Chapter Text
“-so i need your explicit permission, signed right here, for the demolition of this mining dormitory.”
A datapad was slid right in front of him, and his servo moved to sign it with no secondary thought, a reflexive sort of movement born from the past three joors. There was no hesitation–This had all been discussed and agreed upon earlier. Optimus did not have to worry about anything amiss, especially since it was Elita-1 who was the one handing him the datapads that needed his signature and approval.
Demolition of the dormitory, to make room for a military campus, all in order to fight off the Quintessons, and what has been demonstrated by the latest attack on their recent surface expedition, the Decepticons as well. A necessary step in preparing.
Every former occupant, who mainly used to be the miners, had been relocated and accommodated for. Now that they’re cogged there was no need for them to continue living near the train tracks, which would solely be used for hauling supplies now rather than smaller mechs who couldn’t travel. They’ve been moved to more spacious apartments, and the last thing Optimus had heard was that they were content with the change.
“-this one too, regarding the training unit I want under my–”
Optimus signed it.
Jazz had once mentioned how glad he was for privacy, finally able to raise the volume of his music, listening into radiowave late at night without disturbing anyone.
He’d heard of others as well, sharing the same sentiments. Enjoying their new homes and the only complaint had been getting used to the change of things rapidly. As well as some road accidents, new cogged mechs were…struggling with their new changes.
Optimus briefly wondered–if he hadn’t lived in the tower, if he wasn’t a Prime and D-16 wasn’t Megatron–would they live near each other? Still be neighbors? Or would they live together in one single unit? That would be fun, somewhere just the two of them could relax without others. The only privacy they ever had was the roof of the dormitory and sometimes it was equipped by some mechs who liked to have…fun.
The thought of that dredged up his most recent dream, and the heat that rose to his face was inevitable.
“-also this slip for my vacation starting right now–”
Optimus signed it.
That had been a thing, wasn’t it? The dormitory roof. Optimus recalled very easily the many times he dragged D-16 up there. Did the others think they were…? Did D-16 ever think about it? Why hadn’t Optimus realized anything at the time where he could have done something about it?!
Now here he was, stuck like a buffoon, dreaming about impossible stuff with someone long gone.
“-ok that was a purely blank data pad, this is getting out of hand–”
Optimus was only ever adding new things to his list of regrets, and it was damning how more than half of it was about D-16.
Though never him, Optimus would never regret becoming his friend.
“Optimus!”
Optimus startled, snapping his helm up to Elita-1 who slammed her servos on the desk. She looked at him ridiculously, her EM field–just now he noticed–pushing against him heavily before she retracted it back.
Optimus shuttered his optics, “uh?”
“You’re lucky that wasn’t an actual vacation slip, otherwise i would have been out of the door,” Elita ex-vented, but her concerned look undermined the sharpness in her tone. “Now, what’s going on in your processor?”
For Elita to ask this outright of him, Optimus knew that he wasn’t being quite discreet about it as he thought he was.
“You’re not my therapist, Elita,” Optimus said with a small smile, brushing off her concern, rejecting the ‘amazing Elita’ pep talk.
“Sure, I’m not,” she crossed her arms, narrowing her optics. “Otherwise I'm expecting a raise. Optimus, whatever you’re thinking about, it’s been eating at you since this sol!”
Optimus averted his gaze, the shame that wrapped itself around him tightened.
Elita sighed, though Optimus wasn’t looking at her, he could tell she softened by her voice losing its edge as she spoke. “Listen, you don’t have to talk to me, you could spill your internals to Bee, or Ratchet, or Jazz, or—or someone else entirely, just don’t bottle it up, kay?”
Optimus was absolutely not telling anyone of his lewd dream about his ex-best friend who he had just realized he was terribly in love with.
“Sure,” is what he said, “thank you, Elita.”
Elita-1 didn’t seem convinced, but did not press any further.
𓆩𓆩⟡𓆪𓆪
Elita-1 knew her strengths and weaknesses.
She knew where she excelled at, and where she still had room to improve. Lately, She’d been focusing on her long-range aiming, as her accuracy had been a hit or a miss. But she was a beast in close combat, a skill honed long ago. Where she’d been training herself from in the mines, when superior officers had to ditch the idea of using violence on her when she swiftly dodged their attempts.
She also excelled at observation.
Elita-1 was always aware of her surroundings; she’d notice a missing personal from her mining team within mili-kliks, an equipment that was misplaced, or even the long servo of a thieving mech who thought they could snatch whatever was under her notice. She noticed many mechs–mostly who used to be coggless, overlooked–and took them under her wing. Jazz had been a fantastic pick, and Bee was getting better and better every training session.
And now, there was Optimus.
Elita-1 had noticed him long before. Who wouldn’t? Who couldn’t?
The piece of slag had caused trouble everywhere he went around.
Snooping in the archives, sneaking past the curfew, getting into a mess with superior officers, and talking back against Darkwing without caution nor hesitation.
Despite all of that, no one in his circle truly hated him. They respected him despite the misfire he’d cause. He had natural charisma to work his way through a person’s spark without meaning to, inspire mechs around him to do better. Even with his shenanigans and his antics, he was a genuinely kind person who went out of his way for others. He was a good miner. He’d break rules but he never sought to hurt, it was never his intention.
But accidents happen, mistakes happen, and even Optimus, or rather Orion, had hurt people before.
Elita hated his guts though when he got her fired, but all was now forgiven.
(Joors, Orns, solar-cycles, deca-cycles, all this grueling time she had overworked herself to perfection. She jumped high and above the standard. Her frame dented harshly, scars that would never fade, she endured it all.
She was willing to endure the death of a miner, she was willing to shoulder that responsibility. It was revolting, recalling how willing she was to let Jazz die in that cave in. but at that time, where her weight of future that she built so carefully, where the rules were so ready to make it all crumble to her pedes…it was terrifying, how she had already planned on how to honor Jazz all while Orion flung himself to save him without a thought. She was following protocol, all while Orion followed what was right.
Elita had commanded him, had given him the order, the excuse and reason for him to not blame himself for leaving a miner behind. Only she will blame herself, only she would carry that weight.
And yet, and yet–)
But yes, she noticed, and she noticed him a lot, just like now.
Optimus was walking around with an easy smile, still working to the better future of Cybertron. However, there was a distant look on his optics, and he hadn’t approached anyone at all today; more so that mechs came to him.
He looked distracted, something was weighing heavily on his processor and it didn’t look like something that would be easily solved.
“He said he missed D-16,” Bee said to her, when she did not fail to notice Ratchet locking the door with him and Optimus inside after kicking Bee out of the meeting room when everyone left, “and i felt really bad because we hadn’t talked about it properly, but i thought it might not be something for him to want to talk about? Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it with us specifically.”
That reminder was that they weren’t as close to Optimus as D-16 was, and Elita had no idea if he had any other close friends other than D-16.
She doubted it, seeing no one sticking as close to him as they were once.
Elita was not as close to Optimus as D-16 was, and she knew her weaknesses. She was going to learn how to be a friend, a better friend.
She always strived to be the best, after all.
So, after leaving the office with the datapads she needed signed, she comm’d Bee. if Optimus wasn’t willing to talk to her, then maybe she could push those who he would be.
𓆩𓆩⟡𓆪𓆪
Optimus was supposed to be on his break, where he planned to wallow in the archives or the library. Distract his processor, busy his servos. Try not to think about anything that specifically happened in a dream he had last night, and terribly fail at it. He had already planned it, the miserable pity party he was going to let himself succumb to in a random dark shadow of the archives, sifting through files of captures in his processor with D-16. but no, no that did not that.
Instead, he was sitting on a chair, across from him on the other side of the table, sat Steve.
“I’m sure Steve will help you, Optimus!” Bee patted his shoulder pad, after he had pushed Optimus–with a surprising amount of strength–on the chair after dragging him into his room, “He’s always been there for me when I needed someone to listen, so don’t be shy!”
Optimus stared at Steve, its–his?–Head crooked to the side, thanks to the poor welding job he could spot on his–its?–neck.
“Bee–” Optimus tried, but Bee was already backing to the door.
“I’m really sorry i would have been the one to talk to you, i love talking to you don’t get me wrong it’s just i kind of got something–” Bee gestured wildly, taking a deep ex-vent to continue.
“Like a silly competition you know, with Blurr, and it’s important, not as important as you but, i can’t really delay it? I’ll come back though, and then you can talk to me after you hash out things with Steve! It won't take too long, it’s a race! Wish me luck, Bye!!”
Bee left.
Optimus shuttered his optics, turning to look at Steve.
Steve looked right back.
Yeah, no . He knew whatever coping mechanism Bee had was good for him but Optimus wanted none of that.
With a sigh, Optimus stood, nudging the table as he did so. The movement caused it to rock against the occupant across from him. It was enough to send Steve toppling over with a loud thud and a crash on the floor.
Optimus winced, cursing under his breath, before he quickly marched over to prop Steve back up again.
“Sorry,” Optimus said, remembering the last time he also killed Steve, “yeah uh, very sorry.”
Steve only sat back motionless, head crooked to the other side now, and tilting heavily backwards until Steve was threatening to fall over again. Optimus grabbed Steve, trying to find the right balance.
“C’mon, sit right, would you?” he huffed under his breath, unwilling to put any extra strength in him lest he kill Steve again.
Steve did not respond.
Optimus felt like an idiot, talking to someone who wouldn’t respond, who wouldn’t even register what he’d say—
Steve wasn’t a mech, Steve was just…Steve.
Optimus, once he finally managed to balance Steve, sat back on his chair very, very carefully.
“Steve,” Optimus said, staring directly into Steve, “I had a lewd dream about my ex-best friend who I just realized I am terribly in love with.”
And, as if on cue, Steve toppled over again.
Optimus, once he had thrown the words out in the wild, debated if he should stick to his decision, or cower and run out of the room. Primes don’t run , he reminded himself, setting Steve back up again.
“-i’ve only dreamt about him twice,” Optimus recalled, frowning as he sank back into his chair, then paused, reconsidering. “No, no I dreamt of us before, when we were miners, i’ve dreamt of a time where we were more than cogless mechs…but, recently, now, after everything …i’ve dreamed of him twice, and it only just hit me when that first dream occurred, and it’s weird, it’s like my processor is telling me how i should have talked to D, but at the same time, I did not expect him to respond the way he did! Is this like…my deep consciousness being aware of D more than I thought I already knew?”
Steve's head started to tilt, as if in consideration. Oddly encouraged, Optimus continued.
“And I feel disgusting, it feels like im–ruining D, somehow, in my head, even though its a dream and i cannot control it, but even if i did i dont think i could stop because, i–when we kissed, i thought it would be fine, if i just allowed this to myself, this one thing but i feel horrible about it! D is no longer here, D is now Megatron! If this only happened back then…”
Back when they were just miners, when things had been ‘simple’ and living in a blessing of ignorance.
When they used to celebrate early returns with a night on the roof when it was empty, when D tended to the minor cuts when medics weren’t around.
If only Optimus had realised his feelings back then, if only he reached to pull D-16 not into trouble, but for a kiss.
“...it’s not like i didn’t know D is attractive, i knew that very well, i’ve seen mechs checkin him out but it never really bothered me–i mean, i knew he wasn’t interested at all in doing anything with anyone back then…oh my Primus, i knew he wasn’t going to act on it…is that why I wasn't jealous?”
Steve started to limp forward, front hitting the table and then staying there motionless.
Optimus stared, still for a few kliks, waiting to see if Steve would fall. When Steve didn’t, he continued to talk.
“...I did get sad one time when he went out with someone else to the bar,” Optimus admitted, memories trudged up far off in his processor, “but, only because there was a discount he didn’t tell me about! And–and I could always hang out with my other friends too when he’s busy…it’s just, he’s the only one who ever….”
Optimus trailed off, ex-venting as he sunk on his chair with ache in his frame and spark.
“He’s the only one who stuck around,” Optimus said, smiling bitterly, “others did not like the sort of things I did, but D…he always had my back.”
Red blazing optics, warm servo wrapped tightly around his shaking one, pain lacing his entire frame, the betrayal had hurt more than the shot did.
“...he used to,” Optimus corrected himself quietly, spark heavy.
Steve sat unresponding.
“...this is stupid, i’m stupid , why am i talking to you ?” Optimus huffed, “This is not helping anything at all! im just a–a troublemaker, got myself into slag I can't pull myself out of! Me, a Prime? If a noble sacrifice was what it took for me to be alive again why wasn’t Alpha trion resurrected instead?!” Optimus pushed himself upright from the seat, slamming his servos on the table, his optics blurry and cold with the coolants leaking. The Matrix, heavy on his spark and frame.
“Why me? I couldn’t even save the one person I wanted to the most, all of this, all I've done was so he–we can live better!”
His voice was getting louder, but Optimus didn’t care, the room was soundproof, Bee’s neighbors begged it to be after living near him for one Lune. (something about him talking in his recharge, Optimus only moved Bee to be closer to him and sound proofed the room.) The Matrix was letting out some kind of noise too, a sort of reassuring trill that Optimus ignored, and couldn't care for it at the moment.
And Steve wouldn’t care because Steve wasn’t a real fragging person.
“Why now? Why couldn’t i just live with what i already have, why does my processor torture me like this?” Optimus rubbed at his optics, scowling and gritting to hold back tears that threatened to spill. He had never felt the urge to cry, he was able to handle it, he can handle it, especially now. He was Prime, he couldn’t let himself lose like this.
“I can’t regret banishing him away now, it needed to be done! He wouldn’t listen to me, i warned him, i told him everything but he didn’t listen–I couldn't imprison him after everything we went through–and I can't, I won’t kill him–”
A resounding thud snapped Optimus of his rambling, flinching back in shock.
Steve had fallen over.
Optimus took a shaky vent, then hid his face in his servos as he wept.
𓆩𓆩⟡𓆪𓆪
There were things Optimus had regretted, but D-16 will never be one of them.
What he truly did regret was not washing off the dried coolants on his face plate, however.
(For a mech like himself, Optimus had the excuse that he wasn’t used to…crying so easily like that, so it escaped his notice to wipe away the evidence. It was humiliating, but…refreshing, to heave all that weight if for a moment.)
Bee had fortunately come back once Optimus managed to calm down. Just in time for Optimus to find the perfect way for Steve not to fall over, have an energon to cool off, and calm down.
The sight of everything being perfectly in place, with Optimus still in the room, had Bee smiling, grinning, talking rapidly of how he met Blurr and how the two raced off for one klik before pausing all together once he got close enough to Optimus, his optics raking up and down.
That’s when Bee had freaked out about Optimus crying.
“D-did Steve not help?”
“No, no–” Optimus tried to reassure, his voice soft, trying to explain, but Bee looked stricken. His optics wide with guilt.
“I'm so sorry! I–i shouldn’t have left but i promised i never promised friends before so i–”
“Bee!” Optimus interjected, his tone firm but gentle. “It did help,” Optimus placed his servos on Bee’s shoulder pads, stopping him all together as he explained, “it did, i–i needed to cry.”
“…But you never cry.”
“Yeah, I uh, needed to.”
Bee’s optics shuttered, a trace of uncertainty lingered but he nodded in understanding. He placed his own servo gently atop Optimus’, his field inviting, care and quiet concern.
“Do you wanna talk about it with me?”
Optimus mulled over his question, at the offer. After spilling out his internals to Steve, he got the gist of why he was mildly (ok, very much) upset, but…he just couldn’t do it. Not again, not for a long while maybe. It was fine, he didn’t need to burden his friends with anything else. Optimus gave Bee a weary smile, shaking his helm.
“no, no, I think I'm done talking for today.”
Bee’s dejected look absolutely crushed his spark, he slumped with the unease of helplessness that even Optimus recognized–was familiar with–on the other. but Optimus shouldered on with his decision, sticking to it as he led his friend to a seat on his table. Guiding him to sit down.
“But,” Optimus began, his voice a little lighter, trying to shift the focus, “I'd love to hear about your race with Blurr.”
Bee hesitated, but once he started, perking up at every smile Optimus gave him in every little joke he wedged between his telling, he was eager to continue telling Optimus every single detail.
Optimus listened.
Thankfully, Steve had stayed still in his place, secured by the welding job Optimus performed at Steve's aft straight to the chair itself.
𓆩𓆩⟡𓆪𓆪
It was not a deliberate choice at first when Optimus doesn’t recharge.
There were many things that needed the prime attention, and when there wasn’t, when he had a break, Optimus tackled the archives. Anything, everything to avoid the mess of his processor. Heading back to his quarters to his berth, where he might dream again? Optimus was sure it would be a nightmare this time, if his luck said anything about him.
(He itched to dream again, and the guilt ate away at him. He shouldn’t think of D-16 that way, he shouldn’t indulge himself into something like this anymore, once was enough. Enough for him to realize a few damning things.
Optimus terribly missed him, more than ever. The dream did not help his aching at all, just worsened it.)
Optimus wasn’t sure if he could handle it, if he dreamed or the dreams would stop, so he dismissed the very first lune when his chronometer displayed the time. It wasn’t the first time he ever skipped recharge.
He tried not to remember that the only times he did was when D-16 had a nightmare and needed company for the whole lune.
When it stretched into another lune, however, Optimus took great notice of his lack of exhaustion.
He had prepared himself a cube of energized energon at hand, ready to accept its unusual bitter taste if it meant not slipping into a recharge. Yet, no warning in his HUD came. Grateful to not force himself to drink, Optimus waited until he had to. The whole orn passed with no trouble, and before he went to his room, he checked out the archives.
The archives were terribly messy, and Optimus wanted it to be open for everyone to come and use eventually. Though it wasn’t top priority at the moment, yet, his processor itched for it. The rhythmic work had alluded him from the orn before.
Just for a joor or two, he convinced himself easily, slipping in to rework datapads.
It was Elita-1 calling him, asking of his whereabouts when he realized he had missed his second recharge. His second lune. It was already the wake of a new sol.
Optimus had no warnings of a toll, nor a notice of slipping into emergency recharge. The logical part of his processor ushered for him to skip the orn and recharge, or at least drink the energized energon.
He did neither.
The third one was an experiment, Optimus stayed up all lune. Once more in the archives, he had a feeling that if he went back to his room, he might ditch his–impulsive–expriment and sleep, with the hopes of a dream, so no, that’s not happening. Instead, he was gathering disks, while constantly checking on his HUD for any notif. No warnings, nothing to indicate exhaustion, the Matrix was humming loudly, and Optimus was fascinated. His HUD notifs were displaying proper and in time messages, he did not feel tired. How, though?
The Matrix purred, as if answering.
He placed away the energized energon and then went to Ratchet, he out of all mechs would probably figure it out.
Ratchet had pounced on the opportunity and in his eagerness to check on Optimus, had forgotten to ask why so suddenly.
“Everything is normal, except for the Matrix being a little louder than usual,” Ratchet said, pointing at the large hologram screen, showcasing levels spiking. “In power and sound…odd, but, nothing alarming.”
He relaxed hearing it, but a part of him knew that what he was doing was not something to be taken lightly. Optimus slipped away once some training cadets came barreling in, an accident with the shooting range or some sort. He wished them luck and good recovery before running off.
The Matrix, of course it was the reason. It was pure energy.
Optimus had noticed as well, when the Matrix had been usually near silent or quietly humming in his frame, it had been getting a little louder that others had noticed. He had a feeling it was the reason he’d been able to stay up without keeling over and passing out. It was supplying energy he needed. Too good to be true.
Optimus wondered if it had a limit.
Thankfully, Ratchet didn’t find out he wasn’t recharging as usual.
It was Elita who did, because if there was a mech other than Airachnid who could see everything, it was her. And she had caught him walking instinctively to the archives at the late lune.
“You think I wont see you coming from the archives wing when your quarters are on the opposite side?”
Despite being taller, Optimus felt very small under Elita’s glare.
“go recharge.”
“Yes captain.”
“It’s commander now, Optimus! And you’re my boss, now go rest.”
It was far easier to head back to his room now with an order to do so, though, Optimus promised himself that he would never come back to this again. He shouldn’t rely on Elita to look after him constantly.
Lying down on a berth that hasn’t seen him for three orns, Optimus wondered if the past Primes had ever struggled like this. He didn’t know how to feel, he hesitated on praying to Primus that he doesn’t dream of D-16, he wished deeply to hold his servo, he wanted nothing more than for the ache on his spark to ease if just a little so he could rest.
The Matrix buzzed in his chassis, warmth spreading through his laxed frame as new found great exhaustion caught him out of nowhere. His limbs stuttered with the lack of energy, HUD flashing with new notifs.
Ah , Optimus optics offlined, as he tilted his back against the pillow and thought, so there is a drawback.
･
‧͙⁺
˚･༓˚̴
┊┊.O̶̭̊p̵̡̍̕t̸̝̃i̴̝̻̅̒m̶̠̞͐̀u̷̼̎͜s̷̮̿̊!.┊┊
┊┊.O̵p̷t̸i̴m̷u̷s̴, back ṷ̶͐p̵̆͜!!.┊┊
┊┊.Optimus I know I said go rest–but we’d love your primacy aft here!.┊┊
̴･̵༓̴˚̴
̸‧̵̶͙⁺̷
̸･̷
̷
Optimus arrived with a blaze behind him, fire and smoke trailing him thanks to the thrusters he had used with his alt form to speed up his travel.
Elita’s message shocked him awake, the Matrix vibrating as burning electricity ran through his wires once more. The exhaustion that plunged his form into recharge was gone in an instant, his frame running hot with the energy pumping in him.
The surface was dark lest the warm hues of ambient light, and the fires of the wreckage of the ongoing fight. The camp for spying on the quintessons was under attack, hidden structure destroyed under the gunfire, by mechs carrying a purple familiar badge.
Optimus did not pause, nor falter, as he swung into battle, but he knew exactly the main reason for Elita’s call.
Megatron.
Optimus found them after pushing his way through Decepticons mechs, taking them down one after another. He paused, optics caught on their forms. Three mechs, including Elita were surrounding him, trying to take the mech down by force, distraction, trying to exhaust or distort him. They were losing the battle, by how easily Megatron flung them one after another, a scowl on his lips.
(D-16 laughing, smiling brightly down at him.)
Optimus' spark lurched, but his processor stayed steady, ex-venting harshly as his frame transformed into his alt. He made his way to them in fast speed, hoping to catch the leader unexpectedly with his approach, but Megatron turned just the right moment to notice him, somehow, someway, hearing him throughout the battlefield.
He dodged Optimus' attempt to crash into him; autobots who had been fighting Megatron were happy to see him.
“What, am I too good for your lackeys?” Megatron said, raising his blaster with a snarl.
“You of all mechs should know it's only fair to play with someone your size,” Optimus propped his axe, the mask hiding his faceplate.
Megatron growled, and fired.
Optimus dove to the side, avoiding the blast, his armor and frame taking the blunt force of the ground heavily. He grunted, dismissing the multitudes of notifs pinging. He took note that the others had already backed away to let him fight without a liability, though the only person Optimus did not have to worry about was making her stealthy approach.
Megatron blaster charged once more with a terrible growl, dangerous purple emitting power, Optimus could feel the phantom heat burning on the left of his shoulder as he waited for the chance.
Elita jumped from where she had been approaching behind Megatron, transformed into her alt form, if only to make the impact much more heavier.
She slammed into Megatron, forcing him to stagger back, his guttural shout echoing through the battlefield. In the chaos, his cannon discharged wildly, and without aim, sending a destructive blast to the floor near Optimus. Frag, Optimus thought, looking away from the splinter ground, that could have been me again.
Megatron twisted, furious, his massive frame contorting as he lunged to grab hold of Elita before she could back away.
“Elita!” Optimus yelled out to warn her, optics wide as he watched Megatron grab her.
But Elita was already moving, She maneuvered in his servo with incredible lithe, scrambling from his hold and out of it with fluidity that he never knew where she got from.
Optimus took the chance of distraction to run up to him with his axe, while Megatron blocked the blunt attack with his cannon, hissing as it slashed at it before throwing Elita off of him and at Optimus.
The two collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud.
Which, not even a klik passed before her weight suddenly disappeared off of him.
“ Not again !” he heard her bellow, up above from the sky where she had been snatched by a seeker.
Optimus' processor raced trying to figure out a way to help her. But before he could act, the sharp sound of a familiar blaster came far too close to him. He whipped his helm, just in time to see Megatron’s blinding blast crackling with purple bright energy, it’s heat burning Optimus already with how close he was–
He braced for it, raised his arm to sacrifice for if it could at least take the heat of the blast, The searing pain he knew too well, but it never came.
Instead, The ground scorched beside him, where a dent that was already smoking, had been made by Megatron. From where he had laid on the ground, unable to stand or dodge as quickly, Megatron had fired at him and missed .
(He was an unmoving target, how could Megatron miss ?)
Optimus scrambled to his pedes, the left of his frame blazing for different reasons, probably from the heat blast that emitted from the shock of the shot near him , his processor supplied, his left arm trembled slightly.
The look Megatron had on his face made Optimus spark freeze.
He looked stricken.
(He didn’t miss.)
(It was intentional.)
(He aimed away at the last klik.)
“Megatron,” Optimus breathed, hoping, “we don’t have to do this.”
His answer had been another shot fired, missed , near his pede, a warning.
“Shut up,” Megatron said, scowling in an effort to hide his trembling lips, “and fight, Prime!”
“We–we don’t have to fight!”
Megatron glared with ferocious anger at his words, raised his other arm to fire bullets, “what a privilege for you to say! I have to fight, Prime, you gave me no choice!”
“No! No you don’t!” Optimus tackled the other, the two grunting as they hit the floor, Optimus pinning the other’s servos to the ground, rendering his weapons useless. Desperation clawing at his spark, they could be at peace, even if Megatron could never return to Iacon, they could still have peace. “-please! Megatron, you don’t have to–”
“You banished me,” Megatron reminded with a hiss, red magma eyes blazing with a growl, “i had everything , everything would have been fine but you came back–” Megatron tried to buck him off with a grunt, but Optimus had dug his pedes to the ground, forcing him down.
“Please,” Optimus tightened his hold, begging, “ talk to me .”
He felt the mech underneath him stiffen, freezing, his vents hitching as the tension thickened. It was the response he had hoped for, but more than he’d expected.
Megatron optics were wide, struck heavily by Optimus’ words. His expression stripped of its malice, shock remained and a brief flicker of hurt before it vanished and replaced with a grimace. And all in one klik, Optimus watched helplessly as it twisted back with his optic ridges furrowing, red blazing and threatening scowl.
The world tilted on its axis, spark lurching, Optimus felt pain flare on his back struts as he was suddenly dug into the ground, their positions switched with one swift maneuver.
Megatron inched his face close, holding Optimus down with a servo to his neck. The cables slowly dented to his touch, digits precisely pressed against where his sensitive under wires, as if Megatron knew where they were without looking. Optimus grunted, HUD flashing a warning as Megatron hissed with fury, snarling to his face, baring his denta, “do not tell me that! not when you haven’t been listening to me at all– ack!! ”
Suddenly, free to vent in air easily without a mass ton on top of him, Optimus optics shuttered to find that it was Bee who had crashed into Megatron.
“Optimus! Are you okay?!” Bee raced over to him, helping him up to his steady pedes despite how shaky his spark felt.
Optimus glanced over to Megatron, who stood and glared at them.
“I am,” Optimus answered, though it sounded like a lie.
With Bee’s arrival, the rest of the backup had as well, there weren't any supplies for the Decepticons to steal, and there were no casualties. They’ve started to retreat, their objective still unclear however. Despite it being a clear loss for the Decipticons, Optimus did not feel like a winner.
He couldn’t talk to Megatron, nor listen, the other had been silent ever since Bee’s ambush.
Glaring daggers into Optimus with his vivid red optics, burning a hole into him, making the empty space in his spark larger and larger by the pure hatred in his gaze.
He hadn’t looked away from where Megatron had turned and left, not until his form was no longer visible, not until one of the suns had risen to light the land in a beautiful soft glow of a new sol. It would have been relaxing, if it weren't for the sounds of medics calling one another over injured mechs.
Optimus was tired.
“-i swear if i keep getting nabbed to the sky constantly, I might as well weld a jetpack to myself.”
Elita-1’s voice cut through the haze, her approach steady but there was a limp in her walk, otherwise, she looked fine if not the few scratches.
Bee, who never strayed from Optimus' side, keen optics brimming with silent concern, took a step closer, encouraged by Elita’s presence.
He also carried a few of his own injuries, though none life threatening, thankfully.
Optimus relaxed with both of them by his side, seeing Elita gave him a fleeting sense of reassurance, he’d been worried when she was taken by the seeker.
Though Elita could not see it through his mask, and he had no intention of retracting it to reveal the tremble in his lips, he smiled at her. He reached with a shaky servo to Bee’s helm, patting him gently, trying to quell the storm of worry in the young mech’s optics.
“I think,” Optimus hummed along the Matrix, feeling its loud buzz slowly fading in his sore frame, “you’d find a way to take them d own quicker than –ww whh heffh nnggh –”
The words died on his vocal processor, his optics abruptly flickered and shut with the last thing he saw was an abundance of warnings, his systems failing to keep up, or more so forcefully shutting down. Optimus could only register his body going limp, falling with the force of gravity.
All he could hear were the frantic shouts of his friends, and the loud thrum of the Matrix roaring as he collapsed into darkness.
･
‧͙⁺
˚･༓
*☾･
His frame throbbed with pain, every circuit and wire weighted ache, his limbs slow to his commands. Optimus couldn’t even online his optics properly, visual feed glitching every klik, unfocused and blurry.
Though there was a reboot visual in his HUD display, slowly loading.
Integral systems that he recognized instantly, ones he hadn’t had before as a miner, when he was cogless, but ones he had for a brief time, before becoming a Prime.
The reboot was to accumulate for his new cogged frame, he realized before mulling it over…No, no, the reboot was medical. there , underlining the sequences that were fake, he could see a medically initiated reboot sequence coding instilled to his frame…how?
He…he had collapsed, didn’t he?
He must have slipped into an emergency recharge. The tension seeped from his frame as Optimus concluded that his friends must have brought him to a medic. His frame was aware of the damage he took outside of the dream, more so that he could even still feel it here?
(That wasn’t normal.)
12%
He knew he was dreaming, starting now, he recognized the foggy feeling it left in his processor, the way the Matrix presence dulled during it.
Added with the fact that the reboot had shown him to be in a different frame all together, unless he had woken up without the Matrix stuck to him anymore, all alone, blinded, by himself, then that’s a different story.
25%
Optimus laid sprawled on the ground, waiting for the reboot, ever so slowly feeling the ache lifting off of his body.
(Dreams shouldn’t feel like this, no mech should ever be this hyper aware in a dream. Optimus knew something felt off, but…what was it? What could it be?)
34%
He was outside, on the surface, he could tell.
The ambient sounds were a stark contrast to the city of Iacon. Where the city thrived with how loud it was, the surface was much dimmer, softer.
He also felt the ground he was lying on, this was not a marble floor, streets or roads of Iacon.
42%
Was this only because he was recently outside? Though with his blurry vision, he couldn’t exactly recognize the area he was in, a terrarian of trees and rocks surrounded him and the apparent empty space, circling all around him.
Shutting off his optics, he took note that it made the reboot go faster.
66%
The dulled sounds of heavy steps making his way to him should have alarmed him, but there was something about it that Optimus recognized.
“Orion?”
Orion heard the familiar voice, heard the surprise and the hurry of steps over to his lying prone form on the ground.
(guilt that coiled around him from the past three orns melted at the voice, shamelessly, Orion careened his helm towards him. The hole in his spark pulsing.
It’s fine.
This was a dream, so it’s fine for him to indulge…
right?)
84%
A servo cradled the back of his helm, raising him off of the ground.
Orion groaned, his frame twining with discomfort, either from lying for too long or it had a play with his exhaustion. He leaned his weight on the other, itching for his touch. Venting softly as another arm circled his waist to properly hold him.
The servo on his helm guided head upwards, tilting him delicately, and Orion belatedly realized that the servo was larger, broader, than he expected it to be.
“D?” Orion called out, but there was no answer.
99%
Orion hesitated, then onlined his optics to finally look.
Megatron.
Megatron was the one holding him.
100%
