Smokescreen? Are you alright?"

It was Optimus. He'd - he'd come to check on him.

Clearing his voice, he answered, "Yes, sir."

A heavy silence lingered, and Smokescreen realized it wasn't just because of the obvious lie, but because his accent was still there. Just as he cleared his voice box again, Optimus questioned worriedly, "May I come in?"

Pushing himself to his pedes, scrubbing the lubricant from his face, Smokescreen took a deep breath and unlocked the door. Stepping back, he watched as Optimus entered, optics locked on him.

"Smokescreen...." he trailed off for a moment, scanning him. After a beat, he asked, "What is troubling you?"

It was an effort to not break down and blurt out how he'd just had his sister abandon him, especially since he now knew it was nothing but a hallucination. Instead, Smokescreen swallowed, considered for a few seconds, then answered, "I - I don't know, but...I keep seeing things, ever since the energy blast from the Dark Star Saber hit me -"

Before he knew it, Optimus had stepped over and wrapped him in a hug. There was the barest hesitation before Smokescreen threw his arms around the Prime and buried his face in his chest, willing himself not to cry all over again. As one hand patted his shoulder, Optimus said softly, "Please, tell me everything. From the beginning."

Chromia had never lied to him. He knew that, knew it deep in his Spark, no matter what the images he saw claimed. He knew, based off what she'd told him and how hard it was for her to respect anyone who wasn't him or their deceased friends, that he could trust Optimus.

That Optimus was real.

And he told Optimus the whole story.