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Chapter Text

Fear.

The coming of night brought no darkness to hide within. Not while they remained underground. Sirens screamed around them in a sickening chorus. Shouts of catacomb guards echoed from behind as they scrutinized every corner of the empty cells, searched the pathways leading toward the fiery pit as well as to the surface. Wails of the unlucky prisoners, too weary to understand the chance at freedom or too weak to run fast enough, grated at their hearing. They would be dragged back to their cells, thrown in without a second thought and guards would poke at them with shock prods to be sure they did not attempt to escape again.

The rest of the prisoners were far ahead, sheer terror aiding them to run for the surface without a second thought to look behind.

Megatron’s optics glanced back around the corner of the boulder, scanning to be sure they weren’t followed yet. The first wave of guards chasing after the other prisoners had passed by perhaps a couple nanoseconds ago, and it was only by the paint on their armor did they manage to step out of the way and shelter in the nook of the corner as the guards ran past. There was only one way to the surface, one path he had to be sure was clear before they attempted to reach it. The second wave would soon come, any nanosecond now. We have to move. He whirled back around to face panicked blue optics.

Come Optimus! Quickly!

Tightening his grip on the Prime’s servo, he burst into a sprint from where they’d hidden and tore up the pathway. Beside him, Optimus’s vents whined and rattled as he ran, peds clumsy and unfocused but pushing forward with any bit of energy they could use. Fear rippled through his field, making it flail and flutter around him. The path led up on a steep incline, making it ever harder for their drained frames to push ahead. Megatron’s chest plates heaved, but when he looked up the red and yellow hues were beginning to fade around them, shifting to a blue glimmer as the ceiling opened above them to expose stars. Almost there…!

“Find them!! Find them!! Do not let the rest escape!!”

The silver mech’s energon ran cold. Beside him, Optimus choked on a frightened howl. Pushed by such severe fear it could’ve only been instinctual, both mecha sprinted even faster upwards, their vents running hot and struggling to give them air. It brought them over the last stretch. Optimus stumbled into Megatron as their peds suddenly met an even surface, knocking a grunt from him as they both fought to remain upright. The Prime’s free servo clung to the other’s spiked shoulder, frame shivering from exertion and pain. Cold air suddenly hit their frames, making their vents wheeze and their armor prickle from a nearly forgotten sensation. They were out. Now, they had to find a way off the planet.

Megatron panted heavily as he immediately scanned their surroundings. There were no ships still on the ground. Any that had been were now hovering in the air, slowly rising through the atmosphere to eventually shoot off into the galaxy. Three moons shone above them, dotting the sky in a lop-sided triangle that lay on its side. The smallest moons made up the base of the shape, connecting to the point doubling them both in size. Below the largest moon on the planet’s surface, three giant arches stood side by side. Within them, swirling green portals shined on the other prisoners and the first wave of guards. Most of the prisoners were on the ground; yowling, crying, and forced into submission by the clicking and screeching pale monsters with prods. Others were disappearing into the portal on the far right. The silver mech’s spark flared. Space bridges!!

Come!! This is our chance!!

Optimus gasped with a croak as the ex-warlord bolted forward, forced to run again. His optics flickered and glitched dimly, and his whole frame tremored uncontrollably.

Diverting their direction to the far portal away from the commotion of the others, Megatron glanced back again to where they surfaced. The second wave of guards was soon to come. The faster they got to the bridge, the better off they would be.

The space bridge they advanced towards had to be the largest either of them had ever seen. Perhaps larger than the one the Decepticons once built beside the moon. It towered over them like a skyscraper, curling into the atmosphere bounded by the arch. Three long steps before it led up to the main platform, the surface right in front of the bridge. On the right side of the platform, the bridge controls stood blinking and beeping with a destination set. Megatron quickly leapt up the steps, meaning to run straight to the controls and see if the miniscule amount of time they had would allow them to bridge back to Earth. But Optimus tripped over them, the sheer force of gravity thwarting their grip and pulling him away from the silver mech. He cried out with wide optics as he staggered backwards, crashing into the bridge controls with a loud thud.

OPTIMUS!!

The controls sputtered from the onslaught of stimulation. Overhead, the swirling portal flickered once, then twice, then three times over. When the third flicker ended, the swirl shuddered before changing direction, winding back on itself. The holo-screen above the controls fizzled and hitched until the cartograph of the universe suddenly began to expand exponentially. Images of stars flew by like a ship engaged in dark matter drive, hundreds of times faster than by lightyears.

A cacophony of beeps and flashing buttons surrounded the Prime, and he shrieked in panic at the sudden chaos as he thrashed to get away. The silver mech scrambled towards him, sliding to his knees to wrap his arms around Optimus and pull him up. Optimus continued to thrash in his arms, magnetic field wild with terror, and he grunted as the other threw all of his weight against him to escape.

“There!! Get them!!”

Megatron’s helm whirled towards the shrill voice. Guards from the second wave had surfaced and were approaching them. His spark lurched, and he looked up at the seizing cartograph, image within still expanding to a size he could not imagine. He looked towards the bridge, now spinning backwards, but seemingly still functional. His optics whipped back and forth from the portal to the cartograph to the Prime to the guards that were soon to detain them.

This was their only chance. And if it killed them… Well, it was about time.

The ex-warlord looked down with dim optics, pressing a light kiss to the side of the Prime’s helm and nuzzling against it.

I love you.

With that, Megatron roared as he threw himself and Optimus into the portal, both of them disappearing into the swirl. Instantly following, the green mass of the portal lurched, and the arch groaned. Beneath it the ground shook, making the even surface quake and crack. The guards approaching halted in place, screeching as they tried to stay upright. They didn’t have long to observe the unusual phenomenon. Three nanoseconds later, the space bridge exploded, a bright orange mushroom cloud rising into the atmosphere and a shockwave knocking all beings off their feet.

The smoke would soon clear, but any memory that would be left of the last existing Cybertronians in this universe would be the scattered pieces of a metal arch.

Chapter Text

Everything’s different about this cell.

It’s bright, and spacious. Light pours in from the barred window above their helms, casting down on a gleaming metal floor. Stretching towards the bars that mark the only way in and out, it cuts a rough square of light into a section of the ‘door.’ The bars are spotless, polished titanium if Megatron were to make a guess. There was no rust on them, no jagged edges, and no dust blowing in from the draft of the catacombs. Not a speck of dirt lay beneath their peds anymore. Any grime in here came from their frames, layered over their paint so thick that it engrained itself into their plating. Megatron’s silver plating now permanently had a strong tint of red, and his bonded’s vibrant colors were dulled to the color of rust. They looked like scrapheaps in a throne room.

But the barred caves they had been trapped in for so long were gone. The concaved walls that trapped the heat of the billowing fires below had been replaced by a quiet, square cell. Its walls are smooth, flat, and cold to the touch. The metal bench they sit on is the same, so cold and flat that the forgotten sensations surge through him. Megatron takes the opportunity to lean back against them, venting a deep breath of clean air. He revels in the feeling of the cold. It numbs the phantom heat that sears the scars on his back plates. His beat-down, weary frame finally gets the chance to ease its tension. Not all of it, he’d be a fool to let his guard down now, but part of the way. It’s better than nothing.

Confusion.

For Optimus Prime, it’s different. The new surroundings pound at his senses, each demanding the undivided attention he did not have. The shiny metal walls are familiar, they remind him of the experimentation ward. But then again, they were not. These walls were silver. The ward’s walls were white. Everything was clean and neat, which was also familiar. But he was still dirty. Usually they hosed and sterilized him before bringing him into the ward. The slab they sat on was held up on both sides by chains, not wheels that could be moved from one station to the next. There were no machines beeping and buzzing around him, which meant that the room was silent, which also meant that the voices and noises he was hearing were coming from his own processor.

It also meant that the floor beneath them wasn’t actually moving.

Confusion.

The emotion pulses over the bond in its own beat, gaining strength with each passing klik. What was once a barely pronounced flicker had become a pounding force that boomed like thunder. Megatron’s optics flicker back online, and he tips his helm towards his bonded. Optimus’ leg struts are drawn up against his chest, and his arms are wrapped tightly around them. His optics are wide, fearful, and unmoving from their direction. The Decepticon’s spark clenches and ripples with anger, a gesture that goes unnoticed by the mentally distanced Prime. He’s not shaking, but it’s clear that such will begin soon if he does nothing. Megatron forces his anger out of the way, reaching out and across their bond to grab ahold of the other’s spark.

Where are you, my Prime?

Something thunderous and powerful evades all the chaos of the new surroundings, overshadowing them like a storm. For a blissful moment, they fade into the background, and he feels a warm and stoic presence take ahold of his spark. Then, his audials register what was said, and he realizes it was a question. One that his bonded always asked first. No greeting, no insult of honor, no sweet nothings, or promise of escape. It was to draw him back to reality, because only his Megatron ever asked such a silly question. Where have you wandered in those horrible daydreams? Where has the darkness in your mind taken you? Their sacred question, spoken softly in the reign of thunder over their bond, because gentle had never been a strong suit of a gladiator unless it was for an archivist.

Megatron feels the exact moment when the Prime’s attention shifts to him. Not in a physical action, but when the flickering spark he holds reaches back to twine over his tendrils. Knowing now it wouldn’t cause an anxiety attack, he takes the chance to wrap his magnetic field around his bonded.

The floor moves.

There is no voice that accompanies the words he hears. Even in bond, Optimus is nothing more than a whisper of what he’d once been. Like his sanity. The sensation brings forth new rage at the result of their captors’ wrath. But as quickly as it comes, it is rejected, as he remembers the fragile tendrils still attached to his own. His optics focus downward, to the floor beneath them that stood perfectly still. Megatron tried to imagine what it might look like from the other mech’s point of view, wavering and wobbling unsteadily as if the ground were manipulated by an unseen quake. It made him dizzy after a few moments. Megatron couldn’t imagine what it was doing to his bonded’s already twisted mind.

Look at me.

The voices don’t let him hear it at first, so the words register slowly. When they do, he tears his optics away from the floor and ever so cautiously tilts his helm to the side.

Fear.

Always afraid, because it could be another trick. Another illusion. Another monster waiting to play.

But the real Megatron never wavered. His image was still amidst the spinning world around them.

The silver mech waits patiently as his bonded’s blue optics, bright with terror, come to focus on him. When the other doesn’t flinch away, he lifts his right servo in between the two of them. His knuckles face the Prime, and his digits bend inward at an acute angle, pointing the sharp ends towards himself. Optimus’ optics contract in the slightest. This came after their question. It was their joining, the initiation of physical contact through a gesture alien to their captors.

Fear… Longing.

Gradually loosening the grip he held on his leg struts, Optimus lifts his right servo. The noises and voices in his helm suddenly whirl into an uproar, instincts shrilly screaming ‘DANGER! DANGER! PULL AWAY!’ The shining walls around him waver and flicker, as if on fire. The cold that bites at his frame jolts his nerves at a higher intensity. He whimpers, his arm strut shaking in the air as he hesitates. N-No. This was the real Megatron. He did not waver, he spoke silly questions, and he made silly gestures. It had to be. Clenching his denta so hard it shot pain through his intake, he pushed his servo out inch by inch. His processor spun and squealed. It hurt so much.

M-Megatron…

A voice accompanied the plea. Megatron recognized it. It was a cry of pain, begging for rescue. The other mech’s entire frame shook almost violently, and the tendrils connecting their sparks were pulled and plucked by darkness, loosening their grip. He fought not to flinch. If he could, he would swoop his arms around the other and never let him go, claw at his visions and destroy them. Drown them in his fury. But that’s just not the way it worked. The Decepticon couldn’t do that, not if he wanted to help. He had to let his bonded initiate the first touch. He had to be patient.

Optimus’ dusted servo brushed against the back of Megatron’s knuckles. The touch was warm and solid, and the Prime gasped. He nearly clenched his optics shut, instinctively waiting for an inevitable blow. The silver mech’s spark pulsed when he didn’t instantly pull away. His lip plates almost pull into a smile when the Prime’s frame begins to lose tension, and blue optics focus on their touching armor. Then, he starts to roll it against the silver servo. Megatron immediately imitates the gesture, following his pace as the back of their servos slide against one another. Their smallest digits connect as the insides of their servos touch. Then, like the gears inside a clock, their servos fall together, and their digits intertwine. That strange, alienated gesture they created to never lose one another, even against their captors.

The thunderous storm hovering over the chaotic noise in his processor clashes, and suddenly they’re gone. The moving walls and floors and bars of their cell have faded, given way to the steady shelter of his bonded. He’s left in the quiet, the warm rain pouring over him that’s soon to turn to coolant tears, and he sobs. It really is you.

Relief.

As soon as the emotion floods their bond, Megatron lets a small smile overtake his face plates. He turns his frame off the wall towards his bonded, ignoring the echoes of pain that come with it. Carefully, he tightens his grip on the other’s servo, and extends the other arm strut in an offer.

There you are.

Without the voices to distract him, Optimus recognizes the offer. He takes it without hesitation. The bench creaks as the rusted Prime curls over onto his servo and knee joints, crawling to the other side. Calmly, gently, Megatron pulls the other toward his frame. He lets one leg strut rest on the inside of the bench while the other hangs off, allowing his bonded to situate himself in between. His helm comes to rest on silver chest plating as he turns on his side, backplates facing the prison bars. Megatron begins to stroke up and down his spinal strut with the empty servo as the Prime’s leg struts stretch down the rest of the bench. This was so much nicer than before. This was warm, this was gentle. This was quiet, this was real. He was safe. He was… protected. Yes, he could pretend that for a while. As long as he was in Megatron’s arms, he was protected.

Something shifts against his chest plates, and Megatron looks down. The Prime’s helm is craned up and those blue optics are upon him once again. They project relief and a rare edge of love, grateful for this stolen moment of peace from his demons. The silver mech’s small smile holds steady, and he squeezes the servo in his grip once again.

It’s alright… Rest now.

Optimus quietly sighs, but the emotions in his optics do not change. His frame has lost much of its tension and tremors, and his visions had ceased for now. But he would not recharge. He would dare not recharge. Instead, his helm relaxes and nuzzles against Megatron’s chest, and he pulls their joined servos in front of it. He focuses on them, his optics tracing their outline. The silver mech listens as his vents slow to a regular pace. He fends off a sigh as he strokes his bonded’s back armor. This would not last as long as he wanted it to. Something would happen, something would set them off. Something would scare him, and he would pull away. And their tip-toed dance of pain and patience would start all over again.

It was best to enjoy the moments now while they lasted.

Chapter Text

“… not sure how long I’ll be here. Remain on standby. Please, no one else follow me until I can confirm if they are mentally stable.”

The voice was quiet in nature, higher in tone with a professional air like Ratchet’s voice had. Megatron’s spark seized and he sat up immediately, crimson optics fixed on the barred wall in front of him. Unicron’s Pit, no, not again…

Optimus’ field exploded instantly in panic, jumping up with his bonded and spinning towards the only way in and out of the cell. Wild optics were aghast with horror as his frame began to shake.

Fear.

Dawn?! Dawn?!

He keened into their bond voicelessly, the tendrils of his spark immediately shooting out in all directions to seek out their only source of comfort before it was torn away. That’s just how the routine worked. When dawn broke, the fires were lit, the lights in the lab came on, and another day of torture and slavery would start all over. Reminded of the routine, the voices were beginning to return, whispering in the dark depths to remind him that they never truly left.

Megatron’s optics flickered downward to his bonded. Seeing his servo still pressed against the other’s back, he curled it around the thinned waist of the Prime and rumbled. It brought his attention back, if not momentarily.

Won’t let them take you. Won’t let them hurt you again.

His bonded stilled, and they locked on each other’s gaze. This wasn’t the fiery tombs of their captors. There were so many differences. But who’s to say how they would be treated here? It wasn’t for the silver mech to tell, and there was no way his bonded could help on that response. So out of learned instinct, they took in every detail the could of one another, committing it to memory no matter how bad a condition the processor was in. Just in case it might be the last.

Ped steps sounded closer by the nanosecond as they ticked by. Forgetting the blatant fact that they were not by the labs anymore, Optimus’ field fritzed against the fear and eventual spark break they would bring. He howled, burrowing himself against his bonded and clinging to the catches in silver armor. Megatron wrapped his arms around him and held tight. Not again. Primus and Unicron, don’t do this.

The ped steps quickened, as if in response to the Prime’s voice. Then, as if the mech behind the ped steps had triggered it, the wall beyond the bars whined as it pulled away to the side. Rage that had been pent up in his spark for too long surfaced in a moment, and a growl rose from his chest as he glared at the moving wall, waiting and bemoaning what enemy may stand on the other side. Optimus tremored in his grasp, just barely peering up over his arm strut to look.

Gears grinding to a halt, the door fell away to reveal the mech behind it. They hadn’t had a clue what they’d been expecting. But what they got confused Megatron as much as it unnerved him. It was a lone mech, Autobot by the looks of his slim frame and the softer features of his facial plating. He was nothing like any of the mecha that had found them and put them in this cell. Like Ratchet, his color scheme was orange and white, but he was a lot more orange than white. His optics were much larger and rounded than either of them had ever seen, reminding Megatron of a time long ago when he’d seen humans wearing rounded glass lenses circled with wire on their faces. It gave him the impression that this bot was wearing glasses.

At first, he paused, round blue optics seeming to take in their every detail. The positions of their frames, the tension of their limbs, the fear in their magnetic fields, the expressions on the faces—the bot’s optics locked with his, and Megatron’s spark spun with a primitive defensive wrath. Clutching Optimus tighter to his frame, the Decepticon bared his sharp denta and snarled loudly. Immediately, the bot’s expression turned into something near fear and he leaned back, as if surprised by the reaction of the prisoners before him. Something in the silver mech’s spark flickered with satisfaction for the first time in years. But then, the bot walked to the side wall, pressed a button, and the front wall began to scrape shut. The prisoners stiffened. This had never happened before, it wasn’t part of the routine. They didn’t know whether it was relieving or terrifying. Slowly, the bot turned from the wall and walked toward the bars of their cell. Each step he took made them that much more uneasy about the situation. Optimus inhaled shakily and Megatron snarled again. This time the bot stopped, right in front of the door.

“Hello.”

He spoke softly with a kind undertone. The prisoners jolted, alarmed and confused.

“I apologize for startling you. It’s alright, there’s no need to be frightened.”

The bot paused, optics traveling over them both before he smiled, the gesture as compassionate as his vocals.

“I’m Rung. I’m the official psychologist of Earth’s Cybertronian City. You are our newest arrivals, I assume?”

Psychologist? Newest arrivals? Cybertronian City?

After so long as nothing but prisoners, the new information hit him like an onslaught. All Megatron knew for sure is they had escaped the catacombs by the paint on their armor, had run to the first space bridge they could get to without being caught, and he threw them through. After that, they’d fallen into the middle of a busy street. So many alien sensations of a city at once had made the silver mech’s processor spin on an axis. Optimus had curled into himself on the pavement and sheltered his audials and optics with his arms, screaming and crying in fear.

Rung’s expression sobered in the slightest as he watched the silver mech’s optics flicker in anger, fear, and confusion. The red and blue mech he held only watched him with the same terror, as if he hadn’t heard a word he’d said. He tried a different approach, reaching into his subspace to take out two cubes.

“I’ve brought you both some energon. You haven’t had anything since arriving, I assume, and before that we haven’t the slightest idea when your last meal was… I suppose it’s safe to infer that a meal is in order?”

Crimson optics of the silver mech flicked from the cubes in his servos to his face plates in rapid succession, guarded and untrusting. But if Rung looked close enough, he believed he could see hunger in their depths as well. He smiled again, bending down to place them on the floor.

“You may have them when you’re ready.”

Both prisoners watched as the psyche bot pushed the cubes through the bars, leaving them on the other side for them to reach. He stood, backing up a pace to let them come and claim, but neither of them moved. He sighed lightly.

Megatron’s processor tore with indecision. When was the last time either of them had a ration? It had to be at least a couple solar cycles by now. His energon levels had cycled down to the red zone, and he knew his bonded was at the same. He couldn’t deny hunger, nor the hunger he knew Optimus felt. But to get any closer to those Primus-forsaken bars…

Confusion. Stress. Fear.

Optimus suddenly moaned, tearing his servos away from his bonded’s armor to clutch at his helm and cycle his optics shut. Megatron’s spark flared and he focused once more on the other.

Where are you, my Prime?

The Prime leaned against him and shook his helm over and over in his servos, as if trying to get rid of a nasty thought.

No dreams… No dawn... No dreams.

He’s overwhelmed. Optimus mumbled to himself the most when he was highly burdened with information. He should’ve known the presence of this new bot and a break in the routine would do this. Immediately, Megatron tightened the grip on his bonded and began to him rock back and forth.

It’s not dawn. Won’t let them take you.

Rung’s spark sank as he watched the scene unfold. He’d had his suspicions, now it was confirmed the red and blue mech most likely had a severe mental illness. However, after observing their interactions towards him as well as each other, it was clear he would have no permission to aid until he at least gained the silver mech’s trust. Trying to avoid startling them, he spoke once again.

“Your—companion. I can see that he is unwell… I am medically trained. Is there anything I can do to assist?”

At the word ‘medically,’ the red and blue mech gasped loudly, yanking himself up from the silver mech. His optics frantically scanned the area, scanned Rung, as if looking for incoming danger. The silver mech did not reach out for him, instead crooned and rumbled to the other, gazing at him forlornly. When the other mech’s blue optics finally came back to him, the silver mech held the back of his servo up to him. Rung recycled his optics at the gesture, watching with growing curiosity as the silver mech’s companion mirrored the gesture. Their servos connected, then flipped to twine. Perhaps it is their alternate, developed way of reassurance? The psyche bot didn’t get to question the notion further before choked sobs caught his attention. The red and blue mech fell into his companion’s arms, the sheer force of his sobs causing him to tremble hard as he cried into the crook of the other’s shoulder. The silver mech rumbled once again, rocking back and forth, before his crimson optics focused on the psyche bot. And oh dear, they looked particularly angry.

“You’re scaring him.”

Rung almost jumped at the words. Dark depths of sharpened steel were wielded by the voice of the silver mech. He’d not heard many voices so deep they resonated throughout a room. The only other bot he could immediately think of that could even equal it was Optimus Prime. Though he shivered at the underlying threat of the tone, his spark leapt. This is a good sign! He’d asked a question, and he’d been answered. One of them is mentally stable! This can be worked with! He met the jagged gaze of crimson optics and fought not to flinch. Now if only we could gain enough trust to find out where they came from.

Rung decided that was enough strain to put on the newcomers for today.

“My humblest apologies. I did not mean to put your companion through more stress.”

Lifting his servos in a gesture of peace, Rung backed another few paces to the side wall, reaching out to key in the code for release. Megatron recycled his optics as his threat was heeded once again, and the wall behind the bot slid open. Large, rounded blue optics focused on the both of them.

“I’ll leave you in peace… And I’ll be back tomorrow with more energon. If either of you need anything, Fortress Maximus will be on his post. Just give a shout, and he’ll contact me immediately.”

With kind, quirky smile, the psyche bot stepped out and the wall slowly slid shut. It left Megatron and Optimus alone, troubled, and completely bemused.

Chapter Text

… Nightfall?

Stressed and twitchy from the accidental relapse with a flashback of the lab, the Prime’s damp faceplates surfaced from Megatron’s shoulder to stare at the door. Optimus’ broken processor could only assume that nightfall had come while the lights were still lit. Why else would danger come and be gone? But that still made no sense. Dark meant night. Light meant day. He knew that. So why was it light and the danger had fled? Trying to piece together the answer was like trying to make the walls stop waving ‘hello,’ it just didn’t work.

His bonded’s servo grasped tightly at his cannon arm, causing Megatron to put an abrupt halt to his train of thought and peel his gaze away from the door and down. Lip plates twitched into a frown when he saw blue optics flicker like static. That’s what happened when he tried to think with a broken processor. He reached over, cupping the side of his bonded’s helm and stroking his thumb digit over an audial finial. Optimus recycled his optics, mind going blank at the familiarly pleasurable touch. He couldn’t help leaning into his bonded’s digit but couldn’t for the life of Primus remember why he liked it so much.

Shifting in the bigger mech’s grasp, the rusted Prime looked up at his bonded, optics pleading for him to offer an explanation. Megatron only smiled, pulling away to wipe the coolant streaks dry. In response his bonded huffed, optics disappointed and indignant. You won’t tell me why, and now you stop? Megatron would’ve laughed if he could.

Outside their cell window, the sun had rotated westward, and the light that flooded their space now shined on the better part of their barred wall. Something shimmered and glinted in Megatron’s vision, reminding him of fire too quickly to stop himself from jerking away. Optimus jumped with him, and they both whipped around towards the only exit to find the two cubes of energon, sitting silently in their places and refracting the light. Megatron’s flared plating smoothed out as he realized the simple mistake, and his spark sent a soft apology over their bond.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They stared at the cubes that sat inches from the bars, there for the taking and patiently waiting. The silver mech’s fist curled. Did they have to sit there and mock them as they starved? Right next to the bars that could open and separate them in a nanosecond’s notice? A quiet, but piercing gutter filled the room, as if on que with his thoughts, when the silver mech’s tanks once again churned on its fumes. Suddenly too tired to be annoyed with it, Megatron’s optics flickered over to the other. His bonded’s gaze was already on him, glowing with empathy. He may have lost his sanity, but he could remember and understand hunger. The Prime looked back towards the cubes, and a long moment of silence followed before his own tanks churned too.

Something in his spark whined at the sight. His gaze flickered back to the cubes one more time, and after contemplation, Megatron heaved a long sigh.

One of these cycles, he is going to be the end of me.

Optimus perked up at attention when his bonded leaned forward, placing each ped on the steel floor individually before hauling his heavy frame upward. His helm spun as he rose, disoriented from standing after resting for so long, and it made him press his knuckles against his forehelm with a light sneer. When he found his balance, his servo fell away, and he turned towards the bars.

DANGER!!

A wordless cry shrieked behind him and panic suddenly flooded his field as the other’s field swarmed around it. Megatron turned around as Optimus’ servos clawed at his arms, optics wild and desperate.

DANGER!! DO NOT GO!!

“Shhh.”

The silver mech soothed as he learned down to his bonded, sending as much reassurance and love over the bond as he could. When his spark tendrils reached, the were immediately grasped. Optimus whined softly as he pressed a kiss to the other’s forehead.

Both of us hungry.

He was held in place, and he sighed as his bonded nuzzled at his helm.

We need energon.

Focusing his attention on that one and only task, Megatron squeezed at the Prime’s servos before pulling away, forcing his way through the ache that ripped at his chest. We will NOT be separated. No one is here. The cubes were offered to us. We will NOT be separated. Slowly, step by small step, Megatron pried himself away from the bench they’d found as their safety to approach the cubes on the floor. One step, two steps. His frame blocked the sunlight, and the cubes were sheltered in darkness. It reminded him of the last few precious moments of night before the lights came on and day would begin. Three steps, four steps. Optimus was paralyzed, optics cycled as wide as they could go as he watched his silver warrior fall into the rippling background. His joints and struts were jerked so stiff they creaked and throbbed. If he went any farther, he would not be able to find him again, and in his shrunken world that was unfathomable. Five steps, six steps. The cubes were right there, right in front of him. All he had to do was reach down and grab them. But the bars were right there too. If he went any closer there was a chance his legs could give out. He’d be down, and the bars would clang. The guards would hear, and they’d come looking. They’d pry open the rusted door that groaned and silky hands would grab at him, drag him out, crack the bolts of energy at his back as he struggled to—

“T-T-TRRON!!”

He gasped, yanked out of his flashback by the sheer desperation in the other’s spark that held onto him. Megatron’s processor kicked back into gear, driving him to kneel and rip the cubes away from the bars looming overhead. He then stumbled back to the bench, optics unseeing as they stared ahead and pressing himself into the corner as his vents worked on overdrive. Silence surrounded them both, save for his puffing ventilations.

M-Megatron?

He did not respond, still trying to regain his bearings. Nanoseconds ticked by like the moon that crawled over the night sky. The back of a black servo appeared in front of him, making him recycle his optics in surprise. He turned his helm to find his bonded facing him, faceplates damp with more coolant as he held out the back of his servo. Inhaling and exhaling a shaky vent, Megatron raised his servo and pressed them together, letting them roll against each other to connect. He sighed in deeply felt relief. We will not be separated. Not ever again. The side of the Prime’s lip plating twitched, a gesture that Megatron hoped was him trying to grin. Then his optics flicked down to his other arm, and he followed the gaze. Two cubes of energon were still clenched in his grasp, and he suddenly remember the reason behind forcing himself to the other side of their cell. He held out the nearest cube.

Energon, my Prime?

Yearning.

Optimus only hesitated once before grasping the cube in both servos, optics showing the depth of their famish. Before he could drink, Megatron placed his digits over top of it to attract his attention.

Intake slowly.

The silver mech only took his servo away when the Prime nodded, tipping his cube back to take a small sip. But as soon as the life-giving liquid flowed over his glossa, Megatron groaned, struggling to pull it away. His bonded mirrored him, entire frame shivering in near ecstasy as it welcomed the fluid in its tanks. They took turns, watching the other as they struggled to take small sips and not down the rest of the cube in one swig, falling into the blissful satisfaction of a full tank for the first time in eons.

Neither of them paid any mind to the human-sized security camera hidden in the far ceiling corner that had been observing their actions since the psyche bot had left.

Chapter Text

It was long into the night cycle before Megatron came to a realization.

The bench was an acutely uncomfortable surface to lay on, but it was better than the floor. He propped himself up on his side, stretching out his arm for his bonded to use to lay his helm against. Back once again facing the bars and burrowed into his chest plates, Optimus fought a losing battle against recharge. Megatron wouldn’t try to coax him into that state, he knew what visions awaited there for both of them. But he wouldn’t stop him if he did loose the battle, he could use a simple rest, no matter how long it lasted before he would start screaming and thrashing. He would wake him before that happened anyway. For now he cradled the Prime close, more relaxed under the cover of nightfall that meant the lights were all turned out. His servo unconsciously messaged little circles into the other’s hip plating, processor going over the recent events that were so entirely different from what he’d become used to. He’d spent the whole day with Optimus, which was an answered prayer in itself. They’d kept each other on the surface of reality, shared their first full cubes of energon together, and—Holy Primus. His optics widened a fraction as he focused his absent gaze on his bonded. You spoke today.

Pride.

Optimus Prime had not spoken since the first time he’d been taken to the experimentation ward. Time had been lost to him ever since they’d arrived at the catacombs and his chronometer was destroyed, he could not even remember the last time that was. What he remembered very clearly is that their treatment was different from the start. The ex-warlord had been dragged to the pits of billowing fire, while the Prime was taken to the labs, hidden by a mountain of boulders that towered over the cave cells. The only way one could tell something lay hidden inside was the lights that escaped from the cracks. Like the fires, they flickered out when nightfall arrived and came on when dawn broke. At the end of the first day, Megatron had been shoved back into his cave beaten, leaking, and weary, but his hardened spirit had survived… When Optimus was returned, he was spotless, frame shining and seemingly untouched. But he stood too straight, his movements were rigid and jerky. His faceplates were emotionless. His optics broken and petrified. If he were honest with himself, it had terrified him. The Prime was as strong-willed and stubborn as him, if not more. Whatever they had done to break him so quickly, so easily… He might never know what it truly was, because that was the day Optimus ceased talking. They whispered over their bond in snipped words and short phrases, that was the only place which was safe.

Each day it only grew worse. He stopped smiling. He stopped fighting. He stopped hoping for escape. His optics grew distant with the only two emotions that remained: fear and misery. Megatron would’ve never been able to predict how bad it would get for his bonded. Not until the nightfall came that he heard a ghastly bellow cut through the catacombs. Like the other prisoners, he’d crawled to the bars to peer out, back plating sore from the welts and brands scorched into them. It was only when he saw the flashes of red and blue that he realized the tortured voice belonged to Optimus. He’d blocked off the bond, Megatron hadn’t even noticed until now, but he immediately knew why. The Prime threw himself against the arms that held him, he clawed, pulled, dug his peds into the ground until they had to yank him forward again. The ex-warlord just barely had enough time to get out of the way before the bars opened and the Prime was thrown in, door slamming behind him. Megatron watched in staggering shock and spark break as the once mighty Optimus Prime wailed as if his limbs were being torn off, convulsing and seizing on the rust-covered ground. It was a long time before his frame fell into a sense of stillness, limp against the ground except for the shudders that occasionally shook him. Wondering if he was close to permanent shutdown, Megatron had crept next to him, gently stroking his cheek plate damp from coolant tears. It was then that blue optics onlined, staring without focus after recycling three times in a row. Optimus Prime broke, he’d said over the bond when he finally regained focus for a few nanoseconds. He repeated it two times over, clumsily tracing the worn Decepticon sigil on the ex-warlord’s chest, and Megatron knew that was it. They had driven him insane.

Shaking his helm to rid himself of a replay of the catacombs, the silver mech smiled at his bonded. He spoke today. Granted, it was his name, and an abbreviated version of it, but it was better than silence. It meant that there was still hope for Optimus. There was still a chance for him to heal, for both of them to heal, and perhaps find a way to live again.

Live… Perhaps if we weren’t still in a prison cell, we could try.

Their newest captors came to mind. Or better yet, the bot that had come to them earlier today. As he looked back on it, he thought it safe to assume that perhaps the bot meant them no harm. As if he could’ve won a fight against the silver mech anyway. He’d tear to shreds anyone who looked at his bonded the wrong way. Though better yet, this bot, Rung, he should probably call him since he had a name, had called himself a psychologist, a specialist of the Cybertronian mind. Perhaps… there is a chance he could help Optimus…? His spark could’ve pulsed at the idea if his instincts weren’t screaming bloody murder. The mere thought of anyone besides himself near the Prime was as horrifying as it was enraging. He fought off a grumble, vision returning to his bonded as he saw that the other had powered down into the state between online and stasis. He swore at himself to keep quiet.

One thing was clear to the ex-warlord. If he didn’t at least try to get his act together and initiate contact with this Rung, nothing would ever change. Optimus had always been his level processor, and now that he’d lost his sanity, well, it was up to him.

“I’ll be back tomorrow with more energon.”

Tomorrow, yes. Tomorrow he would try. He would speak with this Rung, answer his questions, and find out whether his credentials of psychology were truth or lies. But before then, he would have to come up with some kind of a plan. They had to be prepared, just in case this fell through and these bots proved no better than their previous captors. Megatron tapped a single clawed digit against his bonded’s hip plating as his mind worked through what would need to be formulated by tomorrow. Names. The thought came randomly, and he nearly dismissed it until he turned it over. Yes, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to give themselves an alias. So far, no one had recognized either of them, or so he came to believe. It would stand to reason that in case anyone here would instead know them by name, they should change. But to what? A good question, one to which gave Megatron a long pause. They had to be something simple, more ordinary but not too different. Asking his bonded to suddenly remember a new name was going to be challenge enough, much less one that was nothing like his original. This time he didn’t fight the grumble, but Optimus barely stirred. Wait a klik, original? His original name was not Optimus Prime, it was Orion. That could suffice, it’s not so uncommon. As for his own name… The events of earlier today resurfaced, and the first word Optimus had spoken since their first capture brought a smile to his denta.

Optimus Prime, you are a genius!

Unconscious to the fact that he’d said it over the bond, he almost jumped when Optimus startled into awareness. He groaned quietly, optics bleary and dim as he tried to focus on his bonded. Megatron’s face plates flushed, and he sent an apology over their bond. Optimus only groaned again, peering at him with an expression so near irritation it reminded him of a time before they’d ever been captured. His spark pulsed as the Prime flopped back onto the bench, just about to give up against recharge before he suddenly remembered his plans and carefully shook his bonded’s shoulder.

Where are you, my Prime?

He waited until the other rolled over to peer up at him and inferred by the almost complete expression he was given that if the Prime could curse him to the Pits, he would.

Sit with me.

Optimus recycled his optics, furrowing his metal brows. Megatron was about to show him what he meant before the Prime sat up, pushing himself to the other side of the bench and sitting cross-legged to face the other. Grateful that he understood, he mirrored the gesture and threaded the digits of their servos together so that their arms rested against their left knees, connected in the middle. The digits of his opposite servo tapped against his thigh as he tried to figure out how to go about this. He’s insane, not a sparkling. He may understand me to a point… I suppose I’ll just have to see how this goes.

First, he used his free servo to point to himself, then at Optimus.

I am Megatron. You are Optimus. Correct?

The Prime immediately nodded, then gestured to Megatron with his own free servo before gesturing to himself as well.

Real Megatron. Real Optimus.

Megatron nodded with him, past the point of questioning why he always called him real after figuring it must have something to do with his visions. He then pointed towards the barred wall.

Remember Rung from the day cycle? Skinny orange bot with big round optics?

Once again, he nodded, this time a bit slower with his metal brows furrowing as he did so.

Look like Ratchet, but not Ratchet.

The silver mech blinked at that but did not question it. Actually, Optimus had a point. Rung reminded him a lot of the old medic after all. He wondered for a nanosecond if the reminder hurt his bonded. By the looks of the Prime, it hadn’t.

Yes, he’s not Ratchet… He’s a psychologist.

Optimus’ helm tilted a couple degrees to the side.

Mad mech healer?

Megatron couldn’t help it as his lip plates quirked up into a smile. If it hadn’t been Optimus who’d fallen victim to this predicament, he would’ve been highly entertained hearing the ramblings of an insane mecha from day to day… Besides Starscream.

Yes, he a mad mech healer.

Optimus’ lip plate twitched again, and they shared a near content moment of silence. But then the Prime’s optics recycled, as if coming to his own realization. Megatron watched carefully as his optics contracted and dimmed before dilating. Over the bond, he felt a sudden swirl of comprehension and shock.

… Optimus Prime broke.

His optics fell to the ground as he turned his gaze away, field colored in misery. Megatron squeezed the servo in his grasp, pushing acceptance and love over their bond and leaning towards his bonded.

Optimus Prime can be fixed.

He whispered voicelessly. The Prime hesitated before allowing his optics to rise and meet the crimson dots of light that stared back. Bright, encompassing, understanding, and just as weary as Optimus was of misery.

How?

The ex-warlord hesitated for a moment, shoulders falling as the burden of a lifetime rested on him. Now, isn’t that the question we both want an answer to.

… I do not know.

He relented. There was no lying to his bonded, who lost any sense of false hope long ago… But nevertheless, there was a chance for hope once again. Megatron rolled his shoulders back with a risen state of confidence stolen from the days of the war, desperate to cling to that chance.

But I believe he wants to help us.

Using his free servo, he slowly reached out to carefully caress the Prime’s cheek plate.

You’ve suffered enough, Optimus.

The Prime exhaled shakily, leaning into the clawed servo and forgetting to cycle away the coolant that gathered at his optics. A mad mech healer. He remembered the concept from a time so long ago it felt like a long lost thought. What would it be like? To cease hearing voices at almost every waking moment that did not exist? To gaze at surroundings that stood still? To go through a day without any flashbacks or dark memories to draw him away from reality? To simply exist in a world turned right side up with Megatron? It… It was unfathomable. Inconceivable. It was… too good to be true. To be sane again with his bonded felt like the most improbable dream.

Maybe… Maybe for now, he could pretend it wasn’t impossible. That such an idea was in their grasp, and to achieve it, the way did indeed lie with the mad mech healer. Yes, he could pretend that for now. The idea make his spark feel funny. Less heavy and broken, like something were lifting it and caressing it like Megatron did. Optimus focused his weary gaze on his bonded, his lip plates twitching as he nodded once into the silver servo.

Mad mech healer help fix Optimus Prime.

His spark leapt and danced around its partner’s tendrils. Perhaps this meant that Optimus still felt hope after all. Or, at least, wants to feel hope. He would assume the more positive option for now and go from there. Megatron let his servo linger over his bonded’s face before letting it drop, thinking over his next few words before speaking.

Mad mech healer, Rung, will want to know about us before helping.

In response, Optimus’ helm tipped to the side and he recycled his optics. He then gestured to Optimus and to himself once again.

Rung will ask our names. You are Orion. I am Tron.

Immediately, the Prime’s optics widened as his metal brows furrowed in complete confusion. He stared at the silver mech for a long time before slowly shaking his helm and copying the previous gesture.

No… Megatron. Optimus.

Megatron’s optics fell to their crossed legs before them as he grit his denta quietly, trying not to let any frustration take over the happy moment they had just shared. If his processor were a separate mech, it would be whacking him over the helm. He would do well to remember, after all, that this would be no easy task for Optimus to comprehend. He had established what would always stay the same and clung to those constants. Now, one of the most important ones was about to change. He made a gesture in between shaking and nodding his helm.

No… Well, yes. You are Optimus. I am Megatron. But Rung cannot know that.

Optimus recycled his optics again. Megatron took it as a cue to get on with it.

Remember before… Remember our war? Before we ended it on the Nemesis?

The silver mech froze when he felt the other’s spark flare over their bond. He internally cursed himself, convinced that he’d caused a flashback and waited for him to react. To his surprise, none came, instead the Prime’s optics drifted away, and his expression fell into something resembling sadness.

Yes.

Overly relieved that it had not triggered anything worse, he rumbled his engines to regain the other’s attention before continuing.

I think Rung is an Autobot. We know war ended, but Rung and other mechs here might not. Telling him I am Megatron and you are Optimus might put us in danger of attacks again.

Optimus’ optics snapped back to him at the word “danger.” He knew that word very well. If nothing else, he would heed the meaning behind that. His optics contracted from their original nervous stare, as if coming to terms with what was just said.

No danger… Megatron pretend to be Tron, Optimus pretend to be Orion?

Megatron’s smile returned and widened, and he nodded briskly.

Precisely, my Prime. Yes.

Chapter Text

Whether either of them had slept more than a groon or two, they didn’t know. Much less did they care when the night terrors came to haunt them. Megatron gave up on trying to power down after the seventh time he was startled online by visions of fire or his bonded’s constant whimpers. He decided instead to keep a close tab on him and let the bond work its remedy as his spark enveloped the other like a blanket. Ascending to bring light to the world, the sun’s slow orbit outside their cell window signaled the passage of night into day. He watched from where they lay, imagining the nanoseconds tick by as it came closer to that time in the routine. When it would all begin again.

Dawn came, but no guards came for them. What would’ve been the start to another day of pit seemed to pass by like a monster oblivious to their hiding place. As much as it relieved him, it continued to subconsciously confuse him. His frame was on edge, energy building in his struts and joints as his gaze slid towards the wall beyond the bars, waiting for it to grind and give way to let guards in. He tried to subdue when his limbs would twitch, mindful of the other bot in his arms that had yet to online. Optimus had just fallen back to recharge a little while ago. As hopeless of a thought it might have been, he sheltered the other within his shadow to let him rest through dawn.

Rung returned to their cell earlier than he had the cycle before, but long after dawn came and went. When his audials picked up on soft footsteps echoing from the other side of the wall, he sat up and faced it. His spark flared in initial panic, and his servos sought out his bonded’s recharging form instantly. He fought to not pull him closer, instead stroking his side as he sucked in a deep vent to prepare himself for what he was about to do. To his own state of processor, it had to be one of the most insane things he’d do yet, one that every instinct within snarled at him for. There is no other choice.

The wall ground and creaked against the floor as it shifted to the side. Optimus startled awake with a gasp, a tired moan turning into an anxious whine as he sought out his bonded. A low rumble rose from Megatron’s chest in response, and as the Prime pressed himself against the silver mech’s upper plating, he nuzzled against the top of a dull blue helm. Simultaneously he watched as Rung finally appeared on the other side of the bars. His expression was serious, but soft, accompanied by a small, warm smile familiar from the cycle before.

“Good morning.”

He spoke kindly as he walked to the side wall and pressed that same button to close the wall again.

… Mad mech healer… Mad mech healer…

Frightened and confused, Optimus’ frame began to shake as he tried to focus on the orange mech that wobbled in his vision like a single flame. His hearing subsided as the distracting noises resurfaced. All he could do was cling to the sensation of touch, running his digits over his bonded’s scuffed armor.

Megatron remained still, and his optics narrowed into a scrutinizing gaze as he watched the lean Autobot reach into his subspace pockets.

“As promised, I’ve brought more energon. You may have it whenever you please.”

Like yesterday, Rung leaned down and slid both cubes through the bars. If he had any reaction towards the fact that the other two cubes were gone, he did not show it. Megatron watched as he stood to his full height and backed away, as if instead showing respect to a need for space. His respect was accurate, and it aided in the silver mech’s resolve. Releasing a vent of hot air, he pushed a kiss to the top of the Prime’s helm.

I love you.

Optimus’ helm snapped up to his. His optics dilated, the confusion and fear in them now joined by an emotion he almost couldn’t express anymore. Megatron felt it when the other’s spark quivered in distress, wanting so badly to say it back but too terrified of what might happen if he did. He understood. And in prayer, he begged that this was the right choice.

“Rung.”

The psychologist almost jumped, optics widening a fraction as the silver mech spoke once again.

“That is your designation?”

His momentary surprise turned to joy when he realized the question being asked and Rung let his field relax as his smile grew and he nodded.

“Yes, that is my designation… May I know yours?”

The silver mech did not answer immediately, instead his piercing red optics scrutinized his frame at least three times. Then, he slowly untangled himself from the grip of his companion and slid to the edge of the bench. The red and blue mech beside him turned to follow, but his optics flickered to Rung and he retreated to the corner of the bench with a fearful cry. Rung’s vents stilled as he observed and sensed a sudden terrible grief in the silver mech’s field. Their gazes locked for a few brief moments, before the silver mech turned away and rose from the bench, taking a few steps forward until they stood about five steps apart. He met Rung’s gaze head on.

“Tron.”

He said abruptly. Rung almost startled, but this time held his ground even if he was caught unprepared. His gaze skimmed left, finding the red and blue mech who had curled in on himself and was rocking back and forth on the bench.

“And, your companion?”

Tron’s helm tipped back towards the other, and immediately he sidestepped to block Rung’s view.

“Orion.”

He growled. The psychologist nodded slowly, mentally noting as he had yesterday the protectiveness of the silver mech over his companion. From a bystander’s perspective, it could’ve definitely been sheer possessiveness that caused it. From an uneducated eye, the silver mech definitely seemed the type. Then again, from the utter weight of emotions he could sense between them and their almost unbreakable codependency, Rung knew it must’ve been triggered by a past event. Or events. He met Tron’s crimson optics again, resolving to respect the mech’s unspoken demand for the sake of making progress.

“Alright, Tron. May I ask where you come from?”

Tron visibly flinched at the question and let his optics fall to the floor between them, a reaction that Rung did not expect. He did not answer, and silence spread between them. It now seemed that anything involving their origins would be a difficult question. Rung waited patiently, hoping that this hadn’t crossed anymore boundaries that would guarantee eternal silence from the city’s newest arrivals.

“If you don’t wish to speak about it now, Tron, it can be discussed at a later date when you’re ready.”

At that, the silver mech’s optics returned to meet his. Rung smiled softly.

“But I am willing to help you in any way that I can and answer any questions you may have.”

A pause ensued as Tron’s optics became distant, as if thinking and mulling over a decision. Then, they turned sharp as he rolled his shoulders back.

“You are a psychologist?”

Rung immediately nodded.

“Yes. I assess, diagnose and treat bots who suffer from psychological distress and mental illness.”

Tron’s helm tipped back towards Orion and Rung watched him soften before turning back.

“… Orion is my bonded. He needs help.”

His optics widened again as his spark pulsed with pain for the bots behind the bars. Rung had his suspicions, but he was not going to make any unnecessary assumptions. With this information, a lot of their codependency made sense. But now he had to focus on what he’d been asked.

“Of course, Tron. Do you know specifically what ails him?”

Tron’s shoulder’s sunk in the slightest, and he vented deeply as his optics looked from Orion back to Rung.

“He has frightening visions and is constantly distracted… I don’t think he can process correctly most of what he sees and hears.”

Immediately, Rung’s optics drifted as his processor analyzed the symptoms and scoured for a possible diagnosis. It wasn’t as much as he’d like to go off of, but from the way Tron had slowed as he tried to explain, it was clear it confused him as well. It seemed so far to be a severe case of schizophrenia, but he could make no farther assumptions without directly observing, or even interacting with the patient. With that in mind, he remembered the silver mech’s warnings, and hoped that this wouldn’t bring their interactions to an abrupt end. He focused back on Tron.

“I believe I have a possible diagnosis. But to confirm it, I will need to meet and interact with him.”

The silver mech’s optics narrowed suspiciously, and he stood his ground. But Rung did not waver either.

“It does not have to be any more of an interaction than through the bars. I will not invade your cell, nor ask either of you to leave it if that is what you wish.”

Megatron’s optics dilated as he processed the information. He took heed that Rung was going great lengths to attempt to respect any boundaries they set. His spark was not pleased, and every instinct was sharp and poised with distrust. But it wasn’t that simple anymore. What other choice do I have? Venting a low growl, he lifted his chin as he regarded the psychologist.

“Give us a moment.”

He stated, not waiting for a response as he turned, glimpsing over his shoulder at the bars out of habit to never turn your back on the captors.

Chapter Text

… Dreams are not real… Dreams are not real…

Optimus had been repeating that same sentence over their bond since he’d walked away from the bench. Megatron did not know what it meant, nor what to make of it. Frustration could’ve built up if he let it, instead he smothered it with worry as he sat in front of the other.

Where are you, my Prime?

A few nanoseconds passed before blue optics rose from where they’d been burrowed into his knees. Megatron knew they were being watched but disregarded it entirely in favor of regaining his bonded’s trust. He began their ritual, lifting his servo and letting the back of it face his bonded. This time, Optimus’ optics widened, and relief overcame him even before he let their servos touch. Pride could’ve soared, but he let it surface in a small smile. It was another improvement. He didn’t think they’d been here more than a few cycles, yet already Optimus’ trust in him had risen immensely.

There you are.

Optimus’ lip plate twitched, and he pulled the silver mech’s servo closer to nuzzle his faceplates against it.

Real.

The Prime’s spark emanated relief and something near joy, so Megatron only assumed it was good word for Optimus. He stretched his digits to stroke against the other’s plating, and his spark nudged at the other over the bond to recall his attention.

Mad mech healer, Rung, here to help.

His gaze turned to Rung, who looked as fascinated as he was emotionally moved by the unraveling scene. Optimus followed his gaze, his spark clenching anxiously as both his servos came to grasp Megatron’s arm strut. He let his free servo run up and down the Prime’s forearm strut in a show of comfort.

He will not harm you. He wants to meet you.

None of his fear dissipated. He looked to Rung again and a small whine escaped his voice box as he looked back to his bonded. Megatron only sent reassurance and his stony resolve to protect him over their bond, determined to relay to him that it would be ok. He knew that might not be true, but this might be their last chance. We have to try. His bonded’s spark tendrils twined with his, and he knew that for now the Prime’s trust lay with him and him alone.

Come.

Grasping the Prime’s servos, he rose from the bench again and gave them a gentle tug. Immediately the Prime froze, gasping loudly as he realized what his bonded was telling him to do and vigorously shaking his helm “no.”

Danger!!

Megatron immediately relented his pull on his bonded. At that point, he decided to take a middle ground. He lowered to a knee before Optimus and pressed a tender kiss against the other’s lip plates. Optimus stiffened at first, unsure what to make of it. They had not kissed in such a way since before they were captured and had forgotten what it felt like. It was a warm, soft gesture that soothed them both more than a lot had in so long… The Prime slowly relaxed against him, letting his optics drift close and some more of that lightness that felt so much better than pain evade his spark. When Megatron forced himself to pull away, Optimus instinctually tried to follow. His optics opened into a much clearer focus than he remembered having in a while.

I will not let anyone harm you. Not ever again.

Intaking shakily, Optimus only hesitated once before nodding his helm once. This time, when Megatron rose to his peds and tugged at his bonded’s servos, they followed. Optimus turned his focus down to his peds as he unfolded them and let them slowly fall to the floor. The tip of his right ped touched down first, only grounding itself after he convinced himself that the ground was actually stable. The next ped followed, and with that the Prime’s optics flickered statically as he concentrated on standing. Megatron assisted as much as he could, allowing him to use his servos as a crutch to lean on and catching him when he stumbled forward in a disoriented state.

“Easy, it’s alright.”

The silver mech did not realize he’d spoken out loud until he’d heard his own voice echo over his audials, an almost unfamiliar sound at this point. Optimus groaned quietly, shaking his helm to rid it of the unfamiliar black spots in his vision and only looking up at his bonded when they dissipated. Finally standing, Megatron turned his gaze back to Rung, whom stood on the other side of the bars patiently, expression genuinely touched and surely noting everything he saw. The ex-warlord could’ve rolled his optics at the thought but decided to ignore that prospect.

Slowly, Megatron led Optimus forward towards the bars. Each of the Prime’s steps were tentative and grew more hesitant by the moment. By the time they were three steps away from the bars and five steps away from Rung, Optimus’ optics fell on the psychologist once before he tore his servos away to hide behind the larger figure of his bonded. Megatron recycled his optics once and glimpsed over his shoulder to see Optimus trembling as he grasped at the back of his upper arm struts tightly, burrowing his faceplates into his back plates. Rung’s big round optics blinked as well, but his warm smile never faded as he leaned to the side to acknowledge the red and blue mech.

“Hello, Orion. I am not here to harm you.”

Said bot gradually looked up at Megatron, his gaze silently questioning. In response, the ex-warlord’s field surrounded him reassuringly, coaxing the Prime to eventually shift a step sideways and look out past his bonded’s arm. Rung’s smile widened just a hair.

“Do you remember me from last cycle?”

Timidly, Optimus nodded, an action that elicited Rung’s field to flare in positivity and Megatron to smile. Any physical response was a good response, showing that he could definitely hear and respond to others if he focused. But then, his lip plates parted as if to make a sound.

“…. R-R-Runnng?”

His optics flickered between dimness and brightness as he concentrated on the word. Rung noticed it immediately and his smile fell into a straight line of concern. That was not a good sign. From what he knew of his medical training, and from working with Ratchet, that was a sign of processor damage, no doubt major. Most likely caused by some kind of trauma to the helm or manipulation to the internal wiring. The later of those options he’d ever seen happen to a bot in his career of psychology, which made Rung wonder… What exactly happened to this pair? Who had they crossed? Rung pushed those thoughts away for afterwards. He focused back on the red and blue bot.

“Yes, that is my name.”

He said sincerely. Next to Orion, Tron had stiffened, his jaw falling slightly in an uncontrolled expression of pure shock. The psychologist’s gaze turned to the silver mech.

“Has Orion not spoken before?”

Orion also peeked up at his bonded, and Tron’s jaw closed as he realize that he was now the source of scrutiny. He shook his helm as he met the red and blue mech’s gaze.

“He has not physically spoken in a long time.”

Rung nodded, watching as the bonded pair’s optics met and Orion’s lip plate twitched upwards, as if trying to smile but physically unable. His helm unconsciously tipped sideways as he pondered it, mentally noting it for later consideration before he recalled their attention.

“This is a very good sign then, Tron. It shows progress we can build off of to find a most effective treatment.”

Their helms turned back to him, but Rung’s gaze returned to Orion when his optics fixed their gaze on a point past his helm. They became distant, as if immersed in a memory.

“Orion?”

He inquired, receiving no response. Megatron’s metal brows furrowed and he looked back down at his bonded. The rumble of flight engines filled the room, a rolling thunderous sound that at first had no effect on the red and blue mech. Then the silver mech’s helm tilted slightly, and Orion’s entire frame jolted as if he’d been startled. His servos tightened on his bonded’s armor and he frantically scanned the surroundings as if wary of someone about to attack him. Rung was reminded of last cycle, watching as Megatron then completely disregarded his presence, turning to his bonded and crooning to him in a low primitive warble. It was only when the silver mech gathered Orion in his arms did it become clear that the red and blue mech was venting heavily and trembling profusely. Panic shivered through his magnetic field.

A triggered panic attack.

Rung inferred it had to have been something he just said. Orion could clearly be set off by a simple word or phrase that most likely was causing a flashback. Rung was as surprised as he was ashamed he had caused it for the second cycle in a row. It left him dumbstruck, shockingly helpless as he watched the silver mech calm his bonded by swaying in the slightest, caressing his spinal struts as the red and blue mech in-vented quiet sobs. Possessive as Tron might seem to an uneducated optic, it was becoming all too clear how much he was willing to do for Orion. There was much he didn’t know but Rung could see the way the silver mech’s cold glare turned to a gentle gaze at the snap of a digit. As a bonded mech, he would likely put his own life on the line for Orion. Both of them most likely have.

Long kliks passed by before Orion sucked in a shaky invent, leaning his frame against Tron as coolant streaked down his faceplates. It looked like the panic attack had begun to subside.

Rung waited another few kliks, carefully observing the couple before quietly clearing his throat and speaking.

“Tron, how often does Orion suffer from panic attacks like the one that just occurred?”

Both of them jolted in place. The silver mech’s helm swiveled to psychologist immediately, his grip on his bonded tightening. The red and blue mech pressed himself further into his bonded’s frame, helm turned away. The tension in Tron’s frame did not subside as his unforgiving stare focused on Rung, but his optics cycled as he processed the question.

“… Many times throughout the day and night. Sometimes more than once a groon, and so severe I can’t calm him.”

His spark almost seized, and it was Rung’s turn to blink as he reevaluated his diagnosis. There was a lot more to this case than he’d thought to process. Over the centuries, he’d treated many bots with a plethora of different cases, but this… No, he mustn’t think like this, not yet. There was work to be done. They needed his assistance, and they needed it now. With that in mind, Rung nodded.

“There is further assessment that may need to be done for his condition, Tron. But right now, I am diagnosing him with highly severe cases of post traumatic stress disorder and schizophrenia.”

Tron nodded as Rung spoke, his field slowly becoming heavy with sorrow as his faceplates fell. One of his servos stroked his bonded’s backplates soothingly. Rung paused, evaluating his choice of words to be cautious of Orion before speaking again.

“… I would also strongly recommend that he is seen by the city’s doctoral staff as well.”

It was like flipping a switch. The silver mech immediately jolted into a rigid attention stance, startling a gasp from his partner. Rung watched as panic and rage fought for dominance on his faceplates, unable to give a solid reaction for the next few moments. It pulled at the psychologist’s curiosity, now knowing both of them reacted poorly to anything related to medical terms, each to a different degree. When the warring emotions ended, the answer Tron managed to give sounded choked and physically pushed through his piping.

“Why…?”

“Orion’s optics flickered as he spoke. Optical flickers are a strong sign of physical processor damage. Whether through blunt force trauma to the helm or manipulation of the internal wiring, its one of the most detrimental conditions to a mech’s health.”

Crimson optics stared at the psychologist. Emotions abruptly came to and fled from them again so quickly Rung couldn’t distinguish what they were. If he looked closely enough, he could see the silver mech’s servos shaking as they held onto his bonded. Rung fought a losing battling in fending off a sad sigh.

“If left untreated for an extended amount of time, any kind of damage to the processor will destroy it. And if multiple severe mental illnesses were factored into this condition… It’s only a short matter of time before it all becomes fatal, Tron.”

Shock.

“Tron?”

Megatron couldn’t react to the statement, entire frame frozen in place. He was stunned, processor and spark whirling in disbelief.

But he shouldn’t have been. He hadn’t lost his mind, he’d seen the signs as clearly as Rung did for much longer. He wasn’t a medic, but he knew the consequences of processor damage. He should’ve known. But Megatron had the suspicion that his spark hadn’t allowed him to think that way. It hadn’t allowed him to draw any conclusion of the sort. Such consequence would’ve been unfathomable. Unbearable. Optimus’ death would’ve destroyed him all over again. He would’ve let himself fall into the fiery chasms, felt the agony of his limbs melting as heat and energy ate at him if Optimus had…

Cry?

Over their bond shy light tendrils pawed at his spark. Megatron’s gaze fell, meeting the gloomy, questioning optics of his Prime. Processing the question, only now did he feel the coolant tears that streamed down his faceplates. The disbelief and shock suddenly fell away, and pain unlike anything the ex-warlord had ever felt swamped his spark like a hurricane. Every bit of misery, anguish, agony, terror, and rage that had come from suffering all this time at the mercy of their captors drowned him all at once. His helm fell against his bonded’s shoulder as he shuddered violently. Instantly, he was the one needing support to stand.

“… Go.”

He muttered, claws curling ever tighter around Optimus as the whirling storm of emotions in his spark churned bitterly. Rung recycled his optics, sensing the sudden change in his field and replying gently.

“I beg your pardon?”

With a gasp torn from his vents, Megatron reeled on the psychologist with a primitive, vicious snarl, roaring at the top of his lungs like a vengeful beast.

“GO!!”

Rung stumbled back at the same time Optimus flinched. The voices and surroundings fell away as the Prime watched his bonded’s entire posture drop. The silver mech could barely meet his optics as more coolant leaked over his scars. Optimus, for the first time in eons, recovered first.

Do not cry…

Rung could only observe through wide optics as the red and blue mech reached his arms out to his bonded, and the silver mech collapsed into them. The sudden weight of the silver mech quickly proved to be too much to handle as they both sank to the floor. His spiked shoulders trembled, and wrenching sobs filled the chamber. The psychologist’s armor, flared in alarm, smoothed out finally as his processor drew parallels to their previous interactions, almost floored how their roles could change so quickly. Even if the comforter was undeniably weaker.

Progress had been in the making… And now it was likely to have all been lost.

Without a word, the psychologist left the chamber, unable to do anything more to repair what had been done.

Optimus looked up from his bonded at the distorting sound of the wall scraping against the floor, trying to focus on the giant door that was sliding back in place to trap them once again. When he thought it finally stopped, his servos clenched tighter to Megatron, forgetting they had left the safety of the bench and had crumbled to the floor.

Chapter Text

Light in the cell was dimmer than it was before. When that happened, Optimus knew it was dusk. When dusk broke, he knew they were safe again.

Before that, the only sensation he knew was dizziness. Any time he looked away from Megatron, the walls around him would spin. Sometimes so slow he could keep track of the shadows that moved. Sometimes so fast he had to clench his optics shut and hide against Megatron’s shoulder armor. His helm ached, and he felt sick, the odd sensation of a filled tank turning against him as it threatened to regurgitate the processed energon.

But dusk had returned, and his frame unconsciously began to relax as the light of day faded from the room.

His bonded’s cries had finally ceased, turned to long sighs and subtle shudders into his shoulder. How long did Megatron cry? He did not know. Time was an unknown concept to him now, only shown through the patterns of dawn and dusk. But it was long. When Rung left, he cried hard, and his sad emotions overtook their bond so horribly that Optimus shuddered with him. After a while, they became much quieter, but his bonded never pulled away. It was like how he clung to Megatron after…

The Prime flinched. The darkness he saw in the back of his processor reached for him, and he almost physically jerked away to escape it. But that never worked, it always overtook him anyway. Instead, when Megatron grunted at his flinch and shifted against him, the Prime forced himself to concentrate solely on his bonded. He stared so hard that his vision became blurry and dull for a few moments, only clearing again when Megatron’s helm finally lifted from his shoulder to look at him.

Dried streaks of coolant reflected off his scarred faceplates, and red optics showing the aftereffects of great pain met blue. The Prime’s spark felt heavier just to witness it.

Nevertheless, one of the silver mech’s servos retreated from around his frame to be held between them and begin their ritual.

… Where are you, my Prime?

Optimus repeated the gesture, letting their servos flip and interlock together. Then, in an act of great surprise to his bonded as well as himself, the Prime leaned forward and pressed their lip plates together. Megatron’s optics cycled wide, completely unaware to react. But then he settled, falling into the loving gesture as his bonded had before, and together they slowly relaxed into it. The warmth and tenderness their previous kiss had brought before flooded them again, and they reveled in it much longer this time. After what felt like at least a few kliks to Megatron, they separated, and Optimus brought their fore helms together.

Here.

The smile that came to his faceplates couldn’t be helped. Moments like these almost convinced Megatron that his bonded never lost his sanity, and after escaping they’d begun to occur a lot more.

He vented as the Prime gave him a small nuzzle, feeling the spark tendrils connected over their bond weave a little more. He held tight, almost afraid of what would happen if he let go. A few nanoseconds of quiet passed between the two before blue optics cycled at him.

Why did you cry?

The memory file of Rung’s diagnosis and prognosis surfaced at the forefront of his processor, and he detachedly listened to the psychologist’s voice echo in his audials. Megatron’s optics fell away to the floor beneath them as his spark clenched miserably. He sighed heavily, almost unable to respond. Optimus emitted a low whine, distressed by his silence, finally eliciting him to force out a reply.

Rung… Thinks your processor is physically damaged.

Megatron hesitated. Speaking the words that would soon come to his intake might throw him into hysteria once again. It almost scared him, and he felt that at long last, he was beginning to understand why Optimus stopped speaking. Another whine from his bonded reached his audials, and this time Megatron pushed himself to look at the Prime.

If it is, he thinks it won’t be long now before… before it kills you.

Optimus’s optics cycled, staring blankly at him. Megatron thought for a moment he did not understand. But then he slowly pulled away, retracting his frame from the silver mech’s grasp to sit on the floor in front of him. The tendrils of his spark retracted over their bond, and he closed in on himself. Megatron panicked and had half a processor to take him back in his arms and never let go. But he clamped down on his field and waited. The Prime did nothing else than stare at him with a distant gaze, optics scarily devoid of emotion and response.

Finally, after an agonizingly long few kliks, the Prime’s optics drifted to the floor.

Optimus Prime broke… Should be dead… Wants to be dead.

He whispered over the bond, only lifting his helm after inhaling a shaky vent.

But Optimus … loves you… does not want to leave you.

Megatron’s optics slowly widened, his field unclasping and wrenching as he evaluated the meaning of each statement. How long had it been since Optimus was able to say that he loved him? He stared at his bonded, hearing those words repeat over and over like the sweetest taste of poison. Loves you… does not want to leave you. Coolant tears threatened to fall from his optics. Should be dead… Wants to be dead. He knew it. Oh, he knew exactly how the Prime felt, and had known it for eons. But like a fool, pride had never allowed him to admit defeat. He fought for as long as he could, even when he was defeated.

Optimus never spoke of it either, but not because of pride. Not because defeat. Not even because he wouldn’t directly speak. Now the silver mech knew it was for his sake. Because no matter what the Prime went through, he would always think of others before himself. And the last bot he had to protect, in any way that he could, was Megatron. Any grief he could spare his bonded by holding his glossa, he had. But here it was now, finally out in the open. How much had it taken for him as delusional as he was to finally admit in words, not emotions or long pained glances, that he’d had enough? That he’d rather his spark flicker out, no matter how it might be caused?

As much as his spark forbade him to, Megatron thought about it more than once. He thought about taking both of their lives in that rusted cell to end their suffering. The day Optimus had gone insane, it was one of the worst. That night he stared at the part in his bonded’s chest plates while Optimus stared at nothing and mumbled to himself over their bond, claws twitching as he thought of ripping the plates open and crushing his spark chamber. It would’ve been a quick death, almost painless, and he would’ve done it to himself as soon as he felt the agony of a broken spark bond… But as much as he thought of it, imagined it, visualized it and hovered close enough to do it, he couldn’t. After spending so long in that pit of a place with the Prime, as the last of their kind, he couldn’t bear to watch him die. It had become unfathomable, even if it would grant them both the relief and peace they so deeply desired.

I understand.

Megatron whispered back, his words a faint echo of the growl his voice usually took on. Guilt radiated from the Prime, his optics showed it plainly as he drew himself up to meet the gaze of his bonded. It almost enraged the ex-warlord that he should feel guilty about it, even now.

… and I love you too.

The words echoed in what suddenly seemed like an endless void between them. But simultaneously, it was a place with no space left to distance them. It spooked them as much as it moved them as they let such a powerful word hang in the balance. For a nanosecond, Megatron wondered if that place was what death was like: a dark, empty void encompassed by only their sparks. To be alone, safe, and in the company of one another for as long as time may last. It was a beautifully dark thought, reminding him of two revolving stars dancing on the edge of eternity in the depths of space. Was that where their fellow comrades had gone? Their sparks destined to become stars dotting dark matter? He and Optimus could only hope that wherever their murdered comrades had gone, it was better than what they endured in their final groons alive.

Woe.

It passed between them, colliding with itself in the middle of their bond. Neither of them sought to hide it, nor soothe it away. There was no taking it away, not for them. All they could do now was learn to live with it.

… Learn to live with it.

Was there still hope for such a chance? Megatron had dared to believe so, and no matter how bad it had gotten he still wanted to believe it. And deep down, somewhere in the depths of his bonded’s tortured spark, he wanted to believe that Optimus hoped for a chance at life too. What wouldn’t change is that they had survived. They were broken, pushed past all limits, and crawling towards their own graves, but they had finally escaped. And they were surviving. If they were strong enough to pull through such hell, as the humans called it… well, perhaps they had a chance to find a way, and learn to live with it.

But if this didn’t work, Megatron knew that would be it. No more pain, no more fear. He knew what they had to do.

… Optimus.

He called quietly over their bond. In reply, the Prime cycled his optics, their short clarity showing his attention was now on him.

I have been selfish. All this time at the mercy of our captors… It has made us heavily dependent on each other to endure. But for my sake you tried to push your suffering aside, and I took for granted that you were still with me… I owe you a great apology for that.

Optimus cycled his optics multiple times, his frame subtly flinching as his helm tilted to the side, showing confusion. But his field reached out, brushing against the silver mech with an emotion he could only describe as denial. As the statement: you’ve never owed me an apology. It almost made it hard to keep going.

That’s why I want this to be your choice… Rung, the psychologist, I think he still believes he and others can help you. Physical processor damage is not uncurable, but it will require the aid of other doctors.

This time, his bonded’s flinch was much more visible, and when he reached out Optimus did not hesitate to meet him in the middle. Their servos clasped together, and his thumb stroked over the other’s shaking digits.

I know… I know how horrible this has been, and how horrible it will be, especially for you. But we have survived this long, Optimus. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking, but I don’t think our escape should have to end in death… My Prime, give this life one more chance, and let Rung try to fix your processor. If his words prove to be lies, I will end your suffering myself, and take my own when I know you’re gone.

Optimus shuddered, his optics flicking as he processed the decision before flashing in sorrow and spark break. His vents came quickly in shortened gasps, but it wasn’t enough to be considered a panic attack. It was overwhelming, Megatron knew it. He shouldn’t have to make this kind of a choice in his condition. But like Rung said, it was only a matter of time now, and if they didn’t do something, Optimus would soon die glitching and seizing.

It was about two kliks before the Prime’s vents began to slow, winding down as he pondered the choice his bonded had given him. His optics, still flashing with raw emotion, stared at the floor in front of them. Megatron waited patiently, knowing he could not press for an answer without placing more unneeded stress on Optimus. So he sat still, watching his bonded for another long while.

When Optimus’s gaze finally rose, it was full of melancholy, but no longer flashing.

If Rung is danger… If healers are danger… You will end Optimus Prime?

Megatron nodded once, expression as serious as his field that brushed against him with open honesty. The Prime’s servo curled tighter around the claws that held it. If it was an expression of gratitude, he only showed it in the midst of a nanosecond. Then, Optimus shuddered violently as he spoke again.

… Optimus need to be in stasis.

Chapter Text

Two days later, late morning brought the promise of change on its heels. It left the ex-warlord and Prime without an appetite to touch their next cubes or an incentive to meet the nightmares of their recharge cycles. They were on edge, startling at every flicker of the light or subtle shift of a sound. Their frames quivered from exhaustion and overexertion, balancing on the fine line of alert senses and a readiness to collapse. It was excruciating, and terror grew with each passing groon, but after giving Rung their final decision there was nothing to do but wait for what was to come.

Today seemed to be the day. Megatron’s audials prickled as they picked up the light ped steps of Rung. They were joined by at least three other heavier pairs, signifying larger builds with higher-powered weapons. If the ex-warlord didn’t know any better, he’d assume they were the peds of Decepticons.

“… is mentally stable for the most part, he understands the necessity of this operation. But they are entirely dependent on one another.”

“The higher officers made it clear they are not to be released under any circumstances as long as both of them are not completely stable. Can they stand to be separated from one another?”

“… With all due respect, I would not recommend it. From what I have observed they keep each other equally grounded in reality as well as provide emotional and mental support. Separating them will not be easy nor will it be pleasant for anyone involved.”

“We can’t change their decision, Rung. We must find a way to work around it.”

The psychologist’s voice echoed on the other side alongside another. He snarled before he could stop himself, his processor instantly picturing the guards of the catacombs. Optimus went rigid, his optics cycling wide and ventilations increasing as his bonded shifted his large frame between the Prime and the prison bars.

Dawn…?!

Their plating clicked and tapped together as Optimus trembled, drawing his knees up to curl into himself and attempt to be impossibly smaller against the silver mech. Megatron clenched his optics shut and grit his denta, fighting down every instinct he had that clawed at the meager cage that was his self-control. He looked down at his bonded and stroked his helm with shaking servos.

Not dawn… Rung.

The wall shifted and began to move. Both of them jumped. Optimus shuddered, unable to fight the panicked whimper that surfaced from his voice box. His spark shrank in on itself, trying to disappear into the other’s tendrils. There was so much noise. So much happening all at once. Too much. The walls were cracking around him, crumbles of debris falling to the floor around them. The voices were shouting, screaming in pain as energon dripped from the cracks in the walls. The darkness hovered over him like a blindfold, poised and ready to catch him off guard and leave him stranded without senses. He shook his helm at the visions, over and over, trying to convince himself that this wasn’t real.

The wall slid away, exposing the facilities’ hallway. No one entered in the first immediate nanoseconds. It left Megatron unnerved. His metal brows furrowed as his arms curled tighter around his Prime.

“… Rung?”

He growled slowly, optics scanning the open entry to the hallway.

“My apologies, Tron. I’m here.”

The lighter voice of the psychologist floated around the corner just before he did. His servos were folded behind his back and he grinned at them calmly. Their optics met before Megatron looked towards the open entryway behind him. Crimson points of light narrowed into a suspicious stare.

“Who waits on the other side of the wall?”

He spoke cautiously, highly willing to ditch this entire idea and end both of their lives now, before anything else came at them with sinister intentions.

Rung’s smile did not falter. Instead he stepped to the side to gesture in the direction.

“That would be a few members of our healing staff, and their assistants. They are here to help. I’ll introduce you.”

At that moment, Rung took a step backwards and looked behind the wall, gesturing at someone on the left side to come closer. A couple nanoseconds later, two mecha walked out and stood shoulder to shoulder beside Rung. Megatron’s stare turned to them, and his vents stalled. The mech on the left was only slightly taller than his counterpart, frame-build blocky and weathered. The Autobot symbol on his chest pridefully gleamed a sunset-colored orange like his paint, streaked over a uniform style white. His bright blue optics and helm crest, though narrower and sporting taller points, were undeniably familiar. But if he’d had trouble distinguishing who that bot was, there was no mistaking the bot on his right. A shining, preened red paint job polished to perfection. Sleek curves, yellow headlights on his chest plates, white faceplates, cocky red optics. Both stood with an air of professionalism even Rung could not achieve as he gestured to each one individually.

“Tron, Orion, these are the head of our doctoral staff. This is Ratchet, the CMO of our city. This is Knockout, our specialized emergency surgeon. Ratchet, Knockout, this is Tron and Orion, the newest arrivals to our city.”

It must’ve been by pure luck that Megatron’s jaw did not drop to his collar. But he could not help staring at the two medics. Shock flushed through the bond in a substantial wave that made the Prime’s spark tendrils paw at him again.

Megatron?

Ratchet showed no outward reaction as he observed them. Knockout, however, immediately became uneasy. His optics flashed as his field curled inward, and he subtly shifted away from the cell.

“He… looks a bit like old buckethead, don’t you think?”

Like his field, Knockout’s voice curled, coming forth as an almost sneer but definitely nervous. Ratchet’s helm whipped toward him with a disapproving frown.

“That is not important right now. No matter their appearance, they are in need of our assistance.”

The Decepticon surgeon straightened at that, nodding in affirmation and regaining his professional air. Stoic and steady, something Megatron never knew Knockout to be.

It didn’t reassure the silver mech in the slightest as his gaze flicked to each mech, not sure which one surprised him more, because they were supposed to be dead. Or, at the least, dead where he’d come from. Clearly such wasn’t the case here. Briefly, he entertained the idea that he’d actually fallen into recharge and was experiencing one of the strangest subconscious visions he’d had yet. But he could still feel the phantom itch and heat twinges from his backplates, something that did not happen in recharge, so that couldn’t be possible.

He was suddenly grateful his sanity-derived bonded had not dared to look up from his shoulder yet. Optimus most likely still remembered watching the Autobot medic offline all those eons ago.

“Tron?”

Rung’s voice brought Megatron back from his musings, and he turned his attention back on the psychologist. Rung watched him empathetically, unaware of his sudden nonsensible inner turmoil.

“Ratchet and Knockout have saved many lives in this city as well as throughout their careers. You can trust they will do everything in their power to ensure Orion’s full recovery.”

If his optics and audials were still to be believed, then it was a fact Megatron already knew. Knockout may have been flamboyant and rebellious, but he did his job well. Ratchet… the good doctor had always been a miracle worker, even before the war. He could’ve saved an entire planet on the brink of extinction if he wanted to. In their final days, before the attack of their captors and just after their war came to a final truce, he remembered watching the two medics work together. They were an extraordinary team.

“… Tron.”

The gravelly, curt voice of Ratchet emerged in a gentle tone, one that immediately drew everyone’s attention. Ratchet only lost his aggression when the situation was gravely serious. He met the optics of the CMO apprehensively, watching as he walked up to the bars and knelt.

“Orion is your bonded?”

A few nanoseconds passed before the ex-warlord inclined his helm in a single nod. Ratchet regarded him with a softened expression, empathy similar to that of Rung’s.

“Would he be willing to let us scan him?”

He flinched and looked down at Optimus. If the Prime hadn’t been completely oblivious to the conversation, Megatron knew he would be in the middle of another panic attack. But his visions were taking precedence, if his rigid limbs were any indication. The silver mech shook his helm.

“Not online.”

Ratchet recycled his optics, field flaring briefly at the cryptically blunt statement. Megatron ignored him and the others outside his cell as the words of his bonded from two cycles ago ran through his processor again. His spark nudged at the Prime’s, eliciting his attention. Two blue optics slowly rose to meet his, anxious and stressed. Megatron let every memory of those electrifying cerulean optics before their capture flood him. A sorrowful smile surfaced on his lip plates as he stroked Optimus’s silver face.

No matter what happens, I will see you soon… If not among the living, then among our friends.

As he spoke over their bond, fear began to bleed away from Optimus’s expression. The meaning behind each word took longer to process, but when they did the voices fell into the background. Suddenly, nothing else mattered besides those words. They meant freedom. They meant peace. They meant relief. They meant hope. There would be no pretending anymore, he didn’t have to be afraid. Either Optimus would soon awaken beside his bonded with regained sanity, or they both would soon join his family in the void of death. He leaned into his bonded’s servo and his lip plate twitched, almost holding the small smile he tried to show.

… See you soon.

Megatron didn’t try to fight back the coolant that flooded his optics this time. Instead he leaned down, capturing the lip plates of his bonded in a tender kiss. Optimus’ minutely trembling servos rose to wrap around his shoulders, holding tightly. When they did, he pulled away, engulfing his bonded into a hug. His own servo trembled as he stroked up the Prime’s spinal strut, letting it rest on the back of his neck as his digits sought out the wiring beneath his armor.

I love you.

Megatron found the neural line he was looking for and pinched it hard between two claws.

Chapter Text

… L-Love you too…

Optimus whispered faintly over their bond. Then, his optics went dark and his frame slumped against Megatron, unconscious and now in stasis. His spark stilled, its grip on Megatron’s falling away into a deep sleep. For now, he was peaceful, and so help him, Megatron would hold to his promise and let his bonded fade away if they made him suffer anymore… That didn’t make it any easier to endure.

His helm fell back as he silently cried, shuttering his optics, staring at the ceiling and inventing deeply to regain any composure he had left.

“… Do what you must with him now. While he’s in stasis.”

He stated quietly, lowering his helm to glance back at the medics and psychologist.

Rung’s optics were wide and in complete shock. But like Rung, both medics were equally emotionally moved. He could see it in their faces, drawn and solemn without an attempt to re-correct them. In Ratchet’s expression, Megatron found an odd sense of understanding. The CMO stood up from where he’d kneeled, nodding once as he turned to look over his shoulder.

“Ironhide.”

From around the left corner at Ratchet’s call came a tall red mech, even bulkier than Ratchet with a stone-hardened expression. He walked up to the side wall in front of the cell, and next to the button for the wall he activated a code holder, punching in a multi-digit combination. Megatron stiffened when the code holder beeped loudly, and the cell door clicked, signaling it was unlocked. Rung instantly stepped forward, standing right in front of the cell bars.

“Tron, are you absolutely sure? We understand this is extremely difficult for you and your bonded—”

“Orion made this decision,” he spoke, a hint of a growl conveying their conviction. “and I have chosen to support him… What I go through will not matter, so long as the medics can repair him.”

Rung stared at him for a long moment, taking in the determination and self-sacrifice of the silver mech for his bonded. Tron knew what would happen and seemed to have accepted it. It was an incredible show of courage and trust. Rung nodded, backing away from the bars.

Just barely swallowing back all the panic and rage swirling in his chest, the silver mech gathered his bonded’s limp form in his arms. When the Prime was secured against him, he stood up, lifting a solemn gaze to see the mech called Ironhide about to walk in.

Megatron’s optics recycled when Ratchet caught Ironhide’s arm before he entered the cell. His optics flashed with urgency and a flash of something even the bulky red mech couldn’t catch at first.

“Be gentle with him, Hide. I mean it.”

After all, how many times had the CMO had to operate on Ironhide during the war, his own spark mate, and wonder whether this would be the time he couldn’t save him? Ironhide caught the meaning, and his faceplates unstiffened. He sent back a wordless reassurance over their bond, only then turning to enter the cell. Megatron’s field flared dangerously, wrapping around his bonded in an instinctive act to protect him as this strange mech entered their territory. Ironhide paused, watching the silver mech warily as he reeled it back to his frame with a great amount of effort. He wanted to shutter his optics, avert them, do anything to hold back the coolant that was leaking again. But he dare not take his optics off the mech in front of him that might make a wrong move… But he didn’t. Ironhide took care to approach him slowly, servos raised in a sign of peace before they reached out for the red and blue mech.

No no no no no no no--!! This is exactly what you swore you wouldn’t do!!

The war rising within himself was rising. He pushed back one last time before it would overwhelm him.

We made this choice. We will follow through with it.

Bending his knee struts to lower himself to Ironhide’s level, he oh so carefully placed his bonded in the bulky mech’s waiting servos. Ironhide adjusted his grip around the Prime’s legs and around his chest plate under his arm strut, letting the limp mech’s helm fall against his shoulder.

“I got him.”

The Autobot vented, letting the gruffness of his voice slip away to reassure the silver mech. Megatron physically jerked himself to pull away, his servo lingering over his bonded’s arm strut. Ironhide took it as his cue, carefully turning around to walk back out of the cell. Ratchet closed it behind him, the lock clicking in place and beeping to signify its success, then hurrying to his bond mate’s side to observe the mech in his arms.

“Surgical ward in my medical bay. Now.”

He clipped, leading the way back out to the prison’s hall. Knockout rushed to Ironhide’s other side, optics immediately scanning over Orion to assess initial damage.

Megatron’s peds carried him forward with each step Ironhide took away, his flashing optics locked on Optimus. As Ironhide turned the corner, the ex-warlord was pressed against the cell bars, claws shaking as he clung to them. Rung gave the silver mech a warm, comforting smile, even if it wouldn’t do anything for him now.

“They will help him, Tron. We will return as soon as the operation is complete to inform you of his condition.”

The silver mech’s optics were locked on where the others had disappeared. His field suddenly broke free of control, and it was absolutely volatile. Rung knew words were pointless, he knew the mech was past the point of hearing as his whole frame tremored against the bars. There was nothing he could do for him now, nothing he could say or do that would reach him until it had anything to do with Orion. Yet he had hope that after this, this codependency could be remedied. They made this decision on their own, after all.

With that, Rung departed to leave the silver mech alone, pushing the button on the side wall and leaving through the hall as it began to slide closed.

Megatron was alone.

He let go of the last bit of control still sheltering his whirling emotions, and his wails were so loud they shook the cement foundation around him. His entire frame shook violently with the beginnings of a vicious panic attack. Darkness swam over his vision. He wheezed when it became hard to vent, clenching his optics shut as he slid down the cell bars and collapsed to the floor, rocking back and forth as terror became his entire existence. He didn’t try to stop it, nor attempted to calm it. He was past the point of no return. Coupled with fear, the agony in his spark exploded to such sheer heights that he wondered if the bond was actually breaking. Was Optimus dying? Was he dying? Was this what it felt like to his bonded to have completely lost your mind? The concept of insanity was a hard one to grasp, but in the depths of his processor Megatron knew he’d finally begun to understand it.

 ***

Concrete slabs slid against each other, grinding like hardened boulders.

Deadened and dull red optics shuttered online. The silver mech lifted his helm from the floor, groaning as he tried to concentrate his blurry vision on what was happening outside of the cell. He recycled them once, twice, three times before they finally focused on the figure standing outside of the disappearing wall. Thinking it would be Rung, Megatron almost jolted when he was met with orange-streaked bulk with a narrow helm crest. Ratchet…? The mech stood alone and silent in the hallway, unmoving as his stare remained on the silver mech. With a grunt, Megatron put his arms underneath himself, pushing his upper body into a slumped sitting position as he tried to distinguish the expression on the medic’s faceplates.

Neither of them said anything for a long time. The CMO’s optics were guarded but fixed on Megatron as if searching for some long lost answer. He met those blue optics evenly, if not warily. They immediately reminded him of Optimus. His spark reached out over his side of the bond, hoping for something, anything to respond. But there was nothing; only the same silence he’d felt when his bonded went into stasis. The silver mech didn’t know at this point whether Optimus was dead. So much agony had come with the panic attack that the soreness lingering in his chest afterwards overrode most of the sensations of the bond. When your bonded was dead, you could reach for them all you wanted, but just like in recharge you would only be met with silence. The only way he could know for sure what the fate of his Prime had been, now lay with the medic before him. The medic, who’s silence broke so suddenly it made him physically jerk again.

“What happened to your bonded?”

Ratchet whispered. Megatron recycled his optics again, his metal brows furrowing silently at the melodramatic change of tone. The CMO moved before he could process what was happening, stopping in front of the bars to stare down at the silver mech. When Megatron could regain his bearings at the sudden change and concentrate on the medic, he finally began to figure out the expression on Ratchet’s face. It wasn’t clear, but it was something between horror and revulsion.

“I had to rebuild his entire processor.”

… What?

The silver mech’s optics cycled wide.

“Every wire was inputted into a plug of opposite entry and charge. The backwards flow of energy and data kept constantly crashing into itself. It burned out almost all his main circuits. The entire processing unit was so severely scrambled I had to take it apart and reconfigure it for the functions to reboot.”

Ratchet paused, his fists curling tightly as he tore his optics away. Raw emotion tore at his voice.

“In all the eons I’ve served as a medic, I’ve seen thousands of ways a processor could be damaged. Sensory overload. Blunt force trauma to the helm. Nanite infection. Electrical failure. Primus, I’ve seen mechs with their processors in their mouth half chewed… But I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s as if someone purposely reconfigured his processor to turn and kill him. I don’t know how he managed to survive such an excruciating experience as long as he did.”

… So, that’s what happened.

When Megatron could react, he almost expected his frame to jump up. Claw at the bars like a rabid caged animal. Wail in another fit of hysteria. Scream and curse their captors, swearing revenge on them one day for what they did to the only bot he had left. But it didn’t. He did nothing. What could he do? Anything he did now would be pointless and futile.

His helm fell under the heavy weight that settled over him, and he exhaled shakily.

“So Orion… is gone?”

Chapter Text

Ratchet recycled his optics. A moment of stillness followed until he kneeled before the mech behind the cell bars.

“No.”

The word hit his audials, and Megatron stilled.

“He is still functioning, Tron. It may have been complete pit, but I know my way around a processor. At present, he is still in stasis, and functioning better than I would assume he has in eons.”

His helm whipped back up to stare at the medic with wide optics, complete shock rolling through his systems as the heavy weight on his shoulders suddenly began to crumble. Ratchet’s lip plates lifted into a small smile.

“I assume you will want to be there when he wakes up?”

Megatron nodded dumbly, completely forgetting that he was in a cell and could not be released by order of the higher officials of the city. Optimus was alive… and he was fixed.

Optimus Prime… fixed.

The idea was almost unimaginable. But the feeling that came with such a concept was completely indescribable. Something foreign that made him want to laugh so hard he cried.

Ratchet’s smile widened as he stood up, eliciting the silver mech to rise to his peds as well and stumble a few steps forward for balance, running straight into the bars with a clang.

“Don’t you go getting banged up! I just repaired your bond mate!”

The medic immediately sniped, but Megatron could care less as the medic turned to the code holder and typed in the combination.

“You’re lucky Optimus has too big a spark to give when it comes to new arrivals. You’ve been personally pardoned by him to remain with Orion until he is well enough to return here. Just don’t kill, injure, or maim anyone or anything on the way there.”

Wait, what did he just say?

Thrown off guard by the names Ratchet interchanged as he spoke, Megatron jolted back a step when the lock to the cell clicked and the door swung open. His frame would let him go no further, and he stared at the open entrance as Ratchet turned back towards the hallway. The medic glanced at him with a raised brow.

“Well, are you coming?”

Megatron decided names he spoke were not important. He shook himself of the unconscious anxiety of what used to happen when prisoners left open cells and stepped out.

It was the first time since the ages as a gladiator that he felt true liberation.

***

White walls and clean floors of the medical bay were so clean they reflected everything like mirrors. They shined under the ceiling lights and gleamed like Knockout’s paint job. It unnerved Megatron to a great degree. After so long toiling in rust, ash, and dust; he nearly forgot such luxury existed. To suddenly see a place even cleaner than the cell was like walking into a dream. Whether good or bad, he did not know. But it made him wonder as he followed the CMO down the hallways if this is what the labs looked like to Optimus. If so, he could easily relate to quickly despising a setting like this. It was too pristine and perfect, at least for him.

As they turned a corner, both of them were subjected to the short shriek of the Decepticon surgeon. From the looks of it, the red racer was not exactly overjoyed at the appearance of the silver mech from the prison.

“What in the name of—What is he doing here??”

He cried, just barley holding onto the tray of surgical tools in his servos. Ratchet raised a metal brow in reply.

“To see his bonded. He should be waking up soon, should he not?”

Knockout sputtered, but he only formally replied when his grip on the tray was secure.

“Well, yes but—”

“Do not worry, Knockout, I saw to this approval and walked him over myself. He will not harm anyone and has given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

The Decepticon medic stared blankly. A moment too long for anyone’s liking passed before the surgeon sighed dramatically, throwing his free servo up and turning the other way with a sassy sway.

“Fine! You’re the boss!”

He quipped as he strutted away. Ratchet huffed indignantly as he shouted after him.

“Don’t forget to make your rounds!”

The Decepticon waved a servo at him in a wordless affirmation before disappearing around the next corner. Ratchet rolled his optics as he turned to glance at the silver mech one step behind him, expression caught between startled and befuddlement. Knockout didn’t seem to lose any of his grace, or his attitude, here under Ratchet’s command. The idea of the situation was so surprising he physically couldn’t react.

“Don’t worry about Knockout, he’s more trouble than he’s worth, but he’s a good surgeon that takes care of his patients.”

Ratchet continued down the hallway at a brisk pace, eliciting the mech behind him to come back to awareness and follow at a jog to keep up. They must’ve turned two more corners after going up another flight of stairs. He could’ve tracked where they were going, but at present Megatron’s processor was so scrambled and reliant on emotional protocols that it didn’t even occur to him. For now, he’d just have to trust that this wasn’t a trap. Easier said than done.

When Ratchet finally slowed, it was in a short hallway with only two rooms on either side. It must have been the surgical ward, everything here was scented with sterilizer and disinfectant. Anyone present could’ve suffocated if they in-vented it long enough. The CMO came to a halt and gestured to the last door on the right side with a one-sided grin.

“Orion is in there. I won’t get in your way, you’re anxious enough to see him.”

His spark pulsed in its casing, pushing him in the direction he was pointed in. Crimson optics flicked uneasily between the medic and the door, and his processor fought between its underlying suspicion and throwing all caution to the wind. But the indecision didn’t last long when tendrils reached across the bond to be met with the frustration and pain of silence. He whirled around on a heel and sprinted to the door, shoving his spiked shoulder against it to throw it open and get it out of his way. Three steps in the door, he slid to a halt.

The room was windowless, lit by the artificial lights built into the ceiling that cast it in white. It was slightly bigger than their cell, completely bare on one side. On the other, strange machines of varying sizes stood on stands and cabinets lining the back wall. Screens, drawers, monitors, and energon bags draped in wires beeped and blinked. Tubes crawling across the floor from the monitors and computers disappeared under a tall, dull blue curtain draped by a metal rack in the center of everything.

Is this what the labs looked like?

Megatron suddenly felt sick to his tanks.

Did they bring you into a room like this, every cycle after dawn to dismantle you?

He’d never been so desperate to escape his own thoughts.

The silver mech ran past the machines to the curtain as Ratchet appeared in the doorway behind him. Wheels peeked out from underneath, locked in place and swiveled straight to signify being positioned that way just recently. He tore the curtain open, uncaring of the sound of his claws ripping through material as he caught a glimpse of red armor. When the mech within was revealed, he froze.

… Optimus.

A clean, blue thermal blanket draped over the medical berth covered most of his bonded, but his arms lay still at his sides. They were clean, deprived of the rust of the catacombs and now shining with the mark of a thorough wash. Wires trailed out of the back of his helm and over the pillow propped under him. His optics were closed, and his faceplates were still. The constant expressions of panic, pain, and misery seemed to have been washed away; something that felt foreign to the silver mech. But even in stasis, they were drawn as if in a state of discomfort. It was as much of a completely different being as it was still his beloved bonded. Still alive, and unharmed.

Chapter Text

Megatron’s spark flared in such raw relief that his faceplates twisted, and his ventilations released themselves in sobs. He staggered to the side of the berth, servos trembling as he grasped the side of the thermal blanket. Rust-tinted claws hovered over shining red armor, hesitant to touch his bonded as if he would dissipate into the cloud of a dream. But when he did, nothing wavered. Nothing flickered out of existence. His arm strut was warm, signifying the energon flowing within and the life that still powered the Prime.

Grasping his bonded’s arm strut tightly, Megatron leaned forward to rest his helm against the part in the other’s chest plates. They connected with a quiet clink, and he sucked in another vent.

Optimus, I’m here.

His optics fell closed, and he reached over the bond, stretching as far as his spark could go.

I’m here… Where are you?

Silence followed. The spark of his bonded hummed under his plating, he could feel it. But under stasis, it was quiet.

Ped steps closing in from the doorway were too sudden to ignore. The silver mech panicked, throwing his frame over the Prime as his helm snapped up with a snarl. What he found was the CMO Ratchet, locked in place and servos thrown up in a gesture of peace.

“It’s alright, I don’t mean either of you any harm. As long as he’s in stasis I’ll need to check his vitals to be sure everything is functioning correctly.”

The sneer showing his denta was slow to relax as the medic carefully took a few steps closer, optics scanning over the monitors on the other side of the curtain as well as the energon container hooked to the patient. Medic that repaired his bonded or not, his suspicion still remained, and the uneasiness he felt in this setting was only making it worse.

Perhaps it was that uneasiness. Or perhaps it was the desperation that lined his crackling field. It could’ve been the tension he let slip over their bond. But whatever it had been, Megatron found he didn’t care when a familiar presence stirred over the bond.

His attention was yanked downwards, and his vents stilled as the tendrils of his spark reached back.

Where are you, my Prime? Are you there?

The other’s spark pulsed, and like a drowsy limb a tendril rose from the other side, meandering aimlessly as it sought out its partner. Tendrils weaved together, and Megatron sat up as the mech underneath him let go of a quiet moan. Ratchet stilled beside them, optics intent on the red and blue mech that was beginning to stir. Instinct aided Megatron to croon to his bonded, stroking over his red arm strut soothingly as Optimus’s helm subtly shifted.

M… Mega…?

Relief struck his spark, and he crooned again.

Yes, Optimus. I’m here.

The Prime shifted again, and this time, Megatron felt his bonded’s frame writhe slowly underneath him. Then, bright cerulean optics flickered online, and immediately focused on him. For a long moment, both of them stared at each other, unreactive and silent… Until Optimus grinned.

“… Hello, Tron.”

He rasped, his vocal inflections haggard from underuse. Megatron’s entire world stopped around those words and that small, tired grin. His spark sputtered, and a smile pulled at his lip plates as he reached forward to cup the side of his bonded’s face.

“Hello, Orion.”

Optimus did not hesitate to turn into the palm of his clawed servo, blinking his optics sleepily as he nuzzled against it. Megatron shifted to sit beside him on the berth, croon subsiding as his bonded shifted closer, leg struts leaning against the silver mech through the blanket. The Prime turned back towards his bonded, recycled his optics up at him before they shifted to their surroundings. His metal brows slowly began to furrow as he studied the curtains around them. When his gaze finally fell behind his bonded’s shoulder, Megatron’s servo fell away from his faceplates and he twisted around to follow. He flinched in surprise when he realized the medic was suddenly gone and the curtain was now closed.

Confusion.

The part in the curtains was marked by a single open crack, not noticeable from Optimus’s angle, but visible to Megatron as he peered out of it from where he sat. Outside, he could see the retreating back of the CMO. Ratchet paused at the door, looking over his shoulder as if he knew he was being watched. Through the crack, the silver mech saw the medic smile briefly at him, winking an optic before disappearing through the door and closing it behind him.

Confusion.

Megatron turned back to his bonded when the emotion beat between their sparks at a more intense rate. Blue optics scanned over their surroundings in complete befuddlement, as if trying to piece together what he was seeing. The silver mech’s faceplates fell and he squeezed his bonded’s arm strut, concern bleeding into his spark.

“What is it?”

Immediately, the Prime’s attention returned to him. He didn’t even recycle his optics to focus. But his expression looked lost, completely bemused by the situation.

“… I can’t hear them.”

It was Megatron’s turn to blink.

“Hear what?”

Optimus tipped his helm to the side, optics drifting down, as if to listen for something that just wasn’t not there anymore. He remained that way for at least a klik before focusing on his bonded.

“The voices. I can’t hear them anymore.”

His optics turned upwards, carefully scanning their surroundings again.

“The curtains, the floor… they’re not moving. Everything is still.”

Megatron stared at him hard for a long moment. Silence… Stillness. Then, to the obliviousness of his bonded, his optics began to cycle wide.

Optimus finally looked back at the silver mech.

“This usually never happens when I’m awake… Are we offline?”

Patiently, Optimus waited for a response. But his bonded did not have one to give as he gaped at the Prime. Not until coolant fell onto the blanket between them. Optimus’s optics cycled wider and he struggled to push himself up in a sitting position.

“Megatron, what’s wrong—”

“We’re not offline.”

The Prime fell silent, optics glistening with worry as his bonded’s posture drooped and he shuddered. But a wide, gentle smile was returning to his faceplates and over the bond he felt…

Joy. Ease. Relief.

It overcame him in such a wave that he unconsciously braced his servos at his sides against the berth. Megatron’s crimson optics never left his as he cried.

Optimus Prime… fixed.

The silver mech whispered voicelessly over their bond.

It didn’t take long for the Prime to remember exactly what that meant.

Optimus Prime… broke.

What would it be like? To cease hearing voices at almost every waking moment that did not exist? To gaze at surroundings that stood still? To go through a day without any flashbacks or dark memories to draw him away from reality? To simply exist in a world turned right side up with Megatron?

Optimus Prime… broke.

Optimus’s optics cycled impossibly wide. His servos shook as they rose from where they were braced, coming up to clutch at his helm. Nothing hurt when he touched it, nothing spun to make him dizzy, and nothing burned as thoughts raced through his processor. The darkness that hovered over him… it was gone. Megatron didn’t even have to begin their ritual for him to feel the gut-wrenching, real love over their bond.

Real… Everything I see, everything I hear, everything I feel… is real.

Coolant left wet streaks over his silver faceplates. He invented shakily and let it go in a long string of hysterical, but joyous laughter. His entire frame shook from its force. Servos sliding down to cover his faceplates, they traced his intake, feeling the edges of the open smile that he’d almost forgotten had existed.

To Megatron, it had to be one of the most beautiful sounds he’d heard in his long lifetime. His bonded was smiling, completely and genuinely smiling for the first time in eons. He wasn’t in pain or misery. Insanity did not control him anymore. Utterly overwhelmed by such a moment of serenity after so much suffering, it was like falling in love with Optimus all over again. The silver mech couldn’t help himself, leaning forward to grasp his bonded’s face in his servos and nuzzling at his faceplates. He kissed at the coolant streaks, the edges of his smile, the lids of his optics, and all the sterling silver he could reach in between. Optimus gasped, and his servos fell away, the intensity of his laughter softening as he leaned into the affectionate, worshipful touches.

I love you… I love you… I love you…!

He chanted to Megatron. His spark felt so light in that moment, not heavy and full of sorrow as it had been. Optimus didn’t know what to do with himself. Title of Prime and exhaustion be damned, he threw any and all cares away as he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his bonded and pressing a passionate kiss to his lips. Megatron didn’t falter in the slightest, and even growled a purr as he pulled Optimus closer.

It was a moment of absolute bliss, one that allowed them to forget everything, if only for a few nanoseconds.

But their much needed moment came to an abrupt end when the Prime suddenly winced in pain and jerked his helm backwards, pulling his arms away to grasp at his helm.

“Ahh—Ow! Ow! Please let go!!”

The ex-warlord panicked and released him immediately.

“What’s wrong?!”

His optics were wide and confused as his bonded craned his helm upwards and sideways and slid back towards the head of the medical berth, as if his helm were being yanked on by something. When Optimus returned to the head of the berth he sighed in relief, his left servo remaining against his helm as they felt along an open data port just above the joint between his spinal strut and helm. Plugged into it were thick wires, and both pairs of optics simultaneously trailed over to where they were hooked into a computer screen hung on the side of the berth. If Megatron were to guess, the lines scribbled over it most likely indicated fluctuations in processor activity.

The silver mech’s spark flickered in apology, echoing through his field and the bond as his servo rested on the Prime’s blanketed leg strut instead, rubbing up over it comfortingly. But Optimus didn’t seem angry. His optics trailed over the wires thoughtfully, helm tipped as if in reminiscence.

“… Miko once faced a similar situation to this.”

He finally said as he stared at the wires, more to himself than to his bonded. Megatron recycled his optics.

“What?”

The Prime’s lip plates curled absently into a small smile, humming to himself as he turned back to the ex-warlord. Over the bond he felt wisps of amusement.

“Her hair tangled in the joint of Bulkhead’s thumb once. He tried to pull away, and in doing so accidentally pulled her with him by her… ponytail, I think she called it.”

His servo retreated from his helm to fall back on the blanket.

“I believe I can safely sympathize with her now.”

Megatron stared at his bonded for a few nanoseconds, noticing how the amusement brought life to his bonded’s optics. He couldn’t help but marvel to himself at the sight, and before long a loud, rolling chuckle made his shoulders tremble. He shook his helm as he did, and his spark pulsed.

“… I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to hear you talk about the humans.”

Chapter Text

His bonded fought hard against the dredges of recharge whom threatened to overtake him. But as the kliks passed, one could see how his shoulders were beginning to stoop. How his optics dimmed, and his limbs tremored from overexertion. Optimus knew how long he’d stayed awake for him these past few solar cycles. Not to mention the past few eons. And he had a feeling in his spark that his bonded wasn’t telling him everything about how he fared after he’d put him into stasis. So, with the legendary patience gained as a Prime, he crossed his arms and raised a metal optic brow as the ex-warlord tried to come up with reasons to stay awake. It was their first battle since the defeat against their captors.

Megatron lost, of course.

His frame laid next to him on the medical berth, curled into the semi-soft surface and draped in the other half of the thermal blanket. At one point, the silver mech had rolled over in recharge, pressing against his bonded. Optimus had not hesitated to pull him closer, and they ended up entangled. Absently, he stroked the silver helm that had fallen against his chest plates, shifting his own against the pillow to avoid pressing against the sensitive wire connection.

For a while, he was content to sit in the quiet, letting the beeps and whirs of the monitors fade away to listen only to his bonded’s ventilations.

There came a point, a couple groons later, when Megatron began to groan and growl in recharge. His frame fidgeted, and a detached sense of fear echoed through his field. When that happened, Optimus in turn crooned in soft chirps and whirs, letting love flow through their bond as his servo moved to stroke over his spiked shoulders. It worked well, easing his troubled bonded to still and return to a dreamless rest. Optimus could not help but sigh as his servo caressed over Megatron’s back. His digits dipped into the jagged grooves of his scars, brushed against the rough charring of his paint, and felt the rust engrained so deep it had become a part of his armor.

Despair.

There was so much he didn’t know.

His processor was now repaired. He could think clearly without pain, and look at the world without a looming, overwhelming terror. But terror, even in the past, has a way of manipulating its victims, especially when it was caused by trauma and insanity. Optimus thought long and hard about it as he lie there staring down at rust-tinted silver armor. He could vividly remember the events leading up to their capture. If it weren’t such an emotional draw and distress on his being, he could’ve recounted it moment by moment. Every word he said, every action his Autobots took, every final expression of each member of his team before their murders… He recalled it all, and he almost wished he didn’t.

Optimus also remembered the capture. Remembered the voyage through space to that planet on the other side of the galaxy. Remembered everything up to their first day in the catacombs, when he was walked out of his cell and into a sterilization chamber ready with hoses full of boiling chemicals… But after that, his memory files began to blur. They were hazy and unfocused, as if the files themselves were put together by an unwilling mind. He could barely remember what their prison cell was like, or the guards that surrounded all cells like flies to rotting meat. Even their escape from the catacombs was an indistinct vision to him, marked only by colors: red like fire, black like night, green like a space bridge, and bright grey like clouds over the sun.

From there on, the Prime’s memory grew more detailed. But only marginally. Anything involving Megatron, he remembered in a near perfect clarity. Their conversations seemed faded in and out, but he could recall the most important bits and pieces. Everything else fell into the background. He only knew the psychologist Rung by a vision of a slender flame and the words his bonded spoke about him in their conversations. Their new cell, like the old one, was hard to specifically recollect besides the color of gleaming silver and prison bars.

A lot of these impaired memory files, Optimus knew, were the product of a repaired processor trying to make sense of the musings of a broken one. He didn’t like it, not when it meant he knew almost nothing of what his bonded went through in their imprisonment. But for now he would accept it, and perhaps one cycle when both of them grew accustomed to the Prime’s regained sanity, he would ask Megatron to fill in the rest of the blank spots.

Unease.

… There was something he did remember from the catacombs, though, something that was becoming clearer to him by the passing nanosecond.

It was coming back to him in short snippets. They, like his blurred memory files, were visions only lasting a few moments each, but it was enough. Each one was inescapably clear and accompanied by sounds. Quick as they were, they contained an immense amount of detail, enough to tell a story of a thousand words with a simple glimpse. When he closed his optics, he could see those glimpses replaying like a repeating record.

A mirror, revealing the beaten, leaking, and twisted frames of his team. Their dull blue optics pointed at him in absolute wrath.

“You did this. You killed us.”

He couldn’t move, his servos and peds were pinned down by the crushing grip of darkness. It pressed on him, raked its slithering tentacles over him. Wisps of its essence spread and protruded between his legs, crept underneath his chest plates. Something bared and hot thrust into his valve, plundering and ravaging him. The substance of evil invaded his spark, infecting him like disease. Thrashing, wailing, crying for help.

“No one can hear you.”

Desolation and grey. A dead landscape, the product of a millennia of war. Beneath his peds, the ground is uneven. It is built by the lightless, decapitated faces of every Cybertronian ever created, intakes forever open in a final scream.

“You are the last.”

The figure of a familiar mech, doubled over and convulsing with throbbing heaves. A fearful field clashing with one warped in terror, confusion, and pain. Watching as he suddenly jerks upright, frame twisted as if controlled by a puppeteer. Crimson optics looking up at him, brimmed with spark-broken tears, silver faceplates contorted into a demented smile, and a charged purple blaster dripping with dark energon lifted to point at him.

“… Run, beloved.”

Anxiety.

Optimus opened his optics. He took air in shakily.

Dreams… That’s all they are. Dreams are not reality.

Coolant tears leaked from his optics and dripped onto the blanket.

It did not matter how many times he repeated that phrase. It was a hopeless reassurance. These dreams were too authentic to brush away. Dreams were his reality, every cycle, from dawn until dusk in the catacomb’s experimental ward. He was a test subject, intriguing to his captors by way of his resilience and power bestowed by the Matrix.

The question they sought to answer: where was that fine line between sentient being and machine?

The captors answered it by pulling forth the very essence that made Optimus Prime who he was, picking and pulling it apart to expose everything. From his deepest desires to his greatest fears to the way he thought, nothing was safe from their scrutiny. He was left to suffer the aftereffects.

The process would begin by a standard routine. Strap the subject to the examination table. Wheel the subject to the lab stationed for all experiments and dissections to be conducted. Sterilize the chamber. Perform the preliminary medical assessment. Prepare tools and monitors for treatment. And let the torture begin. He remembered the long and shining syringes the pale-faced monsters filled with black liquid, flicking it with their slender fingers before tearing open his chest plates to inject it directly into his spark. It was violating, cruel, and it felt to him as though the monsters had physically raped his very soul.

From there, his consciousness would go black. Sometimes before he fell under, he could feel the plating over his helm be stripped away. The sensation of slender fingers delving into the wiring of his processor felt like a phantom limb, but it was there. He remembered it well, even as he slipped into oblivion, and the dreams would begin. Optimus could’ve easily called them as the wretched nightmares they were, but the word itself scared him. Reminded him too quickly of what he experienced in each one. So he called them dreams instead, dreams that never stayed the same. It changed every cycle as the eons passed. A different fear. A different dread. A different guilt. A different horror. A different worst cycle of his life that never happened. A different tragedy. A different death without the peace of moving on. He lived through thousands, perhaps even millions of traumas within his own processor.

That’s what destroyed him from the inside out.

He never recharged after taken from the labs at dusk. Not in any of those long eons as prisoner.

The sight of a syringe elicited broken shrieks, and even now it made him shudder with a quiet sob.

Words that once held no meaning except in a medical bay pounded at his audials amongst all the other voices. They reminded him of the process and brought with it flashbacks of the experimentation ward.

Optimus lost sight of the difference between dream and reality. The word real seemed as impossible as it was ever present, and he became obsessed with the spinning question of what was real.

Now, his processor was fixed. He knew the truth behind those lies they set upon him. The dreams weren’t real. They were the product of his own fears and the over creative minds of his captors. But they were still there, locked in his memory files to stay. He would live with those experiences, haunting him like ghosts of the past, for the rest of his life cycles.

He almost wished he were still insane, if only to live without understanding that.

Agitation.

The hot-tempered, tense emotion suddenly slithered over their bond, startling Optimus back into awareness. An unconscious sneer pulled at his bonded’s face in recharge, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. He hadn’t even realized how much his emotions were affecting Megatron. Pulling in a deep vent, he let it go with a deep hiss to release the pent up tension.

“Shhh.”

He hushed, leaning down to nuzzle against the top of the other’s helm. After a few kliks the churning in his spark began to settle and Megatron relaxed, claws sliding up to curl over his chest protectively.

All this time at the mercy of our captors… It has made us heavily dependent on each other to endure.

Yes… yes, it had.

The curtain around them blocked the Prime’s sight of most of the medical equipment in the room. But he could hear them work, quiet as they may be. He couldn’t pretend they didn’t bother him, nor could he pretend that the unease he felt in this room did not run deep in his spark. Optimus knew if it hadn’t been for his bonded knocking him into stasis, he never would’ve let them bring him here. Even if he were sane.

Optimus couldn’t pretend anymore, but for Megatron, the only bot he had left, he would endure it. As terrible as it was to think about it, he would rather face those dreams again knowing the silver mech would be there when he woke up. To imagine, with a clear processor, facing the rest of his life cycles alone. After everything the captors had left them to suffer. After everything they’d been through together… It was unendurable. Death by his own servo would be a gracious reprieve if it ended that way.

Anxiety.

He couldn’t fight it off this time. So many tears had already been shed this cycle, and here they were again. Whimpering in quiet sobs, he clutched his bonded tightly and let his helm fall forward against the other’s. The Prime couldn’t reprimand himself anymore, couldn’t remind himself of a time when he could hold himself stoic so easily. Those times were gone; he was no Prime any longer. Not when there were no more Cybertronians he knew to lead. He was Optimus; newly sane, weak, exhausted, and utterly dependent on the ex-warlord of the Decepticons for mental stability.

Chapter Text

You didn’t recharge at all, did you?

Megatron rumbled as he stretched his long limbs underneath the thermal blanket, sharp denta flashing as he yawned. Rust covered, scarred plating and the dredges of morning aside, Megatron physically looked better than he had in a while. At least from what Optimus could remember. His faceplates weren’t as crestfallen, the slump to his shoulders wasn’t as pronounced and crimson optics shone brighter than they had the cycle before. In turn, the Prime shrugged one shoulder as he leaned his helm back against the pillow, casting his bonded a weary affirming glance.

Overthinking is the guilty perpetrator. It’s hard to fall into recharge when your processor needs to sort through all the built up data that was incorrectly filed and stored.

Pushing himself to fully sit up, the silver mech watched with a condescending sense of scrutiny as the Prime settle back.

How are you feeling?

Subtle hints of concern flashed over his optics. Optimus let go of a small sigh, shuttering his optics closed to block out the bright lights above them.

My helm feels moderately sore. However, I’m inferring that it was caused by sudden copious amounts of overthinking without rest. It’s familiar to the aches I used to get on Earth.

Megatron’s spark flickered in something he couldn’t quite call frustration, but something near exasperation. While not a labeled emotion, it was also familiar to the both of them. Something a gladiator used to feel when his archivist overworked himself without taking a break, resulting in Orion Pax tripping over flat surfaces and falling into recharge at his workstation. It used to bug Megatronus to no end. Such fleeting memories felt so old to the both of them, it was like they belonged to a different life. A warm, clawed servo sliding over his own caused the Prime to online his optics. The ex-warlord’s digits absently stroked over the back of his palm.

You’ve been through too much to ignore what your frame tells you, my Prime. Your entire processor had to be rebuilt. Your mind needs rest.

Cerulean blue optics wandered away, fixing themselves on the end of the bed. They seemed a bit unfocused, not distracted more than acknowledging thoughts as they passed by. A solemn, melancholic expression came over Optimus’s faceplates.

… If only rest occurred so easily, Megatron.

The words, though they held no volume, fell through their bond in a sense of quiet. Megatron blinked as they reached him. But then his posture inched forward, something resembling defeat, and a sad sort of empathy swirled into their bond. He understood that sentiment too well. No matter his fear of the coming nightmares, Megatron succumbed to recharge when his frame could no longer stand to be alert. Sometimes it shut down involuntarily. But it never lasted long; perhaps a couple groons at most before he would be online again from visions of fire, acid, and electrical bolts traveling over one’s armor. It was only by way of his bonded’s repairment, and most likely his constant nurture throughout, that Megatron had recharged almost a complete night cycle. His bonded, however, never recharged once in their catacomb cell. Not even when his frame exceeded any and all limits of remaining in an alert stage. His frame would quiver and tremble uncontrollably, and when he tried to move it was sluggish, faceplates contorted in pain as if just the effort itself took every bit of strength he possessed. But wide, unfocused blue optics would remain bright, as if terrified of falling into the oblivion of stasis.

Megatron had known almost nothing of his treatment in the labs for the entirety of their imprisonment. However, after learning the consequences of their captors’ actions on him, the silver mech knew Optimus had valid reasoning to refuse rest. There was nothing he could truthfully say that would remedy it.

Something metal suddenly clicked outside the shelter of their curtain. It sounded suspiciously like a lock.

Both mecha jolted into attention, spinal struts jerked straight and fields jittery with looming dread. Megatron’s helm tilted towards the sound, instinct taking over as a thunderous growl rolled from his intake. His armor flared, and he glared through the crack in the curtain as the door to the room opened. After a moment in stepped Rung, his big rounded blue optics searching the room with a balanced sense of serious-mindedness and curiosity.

“Hello? Tron? Orion?”

Mindfully, the psychologist took care in gently shutting the door behind him. The silver mech’s snarl dissipated and his armor settled, albeit slowly. Optimus leaned forward, nervous optics darting from his bonded to the little crack in the curtain he was looking through.

Is that Rung?

He asked none too calmly. Megatron nodded once to his bonded as the psychologist’s gaze turned towards the curtain and locked with his through the crack.

“We’re here.”

Rung’s familiar gentle smile found its way to his expression, and he walked to the curtain. His thin digits wrapped around one side of the blue fabric, drawing it back to peek through from the other side.

“May I enter?”

The silver mech turned towards his bonded. They shared an uneasy gaze as trepidation took ahold of the Prime and entered the bond between their sparks. In response, Megatron rumbled his flight engines, squeezing his bonded’s servo reassuringly.

He hasn’t tried to harm us, and I don’t believe he will now.

Optimus nodded slowly. Unconsciously, his other servo sought out his bonded’s arm strut, grasping it to keep himself grounded and calm. Megatron gave him a moment to relax and glanced back at the psychologist.

“Yes.”

Affirming the consent, Rung nodded as he pulled the curtain back to let himself in. He halted as he felt the anxious fields of the couple, releasing the curtain as it swished back into place and choosing to stand where he entered to give them both as much of a respectful distance as they needed.

“I do sincerely apologize, Tron, for not returning to you last cycle with the updates of Orion’s condition. One of my patients called for me at the last klik, and I’m afraid I had to send the CMO in my stead. And as of today, I am here in the CMO’s stead. An emergency requiring his and his staff’s attention occurred early this morning and has occupied him for some time. He should be available soon, though.”

The silver mech’s metal brow raised, and he exchanged another, more confused glance with Optimus.

The CMO of this infirmary? He was the one who repaired my processor?

He nodded again, unsure of how much he wanted to tell about the mecha that looked far too much like their dead medics.

Yes. He, and a specialized surgeon. They came with Rung last cycle to our cell to bring you here.

The Prime watched his bonded as he relayed the message, not exactly sure how to take the cautious, unvoiced tone that came with the answer. He did not get long to dwell on it before his field prickled at the feeling of being watched in turn, and his gaze found the psychologist had now concentrated on him. They locked optics, and Rung’s small smile widened a hair.

“It’s good to see you awake, Orion. How are you feeling today?”

Timidly, Optimus looked down, unused to having anyone but Megatron physically speak to him.

“… Much better than the previous cycles, thank you.”

At the use of a formal sentence, Rung’s optics brightened. Orion was clearly shy, but a polite individual. His shyness could also be due to anxiety, both traits something that wouldn’t go away with processor repairs if it was trauma-induced. Nevertheless, it was a substantial improvement from the last few times he’d seen the red and blue mech. His optics found the wires running from the back of his processor to the processor activity monitor attached to the top of the medical berth, scanning its content. So far, the fluctuations looked normal save for the past two kliks when he entered the room. Data from the previous night cycle, however, looked much more active than should be in stasis. As a matter of fact, identical to an awakened state of being. Did he not recharge after waking up from surgery?

The psychologist decided to put that question to the side for now. He would discuss it with Ratchet when he arrived, and perhaps Tron if he would be willing. Shifting his attention back to the occupants of the berth, he revamped the conversation.

“I’m happy to hear it. The decision to undergo an emergency surgery would have been immensely difficult for anyone to make. I, as well as our CMO, commend you and Tron for your bravery in trusting us.”

At the compliment, Orion’s optics glanced back up at the psychologist. Next to him, Tron’s gaze narrowed in the slightest, the light from the ceiling glinting off the sharpened edges of his helm as he tilted his chin towards him.

“Should there be a reason to deny you our trust, Rung?”

He stated calmly. But Rung could hear as well as feel the accusing hiss layered in between each word. His optics widened a little as he met the suddenly cold gaze of the silver mech.

“After all, your fellow city mecha threw us into a prison cell.”

Ah, so this is the root underneath.

Rung sighed and dropped his gaze. Tron was right and proving more mentally stable than he or the commanding officers of the city had acknowledged. And he was rightfully angry at their situation.

“Yes, and I believe we owe you both an apology for that. When you arrived, I’m afraid the mecha who found you could not distinguish the status of your mental conditions and assumed you delusional and psychotic. I tried to reach your location before they took action, but my efforts proved to be in vain… However, I have been speaking to our city officials about you. And after meeting with you today, I believe I can begin to make a case for your release.”

The silver mech blinked, and the residual coldness in his optics faded. Surprise shot through the bond and dotted both mech’s fields. Like magnets, red and blue optics were then drawn to each other to exchange expressions again. Yes, their imprisonment was still wrong, but looking at it from the view of the locals… it made sense. No one, besides Rung and the medics, had ever bothered them or tried to hurt them while here. Now, Rung was doing everything in his power to aid them, something that was as far as could be from their chances in the catacombs. This was a good reason to trust the psychologist, at least here and now.

“… Thank you, Rung.”

Orion was the first to reply, softly but sincerely. The orange bot smiled kindly in reply.

“Of course. It’s the least I can do for you.”

After he spoke, not even a moment passed before the psychologist blinked, as if remembering something.

“Oh! I’ve brought you both energon!”

Digging open the hatches to his subspace compartments, he reached in and pulled out two blue cubes of energon. With their worries aside, both Prime and ex-warlord received ravenous pangs from their tanks.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I keep meaning to bring better meal choices for the both of you. But I always seem to walk out of the apartment in the morning without them.”

Rung spoke absently as he closed his subspace compartments once again. He held them out, and the silver mech reached out to receive them.

Both were halted in their actions by the door of the room clicking shut and the scolding quip of a medic.

“Ep ep ep! Not until I am sure the patient is well enough to ingest low-grade!”

Tron’s servo immediately recoiled as if he’d been burned, his optics blowing wide and field flaring in alarm. Rung pulled his arm back as well, only mildly startled by the CMO’s appearance. Orion, on the other hand, did not startle at all. His bonded’s attention snapped to him waiting for shock, panic, or even flat out denial. What came instead pulled him into a flashback from eons before. It was of every time the good doctor would demand Optimus see him in the medical bay. Like a repeat of a broken record, his bonded sighed with a weary smile, rolling his optics and shaking his helm.

“Ratchet, I can assure you am well, old fr—”

Two nanoseconds later, he realized this wasn’t the medical bay of their base. Reality hit the Prime like a slap to the face.

His optics cycled wide, the smile dropped, and he whipped towards the curtain.

“R-Ratchet?!”

Chapter Text

The curtain drew back, and the bulky, estranged frame of the medic entered. He didn’t show any surprise to the shouting of his name other than by a raised metal brow.

“Awake, I see. And they’ve told you my designation.”

Optimus’s jaw fell, and his optics shimmered as he stared at the medic that immediately moved to the monitor on his berth, optics scrutinizing the activity recorded on it. His field froze around him in complete shock. A heavy, awkward silence dropped over them all for the longest moments of Megatron’s life cycle. It was Rung that finally broke it, shedding a small embarrassed smile at his mistake.

“My apologies, Ratchet. I’m afraid I’m still learning surgical recovery protocols.”

The medic huffed as he pressed at the buttons, pulling up another screen of data on the monitor.

“That’s why you handle psychology, and I handle mechanical biology.”

Nervousness prickled at Megatron's field, growing in intensity as he waited for his rigid bonded to respond. To do something. Anything.

Optimus…?

He called, insistence and worry flowing through the bond like a stream.

Where are you, my Prime?

He reverted back to their ritual question out of habit, anxious for his bonded to reply. Another few nanoseconds later, it seemed to finally reach the Prime. His jaw closed, and he turned to the silver mech, optics shimmering with unshed tears and faceplates warring between expressions of shock, confusion, and outright pain.

This isn’t a dream. I’m awake… Am I still dreaming…?

Pain won, and he felt it wrap around his bonded’s spark like barbed wire. Suddenly, the world around them faded away, and Megatron raised the back of his servo to the Prime.

You’re not dreaming. You’re awake. You’re safe and here with me.

Optimus’s black servo immediately lifted to press against his, and they flipped to intertwine. His optics fell shut in immense relief and he let go of the breath he was holding. The Prime stayed that way for about another thirty nanoseconds before his optics onlined again, this time focusing on the silver mech in a half-crazed confusion.

THEN WHO IN THE PITS IS THAT?!

Megatron braced his servos on the berth against the onslaught of emotion from his bonded. He decided that the only way to go about this, and hopefully come out of it with his bonded still sane, was to tell the truth. He spoke as calmly as he could.

That is Ratchet, the CMO who repaired your processor alongside the surgeon.

Blue optics only grew more freaked and maddened confusion warped their bond like a punch.

Ratchet is DEAD. He CANNOT be Ratchet.

The Prime snapped, jolting Megatron’s resolve to stay calm. It was the first show of pure anger he’d seen since before the captors.

What’s next Megatron?! Are you going tell me that Knockout was the surgeon who worked with him?!

Field twittering and flinching against his flailing bonded’s, Megatron gave the Prime a nervous grin.

… Yes. He looked much more identical to our Knockout, too.

Optimus physically jerked backwards, eliciting the attention of the psychologist and the medic still present. He gawked at Megatron, now unable to give a solid reaction, and the silver mech squinted and leaned back, as if waiting for his bonded to begin thrashing. Ratchet and Rung exchanged a perplexed expression, forgetting their conversation as Rung took a step closer to the berth.

“Tron? Orion? Is something wrong?”

Rung’s field, kind but professional, brushed against the silver mech, startling him back to reality. He glanced between the two doctors and his bonded, awkwardly clearing his throat. His optics fell to the berth as if he were thinking about his response.

“… The CMO, he reminds Orion of someone we once knew. That is all.”

Both doctors blinked, exchanging expressions of half-shock and mild curiosity. Rung glanced at the red and blue mech before pressing the silver mech a little more.

“Oh? Is the reminder distressing to him?”

The psychologist was answered by the clang of metal on metal. Three helms turned to find Orion had slammed his servos over his faceplates. His shoulders were now tense, and a low keen emitted from his voice box. Tron was the first to react.

What is it, my Prime?

He crept forward, clawed servos running soothingly over his thigh strut to then rub up and down his arms. Optimus shook his helm, knees bending back and curling in on himself.

This is too much. I can’t… It hurts.

The monitor on the side of the berth beeped shrilly. Ratchet whirled on it, optics immediately scanning its contents.

“Processor activity has spiked to one hundred fifty hertz. That is too high for any processor to function, let alone a newly repaired processor! Rung, help me!”

In a flash of white and orange, the CMO and psychologist both disappeared through the curtain. Clanks and clunks followed by short mutters moments afterward signaled they were rummaging through drawers for something. Megatron’s spark flared as he felt the rate of his bonded’s ventilations increase, and the familiar flickers of fear running through his field. The silver mech crooned into the Prime’s audial, shuffling closer to pull him closer.

Easy, Optimus. This is too much, I know, it’s hard for me to understand as well. But you need to calm down.

The monitor continued to beep shrilly and the Prime flinched, servos sliding back to cover his audials as if it was the sound that was causing him so much pain.

I can’t… I don’t…

Megatron knew it was only a matter of time before Optimus would be in a full-fledged panic attack.

“—Ratchet we can’t just inject him with sedatives! We don’t even know how he’ll react to it! This is too much stress on an already overwhelmed processor!”

The ex-warlord and the Prime looked up at the same time as the CMO flew through the curtains with Rung hot on his heels. He turned to the psychologist with a serious expression, his servo rocketed up to emphasize his point, clenching a long object.

“What other choices do we have?!”

Cerulean blue optics were the first to see that in the medic’s servo was a syringe, filled with liquid and sharp point glinting. Optimus’s tank dropped to the floor and his field exploded in panic.

“AHHH!! NO NO PLEASE!!”

He screamed, his voice piercing the room like a blade. Optimus’s entire frame trembled as he scrambled against the berth to get away, wide and horrified optics fixed on the syringe.

Optimus!

Worry twisted his spark terribly, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. The silver mech immediately weaved his field around the Prime, pulling him into his arms before he could fall off the berth and to the floor.

Where are you, my Prime? Come back to me! I know you’re there somewhere, come back to me!

Blunt, black digits came up to grasp at the silver arms that encased him, curling in the catches of his armor to become a death grip. Crimson optics followed where his bonded stared, finding the syringe in the medic’s hand. He bared his sharp denta, a primitive snarl rolling from his chest like thunder.

“Get that out of here!! Get away!!”

Both Rung and Ratchet immediately jumped back, copious amounts of concern and confusion flooding their fields. The syringe in the medic’s servo caught the light again, and Optimus wailed as he buried himself against his bonded to hide.

“NO!! PLEASE DON’T HURT ME ANYMORE!!”

Panic and terror became the Prime’s entire existence. It flooded the bond, pouring into Megatron’s being. Instinct blinded him. Sheer, uncontrollable instinct to protect his bonded, his beloved, the only bot he had left from impending danger. The silver mech pulled his bonded tighter against him, swinging his spiked shoulder forward to block both doctors’ view of him and roared venomously.

“Get out of here NOW!!”

Rung finally realized that the syringe was the cause. He promptly swiped it from Ratchet, grabbed the medic by the wrist, and yanked him out of the curtain-covered area before the silver mech became physically violent in an effort to defend Orion. Megatron glared through the part in the curtain as the psychologist physically pushed the blocky medic through the door, once again taking care to shut it quietly behind him. He huffed. At least one of them has sense.

The silver mech quickly focused his attention back on Optimus. Tremors ran over his frame and his air vents were working on overtime to cycle air, making him pant and moan against his chest plates.

“N-No… Please no… Please not again…”

Kicking on his flight engines, Megatron let them rumble as he rocked him back and forth, knowing it had always calmed his bonded immensely.

“It’s alright, my Prime. It’s gone, it’s over.”

His words fell over the bond in a strong wave of serenity. Like a distant clap of thunder, it left the familiarity of a warm and gentle rain to wash over his bonded. The tendrils of his spark wrapped around the other to draw him ever closer. Time crawled by, as if pausing to watch them. Within the safety of the silver mech’s arms, his bonded was later able to exhale deeply, and his ventilations cycled down. But when that happened, blue optics clenched shut and silver faceplates contorted into a pained and miserable grimace. He fell against the silver mech, moans shifting to soft cries muffled by the crook of his neck and shoulder. Megatron nuzzled against him, ignoring the processor activity monitor’s switch to a less shrill sound, and cursing the medic for ever walking into the room.

Chapter Text

The ceiling was scarily absent of anything to concentrate on. The lights were no less dim, and their origin lie beyond the curtains around them. Nothing but a bland, blunt white colored wall met his gaze. It reminded Optimus of the blankness of oblivion, and his anxiety refused to let him look at it any longer than a few nanoseconds. He’d turned to lay on his side, burrowed under the extra thermal blankets placed there for a reassurance of comfort more than warmth. His line of sight to the other side of the berth traced the faded remains of a purple Decepticon emblem on rust-tinted silver chest plates.

“Where are we, Megatron?”

He whispered into the silence between them.

Megatron shifted off the elbow he’d propped himself up on, pushing himself up on the berth to lean against the headrest. His optics fell shut. Whether it was from exhaustion, strain, or a combination of both, neither of them knew.

“… I don’t truly know, Optimus.”

After a moment, his optics flickered back online. They lingered over the Prime before they wandered away in deepened thought, recalling memory files from their past few cycles here.

“… The first time Rung came to our cell, he mentioned this was an Earthen Cybertronian City.”

Optimus immediately shook his helm against the pillow in denial. The sound of metal sliding against fabric lingered in his audial, but it did nothing to distract him from the volume of his thoughts.

“That can’t be right. We built nothing on Earth. All of our forces were pulled from the planet and onto the Nemesis when we began to draft the truce.”

A steady drip of mournful emotion began to leak over the bond. It brought the crimson optics of the warlord back to the Prime, locking with the dimmed blue of his beloved.

All of them were destroyed when the captors attacked.

He echoed over the bond. Because mentioning the captors out loud felt like a dreadful curse, one that might send them back to the catacombs in the blink of an optical lens. Megatron’s spark clenched, but he nodded in affirmation.

I know.

Flashes of a busy street appeared in the forefront of his processor. Grounders of varying shapes, sizes and colors passed by, honking their horns and shouting long-forgotten obscenities as they forced themselves to swerve around them and avoid collision. Beneath them the pavement was solid, newly put down from the looks of it and slightly warm from the friction of tires running over it. On the sidewalks, mecha walked beside the storefronts, slowing down to stare at the two crumpled bots in the middle of the street. Slowing down to stare at the CMO that walked with a nervous rust-bucket of a bot waiting for the prods to halt him. They varied just as much as the grounders. It reminded Megatron so much of the bustling streets of Iacon he and Orion used to visit when they talked of revolution. But the direction of city’s light came from the sky, not from its buildings. It shone through the clouds casting them in a light grey, just like the rain-promising days of Earth.

Optimus was right. They’d built nothing on Earth all those eons ago, and there should’ve been no one left to change that. They ended all relations with their human allies. Cybertron and all its inhabitants had been destroyed, if not by war, then by the captors.

It left them with so many questions. Firstly, ones dealing with a proven state of sanity. Not only did a city of Cybertronians exist on this Earth-resembling planet, but a few were terrifyingly similar to the ones they once knew. It was a wonder they weren’t created and put here by the captors to trick them into a false sense of reunion and peace… Megatron’s field shrunk in on itself. That was not a pleasant outcome to think about at all. He pushed it away immediately, knowing that if he dwelled on it any longer a panic attack would be next.

“… Megatron?”

Recycling his optics, he shifted his attention back to the haunted faceplates of the Prime.

“How did we escape the catacombs?”

The silver mech couldn’t hide the slight flinch of his shoulders from his bonded. His audials suddenly rang with the shriek of pale-faced monsters.

“Find them!! Find them!! Do not let the rest escape!!”

His clawed servo blindly reached out to grasp his bonded’s arm strut through the blankets. Optimus obliged by shifting to push his servo out from underneath the coverings, letting their digits twine. Blue optics regarded him in the utmost empathy. Megatron took comfort from their familiarity and clasped the other’s servo tight, venting deeply to keep himself in the present. He gazed at his bonded, optics intent and staid.

“What do you remember of it?”

Optimus’s optics fell as he revisited the files of that cycle, concentrating hard to differentiate one thing from the next. But as hard as he tried, there was nothing. Just distortions of color and a jumble of panic thrown into the mix. In all honesty, Optimus didn’t know whether at that point, his broken processor had comprehended that they had actually escaped the catacombs. He shook his helm against the pillow again.

“… Nothing easily distinguishable. The files from that cycle are blurred.”

Megatron nodded, solemnly unsurprised by his memory files’ distortion of the escape. Optimus had been barely coordinated enough that cycle to stay on his peds. Knowing now what he did not then, he suspected the captors had been especially brutal to his processor in the span of that specific cycle’s dawn to dusk. Taking air into his ventilators, he braced himself for the explanation.

“It was after dusk, most likely a couple groons after I returned to our cell. They had just returned you to the cell a couple kliks before.”

Unease.

Pulling his other arm strut underneath him, Optimus propped himself higher up on the headrest, focused entirely on his bonded. Megatron’s optics wandered as he recalled each event.

“I… I don’t specifically know how it happened. It must’ve been something from the surface, perhaps something drilling through the rock or a transport ship landed too harshly. Whatever it might’ve been, the caves cells had begun to shudder and groan around us. Much like an earthquake.”

It was the Prime’s turn to blink. He didn’t remember that at all, everything was too chaotic. But from the distant and troubled glint in his bonded’s optics, he knew the ex-warlord remembered it well.

“Some, like ours, quaked so severely the walls cracked. Any weak spots in the ceiling fell apart, including the front of our cell. The bars caging us in were freed and swung open… It must have been only moments later that the guards stationed by us were called to detain other escaping prisoners.”

Silver digits absently twitched in the grasp of the other’s servo.

“I had crawled to the front of the cell to look out. No one was there. Not even the other prisoners. They had all taken the risk to run, and in doing so distracted the first wave of guards in chasing them… It was unbelievable at first, after all those eons we had resigned ourselves to this fate as prisoners, and yet here was the opportunity to escape…”

Megatron trailed off, inventing shakily like his bonded did in moments of pain. Optimus chirred, squeezing gently at his servo, and he brought himself back to the point.

“… I took the chance and pulled us out of the debris. It was about the time a second wave of guards had been called to detain the rest of the escaped captives. Like the other prisoners, I followed the path that led to the surface.”

That must be why the colors change, Optimus thought to himself. Angered red to the pitch black of night. The fiery pits of the catacombs to the cool, dark cover of space on the surface.

“When we reached it, there were no more ships on the surface to escape with. But there were three space bridges in the active phase of transport. I suspect the other prisoners had activated them before we got there, but the guards took control before most of them could flee.”

A sudden overwhelming sense of anguish was shared between them, wallowing in their fields and dragging through their bond. The other prisoners suffering at the hands of the captors, most likely as severely as they had, who would never know freedom in life again. They knew that fate well. Nothing could be done now, and they could only lament for the poor beings that would never know a day without pain again.

“… There was one bridge to the far side no one was close to. It had to be as enormous as the one my Decepticons built beside Earth’s moon, if not larger. I took us to it thinking that I could reprogram its destination to Earth and time it to delete our coordinates after we went through.”

If Earth still existed. The unspoken words hung between them, but neither chose to comment. It was a split second decision that made the most sense at the time. But after at least a couple eons spent on the other side of the galaxy, what condition was the planet Earth in? Had the humans finally destroyed it? Had they gone extinct? Would the descendants that might’ve survived even have records of their existence there in the past? All questions that should’ve been considered, all questions that were ignored to focus on escape. All questions that didn’t matter now.

The silver mech unconsciously winced at the next turn of events he had to tell.

“But in the process of approaching the main platform, I let you stumble. Before I could process what was happening, you had fallen against the podium of the bridge controls.”

Optimus recycled his optics once again in surprise, and Megatron’s thumb stroked over his servo in an unconscious apology. He squeezed back to reassure all was forgiven. It couldn’t have been helped when he couldn’t coordinate his own frame anyway.

“When that happened, the bridge controls went haywire. The hologram map over the podium went into data drive overload and fritzed into exponential expansion. The bridge itself ceased functioning for at least a nanosecond, and then warped backwards on itself.”

Warped… backwards? On itself? Confusion poked at his field as his blue optics narrowed on his bonded. The Prime had never heard of such a phenomenon. But he remained silent, allowing Megatron to come to his conclusion.

“… At that point, the second wave of guards were approaching the space bridge to retake us into captivity. I had no idea how the destination of the space bridge was affected, nor if we’d even survive entering it. What I decided was that anything that happened to us from entering the space bridge would’ve been better than letting ourselves be captured again…”

Megatron trailed off once more, and his bonded could feel the edges of guilt and self-questioning gnaw at his spark. Optimus chirred quietly, regaining the silver mech’s attention as he leaned his helm back against the headrest with a small, understanding grin.

“I would’ve agreed with you, had I the coordination to make that choice.”

The tendrils of his spark drew the other closer over the bond, and the guilt softened. Flight engines rumbled in reply, a low purr that drowned out the medical machinery around them. When his bonded’s crimson optics brightened in the slightest, Optimus knew he was alright.

“So you took us into the space bridge, and we essentially landed here?”

His bonded started to nod but partially stopped as his field flickered thoughtfully.

“… It was more of falling out of the sky in the middle of a busy street and being apprehended by bots who thought us psychotic and all-powerful.”

Optimus huffed a small snicker at Megatron’s attempt of dry humor, and a bout of amusement was shared between them. All these eons later, it seemed he would need a bit of practice before he would make the once ever stoic Prime laugh until his sides hurt at his wits again. Nevertheless, it was good to hear it again, and he hoped to hear more of it in the future.

Chapter Text

Silence fell between them for at least a couple kliks as the Prime analyzed the story of their escape. Now the differing colors of the memory file made sense. But that didn’t answer how they ended up on a planet where there were bots too similar to others they once knew for it to be coincidence. Unless… If there were wheels inside his helm, anyone could’ve seen they were now turning. The variables spun around his helm as his dim optics bloomed brighter.

“It has to be the malfunction of the space bridge.”

The silver mech’s metal brows furrowed as he glanced at his bonded. Optimus sat forward, turning his helm towards his bonded as he pondered their situation.

“We’re not offline. If we were, we wouldn’t still retain our mechanical forms, and we’d have found the others in the well… We’re not in stasis. If we were, we would’ve woken up by now. You clearly remember our escape, and while mine is not clear, I can take away from my files that something of the sort happened. Our arrival here, on an Earth that includes a Cybertronian City with similar mecha to our own… It must have to do with the space bridge.”

One of Megatron’s metal brows lifted as his faceplates shifted into complete bewilderment. 

“… I’m not following you, Optimus.”

The Prime’s optics drifted to the curtain in front of them, and his free servo lifted to tap against his lip plates. It was his thinking expression, one that the ex-warlord recognized from the era before their captivity in the catacombs. Optimus’s processor recalled the earlier point of their war on Earth, and one specific situation that was beginning to eerily relate to their predicament.

“When our forces were stationed on Earth, Jack, Miko, and Rafael were accidentally bridged to an alternate reality located on a dimensional plane parallel to our own. Both an Autobot and a Decepticon ground bridge were sent to the same location, causing a power feedback that triggered a systems overload. Ratchet told us that a transfer from one dimension to the next involved the fluctuating energy profiles in a wide distortion field.”

Silver faceplates subtly shifting in the other mech’s direction, Optimus glanced at his bonded inquisitively.

“Megatron, you stated that the space bridge we entered was as enormous as the one you built beside Earth’s moon, correct?”

The silver mech blinked, but he nodded in conformation.

“Yes, if not more.”

Optimus’s digits paused, and his optics fell to the thermal blanket over his leg struts, bright with deep contemplation.

“… Considering what you described to have happened, my collision with the bridge controls must have triggered a systems overload. Taking into account the immense size of the space bridge we entered, and the systems overload it would take for the space bridge to have warped backwards… What if the energy profile of the overload’s feedback was so great it transported us to an alternate reality on a perpendicular dimensional plane?”

Megatron’s optics cycled wide as his frame whirled on the Prime. His processor, though weary and almost foreign to the musings of such science, immediately began to run calculations of that possibility. Utter astonishment flooded his field as the numbers turned exponential and ran into infinity.

“That can’t be possible, Optimus! A space bridge systems overload with an energy profile that substantial… you’re speaking a power great enough to rip the fabric of space itself!”

The Prime’s help whipped back on his partner.

“But it is possible. We’ve seen such a power in black holes, haven’t we?”

Shaking his helm in partial disbelief and partial denial, Megatron rebuked.

“Those are the most formidable force of our universe! Ground and space bridges alike are engineered to access wormholes in order to transport matter through time and space. Their power should be nowhere near the capability of a black hole!”

With the grace of a Prime, Optimus took his rebuke in stride.

“Yes, in a normal state of our affairs. But these aren’t the normal circumstances our engineers came to predict. This was a space bridge built and controlled by beings with technology far more advanced than even ours. Would it not stand to reason that with the technology they possess, they could engineer their bridges to harness such power, and supersede the capability of wormholes if a bridge should undergo a systems overload?”

The ex-warlord opened his intake to respond, but no words were returned. He stared at his bonded, finding the sheer weight of intelligent reasoning and almost unimaginable conceptual thinking very familiar. Megatronus had his processor blown more than once by an archivist that used to look and speak to him the same way. Here and now, with newly regained sanity, Optimus took on the behavior of Orion more than he had in a millennia. And when against Orion, Megatron knew he wouldn’t win.

Indecision and debate built in his optics as he thought about his bonded’s words. In theory and practice, they made a lot of sense. Their captors were definitely more technologically advanced than they were, which was the reason their invasion against them succeeded. They knew it, too. They waved it mockingly in their faces during their imprisonment on the voyage across the galaxy. It would stand to reason that their bridge technology would be just as well-created, and the only possible way to achieve a power greater than accession of wormholes… Would be to harness power of the black hole. Such a concept made his logic circuits fritz and sputter, but it explained why the space bridges he saw were so enormous in proportion.

He finally sighed, drawing up a knee to rest his arm strut against it.

“Alright, Optimus. Let’s assume that you’re correct, and the energy profile of the overload was powerful enough to transport us to a perpendicular dimensional plane. What would you propose that kind of an alternate reality would actually be?”

The Prime leaned his back strut against the headrest of the medical berth as he mulled over the question, optics once again trained on the curtain in front of them.

“… Well, a parallel dimensional plane is a reality traveling at hyper-speed beside our present reality. It would be as if you were looking at the world through the window of a traveling vehicle. And, as you said, such power caused by the overload would rip a hole in the fabric of space. That would mean that it would surpass through the boundaries of our universe…”

Optimus only turned to look his bonded in the optics when he was sure of his next answer.

“What I’m proposing is that a perpendicular dimensional plane would be a reality opposite from our present reality. Worlds and life created through similar processes, traveling at the same pace as our own, but set into different motions and circumstances. I imagine it would be similar to looking in a mirror and seeing yourself in a different life.”

… Shock.

Stunned into silence, Megatron stared at his bonded, who evenly stared back. This was the second time this cycle Optimus had succeeded in blowing his logic circuits. It took him three tries to reboot his processor before he found the ability to speak again.

“… You’re essentially proposing an alternate universe.”

The Prime nodded.

“I am. Think about it, Megatron. Ratchet, the CMO of this hospital was the one who repaired my processor. His appearance and life situation are not identical to the Ratchet we knew, but his mannerisms and occupation are exactly the same. He did so alongside Knockout, a specialized surgeon also working in this hospital, and you said yourself that he is almost identical to the Knockout we knew. I am absolutely certain that within this city, there are others reflecting the mecha we knew. Not to mention, a Cybertronian City on Earth, which is physically impossible in our universe. An identical planet set under motions of differing circumstances.”

The silver mech went silent. What Optimus was proposing to him had to one of the most insane ideas he’d ever heard in his life cycle. If it were anyone but him, they would be questioning if his processor had broken again. It breached their species’ developed understanding of science and physics. But was it really so outlandish of an idea? A couple eons ago, he wouldn’t have thought they could be extinguished by any other race other than themselves. Before that, he didn’t think their war would ever end peacefully, not to mention regain the presence of his beloved at his side. Since then, the impossible always seemed to be coming true. Optimus went insane, and then he regained his sanity. By now, he believed just about anything was possible. The presence of another universe would simply be another addition to the list… Even if it blew his logic circuits a bit more than others. But yes indeed, it could potentially make sense in consideration of their situation. His bonded’s reasoning was sound, after all Orion once had a knack for arguing. It brought to mind another memory file he’d gained recently.

“You’re lucky Optimus has too big a spark to give when it comes to new arrivals. You’ve been personally pardoned by him to remain with Orion until he is well enough to return here.”

If it was true, and he’d never known the medic to lie, it would be the most sound evidence to prove his bonded’s proposal yet. But to tell someone that their own reflection exists in the same universe? He knew it should be thrown on the table now or, like when the CMO walked into the room earlier in the cycle, it would end in an unneeded panic attack.

“When Ratchet, the CMO of this city, came to our cell to bring me here, he mentioned something. I thought it was a slip-up at first, but after listening to your proposal, I now think it was valid.”

Beside him, the Prime’s helm tipped to the side curiously. He withheld the uneasy sigh hanging on his vents.

“He mentioned a mech named Optimus that had personally pardoned me to be here with you through your recovery.”

His bonded’s field, which had been actively flickering and pattering against his own, fell still. Blue optics recycled twice before they widened once again, completely caught off guard. It was only after a klik of letting the information sink in that they moved away, bright and distant in thought. Thinking, constantly thinking, now that the processor could work properly.

“… A personal pardon… That would mean he’s an official of high authority in this city. It would then stand to reason that he is the Optimus Prime of this reality.”

Another Optimus Prime.

Stranger things had happened in his dreams, Optimus knew and remembered that fact well. But that did not make absorbing the fact any easier. The part of his processor housing his logic circuits, especially, would need to see this mech face to face before it would actually believe it.

He hummed him himself before he felt a clawed digit tap once against his servo. He turned to meet the crimson optics of the silver mech.

“If what you say is true, then a meeting with the mech Ratchet mentioned would be beneficial. It would prove that we are, in fact, on Earth in a different universe.”

Optimus shifted against the berth, something close to unease dotting his field.

“It would also provide us with the opportunity to explain ourselves, should this mech prove to be trustworthy. No matter his designation or appearance, these different circumstances may have proved to change him drastically.”

Megatron recycled his optics. He only let a moment or two pass before he pulled his arm strut away from his bonded’s servo to loop around the Prime, drawing him closer. Optimus’s field echoed a small amount of surprise, but he obliged and shifted to lean against him. The silver mech’s servo stroked up and down his red arm strut.

“I may not know the Optimus of this universe… But I know my Optimus Prime well. Our universe has thrown everything it could at him. It’s put him through unimaginable agony, and yet he survived. The Optimus Prime I know prevailed above darkness. He is strong, striking, and unbelievably kind, just as he always was… If the Optimus here is anything like you, I already know I can trust him.”

Modesty. Self-consciousness.

Blue optics widened as the Prime was rendered speechless. When was the last time Megatron had spoken to him like that? He couldn’t even recall it. Gazing up at the ex-warlord, he smiled timidly, his spark feeling lighter in the tendrils of its other half. What would I do without you? Something warm and familiar curled around him through their bond, and they both recognized it as the millennia of love they’d shared. Caught by its gentle wave, Optimus let himself be swept along.

He turned against the silver frame to lay on partially on top of it, his optics tilted upward from his perch. Megatron’s arms immediately swooped around his waist, lifting him up to bring him to bring their helms at an equal height. Red clashed with blue, and their lip plates met in a soft, but passionate kiss. Raw emotions swam alongside the affection in their bond, conveying a desperation for this moment to never end. No one would ever know how much they missed such closeness, such safety, and such simple peace. They let time and the world fade away to only exist on the other side of the curtain.

Chapter Text

Time was lost to him as his attention melded into the silent wisps of light weaved into each other between their sparks. Whenever the other flared or quivered, his would hold tighter, and the sincerity of devotion would be shared between them. Neither of them could see their bond, but like the air they knew it was always present. He pictured it like they would’ve been in death; two stars dancing around each other on the edge of eternity. With every rotation they gravitated closer, until someday, a long ways from now, they’d melt into each other. The stars would become one, and their energy would combine into a great cataclysm. Then it would spread throughout the depths of space, perhaps never to be discovered among dark matter again. Or, it might be caught in a nebula, drifting into the compressing heat and pressure to eventually become a star and start the cycle all over again.

Drifting, flying, and wandering an endless expanse. No obstacles, no destination… Freedom.

Whatever might become of it, it would never truly be gone. Something ancient within his being told him so. Energy could change, but it never dissipated.

… Ease.

It was foreign to him after eons of fear, but it settled over him and refused to let go. Megatron did not attempt to pry at it. He was content to rest in its encompassing embrace, curled around his bonded who recharged at last. Long into the night did Optimus sink against him, coaxed into calm by their kiss and refusing to fight what his frame begged of him anymore. Megatron may not have known what nightmares may attempt to plague him, but the silver mech refused to let them pass as long as he was online.

The night cycles passed into the morning, only marked by the sudden appearance of the CMO to check his bonded’s vitals and functionality. The click of the door lock followed by the ped steps of an intruder were what finally alerted him to a world beyond their presences. Megatron couldn’t surface immediately; dazed by the alluring pull of the bond and the comforting warmth of the most comfortable surface they’d rested on in eons. When his vision cleared, and his senses were online once again, he found his bonded had shifted sometime in the night to use his arm strut as a pillow. He was deep in his recharge cycle, so much so that not even the sounds of another mech could pull him into the waking world, and most likely wouldn’t awaken for some time to come. Megatron could only sigh gratefully as his claws stroked up and down his spinal strut. At least now he will finally know a dreamless recharge. Nestled so tightly against his plating, he found that some of the rust had rubbed off on the other’s clean plating. Apparently, the gravitation of their sparks in the subconscious had translated to their conscious frames.

An uneven series of beeps came from the monitor above his helm, and Megatron’s gaze lifted. Ratchet stood by the machinery, digits tapping at the screen and faceplates even in concentration. The silver mech rumbled groggily as he shifted to get a better look, eliciting the sharp blue optics of the medic. They quickly softened, and Ratchet’s digits paused against the screen as he shifted his upper frame to face him better.

“I owe you and Orion a great apology, Tron. I had not realized the usage of specific medical equipment would cause such distress to your bonded. In the attempt to aid him, I failed to thoroughly think of the effects of my actions on you both.”

He spoke quietly, mindful of the mech between them still in stasis. Guilt walked alongside the tone of his voice and accompanied his field. The silver mech recycled his optics, his bleary processor needing to go back and replay the statement given in order to fully understand it. After a few nanoseconds the words finally clicked, and he paused before nodding once in acceptance of the honest apology. A corner of the CMO’s lips quirked up positively before his optics returned to the monitor.

“It seems nothing has been damaged, though, and all activity appears to have leveled into a normal state. Though, judging by the depth of the charge cycle at this time and his previous exhaustion, I imagine he will not be online for another few groons, at the least.”

It felt surreal to the ex-warlord to hear the current condition of his bonded. To actually know what was going on, to realize that his presence warranted the recognition of an actual mech whom needed to be informed of this data… The ramblings of a slave, he thought to himself humorlessly. He’d overcome it once, but overcoming it again felt like stopping the orbit of a planet. After a klik, he nodded to the medic in thanks of the update. Ratchet then opened his subspace compartment, pulling out two blue cubes of energon. He reached under the side of the berth, pulling up a tray to situate and lock it into place beside them, and placed both cubes on it.

“Medical-grade energon. I cannot guarantee that I will be present to make multiple rounds this cycle, Primus knows this city keeps us on our peds, so make sure that Orion ingests a full cube when he comes online. Rung plans to visit early you both early in the afternoon cycle. If either of you need anything before then—”

Ratchet stepped up to the monitor, gesturing to the left side closest to their helms. On it was a neon-bright red button, something that sent a small jolt of surprise through the silver mech’s field. Was that there the whole time? Neither of them had taken notice to it since being here.

“—press this and I or a member of our medical staff will be here in under a klik. Got it?”

His spark clenched in stress and his helm spun from the sudden onslaught of information after reentering reality. But as he reanalyzed the input, he forced himself to calm. He’ll need a few more groons to recharge, be sure he drinks his cube, and press the obnoxious red button if anything goes wrong. It wasn’t a terrible list, and he knew he could manage that. With a newly found state of confidence, Megatron nodded in affirmation to the medic. Ratchet waited patiently until he was given confirmation, then turned on a heel with the intent of making the rest of his rounds.

A memory file from the night cycle before suddenly made its presence known to the forefront of the silver mech’s processor.

“He mentioned a mech named Optimus that had personally pardoned me to be here with you through your recovery.”

Momentarily, his crimson optics widened. Then he pushed an arm strut underneath himself to lean on.

“Ratchet.”

The medic halted between the curtains, turning back towards the medical berth with a raised metal brow. The silver mech cleared his voice box of the rasp it had taken from underuse.

“The mech that pardoned me to be here; the one you called Optimus,”

He started, and Ratchet’s helm tilted to the side in an unconscious show of curiosity.

“We would like to speak with him… to explain our situation.”

Surprise flickered through the CMO’s field, and he blinked to show it. But as was expected of a professional medical expert, he was quick to revert to a level-minded state of being. Ratchet had always known when it mattered, hadn’t he? His optics drifted away in thought and the medic’s digits rose to tap against his lip plates absently.

“Well, he’ll most likely have locked himself in his office to bury himself in the stacks of paperwork the humans have so graciously decided to grant him. But, considering the interest he has taken in you already, and if I alert Rung of this request to give a persuasive psychiatric sway… I believe I can arrange for a visit in the next cycle.”

With a small one-sided smile, the medic winked at the silver mech before stepping out of the part in the curtain, the fabric swishing closed behind him as his steps echoed out the door and disappeared with its click. Megatron recycled his optics.

Huh… Well, that was easier than expected.

The ex-warlord could remember a time he ridiculed the far-too-trusting nature of Autobots. It had irked him to no end. Now, he praised it, and almost laughed at himself at how the once mighty had genuinely fallen.

I fell from grace the day I left Orion and stormed out of the Council’s halls.

Carefully, to avoid jostling the Prime, he pulled his arm out from underneath the thermal blankets and reached over him to pick up one of the cubes of energon. Like the previous time, he took care in ingesting small sips at a time, closing his optics as he relished in the feeling of his hunger fade. And he realized with dry amusement as the nutrient-rich fuel settled in his tank that compared to their captivity in the catacombs, the war barely bothered him anymore.

Chapter Text

As expected, it must’ve been about four to five groons before a small moan emanated from the Prime’s voice box, signaling his return to the world of the living. He gradually began to shift, frame wearily wriggling against Megatron’s in the pocket of soothing warmth they’d created. The silver mech smiled absently at the motions, amusement tickling his spark. It seemed that no matter what the universe deemed fit to put him through, Optimus still disliked waking up after a thorough recharge. His clawed digits sneaked around his bonded’s waist to rub at the small of his back, and he crooned to him.

Where are you, my Prime? I know you’re there.

Optimus moaned again, and his silver faceplates pulled back just enough to tip up towards him. Blue optics flickered online, recycling twice before focusing on him dully. Megatron’s smile widened.

There you are.

His arm tightened around his bonded’s waist, and he pulled him upward to press a lingering kiss to his forehelm. Love touched the other’s spark, and it wasn’t long before it was wholly returned and circling through their bond. The Prime hummed, a small smile appearing on his faceplates as he leaned up to nuzzle against the silver mech’s faceplates.

You’re here.

He echoed in awe over the bond, the words so soft Megatron could almost hear their whispered tone if they’d been voiced. His flight engines gave a low purr.

I am.

When a second, quiet purr met his audials, the silver mech’s spark soared. Memories from Cybertron’s final ages were returning, all centering around the lives of Orion and Megatronus. He held them dearly, feeling them so strongly in this shared moment that they thrummed in his energon. They swirled between them as Megatron kissed over his bonded’s silver faceplates, taking every chance he would get to appreciate his bonded’s life and frame. Optimus’s smile widened, and he chuckled lightly, his servos rising to lazily cup the other’s helm. Growing wisps of joy circulated in his field.

We should awaken like this more often.

The silver mech laughed, its deep and rolling sound echoing around them. Optimus reveled in it, pressing their forehelms together until it subsided.

Indeed, it would surely make mornings more agreeable for you.

A hinted, teasing emotion poked at the Prime, causing his bright blue optics to narrow in the slightest at his bonded. Megatron snickered at the expression, and at the drip of indignance he felt between them. He pressed a kiss to his bonded’s lip plates and Optimus huffed a short sigh through his vents, exasperation and affection spinning in his spark.

Actually, Megatron, my repaired chronometer states that it is the afternoon.

Megatron chose to ignore the intent of the sass thrown at him to win the argument, instead marveling at its familiarity to times past. He pulled away from the kiss to nuzzle and nibble at his bonded’s jaw, humming noncommittally.

Is it? Well then, my beloved Prime, it seems you’re slacking. I specifically remember your predecessors to be early risers.

Amusement flooded their bond alongside the exasperation. Optimus raised a metal brow before something incredible occurred. A rare playful growl vibrated his chest plates and he reached forward to flash his denta and bite at his mischievous bonded. Megatron stilled and stared at his bonded who smirked back at him.

It also seems you need to have your chronometer repaired. You may receive estranged glances from fellow mecha if you fell miraculously from the sky, and then tell them it is morning in the afternoon.

If Megatron had any reply to throw back and counter the Prime, it was lost on his glossa. Forever may pass at your side, and you’ll never cease to surprise me. His spark pulsed, his optics glowed, and his faceplates relaxed into a gentle smile. He silently pressed one last kiss to the side of his bonded’s intake.

Fair enough, then. But first, you need to fuel.

Blue optics, caught in the lazy haze of affection, recycled at the sudden change of subject. But he watched his bonded curiously as the silver mech pulled his arms away to push himself upright. He sat up with him, and his gaze followed Megatron as he reached over him to grasp the cube set on the berth side tray. Optics widening, his tanks churned hungrily as it was handed to him and he took a grateful first sip.

Primus… Thank you, Megatron.

The silver mech watched as he sighed in relief and sipped again, one of his clawed servos wrapping around him to stroke his spinal strut.

Don’t thank me, thank the Ratchet of this universe.

Humming in acknowledgement, the Prime held the cube away from his intake for a few kliks before swallowing again. They sat in silence in the meantime, their fields weaved into each other like clasping servos. Megatron’s processor wandered back to their conversation, and his metal brows furrowed as it dwelled on one specific part.

Optimus, you said it was afternoon?

Immediately the Prime’s movements froze, cube still hovering in front of his intake as his optics turned to his bonded. He nodded slowly.

Yes, just about 1300 hours according to this time zone. Why?

Running a quick calculation of military time and recalling yet another earlier conversation, the silver hummed and shrugged one shoulder.

The CMO came this morning while you were recharging to check your vitals. He told me Rung planned to see us around this time this cycle—

Megatron did not get the chance to finish his thought before something metal clicked outside the shelter of their curtain. This time, the couple already knew it was the door. They exchanged expressions of mild surprise.

… I see.

Optimus replied lethargically. After a moment in stepped Rung with punctual timing to Ratchet’s word.

“Hello? Tron? Orion?”

Mindfully, the psychologist took care in gently shutting the door behind him. Pinpricks of nervousness dotted his bonded’s field after the last cycle’s events. In response Megatron rumbled his flight engines, squeezing his bonded’s servo reassuringly with a nod. Optimus vented deeply, raising the cube in his other servo once again to finish it off.

“We’re here.”

Rung’s ped steps indicated his progress as he walked to the curtain. His thin digits wrapped around one side of the blue fabric, drawing it back to peek through from the other side.

“May I enter?”

The words rang in his audials. Optimus paused and recycled his optics as his optics shifted over to his bonded. Did they not repeat this last cycle…? Megatron gazed back at the psychologist.

“Yes.”

Affirming the consent, Rung nodded as he pulled the curtain back to let himself in.
Something was off. Blue optics slowly widened with the realization. The words and actions; it felt way too familiar, like déjà vu about to go horribly wrong. His processor whirled back in on itself as something dark came to its forefront. A sharply clear stasis memory file; a dream. The Prime’s servo tightened around the cube as a knot twisted in his tank.

Rung released the curtain as it swished back into place and choose to stand where he entered to give the couple as much of a respectful distance as they needed. The familiar warm smile was etched onto his faceplates.

“I do sincerely apologize—”

His tank dropped, and his digits coiled inward.

“… Run, beloved.”

Chapter Text

The cube shattered, and the glass-like material of the container flew out in all directions. Optimus gasped and cried out when shards splintered into his servo and the last of the energon from the cube splattered over him and Megatron. The silver mech jerked straight and the psychologist startled at the action, both of their fields immediately filling with concern.

“Orion! Are you alright?”

Optimus?! What’s wrong?!

His vents faltered as he stared at both mecha fearfully, clutching his injured servo to his chest plates. The brightness of Rung’s round optics intensified when they saw the red and blue mech’s injury, and he immediately moved to the monitor of the medical berth and pressed the emergency red button.

“Help is on the way for your servo. Orion, can you tell me why are you frightened?”

Rung asked gently. Optimus clenched his optics shut and shook his helm vigorously, trying to draw his legs up into his chest and push himself away from the psychologist. His field flared in rekindled terror.

“I-I’m sorry—I-I can’t—I-I—”

The Prime stuttered, unable to finish a complete sentence and flinched away from the orange bot. It was then that Megatron turned to the psychologist with a piercing gaze, his field whipping out in warning against impending danger to his bonded.

“Rung, will you give us a moment of privacy?”

Round blue optics fixed on him when he felt the silver mech’s field and the warning within it. He nodded instantly, taking a respectful step back into the curtain. He parted it, looking out toward the wall of medical equipment.

“There should be towels to clean up with in one of the drawers in here. I’ll look for them.”

He stated and stepped out of the curtain without another word. With the intruder gone for the moment, Megatron’s attention shifted back to his bonded. The coldness of his optics faded into a panicked worry.

Where are you, my Prime? Talk to me, please.

Silly questions. The real Megatron asks silly questions.

His limb struts shook as he wheezed a vent, cerulean optics opening to glance painfully at the silver mech beside him.

It’s just a dream. Dreams aren’t reality… I’m not dreaming… Please, I can’t be dreaming…

The panic from Megatron’s expression fell as he felt shocks of pain in their bond. Spilled energon dripped from his servo as he raised it from the blanket, turning it backward between them to begin their ritual.

You’re not dreaming. You’re awake.

An unharmed black servo reached out to connect. They rolled against each other, flipped, and twined digits when palms came together. Optimus’s shoulders shook as he sobbed in relief, and his bonded sent soothing waves of calm to his frazzled, erratic spark.

You’re safe. You’re with me.

Megatron watched as his bonded’s blue helm sunk and he drooped forward where he sat, fighting to control his ventilations. Dreams. Why is it always dreams? He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be questioning the disorganized speech of his bonded. Not at a time like this. Why is it always dreams? The silver mech disconnected their servos to let his slide up the other’s arm strut and up to his helm, cupping his faceplate to lift the Prime up again. Coolant tears slid down sterling silver.

What you and Rung were saying… It was just like last cycle. It… It reminded me of…

He didn’t dare to say it, couldn’t bear to say it. If he said it out loud, if he even mentioned the dream that had just replayed; this fragile reality that had been so sweet a few kliks ago would disappear forever. He’d wake up strapped to the examination table once more…

Calm.

It swept over him in a wave, and he recycled his optics against the coolant that blurred his vision as his bonded’s free servo slowly and tenderly reached for him.

Let me see, my Prime.

Optimus vented shakily as the silver mech’s clawed digits wrapped around his injured servo, drawing it away from his chest. Crimson optics scanned over the energon dripping off the black palm as it spread open. He fought to suppress a wince as he witnessed the large shards that stuck out and the small splinters that had dug themselves in. Cooing to his bonded, Megatron gave his cheek plate a reassuring stroke.

Ped steps clapped against the floor and the curtain suddenly swished as Rung glanced through once again, bunches of gleaming white fabric bundled in his servos.

“Alright I’ve found towels! Tron, Orion, may I enter to assist?”

Megatron glanced over at the psychologist and back as the Prime’s field shuddered and cerulean blue optics flicked between Rung and him apprehensively. The side of his lip plate curled up into a reassuring small smile as he wrapped his thick field around his bonded, lowering his servo to rub soothingly at the other’s arm strut. He silently nodded once in granted permission and Rung stepped forward.

“What happened?!”

A resounding slam caught their attention as the CMO burst through the door, optics already on the occupants surrounded by curtains. Rigidly straightening at the sudden intrusion, the couple stared anxiously as he neared, only beginning to calm as his expression softened and Rung acknowledged him.

“Orion accidentally broke a cube of medical grade energon. Some of the broken pieces unfortunately cut into his servo.”

Ratchet’s optics flared as he stopped at the bedside, arm strut reaching out with the intent to take and observe the red and blue mech’s injured servo. But Orion fearfully cringed away, and he paused as he let his arm drop. The attentive optics of the medic instead scanned over the exposed cuts and splinters.

“… The pieces will require removal, and these cuts will need to be soldered shut. Orion, would you be comfortable if I utilized forceps and a welder?”

Three pairs of optics turned to him, and the Prime’s shoulders fell and hunched as their combined weight pressed down on him. His optics timidly drifted away to stare at the cube shards and puddle of energon in his lap. It had now seeped into the thermal blankets and would most likely stain them permanently. Focusing instead on the annoying, but less frightening sensation of the energon becoming sticky on his plating, he nodded once.

“Alright.”

The medic confirmed, his optics following the patient’s stare to the energon in his lap and covering both occupants of the berth. He huffed a sigh.

“I’ll bring a new set of blankets while I’m at it.”

With that, the medic walked back out of the curtained area, his lingering presence in the room only indicated by tinks and thunks as he rummaged in the drawers and the shifting of his peds as he moved from one place station to another. Rung cleared his intake quietly, politely asking for the silver mech’s attention as he held out the towels.

“Here you are.”

Cautiously, Megatron reached out and took them in his grasp as he muttered a ‘thank you.’ The soft material brushed over his claws, and like the blankets they were as unfamiliar as they were a comfort.

Humbly averting his optics as the two mecha began to wipe away the sticky fluid from their frames, Rung pondered the situation that had just taken place. It must have been a flashback, one he could only assume he’d had a part in causing. As a psychologist, the events were unavoidable, but unacceptable. Helplessness coiled coldly in his tanks. Where did it start this time? What was the trigger of fear? He replayed the memory file of their short interaction, analyzing the red and blue mech’s reactions, noticing the subtle shifts in his faceplates and the intensity of his magnetic field. What surprised him is another similar memory file that popped up in the forefront of his processor, its date signaling the morning cycle before. His actions and their conversation paralleled the two files together, comparing it to the human term “déjà vu.” Is this what Orion noticed? Looking back at his reactions, their timing and resemblance to his own astonishment told Rung the answer he needed.

But why would this elicit a flashback?

The psychologist’s metal brows furrowed. Eons of experience with war-related mental illnesses, and these bots stumped him. Tron’s reactions, he could understand; they were instinctive and dependency-driven. Orion was his bonded, and though Rung was not one to assume, most likely the only bot the silver mech had left. Protecting him was Tron’s purpose, and it gave him a reason to remain stable. Splitting them caused the silver mech extreme separation anxiety, one of the worst he’d seen in his career. Orion, however… Rung had not the slightest idea of what could be causing his constant flashbacks and triggered panic attacks; he could only go off of what he’d gathered so far. The symptoms of schizophrenia had been eliminated after processor repairment. However, the codependency and separation anxiety symptoms he’d observed in their interactions within the security cell lingered. At this point in time, Tron was clearly the only one who could keep him stable and aid him through the attacks. Orion was doubtful of both the psychologist and the CMO and turning out to be more timid than he’d first assumed.

His lip plates thinned at the thought. Anything could potentially be a trigger for the red and blue mech. It meant that social interactions of any kind outside of his bonded would be a challenge, one that would not be easily remedied by therapy or medications. This also meant that he might have to reevaluate his request to the city’s high officials to allow them leave from the maximum security facility. Rung would need more time to observe and speak to the couple in a controlled environment; to gain a better understanding of their individual symptoms and what might be causing them. Tron and Orion would need time to adjust to interacting with others. The couple would not be pleased, this he knew, and it would take careful communication on his end to avoid losing progress made.

A hiss of pain followed by the low thrum of flight engines caught his audials. Emerging from contemplation, Rung’s optics rose to see the silver mech dabbing at the energon on his bonded’s servo with the edge of a rust and fluid stained towel. His optics traveled over the frames of each bot, finding that the red and blue mech was once again spotless, save for his injured appendage. Tron’s chest plates and arm struts were free of energon, and tiny flecks of shining silver peeking through the rust tint of his armor indicated that some of the grime had come off with it. They finally landed on where the couple connected in the middle, and he watched as the silver mech’s clawed digits moved with the towel. Gently, tenderly, delicately. It was as if he were handling a precious possession that could shatter at any moment. Such mindful movements put wonderment in his spark and pulled a small smile from his faceplates. Small as they were, they were acts of love, and they put many of the other couples in the city to shame.

The curtain swished at his backplates, and a flash of orange and white was his only warning before folded sheets and thermal blankets were nearly thrown into his arms.

“May I assist further, Tron?”

Crimson optics drew away from their partner to look up at the medic, tools in servo and waiting patiently for access. A few moments passed before the silver mech silently moved out of the way, letting the towel drop on the berth and sliding back. Orion tensed, but watched without comment as his bonded retreated, and relaxed when with an ex-vent as his bonded took his unharmed servo. Rung observed without pause as he set the folded blankets in his arms at the end of the medical berth.

Ratchet was next to sit against the berth, setting the small welder on his right side. He turned to his patient, extending a steady servo towards him with a caring, but expectant expression. Orion hesitated, injured appendage subconsciously curling towards his frame, and the medic’s caring field brushed against him.

“It’s alright, Orion. Don’t be frightened of me.”

It was a reassuring push of his bonded’s field that made the red and blue mech give in and let the medic take his servo. Kindly, Ratchet’s thumb spread his digits and his focused optics assessed the damage. He raised the forceps to pick away at the shards, and Orion’s servo quivered in his grasp.

“Easy, Orion. Shhh.”

The larger shards were easy to remove and did not take more than a klik, but the small shards required the better part of the medic’s concentration. His grip on the back of Orion’s appendage tightened to still it, and his steady servos worked quickly to pluck them away. When they were removed, his servo sought out one of the towels on the berth to dab away the residual bleeding energon. There wasn’t much of it, and it took no time at all before it was also placed to the side in favor of the welder. Orion and Tron both tensed when the pointed blue flame sparked and piqued the psychologist’s attention. But the medic’s unwavering field brushed against his patient’s as he worked to close the cuts. The entire repair process couldn’t have taken more than ten kliks, and when the CMO’s welder shut off and pulled away, the couple’s stiff frames began to relax.

“The welds are still hot, so be careful not to curl your palm or touch them for the next three kliks. Other than that, you’ll be fine.”

Orion pulled his servo back to inspect it with quiet optics, digits and palm flexing but not breaking his orders. His field pulsed gratefulness and pushed against the medic’s, eliciting a small smile. No words were needed. Ratchet stood from the berth to subspace his tools before his optics fell on the towels in on the berth front of them, surrounded by cube shards and covered in rust. Rust that he had not noticed before, and that would’ve made Knockout shiver in horror. Blinking, his optics shifted to the only rust-covered mech in the room.

“Tron, have you received any kind of wash since arriving at the hospital?”

The silver mech startled and recycled his optics, staring down at himself with an expression that quite dumbly read no. Gaze narrowing in the slightest, the CMO looked over at the culprit with a raised metal brow.

“That won’t do. Sanitation is key to a bot’s functioning, repair, and recovery. Your bonded’s health is at risk so long as you remain in this condition.”

Immediately, the silver mech’s optics softened, flicking between the medic and Orion. Ratchet thought he felt fear flash through the distanced field, but he couldn’t be sure. He closed his subspace compartments as he continued.

“There is a private decontamination wash-room for patients at the other side of the hall. My suggestion is that you make use of it while myself or Rung can accompany you.”

This time, the medic knew that what flashed through both of their fields was definite panic. Orion’s face blanched. He seemed to have forgotten that one of his servos had just been welded as both of them flew to grasp the silver mech’s clawed digits in a death grip.

“N-NO!”

Orion cried out against the request for his bonded to leave. In response, Tron turned to him and pulled him closer, crooning against his audial to soothe his fear before it leapt out of their control. They stayed this way for about a klik, as the panicked and reassuring fields clashed together before eventually weaving together. When they found an even ground, the forced calm of Tron’s field overwhelmed them both. He looked up at the CMO, fear and determination battling for dominance in his optics.

“I understand what is necessary, Ratchet… But I will not be going anywhere without Orion.”

The alerted expression that had quickly taken residence on the CMO’s faceplates diminished. Indecision, vexation, and guilt all warred against each other. But before the tense silence between them could drag out, the ever observant Rung piped up in its midst.

“I may not be verse in surgery recovery protocols, but I would think that giving Orion the chance to get up and walk would be an excellent way to assess that his motor functions are processing correctly. In addition, it is my professional opinion as a psychologist that Tron and Orion should remain together if they are to go anywhere to remain mentally stable.”

Ratchet glanced at the psychologist, observing the knowledgeable confidence and clear purpose in those round blue optics. His gaze flicked back to the couple, feeling the shock in their fields as neither of them could decide whether to look at him or Rung. Cerulean blue optics caught him and held him in place, and Ratchet couldn’t help the pang that hit his spark. They were oh so familiar. The fear and pain that lay in them didn’t belong there. Not when the voice of his leader accompanied them. Whispering. Pleading. Please, old friend… He’d never been able to withstand against them. Even now.

Huffing in exasperation, he clenched his optics shut and pinched his nasal ridge in two digits.

“Fine! I’m obviously outnumbered in this vote.”

Shock.

The silver mech and his bonded could only gape as their processors halted in place and their ventilations stilled. Rung smiled gratefully at the medic, who glared at him when his digits lowered from his face. With a sigh, he walked to the headrest of the berth, tapping a few of the buttons on the monitor to shut it down and looking down at his patient.

“I’m going to remove the data cables, Orion. Just hold still, this might tingle.”

Cerulean blue optics recycled to come back to awareness. Orion tensed and snapped his optics shut when the medic reached for his helm, unable to cycle air. Ratchet grasped the head of the cables at the port and quickly disengaged it, pulling it away to hang it over the top of the berth.

“You can vent now.”

Orion slowly opened his optics, tense frame loosening as he looked behind him up at the cable. Plating underneath his helm slid down and back into place over the open plug, and his servo lifted to rub at the data port. Ratchet nodded affirmingly and waved to the two bots in the medical berth to rise.

“Come on, you two. I don’t have all afternoon.”

Chapter Text

Pouring water pounds at the floor. It splashes at the walls and rises in a misty steam up to the ceiling, clouding around the yellow fluorescent lamp. The air is damp in the chamber, accompanied with the lingering scent of solvent, and the light around them is dimmed by its wispy fog. It reminds them of a rainstorm, drowning out an impenetrable silence that encompassed the room when they entered.

Megatron stands under the rain pattering on his armor. The fluids run through every seam and crevice, sliding against the built up grime like fingers small enough to finally scratch all of the itch. His helm is bowed, his optics are closed, and his plating is flared, allowing the warmth to seep beneath and soak the protoform and wiring beneath. The water that drips from him comes off red from the tint of fire-colored rust of the catacombs, and it pools around him like the blood of humans. Silver flecks turn to silver patches under the workings of the solvent’s cleansing chemicals. An aluminum mesh sponge, clasped in his servo at his side, hangs forgotten. He takes the air in languidly, feeling the moisture of it collect in his vents, and savors it. Cherishes it. Let’s himself believe that the water that cleanses him of the dry and burning dust could wash away the scars that littered his frame. Could wipe away the nightmares imprinted on his spark. Could rid him of the pain that came with every living face that was nothing more than a memory.

Pain. Sorrow. Anguish. Regret.

The ex-warlord’s field flares. And then it’s caught.

Melancholy.

Tender digits touch the hind blades of his shoulders. He invents shakily as their fields weave together tightly. The digits slide over his wet armor, palms splaying to rest fully against him. An engine of a powerful grounder thrums behind him, humming over the beat of the rain. He rumbles back, his flight engines vibrating through his shoulders and down his back strut. The servo on his left shoulder gently glides forward, around the curved spikes to slip down his arm. When it reaches his clawed servo, it pauses, grasping the outside of it lightly. Megatron invents again, feeling the other’s arm strut rest against his. Their engines fill the room. They revel in the rain.

A long time passes before the other’s servo moves again, reaching through his digits to grasp the forgotten mesh. He let his claws unclasp and release it, feeling it fall from his palm and leave it empty. The servo pulls away, and the world hangs suspended between the raindrops.

Love.

The servo returns, pressing the mesh against the armor of his back. Megatron’s engines hitch, feeling his perspective of the world shrink down to the sensation of pattering water and the servos pressing against him. Carefully, gracefully, the mesh strokes over his back, arising and descending against the rust and grit with the ease of a running river. Skating over the coarse ruts and indentations that cut deep and grazes into his protoform. Brushing the areas where silver and red blackened, charred and burned like embers of coal. Dipping where the small edges of armor had been melted away, warped and deformed to never heal completely.

Thrumming ground engines hush into quiet. The mesh halts at the small of his back.

Digits run over the edges of an acid burn. His vents cease.

… Anguish.

The digits halt. Then, they press into him. A low, soothing coo resounds from deep in the other’s chest.

… Acceptance. Affection.

Lip plates settle against the groove of a scar between his shoulder blades. Megatron ex-vents the moist air he didn’t know he is holding in. They gradually move, planting kisses onto every disfigurement of his sterling silver armor. His claws tremble, and he releases a soft sob. The lids of his optics clench harder as the other’s warm field surrounds him. The other’s spark embraces him. The other’s lips tend to him.

Love.

His shoulders crumble, and his frame trembles. Coolant tears accompany the solvent chemicals. He leans back into the sensation of the other’s kiss and caressing servos. Their existence fades and revolves into each other, wanting nothing more. The rain drips against their frames, dipping into every seam and crevice, washing away the blood-like rust. They let it cleanse away the past. They let themselves forget.

Love.

Chapter Text

“Tron, Orion, I’ve heard from Ratchet that you’ve requested to meet Optimus, our city’s leader?”

Rung’s smooth voice pulled them both from their thoughts, and said CMO looked from the psychologist to the mecha on the berth. Tron nodded from where he sat at the end of the medical berth.

“Yes, that is correct.”

A slightly surprised field bumped against the silver mech, and he glanced at his bonded who leaned back against the headrest on top of the clean thermal blankets. The data cords plugged back into his helm looped down over the pillow to brush against his smoke stack, and the head of the cables itself caused him to lean his helm forward to avoid pressing against it. His second cube of energon hovered at his intake as his optics stared at him inquisitively.

I was not aware you already brought it to the CMO’s attention.

The side of his lip plates quirked up into something resembling a smile, and he pushed reassurance back through their bond.

I spoke to him while he was checking your vitals this morning.

Orion recycled his optics at him, but nodded in understanding, sipping soundlessly from the cube. Rung hummed as he watched the red and blue mech shake his helm in agreement, tapping his digit against his jawline.

“And I have been told this is to formally explain yourselves and your state of affairs to him?”

He asked inquisitively, receiving another even nod from the silver mech. His crimson optics met the psychologists rounded ones.

“We fell from the sky into the middle of your city. We caused quite a bit of chaos. But we mean no harm and wish for the officials to know that directly from us.”

Exchanging half-surprised expressions with the CMO, Rung paused in thought before replying.

“… It will definitely help your case to speak to an official yourselves, especially Optimus from my perspective. However, this is another tremendous step for the both of you, are you entirely comfortable taking it?”

This time, the couple exchanged expressions. Their fields echoed one another, resembling something like resolve to the other mechs in the room. Tron was not as quick to answer, but no less poised.

“It is necessary to take, Rung. We have acknowledged this and have made this decision on our own as well.”

The psychologist was caught off guard. Whenever he’d seemed to have made a steadfast conclusion about this couple, they would act completely different. At their worst, their actions were driven by panicked instinct and their behavior bordered the line of primitive. At their best, they were intelligent, well-mannered, and unbelievably brave. It was two very different sides of a coin, flipping at the most unexpected moments that Rung didn’t know what the best decision was regarding them.

Ratchet responded when the psychologist did not, gesturing unconsciously as he went about it.

“Rung, I agree this is quite a large request to make in their current conditions, but it cannot be avoided. The other officials are already wary of their arrival, and I believe it would be wise for them to explain themselves first before anything is forced.”

He turned towards Tron and Orion before continuing.

“I have already contacted Optimus, anyway. He wanted me to relay to you that he will be glad to formally meet tomorrow morning.”

Tron and Orion collectively recycled their optics at the CMO, then at each other in astonishment. Clearly, they hadn’t expected such quick results. But, swamped in paperwork or not, the Prime had always been prompt, and never turned down a call from an old friend. Ratchet’s lip plate curled up in a slight smirk at the responses, flashing them a wink where Rung, who blinked owlishly at the medic, wouldn’t see.

“Well then, I suppose you’re right. It cannot be avoided. I would hope however to be allowed a part of this meeting? A psychiatric point of view may also be of assistance in determining what would be the best course of action after Orion is well enough to depart from the hospital.”

To everyone’s surprise, it was the meek voice of Orion who answered.

“Your input would be greatly appreciated in the matter.”

There it was again, Ratchet couldn’t help but think to himself. Just like the Prime would say. It unnerved him as much as it intrigued him, and he wondered if he shouldn’t take a part in this meeting as well as he watched the psychologist nod in thanks to Orion’s approval. Checking his chronometer, the medic held back a huff and waved a servo at the rest of them.

“Primus. Forgive me, but I must depart, or I’ll be the one late to the next systems check appointment waiting downstairs. Rung, I will ask you do the same so that my patient can rest.”

Rung’s field echoed immediate understanding.

“Of course.”

Ratchet’s gaze then fell on Tron.

“I will be back later this evening to conduct a thorough systems examination on you. In the meantime, I expect you to know what to do in case of any problems that may arise.”

Crimson optics flicked toward the emergency button on the steadily beeping monitor, and Ratchet took the action as a ‘yes.’

“I will take my leave, then. Rung.”

He signaled to the psychologist, stepping back from the berth to hold the curtain open. Rung wordlessly followed after smiling gently at the couple in farewell for now. The curtain swished behind them, and both professionals left the room with only the sounds of their retreating steps to mark their exit. Megatron and Optimus were left in the accompaniment of the monitors and machines.

… Tomorrow morning it will be then.

The Prime whispered over the bond, more to himself than his bonded. But it was still heard, and the silver mech sighed and shifted to draw his himself up on the berth, elbow perched underneath himself as he lounged lazily on his side.

So it will be.

He watched as Optimus placed the half empty second cube on the tray beside the berth. Then he flipped his frame on his side away from where the two mecha had exited, arms pulling in to wrap tentatively over his front. Blue optics traveled down to meet with the red of his bonded perched lower on the berth.

What if they are wrong? What if this mech proves to be dangerous to us?

Fear danced in his field and dotted his optics. Megatron couldn’t provide comfort, not when the same fear lingered in the depths of his spark. Not when his partner could feel it just as well as he could. He reached upward, offering a clawed servo, and Optimus grasped it. Their optics traced over the details of each other’s frame, storing a memory file that had already been made out of a desperation-induced habit.

We’ll stay together, and we’ll find a way to survive.

Chapter Text

If someone were to ask the ex-warlord of the Decepticons, a couple eons ago, what was it about Optimus Prime he took for granted, he would’ve answered rather defensively that he appreciated everything his bonded ever was and still came to be.

If someone were to ask the ex-warlord in the present what he might’ve taken for granted, he would instantly admit that it was the Prime’s life and endless love for him, something he knew he needed as much as fuel and vowed that he would never be so aloof again.

However, something he wouldn’t have thought to admit that he took for granted, was Optimus Prime’s curves.

Curves adorned every bit of his frame. The slope of his broad shoulders, accompanied by his cylinder-like smokestacks. The circular structure of his revolving tires perched on his long leg struts. The concave width of his abdomen, indenting between his chest and his hips in the shape of an hourglass. The rounded breadth of his hip joints, arching around the smooth silver of his thigh struts. He loved every bit of the Prime’s frame, including those curves, but he had not recognized or truly appreciated them for a long time.

This cycle, he would, because the Optimus Prime of this universe did not have curves.

He was tall, though definitely not at tall as himself. Most likely just as tall as his bonded. His shoulders were hexagonal, shaped by six distinct sides topped by two connected plates that lay over in a low-angled triangle. His chest was somehow even flatter than his bonded’s, and the span of his abdomen and waist was that of a thickened box. He couldn’t tell where the hip joints of this mech plugged into the main frame, nor could he tell how. Extra plating layered around it, folding and angling over the base of his square thigh struts. There were no wheels on his gigantic peds. Even his helm design felt strange; the arch in the center was too high, the crest in the center was too small, and his antennae were twice the size of his bonded’s.

A reality opposite from our own... Worlds and life created through similar processes, set into different circumstances.

Megatron had heard his lumbering steps before finally seeing him in the present. He’d walked in with the CMO, just a few kliks after Rung had entered, greeted them good morning, and had inquired after Orion’s well-being. The Prime and the CMO had been talking quietly, he couldn’t quite pick up their words. But he could hear the fluctuations of a deep and extremely similar voice. Despite what he heard, he shouldn’t have expected an identical bot. Not when the curtain pulled back and the mech stepped in, and the ex-warlord felt at first as though he were staring at a complete stranger. But his color scheme was the same, if not a brighter silver. So was his presence; that breath-taking, slightly ethereal presence that read power.

Perpendicular existence… Looking into a mirror and seeing yourself in a different life.

Optimus—his Optimus—froze when the sound of his steps reached his audials. The wisps of a familiar electromagnetic energy echoed through the room and his field yanked inwards, braced so tight not even Megatron could feel it beyond their joined servos.

Anxiety. Dread. Apprehension.

The Prime walked through the curtain, and his bonded fell silent. Cerulean blue optics met an identical pair, and time seemed to stop. Two sparks made of the same star from mirrored universes clashed like two sides of a broken magnet, unable to decide whether to be drawn in by the inexplicable pull they felt or to keep their distance by the repulsion of their forces. The tendrils of the spark connecting to Megatron’s stilled over their bond, and all at once the empty quiet between them threatened to overwhelm him. It unsteadied him, and he sucked in a deep vent of air as he also stared at the mech before them.

The blocky Optimus Prime’s battle mask was pulled down over his faceplates. Megatron knew his own Prime well enough that he understood it was a guarded gesture. He did it when he knew he couldn’t hold a stoic expression, and among his subordinates, that was what mattered. It no longer unnerved him, not when he could read the blocky mech’s optics. They flashed brightly, unguarded surprise and confusion revolving in their depths. It lasted for a matter of nanoseconds, but it felt like an eternity. When they shifted to the silver mech, the spell cast over the room dissipated. Beside him, his bonded’s helm lowered, shock roiling in his field where he could feel it through their servos. Optimus Prime stared at him for a longer eternity, and the blue helm tipped sideways in such a slight movement he didn’t know if he was actually imagining it. Megatron met his gaze evenly, waiting for him to react. If the Prime was anything like his own, then his reaction could be one of many. But most likely, after a lifetime of holding strong like a stone amidst a stormy sea, he would do as was expected of him.

The bulky mech finally made his move, inclining his helm in a gesture of greeting and respect.

“Good morning.”

He spoke, the sterling silver surrounding his optics shifting upwards to show that under his mask he was grinning politely. The base tone of his voice rolled through the room, and Megatron almost lost himself in the swarm of memory files of that voice surfacing into the forefront of his processor.

“I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Cybertronian populace residing on Earth. Welcome to our city.”

A response was expected of him, this Megatron knew. The optics of the CMO and the psychologist were now upon him as well, waiting. He fought to keep his expression neutral under the weighted implications that were crushing him into the ground. There could be no doubt; his bonded was right. This couldn’t have been anything from their own universe, this was beyond that comprehension. This was at the other side of the spectrum. This could’ve only been another universe.

Primus, help us.

He squeezed the black servo of his bonded to reassure himself that this was the actual reality of the present moment, and he spoke.

“Thank you, Optimus Prime. I am Tron, and this is my bonded, Orion.”

Something inside of him curled as he spoke introductions. It felt wrong, so utterly wrong to call another mech by that name he treasured so much. But, the psyche bot’s field pulsed with a note of honest satisfaction from his proper greeting before leveling out to be neutral again. His optics were on the Prime, though, and he watched as the mech’s optics flashed once again and he shifted subtly after he spoke. It was only by knowing the stoicism of a leader so well that he knew it was more of a flinch.

Flinching… at my voice?

That was unusual to him. Optimus had never flinched at his voice before, not even at opposite sides of the war. It brought another thought to mind, one that he hadn’t considered until now: his bonded had a reflection here… did he? If his voice elicited a reaction from the bulky mech, then perhaps it was true. Decepticon soldiers used to say after watching them battle that there was no Megatron without Optimus Prime. Likewise, Autobots would whisper in his captivity that Optimus Prime always knew his path in battle, and it was straight to the warlord. There would be no Optimus Prime without Megatron. Across universes, after meeting more than one familiar face, it was highly possible.

But to draw a flinch out of Optimus Prime merely by speaking… what kind of mech was he in this universe? What were his circumstances?

As quickly as his musings came about, they were brought to an end when the moment passed. The bulky mech was once again stoic as his optics looked between them and processed their names. He folded his servos in front of him quietly as he spoke.

“Tron, Orion, it is a pleasure to meet you. And I am pleased to see you are in better health.”

Chapter Text

The CMO, who’s presence in the room had nearly been forgotten until now, huffed lightly at the statement with a tired grin. All optics in the room came to rest on him.

“Well, better than the status of scrap heaps. There’s a certain mech’s backplates that still need attending to, if Knockout would cease his childish antics about rust.”

He pointedly looked at the silver mech, who fought not to shrug. The old medic had nearly blown a gasket last cycle when he saw Tron’s hind side, demanding to know why he hadn’t come to him before and berating himself for letting it remain that way for so long. After grinding away the edges that had dug into the protoform and stitching the gashes they made, he’d called the surgeon for cosmetic repairs. However, that turned into an argument of fear of rust infection and resemblance to ‘old buckethead,’ a nickname Megatron now had the feeling was possibly dedicated to his reflection. The argument lasted over a groon, thanks to the notification of his repaired chronometer, ending in his marred and deformed back armor remaining the same.

The metal around the Prime’s optics crinkled upwards, and he reached out to set a servo on the CMO’s shoulder.

“You’ve done everything you can and more, old friend. That is all we can ask for.”

Ratchet rolled his optics in fond exasperation, turning his helm to look up at the Prime as he waved off the compliment. Orion’s optics slowly drew up and he watched as something passed between them, an aged and humored, but good-natured and fond emotion. He knew that emotion, he remembered it well. It was shared only by the Prime and the Autobot medic, after eons of friendship forged by the age of revolution and a millennia of war. It was there, it had flourished, and it had been lost.

“You did this. You killed us.”

Grief. Regret.

It pressed down on him from all angles and squeezed his spark so hard he was about to choke on a mournful cry. Clenching his optics shut, he bent his helm again and clamped all his vents shut. His frame was tense, and it was all he could do to hold his field in and shut the world out. The world that had taken his friends, his family, all of his people from him. Over their bond, the light tendrils of his partner’s spark caressed over him, flaring out when they felt the other pull inward and shiver.

Vent, my beloved. Don’t hold it in. I’m right here.

Empathy circulated in those words. Optimus felt the embrace of the silver mech’s spark engulf him, pouring warmth into the icy chill. He let go of his vents, feeling the air whooshing from his piping, and then focused on repeating the pattern. Intake, and release. Intake, and release… When he opened his optics again, he found himself leaning against the silver mech. A clawed servo stroked over his waist and hip tenderly, and the shoulder his helm leaned against sheltered him. He looked out, finding that Rung’s optics were on him, ever observant and bordering the line of concern. On his side, the CMO and the bulky Prime both heeded their attention on his bonded. He found as he listened to the silver mech’s controlled Kaoni rasp that the conversation had continued, even with his slip from reality.

“—we did not intend any harm.”

“One’s circumstances sometimes cannot be helped, Tron. I understand. No one was harmed in the process, so neither I nor the rest of the city officials have any reason to hold it against you.”

The other Prime’s black servo curled as he brought it to his chin, his bright blue optics drifting as he hummed in thought. After a few nanoseconds, they turned back to the silver mech.

“Though, if I may ask, since you did not travel by ship how did you come to be here, and by what force?”

Tron stiffened, and his optics sank. Beside him, his bonded shared a sudden climb in nervousness. What to tell them, he thought to himself, without arousing suspicion? What to tell them without giving ourselves away? It was almost amusing. The ex-warlord used to find such thrill in lying, such entertainment in twisting the truth to make a mech believe anything he wanted them to. Now, he scrambled to come up with something that would suffice. The captors had made a deadened fool of him—the captors. His optics dilated. An idea surfaced, and once again he met the optics of the other Prime.

“Before this… we were held as captives of beings with greatly advanced technology.”

Optimus Prime’s optics flashed once more, and Ratchet’s faceplates softened. Rung’s optics widened, and his helm leaned forward in the slightest, an understanding and curious expression overtaking them. Tron tried not to think about what he was saying and held his bonded tighter when he shivered as dread snapped through their bond.

“They were in possession of highly powerful space bridges, which transported matter through time and space instantaneously. About a decacycle ago, we were able to escape their captivity and utilize one of their bridges. But in the process, the bridge malfunctioned and transported us here.”

The silver mech looked down, finding the brilliant cerulean blue optics of his bonded staring back at him from his shoulder. Drawing any amount of strength he could from the sight of their light, he sighed shortly.

“They could’ve easily followed us, but they did not. The only inference I can make as to ‘why,’ that is the case, is the bridge was rendered beyond repair after malfunctioning… Nevertheless, we landed here.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was enough of the truth to be painful in itself to remember. Apprehension reared itself over the bond.

Do you truly think so, Megatron?

His intake constricted, knowing the weight of those words if he was wrong. The silver mech forced himself to swallow as he leaned down to nuzzle against the other’s blue antennae.

We can only hope.

The other three bots were silent as they considered his words. Their expressions didn’t seem to convey that they thought he was lying, which was a good sign. Then again, one most likely wouldn’t think you were lying by such a claim when you acted like they had for the past decacycle. Ratchet had taken up the other Optimus’s gesture, tapping his digits against his chin as he mulled over the explanation.

“Space bridges…”

The medic stated in no small amount of awe, turning to the Prime with wide optics.

“We haven’t seen that kind of technology in—”

“… a hundred vorn now, since the war ended, and we arrived on Earth.”

Optimus Prime finished for him, sharing a look of wonderment.

A hundred vorn? It wasn’t nearly as long as they’d spent imprisoned, but it was long enough to surprise Tron and Orion. They glanced at each other uneasily, questions of how exactly the war played out here tugging at their processors harshly, because it definitely lasted longer than theirs.

Rung was the next to speak, entirely focused on the couple.

“Why were you imprisoned by these beings?”

He asked softly, eliciting the attention of Tron and Orion. The silver mech hesitated, optics lowering as he thought over the question for an answer. It was at least a couple kliks before he answered again. If the psychologist looked closely, he could see shining silver claws shaking against blue armor.

“… We don’t know. They never told us their ulterior motives.”

Rung’s optics grew distant with contemplation as the other Optimus Prime’s helm visibly leaned forward with serious-toned interest.

“Did you know of any other prisoners in these beings’ captivity, Tron?”

Sorrow.

Crimson optics did not meet the three pairs of blue upon him this time. He shook his bowed helm as he spoke.

“Too many species to count.”

All three beings standing before the medical berth straightened, and a graveness washed through their fields. Ratchet’s optics immediately echoed a great amount of unease, and he turned to the city leader.

“Such cruel beings with that kind of power. Power that has already reached us so recently…”

Tron’s optics finally lifted as he realized the medic’s automatic fear of invasion. He couldn’t blame him, he still feared the same. His optics flicked between him and the bulky Prime that turned to him with a familiar gesturing servo.

“It is definitely a severe warning to keep in mind and look into, Ratchet. But as it is, I believe Tron has a point. They have yet to infiltrate the city, so the space bridge they used must have been destroyed. For the moment, it is another battle for another time. Right now, our priority is here with the survivors we can aid.”

The CMO slowly nodded as the Prime spoke. Reasoning was, after all, one of the Prime’s greatest weapons. The silver mech felt a grim sort of relief that it translated over universes.

“… To have traveled here by space bridge, you both must be a long way from your home.”

Rung’s voice pulled at his audials, and it took Tron a klik to realize that the psychologist had resurfaced to pull further at their background. His spark constricted, and his bonded’s flared at the word ‘home.’ The orange bot did not take any notice to it.

“Do you have any close family or friends that might be looking for you?”

Pain.

Faces passed over the forefront of their processors. Their screams tore at the couple’s audials. Orion flinched and gasped.

“… D-Dead-!!”

The other Prime, the CMO and the psychologist simultaneously turned towards the red and blue mech with wide optics. It was the first time he’d spoken since the beginning of their meeting. Tron only shuttered his optics and focused on the sensation of his bonded’s frame against his arms, trying to fight against the memory files having overtaken his conscious thoughts. When he finally had control again, hopeless red optics on the brim of torture met the three seas of blue.

“Our recent home was invaded by our captors. They killed everyone except us.”

Optimus Prime’s optics flashed again, and this time sympathy reigned through them as well as his field. The CMO’s optics, on the other hand, flashed with confusion and a noticeable edge of disturbance. He gestured to the couple absently as he spoke up next.

“But that makes no sense. Why would they kidnap you and kill all others? There’s no example to set if they give you no ulterior motive of hatred, and if it was purely for enslavement they would’ve taken all of you.”

“Ratchet…”

Rung butted in quickly and sternly, concern for both mech’s mental stability as his optics caught them fidgeting and clinging tighter to each other with each passing nanosecond. He had no time to voice the matter, however, when Orion suddenly clutched at his helm and whined. Rung remembered the action from the first time he had visited them in their cell. What changed is when his helm tore up and his optics blazed at the CMO in their brightest setting.

“STOP IT! STOP IT! NO MORE!”

He screamed, his vocals rising to their highest setting. All mecha jumped back when his field suddenly broke free and flailed uncontrollably with strain and panic. The tone and frequency of the monitor’s beeps both rose dramatically, indicating an abrupt and high level of stress to the processor. Ratchet instantly shook himself of his shocked stupor to try to reach it and analyze its readings. But he was halted mid-step by a deep, thunderously booming growl, and he met an enraged pair of blood red optics staring him down.

“Don’t come any closer.”

He snarled, angling his spiked shoulders to point at the medic. The other Optimus Prime, whom had been stunned into silence at Orion’s outburst and field, came back to himself in time to habitually shift into a defensive stance. He grabbed Ratchet and pulled him out of the way to put himself in the line of fire, electric blue optics staring piercingly at the silver mech. But instead of attacking, as the bulky Prime had come to expect from the ages of war, his shoulders shifted back, and his sneer dissipated into a thin line. Instead of attacking, the silver mech pulled his bonded closer to let him bury his helm against the crook of his neck cables and shoulder and hushed him.

Rung stepped up next to him, urgently gesturing for him to back away.

“Optimus, Ratchet, please step back. Give them space.”

Recycling his optics, the Prime quickly relented and pedaled back a few paces, watching as Tron crooned and soothed Orion. He was surely speaking to him through the bond they shared. After a moment passed, Optimus Prime opened a comm link with the psychologist to avoid spooking either of them again.

Rung, how often does this happen?

The psychologist’s helm tipped towards him, but never left the couple.

At least once in almost every interaction I’ve had with them.

Something cold curled around the leader’s spinal strut at the statement, and he physically turned to stare with wide optics at the psychological professional.

What triggers these episodes?

Rung’s shoulder’s minutely slumped, and he could almost hear the sigh come from his intake.

From what I’ve gathered thus far, it could be almost anything. Orion will react to anything from a single spoken word to an object or a mentioning of his past. Once started, only Tron has proven able to calm him. His anger at others is a direct product of his bonded’s fear.

The claws of the silver mech stroked up and down his dorsal plating, and the red and blue mech’s tense frame had finally started to relax. He visibly slumped against his bonded, panting for air to cool his hot and overwhelmed frame. The monitor’s beeps started to lower in volume, resuming a more normal state of being. It amazed Optimus how swiftly a mech like Tron could effectively pacify another being like Orion.

What is your official diagnosis for each of them, doctor? And what do you think we should do to aid them?

Straightening and folding his arm struts behind his back at the question, the psychologist looked up and directly at the Prime.

I diagnose them both with severe cases of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Separation Anxiety, and a rather odd case of codependency. For they rely on each other for mental stability, but they are not enabling each other’s conditions… While I am not sure of these yet, I believe Orion might also be suffering from Social Anxiety Disorder, as characterized by his timid behavior in social situations, and Tron might also be subjected to Borderline Personality Disorder, as characterized by his aggression and protective behavior of Orion.

Optimus’s spark ached. There were almost no bots in the city that had so many disorders as these survivors. Rung’s optics traveled back to the couple, watching for a few nanoseconds as they came back to themselves, before continuing.

As for aiding each of them… That will be difficult, Optimus. You know as well as I that an illness of the spark and mind aren’t as easy to cure. In addition, from the sounds of it, they have nowhere else to go now. Their home was destroyed, they have no close relatives or friends, and even if we could help them to go back the way they came, their captors might be looking for them.

He couldn’t hide a flinch. Rung was right. All space bridges were out of their reach, and even if they were, what did these bots have to go back to? More torture? Technically speaking, they were safer and better off here in the city, where they wouldn’t have to be alone. But that did not mean being here would be easy for them.

In my professional opinion, I recommend they be institutionalized in our maximum security facility for at least another few decacycles. This will give time for them to adjust to their new location, time for myself to assess their conditions and start treatment, and time for you and the other high officials to come to an agreement on their official stature here.

The bulky Prime nodded absently as he ruminated over Rung’s statement and observed the couple. They didn’t deserve immediate institutionalization after such brutal imprisonment. It wasn’t right to him. Freedom was the right of all sentient beings, and to him this felt like shoving them right back into another cell. But, these were times when the decisions came down to what was best for everyone. He could only hope Tron and Orion would understand. With that in mind as crimson optics finally rose to stare at them again, he gave a final nod in Rung’s direction.

Institutionalization is granted, Rung. But only so long as it is absolutely necessary.

Red clashed with blue, and the other Prime’s spark pulsed.

I refuse to see them suffer behind bars so long as I can help it.

Rung nodded once to show he understood.

Chapter Text

The door of his office burst open as Optimus Prime strode in.

Usually he closed it afterwards. He liked the quiet of a closed space to work and think.

This cycle, the thought didn’t even occur that he should. His processor was whirling. Spinning like a cyclone in so many different directions he did not know which one to focus on. It caused him to pace, securely wrapping his arm struts around his front as he usually did when something bothered him. Up and down, up and down, he walked in front of his desk, cerulean blue optics bright with emotion as they stared securely at the floor.

He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to think.

Memory files of the earlier events hovered at the forefront of his processor, and he let them replay once more. They were surely accurate; his optical lenses were functioning at full capacity and so was his audial antennae. His processor also functioned smoothly, not a hitch in concentration, dispensation, or storage of files.

So he couldn’t blame what he’d just seen on any fault of his own.

He stopped when he came to one specific memory file: the one of Orion, the red and blue mech who’s processor Ratchet had repaired, meeting his optics for the first time. His… Or are they mine? His metal brows furrowed at the questions pounded at him. Why does he look and sound so much like… me? The Prime’s servos hit the desk as he searched for something to stabilize himself.

His appearance. His voice. His background… His bonded.

Optimus Prime’s spark lurched as those crimson optics came to the surface again, and suddenly he could barely stand.

There was only one other bot he knew that look even remotely like Tron… But it couldn’t be… They couldn’t be… How could they possibly be?

But everything about them… It was almost like drawing a parallel line between them. Like looking into a mirror and seeing yourself again. The Prime wouldn’t lie that it scared the ever-living pit out of him.

Blue cerulean optics clenched shut, and his helm hung low between his arms as he fought to control his train of thought. Everything was cluttered and confusing. He didn’t know what to think, or how to think. The Prime didn’t even hear when a bot approached his office, stopping at the open door.

“Commander Prime, sir?”

Optimus jerked his helm upwards at the call, finding Prowl, the city’s leading enforcer standing in the doorway. His optics apprehensively looked from the open door to him. He knew well that the Prime always kept his door closed.

“Sir, are you alright?”

The Prime turned away for a moment and shut off his optics, shaking his helm to try and rid himself of the dizzying spin. He only found crimson optics waiting for him, and they made him all the dizzier. He slowly twisted back to the Autobot enforcer with raw, bemused and lost optics.

“… I don’t know, Prowl.”

Chapter Text

Megatron was absolutely livid.

After eons of imprisonment, torture, and suffering they had finally escaped by the paint on their armor… Only to be put back behind a locked door for the third time in a row.

But he hadn’t shown his anger in front of the bots of this universe. No, he’d been careful to stay silent and in check as they explained their reasoning. It was sound, of course, and the small part of his processor that was still sane told him he should really agree to it for his and his Prime’s sakes. If they’d noticed his servos had curled around his bonded’s abdomen were twitching, so be it. They wouldn’t soon know it was to keep himself from clawing at their throats.

It was only after they all left, closed the recovery room’s door and the lock clicked, that he’d stood up and begun pacing beside the medical berth. He was tempted to claw at the curtains to release more of his pent up rage, but there was medical equipment on the other side that would be better off out of sight. Optimus’s leg struts were pulled up to his chest. He rested his chin on his knee joints and watched silently as the silver mech seethed, growled and stomped from one side to the other. This went on for about four groons, until about midday when Optimus was the one who finally broke the silence.

Megatron only realized his mistake when a burst of self-destructive misery punched his spark over the bond, and Optimus’s quiet sobs reached his audials. He’d scrambled back to the berth-side, convinced that he was having another flashback, but was shocked into silence when the Prime grabbed his helm in both servos and shook him with a snarl.

“STOP IT,” he’d said. “YOUR ANGER IS POINTLESS MEGATRON! WE HAVE BEEN CORRUPTED! DRIVEN INSANE! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT? IF WE ARE NOT IN DANGER THE MOMENT WE ARE RELEASED, WE WILL BE A DANGER TO EVERYONE ELSE!”

Of course he’d seen it. That didn’t mean he’d wanted to accept it.

“I cannot go out there, Megatron. Not now. I can’t…”

His fear, his anguish, and his pain were all too much to ignore for freedom.

So just like that, a very chastised silver mech had joined his bonded on the berth once again and for Optimus’s sake, had begun to let it go. If his bonded had felt the dwindling aggravation in his spark, he didn’t comment on it further.

The evening passed into the next day, and the next day after that without further incidence. Megatron and Optimus took turns recharging, the other staying awake to do what they could to keep the nightmares at bay. It took a lot more coaxing to get Optimus to recharge, and when he did it was fitful and uneasy unless Megatron completely submerged himself in their bond. Such a feat was difficult when he was still aggravated. The night the Prime had recharged he’d woken up five times screaming, three of which sprung into a panic attack. After that, the silver mech decided the next time they saw Rung, he really needed to ask him for a way to control his anger.

When he finally got the chance two solar cycles later, it was the day Optimus was officially declared well enough to leave the hospital. That morning, Ratchet did a final, thorough systems check on the both of them. He’d even performed cosmetic repairs for the silver mech’s back plates as an apology for setting Orion off those few cycles before. He was definitely no Knockout, but it was another substantial improvement. Afterwards Rung, the other Optimus Prime, and Ironhide also entered the room to escort them to the maximum security facility. In the face of so many mecha at once, his bonded never spoke a word and refused to release the death grip he had on the other’s arm strut. His frantic field told Megatron he was also on the verge of another attack.

What made it all the more frustrating is that neither the psychologist or the CMO would allow Optimus to be knocked out and simply carried over, which would’ve made the process so much easier. But, in the words of the CMO, his motor and reaction functions needed to be assessed at least one more time. In the words of the psychologist, he needed to be exposed to the trip over before entering the facility so that when they were released, he wouldn’t be experiencing the city for the first time ever since having schizophrenic symptoms. Well, sound reasoning or not, it did nothing to aid when Optimus finally had his first panic attack of the day when the curtains were opened, and he viewed the medical equipment lining the wall.

Megatron ended up telling his bonded to shut off his optical lenses and his audial receptors. Then, he grabbed one of the Prime’s servos, curled another around his waist, and guided him forward. Rung voiced the concern multiple times that rendering him blind and deaf for the trip over would completely disorient and frighten him further. However, because Megatron knew how much they both had relied on the sensation of touch after the captors had rewired his processor, it ended up working better than expected. They held on tight to each other physically as well as over the bond, talking to each other with every step to distract Optimus from the fear still roiling in his energon.

None of them even tried to argue when the silver mech stopped and carried his bonded down the stairs from the recovery room to the waiting room on the bottom floor of the hospital.

The city streets and towering buildings above them were a sensory overload that made him nervous. The mecha surrounding him acting like guards didn’t help. But he clamped down on it, pushing it all to the way side in favor of keeping his bonded as calm as was possible. He thought he’d felt Rung’s impressed field at his back right side in the middle of the journey, but he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was Ratchet’s.

When they’d finally reached the facility, he took the chance to gaze at it. It still looked like as much of a prison as he remembered, and he huffed a bit indignantly. What he did finally take notice of is that the maximum security prison was guarded by only one mech; a mech of gargantuan size. His ped was the actual door. He stopped himself from inhaling too quickly when the mech stooped down to one knee before them, forcing himself to calm down when Optimus pressed into his side anxiously. The giant merely glanced at the both of them with cool but gentle blue optics. He asked the officials entering for ID, which all four bots showed immediately, and Rung thanked Fortress Maximus with a smile before they entered. He would later remember that Maximus was the bot Rung had mentioned on the first day he’d visited them.

Progress had gone fairly smooth up to that point. They’d headed down to the end of the hallway on the first floor, where the larger containment cells were located. It had drawn a bemused expression and raised optical brows from the ex-warlord when the psychologist informed him that they would be moved to new quarters. A cell was a cell in their perspective; what was the difference? In response, Rung had simply sighed and lamented that they should’ve never been thrown in their original cell in the first place. The new one they would be moved to would be much better suited for their needs.

Megatron wasn’t inclined to change his opinion until he’d seen it for himself.

It was in the last three lengths of hallway with about two doors between where they stood and their cell that Rung suggested Orion turn on his optical and auditory sensors. The silver mech stared at him incredulously for at least two kliks, only breaking optical contact when the other Prime rang in with an infuriating agreement. When all four bots chorused a yes against him, he knew neither of them would have any further choice in the matter. So, with a careful nudge over the bond, Tron coaxed Orion to turn on his optical lenses and audial receptors.

Blue cerulean optics had flickered on and recycled twice as he looked around at their surroundings in the plain hallway. The bots around him had backed up a step to avoid crowding, but he still hesitated to meet any of their optics. Rung had asked Orion how he felt; he’d chosen not to reply verbally, instead pushing closer to Tron’s side uncomfortably, silently asking they continue to their destination.

The cell across from theirs, they found, belonged to the only other occupant of the maximum security facility. Orion had frozen in place with a freaked flicker of his field when he glanced through the windows of two locked doors to find a pair of green optics blinking at him from the other side. Tron paused next to him, his plating flaring in warning at whatever had spooked his bonded. The other bot only tilted his narrow white helm curiously at the pair, leaning against his side of door lazily. After a klik as Ironhide opened the door to their cell, Rung also came over to see what had their attention. At the sight of the bot on the other side, he smiled kindly and waved, which to the surprise of the pair elicited a smile and wave back. The psychologist then elaborated that the bot inside was prone to episodes of severe aggression and sometimes had uncontrollable violent fits that cost the city two buildings and a flight runway. But he was also was one of the city’s most brilliant technological inventors, and when in control he was a polite and friendly bot.

Ironhide had then signaled them over, and with one more glance spared at the other bot, they warily entered their new cell. The first door shut behind them, making them both flinch as it slammed, and through the window they witnessed Ironhide standing guard. After exchanging nervous expressions, they’d followed Rung into the cell… and halted in step. Their vents stalled, and their optics cycled as wide as they could go.

Neither of them could associate the word cell with the room they’d just stepped into. It was better fit to be called an entire living space.

The space spanned about three times bigger than the cell they’d been placed into last, and at least five times bigger than their cave in the catacombs. Cream-colored walls were lit by a single circular light in the center of the ceiling, also casting light on the furniture in the room. Alongside the left wall was a decently sized desk and chair, with a single datapad connected to a charging cord placed in the middle of the counter top. Directly across from it on the right wall was a decent-sized sink made of a shining titanium material, cleaned and ready for use. Underneath the dome of the sink was a two-door cabinet, identical to the cabinet sitting to the right of the desk as well. In the far right of the room, a two-bot berth sat comfortably in the corner. Two white-covered pillows sat next to each other at the head, and a set of sheets and blankets had already been fixed on it, with two extra thermal blankets folded up at the end. The only indicator they found that this was the quarters of a prisoner came to be the elongated glass window casting light over the berth. On the other side of the glass were bars. But even they did not obstruct the rather nice view of the city beyond.

Orion had raised a shaking servo to his intake, almost unable to convince himself that this kind of a cell was real. Tron’s speechlessness rendered him unable to sneer at the psychologist to wipe that self-satisfied grin off of his faceplates.

Chapter Text

“… Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable!”

A rough Kaoni rasp roused him from rest, and Optimus let his optics cycle back into focus. He lifted his helm from where he’d laid it on his folded arms and propped his jaw on his right arm as he let the left arm dangle off the end of the berth.

“What is unbelievable, Megatron?”

His bonded had taken to sauntering back and forth next to the sink to expel his built up energy. It was one of the things he remembered fairly clearly from their time in their first cell in this facility. Eons as a slave of their captors had conditioned him to be ready to move at a moment’s notice. To be ready to work or run until his energy was long spent and he barely managed to crawl back to their cave. He’d slowly tempered to a normal state of being in which this energy did not need to be used, but it was impossible to expel it all by walking back and forth in a contained area. They would have to come up with a way to aid with that while they were here.

Lumbering grey peds halted in step and pivoted effortlessly one-hundred eighty degrees in the other direction to face him. Optimus looked up at his bonded’s disgruntled expression as he read something on the datapad they’d been allotted.

“One-hundred vorns this city has been stationed on this planet, yet not one bot has thought to construct ground bridges for transport! Not one!”

He threw his servos up as he ranted, and the dramatic gesture reminded Optimus fondly of a gladiator from lifetimes past. One side of his lip plate curled up as he watched, and his helm tipped the other way to view the ex-warlord at a better angle.

“I would think they have the technology to do so, not to mention the minds to engineer and build it. Not to mention, they’ve come to create everything else! They’ve even created a string-like gelatin energon resembling human-made noodles!”

This time, Optimus couldn’t help but chuckle. Sliding his arm struts out in front of him, he pulled his shoulders back and curled his spinal strut upwards as he stretched. Feeling the joints and cables slide into place, he settled back on his stomach as he propped his elbows under himself.

“Energon resembling human-made noodles?”

Megatron looked at the Prime and huffed, tapping at the datapad with swift claws until grunting as he found what he was looking for and striding over to sit next to him. He showed him the pad, enlarging the image on it. Optimus’s optics widened as he witnessed that yes, indeed, that was jellied energon shaped to resemble noodles. He read the caption that stood underneath.

“… Zinc noodles.”

“These bots have enough time on their servos to make energon into… this—”

The ex-warlord gestured to the datapad before throwing his servo up again.

“—Yet they haven’t even thought of ground bridges! They travel by boat and carrier plane to the rest of the continents on this planet. It’s excruciatingly inefficient!”

He rose again to pace and grumble, leaving an indent in their layered bedding that slowly rose. Optimus absently brushed the wrinkles out of the blanket as he listened, a small grin resurfacing on his faceplates at the aggravation so familiar to him.

“Bridge technology is not the same as—jellying technology for energon. The other Prime did state that such has been out of their reach since their war ended and they stationed themselves here.”

Dull weld lines glinted on his black servo from the light bleeding through the window. His optics traced over them as he thought.

“Their reasons might also lie with taking residence on Earth. Humans have proven to let greed for power consume them when faced with greater knowledge. It’s best to leave such where they cannot reach it.”

The silver mech paused once again in his steps, and crimson optics focused on him with a raised metal brow.

“… Hmm, yes, such as that group of humans lead by—what was his designation… Silas! Yes, they who stole Breakdown’s frame. They called themselves… Oh beloved, what did they call themselves…?”

Optimus raised a metal brow at his bonded in turn with a tired smile.

“MECH.”

He said lightly, to which the silver mech snapped his digits in victory.

“Ah, yes! MECH! That’s what it was. Quite a bothersome group of pests, weren’t they?”

Humming in agreement, the Prime stretched out his elbows again to lay his helm down against his arm strut.

“They created a replica of my frame into an automated robot and destroyed human militia bases with it. I will not soon forget being stabbed by something not unlike myself turned sinister.”

This time, both of the silver mech’s metal brows furrowed. His field echoed disturbance as he placed the datapad on the edge of shelf over the berth.

“A sinister Optimus Prime… Now that is something to imagine.”

Megatron thought out loud, more to himself than to his bonded. Optimus simply shrugged. It brought forward the malicious memory of another familiar dream. A dream that had indeed explored the question: what if Optimus was evil? Sickening yellow optics blinked at him from the back of his mind, and he shifted on the berth to fight off a shudder.

“It was an automation, nothing more… But after traveling universes, I think it would be unwise not to consider the idea, Megatron. For all we know, there could be infinite perpendicular dimensions revolving full circle around our own. There could be a universe in which our circumstances led to you receiving the Matrix instead, and me leading a revolt against the council.”

A couple millennia ago, the ex-warlord would’ve been thrilled by such an idea. He might’ve even thrown a jealous sneer in Optimus’s direction as his optics lingered on his chest plates. Now, he did none of it, and he found no thrill or joy in such a position. Now, the silver mech’s faceplates fell. The energy in his systems seemed to instantly drain as his shoulders visibly stooped, and he lumbered towards the berth, sitting at the end of it.

“Watching you lose your sanity was horrifying enough, Optimus. If there existed a universe where you lost your Primus-forsaken goodness, it would be nothing more than wrong.”

Emotions collided into a strange mix in those words, as if anger felt the same as regret or agony. The Prime recycled his optics as they tumbled through the bond, pushing himself up into a sitting position on his knees. He crept next to the other, placing his servo on the inside of the other’s shoulder, past the curled spikes.

“… My processor has been repaired. My sanity is not completely lost, neither are my beliefs.”

The silver mech’s helm tilted towards his shoulder as the Prime leaned against it, blue optics becoming distant as he stared at the other’s peds on the ground.

“I still believe every sentient being deserves freedom, and I still believe everyone has the capacity for change… But one’s personal beliefs fall to the wayside when you are laid bare for others to see on a lab table.”

Silence fell between them as the weight of his statement pulled them down to reality. It churned in Megatron’s spark and danced in his processor circuits. The ex-warlord found he couldn’t look away from his bonded partner as he realized that this was the most he’d spoken of his own experiences with the captors yet.

Longing.

So many questions still circled them. Neither of them could stand to be apart, yet too many experiences stood between them.

Yearning.

Optimus felt claw tips placed under his jaw, and he let them lift him. Megatron shifted on the berth to face the Prime better, and his optics drifted down only once before he leaned forward, locking them both in a kiss.

Pining.

Red armor flashed as the Prime slid his arms around his bonded’s neck, attempting to pull him ever closer. A whine worked its way out of his throat and hung between them. A guttural growl met him in response, vibrating into his intake when sharp denta nipped at his glossa. His spark pulsed in his chest, and it hummed as if it could sing.

They hold no control over you. They can’t hurt you anymore.

Distant thunder resounded through the bond, and the warm rain of his bonded’s love washed over him. Optimus shuttered his optics, feeling his frame physically shiver in ecstasy of a feeling that wasn’t pain.

Your beliefs were those that started our revolution… If they matter to no one else, they will matter to me.

A vision danced behind closed cerulean blue optics of a desolation landscape, littered by the faces of the dead. He gasped against his bonded, digits curling into grey armor as coolant tears gathered in his optics.

… We are the last.

Megatron growled louder. One of his arm struts swept around the Prime’s frame to pull his abdominal plates flush against his own. The other cupped his cheek plate, feeling the tears run over his claws.

We are the last.

Optimus sobbed into the silver mech’s intake, but they dared not break away. They fell back against the berth, tangled together in a mess of long, shaking limbs. He could’ve sworn when their plates brushed against one another, that some of the coolant leaked from red optics too.

Chapter Text

The lock to the first door of their cell clicked and clattered as it was opened.

Two pairs of optics turned towards the sound nervously. They watched through the window as the first door opened, and in stepped Rung. Ironhide followed, stepping up to the second door to unlatch that lock next. When it did, the red mech held the door open, allowing the psychologist to walk through. The doors shut behind him, and Ironhide disappeared on the other side. Rung stood before the door, smiling kindly at the couple.

“Good morning to you both.”

He greeted quietly. The softness of it relaxed the couple, and Tron slid himself forward to the edge of the berth.

“Rung.”

The silver mech greeted in return, nodding his helm to the psychologist. Rung’s smile widened at it, and he politely folded his servos in front of him.

“If it was alright with you, I was hoping to speak to both of you this cycle a bit more in-depth about your mental states of being. I did promise, after all, that I would do everything I could to help. It will not include your imprisonment, unless either of you feel it is absolutely necessary to discuss.”

Tron looked back towards Orion, and a moment of silence fell over the room as they traded expression and a conversation through their bond. Rung waited patiently, watching their subtle movements, until finally Orion pushed himself to the end of the berth and Tron turned back to the psychologist.

“We consent.”

He said gruffly. Rung’s field pulsed, and he stepped over to the desk, halting in front of the chair before taking hold of it.

“May I?”

Tron gestured to it indifferently, and he picked it up before setting it a few paces in front of the couple. He situated himself comfortably, crossing one leg strut over the other as he placed his servos in his lap and looked up at his newest patients.

“Before we begin, I would like both of you to know that this can be as formal or informal as you feel comfortable for it to be. And if at any point we cannot continue, as you know, you can request I leave, and we can try this discussion again another cycle. Alright?”

Orion’s optics drifted to the floor as his field pulled in timidly. He folded his arm struts around himself and shifted close enough to Tron to lean against him. The silver mech, in turn, lifted his arm back to allow, and then wrapped around him to rest loosely against his thigh. Something warm was shared between their fields in a flash, and they simultaneously nodded to the psychologist.

Rung observed, feeling the familiar fear from the red and blue mech, and smiled again at the nods. He leaned back against the chair, adopting a more casual pose.

“Well firstly, how are you today? I see you’ve taken advantage of the commodities of the room.”

All of their gazes shifted from the datapad charging on the desk to the washcloth draped over the side of the sink to the crumpled sheets and blankets of the berth yet to be made for the day. Orion’s optics recycled embarrassedly, and he absently tried to smooth the sheets he was sitting on. Next to him, the side of Tron’s lip plates curled up into a grin before he turned back to the psychologist.

“We have… We are adjusting to our new situation.”

Orion’s optics suddenly lifted, and his servo paused as he piped up.

“We like the new living space.”

Rung’s optics recycled, but his field pulsed in cheerful surprise.

“Oh? I’m pleased to hear that. I’m sure the berth is quite a bit more comfortable than the slab from the previous cell.”

He joked good-naturedly. Tron’s posture relaxed as he sighed and shook his helm.

“Worlds more comfortable. I’d forgotten such a recharge surface existed.”

Rung chuckled lightly. Mecha who spoke like Tron he knew usually had a good sense of humor when relaxed. He felt joyous that they’d finally begun to reach this point.

“Yes, from what I’ve heard, these kinds of berths were engineered to cushion the frame’s pressure points and assist with recharge cycles. Has it helped yours?”

Tron’s halfway easy-going expression immediately fell. Nervous anxiety stemmed from Orion’s field and bounced between them as the couple once again traded expressions. Rung blinked as he watched the interaction, comparing it with the cycle in the hospital when he’d looked at Orion’s monitor and found that his processor activity indicated he hadn’t even recharged the night after he woke up. After about half a klik, it was Tron that spoke up.

“Our recharge cycles are regularly interrupted by n—bad dreams.”

Orion flinched at the slip up and Rung’s optical brows furrowed. Though a bit curious at the choice of wording, he took a mental note of it. The silver mech continued.

“We take turns recharging each night cycle. One of us will regularly stay awake every other cycle to aid the other’s attempt of rest.”

The psychologist nodded and took note of it in the file in his processor created specifically for Orion and Tron. While inefficient for a mech’s health, it’s… not the worst method to use. He tilted his helm inquisitively at the pair.

“Is this aid given through the bond you share?”

The silver mech nodded in return.

“Usually by sharing calm or pleasant emotions.”

Crimson optics glanced towards the red and blue mech in his grasp. Orion looked back up at him and Rung knew Tron was fending off a heavy sigh.

“Orion’s dreams are... especially severe. It frightens him to recharge. To aid him, I must be able to shut out the rest of our surroundings to focus my attention on our bond. I can only do it when I am completely calm.”

The psychologist’s helm tilted the other way as he took another mental note and pondered the statement. Round, owlish blue optics took heed of the uneasy mood of his patients as he replied.

“To be able to focus so attentively on your partner that your awareness of reality fades… That is quite a fierce bond to behold. One of the most powerful I’ve ever heard of. You and Orion have been bonded a long time then?”

He inquired politely. This time, Tron and Orion blinked, both red and blue pairs of optics wandering as they thought about their answer.

“I suppose so… We estimate about four eons? Five?”

The silver mech looked to his bonded for help, who slowly nodded in agreement.

“Just about five to this current cycle.”

Rung’s optics brightened, and he smiled again at their answer.

“I believe you would put the rest of the bonded mecha in this city to shame, then. Many of them have only been bonded about fifty to sixty vorns. Did you know each other long before bonding?”

It was small talk that deviated from the topic at servo, Rung knew, but he felt their unease dissipating. The way they relaxed against each other told him that this was a safe topic that could lead to many interesting facts to note. He was also genuinely curious, as a mech who enjoyed watching couples of the city enjoy their lives with each other.

Rung’s satisfaction grew when it was Orion who looked the psychologist in the optic and answered him this time.

“Yes, we knew each other a very long time before bonding. We were newly mature in our life cycles when we met.”

Orion’s helm pressed against the silver mech’s shoulder as his gaze retreated to find his partner. Tron gazed back at him, and the psychologist watched as a small smile grew on each of their lip plates. Rung could almost feel the pleasant past memories they must have been sharing in that moment. If one looked past their age and everything they’d suffered, they would surely be mistaken for newly bonds. The thought aided Rung in visualizing the reason they’d endured such long and brutal torture.

“That is a long time. You were waiting for the right time to bond then, I assume?”

Tron was the first to react, letting go of the sigh he’d been withholding as he broke optical contact with his bonded to look at Rung.

“That was our original intent… But, the war began, and we took to different sides. It wasn’t until a long time later that I’d realized what a fool I’d been for not remaining with Orion, and I can only be thankful that he accepted me again.”

The psychologist nodded empathetically. Quite a few of the couples in the city were both Autobot and Decepticon in faction, and there were even some that had rejoined together after splitting with the war. Starscream and Skyfire were one such example. He was no relationship counselor, but he did assist the couple, as well as many others with more open honesty and communication with each other. Almost all of them had successfully bonded or stayed together after that.

“Well, from my personal perspective, it seems that your bond would’ve come to fruition one way or another. I’ve seen my fair share, and the only spark bond I know of that could rival yours would be a creator’s bond to their sparkling.”

Tron’s arm strut curled further around his bonded, and Rung didn’t miss the glint of pride that passed through his field as well as his optics. Orion, on the other servo, ducked his helm shyly against him. If it were possible, he might’ve blushed like a human. The reaction caused the psychologist to raise a brow with a knowing grin. He knew that look from a bot fairly well.

“Oh? Have you thought about sparklings before?”

There was no psychological examination in this question, just curiosity. But it seemed to catch the silver mech off guard anyway. His crimson optics widened, and his helm whipped down to his bonded who met him with a meek, but even gaze. Something quiet passed between them, and after a moment a wider smile pulled at the silver mech’s faceplates. He rumbled at Orion.

“Well, clearly someone has. And hasn’t bothered to mention it for the past five eons.”

Rung laughed openly, watching as the red and blue mech whirred quietly. The bonded couple clicked back and forth, all traces of fear or residual pain gone from the present moment. Their fields were woven like the strings of a blanket, tied into each other so smoothly their pulses were in tune. Without worries to hinder them, they were simply two halves of one whole. Two beings that belonged. The psychologist’s laughter subsided as he made another mental note, and let the session continue with a simple conversation. It seemed they needed that more than anything else.

Chapter Text

“N-No… No… No please…”

Anguish. Misery.

Megatron quickly roused from the depths his frame had succumbed to, clumsily trying to shake himself back into awareness. But Primus, he was so tired. It was so hard to not slip away again.

“N-No! Please-!!”

Optimus. His bonded.

His servo slid to the other side of the berth, seeking out the other frame that was most likely squirming and would start thrashing very soon. Confusion bled into his field, he hadn’t even felt it. Usually he roused at the smallest movement. Had he really been that absorbed into their bond to have fallen so deeply into darkness? Unless…

Confusion exploded into bewilderment and panic when the other frame his servo sought was absent, leaving the berth cold and empty. Gone. Gone.

No no no; I fell into recharge!!

The ex-warlord jerked upright, crimson optics wildly alert as they scanned the room. His limb struts started to tremor as he found the space by the sink empty, the locked door standing in solitude, and the desk and chair left bare.

“N-NO! PRIMUS PLEASE!”

A horrible, familiar wail came from his right, and he jerked towards it. On his knees beside the berth, Optimus sat rocking back and forth, his shoulders hunched and shaking. His arms were looped in front of him, as if cradling something only he could see in that moment. His hydraulics whined and his field, which should lay dormant during recharge, was erratic and fitful, as if it were fists trying to punch out from inside immovable walls. The Prime’s face was contorted, and his optics, though wide open, were dim, unfocused, and unseeing. This wasn’t just recharge, but it wasn’t an online state.

He was acting out his own nightmares.

Horror.

Megatron’s spark seized and for a long klik he couldn’t move. He was trapped in his own shocked body and forced to watch the being he loved most to suffer in a way he hadn’t seen before. What kind of a nightmare was it? What visions and imaginings would reduce him to such shattered fragility?

The moment ended, and he tore himself out of the stupor to crawl out of the berth and approach his Prime. When he reached out through their bond, it felt strange. The other side was so quiet, yet he could feel the utter turmoil that surrounded it. Spun around it like it was the eye of a hurricane. He braced himself against it and reached out to grasp the other’s spark tightly.

Where are you, my Prime? I’m here. You’re dreaming. You need to wake up.

He received no response. Megatron fell to his knees in front of him, slowly reaching out to the other’s shivering servos. Suddenly, as if Optimus had unconsciously sensed another presence near him, his optics flashed bright and he lurched away.

“DON’T TOUCH US! LEAVE US ALONE!”

Us?

The silver mech flinched backwards, optics wide and his spark tendrils almost coiled away at the unconscious retaliation. Optimus’s legs scraped against the ground as he tried to crawl away, fear now brimming the edges of his field. He looked on the brink of physically crying, and Megatron forced himself to try again.

Optimus it’s me! Megatron! Your bonded! I’m here, and I’m real! You need to wake up!

Fists of the Prime’s erratic field flared against their immovable wall, and the ex-warlord grit his denta as it flooded over his. He pushed back with his own desperation.

Please wake up!!

“NOO!”

Coolant tears streamed down from blue optics, and the red and blue frame curled in on itself. Curled around the arm struts that were still looped in front of him. Servos wound upwards, as if holding onto something small and delicate—Primus below-!!

HORROR.

WAKE UP!!

He screamed into their bond, desperately clawing at the other’s spark.

Optimus’s frame finally jolted. The silence broke, and his optics darkened before coming online again with a sure focus. He gasped, falling forwards on weak arms that had dropped from place and were giving under the strain. Megatron immediately came forward, catching him against his chest.

“I’ve got you.”

He spoke softly, wrapping his arms protectively around the other’s back strut. Optimus gasped as he recycled his optics multiple times. Where was he? Why wasn’t he restrained? Why was it so dark? What was Megatron doing here? Was this another dream? His spark rippled in fear and his ventilations came faster.

“No, no shh. It’s alright, you’re safe. It’s over.”

Crimson optics met cerulean blue, and the body that belonged to them offered the backside of silver claws. Quick, heavy vents paused as their owner recognized it in sudden clarity. The gesture was repeated, and with their ritual the Prime ex-vented a heavy sob.

“R-Real.”

Gentle scraping of metal against metal marked the sound of silver claws stroking over their bonded’s frame. They pressed down to pull the other in closer when the red and blue mech shuddered.

“I’m real… You’re not dreaming anymore.”

Optimus wanted to sigh in desperately needed relief. Instead he keened, the memory file of the dream coming back to haunt him as he pushed into his bonded’s embrace, trying hard not to look at his servos. For if he did, he knew what he might see in them again.

To think that such a pleasant conversation with Rung just a few cycles before had brought it to fruition.

“Shhh. Just vent. I’m right here.”

Sadness.

He wanted to stop crying. To stop shaking. He wished to any deity who may exist that this excruciating pain would go away. He begged these terrible memories to burn in the Pits with every other evil being that had ever laid optics on him…

But they wouldn’t, would they?

Tonight, there would be no reprieve from the darkness.

The Prime looked up, finding those unwavering, empathetic and run-down crimson optics amidst the otherwise impenetrable dark. Tonight, there would be no reprieve. Megatron rumbled and swayed both of their frames side to side, sitting in the eye of the storm with his bonded for as long as it took. Recharge would not find either of them again.

Chapter Text

There was a datapad on the psychologist’s lap, primarily used for note-taking. The screen glowed blue with a blinking white cursor sitting in the middle and waiting to continue. For now it sat forgotten, the screen dimming as its owner paid no more mind to it. Rung’s attention was focused on his patients, watching every movement in their frames, observing their faceplates, and concentrating on the emotions in their fields.

“How many mecha do you feel comfortable around at one time, Orion?”

The red and blue mech couldn’t meet his optics. He stared at the ground with wandering optics, legs crossed underneath him on the berth and servos grasping his leg struts. His field was nervous and uncomfortable. Next to him, the silver mech sat watching him adamantly, his own servos twitching in their grip on his thighs.

This cycle’s session, the fourth session since the first, was primarily focused on Orion’s social anxiety. But for the silver mech, Rung had put forth one rule: to not touch his bonded unless absolutely necessary. It made them both distressed, but for the sake of Rung trying to aid them, they consented.

“Th-Three or less, I think… No more.”

He admitted shakily, trying to navigate through his own fear to distinguish it. It was confusing and overwhelming. Rung pressed on after a few nanoseconds.

“Why is that? Why no more than three?”

Megatron’s servo twitched again, and his field flared angrily at the provocative questions aimed at his troubled bonded. But it was soon reigned back in, and he exhaled deeply to remain in control of his own state of being. Rung’s optics lingered on him for another moment to be sure before they returned to the red and blue mech.

“More than three… groups…”

The red and blue mech suddenly trailed off when his meandering path through the fear came to an end at a flashback of the labs. His frame tensed rigidly.

“Groups… They gathered in groups around me… They w-wanted to know… w-wanted to know…”

Black eyes stared at him blankly. Pale hands pried at his plating. A fluid-filled syringe hovered over him.

Too much. Too much. Make it stop!

His spark pounded, and his tank dropped into a bottomless pit. His vents came harder and faster as the flashback replayed.

Optimus...

Megatron’s servos immediately shot out to aid him, but the psychologist waved his own servo to stop him.

“Wait, Tron. Wait.”

The silver mech’s lip curled up in a sneer at Rung, clearly angry at being denied physical contact. His servos fell away but they clenched into fists. Over the bond he sent any emotion of calm to his bonded he could give. Rung leaned forward in his seat, focusing back on his bonded.

“Orion, listen to me. These feelings are fluid, these flashes are momentary. You have control over them. You can make them pass.”

His voice was gentle but steady. Orion’s shoulders shook harder as he pressed his servos to his faceplates and keened into them.

“I-I don’t… I can’t… T-Tron!”

The words were muffled by his servos. Megatron’s spark tried to seize and deep concern flashed through Rung’s owlish optics before it disappeared, and he became stable.

“We live on an island, Orion. The Pacific Ocean surrounds us… Picture the ocean. Picture a storm that hovers over it. Picture its waves roiling from the wind and crashing back into the sea.”

Megatron’s optics flicked from the psychologist to his bonded in rapid succession, feeling the panic in his field that continued to wreak havoc on him until after a klik, he spoke into his servos.

“… T-The sea is chaotic.”

Rung’s optics brightened minutely.

“It is your mind and spark, Orion. What you feel is the storm…”

He trailed off, his round blue optics flicking to Tron. Crimson optics full of worry recycled as he gave him a reassuring nod. Then, he reached out his servo to the red and blue mech, turning it palm-up.

“I am offering you my servo, Orion. It is your anchor. Take it, and grab hold as tightly as you need.”

Slowly, cautiously, he let a black servo drop from his faceplates to reach out, digits trembling. Rung caught his appendage, and Orion squeezed it hard. His bonded nearly snarled, every instinct in his frame churning possessively and furiously. How DARE he touch him!! The psychologist did not flinch; he’d felt worse grips.

“Now picture yourself facing the ocean and the storm. The ocean is your mind and spark; the storm is your fear. You control the ocean. You can make the storm pass.”

Orion clutched the psychologist’s servo even tighter, his knuckles shaking with its grip.

“Now calm the ocean, Orion. Speak to the roiling water you face; let it know that you are in control. Picture the waves subsiding. Picture the storm settling. Picture the ocean quieting. Speak it into existence, Orion. You are calm; you are in control. You are calm; you are in control.”

“I-I am calm… I am in control… I am calm… I am in control…”

Panic. Fear… Nervousness…

With each time he reiterated the phrases, his voice, although quiet, became steadier. The flashbacks, which had come onto him with such demanding strength, were gradually fading from view. Megatron’s optics widened as the tremors in his bonded’s frame began to ease, and he ceased trying to rock back and forth.

“I am calm… I am in control…”

Conviction. Determination… Calm.

The other black servo fell from his faceplates, revealing tired, but collected blue optics. Orion inhaled deeply, and then let a long exhale escape from his vents, releasing the last of his tension. He turned to Rung, and with a nod, the psychologist let go of his servo.

“How are you feeling now, Orion?”

Letting himself look at the psychologist for the first time since he’d arrived, the red and blue mech responded with a single nod.

“Better, thank you.”

By Primus…

When was the last time Megatron had heard Optimus Prime’s voice be so calm, so stabilized… so composed? They feared his panic attacks as much as they feared what caused them. They lasted for so long, seemingly never ending, and sometimes they couldn’t even be controlled. But this… What Optimus usually suffered for at least ten to fifteen kliks, maybe even longer had been diminished in less than four!

Coolant welled in his optics. His spark tendrils reached out to his partner, wanting so badly to hold onto him if not in one way then another, to show the utter joy in such a revelation.

Feeling the emotions in the other spark residing beside his own, the Prime turned towards his bonded. A small smile soon graced his features, and he sent affection over the bond.

“… I think enough progress has been made this cycle. You did very well, Orion.”

The familiar gentle tone of the psychologist drew their attention outwards, and they watched as he stood up, picking up the datapad in his lap and turning it off.

“Is there anything else either of you would like to speak about?”

Megatron shook his helm, and his bonded mirrored the gesture before shifting to draw his knees up to his chest. He folded his arm struts on top of them and resting his helm against his arms.

“No thank you, Rung… But we appreciate the help you’ve given us already.”

Lip plates turning up into a smile, Rung nodded in reply to show his understanding. He picked up the chair, placing it back where he found it at the desk. Rung’s carefully measured steps paused before walking out the door, and he turned back to them with a grin.

“To have taken back control after everything you’ve been through, Orion, you are a brave bot indeed. You should be proud of what you have achieved this session.”

The red and blue mech smiled against his arm, cerulean blue optics shining briefly at the other bot. They shared a couple more nanoseconds of a glance before Rung took his leave, letting the door shut and lock behind him. When Optimus and Megatron were left in solitude once again, they said nothing at first. The ex-warlord’s processor was spinning on an axis, trying to comprehend that just happened.

He stared at the door in silence until Optimus nudged him over the bond, prompting him to turn back towards the other.

You were right.

The Prime spoke over the bond voicelessly. Exhaustion from fighting his panic attack for the first time bled into his field and echoed in his optics. But his optics glimmered, his frame shined in the setting sun’s light coming through the window, and he was calm. In Megatron’s opinion, he was nothing short of stunning.

There is hope.

Chapter Text

PANIC.

The datapad flew through the air, smashing against the wall with a sickening crack and falling to the floor with a shatter. Pieces of it scattered on the ground, glass spinning on their sharp and broken edges as they glinted in the sunlight.

Optimus jerked to attention at the sudden noise and the cold, familiar emotion storming through their bond.

“Megatron?!”

He half shouted, pulling himself up from where he’d been laying back against the berth pillows, pushing aside the second datapad in his servo. It had been given to him as a gift from the other Prime, not long after their fifth official session with Rung when he learned that Orion once loved to read. Rung had been asked to carry on the message that all of the Prime’s personal favorites were on it, along with some Earth classics, and even a plethora of novels written by Cybertronians. He physically cried when he received it, beginning to trust that his reflection was just like him after all. The joy he’d felt was indescribable, recognizing the moment as another gain of a piece of himself that had been lost to war, torture, and pain.

At this moment, the page of Pride and Prejudice he’d been reading darkened to a black screen, forgotten and cast aside.

Spark pounding frantically in its casing, his optics were immediately drawn towards the left corner of the room. When they met the frame of his bonded, his spark halted.

Megatron stared straight ahead sightlessly, optics blown wide and brimmed with shock and terror. His limb struts were rigidly frozen in place, stuck in a defensive position as he unconsciously shied away from where the datapad had landed. The silver mech’s chest plates shuddered as his vents malfunctioned, rising into hyper ventilations, and his claws tremored. His side of their bond was stuck in a feedback loop of fear, something Optimus knew too well to question.

PANIC.

Something had triggered him.

PANIC.

Megatron…

The Prime began softly, slowly edging himself off the berth to stand. His spark, though heavy with the grief of seeing the silver mech like this, weaved through the fear whirling around his bonded’s spark, pawing at him to try and elicit a response. Putting himself in what would’ve been his bonded’s frontal sight range, he raised his servos peacefully in front of himself.

Megatron, my love…

Something crumbled under his ped as he stepped forward, and Optimus looked down. Scans presented the broken glass of the datapad on the floor, sitting around the glitching datapad that had slid from where it fell to a pace or two from where he was standing.

Recycling his optics at the glitching image, his optics squinted a bit as he focused in on it. It was a visual of a strange object, one that only felt vaguely familiar because he remembered seeing it a long time ago. In the eons before they were captured. The object was long and straight with a rounded end that resembled a handle. The other end was split into two sharp knife-like edges. Though the image fritzed with static, he could see the object was solidly black, and that between the two sharp edges, a single bolt of electric gleamed jaggedly. A caption of an article title blinked beneath it.

“Reinventing the Electric Prod better handle Livestock”

Optimus inhaled as something in between pain and abhorrence shot through him. Electric Prod. Livestock. The object presented grated at his being just as much as each word did. How it was that Megatron found this article, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was because he’d been bored and chose to browse the depths of the human internet, looking for something incredulous to sneer at. Or perhaps his curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he’d followed the link before he knew better what it would lead him to. Whatever it was, Optimus didn’t know. Nor did he care.

No. He did care, he realized as memories of a miner turned gladiator surfaced. Blurry flashbacks of whip-scarred backplates and terrible howls of agony poked at his processor… He cared too much.

Oh Megatron…

The Prime looked up from the glitching datapad, taking another careful step towards his bonded. Glass crunched under his peds. The ex-warlord reacted to that first, flinching violently at the sound as his entire frame hurled itself backwards, slamming into the wall with a clang. A wailing roar was torn from his intake as he sunk into the corner, turning into a pained and fearful hiss. Optimus flinched at each sound, halting in place for a long klik. He waited patiently, ever so patiently until the hiss dissipated into the heavy pants of his panic attack.

Inch by inch, Optimus slowly lowered himself to his knees, glancing down more than once to be sure that no more glass shards would be in the way. When his knee joints hit the ground, he bent forward on his servos, and began to crawl forward.

… I know you can hear me, my love.

Megatron hissed again, his unseeing optics staring over him as if another being stood over them both. Looming. Nearing. Commanding.

I know how real it feels… I know at this point the end seems impossible.

One arm forward. One knee forward. The Prime was ever patient, crawling at what seemed like a painstakingly leisured pace to his bonded. He watched as silver chest plates faltered and the other’s flailing field was flickering and drooping in exhaustion.

But I’m here.

His spark nuzzled at the other over their bond. He stopped about three paces in front of his bonded.

I’m right here, Megatronus, and this will end.

The name slipped from his subconscious. It roused the spark he tried to comfort, and it flicked nervous tendrils in his direction. He smiled gently.

Love.

Come back to me, Megatronus.

Unfocused, crimson optics suddenly dimmed. They offlined for a moment as their owner bent his helm, hissing as he shook it, and then lifted it again. Megatron’s sight came back, shifting down to the only other real occupant of the room. Optimus’s cerulean blue optics flashed brighter and he sat back on his shin struts.

It’s alright, it’s just me.

The ex-warlord’s entire frame shivered. But the tendrils of his spark weaved with that of his bonded, holding on tightly. His vents worked on overdrive to cool his heated internals.

… Orion.

If he’d spoken it with a voice, it would’ve trembled on his intake, come out as a question so fearful that no one would’ve believed the mighty Megatron had said it. But no voice accompanied the name, and Optimus would never tell. Not when no one would ever know Megatronus better than himself.

I’m here.

Optimus leaned into his servos and crawled forward. He closed the few steps remaining between them before shifting to sit on his left haunch, his legs arching against the ground. Megatron’s red optics recycled once more. The sight reminded him of Orion Pax, and if caused his terribly heavy spark to lighten in the slightest.

Uneasiness. Exhaustion.

Megatron shifted where he sat crumbled uncomfortably against the wall, letting his helm fall forward against his knees.

… I don’t understand how you do it.

It was a cryptic whisper over their bond. Any other mech would’ve questioned it. Optimus understood immediately. His faceplates echoed comprehension and compassion as he reached out, grasping the arm strut where there once had been a cannon with his welded servo.

It takes time and patience. Rung still needs to work with you.

Megatron’s frame tremored as he fought to control his ventilations. He sneered and growled into his knees, mentally battling the flashback they both knew was still trying to take over. The Prime moved closer, brushing against his bonded’s peds. Red optics flickered upward when the silver mech felt his bonded lean against his legs, his faceplates nuzzling his knee.

“Shhhh.”

The Prime crooned, wrapping his presently steady field around Megatron. The set of silver claws attached to the arm in the grip of his beloved reached out, curling around the red arm strut. Quietly seeking comfort that Optimus would always be willing to give.

Strength is never one-sided, is it?

As the kliks passed and Megatron’s ventilations winded down, Optimus shifted his gaze in the direction of the broken datapad on the floor. He would need to clean it up before his bonded rose. Before another glimpse of the weapon and its words put the broken mech back in the catacombs.

Chapter Text

“W-Wait! Wait!!”

Tron clung to Orion, plating raised in aggressive defense. Orion clung back, whimpering into his chest plates, digits dug into seams that refused to let go. Neither of them moved from the corner. Dread and alarm was so heavy between them it caused Rung to step back and give them space.

SEPARATION.

It was their tenth session. They’d thought they were gaining control of their symptoms. They’d thought they were getting better.

SEPARATION.

Panic attacks they could endure. Flashbacks were ever-present, but a little easier to ride through when they had each other to hold onto. Avoiding triggers was challenging, but not impossible. Optimus was much more precautious about it than Megatron ever would be. He owed him for it.

SEPARATION.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d endured the pits already; the medics had fixed the Prime’s processor. It was done, it was over with. They were safe now; they had to be… Why was this happening?

“Tron, Orion, take deep vents. Ground yourselves. Take control of the ocean.”

The ocean… The ocean…

Rung’s voice echoed in their helms. Tron pictured the ocean, swept up by the storm that blackened its skies. He willed himself to calm it, listening to Orion’s voice as he spoke it into the present.

“Calm… Control… Calm… Control…”

“You are not being taken away from each other anymore. Don’t let that belief control you.”

A couple kliks passed before Orion’s digits relaxed, laying limply against silver backplates. About thirty nanoseconds later, Tron’s flared armor was able to recede. The fear was gone, but it was libel to return at any moment. It put them on edge as pairs of red and blue optics met the psychologist standing on the other side of the room. At their gaze, he grinned, stepping forward once again.

“I know this is a trial which will be vigorous for the both of you, no matter how much you improve.”

He’d warned them this was coming. He’d explained thoroughly that this was one of the many actions they would have to take to live among other bots. They listened, they understood, they eventually consented.

But consent didn’t mean anything when it still scared the ever-living pits out of you.

“This does not have to be rushed. We can try again next cycle if you wish… I only press it now because I know how much you desire to be independent of the institution.”

Tron and Orion watched their psychologist for another long klik before turning to each other.

… Yearning.

Neither of them knew which end of the bond it came from first, but it was shared before either of them could stop it. It could not be denied. Megatron was the most vocal about it, but even Optimus stared out the barred window every cycle for too long to be coincidence. The chance at freedom from this cage ate at them with each passing day they learned to manage. They wondered about a life they could call their own. One without war or the catacombs, one that Orion Pax and Megatronus had once spoken of in the depths of the night in each other’s arms. It seemed as impossible as Optimus’s regained sanity once did.

But they would’ve been truly mad not to hope for such a chance when it was raised directly before them. The only thing that stood in its way was their fears.

SEPARATION.

… Yearning.

Shifting back to meet his bonded’s optics, Tron lifted a clawed servo to cup silver faceplates.

… I’m afraid, Megatron.

Orion leaned into the servo, shuttering his optics and clutching his bonded’s claws. Flight engines rumbled through the room as the silver mech sucked in a vent of air.

So am I, my Prime.

Caressing the ridged side of his helm, the ex-warlord’s other servo found its way under the Prime’s chin, lifting it just so. In response, Optimus opened his optics, searching his bonded’s mighty gaze.

But I have hope. And I know you do too.

With that, Optimus recycled his optics before closing them again. But he nodded into his palm. Like a parting kiss, his spark nuzzled against the other over their bond, and his servos squeezed the one they held tightly. Then, they let go. Megatron smiled tenderly at him, letting his digits drift over the other’s face before stepping backward, turning on a heel.

Something cold and shocking gripped his spinal strut in a vice as he approached Rung, but he shoved it to the wayside and hoped it didn’t show. Behind him, Orion’s arms wrapped around his front, watching the distance grow between them with bright, nervous optics.

Rung’s optics widened as Tron stood before him, and on the other side of the locked doors, the other Optimus Prime of this universe watched intently.

“How long will this be, Rung?”

He asked gruffly, clenching his fists and releasing them to focus on something other than the building anxiety welling in the bottom of his fuel tank. Thankfully, the psychologist regained his composure and answered quickly.

“Five kliks on the other side of the doors. That’s it, it does not have to be anything more for this cycle. If it is successful, then we’ll discuss the next step in our next session tomorrow. If not, we’ll begin by gradually working up to this point.”

Tron nodded. Five kliks, that’s all. He rolled and flexed his shoulders, trying to release the building tension. Five kliks.

“Very well, then.”

Nervousness. Worry.

It struck him over the bond and the silver mech looked over his shoulder at his bonded, who shifted his weight from one ped to the other. The side of his lip plate lifted in a small grin.

Reassurance.

It had to be done. If he gave himself a sure reason, he could steel himself to do it. So it had to be done.

The silver mech strode forward to the door. Rung came to stand next to him, nodding at the bulky Prime through the door. With that, the lock clicked, and the cell door swung open. Optimus Prime stepped through, turning around the door to hold it open for the two of them. Rung waited until Tron moved first, hauling himself towards through the exit and into the chamber in between their cell and the hallway. As the door closed behind him with Rung’s nod, a fearful whine bled from Orion’s voice box.

SEPARATION.

Tron’s frame jerked stiff, and when the door slammed shut he wheeled back around so quickly Rung had to duck to avoid his spiked shoulders.

“Tron, you need to focus.”

His bonded had run forth to the door when it shut, now standing directly on the other side with a servo pressed against the window. His metal brows creased with stress and fear laced his cerulean optics.

Primus below…

“Tron, listen to me, you will not be taken away from each other. You need to focus.”

Silver claws pressed to the window over his bonded’s servo without a conscious thought. Clenching his optics shut, a full body tremor traveled through him. His processor spun as his tank dropped to the floor, and he could feel an attack looming on the horizon. In desperation, he reached beyond the darkness clouding his thoughts and found the picture of stormy seas once again. He opened the memory file of Orion’s voice by his audial, speaking softly, quelling both of their fears.

T-The ocean… Calm t-the ocean…

“… That’s it, Tron, deep vents. Focus.”

Sucking in another inhalation of air, he turned his focus to their bond, grabbing at the throat of the emotions controlling them. He wrenched them away.

Reassurance.

He opened his optics, and through the window Orion grasped his chest plates, venting heavily beside the other Prime.

Reassurance.

It’s… it’s alright, beloved.

The red and blue mech took a step away from the door, servo tightening its grip on his chest plates, but giving a small nod in affirmation. Tron’s digits pulled away from the door, and he forbid himself from looking back as he turned around. Rung stepped towards the other door, unlocking it.

“Are you ready?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice to give an appropriate answer. The psychologist opened the second door, holding it open to let him walk through. Every instinct, circuit, and joint in his frame coiled and jolted when the second door closed behind them. Rung stood before it, blocking the view of the window, but his faceplates observed his every movement with concern.

“Five kliks starts now, Tron.”

Five kliks… That’s all.

For a moment, he stared down the long hallway, recalling the way they came in. Their pathway to freedom. Something in the back of his processor pricked him through the anxiety, asking one simple question: would you? It hung over him, giving him pause. Would you run now, and take the chance? An ex-warlord wouldn’t have been able to count the times he would’ve tried five eons ago. When dark energon riddled his piping, driving him insane… But the broken mech he’d become? Would he run? His spark seized at the mere thought, and he tore his optics away from the exit with a quiet, disgusted sneer. No, never again. His backplates hit the wall, and he braced against them to keep himself upright. He counted each nanosecond that passed by, clenching and releasing his fists.

Never again.

*

Orion backed against the wall next to the door, gasping when he felt the cold of it seep into his armor. The scrap of metal against it met his audials as he slid down, collapsing into a sitting position as he brought his knees up against his arms that hugged his front. He rested his helm back on the cream-colored wall paint, shuttering his optics and staring hard at the ceiling in an attempt to stall the tears.

Five kliks. We can do it. Five kliks.

Beside him, Optimus Prime’s identical optics shined with strong alarm. He lowered himself to sit on his knees in front of the other red and blue mech.

“Orion… are you alright?”

His sky-risen cerulean optics closed tightly, but the tears he’d been holding back fell anyway.

“… No. I’m not.”

He whispered, trying so hard to calm the ocean he pictured in his processor. Most other days, he could quell it. Now, without his bonded at his side… it was near impossible.

Sitting back against the door, Optimus Prime propped his arm struts on his bent legs, watching the other closely. He ran through the memory file of the conversation he’d had with Rung before this. It had been fully explained to him that Orion might react like this, it would be hard on both of them. But the psychologist felt he needed to remain with Tron, who’s separation anxiety had proved to be worse. Nothing had been provided to aid Orion, and it frustrated Optimus. Rung had specifically stated he had the tools, he knew what to do. But it definitely wasn’t helping him now, if what he observed was any indication.

“… Rung did not provide me with any direct instructions to aid… But is there anything I can do?”

Coolant tears fell down his faceplates as Orion opened his optics. He stared at the other mech for a long moment, his limbs shaking in their crumbled position. He stayed silent, with an almost untrusting aura that made Optimus almost wish he could’ve taken the question back. Respectfully looking away, he rested his own helm back, optics now watching the ceiling.

“… S-Sense and Sensibility.”

The familiar voice was quiet, pulled back and reigned with so much emotion it was meek. Optimus’s gaze lowered back on Orion, shock and a pulse of curiosity in his field.

“Pardon?”

His circuits searched for the phrase in his memory banks as well as the human’s global internet service to find its proper meaning. He stilled when he found it.

“Do you mean the novel by the human, Jane Austen?”

Orion nodded, bringing a servo up to his faceplates to wipe away the wet streaks of his tears.

“H-Have you read it?”

Optimus recycled his optics at the question. A distraction. A very clear one. But when it came to this topic, something he was definitely able to do. Pulling back his battle mask, he shed a small smile at Orion.

“Yes, I have… Have you?”

Nodding once again, Orion took in a long, shuddering vent, seemingly calming himself.

“I-It’s very good. I t-thank you for putting it on the datapad.”

Something warm tickled at his spark at the endearment to the story, and Optimus’s smile widened. It wasn’t every cycle, after all, that someone shared his taste in literature.

“Thanks is not necessary, Orion. The honor is mine to see you liked it. What did you enjoy most about it?”

The red and blue mech’s optics fell to the ground as he thought, only a handful of stray tears falling from them. After a few kliks, he looked back up at the other Prime. And to Optimus’s great surprise, he gave him a soft smile.

“… I a-admired the joyful ending Marianne received after the betrayal. A-And I liked Elinor as a character, her witty comments were enjoyable.”

Recalling the human character brought a wider smile to the Prime’s face, and he hummed as he thought of her dialogue.

“I also deeply admired Elinor. Do you perhaps recall the quote in Chapter 16, when she and her sister were speaking of the Autumn season, and she said to her: ‘It is not everyone—”

“—who has your passion for d-dead leaves.’ Yes, t-that one is my favorite.”

Optimus could not help but chuckle, the warm feeling in his spark spreading into his field. He tipped his helm to the side as he gave Orion a lop-sided grin.

“It is mine as well.”

The other red and blue mech hummed a little laugh. His servos rubbed over his arm struts as if against something cold, but his optics were brightening, and he looked a lot more at ease.

Whatever he might be, or whoever he might be, Optimus understood one thing: he was a living, sentient being, and he was in pain. No one should have to suffer the way he did.

With that in mind, he checked his chronometer, finding three kliks still left on the timer, and pulled the conversation forward.

“Have you perhaps read Pride and Prejudice as well?”

Chapter Text

Two weeks after their first practice of parting therapy, Rung sat back against the desk chair facing his patients, tapping a single digit against his lip plates as his owlish optics wandered from the floor, to the ceiling, to the floor beneath his peds. Orion picked up his helm from where he’d laid it on his arm, propped up on Tron’s chest. Looking up at his bonded, he found red optics that were just as confused as he was. Their therapist had never acted this way before. What had changed? They could only assume they were doing well with parting therapy so far. Three times later, five kliks each, had all proven successful with neither bot banging on the door begging to return.

“I have an idea for our next session tomorrow.”

This time, Tron picked himself up, sitting up from where he’d been lounging against the headrest of their berth, helm tilted in the slightest. Orion sat up with him, sharing a curious and wary expression pointed towards the psychologist. Rung didn’t mind it, instead lowering his servo to his lap with a small nod to himself.

“Would you consent to having visitors for about two groons in the afternoon?”

Visitors?

Tron and Orion exchanged expressions, their fields flickering with multiple emotions at once. Rung patiently let them process the information, waiting about a klik before Tron turned back to the psychologist.

“It would depend on who it was, if you care to elaborate.”

Rung found himself humored by the answer, reminding him of all the wary Decepticons he’d treated, and he grinned before nodding.

“Of course. As you already know, I perform relationship counseling as well as psychological therapy for the bots of this city.”

When the couple collectively nodded, he continued.

“There is one couple whom I’ve been assisting for quite a few vorns, an Autobot mini-bot and a seeker by the names of Tailgate and Cyclonus. They love each other quite dearly, but we have had to combat Tailgate’s fear of his bonded, and there are times communication is lost between them.”

Orion’s optics drifted in thought, as if he were pulling up a memory file. Tron glanced over at him, rumbling softly to gain his attention, and they shared a quick gaze that told Rung they were most likely speaking to each other over their bond. The gaze ended quickly, however, and their attention was back on the psychologist in a matter of nanoseconds. He decided not to meditate on it, it did not seem worrisome.

“In one session with them a couple weeks ago, I happened to mention you and your way of communicating nonverbally. Not through the bond, but through your movements, gestures, and vocal processes. They found it quite fascinating. Every session since, they’ve asked after your well-being, and Tailgate has been begging to be allowed to visit.”

Both Tron and Orion lifted their optical brows at once. It was almost humorous how in tune their primary reactions were, but after that they differed. The red and blue mech’s expression turned bashful, his optics averting to the berth below him, but Rung didn’t miss the small smile that presented itself on his lip plates. His bonded huffed, expression caught somewhere in between an annoyed sneer and a curious hum.

“We’re not relationship teachers, Rung. Our habitual nonverbal communication is hard to express in words, we’ve simply been doing it long enough for it to suffice. Not to mention, I don’t see exactly how we’ll visit with this Tailgate and Cyclonus, given our current situation.”

Rung nodded in understanding, replying patiently.

“Cyclonus and Tailgate would come to this facility, with my approval and escort, and visit with you in your current living space for about two groons. I will remain present to monitor the interaction and remove them if it becomes too much for either of you to handle. The conversation itself does not have to be about your relationship if you wish to keep that information private, it can be whatever you choose it to be. In all honesty, I am aiming for the goal of this visitation to be for you both to gain preliminary social interaction, and perhaps create a friendship with other city residents.”

Social interaction? Friendship?!

Tron almost laughed out loud incredulously. When he tried to hold it in, it became a smirk and a rude chuckle. Orion perked up when he felt the incredulous and amused emotions over their bond and felt anger well in his spark. He whipped out an elbow and drove it hard into the silver mech’s abdominal plating. Rung winced as Tron’s optics blew wide and he wheezed, no air left in his vents after it was cleanly knocked out of him. Trying to breathe again, he turned to his bonded with an annoyed glance until he was met with a hard, icy glare from cerulean blue optics.

“That was not humorous at all. This is serious!”

He hissed. Tron had almost forgotten how hard his bonded could hit when provoked, simply not given the chance for the past few eons. The silver mech absently rubbed at the new dent in his armor, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. He could understand his actions were wrong for not being serious in this situation. But why would his bonded have sounded so offended by it? It truly was laughable, the thought of them trying to socialize with other mecha in their current state. He’d thought they established that. Unless… Tron felt the trembling edge of hurt amidst the anger in their bond, and his optics widened a second time with dawning comprehension. He immediately withered, guilt bleeding through their bond.

Optimus my beloved I’m sorry. It was not my intent to make fun of your social anxiety.

Cautiously he held out his arms, hoping Orion might take the apology, but he was rejected when the red and blue mech scooted himself out of his reach. He winced at the ice that remained in those cerulean blue optics, letting his arms drop.

… Did you so quickly forget that my anxiety stems from the loss of our people to our captors? I lost my team, Megatron… they were my family.

Pain shot through his spark, and he winced again.

Definitely shouldn’t have laughed at that.

His shoulders sunk.

I’m sorry, beloved… Truly, I am.

Orion stared at him blankly for a few more moments before he sighed, the anger in his optics fading as he turned to the therapist.

“I consent to meeting Cyclonus and Tailgate tomorrow… We’ve lost so many friends. But I think I’d like to make new ones.”

Rung’s smile widened immediately, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“That is excellent to hear, Orion. Tron, what do you think?”

Both pairs of blue optics turned to him, and the silver mech immediately straightened. He turned to his bonded first.

“Orion is right. We’ve lost too many friends to turn away now… I also consent to this visitation.”

Their therapist’s field expressed great joy in this approval. He stood with a small bounce in his step as his owlish optics gleamed.

“I will contact them immediately to let them know of your approval.”

Rising from the desk chair, he grasped it in lean digits and replaced it back at the desk, signifying this session’s end.

“However, I will warn you in advance that they will most likely bring their sparklings with them.”

SPARKLINGS?!

Shock.

Both mecha on the berth jolted in place, staring at the psychologist with wide optics.

“S-Sparklings…?”

Orion asked in quiet awe, emotion quickly building in his spark and choking his intake. In response, Rung nodded with a small smile.

“Yes, they have twin sparklings about two vorns old. They’ve brought them to our therapy sessions before. They can be a bit fussy but are overall very well behaved. If this is a problem, I can tell them that this wouldn’t be the proper place to bring them at this time. I’m sure they’d understand.”

Sparklings…

The last time either of them had ever seen living sparklings… Was on Cybertron, long before they met with the Senate. They were quite old memory files, and besides the preliminary discussion about sparklings they’d had with Rung a couple weeks before, both of them had nearly forgotten sparklings even existed. The thought of such youth and innocence still in existence made both of their sparks pulse in their casings.

“N-No!”

Orion blurted out, surprising both mechs in the room with him. Realizing what he did, he quickly cleared his intake, continuing politely.

“What I meant to say, is that we’d be delighted to meet them.”

Smiling in agreement, his bonded nodded at Rung to show it. The psychologist hummed with barely concealed amusement.

“I will let them know to bring the sparklings then. Until tomorrow; goodnight Tron, goodnight Orion.”

They bid him goodnight in return, and Rung left their cell for the evening, leaving them alone in the company of the setting sun outside their window.

Awe.

Megatron turned to his bonded when he felt it, raw and full. He couldn’t help but croon at the joy that came with it.

Well, there you are, Optimus. It looks like we’ll get to see sparklings after all.

A few moments passed before the Prime responded, glancing back at him with a blank expression. He huffed heatedly.

You are not excused of your actions, Megatron. What you did was rude and hurtful.

Immediately deflating with defeat, the silver mech’s shoulder’s drooped again. He glanced back up at his bonded guiltily, optics beginning to brim with desperation.

Beloved, I never intended to insult you. You must believe that. I am truly sorry for hurting you.

Megatron slowly scooted across the berth towards his bonded, who huffed again and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest plates. Crooning tenderly once more, the silver mech’s field pattered at the Prime’s slithering, sharper edges. Eventually he moved close enough to wrap his arms around his bonded from behind, switching on his flight engines to rumble between them.

Please, my Prime, don’t be angry with me.

He pressed against him, cooing and lightly growling before bending his helm to kiss affectionately at the other’s neck cables. Optimus shifted slightly with a small grumble but did not react otherwise. Megatron persisted.

Please…

Burrowing his faceplates into the crook of the other’s neck and shoulder, he whined miserably. Later on, he might never admit he’d stooped to this level, but desperation could make a mech do just about anything. Finally, after the third whine, Optimus sighed, and his posture slumped back to rest against silver chest plates. He leaned his helm against his bonded’s.

Only if you promise to behave with the visitors tomorrow.

Megatron smirked against his bonded’s neck. Pulsing affection over their bond, he suddenly sighed dramatically out loud as if it would be an impossible task.

By the Pits of Kaon… I suppose if it’s you who asks this of me, I can make the attempt to not tear off their helms for looking at you.

Optimus tried to keep a straight, stoic face. But when his bonded nuzzled at him again, he couldn’t help but grin with a chuckle, eyeing the silver mech on his shoulder.

What am I ever going to do with you?

Lifting his helm to properly look at the red and blue mech in his lap, he tapped his chin in an obvious feign of thought.

Well, if you don’t have anything better to do this night cycle… You could always keep an old gladiator company.

Shaking his helm with a chuckle, the Prime pushed his helm up and underneath the ex-warlord’s chin. Megatron wouldn’t admit how adamantly his spark pulsed when his bonded curled up against his frame, closing his optics with a sigh.

As if I would’ve wanted it any other way.

Chapter Text

Neither mech could sit still as the groons ticked by into the afternoon.

Megatron was the first to rise and pace, expelling the excess energy coiled in his joints and cables. His spark felt on edge, and his processor ran through any and all possibilities of what these mechs would be like, and how this interaction would go. It wasn’t good for his nerves, but it gave him something to do besides roaming the human’s internet service again. He did this for about two and a half groons before Optimus also rose, seemingly more patient at first as he took a towel from the cabinet and washed his faceplates in front of the sink. But then he began pacing as well, walking back and forth from there to the desk beside the door. As he walked, he gestured and spoke to himself, something that used to be foreign to the Prime who kept his thoughts quiet. The silver mech couldn’t help but pause when he heard a heated huff, glancing over at his bonded who shook his helm at himself before pivoting on a heel and walking back towards the sink. He raised an inquiring metal brow.

What are you doing?

At first, he received no response, instead watching the Prime mutter to himself as he reached the sink and paused in his steps again. After a still moment, he groaned, slapping a servo to his faceplates and walking the other way.

How do I introduce myself?

The ex-warlord recycled his optics. That’s an… odd question. He stared at his bonded for a couple more nanoseconds before he chuckled with a slight tinge of amusement.

Introduce yourself? What do you mean?

What caused Megatron amusement was clearly bothering Optimus to no end. His small smirk fell as the Prime only continued to pace and mutter to himself, covering his faceplates with a servo and shaking his helm. His steps were gradually becoming uneven in stride and his turns unbalanced.

We haven’t interacted with true civilians since before our war… What do I do? What do I say? I’m afraid if I try a proper introduction, I’ll blurt out my true designation!

Optimus was babbling. The silver mech could not process it at first. But as he continued to speak through the bond with nervous energy flowing between them, memory files of Orion Pax began to pop up in the forefront of his processor. It was so… foreign to Optimus Prime. Though then again, so was insanity, which he’d also seen from him until fairly recently. Putting aside how strange it was, Megatron couldn’t help but find it the slightest bit endearing.

Though if he didn’t act soon, his bonded was going to trip over his own two peds.

--and what will they think of us? Will they be suspicious? What if they don’t like us? What if, oh Primus, what if they do? What—

Calm.

The Prime gasped as he ran face-first into the ex-warlord, pulling his helm out of his servo and jumping back a step in surprise. Megatron only watched him quietly, catching the servo to twine it with one of his, and using his free one to wrap around the other’s frame, stroking over his backplates.

Optimus, my beloved, you’re working yourself into a panic.

Tension in the red and blue mech’s limb struts eased under his bonded’s soothing field. But his optics remained bright with frantic energy.

I can’t help it. We haven’t done this in so long, I feel as if I don’t even know what to do.

Megatron rumbled at his bonded, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek. Slowly, the silver mech guided his bonded towards the berth. As he sat, he pulled the other with him, feeling their shoulder armor brush against one another.

Introductions are as easy as you make them, my Prime. Simply try to be yourself.

The Prime lifted a metal brow, even as he returned to affection with a sigh.

I’m not sure being myself will help these matters at all. Functioning processor or not, I’m not exactly the sanest mech to behold.

This time it was Megatron’s turn to lift a metal brow.

Neither am I. But I’m going through with this because you wanted it.

Blue cerulean optics tilted upwards as they parted, meeting the red optics that stared back. The silver mech curled both servos around the Prime’s waist, pulling him a little closer.

Sane or insane, Orion Pax or Optimus Prime, it has never mattered. An eternity has passed, and I have loved you for everything you are. So I am sure these visitors will be inclined to like you.

Devotion and determination flooded his spark through their bond. Optimus couldn’t help but be bashful, averting his optics as heat rushed to his faceplates. Though not visible, it was reminiscent of a human blush. Megatron smiled briefly at the expression, feeling the knot that had formed in his tank unwind as the warmth of his bonded seeped into his plating.

There they sat, leaning against each other and feeling the ever-present reality fade into the background. They traded it for the darkened, quiet place between their sparks, the spiritual place they saw their sparks exist in, spinning around each other in a never-ending dance. For now they slowed, turning in a steady, meandering circle as if locked in a waltz. How long they remained there, awareness fallen away from physicality, neither of them knew.

Time passed before the lock of the first door to their cell jiggled, clanking and tinkling before the hinges of the door creaked to signal it was swinging open. The couple inside the cell startled and jumped at the sudden sound, turning on their physical sensory array in a disoriented and groggy state. Their sparks both clenched as they watched Rung move to open the second door, seeing another tall figure’s shadow through the window behind him.

The visitors.

Optimus whispered over the bond, subconsciously sliding toward the silver mech next to him. Turning himself to face the door, Megatron let his bonded lean back against his chest plates, acknowledging the anxiety now passing between them before grounding himself, his servos rubbing small circles into the other’s sides.

The second door opened, and Rung was the first to enter. Two steps in he stopped and pivoted towards the door, holding up a servo to the mechs on the other side to signal them to wait. After a moment he then turned back around to face his patients inside the cell.

“Good afternoon.”

He greeted with a small smile. The tone of his voice rose in the slightest with each word, demonstrating the change in routine and what was soon to come. Tron and Orion both nodded back wordlessly, not trusting their voice boxes in this new experience just yet.

“Your visitors are here. Are you ready to receive them?”

Not really.

Orion’s field swarmed around him nervously, bumping against his bonded’s with an edgy gracelessness. Questions and self-doubt raced through his processor, and he shut off his optics to battle against it. They mean no harm. He took a deep vent. It’s time to make new friends. Releasing a long exhale, he was able to ground himself, pulling his field inward and stabilizing it beside his bonded. Tron watched as Orion lifted his optics to meet with his own, giving a single nod to show he was ready. With that, he turned to Rung.

“Yes.”

The psychologist nodded back in affirmation, and with quiet steps he peeked back through the door, speaking quietly to the bots on the other side. Tron could not make out any individual words, but he noted the cautious fluctuation of his tone. If he had to guess, it was most likely how to behave when they stepped into the cell. The thought almost drew a snort from him. I’m sure we could be compared to caged animals amongst normal bots at this point. As he mused, the door opened once again, and this time Rung pulled it wide and held it open. Orion stilled, and Tron’s thoughts came to a halt as their visitors entered.

A tall, purple and silver mech strode through first, his clawed servos hung loosely at his sides. His digits curled in, as if in an unconscious search for a weapon they always held. His ped steps shook the ground beneath him, much like Tron’s, and he carried himself with no small amount of pride of a seasoned warrior. Like Tron, he bore red optics and his gaze was piercing, cold and foreboding with an underlying threat capsuled within. From his position on the berth, the silver mech received full view of the silver horns adorning the mech’s helm, bent upwards with long sharp points that could easily kill a bot. Narrowing his gaze at the warrior mech, he unconsciously rolled his shoulders, letting his spikes glint in the sunlight shining through the window behind them. At the action, the purple mech’s gaze focused on him, and they locked optics for a long, tense klik.

“Cyclonus! You’re in the way! We want to see them too!”

A small, pleasant, but whining of a voice suddenly sounded off by the door. The purple mech was the first to break optical contact, recycling his lenses as if broken from a trance. Twisting around to peer over his shoulder and down, he stayed like that for another few nanoseconds before side-stepping to the right.

“My apologies, Tailgate.”

His voice was dark and sharp, curling off his lips like a growl. But Tron and Orion had no time to process that before they were faced with the rest of their visitors.

The mini-bot behind Cyclonus was about half his size, the tip of his helm coming up to the bottom of his waistline. Bright sky blue alternated with white on his frame, a cheerful appearance to accompany the pleasant voice of the little mech. Though his true face was covered by a white mask and a blue visor, his field spoke for his expression, radiating excitement alongside a docile peace with such harmony it was dizzying.

Beside Tailgate the mini-bot, holding each of his small white servos on either side, were two sparklings that stood a little over half as tall as him. Their frame types were identical, nimble and lanky like Cyclonus, but soft in color like Tailgate. On the left side, a purple and white bitlet blinked at them with blue optics. On the right side, a blue and white bitlet huddled close to the creator they held onto, their red optics scrutinizing the mecha before them in a stark resemblance to the warrior.

Orion’s optics blew wide and he gasped before he could contain it, the shock of seeing live sparklings for the first time in many millennia hitting him full force. Then his processor caught up with what he just did as all pairs of optics focused on him, and he slapped a servo over his intake and curled in on himself, his field swirling in embarrassment. Tron couldn’t help the amusement at his actions, fondly reminded of Orion Pax’s shyness in another life. Tenderly stroking up his side once more, he rumbled at his bonded.

You’re allowed to show emotions, my Prime. Don’t hide.

Rung watched the reactions and exchange with an ever observant gaze, shutting the door behind him before walking forth into the middle of the room. He started to gesture to each bot and began introductions.

“Cyclonus, Tailgate; this is Tron and Orion, the city’s newest arrivals.”

Lifting his optics meekly, the red and blue bot was met with the shining blue visor of the mini-bot, his equivalent of a smile without a view of his intake.

Orion, Tron; this is Cyclonus and Tailgate. And these are their bitlets, Whirlwind and Cyclone.”

Cyclone, the purple and white bitlet, blinked at the bigger bots once more. Then, he raised an impossibly small servo, waving it in greeting.

“… Hi.”

The little one squeaked. Tron and Orion both felt their sparks melt. The red and blue mech slowly let his servo fall from his faceplates, using it to wave back as a small smile stole his lip plates.

“Hello.”

He spoke softly, and the bitlet giggled happily. Cyclonus’s helm tilted to the side, mild curiosity flickering through his optics as he crossed his arms over his chest plates. Beside him, Whirlwind repeated the head gesture, and Tron forced himself to not snort at the humorous display. Tailgate, who’s gaze wandered to each bot, was the second one to break the ice.

“Tron, Orion, it’s so good to finally meet you! Rung’s told us a lot about you!”

Finding himself near the edge of the room, the psychologist ducked his helm at the acknowledgement. In response to Tailgate, Tron quickly cleared his intake and nodded respectfully.

“Likewise, Tailgate. Cyclonus.”

The purple warrior’s gaze shifted back to him, and he hesitated before nodding once back, his optics immediately returning to Tailgate and the twins. In turn, Tron’s servos wrapped themselves around the entire span of Orion’s waist, and his field enfolded around him. The heavy, unspoken implication of mate, family, protect hung between both of them, forcing them to call a stalemate on the challenge that thrummed in their Decepticon coding and shift their focus to the peaceful compromise their loved ones were more likely to make.

Suddenly, Cyclone tugged at his creator’s servo, causing Tailgate to lean down while the bitlet whispered in his audial. After a moment of silence, the mini-bot’s visor flashed, and he gleamed down at the little bot.

“As long as you promise to be nice, and you do it exactly the way sire and I taught you! Is that understood, Cyclone?”

The bitlet nodded vigorously with wide optics. Orion and Tron both furrowed their metal brows, exchanging confusion in their bond before the mini-bot turned back to them.

“If it is alright with you, Cyclone would like to properly shake servos.”

The couple recycled their optics at the request, their gaze switching from each other to the mini-bot and the bitlet who’s small field was filled to the brim with hope.

Megatron…

Awe. Delight.

Blue optics turned back to the silver mech, as if asking permission. A smile pulled at his lip plates as his servos pulled back to rest on the red and blue mech’s hips. He hummed at him, the sound reverberating from deep in his chest as he nudged the back of his helm.

Go on.

Orion’s field pulsed nervously, but something near joy filled in right at its side. He carefully pulled himself from his bonded’s grasp, attracting the attention of all mecha in the room. Then, he slid off the berth, falling to his knees beside it and sitting back on his heels to face the bitlet. Cyclone’s blue optics flashed brighter, and he pulled himself out of his carrier’s grasp, his tiny ped steps echoing through the room as he stomped toward the red and blue mech. A moment passed in silence as he paused in front of the adult mech, looking up at him curiously before he then stuck his servo out. Orion’s servo trembled as he slowly reached out, nervous thoughts and fears swarming his processor that he couldn’t shut out.

But then the bitlet grabbed ahold of two of his digits, grip firm and unwavering before pulling it up and down in a shake. Sucking in a shuddering vent, the Prime let the tiny servo hold him steady and move his servo, and the grin on his faceplates widened. In response, Cyclone smiled and giggled.

“Big servo!”

The little one suddenly exclaimed, then laughed again. It’s melodious sound filled the room, bringing a grin to every mech’s face. Orion’s spark spun with such joy he felt lightheaded. He swallowed back a sob and blinked back coolant tears before nodding in agreement.

“Yes, little one, I have a big servo.”

Cyclone stared up at him with round blue optics, alternating between his faceplates and the servo who’s weld scars from the glass cuts still remained unbuffed. He looked at it in wonder before then turning around to his twin.

“Whirlie! Lookie! Big servo!”

Red optics blinking owlishly, the blue and white sparkling immediately reached towards his spark twin with a small chirp. Tailgate chuckled when he hesitated, his grip still tight on the mini-bot. With a gentle nudge forward, Tailgate released the other sparkling, gesturing for him to go on when he watched him nervously. When Cyclone giggled again, his twin finally made the courageous dash away, joining him to stand and marvel at the red and blue bot. Like his brother, he took hold of Orion’s servo, and when he also shook it, the shyness bled away into a little smile and happy chirps.

“Orion, you’re a natural with sparklings! Whirlwind doesn’t usually warm up to other bots so quickly!”

Looking up from the bitlets playing with his digits, the Prime watched as Tailgate praised him excitedly. Cyclonus moved from his stoic position at the side, coming to stand next to his mini-bot and join servos. At the statement, his laugh came in a short burst that released pure elation into his field, making the sparklings laugh with him. Just a couple weeks ago, he was dying of a broken processor, stuck spinning in the dark between the nightmares and reality. Now here he sat with a clear view of the first two sparklings they’d seen since Cybertron’s destruction.

You’re trying not to cry, aren’t you?

Tilting his helm back, he was met with the faceplates of his bonded. They encompassed such an expression of joy that for a moment it returned to the ex-warlord years of youth that had long been lost. Orion hummed, feeling that building ball of emotion well in his intake and willing himself to push it back down.

Just barely, Megatron. Just barely.

Chapter Text

The air around them felt different that night cycle.

It was electric and buzzed around them like meteors and comets flung by gravity through a galaxy. Like particles of pure energy, the air energized them. They felt restless, the energon in their piping pumping faster than normal and their joints coiled, as if waiting for something to happen. Their scanners felt over the walls again and again, feeling no danger present. Only each other in this living space called a cell.

Optimus stared out the window at the lights of the city beyond. There were so many, and they were so bright. He wondered if he were staring at the world turned upside down; a city of stars on the ground against the dim black sky. It reminded him of the lights of Cybertron, how they shined so much brighter than the balls of hot gas that dotted the dark matter of space. No city on the Earth he remembered was ever so bright to mimic Cybertron. But this was no ordinary Earthen city was it?

Aching.

The sting that was the absence of Cybertron had dulled over the eons, only enough to be an eased throb when he thought about it. Tonight, he did, but not as he usually would. He thought of the pleasant memories that had come from it. The Iaconian Hall of records that shimmered blue with the depths of Cybertronian knowledge, and their keeper Alpha Trion, whom had become a sire-like figure to him in his time as Orion Pax. The streets of the cities, bustling with life and so many alt mode colors amidst the shining silver of their metal planet. The small, medical clinic in the center of Iacon, and a certain young medic with too many wrenches to throw and a wistful smile always saved for an old friend… Even the pits of Kaon. Perhaps most especially the pits of Kaon; where he’d watched gladiators fight for the victory and met a silver warrior called Megatronus that topped them all. The champion of the pits, the revolutionary of Cybertron. His one and only bond mate.

My Megatronus.

Whose powerful, steady, and silver arms wrapped around him from behind to hold him close. Optimus leaned back into their embrace, his own servos grasping them against his chest as his thoughts wandered to areas of his processor he had not been allowed to think on before. They had changed, both of them drastically. One shift to another had put them together, torn them apart, entrapped them to death, and let them escape again. It had worn them down, he could feel it. When the ever-present terror was finally stripped away from their frames and left them bare, the only thing left for them to feel was their age. Optimus knew he was ancient, weathered, scarred and weary of life’s tests. And he knew Megatron felt the same, deep in his spark.

But, as old and scarred as they were, they couldn’t bring themselves to regret what had brought them to this point tonight. Oh, there would be plenty of time to regret in the morning, and in the time to come. Though it would have to wait. This cycle the air around them was energized, and they remembered that the frames around their sparks were still alive. They were created, they lived, they endured, and they were here. No longer was it one or the other. It was the two of them, finally together after all this time, just as Megatronus and Orion had meant to be.

Aching.

Perhaps it was just luck, or perhaps it was every bit of experience to be reflected upon that they’d finally figured out one of the most important of life’s questions. They knew it now, as they reveled in each other’s presence, and they dimly wished Orion and Megatronus had known it too: home wasn’t Cybertron for either of them, it never had been. They missed it because they were raised in it, and to everyone else, it was where they belonged. Now, Cybertron was destroyed, their race was nearly extinct, and did not exist in that universe anymore. Megatron and Optimus Prime would never be the same again, but they would find peace in each other’s presence, because their home did not lie with Cybertron. Their home lay with each other.

As long as these two stars revolved around one another in the darkness that surrounded them, they would always be home. Right where they belonged.

Home.

Optimus closed his optics as these thoughts drifted away like the foamy sea on a shoreline. They would return eventually, but only when the tide came back in. For now, he would focus on the weight of his bonded against him. For now, he would forget.

… Closer.

He turned in Megatron’s arms, opening his optics to look up, and was met with the glow of red in return. They watched him curiously.

I want to be closer.

His spark ached, and the other felt it as he reached up, closing the distance between them. Megatron met him halfway, and their lip plates met with a quiet clink. The kiss was slow and soft, wandering without destination as they pressed closer. Optimus’s arms curled around his bonded’s strong neck, and Megatron’s clawed servos wrapped around his middle, pulling them together. Air between them was squeezed out of the way as the armor of their frames brushed, eliciting tiny static shocks that lit their neural nets pleasantly. The Prime gasped as they prickled over his abdominal plating and he suddenly jumped forward against the ex-warlord, quietly begging to be even closer. Megatron grunted, but caught him without second thought, reaching down to grasp his thighs instead and let them wrap over the groove of his hips. In return, his sharp denta scraped against the other’s bottom lip and his glossa followed, deepening their kiss to give it a straighter path with a clearer destination. A small whimper crawled from his throat as he pressed back, allowing Megatron what he sought and crossing his legs around silver hips.

They fumbled together with a returning grace, remembering what to do as if they hadn’t waited eons to do this again. The air around them felt oppressive, poking and tingling at their armor in little jolts that made them twitch and move against one another, causing more of those pleasurable static shocks. Their core temperatures were spiking, heat traveling over them at an exhilarating rate before beginning to focus on the one specific area that would soon matter most. Megatron felt the moment when thought started to fade from his bonded’s processor, being replaced instead by instinct. It was the moment he arched his back strut inward, rolling his blue hips against him in a slow and wanting grind of metal. He almost lost his balance at the onslaught of pleasure, stepping backwards to catch them both as he clutched the Prime tighter.

How… How far do you want to go?

His spark was spinning and pulsing, it made it hard to speak through the bond. But physically speaking was impossible and unwanted. It would force them to separate, and that was no option. He put his focus of lingering rational thought in their connection and in his legs, walking them both towards the berth beside them.

As f-far… as we can!

Optimus stuttered over the bond, rolling his hips once more to feel the shocking energy in his neural net. A fire lit in the silver mech’s chest and roiled through him until it sunk low in his tanks. He growled possessively, claws sliding up to curl at the armor of his bonded’s back as they both dropped to the berth. When his denta moved downward to nibble and bite the other’s neck cables, cerulean blue optics flickered, and his helm tipped backward as a long moan escaped him. Megatron rumbled appreciatively at the sound of it, feeling the Prime’s deft servos drift over his plating and dip in and out of the seams. When the Prime finds a particular seam beneath the plating of his waist and reaches in, he tweaks the wiring within, remembering how especially sensitive they were under scrutiny. A white hot flash of energy shoots through him when the right wire is pinched, and he bites down on the other’s shoulder with a low growl.

Their fumbling movements turn frenzied, begging for more friction and electricity. Optimus’s slow, rolling grinds coax Megatron to follow, somehow moving with him in a sort of sway of their hips as they still manage to stay upright. The Prime doesn’t lay back against the pillows of the berth, instead he scoots backward until his back is leaning against the wall, and lets his bonded lean over him that way, on his knees propped on either side of the Prime’s stretched legs. Megatron is past the point of questioning their position, not that he would’ve cared anyway. He’d occupied himself with working his way down, mapping out every inch of his bonded’s frame with kneading servos as Optimus grabbed him by his helm and pulled him back upwards, begging for another searing kiss. Their focus was lost; instinct guided them through the haze of pleasure as the heat between them intensified. Megatron lost track of his servos as they kneaded ever downwards, kneading at the Prime’s hips before sliding down and messaging his thighs.

Optimus shuddered at the feeling of claws over him, marking and possessing all over again. He knew where they were going, but he didn’t care. Not soon enough. They slid to the insides of his thighs, and suddenly their path felt familiar. They instantly turned from Megatron’s soothing servos to dark slithering tendrils reaching for his innermost vulnerability. Destroying his innocence, his sense of self.

“No one can hear you.”

Optimus gasped into the kiss with clear and wide optics, and he stilled rigidly.

Fear.

Wait!! Stop!!

Megatron was jolted out of his haze by the onslaught of panic that his spark feels from the bond. His optics blew wide at the realization it was from his bonded and he immediately stopped, pulling away from their kiss and releasing his grip before leaning back. He eyed his bonded actively, desperate to figure out what he’d done.

What’s wrong?! Are you alright?!

Snapping his legs back together and crossing them unconsciously, Optimus shuddered as he folded his arms insecurely over himself. He was unable to meet the optics of his bonded.

Flashback… Forgive me.

Recycling his optics at the Prime, Megatron shook his helm as he reached out a caring servo to rub his bonded’s arm.

Don’t say that, you have no reason to be sorry.

His red arm strut turned over and a black servo grasped the silver claws that held onto him. The silver mech squeezed them reassuringly as he leaned back on his knees.

I did not realize this might cause a flashback. Did they-

Megatron suddenly stilled as another realization chilled him, and his optics once again blew wide as his other arm strut flew forward to grasp both of his bonded’s servos.

What have they done to you?! Did they TAKE you in the labs?!

Horror. Abhorrence. Anger.

Optimus flinched at the reminder as well as the instant wave of overwhelming emotions. The silver mech grasped this a moment too late and toned them down with a deep vent, waiting patiently for an answer.

… Not in the way you’d expect.

He wanted to curl away and hide, feeling the lingering charge in his systems to be a mockery of what the captors had robbed him of. His bonded, however, stared at him with furrowed brows for a klik until he embraced the other with a loving, understanding field, and leaned forward to press a kiss against his forehelm.

Don’t hide from me, beloved.

His spark registered the meaning of the statement before his processor did, and the Prime finally looked up to see his bonded’s servo held between them turned backwards. It was a nearly useless ritual now, but an instinctual sense of relief quelled the panic he’d felt from the unexpected flashback. They joined servos and held on tight.

They took everything from us, and thought they won… They were wrong. They couldn’t keep us caged, nor could they kill us. I refuse to believe they took this from us too.

Cerulean blue optics stared at the determined glint of crimson red. He’s… he’s right. Nervousness prickled at his lines, but he focused on the feeling of silver claws in his digits instead. They don’t control us anymore… They don’t control me anymore.

Taking a deep vent, and repeating the phrase a couple more times, Optimus grounded himself and leaned back against the wall feeling a lot better than he did a couple kliks ago. He gave his bonded a small smile, which was returned in earnest before he pressed a kiss to black digits.

If you wish to stop for tonight and rest, we can. You know I will not hold it against you.

No, he wouldn’t. Because even if he didn’t know what the Prime had truly gone through, he wouldn’t hold it to be any better than what he’d gone through. They’d both suffered, and he knew there were still limits and breaking points. Optimus is ever grateful for the choice he is given…

Closer.

He steels himself as he makes his decision.

I want to be closer.

Tightening his grip on his bonded’s arm struts, he pulls him forward enough to leave him wobbling dangerously on his knees. With a gasp he falls forth against Optimus, yanking his arms out of the other’s grip to slam against the wall with a clang on either side of his helm. He stares at his bonded incredulously until the Prime leans forward to kiss him. As it deepens, they both relax.

Take me as far as you can.

Crimson optics watch him questioningly from how close they are, and he nods once against his forehelm. Megatron puts his knees back under him, taking his servos off the wall to cup his faceplates.

If you find you can’t handle it, beloved, tell me right away. Understand?

Optimus nods again, pressing against his bonded to feel more of the addictive friction they’d found before. The air around them is still brimming with electricity, and they find it is not hard to build up charge again. Megatron twines their servos together, a wordless reassurance that it was him and they were safe, as the other wanders over the other’s plating. It takes a few kliks, but once their core temperatures rise, it isn’t long before they roll their hips together at once, unconsciously asking for the same thing. The Prime’s whimper is met by the ex-warlord’s long groan. For the first time in eons, the silver mech lets his interface plating slide away, and his helm falls in the slightest with a hitch to his vents when the buzzing air hits his components. Optimus gasps when he feels a long, ridged spike against his thigh, and a full frame shudder travels over him. It feels so different from what those dark tendrils had felt like, but it’s so simultaneously familiar to him that it makes his spark pulse. And finally, in response to the other’s actions, his interface plating slides back at his command.

Megatron croons to his bonded joyfully, and Optimus’s shuddering optics blink back into a hazy focus as the free clawed servo glides down his chest to his abdominal plating and continues to the tip of where his interface plating slid away. His grasp on the silver mech’s servo tightens.

Be easy, my beloved. It’s just me. You’re safe.

The other’s spark comforts as it sends affection and devotion through their bond. Optimus’s helm droops and falls against the other’s shoulder, looking down between them to watch his bonded’s digits find their way lower. Wanting to watch. Wanting to know that it’s Megatron, and not the product of his own fears. Wanting to know that this was no dream, this was reality. The side of Megatron’s drooped helm bumps against his, and they unconsciously nuzzle each other as clawed digits pull down to gently prod at the Prime’s valve entrance. Their touch sends neural shocks up his spinal strut.

“Ooh…”

He moans, his optics offlining for a moment as his free servo grasps onto Megatron’s shoulder for stability, even if his lower back is leaned against the wall. The silver mech croons again, letting his digit tease and circle the entrance without dipping inside.

Feel good?

Optimus’s vents hitch when his lubricant protocols boot up, and slowly begins to drip from his valve, awakening sensors that had long been dormant and collecting on his bonded’s digit. The whine he releases is so high it’s almost a keen.

Yes!

Megatron pauses before slowly dipping a digit inside, rumbling his flight engines as he teases at his inner valve walls. Optimus stills, the sensation of it shocking his systems for a brief few nanoseconds. The digit is nothing like those dark, chilling, and airy tendrils that had penetrated him before. It’s warm, it’s familiar, and it’s solid. Completely and utterly solid. It takes his fear away immediately. His spark pulses in such relief that he sobs against Megatron.

They didn’t take this away.

He rocks his hips against the digit, craving more of that wonderful touch.

I am in control.

Please Megatron! More!

The fire in his tank fans hotter, and a wide smile perches itself on the silver mech’s faceplates as he inches the digit in further, curling it against the soft and liquidated inner surface. Optimus gasps again, moans clawing their way out of deep within his chest as his valve tingles and flutters against his bonded. Megatron gives him a moment to settle before then adding another digit, curiously thrusting up into him. In response, the Prime’s entire frame trembles, keening into the crook of the other’s shoulder and neck before rocking his hips again, wordlessly begging for it again.

Slowly, but surely, the silver mech works his bonded’s valve open, instinctively stroking nodes and crooning as he stretches the soft walls within. Optimus can’t stop shaking, the feeling of such immense pleasure that’s become so foreign to him after eons of pain and fear that it overwhelms him, and he clings to Megatron as the heat building in his tanks suddenly erupts within him. It rocks his entire perspective of the world, and he screams into the other’s shoulder as lubricant rushes out of his valve and static electricity runs over his armor. Megatron groans as the tiny jolts of electricity lick at his plating, coaxing his bonded through the tremendous overload he was going through with gentle thrusts and coos. After a long klik, the Prime shudders a sigh and goes limp, falling forward against his bonded with a quiet moan. Megatron smiles faintly, turning to kiss at the other’s helm.

Are you alright?

His limbs feel weak and heavy, and the heated fire that just coursed through him becomes a soothing after-warmth. These feelings, so drastically contrasted from the jagged, frigid blade of fear he’d become used to, overpower him. He drowns in this sea of returning love, the sheer force of it drawing coolant tears from his optics.

… I… I need a moment.

Megatron feels how suddenly overwhelmed his bonded is, and nods against him, simply holding him close as he cries. Fire still courses through his energon, still wells in the pit of his tanks, but he redirects his energy to his spark, letting the tendrils caress the other quivering being of light beside it. He understands this feeling, he knows if they take the next step, he’ll be next to come so undone. A pang of fear and a wave of anticipation battle for domination, both so uncontrollable he struggles to push them away from his recovering bonded. They had to take this at a reasonable pace. Their frames weren’t invincible, neither were their sparks as strong. Healing took time, and this was just another part of it.

Neither of them counted the kliks that passed before the coolant tears stopped flowing from cerulean blue optics, his body’s tremors fading as he pressed against the silver mech a little more. Megatron took the moment to run a servo up and down the other’s side, pausing when he suddenly felt more heat emanating from the other’s interface array. He let his servo drift over the other’s thigh, ghosting over the valve entrance, and he felt it clench. The body that belonged to it writhed and groaned, servos clasping harder to his shoulders. Surprise flashed through his field and he pulled back slightly to look directly at the Prime. Optimus stared up at him with burning optics, the side of his lip plates pulling up into a crooked smile. Without a word, he nodded once, signaling to the other that he was ready to continue.

The gesture made Megatron stiffen, and the pang of fear rode through him once again and it rendered him blank. For a moment he completely forgot what to do next. His expression would’ve been humorous had Optimus felt like laughing. Instead he guided him into it, leaning up to press a longing kiss to the other’s intake. He then shifted over towards the head of the berth, leaning back and pulling his bonded over him. It was the sensation of falling that awoke Megatron from his daze, and he caught himself just before their frames slammed together. He growled into the kiss, taking back the control Optimus easily gave and reaching down to spread the other’s legs. Feeling the lubricant drip down the other’s legs, his hardened spike made its presence known, and they both shuddered when it rubbed against the other’s entrance.

There was no turning back now.

When the silver mech finally pushed in, both of their sparks stopped. Their air rushed from their intakes and they both took in struggling gasps, unable to think from the onslaught of fire and ecstasy that was flooding their frames. When they moved, instinct took over, and they moved in tandem. Slowly and steady at first, refamiliarizing themselves with the intimate act they hadn’t played in so long. When the heat in their tanks needed more fire, they silently asked for more. Words were lost, traded for the keens and growls and cries that were torn from their vocalizers. Their friction built. Faster, harder, closer! Rational thought was thrown to the wind. They forgot reality and chased their building overloads, running in place to find that grey area where everything blurred and nothing else mattered but each other.

Their sparks, like stars, spun in their casings, revolving around each other on either side of the bond like stars. Closer, closer, ever closer. They were strings pulled taunt. Neither of them could last.

Optimus was the first to relent to the spark that called him. His chest plates snapped open, and the bright blue glow of his spark glowed over both of them. Megatron’s movements slowed to a stop, and open shock coursed through the bond as he stared down at the spark he hadn’t seen in eons. His digits reached up to trace the edge of the Matrix around it, the artifact old and weathered, crystal gone dull. He looked back up at his bonded, his gaze questioning.

You… you want this?

The sudden stillness brought the Prime back to reality, and he looked down at his opened chest plates. It was dark, and his spark offered the only light in the room beside Megatron’s optics. Fear coursed through his field before he could stop it, but it wasn’t from any flashback of the labs or the syringes that had been stabbed into his chest. No, it was fear of the truth that had yet to be revealed between them.

So many questions still circled them. Neither of them could stand to be apart, yet too many experiences stood between them.

Renewing their bond meant tearing open each and every experience they’d gone through in the catacombs and showing it to each other.

The thought terrified them both.

Sensing the slowly building terror between them, Megatron began to recede, ready to respectfully end their coupling for the sake of their healing states of mind.

But Optimus grabbed his arm strut, unwilling to let him retreat.

Megatron stilled. They watched each other cautiously, searching each other’s optics for something they weren’t even aware of. Optimus grounded himself once again with the sight of those familiar red optics and tightened his grip on the other.

… We shouldn’t have to bear what we faced alone.

The silver mech slowly recycled his optics. Beneath him, though weakened and fearful, Optimus Prime showed more strength in the words he spoke then he’d been able to show since their capture.

I am afraid of what will happen… But you are my bonded, Megatronus. If no one else, I want you to know.

Optics lowering to the other’s open, glowing spark, the silver mech felt trepidation creeping up his spinal strut. But he had the feeling Optimus had much more to be afraid of with what he had to show, and the realization awed him as much as it terrified him.

It rendered him momentarily mute. But his chest plates opened, revealing his tainted purple spark. Optimus’s optics widened at the action.

No more secrets, Orion… I love you.

The Prime exhaled shakily, and he pushed love over their bond. Crimson red clashed with cerulean blue. And finally, the revolving stars melded into one another.

They collided in a magnificent catastrophe, and chaos ensued.

Both pairs of optics went white as memories and experiences were traded through the bond, crashing and bumping into each other as they went. Their aged and scarred frames were forgotten, traded for an existence that only encompassed the energy of their souls. As blue light once purified by Primus melted into purple light tainted by Unicron, their sense of selves turned into one being, pulling them into a mold where their bond had been forged, would shatter, and would soon be rebuilt. Like the power of a supernova, their energy raced and whirled with such tremendous force, the fear and physical pain behind the memories they had to share powering it. Optimus felt his spark wither as he was exposed to the fiery pits of the catacombs. The acid hoses stemming from every which way. The electrical prods that hovered and stabbed deep into protoform. The raging heat that melted limbs and burned flesh into charcoaled meat. The guards that screeched, shrieked, and ordered every weary prisoner to trudge over the cliffs and around the fires. The monsters that reduced the Lord of the Decepticons to a slave who crawled on the brink of death.

Megatron’s experience was very different. He felt the world go dark around him, firstly coming to him in short blurry flashes that knocked the air from his vents. When these flashes came clearer and grew longer, he was walked into the labs beyond the rocks he’d only ever seen from outside. He felt the burn of chemicals sterilizing his armor to the point that bleached steam rose from heated plating. He felt the straps of a rolling table over each limb pinning him down, too tight to struggle against. Nausea encompassed him as it rolled down long white hallways, bright and blank with rooms locked shut on either side. He glimpsed the lab rooms, cluttered and bustling with pale-faced aliens and surgical instruments that made his tank drop to the floor. Shock and inconceivable terror raced through him as chest plates were forced open and sharp needles injected unidentifiable chemicals into the plasma. The world went dark again, and he stood in the sudden quiet, nervous and confused. But then, visions filled his processor, and they pushed him off an unseen edge. Spiraling, careening, falling… without knowing if he’d ever hit the ground.

“YOU KILLED US!”

“WHY OPTIMUS?! WHY?!”

“NO ONE CAN HEAR YOU—”

“CYBERTRON IS DEAD.”

“YOU ARE THE LAST.”

“YOU THOUGHT I LOVED YOU, PRIME?!”

“RUN, BELOVED!!”

Voices and screams tore at his audials, his worst fears happened to him all at once. Too much panic overloaded his systems at once as he realized that Optimus’s spark was tearing itself apart. His processor was fritzing, charge flowing backwards, disabling all coherent thought. It was too much. Too much. TOO MUCH.

Megatron’s physical scream was so loud it shook the walls and cracked the glass of their window.

Chapter Text

The sun that normally shone through their window was traded for cloudy skies and torrents of rain. It pounded against the glass, blurring the city outside their living space. Wind carried the rain in every direction, slanting one way then the other and back again. It was dreary and dark, with the light above their helms offering the only reprieve from it.

Day or night. Neither of them knew which to be afraid of anymore.

Megatron?

The silver mech sat on the berth, back against the wall. He stared out the window silently, absently watching the rain and the grey skies. He’d been silent since dawn, so lost in his own thoughts that he paid no attention to his bonded since regaining consciousness from the night before.

… Megatronus?

Optimus knew why. He understood why. He’d been silent for eons. But that did not stop the trepidation and worry from flooding his spark as the groons passed. Now, he could wait no longer. Slowly, Optimus crawled towards him, inching closer as soft croaks came from his vocalizer.

… Megatronus, speak to me. Look at me. Please.

For a klik, he received no response. Megatron remained lost in his thoughts. Optimus persisted, nudging against the other spark and desperately whining for him to answer. He could not handle quiet from his loud and outspoken bonded. It was unthinkable.

Then, in a sudden instant, the ex-warlord’s helm turned towards him. The Prime’s spark twisted at the ghost of agony he saw behind crimson optics. He’d seen the truth, and with the truth came the torture. Habitually, Optimus raised a servo without thinking, flipping it between them so the back of it faced his bonded. Megatron’s optics drifted down to it, staring at it without reaction. With every second that passed, the Prime felt something barbed and painful coil around his spark at his bonded’s lack of response.

Was this how you felt when I lost my mind?

Something warm and steady met the back of his servo. Optimus’s optics widened, and he looked up to see that his bonded had finally responded, having lifted the back of his own servo against his to begin their ritual. Without a word, their servos moved simultaneously, rolling against each other to flip and connect by each digit, eventually ending up intertwined between them. Relief flooded through him for a moment before he noticed how emotionally distant he remained, and his optics fell. The other’s spark barely responded to his touches, barely acknowledged him. Regret hung heavy in his field as he looked away. He knew why.

Megatron I… I’m sorry.

His spark pulled away. Suddenly he couldn’t bear to face his bonded.

I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you—

He cut himself off. The damage was done. Mentioning it would only make matters worse.

Releasing a shaky sigh, he turned away, intent on leaving the berth to give the silver mech space.

“Don’t.”

The dark snarl reached his audials. He halted in place. The servo entwined with his grasped him tightly. Optimus turned around with wide optics. Megatron’s red optics were narrow, and his lip plated had lifted into sneer.

“W-What?”

He barely croaked. The ex-warlord’s sneer turned more venomous, and his field slowly spread around him.

RAGE. HATRED.

It was so powerful that Optimus flinched.

“Don’t you dare apologize.”

The silver mech’s clawed servo curled tighter over his, the grip becoming borderline painful. Optimus recycled his optics, confusion and nervousness dotting his field.

“I… I don’t understand—”

Megatron barked a sharp growl. It silenced him immediately.

“If you apologize anymore for the torture that was inflicted upon you, so help me Unicron, I will go insane!!”

RAGE. HATRED.

The Prime didn’t know when, but somewhere in that statement Megatron had closed in on him, looming over him with all the ferocity of an escaped and ravenous beast. All he could do was lean backwards, unable to crawl away with his servo trapped in the other’s grasp. Fear began to grip his spark as shock hung over his processor. This was the angriest he’d seen Megatron in a long time. What was happening? What did he do wrong?

“M-Megatron—Wha-?”

He cried out when the silver mech’s grip became too painful and his violent field swarmed him all at once.

“If anyone deserves to be sorry… If ANYONE deserves to be groveling on their knees spitting apologies and internal fluids as they beg for mercy, it would be our Primus-forsaken CAPTORS!!”

Megatron’s free servo fisted and slammed down beside the Prime’s helm. Optimus was panicking. The words his bonded spoke and his actions made no sense. Coolant began to creep into his optics as he fell backwards onto the berth, at the complete mercy of the wrathful mech above him who looked ready to kill.

RAGE. HATRED.

“—And so help me, if they should cross my path before my spark fades, I WILL TEAR THEM ALL APART LIMB BY BROKEN LIMB UNTIL THEIR FLUIDS CREATE AN OCEAN TO BURY THEIR ROTTING CORPSES!! I DON’T CARE WHAT IT TAKES!!”

RAGE. HATRED.

PANIC.

“Megatronus!! Please stop!!”

He wailed desperately. The sound of it seemed to be what finally reached the silver mech. He froze, the omens of death roared from his intake falling away. They left his frame hot and heaving, his narrowed glaring optics suddenly recycling as they regained focus on reality. Megatron’s vision found Optimus beneath him, his own frame heaving and shaking from fear and tears staining the faceplates underneath cerulean blue optics.

What… What did I do?

The moment his grip on the other’s servo loosened, Optimus wrenched himself out of it. Megatron nearly flew backwards as the Prime scrambled away from him, stumbling backwards off the berth and backpedaling into the sink. Terrified blue optics stayed locked on him. Something frigid encased his spark.

Unicron’s Pit, no…

Slowly, the ex-warlord raised his servos, pushing himself off the berth as guilt flooded his field.

“Optimus…”

His bonded gripped the sink behind him, flinching backward. He halted, his helm lowering apologetically as the tendrils of his spark reached out through the bond carefully.

“Optimus, I’m sorry—I… Did I hurt you?”

The Prime’s servos came away from the sink, and he pulled them close to his chest as the digits of his right servo rubbed over the sharp dents now imprinted into his left. Megatron’s tank dropped and his shoulders stiffened.

You fraggin’ IDIOT!!

“Primus… Sweetspark, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

He took a small step forward. Optimus didn’t move away. He took whatever progress he could get. The Prime rubbed at his servo again before speaking quietly.

“… Are you… Are you angry with me?”

The silver mech’s optics widened and he adamantly shook his helm.

“Pits no! None of this is your fault!”

Tension in the Prime’s frame seemed to dissipate at his response. But he didn’t move any closer.

“Then why did you…?”

Megatron knew the rest of the question without him needing to say it. He sighed, running a servo over his faceplates wearily.

“Your… experiences in the catacombs. They’ve been hovering over my processor since awakening. You know at this point how I react when something threatens you.”

Optimus slowly nodded once. He did know. Whenever something had posed a threat to Orion before the war, Megatronus’s first reaction had always been anger. His first instinct had been to protect. Seeing something like the effects of the labs on Orion would’ve driven Megatronus insane.

Well, weren’t they both already?

Megatron sighed again, looking back up at his bonded.

“I should never have let myself take that anger out on you. I am truly sorry, Optimus.”

Finally, the tendrils of the Prime’s spark reached back to wrap around his. Thankful, he held him tight. Physically Optimus sighed, walking back to the berth and sitting on the edge of it. Megatron sat next to him, unsure how act next. Silence laced itself between them before Optimus broke it.

“… I shouldn’t have made us bind sparks last cycle. We weren’t ready for it.”

He lamented, burying his faceplates in his servos. Megatron blinked, turning to him as he processed the statement. Carefully, he reached out, placing a tender servo on the other’s thigh.

“What’s done is done, Optimus. We can’t take it back.”

When he began to rub up and down the silver leg strut, he finally regained the full attention of his bonded, who dropped his servos into his lap and turned to him. The silver mech lifted his lip plates in a half-sparked smile.

“If it means anything, I wouldn’t take it back even if I could. I’d rather endure it by your side than without you and never know the truth.”

Optimus huffed lightly, sharing his small smile. After a moment’s hesitation, he tentatively leaned into his bonded’s side, gathering one of his knees to his chest while the other dangled off the berth. Megatron’s smile widened and he wrapped an arm around him. Leaning over to press a kiss to the top of his helm, both pairs of optics closed in tandem and they vented simultaneously. The silver mech’s helm rested behind the audial antennae of his bonded, and this time they let the silence dangle between them without interruption.

Chapter Text

This cannot wait. We need to discuss it immediately.

Ratchet’s voice, though the epitome of professionalism, sounded strained. It rubbed at him the wrong way.

“Has the footage been wiped off the recording?”

Where there usually would’ve been an indignant huff, there wasn’t even a silent pause. Ratchet pressed on without a quip, nonverbally expressing the concerning turn of the situation.

Yes. It has been transferred to my personal files. No one will know of it unless they physically hack my processor.

Optimus nodded as the CMO affirmed it over the link.

“And none of this has been spoken of to anyone?”

This time, there was a slight, untimely pause. Ratchet wasn’t one to hesitate, not like this. What rubbed at him the wrong way suddenly became a vice around his internal wiring.

Well…

“You wished to speak with me, Optimus?”

The Prime turned quickly from where he stood looking out the window of his office, finding their city’s resident psychologist standing in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard the other bot enter. I must be getting rusty after all this time working at a desk, he thought humorlessly. Silently regaining composure, he nodded once.

“Yes, I did, Rung. Please have a seat while I finish this call.”

Politely shutting the door behind him, the orange bot stepped up to the chair on the other side of the leader’s desk, lowering himself into it and habitually crossing one leg over the other. Optimus looked away back to the window.

“Ratchet, Rung has just arrived. I will need to table this conversation for later continuation.”

Seemingly taking heed of the plead for a pause between the lines, the CMO on the other side of the link grunted but relented.

I better receive a ping as soon as your meeting’s over!

Fighting the urge to roll his optics fondly at the medic, he confirmed.

“Acknowledged. Until later.”

Lifting his digits to his audial, he cut off the link and finally pulled away from the window overlooking the city. The Prime then took his seat across from the psychologist, resting his elbows on the surface between the datapads he’d been trying to organize into something resembling order. Easier said than done when every time Prowl walked through the door with the next stack of reports, all progress was lost to the wind.

“Thank you for your patience, Rung. I wanted to speak with you about our newest arrivals currently residing in the maximum security facility, Orion and Tron.”

Rung recycled his optics, shifting in his seat and resting his arms on his thigh struts. Optimus sighed lightly, fighting off the casual shrug he seemed lately to be taking on from Bumblebee.

“How is their recovery process?”

The psychologist processed the question before his lip plates curled up into something resembling a grin.

“All factors considered their recovery process is going fairly well. From what I’ve seen, they interact well with other bots, and are improving in their anxiety-reduction techniques.”

Looking like he was about to speak further the Prime was mutely surprised when the orange bot sighed lightly, and his posture fell in the slightest. Something sad flashed over his optics.

“… Though I am sorry to say, some progress seems to have been lost when I observed them yesterday.”

Optimus’s metal brows furrowed and his spark unconsciously clenched. He leaned forward in his seat, folding his servos together.

“What happened?”

Slowly, Rung spoke once more.

“It is my understanding that they shared sparks the cycle before. It was the first time they were able to do so in eons. Thus, all memories of their captivity were exchanged and processed again.”

Primus Almighty.

This time his spark seized.

“… What were the side effects of their actions, Rung?”

The psychologist hesitated again before answering.

“Orion was emotionally unstable and withdrawn when I visited. He spoke only twice, and when he did the attempt was halted by fits of crying. Any attempts to control it held no improvement.”

Uncharacteristically, Rung’s owlish optics broke away from the contact they held with the Prime, resting on the servos hung in his lap. It wasn’t often that the psychologist emotionally invested himself in the well-being of his patients, so much so that a step back in their recovery would bother him so. Such actions unnerved the Prime as well as astounded him.

“… It’s Tron’s behavioral changes that I am more troubled with. His recitation of the actions that occurred the cycle after their bonding showed a sudden increase in negative behaviors stemming from the original diagnosis of BPD.”

The Prime’s shoulders straightened. Visions of the silver mech danced behind his optics, his shining silver armor curled and sharp. Red, familiar optics… He spoke before daring to let that mech dig into the freshly stitched wounds of his spark.

“What were these negative behaviors?”

The question was out before logical thought could catch up, and he immediately regretted it. Optimus fought back a flinch, apprehension creeping up his spinal strut as he wondered if he even wanted to know the answer. Rung took no notice to it, giving him what he asked anyway.

“Extended periods of apathy towards reality, and uncontrollable fits of anger taken out on his bonded. Orion took a small injury the first fit, I had to call for Ratchet’s aid in repairs.”

His voice remained steady even if his optics were distant. The answer was professional; the ideas were cold and calculated. The implications brought to mind a mech that stalked his subconscious dreams, cannon charged, and dermas shown through a twisted, cackling grin. The Prime shut his optics, servo curling into itself on the desk before emotions could set in and he let himself go anymore than was absolutely necessary. Taking a deep ventilation of air to clear his processor, he reopened his optics to take in the details of the orange bot sitting before him.

“Is he aware of these changes?”

Finally, the psychologist looked up once more. What took the Prime off guard is the immediate nod before a vocalized answer.

“He is… I believe he is more afraid of them than Orion is. His observed behavior showed high precautions taken to regulate his temper. He has also asked for therapeutic techniques geared towards anger management in the next few sessions. Since then I have been updating their treatment plan to meet these new requests.”

Optimus recycled his optics. The mech that stalked his subconscious fell away into the background at once, his disappearance so sudden it was as shocking to him as each word that fell from Rung’s lip plates. The way this mech acted outside of his symptoms, most likely to protect his bonded from himself… It was so humble and caring, so drastically different from that similar demon that haunted him it rendered him unable to properly react for a good fifteen nanoseconds. He momentarily forgot his own reason as to why he’d called Rung here in the first place. But eventually, the Matrix hummed in his chest, setting his logic circuits back on track and reminding the Prime of the intent for this visit. With that, he nodded once in acknowledgement of the psychologist’s statement, and geared himself in continuation of the conversation.

“Are you able to conclude at this point if they will be able to recover from this setback?”

Rung looked as if he wanted to answer, but then paused, his optics wandering in front of him as if searching for the next answer. One of his servos came up to tap at his lip plates as he did so, until he sighed shortly, his shoulders moving in something resembling a small shrug.

“… I cannot say, Optimus. All signs show that their symptoms should dramatically worsen from here.”

The side of his lip plates lifted once again into a miniscule grin. Small, but still present. A tiny gleam of hope that Rung, like Ratchet, showed for every patient he’d ever tended to.

“But their collective strength and resilience has proved me wrong more than once. From this point, I believe the best course of action would be to monitor their statuses and continue sessions until they can prove to be able to handle independently living in the city.”

Optimus liked the presence of that hope. It was enough to pull him out of his melancholy and return the grin. He folded his servos in front of him, taking back his “Primely pose,” as Bumblebee once called it.

“I trust your judgement, Rung, and thus approve your next course of action.”

The psychologist’s grin widened, and his helm dipped in gratitude.

“Thank you, Optimus.”

When he lifted it once again, the psychologist was surprised to see a small glint of something present in the leader’s optics, accompanying the curl his lip plates had taken. Analyzation told Rung it was something in between deviousness and excitement.

“Though I’d advise you to keep in mind that available housing can only be kept open for so long before other newcomers arrive to fill them.”

Available housing? Rung blinked at the sudden change in conversation. It threw him off, something not many bots were able to do in the present.

“I beg your pardon?”

It was then that Optimus leaned back and pulled out one of the drawers in his desk, optics quickly scanning as his digits walked through files of datapads stored within. After a couple nanoseconds, his digits paused on one and his optics flashed. The Prime picked up the datapad, clicking on the screen before sliding it to the other side of the desk towards Rung.

“The high officials of the city and I have approved their residence here. They will simply have to pick their living space when the time comes. I’d advise soon rather than later, it’s easier to reserve than to plan another building site.”

Rung’s optics cycled wide. He reached out to the datapad that was slid to him, picking it up to find that it was the file of official documents stating their newly legalized residence. Each individual signature at the bottom, including Prowl, Ultra Magnus, and Starscream told the psychologist that Optimus had each official personally sign it. His helm spun on an axis as he wondered how many hoops the Prime had to jump through to get this done as quickly as he had. Most of the time they were lucky if this took less than an Earth year. This time, it had been done in the span of a couple weeks.

Well, at least now he didn’t have to wonder if the Prime had a soft spot for their newest arrivals anymore.

He smiled gratefully at the Prime, taking a snapshot of the document before pushing it back to him.

“This is wonderful news, Optimus. I know it’ll lift their spirits greatly to hear it. I’ll have to gather pictures of the living spaces and apartments still available to show them.”

Optimus took the document back and replaced it in the drawer, sliding it closed before leaning a bit on his forearm struts with a raised metal brow.

“Might I suggest getting in touch with Soundwave? I’m sure he has some snapshots already. It is my understanding that he enjoys using graphic art techniques to compile the pictures and snapshots into catalogues. With a little persuasion, you might be able to get one from him.”

Tilting his helm at the suggestion, Rung thought it over briefly before nodding. It wasn’t a bad idea, after all. Art was sometimes the best form of therapy one could receive, and Soundwave had proved after a while of practice to be a master of it in all forms. Drawing, crafts, animation, even music. He smiled, an idea stemming in his processor for his most recent patients as he thought of the spymaster.

“I will contact him right away then.”

With that, the Prime nodded to the psychologist, happy to have ended this conversation on a better note.

“Very good, Rung. You are dismissed.”

Rung stood from the chair in front of the leader’s desk, heading back towards the door and accessing the spymaster’s comm link code in the security and communications sector building. However, just as the door slid open he paused, briefly turning to look back at the Prime. Something undistinguishably solemn flashed over his optics.

“Were you speaking to Ratchet about the surveillance footage?”

He asked quietly. The Prime’s optics widened, and his shoulders fell, as if an unseen weight pushed them down. Ratchet’s hesitation… It clicked, and he realized too late that there was a third bot who knew about it… Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised it was Rung. Ratchet may be his oldest friend, but he was not one to keep secrets from an expert in psychology if it was needed. It was most likely that he’d gone to Rung after gathering the past few recordings. Control. His field pressed into itself even tighter, careful to not let anything go. Control. He met the psychologist’s optics evenly.

“Yes. We plan to continue the discussion.”

Something unspoken passed between them as the statement hung in the air. Optimus didn’t know what it was, and he hoped it wouldn’t betray any inner turmoil that came with it. But from the way Rung’s optics softened in the slightest, the Prime guessed that Rung knew it before he did. He nodded one more time, and without a word, exited the leader’s office.

Primus… If you’re there, grant me the strength to stay sane.

Chapter Text

Megatron remembered music from his time on his universe’s planet Earth.

Granted, his knowledge of it was not extensive by any means. After originally arriving there after Cybertron’s destruction, he’d familiarized himself with the planet enough to know what he could use to his advantage. Geographical locations, weather currents and patterns, rotation and orbital patterns of the nearest star and the planet’s moon, the creatures that inhabited it, their level of danger to his soldiers… that was part of the list at least. But after distinguishing humans as a mere annoyance rather than a threat to his goals, he didn’t delve any further into their cultures.

His vehicons and eradicons, however, did.

What he remembered well about Earth music is how much of what remained of his army on the Nemesis seemed to enjoy it. More than once he recalled stalking the halls during their groons off-duty, and suddenly hearing strangely rhythmized sounds echoing from their living spaces. Now that he thought about it, the ex-warlord was surprised he’d never stormed in and destroyed the datapads which played the sounds. The high-pitched pop music they favored above all had annoyed him enough, after all. Knockout and Breakdown had also enjoyed music, if his memory files recalled correctly. The quiet nature of the ship’s medical bay was occasionally broken by a loud, screechy and armor-shaking kind of music. That had irked him to no end, but for the sake of having a medic on board, he endured. Perhaps in the end, it was Soundwave’s influence that always stopped him. Spymaster or not, Megatron had known him long enough to rightfully say he was not as sneaky as he thought he was. Sometimes, on the rare occasion that the bridge of the Nemesis was empty, the silver mech remembered catching him listening to a hypnotic sort of techno music the humans had recently created. Laserbeak, his symbiote, would usually glide around the room, spinning and twirling to the rhythm.

The Autobots, he eventually learned, also enjoyed Earth music.

He shouldn’t have been so surprised when he did acquire this fact. With human charges to protect, it was only a matter of time before their cultures eventually bled into one another. The first example of this came to his attention merely a few cycles after their official truce was declared. He and Optimus had been walking through the bridge into the Autobot base, discussing distribution of energon rations, when his audials were blown out by the same loud and screechy music his medic listened to. Both leaders had flinched, but he’d raised his cannon without a second thought, instinctually facing his fear. What he found was the human called Miko standing in between two human-sized speakers, strumming an electric guitar, and the Autobot called Bulkhead erratically dancing beside her. Needless to say, that turned into a rather awkward moment of tension. Later on, after listening to a lecture from the old Autobot medic about the volume of their entertainment, Optimus pulled him aside to explain that music was a means of personal expression among humans, one that he allowed his team to indulge in because they enjoyed it as well.

By no means would he ever tell that his jaw dropped when the Prime admitted to him that he also listened to music on patrol.

Megatron might not have ever thought much about music again, if Rung had never mentioned it two sessions after he and Optimus shared sparks. Music? As a form of therapy? He’d nearly laughed at that too. But after almost crushing his bonded’s servo in a fit of anger, he knew he had no right to laugh at any of Rung’s suggestions, nor could he refuse anything he suggested from this point on. Optimus, meanwhile, was more than willing to try. In fact, he was rather joyful at the reminder of music, and quick to reestablish his processor’s connection with satellite internet and radio waves. From there, Rung made the point that most bots who used this type of therapy usually found better luck with the quiet, softer types of music. But then again, every bot was different, therefore he instructed the two of them to find what they liked and use it.

So they did.

Now, after having refamiliarized himself with it, the silver mech couldn’t say that music was the solution to his mental instability. Not directly. But it wasn’t useless. After a bit of searching, trial and error, he strangely found himself drawn to classical ballads. Their voiceless harmony and smooth rhythm had a tendency to lift his mood, especially on the cycles that he found himself haunted by Optimus’s memories. His own anxieties, on the other hand, they were a bit harder to find a match for. Eventually though, he more or less stumbled onto folk music, a genre made up to the beat of stone age drums and the growl of Viking chants that pulled him back into the eons he lived as a gladiator. It was almost scary how quickly these human voices brought him once more to the arena, to become a young gladiator who reached for the sky and never looked down. To remember having feared nothing and no one, except to lose the young, shining archivist he would’ve given the sun and stars to… Megatron wouldn’t easily admit how long his folk music playlist had become. Nor how calm he felt after listening to it. His bonded never said anything about it, only letting a trickle of amusement dwindle in their bond.

Optimus was not about to make any secret out of how much music aided him. Like himself, the Prime came to enjoy classical ballads. The nights cycles when recharge evaded them, they spent watching recorded performances of orchestras or swapping the names of composers whose pieces they enjoyed. Just recently, his bonded had recommended Beethoven. The silver mech was still trying to figure out how he’d never found his music until then. Unlike him, however, Optimus found himself drawn to the genres of theatrical music, opera, and older country. When Megatron had asked why theatre, his beloved responded that it reminded him of the Iaconian festivals where Orion had watched bots act out the oldest legends of their archives. The memories they traded that night cycle were some of the most pleasant they’d recalled in a long time.

When the Prime listened to music, like Megatron, he was able to let his conscious awareness of reality slip away. Other times, it let him focus without anxiety clawing at his spark. He relaxed much quicker, his attacks ebbed away without notice. On rare occasions, triggers were even wholly acknowledged and ignored while he listened to music. It completely astounded the silver mech, who now knew the complete hell his bonded had gone through compared to him and could yet let it all fall away like a distant dream.

The best times he’d found were moments like now, when Optimus let the world fade into the background, and let himself go.

Megatron sat back on the berth, leaning against the wall next to the window. His arms were wrapped loosely around the one knee drawn up to his chest plates, and his optics rested upon the other bot in their living space. Optimus gazed down at his datapad, likely still looking at the catalogue of living space snapshots Rung had provided them the cycle before. His long, lean frame swayed slowly and smoothly from side to side. His lip plates were pulled up into a small, subconscious smile, and his optics shone with an expression that appeared whenever he listened to one of his favorite musical pieces. His field seemed to flicker between concentration and leisure. Megatron watched as his beloved stood in the afternoon sun’s rays. Gleaming, elegant, handsome, and never any less magnificent than he’d ever been. Something peaceful and content washed over the ex-warlord’s spark in that moment.

They soon would have to make a decision on a living space, he knew, but he didn’t care to think about it now. Not while their sparks were absent of fear, and not while the being in front of him was the strongest remedy to his healing wounds.

Guided by the pull in his spark, the silver mech pushed himself off the wall, crawling off the berth and rising to his peds. Slowly, he crept towards the Prime, coming up behind him. His field was the first to initiate contact between them, curious and warm. In response, his bonded’s field spread and weaved itself into his, pulling them together and silently asking for physical contact.

Optimus continued to sway as he felt the sturdy arm struts of his bonded slide around his waist. A long, happy purr rolled from his intake as he leaned back against Megatron’s frame, pulling his gaze from the datapad in his servos to lean his helm back against the other’s chest, turning it into his neck plating. One of the clawed servos on his abdomen pulled away to grasp at the datapad, one of the digits clicking the top to turn it off, and promptly throwing it back on the berth behind them. The Prime paid it no mind, letting his servos drop to hold onto the claws that curled tighter around him.

What are you listening to, my beloved?

Megatron’s helm lowered to nuzzle at his, and his frame thrummed as his flight engines purred. The Prime sighed lightly, shifting upwards to press their helms together. When they made physical contact, Megatron uplinked to his bonded’s internet connection. He waited no longer before a soft, catchy melody echoed in his processor and evaded the quiet of their living space.

“I've spent my life looking for you.
And finding my way wasn't easy to do.
But I knew there was you all the while.
And it's been worth every mile.”

He huffed, amusement trickling down the tunnel of their bond. Optimus simply crooned, knowing that deep down in his spark and against his better judgement, the silver mech liked this song too. It was musical pieces like this which were the reason his Prime liked the country genre. The beautiful, tender nature of a song that told a love story was both hypnotic and soothing, a sweet reminder of the light that shined between Megatronus and Orion Pax, and still shined between Megatron and Optimus Prime.

“So lay down beside me.
Love me and hide me,
And kiss all the hurting
Of this world away.”

John Waite’s voice held a certain truthful substance to it, an old-fashioned crisp that Megatron couldn’t help but admire. That much he would admit. The rest was up for interpretation. And when he thought about it, he did like the lyrics. As a public speaker who once drafted many speeches to persuade the public, he could appreciate the careful craft of word when he heard it.

“Hold me so close
That I feel your heart beat,
And don't ever wander away.”

Optimus caught him dwelling on the words over the bond, his silver frame starting to sway with the Prime’s. He did nothing more than chuckle lightly when his bonded grumbled, cooing and turning around in his arms to press into the mech he’d endured too many eons of agony with.

“Mornings and evenings all were the same.
I heard no music, till I heard your name.
I knew when I saw you smile,
And now I can rest for a while.”

As Alison Krauss’s voice joined in for the next verse, the silver mech lifted his helm to glance down at his bonded. Her sweet, gentle tone wisped against their audials as Optimus nuzzled into his chest plates, his field comfortable and at peace. His spark pulsed, and he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his faceplates. His servos stroked the other’s spinal strut, closing the distance between their frames. Optimus reached up to wrap his arms around the other’s neck strut, helm resting just above the silver mech’s spark chamber in his chest.

“So lay down beside me.
Love me and hide me,
And kiss all the hurting
Of this world away.”

The singers joined together, their voices combining into a revolving harmony, balancing each other among the soft accompaniment of the instruments. With them, the couple swayed, feeling themselves drift into an awareness only composed of each other. As their love flooded each end of the bond, spilling over to wash away their fears and regrets, Megatron knew one thing was for certain. Music was probably one of the best suggestions Rung had made so far. After all, it seemed to have a use for a pair of sparks that continually revolved around each other, dancing with joined forces on the edge of eternity.

“Hold me so close
That I feel your heart beat,
And don't ever wander away.”

*

The psychologist walked down the hallway, datapad with pre-recorded notes tucked in his servo. The walk was familiar to him by now with three patients requiring his services currently occupying the living spaces at the end. Without a second thought he came to the last door on the right, entering the access code into the keypad to right of the latch. After a moment, it dinged in approval of the code, the latch to the first door sliding back. He opened it, stepping through and closing it behind him to let it latch once more.

When he turned to the second door, he found the bright green optics of his patient already on him. Rung smiled, waving to him as he entered the second code to unlatch the next door. When it opened, the bot inside stepped out of the way to let him in, but immediately returned to stand in front of the door as it closed behind him. Rung paid it no mind, lifting the datapad in his servo to click it on.

“Good evening, my friend. How are you today?”

He asked politely, bringing up the notes he’d taken last session for this one. When he received no answer after a few nanoseconds, a pinprick of confusion dotted his field. Usually, his patient answered without hesitation. He looked up to find that the bot was still staring out the window in the front door, pointing right across the hall through the set of windows into the other living space.

Curiously, he stepped up beside his patient, peering out the glass to see what had his attention. What he saw made his spark still in his casing. Through the windows of the other living space, he could see Orion and Tron. Wrapped in each other’s embrace, their frames swayed together as if to a slow, heart-felt melody. If he looked close enough, he could see Tron’s servos caressing his bonded’s back. He could see Orion’s serene expression from where his helm lay on the other’s chest. It was a picture of true bliss and love, something that made the psychologist’s spark pulse.

“They’re so sweet together.”

Rung glanced over at his patient, who watched the couple dance with bright optics, his field tranquil and happy for the moment.

“Like the bots in those pretty romance stories!”

Green optics flashed as his helm turned to look at him, a sappy smile on his lip plates. The psychologist couldn’t help a small chuckle at it, turning to look once more at his other patients.

“Yes, I would have to agree with you, my friend.”

Chapter Text

Joy.

It was Cybertron.

Optimus couldn’t believe his optics. He recycled them once, twice, three times before his spark constricted and then jumped in its casing.

The gleaming surface around him was lit by the rising of the nearest star, signaling a new cycle was approaching. The beautiful blue glow of the life of the planet’s inner core surrounded him, stupefied him. It stemmed from every which way on the ground beneath him, like veins and piping within one’s frame. He followed their trail to the tall, shining city of Iacon in the near distance, his optics widening in awe and amazement. Home. He could’ve cursed himself for almost forgetting it ever existed. There was something behind the sudden excitement that felt like melancholy at the sight, but he didn’t think about it at first. This was his planet, revived and well, there was no room for sadness here.

With a laugh that for a moment felt unfamiliar to him, he ran forward and jumped into alt mode. His frame folded and fit into itself without a hitch, and he felt the warm metal beneath his tires as he gunned it towards the city. How long had it been since he’d used his alt mode? Since he’d driven down the streets of the city amongst his people that hustled and rushed, knowing nothing more than to reach their destination? What did it matter? The Prime couldn’t find it in his spark to care about time. Time did not exist here and now. Home did, and he wanted nothing more than to return to the friends that resided among those streets and skyscrapers. They were waiting for him.

As he drove, he did not notice at first that there was something happening to the blue veins of the surface. They were flickering subtly, as if someone were tampering with them somewhere he could not see. Each quick dim and pulse drew no interest, until they grew in intensity. The dim stretched out and made color fade longer, while the pulse weakened. Optimus only saw it when he drove over one of the bigger veins and it suddenly darkened. The sight of it startled him, and he slammed on his breaks with a jarring screech. As he slid to a stop, he rolled back into root mode, landing on his knees from eons of experience at unplanned transformations. Then, he turned around, optics wary and confused as they fixed upon the vein that had pulsed back to life. His helm tilted to the side as he walked back towards it, kneeling down to get a closer look. The vein, as if reacting to his presence, flared brighter before dimming once more. Optimus’s metal brows furrowed. This doesn’t make sense. Carefully, he placed a servo on the vein. Cybertron is revived. Healthy and well… What is this that creeps within?

Apprehension.

Without warning, from beneath his servo sprouted darkness into the blue glow of the vein. It crept through it in spindly lines and trails, spreading over it far too quickly to be natural, like an elongated spider web. Optimus gasped at the sight, his faceplates falling into fear and guilt as he wrenched his servo away, stumbling backwards. W-What did I do? He could only watch with impending dread and growing anxiety as the darkness continued to spread, creeping and flowing over the blue to replace it with a midnight black. It consumed the vein, and through smaller piping that connected it to others, jumped to the next one. Then to the next, and the next, and continued to jump until the blackness surrounded him on all sides, spreading in a circle from where he stood and reaching outwards at tremendous speed. The Prime could’ve screamed at the sight of the poison heading straight for Iacon.

NO!

He burst into a sprint and ran after it, the only thought in his processor now to stop this poison before it reached the city. Before it reached his friends that were oblivious to this danger. But as he ran, the darkness seemed to spread faster, like it was asking him to chase it. As if thrilled by the useless chase. Optimus stumbled after it, and he heard himself scream this time as he watched the veins heading straight for Iacon flicker out like the light of a candle. The city only had a moment more before it too went black. The surface around him was now shaded by dull grey and pitch black, and the light of the rising star was blocked by the silhouette of a shadowed, obscure city. Optimus slid to a stop once more, feeling himself panting as the star’s light began to turn red, swelling on the horizon like a fiery wall and casting a hellish glow over the surface. By now, fear was transitioning to horror, and it was creeping over every inch of his frame like swarming insecticons. What is happening?! His helm whipped around, looking desperately for any source of light that still remained. His spark pounded against the strangely quiet Matrix in his chest. What did I do?! What is happening?!

Panic.

A low, rumbling sound reached his audials. His antennae pointed him towards it, and he whipped back around towards Iacon. To him, it sounded like the groans of the injured, and he suddenly remembered how similar it felt to the moments he’d spent on the battlefield, hearing the moans of bots succumbing to their injuries and falling still for the last time. The sound was suddenly all too painful for him to bear. Civilians! I have to help them! On instinct, he began to move towards the sound, a prick of doubt poking the back of his processor as his audials registered how loud these moans were becoming. They rose together like a chorus of voices in agony, seemingly encompassing every bot that had ever lived in Iacon. He fought the urge to not clamp his servos over his audials, to not block out the sound of so much pain that triggered something familiar in his spark. He did not know what it was, but knew it was nothing good.

Finally, he spotted movement in the distance, and he froze for a moment. It looked like a bot, crumbled in posture and stumbling away from the dark city. The way they moved looked broken and defective, to him it felt inexplicably wrong. Such a feeling came over him so threateningly it was impossible to shake, but he forced himself to move forward. Civilian… Survivor…

He wasn’t expecting it when one broken bot became two. Then became four. After that became ten. Something cold clenched his insides in tight fists. The number kept rising. He fell to a standstill once more, watching helplessly as the number of bots suddenly stumbling and dragging themselves out of Iacon increased by the nanosecond. They soon became an infinite stampede of horribly off mecha, swarming the line of the horizon that he could still see. Why was he trembling? Why wouldn’t his frame move? What was it about them that was making him so afraid?

The red light cast over his surroundings glimmered over the hoard of mecha steadily approaching him. And with it’s revealing veil, he realized why. These mecha were not survivors. Optical lenses on each face that should’ve shone brightly with color, were black. Empty. Spark-less.

These mecha were dead.

Horror filled his spark. Optimus screamed, scrambling backwards in a frenzy. These mecha were not like those he once faced on Earth, their frames brought back by the blood of Unicron and glowing purple. Nothing glowed within them. They were greying puppets, surrounded by an aura of complete darkness and staggering forth as if dragged by the tendrils that had sprouted from underneath his servo. That had poisoned Cybertron.

Guilt.

He tripped over himself in an attempt to escape, not even knowing it until the ground slammed into his back. The Prime yelped, trying and failing to get back up. Not once did his optics stray from the hoard. They grew closer with chilling speed for those who could only drag limp limbs.

FEAR.

Something told him he needed to move. Needed to escape. He tried to rise again. It felt like something was pulling on his peds, restraining him from getting up. It finally caused him to rip his optics from the approaching hoard.

It was the first bot he’d seen stumbling towards him, servos grasping his leg struts in a suddenly crushing grip and looking up at him with black holes where optics used to be. Their jaw hung off their helm like a broken gear.

PANIC.

WHAT HAVE I DONE?! Mustering all the strength he could, Optimus ripped his legs out of the mech’s hold, grasping at the ground beneath him to head in the opposite direction. He flipped over onto his abdominal plating, intent to crawl away. But they were there. On all sides they were closing in, staggering and limping towards him like predators circling their prey. He wheeled around, looking for some small exit, a crevice between bots to the empty surface beyond.

But there was nothing. Nothing but the roar that pounded his audials, made up of the painful sounds that came from each and every bot.

Something grabbed his arm, and no matter how hard he pulled he couldn’t break free. The servos of the dead went stiff once energon stopped flowing through them. His legs were trapped, the grip of cold digits curling in so tight they dented his plating. Claws gaged and drew energon from his seams. Dead appendages cracked his limbs. Black holes stared down at him, swallowing what light was left.

His cries drowned in the sea of walking corpses.

*

OPTIMUS WAKE UP!!

His frame shot straight before he could process the action. When he tried to scream in terror, his intake felt hoarse and his voice box shorted out, leaving nothing but static in its wake. The first sensations he immediately felt were pain and an uncomfortable itch from static. He hacked, collapsing forward on his servos and knees as his frame rattled with the force of his coughs.

Calm down.

Arms slowly encircled his abdominal plates, which strangely felt whole again. They felt warm and steady, soon joined by a wide chest that pressed against his back. Wasn’t his back supposed to be torn and bleeding? Apparently not. He did not feel energon running over his armor, nor did he feel agony from phantom wounds. All he felt was the other frame pressed up against him, and the hard floor beneath his palms.

Floor?

Shuddering as he took in a long vent to regain control of his functions, Optimus lifted his helm to scan his surroundings. They were darkened by night, but in front of him he could see faint outlines of the berth in their living space lit by the moon outside.

Wh… How did I end up here?

Shaky, tired, and confused, the Prime looked back towards the mech who held him upright. Glowing crimson optics met him evenly. It took a moment for his spark to remember who those optics belonged to.

… Megatron.

He slumped backwards in the other’s arms, his vents wheezing as a painful whine rose from his chest. The ex-warlord hushed him quietly, arms curling further around his waist.

It wasn’t real. You’re safe.

Exhaustion pulled at his heavy limbs. Optimus wanted to close his optics and let the oblivion of recharge lead him where he didn’t have to remember how he ended up here. But the darkness that prowled in the corners of his mind waited for him. It stared back through empty optic sockets.

You’re safe.

If only he could believe it.


*A Few Solar Cycles Later*

“Take in a breath. Inhale deeply, feel the air that travels through you.”

The air felt light as it cycled through his vents, warmed by the sunlight that streamed through the window. He focused on it, listening to the quiet whoosh of the involuntary function. It felt strange to put so much concentration on one simple action, felt wrong to ignore everything going on around him that usually clamored for his attention. But he put it all to the wayside, tuning his audials to the voice that guided this meditation.

“As you breathe in all the way, through your chest, your abdomen, let yourself breathe all the way out.”

Breathe. What a peculiar human word. He wondered about it for a moment. Why did they come up with such strange terms? There were so many more, thousands more, millions more, just for one language. Why did they need so many words? Cybertronians never did. They found understanding in the clicks and chitters that symbolized these concepts. Not one ever worried about their pronunciations, nor long sentences or rushed tones. They were mechanical beings, built with the ability to register and comprehend all sounds they heard. Cybertronians were capable beings, perfect in many ways.

Then again, Optimus Prime always found beauty in the sounds of human words. Breathe. It was a complex pattern of sound, but in that way, serene. What would Cybertronians be like if they’d always spoken this way instead of their own? How would they be different? What would they be like, perhaps, if they could breathe? How would that change them?

The thoughts came, and he acknowledged them. He let them pass by, and when they faded, he settled once more in the quiet.

 “Feel your body rise and fall with every breath and let everything else fade into the background.”

Cybertronian plating did not usually move with ventilations, but it could subconsciously respond as it was named. His diaphragmic structure shifted. His abdominal plating clicked as it fluttered. His chest plates reflected light at it caved, and then expanded. In a process of subroutines, the armor plates covering his upper frame unlatched and flared, puffing out like the feathers of a bird. Warm air flowed in to touch his inner piping and circuitry, and his plating fluttered at the luxurious feeling. He reveled in the sensation before his plating smoothed itself out back over the protoform.

“As this natural, soothing cycle occurs, your body relaxes, grounds itself where you sit, like a rooted tree. Feel this base you have put underneath yourself. Know that it is a part of you.”

This was nice. This was calming. This was definitely better than pacing the width of their living space and overthinking.

Perhaps, with enough time, he could become good enough at this to be able to look upon his past this way. Simple acknowledgement. No pain, no fear, no anger or remorse. Simple indifference, coolness. Like the way the moon hung night after night in the sky, shifting shapes in the sun’s shadow. Simply, calm.

But this was only his third practice in meditation. It would take a very long time to get to that point, if he even got there. Most likely it would take at least half of the rest of his lifetime. Optimus Prime, however, was a patient being, once guided by the illumination of ageless wisdom from the Matrix. Somewhere, deep within himself, he still retained this ageless, serene part of himself. He would only have to draw it forth once more. Until then, he would enjoy this calm that came with the practice.

A few moments followed before Optimus felt the vibration of movement through the berth he sat on. It was light, quick, like a short tap of the floor somewhere off to his right. His EM field slowly stretched beyond his frame, reaching out to touch the other presence in the room. He waited until the other field briefly brushed against his own, and then opened his optics. The room came back into sharp focus, and he gazed at his surroundings with lingering detachment until silver danced into his vision.

Megatron swiftly shifted his frame backwards and spun a 180 degree pivot on the right ped. His left ped swung back around to prop itself behind him. He came to a standstill, his peds spread to the width of the broad spikes of his shoulders. His arm struts stretched out, bent at the elbow, grasping hold of an imagined blade. He stared straight ahead, his entire frame poised and ready to strike. Suddenly in another subtle flash, he spun again, his arms swiping in a downward arc at an imagined opponent. He appeared back at the edge of the room in the span of a nanosecond, angled into a waiting, practiced crouch. Crimson optics were distant but composed, calculating their next strike.

Optimus scooted back on the berth to lean against the wall and watched the ex-warlord execute his attack and defense routines. He moved with grace, throwing his weight into each strike with an ease borne through eons of experience. The Prime reminisced, for a moment, on what it had been like to be at the opposing end of his wrath. He’d learned after long, grueling battles to move with him, to follow his ped-work and anticipate the next move before the Decepticon did. In a way, it was like dancing. Dancing with the enemy to the music of gunfire.

They’d danced on every edge of their universe, teetered on the tip of oblivion, pulled themselves back into the other’s arms, and wound up here.

He watched the sun gleam off his bonded’s armor, framing the imprisoned mech in such light that Optimus saw him no more as a gladiator, a warlord, or even a slave. But as a hero. A fallen hero, just like him.

Love.

Putting his servos flat on either side of himself, the Prime pushed himself away from the wall. With eons of experience in silence, he took care to place his limbs slowly and gradually against the soft surface of the berth padding. They pulled him towards the end, and bright blue optics shifted from his position to the mech who continued to combat unseen opponents. One step, two steps. The silver mech spun on his peds again, facing the opposite wall and swiping with a long stroke which came inches from streaking the wall. Three steps, four steps. A smile curled on his face as he crept along the wall, placing his peds carefully as he went. Five steps, six steps. His bonded turned again, throwing his whole frame into an elegant thrust of his unseen weapon, a small growl rumbling in his chest. Seven steps.

Megatron sensed the moment another mech was in arm’s reach of him, momentarily freezing in place. But then the other EM field touched him, anchoring him to the other’s identity. His lip plate twitched upward, and he extended his right arm just a bit more before whipping around one-hundred eighty degrees to strike. As he did so, a quiet shuffle came from behind him, and he halted to see no one directly in front of him. But he looked down, and found his partner ducked down on one knee, his audial fins poised just below his outstretched arm. Those electric blue optics stared up at him intensely, and the twitch on his face became a smirk.

You’ve still got it, haven’t you my Prime?

Optimus smiled back, his gaze never wavering.

I’ve known you long enough to correctly predict your next course of action.

The silver mech tilted his helm, his smirk widening in the slightest fraction.

Oh really?

Without notice, he lunged forward to surprise his bonded and grab him. The red and blue mech did not miss a beat, pulling his other ped under him and diving to the side. Megatron caught himself on a knee as Optimus fell into place behind him again. He could only listen to his bonded’s vents brushing against his audial as he peeked his face through the gap between the inside of his pauldron spikes and his helm.

You doubt me?

As quickly as he appeared, the Prime disappeared from over his shoulder. Megatron pushed himself back to his peds and whipped around, catching a glimpse of his partner before his red and blue armor fled out of view. He followed that flash of color as Optimus continued to evade him.

Doubt you? Never.

He caught another blur of red to his right and acted fast. Leaping towards it, he reached out in time to grab his partner’s arm. Curling his claws tightly around the limb, Megatron savored the startled gasp as he pulled the Prime back towards him, immediately capturing the other against his front by wrapping his arms around the other’s chest.

But I never pass up a challenge either.

Megatron proceeded to slide his arms down to other’s abdominal plating and squeeze before lifting him off the ground. Optimus let out a startled exclamation, his servos moving to cling to his bonded’s claws as his peds helplessly kicked at the air.

“Tron!”

He physically shouted, his baritone falling into a long string of laughter as the silver mech hefted him up, backstruts against his chest, spinning them both in the middle of the room.

“What?”

The ex-warlord asked, pausing for a moment as feigned innocence laced his tone. Optimus only had a moment to let his head fall back into the crook of the other’s neck before he spun them both around again. Laughter ran out through the room once more.

“Is something wrong, beloved?”

Megatron inquired, stopping again to shift his grip on his bonded. Optimus felt himself suddenly pulled from the other’s chest, the arms around him releasing. He gasped in the moment of freefall before the silver mech caught his legs, flipping him upside down. As his field flared in momentary shock, the other’s brushed against him smugly, and the Prime tilted his helm upward to see his partner holding both his leg struts over each shoulder and staring down his frame. Amusement twinkled in those crimson optics.

“I think I rather like this view.”

He purred, nuzzling at his leg and Optimus levelled his bonded with a flat expression.

“… That’s it, you fragger.”

In a matter of nanoseconds, the ex-warlord felt the leg struts around his shoulders coil and tense as Optimus threw all of his weight against him. He almost lost his balance as the Prime used a swinging momentum to curl upward, reaching up to tightly grasp the spikes of Megatron’s pauldrons. Then, he ripped his leg struts out of the claws that held them, and the force of the action was enough to allow him freedom to tuck and roll to the ground. Megatron grunted and stumbled back a few steps as Optimus came to a graceful stop on his knees, unfurling his frame to eye his bonded with a smirk. While it was rare to ever see on the Prime, it was an expression that warmed the silver mech’s spark.

You never disappoint, do you Optimus?

The red and blue mech chuckled, looking away as he lifted himself to place a ped firmly on the ground and rise.

I try not to. I have been held to high expectations.

As he found himself back on his peds, a protestant twinge twisted in the lower region of his back. His servo absently reached back to rub at it, attempting to ease the tight and uncomfortable sensation.

And you’ve always gone beyond those expectations.

Megatron’s croon fell over their bond, and Optimus almost felt the Kaoni rasp against his audial. He distantly recognized when the silver mech approached, stepping close enough to reach his arms around the Prime’s slim waist. Optimus felt those familiar claws skim over his back plating, falling into place at either side of his spinal strut to rub in little circles, and he hummed.

Even at the expense of your own well-being.

Optimus let his optics dim and offline, leaning forward to press his helm crest against the silver mech’s collar structure. What the silver mech spoke did not go unheard, and unlike the eons past, the Prime was grateful to heed it.

Feel your body rise and fall with every breath.

“Could you please move a little lower?”

He mumbled, and Megatron’s claws immediately obliged. They pressed over the twinge, and Optimus let his plating flare to allow those claw tips access to the protoform beneath the seams. They massaged away the tension, soothed away the pain, and allowed him to relax.

Feel this base you have put underneath yourself. Know that it is a part of you.

Gratitude laced his field, and he let it flow to the other side of the bond. Megatron’s flight engines modulated and sent small vibrations through both their frames. What he received in return mingled between fond exasperation and amusement.

Perhaps you should stop putting your frame through strenuous activity, old fool.

The Prime chuckled once more, melting against the sturdy, grounded frame of his beloved conjunx endura.

We’re both old.

Megatron hummed a short agreement, his claws purposely slowing to stroke at the delicate protoform.

But clearly, one of us is better equipped for exercise… In case you’re wondering, it’s me.

Optimus couldn’t help it, he laughed, nuzzling against silver plating as his spark pulsed at the familiar quips and humor of his bonded.

Let everything else fade into the background.

Chapter Text

The lock to their first door clicked.

Both of them paused in the midst of their actions. Megatron looked over his shoulder from where he’d been pacing, and Optimus looked up from the desk where he’d been reading. Through the window, they could see Rung close the first door and walk up to the second, typing in the code for entry. Optimus caught movement from over the psychologist’s shoulder, and he shifted his gaze to the two other mecha waiting on the other side of the first door.

It was time.

Unease.

The Prime stood as the lock to the second door clicked, swiftly backing towards his bonded as anxiety jolted his spark. Megatron immediately wrapped an arm around him, crimson optics hardening as Rung entered the room, leaving the other mecha to stand outside.

They knew this was coming. For weeks, they’d known. They’d consented. They’d waited and anticipated. But were they ready?

Rung looked up at the couple as he closed the door. He gaged the tension in their stances, the rigid and apprehensive energy in their optics, and he smiled patiently.

“Good morning Tron, Orion. How are you both today?”

Optimus and Megatron turned to look at each other, sharing a similar expression of disquiet for what was to come. Yet underneath the outward discomfort, they were eager. It was happening. It was finally happening.

“… Nervous.”

The red and blue mech answered after a moment, managing to look back at the psychologist and shed a small grin. Rung nodded, his field compassionate.

“I understand. Today’s task will be taken at your pace. Hopefully it will allow you a chance to better adjust to the environment in which we are located. But if this proves to be too stressful, please let me know and we’ll come back. We can always try another day.”

Optimus returned a nod of acknowledgement, even if none of the reassurances were all that comforting. He glanced up at his bonded again, looking for that familiar crimson gaze. He found those optics already on him, apprehensive but offering comfort anyway. The silver mech’s field moved and twitched around them both, the energy in it building by the second. It twittered and danced, communicating his underlying anticipation. Megatron would’ve held himself back for Optimus’s sake. But the Prime knew how much he yearned for this, no matter how long it may last. If only for his bonded’s sake, he had to try today.

Focusing back on Rung, the couple stepped forward.

“We’re ready.”

Tron declared. The psychologist’s patient smile widened, and he turned back to the door, waving at Ironhide on the other side. The mech moved towards the keyboard on his side of the wall, typing in the code to unlock the cell and allow the entrance to open. Rung caught the door when it opened, holding it and looking back towards his patients. Their frames froze up at the available exit, not even reacting when the second door sounded off as it opened.

It was time.

Rung’s expression was easy-going and encouraging, watching them come to terms with their next step.

We can do this.

Megatron pulled his arm away from where it’d been sheltering his bonded, instead offering the back of his servo. Optimus returned a fearful, but grateful smile, pressing the back of their servos together to let them roll and flip into each other’s digits. They held on tightly to one another, their intertwined servos falling to their sides as the silver took the first step forward. Slowly, he led them out the first door, approaching Ironhide warily as he stepped back to stay out of their way. Megatron passed him, being met next with the Optimus Prime of this universe who held open the first door. Above the battle mask, the mech’s optics brightened, and he knew the blocky mech was smiling.

The second door shut behind them. Optimus tensed at the sound of it, attempting not to flinch as they made it out of the first door. The other Prime waved at him as he passed, and his digits shook as he waved back. The first door shut before Ironhide and the Prime took up positions at their flanks. Optimus could feel their presence behind him. In front of them lay a long, blank hallway only marked by the cell doors every five steps. It stretched and stretched, seemingly pulling itself into an infinite length that he’d never be able to reach the end of. Unconsciously he shied away from it, a full-body tremble shaking his armor as his free servo blindly grasped for the silver mech’s arm.

Was this hallway always so long?

Megatron looked down at his bonded, ignoring Rung’s worried glance. They didn’t know what it was about a hallway that made the red and blue mech freeze, incapable of fighting, powerless to run. They didn’t know what reaching the other side always meant, what would lie on the other side of those doors.

But he did.

He pulled the other closer, letting their fields mingle and weave before his surrounded the trembling Prime.

We don’t have to do this, Optimus. It’s alright, we can wait.

Oh, how tempting it was to agree. Their safety up until this point lay right behind them. He need only give his bonded a signal, back away from length of the hall, and this would be all over. He wouldn’t have to face that which every electrical nerve ending in his frame told him would end with danger.

But this wasn’t just about him. It never had been.

Optimus sucked in a deep ventilation, picturing the ocean and letting it calm before he released it. He didn’t feel all that much better, but his bonded was still there. The one constant he could still rely on is that they would not be separated.

Just… Don’t let go.

Megatron recycled his optics, and then nodded. His grip on the other tightened.

Never again. I promise.

Optimus vented again, facing the hallway cautiously. The silver mech looked back at Rung, and then they were walking.

Like their first trip here, they retraced their steps quietly. Optimus took in their surroundings, forcing himself not to look at the doors at the end. They passed empty living cells, vacant and dark. Unwillingly, he imagined the ghosts of those who’d never been inside. Cold, empty eyes and optics stared back, their limbs forever clawing at the bars of their cage. Their voices howling in unanswered pleads and cries.

He shook himself. Nothing would ever come easily again, would it?

Their steps echoed off the walls and bounded back at his audials. He listened to them, counted them, gaged their pace and landing. He heard the slight variation in steps when Megatron shifted towards him, giving every bit of comfort he could. Their steps took them down the long hallway, and as the distance grew shorter, he clung to Megatron. It was by sheer will that he didn’t drag his peds on the way there.

Rung was the first to reach the double doors. He pushed one open, and the sound of it creaking open made him jerk back. Primus, don’t make him go to the other side, he knew what lay on the other side—

“Orion,” the psychologist looked back at him, his expression emanating immediate concern. “Orion it’s alright. You’re safe. We just have to walk through the doors. No one is going to hurt you.”

He took no reassurance from the psychologist. But he could take reassurance from the servos that held him steady and the crimson optics that still held love for him.

I’m here. It’s ok.

Megatron was with him. He was never with him when they took him to the labs. He wasn’t going to the labs. That’s not where this hallway led.

The red and blue mech’s frame shook again, but he released a vent, and his bonded waited until he heard that vent to slowly lead him through that doorway.

“That’s it, you’re almost there.”

“You can do this Orion.”

Rung encouraged, shortly followed by the other Prime. The red and blue mech moved rigidly through, his digits curled so tightly on his bonded’s arm they were beginning to leave dents. Megatron gave no notice to them, stepping to the other side and allowing Optimus to follow at his pace. Blue optics scrutinized their new surroundings intently, finding them now in a small chamber between the double doors and what appeared to be the exit out of the security facility.

Megatron had told him it was the titan’s foot guarding the way, but he couldn’t help stopping and staring through the entrance that framed just one section of a colossal mech’s heel.

When everyone was through the double doors, Rung turned towards the heel, knocking on the wall next to it.

“Maximus? We are ready to exit.”

After a moment the heel moved out of the way, replacing the doorframe with a view of buildings outside lit by the late morning sun. It was a view Optimus hadn’t seen in so long it felt like it’d come from another lifetime. He stared out at it nervously, finding a bit of relief in that his bonded had seen it before. At least one of them found a small semblance of familiarity.

It was easier to exit this time when he could see what was on the other side. They stepped out in front of the facility, sheltered in a cool shade by the shadow of its guard. From not far away, they could hear the sounds of the city. Bustling alt forms, the clomp of peds, voices talking and shouting. The nearby bustle of so many other mecha felt foreign, and in a way, terrifying. Another second passed to let the others exit before the ginormous ped moved back to its place with a tremendous thump. Rung craned his helm to look up at owner of it.

“Thank you, Maximus.”

He said kindly, then pulled his gaze down to smile at his patients.

“You both are doing exceptionally well. I know that was no easy feat for you, Orion, but you made it through the facility without incident. You should be proud.”

Optimus glanced up at the orange bot, gazing at him for a moment and then averting his optics to the ground. If that was a grand accomplishment, it definitely didn’t feel like it. It just felt like he was narrowly avoiding reliving his bad dreams.

When he didn’t respond, Rung’s helm tilted, but his gaze was accompanied by understanding. The orange bot looked over his shoulder towards one end of the building, and then he gestured towards that direction.

“Now that we’re here, we can move onto the next of today’s tasks. If you’d follow me, our selected location is this way.”

Megatron was the first to follow, pulling close the Prime who clung tightly to his arm as the other bots flanked them once again. They walked between buildings, heading away from the sounds of the city to what seemed like a quieter edge of the island. The silver mech looked down at his bonded as he timidly followed, switching between looking up at the buildings around them and looking ahead to see where they were headed. Despite his low levels of anxiety his lip plates quirked upward at the sight of those blue optics.  

Megatron moved the arm his Prime grasped, making him jump and abruptly end scanning his surroundings to find out what his bonded was doing. Crimson optics softened before he pulled their servos up to press a kiss to the back of the Prime’s digits.

I know you have not allowed yourself an inkling of self-pride since you received the Matrix, beloved. But what you did back there was momentous. Know, at the least, that I am proud of you for it.

Optimus blinked, taken aback by the admonishment. But his lip plates twitched and over their bond pranced gratitude and warmth. He lingered a bit in his bonded’s prideful field.

When the group finally reached the edge of the buildings, their destination came into view. What had been a side road between the facility and another structure became a worn down path between a hill of dry, craggy rock. Beyond it, white sand gleamed under the sun, standing stock still as the ocean’s froth rolled back and forth to touch its edge. The water shone a deep blue, roiling and shaped by the sea-wind. It stretched long into the horizon before it connected with the sky, clashing into a fine line with a brighter shade. The edge of the island.

There was so much color and movement, it could’ve made them dizzy. It felt like they were walking out of a past life of grey and stillness to enter a new one. A disorienting experience, to say the least.

As they began their trek down the hill, they emerged from the shade into the sight of the sun. Strong rays reflected off their armor and seeped warmth into their seams. Optimus and Megatron had to shelter their optics for a moment, unused to such brightness. After that the silver mech squinted up at the sky and joy flicked through his field.

… Light, Optimus.

The Prime glanced up at his bonded, who couldn’t take his optics away from the sun.

… Real starlight.

It felt like the first time they’d ever seen it in their existence.

Optimus’s lip plates twitched again, and he squeezed at his bonded’s servo to bring his focus back before he tripped. From behind them, he felt the faint wisps of an amused field, looking over his shoulder towards the source. The Prime of this universe glanced back at him, his optics brightening before they flashed him a wink. His attention turned to the path ahead, still too shaken to give a reaction better than embarrassment.

The path ended as soon as it touched the sand, broadening into the expanse of the beach. Seagulls cawed above them, circling the foamy water and landing on the wet sand to pick at the shelled creatures washed up on shore. Rung looked up at his patients as they reached the bottom of the hill.

“I welcome you to the edge of our island.” The orange bot said, gesturing to the expanse of the shore. “The beaches wrap around the entire island. But this area should give us enough privacy to tackle interacting with bots outside of the facility.”

When his peds fell into the soft, warm, and malleable surface of microscopic-sized crystals, Optimus paused to gaze down. His peds sank a bit into the sand, and the sensation of such an unfamiliar ground jarred and fascinated him. When was the last time he’d even stepped near an Earth beach?

At the sight of their awe and intrigue at the surrounding landscape, Rung chuckled quietly before checking his chronometer.

“I don’t believe Cyclonus and Tailgate will be here for a few kliks. If you’d like, you may familiarize yourselves with the environment.”

Optimus couldn’t even look the psychologist who’d been acting as their therapist in the optic, completely sure he was giving them a wink too. To him this did not feel real. This vivid, vibrant, and peaceful place that existed just below the maximum security facility. It felt too good to be true, like something would strike when he wasn’t paying attention, and he’d wake up back in the labs. It was almost too much.

Excitement.

His bonded, however, clearly had no time for anxiety.

Exhilaration.

Crimson optics consumed the view before them, starving for the freedom it offered. The blue optics that tracked them took in that expression warily. It was the one especially known for trouble on Megatronus.

Megatron—

COME ORION!!

Within a nanosecond’s notice, the silver mech had jumped into a sprint, and Optimus made a less than dignified yelp as he was dragged along.

Ironhide stiffened and stepped up as the couple sprinted and stumbled away towards the shore. Before he could act any further, Rung set a servo on his shoulder.

“It’s alright. They need this time out of the facility.”

The red mech grunted as his commander stepped up beside him. His weathered optics scrutinizing them from where he stood.

“An’ you think they ain’t gonna run for it?”

In response, Rung only shook his head and turned to watch his patients. The Prime crossed his arms over his chest, and the emotion in his field could only be described as amused.

“I believe they are enjoying themselves just as they are.”

His point was soon proven when they watched the silver mech let himself fall back onto the beach’s surface. Sand blew up around him as he landed with a thump, and his bonded had to step back and cover his faceplates. Even the Prime couldn’t help but laugh at that act.

… Y-You’re going to get sand under your armor.

From his crater in the white sand, the silver mech laughed. He indulged in the feel of the surface, taking in the warmth of particles that weren’t crumbling rust and red dust.

Frankly, my Prime, I don’t give a frag.

Optimus let his arms drop, staring at the ex-warlord as he laid at his peds like a petulant sparkling. His nerves didn’t allow him to be so easily entertained by the other’s behavior.

Megatron, we don’t have access to washracks. It’s going to take groons to rinse the sand out from your seams with what we have.

The silver mech peered up at his bonded with an unamused stare. Perhaps the return of his sanity had guaranteed the return of the metaphorical ‘stick up his aft,’ as humans liked to call it. He noticed the anxiety still present in his bonded’s optics, and the voiceless words his spark was prodded with felt less scolding and more a simple statement of fact. Megatron propped himself up on his elbows, glancing over as heard the water crawl up the shore again. A sideways smirk curled on his face.

Well then, we can’t have that can we?

Before Optimus could get another word out, Megatron was on his peds again, this time headed for the ocean. The red and blue mech’s optics cycled wide and he ran after him. Were they even allowed to go this far? What if this meant they’d have to return to the facility?

“Wh—Tron wait—!!”

He got about five steps down the beach, but the silver mech had already dived into the shallow waves, disappearing into the water. Optimus slid to a stop where the foam floated past his peds, optics frantically scanning over the incoming waves.

Megatron!!

Hoping this wouldn’t get them in trouble, he tramped further into the water to find his bonded. The waves distorted any clear view of the bottom, leaving him to continue until the ocean reached his knees before he saw something gleam underneath. He vented a small sigh of relief.

Primus, Megatron please come up before—

The ex-warlord emerged from an incoming wave with a roar, bringing up a considerable amount of it with him. Optimus stumbled back from the explosion of water and ended up crashing on his aft, drenched and venting heavily. Megatron doubled over and burst out laughing.

Oh that was too easy! You never disappoint…

He trailed off as he stood straight to properly regard his bonded. But Optimus hadn’t moved, staring up at him blankly as his ventilations continued to make his chest heave. He nudged the other over their bond and got no reaction. His optics flashed as he bent down to one knee.

Beloved? Are you alright?

Optimus continued to stare at him for another few nanoseconds. Then, in a completely un-Prime-like act of temper, he used both servos to splash water up at the silver mech.

“You AFT!!”

Megatron had no time to duck. He optics shuttered on and off as he was soaked by another wave. He then only had to take one look as his bonded’s faceplate scrunched angrily to decide it was a good time to run.

Ironhide raised an optical brow when Tron scrambled to his peds and booked it in another direction, followed closely by an irate-looking Orion. Kliks passed by as the tables turned back and forth without much warning. They chased each other at the water’s edge, throwing water at one another and dodging the other’s attempts. To a trained optic, they were rather good dodges too, reminiscent of soldiers who’d once been experienced in avoiding blasts on a battlefield.

Rung smiled when he eventually noticed Orion’s expression had relaxed. His optics were perkier and something near a smile pulled at his lip plates. He moved with less of an intention to attack and more of an intention to play. At that point, Rung decided that another task, relaxing outside of the facility, had been accomplished.

“Not that this ain’t cute an’ all,” Ironhide said gruffly, watching as the silver mech crashed back into the waves and his bonded laughed. “But wasn’t Cyclonus an’ Tailgate supposed to be here by now? I got other scrap to do today, Rung.”

The psychologist’s smile fell. He checked his chronometer, confirming that it was after the time the purple seeker was supposed to have arrived. He then looked down the beach, not seeing anyone hiking towards them from either end.

“The twins might’ve held them up. I’ll comm Cyclonus.”

But just as his digits rose to his audial, the sound of flight engines boomed from overhead, alerting them to a seeker circling over their location.

Optimus was the first to look up when they heard it, the boom of a seeker jet flying overhead.

Is that Cyclonus?

It was hard to discern the colors of the jet when the sun cast their belly in shadow. He stood up straighter, his attention dragged away from his bonded and onto the new mech. Megatron glanced up at them as well, grunting as he pushed himself up from where he’d fallen into the waves.

I’d assume so.

Optimus tilted his helm as the jet circled closer, seemingly aiming to land in their vicinity.

I’d thought he was bringing his family. Why would he fly here alone?

The jet suddenly swooped down from above, blasting downwards towards the shore. All bots present watched as the jet pulled up just before they hit the ground, flipping gracefully into transformation. When the mech’s root form was revealed, the anxiety Optimus and Megatron had thought gone returned with a vengeance on them both.

Because it’s not Cyclonus.  

 Megatron straightened, stepping up to his bonded’s side as the seeker walked towards Rung, Ironhide, and the other Optimus Prime.  Neither of them recognized the blocky, triangular frame that was painted in reds and blues. He crossed his arms over his chest and his wings flicked as he spoke to the other bots.

Perhaps there’s been a change in plans?

The couple exchanged a glance before eyeing the bots by the path. Rung was nodding as the seeker spoke, his expression had changed. Megatron read it as something between disheartened and accepting. Ironhide was speaking to the seeker too, and as he did those wings visibly twitched. A common sign of annoyance among flyers.

Whatever this new development was, a sharp instinct in the silver mech immediately disliked it.

Rung suddenly stepped sideways to look over at his patients from where he stood. He smiled at them, waving them back towards the path.

Then the seeker’s helm swiveled in their direction. At first, it was a slow and smooth movement, almost  in an uncaring way. But as soon as they caught the slightest glimpse of red optics, that dark helm did a double take. Wide red optics almost mirroring Megatron’s fixated abruptly on them, and with those optics the seeker’s body turned to regard them.

Another harsh pang of warning hit the silver mech hard and bounced over the bond.

Rung waved at them again a little more urgently, and Megatron tried to shake off the unease building in his tank. He looked over at Optimus, finding a similar trepidation in construction, and gave him a quick smile.

Come. We may as well see what’s going on.

 He held out his servo. Optimus took it instantly, and their nerves improved only when their fields weaved into one another. They strode back out of the water, their frames dripping and sand clinging to the bottom of their peds. The seeker’s optics followed their every step, but as they got closer Megatron came to the realization they were poised solely on him. There were so much drawn into the seeker’s faceplates that he could barely discern it. Something like shock, something near fury, something revolving around panic? He couldn’t tell for sure, but Optimus knew it was dangerous just moments before he did. His bonded stopped when they stood about ten mech-lengths away from the others.

Wait.

His servo curled tighter around his partner’s claws.

This… This doesn’t feel right—

The orange bot suddenly came up next to the seeker, unaware of the tension that was building between the seeker and his patients.

“I’m afraid Cyclonus and Tailgate weren’t able to make it,” Rung lamented, his optics apologetic. “The twins were apparently giving them trouble. But I don’t want to cut your time away from the facility short. Perhaps you’d like to meet—”

“… You.”

Rung halted brusquely, promptly turning towards the seeker as he broke his silence. His voice was a harsh whisper, and his optics had cycled as wide as they could go. A blunt black digit shook as it pointed at the silver mech across the way.

“… You’re supposed to be dead!!”

Megatron may not have known that body, but he knew that voice. He would always know that voice. The tension between them skyrocketed.

“Starscream?!”

He only realized his mistake after he spoke. But he did not have time to dwell on it. Just as the other bots’ expressions were changing, the Decepticon seeker’s wings whipped up and his face twisted into a wrathful grimace. He shrieked, and threw himself at the silver mech.

Megatron only had a nanosecond to rip his servo out of his bonded’s grasp and shove him out of harm’s way. Before Optimus even landed on the ground, Starscream had overtaken him, screeching as he swiped at him with blunt digits and hammered him with punches.

PAIN. SHOCK. ANGER. CONFUSION.

“Starscream!! What are you doing?!”

Another bot yelled, Optimus couldn’t discern which, but it quickly roused him out of the daze he’d fallen into as the bond suddenly slammed him with sensations and emotions.

PAIN. SHOCK. ANGER. CONFUSION.

His helm shot up as anxiety electrocuted him, ripping through every strut as he helplessly watched his bonded be attacked by the seeker.

“NO!”

He yelled, yanking his limb struts back underneath him to push up and off the ground. Megatron was struggling to ground himself, to hold any defense against Starscream. But the seeker had gone mad, swiping and punching and kicking without any sign of stopping. He couldn’t duck, nothing he did helped. He hadn’t fought back for five eons. Energon was beginning to fly from their struggle, staining the sand and flowing downhill. Where were the other bots? Why wasn’t anyone stopping him?

PAIN. BEWILDERMENT. ALARM.

Optimus was running towards them; he knew that much. His peds were moving, their frames weren’t progressing away as fast.

“NO! STOP! GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

If Starscream had heard him, he was past the point of caring. Megatron couldn’t get away, the seeker wouldn’t let him. He looked up from the fight for a split nanosecond. Crimson optics clashed with electric blue. The same terror was shared between them.

PAIN. ALARM.

From the right corner of his optic, Optimus caught two flashes of red.

PAIN. ALARM.

From the left corner of his optic, Optimus saw the barrel of a gun emerge from the seeker’s arm.

“NO!!”

A thunderous bang crackled at their audials as Starscream shot Megatron point blank in the chest.  

AGONY.

HORROR.

Ironhide and the Prime reached them just as he did.

“Get off ‘im!! What in the name Primus has gotten into you?!”

The red mech snarled as he and the Prime both grabbed the seeker, yanking him away from the silver mech and disarming him immediately.

Optimus caught Megatron when he fell backwards, easing his fall as they both went down to the sand. Energon leaked from dents, scratches, and gouges that littered his frame. It poured from the hole just left of his spark chamber. Optimus grasped him, trying to keep him upright as he coughed and gasped. Energon dripped from his intake.

AGONY.

“Tron?! Tron?!”

Megatron fell onto his side, propped on a shaky elbow. His coughs and rasps were growing weaker by the nanosecond. He couldn’t speak. Energon was everywhere.

AGONY. ALARM.

He was trying to turn his helm towards his bonded, trying to meet his optics. Optimus bent down into his line of vision, desperate to see those crimson optics. They were dimming, but the emotions in them were incontrollable. They were afraid.

I’m here!! Look at me, I’m right here!!

It hurt. It hurt them both. It hurt so much. Optimus grabbed the side of his helm in one servo, keeping him up on his side with the other. He did not let that helm turn away.

AGONY… agony…

Just look at me, Megatron!! It’s alright, you’ll be fine I promise!!

He was rambling over the bond, doing anything to keep the other’s attention. He was kneeling in a pool of energon. Megatron’s vents were becoming shallow. His claws were shaking where they clung to Optimus’s arm. Those crimson optics continued to dim. But they never wavered from him. What he could not convey over the bond he tried to through his optics. They’d softened. They gazed at him as if he held the universe. Optimus smiled at him, even as anxiety shook his frame terribly, and he stroked his bonded’s face.

I’m here. I promise.

agony… agony…

As if handled by a switch, the light in those crimson optics suddenly flickered out. His elbow slipped out from underneath and he slumped onto his back. He didn’t move again.

… Megatron?

Optimus nudged at the bond, reached out over the length towards where the other spark should be. It was silent. His spark stopped. His optics cycled as wide as they could go.

Megatron?!

He placed his servos over the other’s frame, trying to shake him back to life. When his digits slipped on the energon coating it he grabbed the other’s spikes, then his helm.

MEGATRON?!

Tears streaked down his face. His frame shook violently while his bonded’s laid still. Optimus threw himself down over in the intact area of Megatron’s chest, pressing his audial against it. He listened intently. His vents were so quick and so loud, it was hard to hear anything. He whined, pressing himself down harder.

Maybe he was recharging. Maybe he could wake him up. If a mech was recharging, he could wake up. That’s how it worked.

He yanked himself up and off his bonded’s chest, his audial fin dripping energon as he crawled up to cup the silver mech’s faceplate.

“Megatron, wake up. You have to wake up.”

He whispered, stroking over the scarred plating. There was a scratch from blunt digits carved into his cheek. Energon leaked from his lip plates. Optimus cried harder.

“Please wake up. You have to wake up!”

He gasped. Coolant and energon plunked down on his bonded’s helm. Nothing came of it.

“Orion!!”

Someone was running towards him; he could hear them. He didn’t look up to acknowledge their identity. They didn’t matter. Megatron mattered. Megatron was the only bot he had left. Why wouldn’t he wake up?

Rung ran to his patients, kneeling on the other side of the silver mech. His optics were shocked and sorrowful at the sight of them.

“Primus Almighty…”

He swore, looking from the lifeless silver mech to his bonded above him.

“Orion—”

“He’s fine,” the shaking mech said instantly, refusing to recognize anything different and not looking away from his bonded. “he’ll wake up.”

The psychologist felt his spark churn. It shouldn’t end like this. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to formulate a treatment for a broken bond.

“You’re right, Orion, he’ll be fine. We’ll take him to the hospital, and they’ll help—”

“No.”

The red and blue mech interrupted. They couldn’t take him there. That place was just like the labs. They couldn’t take him there. It was unthinkable.

“He’s fine. He just needs to wake up!!”

His spark heaved in its casing as he spoke, and he trembled so hard he couldn’t maintain his grip on his bonded.

“Orion, please…”

In the corner of his blurring vision he could see the psychologist reaching out towards them. He reeled. How dare he try to touch them?! How dare he intrude on them?! He knew nothing about them! He did not matter!!

“GET AWAY!” He screamed, his optics blazing and hurt. “LEAVE US ALONE!”

Rung leapt back at the outburst, watching as the red and blue mech curled over the lifeless silver mech and cried. He sighed. Orion’s sense was already lost. He didn’t want to make this any harder on him. But if there was any hope for saving Tron’s life, they needed to get him to the hospital as quickly as they could. But Orion would not allow that, and in this state he most likely would not go into the hospital with them either. He stared at them, grasping for an idea or any way to get through to the red and blue mech.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however. He only caught a glimpse of orange and white and something shiny perched in his servo. His optics blew wide and he shook his head vehemently.

“Wait! Ratchet don’t—”

A sharp sting suddenly bloomed underneath his smokestacks. He jolted up and shouted before it receded. Warmth and numbness began to spread over his frame, overtaking him fast. Panic shot through his spark. He knew what that sting meant. It meant darkness. It meant dreams. He sobbed, burrowing himself into Megatron’s frame.

Wake up… Please wake up…

Everything was slowing down. He felt dizzy and tired, but he shook himself against it. He didn’t want to dream again. He silently begged Megatron’s spark to come with him. To not leave him alone. It was terrifying in the darkness alone.

… Please… come back…

The warmth in his lines seeped into his spark, and the pitch black swallowed him whole.

Chapter Text

Ironhide threw open the first cell door he could get to. Without much a care for comfort, he pushed the seeker into the chamber and slammed it shut after him and the Prime. Starscream staggered into the other wall, his wings droopy and disoriented.

“What the frag was that, Starscream?!”

The red mech roared, towering over the seeker who rubbed his helm absently. His optics were hazy and unfocused.

“Argh… Stop shouting you dolt…”

“Oh I’ll stop shouting when you tell us what the frag your problem is?!”

Ironhide growled, causing Starscream to gain some semblance of concentration and glare at him. He then huffed, offlining his optics and rubbing at them.

“What the frag did I do…?”

The Prime’s optics narrowed.

“You attacked a mech you’ve never met and shot him point blank in the chest.”

Starscream’s optics onlined, jarred, and his servo fell. He stared at the Prime and his old Autobot gunner for a long klik, waiting for them to tell him they were kidding. They didn’t. His wings drooped even lower and he ran a servo over his faceplate.

“Slag…” He cursed lowly, shaking his helm. “It must’ve been a flashback.”

Ironhide and Optimus Prime looked at each other before turning back to the seeker.

“What are you talkin’ about Screamer?”

The seeker’s wings pulled taunt as he looked up at them both with a heated glare.

“I had a flashback, you dolt.” He sneered. “I took one look at that mech and an unwanted memory file reopened. I thought it was Megatron trying to kill me, and I reacted before I could stop myself.”

As he spoke, the blue optics above the Prime’s battle mask lost a bit of their coldness. Ironhide’s optics only narrowed.

“That mech did nothin’ to you, Screamer! I should lock your winged aft in here for the next seven eons for this!”

Starscream’s wings flared before they dropped again. His anger dissipated at the words, and his red optics flashed before he stubbornly looked away, staring hard at one of the walls.

“… I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” He finally spat. “But even if I didn’t know that mech, he looked and sounded too much like Megatron. Did you expect me to act any different? Cyclonus was the one who should’ve been there, not me.”

Optimus Prime’s brows furrowed, and then receded.

“I understand what you mean, Starscream.” He responded, receiving a raised brow from Ironhide. “But that does not excuse the fact that a mech may have died today under your blaster and left a broken spark bond behind.”

“My apologies for being unable to control my flashbacks of a chaos-spawned genocidal behemoth.” He hissed sarcastically. “I’ll have to work on that.”  

*

“You are the last.”

PAIN. SHOCK. ANGER. CONFUSION.

“You did this.”

PAIN. SHOCK. ANGER. CONFUSION.

“You are the last.”

PAIN. BEWILDERMENT. ALARM.

“No one can hear you.”

PAIN. BEWILDERMENT. ALARM.

“You are the last.”

AGONY. ALARM.

“Run, beloved.”

agony… agony…

“You are the last.”

Blue optics onlined in a panicked frenzy. Optimus shouted and leapt forward, strangely free of any bindings except a blanket. Was this another dream? He scanned his surroundings anxiously. The room was dark. A sink in front of the bed. A desk and chair across from it. Datapads charging on top of it. Two doors at the other end of the room, both shut. He remembered these surroundings. He was in the cell at the facility.

But that meant nothing. This could be a trick. He could never be sure. How could he be sure it was real if he didn’t remember how he got here? Or where Megatron—

His entire frame went rigid.

Megatron.

The trek out of the facility. The beach. The seeker—Starscream. A blaster. A sharp sting. Optimus knew how he got here. But that did not matter.

Where is Megatron?

 The red and blue mech scanned the room again. Megatron’s side of the berth was empty, abandoned. The red and blue mech scanned the room three times. He wasn’t at the desk. He wasn’t by the sink. He wasn’t stalking the length of the floor trying to rid himself of energy.

Megatron?!

He cried out into the bond, reaching as far as he could. It was silent. There was no spark waiting for him on the other side. It was dark. It was cold.

Optimus jerked out of the berth, tangling himself in the blanket and falling with a hard smack to the floor. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. He wrenched so hard in the fabric it ripped, falling off his leg struts in pieces. Free from it he staggered to his peds, spinning around in circles to search every corner of the room. His bonded could be evading him. He could be hiding, waiting to jump out and laugh at his frantic nature. But he wasn’t.

“MEGATRON!!”

He wailed hysterically. It was dark in here. It was cold. He was alone.

“You are the last.”

He could hear the whispers, and he clutched his helm, shaking it vigorously.

“Stop it—Stop it—Stop it!”

“You are the last.”

Coolant flooded his optics and spilled over.

“MEGATRON!!”

Where was his bonded? Why did they bring him back here? Why couldn’t the bots leave them alone?

Optimus felt so lost. Tortured. Disoriented. He couldn’t register his own notifications warning him of an incoming processor breakdown. He felt no spark reach back at the other end of the bond. He was alone. All he felt was fear and misery.

“Orion!”

Something was banging at the doors. Orion? Who was Orion? He was Optimus.

“Orion!”

He jumped from the sound, twisting on his peds to see someone was on the other side of the second door. They were looking in at him. Their optics looked familiar. That battle mask looked familiar. Those audial fins…

The Prime.

He was there. He was one of the bots. He would know.

Optimus scrambled towards the door, crashing into it and clawing at it.

“WHERE IS HE?!” He screamed. “WHERE IS MEGATRON?!”

The Prime had to take a step back from his side of the door, rattled by his deranged state. He stared at him for a long klik, unable to speak. Each nanosecond that passed by only made his anxiety climb higher.

“PLEASE I BEG OF YOU!!”

He slammed his fist against the door, and the glass around it cracked into spindly limbs. That seemed to snap the Prime back into action. He approached the door again, placing his servos against it.

“He is at the hospital. Ratchet is doing everything he can for him.”

Optimus froze as he stared at his reflection through the glass. His reflection continued, every part of him displaying worry.

“You’re hyperventilating, Orion. You need to vent. I promise Tr… your bonded is in good servos. Please, my friend, everything will be alright.”

… No… no it wouldn’t.

Megatron was at the hospital. He could never go there. He could never reach him there. The hospital meant the labs. The labs meant tearing bots apart to put them back together again. The labs meant—

Optimus wailed again, falling against the door. He couldn’t hold his own weight and slid down to the floor.

“Orion? Orion?!”

Who was he kidding?

It was over. They won. Megatron was dead. He was alone.

He shivered as he cried. It was so dark, so cold.

It was real.

Everything blended and muddled together as the flood of coolant poured from his optics. It was too much. He couldn’t take this any longer. Why did it even matter? Only one thing had mattered, and that was gone too.

He had nothing.

He was nothing.

The red and blue mech shivered again, crossing his arms tightly over his chest plates. How could he could endure this life any longer?

His spark felt dim. His processor was spinning on an axis. Everything was caving in around him.

“… Optimus.”

Heavy blue optics cycled wide. It was him! It was Megatron!! Where was he? Why did he sound so faint?

“All this time at the mercy of our captors… It has made us heavily dependent on each other to endure.”

It was a memory file, torn from the back of his processor and echoing through their bond. He hugged himself tighter and listened with every last shred of attention he had to give. Just as long as he could hear that voice. Catch a glimpse of those crimson optics.

“For my sake you tried to push your suffering aside, and I took for granted that you were still with me…”

No!

He shook his helm adamantly as he clung to the echo.

No! I took you for granted! I’m so sorry!

The room around him was blurring, but he could see those crimson optics so clearly. He could feel the weight of Megatron’s field. It was so distinct.

“That’s why I want this to be your choice.”

My… My choice?

His arms loosened around his chest plating.

“I know… I know how horrible this has been, and how horrible it will be, especially for you.”

It was so dark, and it was so cold. His spark was drowning. But the memory felt more real than anything ever had.

“My Prime…”

… My Megatronus.

“No matter what happens, I will see you soon… If not among the living, then among our friends.”

Optimus’s digits hovered over his chest plating.

He would see his bonded again.

Nothing else mattered.

This body did not matter.

He absently scratched at the glass as he dimly searched through his protocols, looking for the one to open his plating. Procedures and commands passed by like a list of trashed parts. None of them mattered. None of them were the one he was looking for.

He scratched harder at the glass, hearing the graze of digits against it. Where was that slagging protocol? He passed through them again, but everything felt hazy. He couldn’t find it.

Slag it!!

Frustration built in his lines and he scrabbled his digits over his chest plates. The screech it made was jarring. His pain receptors fired off, but they did not matter. If Starscream could leave claw marks on Megatron’s face with blunt digits, then he could do what he needed with his own.

He still couldn’t find that damn protocol. He searched through every one of them again, but he just kept passing it. His vocalizer let out something between a sob and a growl. His digits curled inwards and he raked them over his plates again. This time, the glass shattered underneath them, splintering and plinking down his front. His pain receptors went off like blaster fire. He shut them out.

A thought rose in the back of his processor; he didn’t want to do this with his here, where his reflection stood just a ped length away on the other side of a door. This time a comprehensible growl rose from his throat. He stubbornly rose from the floor and to his peds, staggering back into the room as he grabbed ahold of the frame of his right chest plate and ripped it off.

“Orion?!”

Pain receptors were firing in a mad frenzy. He reached for the frame of the left chest plate, gritting his denta as it tore away, and let both frames clatter to the ground. There wasn’t much more to go. This body was old, fallible, mortal.

On the other side of the door the other Prime squinted through the darkness, trying to see what he was doing. He was blocking the moonlight from the window. But his arms were over his chest. Moving around it. Pulling at it.

Something frigid gripped his spark as he slowly realized what the red and blue mech was doing.

“Orion!!”  

His digits scraped through the mechanisms surrounding his spark casing. Optimus could feel wires snapping, cogs bending, struts cracking. He could feel hot energon bleeding down his front as his body weakened. He did not let himself falter. He was almost there. He hung onto that final memory, that final visual of those crimson optics that gazed at him as if he was the life of the universe.

“Orion NO!!” 

He could see the fragments falling off the red and blue mech inside. The Prime felt coolant gathering in his optics and slammed his fist against the wall. Frag Rung and his orders. Frag staying outside the cell. His digits were shaking so much he had to enter the code twice. But when it beeped for entry, he threw open the door and raced for the other mech.

“STOP!!”

The Prime shouted as he grabbed ahold of the other mech’s arms, pulling them away from the damage they’d inflicted to his inner chest cavity. Primus, there was energon all over him. He could feel it leaking down their arms. The red and blue mech suddenly scowled, throwing himself against the other’s grip.

“Let go of me!!”

 “No! I won’t let you do this!”

They struggled for at least a klik but the injured red and blue mech was visibly weaker, venting heavily and shaking. The other bulky mech wrangled him backward, forcing him to sit on the berth with a tight grip on his wrists.

“Were you not a leader?!” The bulky mech shouted, staring at him with desperate optics. “Have you no honor?! No dignity?! No self-respect?! If you do this, you will leave nothing more than a memory to fade in this prison! Do you not care about life?! Are you not Optimus Prime?!”

The red and blue mech stopped. He stared. Their optics mirrored each other, light for light, emotion for emotion. Where one mask had been torn away, the other was always engaged. Where one Matrix pulsed, the other lay dead on the floor. Two sparks, born of the same star of each universe, clashed and spiraled into the depths of space.

Crimson optics faded from the forefront of his processor, replaced by electric blue. His world fell to pieces at their loss.

“… Optimus Prime broke.”

He bawled, wilting against his counterpart’s grip. The Prime felt his own tears slide down his faceplates, drip off his battle mask.

“Optimus Prime… broke.”

Optimus crumbled, and the Prime fell with him. Their tears were shed long into the night.  

Chapter Text

Awareness returned. With it came a swamp of haze, a numb frame, and a cold twinge in his spark.

Where was he? What the frag happened?

It was a fight to online his optics, and when he could he offlined them a nanosecond later. Primus, it was so fraggin’ bright. Did someone throw him in with the Well of Allsparks? What was going on?

He tried to vent, but even that was a challenge. His frame felt so heavy, chilled. Why did it feel like a mountain stood on top of him?

Questions without answers. A processor without connecting threads.

He felt his lip plates curl as he sucked in air, let it cycle through his vents, and then pushed it back out. This should be easy. He was not going to let the faults of his frame defeat him. In, cycle, out. In, cycle, out. In, cycle, out. It became a rhythm, and within a few kliks he had control.

Now onto the next trial.

Internally cringing, he onlined his optics again and winced at the bright light. It dazed him for a solid half a klik before retreating into the shape of a ceiling light overhead. A blank, off-white ceiling. It looked familiar. Where had he seen this before?

His optics slid to the corners that sharpened in focus. There were a couple ceiling lights overhead. They lit blank walls with no windows or doors he could yet see. A square frame perked out of the ceiling with an indent running through it. It hung just above where he was, and he followed it until he found a light blue, ruffled curtain pushed back to the far wall.

Wait a klik. He’d seen that curtain before.

But his processor was still coming to terms with being aware of his surroundings. There was no room for recalling memory files. He growled to himself, next focusing his energy on moving his helm, craning it towards the curtain. There were machines in between it and him buzzing with activity. Lines and numbers and symbols danced over screens, mini-lights flickered, and a glowing tube of energon stretched from a canister on a hook to somewhere on him. The exact location was just below his line of sight. He assumed it was somewhere on his arm.

Turning his helm to look the other way, he found other side of the room less vacant. Cabinets, drawers and a counter lined the wall and touched the floor. Tools and datapads were stacked on top. Across from them in the corner of the wall behind him, he caught sight of a door handle. He turned and craned his helm down, confirming that he was in a berth and the energon tube disappeared underneath a thin thermal sheet.

He knew this room. He knew these settings. Something about them screamed familiarity and dripped ice onto the pulsing, glowing crystal inside him.

Questions were building in his processor. There were so many he wanted answers to. The most urgent of them all: why was he in a berth hooked up to an energon line and what the frag was going on with his spark?

To answer at least one of those questions, he knew what he had to do next, and that it would not be easy. Looking back up at the ceiling, his concentration flew down to his servos. It took a couple kliks, but he was nothing if not stubborn, and at last he could feel them twitch under the sheet.

Another victory. And one that would surely lead to better ones.

He continued to manipulate his digits, feeling the numbness in them slowly work away. When he could flex all five claws, he moved to the wrists. When the wrists could bend, he worked on the forelimb joints. Time passed klik by klik, none of his ministrations affected the chill in his spark that continued to eat at his thoughts. It was strange; where was it coming from? And why? He could do nothing but push away those unnerving thoughts for now. Answers would come with time, and he would get them.

His steady exploration of movement came to a halt after he tried to pull his elbows back. His right shoulder functioned well enough, but the left felt tight and a twinge of pain bloomed the moment he attempted to fuss with it. He looked down again. The shoulder itself looked fine from what he could see. Old scars blinked back, accompanied by small shiny welds that must’ve been recent damages. Nothing appeared that should be able to hinder its abilities.

Something must’ve happened that had incapacitated his frame, that much he could deduce. Memories that he knew must be important remained out of his reach. Along with them came a sense of urgency, of fear and anger. There was someplace he needed to be.

Or, perhaps, someone he needed to remember.

Deciding there was too much to lose if he didn’t take the risk, he moved his arms back anyway. His left shoulder tightened again, and a throbbing ache developed over his chest down to the base of the armor covering. Taking note of it, he eased more of his weight on the right arm as he placed his servos squarely on either side and pushed himself up. It was the hardest trial he’d faced yet, and his arms began to shake mere moments into the process. He grit his sharp denta and growled, unwilling to give up so easily. He bent his helm forward. Length by small length, he was able to pull away from the berth beneath. With every bit the numbness that had taken over his frame was dissipating. He could feel his peds, his leg struts and joints. The throbbing in his chest increased.

None of that stopped him. He needed to be somewhere, and it was not here.

Finally, he pushed himself up enough that the weight of his upper frame could be balanced in something of an upright position. He hunched, his vents cycling hard, and with each heave he felt the thermal sheet covering him slip down. It fell to his lap, and the blades of his chin clinked down against his collar structure as he looked down at himself for the first time.

His optics cycled wide and his vents stalled.

Welds littered every inch of his chest plating, long and short, thick and thin, straight and crisscrossed. They crawled up the lengths of his arms, peeked out from his stomach vents, crept over the bit of his thigh struts he could see. There were so many of them, but none of them held a candle to what he found on the left side of his chest. It could only be described as a crater, patched and welded closed from what’d previously been a gaping hole. The metal around it was warped and scorched black.

He realized two things at once. He was extremely lucky to be functioning with an injury like that. But he also knew that kind of scorch. It usually arose from the heat of a blaster’s barrel. A bot couldn’t receive it unless they were shot point blank.

Shot point blank.

The face of a seeker suddenly crashed to the forefront of his processor, his red optics feral and fuming.

“You… You’re supposed to be dead!!”

That voice. He knew that voice.

Water rolled and rumbled in audials. He could feel the sand give way beneath his peds. Colorless and soft. It only reached so far before the rocks ceased its progression up the hill.

The shore.

Bots stood by the rocks. They watched him. They talked amongst themselves. They ran. They grabbed the ballistic seeker moments too late. They disappeared.

Another bot stood by him. Raced after him. Splashed the ocean at him. Laughed with him. Ran towards him. Caught him. Held him. He did not disappear until imminent shutdown commenced.

The last thing he remembered was that bot’s optics… Those bright, loving—

BLUE OPTICS.

The chill in Megatron’s spark expanded outward, capturing his entire frame and shattering the fog surrounding his memory files. Images, audio, sensations, and emotions slammed into him each with the force of a kick to the gut. The ex-warlord remembered the captors, the torture, and the enslavement. The escape, the space bridge, and landing in another universe. The imprisonment, rehabilitation, and the attack.

Megatron remembered Optimus. And every damned moment that had twisted their fates into one up to this point.   

His optics cycled as wide as they could go. His claws quivered as they punctured into the berth, tearing through fabric and metal.

Starscream had leapt to attack, he pushed his bonded out of the way. He was there in those last few nanoseconds before Megatron lost consciousness. Where was he now? What had they done to him? Was he hurt? Did he believe the other was dead? Why was their bond so cold?

Primus, he left him there… all alone… and the bond… it felt cold.

Physically he scrambled forward, his claws digging into the berth and sheets as he hastily pulled himself forward.

Mentally, he dived into their bond, the tendrils of his spark stretching out and frantically waving. They sought every corner and crevice, every nook in the middle, crawling down the tunnel to find that source of light.

Optimus?!

He cried out, pouring so much of himself into the bond that the hospital room blurred around him.

OPTIMUS?!

*

The cell was silent.

Daylight poured in through the window. It alerted them to the desk chair that had fallen, knocked over in their struggle. Neither of them ever moved to pick it up. Most of the sheets and blankets from the berth were torn and stained, sprawled over the floor or crumpled at the end of the mattress. Globs of energon on the floor had dried overnight, turned into a sticky mess. They pooled around the fragments and pieces of its occupant’s internal parts. Glittering drops hung off the mangled frames of chest plates.

They sat in the middle of the berth, both staring sightlessly at the opposite wall. Optimus had pulled his legs up, arms wrapped tightly around them. His frame shook under the last intact thermal blanket left. Beside him, the Prime’s near perfect posture had long since wilted under exhaustion. His servo rested against the blanket over the other mech’s back, occasionally rubbing small circles when his shaking grew severe.

He should’ve called Rung last night. He should’ve called in more bots to keep a watch on the red and blue mech. Maybe he should’ve called every official in the city. But the only bot he called last night was Ratchet.

To put it lightly, he was not please by the situation he walked into after the emergency on the shore earlier in the day. He was deeply disturbed by the state of the injuries he now had to treat, and the cause of them. He’d taken one look at the patient whose face was streaked with dried coolant, whose body was painted with drying energon, and whose chest was blocked from view by a bunched up thermal sheet in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Then he’d given the Prime a shocked, questioning gaze, a rant waiting at the tip of his glossa. But the Prime had shaken his helm. He couldn’t handle it then. Neither of them could. So Ratchet closed his intake and set to work.

The red and blue mech was not pleased by the situation either, and was definitely not approving of having a medic’s servos in his frame again. But at that point he was too weak to give much of a fight, and Ratchet conceded in not sedating him again. To the medic’s credit, he kept his touches as light and quick as he could, simplifying the repairs to sealing off wires, reassembling energon lines, and removing internal mechanisms broken beyond repair. He then wrapped a long, heavy-duty mesh bandage around his patient’s entire chest cavity to protect it from further injury and let self-repair begin its work. There were many parts that would need to be replaced, but they were not of immediate need. Ratchet left his patient with a suggestion of rest, and the Prime with the order to not let him out of your sight.

Pieces of the dim, rusting frame of what could’ve only been another Matrix of Leadership were scattered over the floor. They were observed and taken without comment from anyone.

Neither Optimus nor the Prime spoke a word afterward, and the silence lasted into the morning.

It did not break again until Optimus felt the bond stir.

He paid little attention it at first. Phantom sensations had been creeping over his spark all night, and he’d assumed this was the same. But this one did not subside. This stir kept growing by the klik. It strengthened and wriggled on the other side of the bond like a feverish creature. Underneath the blanket he placed a servo on top of the medical wrapping and over his spark.

Please go away…

The stirring continued to grow. His tremors intensified and he felt coolant gathering in his optics again. The servo on his back restarted their gentle circles. It did nothing to comfort him.

Please…

Kliks passed by accompanied by the torturous stirring on the other end of the bond. Optimus knew it was only a matter of time before it stole his last shreds of rationality.

He wasn’t prepared for the sudden explosion of sensations over the bond.

FEAR. DISTRESS. DESPERATION.

Optimus?!

Each emotion was so strong it made him feel sick. Optimus gasped and whined, his frame tensing as both servos grabbed at the bandage over his spark chamber. The Prime’s helm jerked toward him and his servo halted in place on his back.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He vented shakily.

It couldn’t… It couldn’t… Could it be?

OPTIMUS?!

Tendrils of light were reaching through the bond towards him, stretching like frantic digits. They brushed against his spark, trying to grab ahold of what he’d locked away.

His optics blew wide.

Could it truly be…?

FEAR. DISTRESS. DESPERATION.

Answer me Optimus! PLEASE! Where are you?!

The words betrayed fear. They were scared.

But so was he. This could be a trick. It could be a vicious joke his subconscious had decided to play on him.

But spark bonds did not lie.

Timidly, his spark unfurled and let its tendrils reach forward.

… Megatron?

They brushed against the tendrils that stretched so far, and in that moment, he felt the deepest, sincerest essence that only his bonded could ever carry. That’d he’d only felt in those precious moments their sparks had melded into one.

It was him.

Something between a cry and a static garble was ripped from his vocalizer.

Shock.

RELIEF.

I’m here! Where are you?! Are you hurt?!

He could hear that formidable rasp in his spark, cycling through his audials, even if these words carried no sound. Optimus vented shakily again, and he closed his optics against the onslaught of tears that threatened him.

You’re alive.

It was all he could say. It turned his world just a bit more to the upside, and that was enough. The tendrils of Megatron’s spark coiled tighter around him. His spark was so shaken he didn’t know what to feel.

I’m here, beloved! I swear to you, I’m here. Did they hurt you?? What the frag did they do to you after I lost consciousness?!

Megatron’s force of life washed over him like the currents of the ocean, fearful and worried strutless for him. It was all-consuming. It flooded the silence and the cold. Optimus’s servos pressed harder over his spark chamber, as if he could physically grip the sensation of his bonded within him. The warmth and ease of solace shook him to his core. He curled in on himself, pressing his face into his knees as he sobbed in utter gratitude to any deity that might still be listening.

Y-You’re alive.

His spark pulsed and shuddered as it threw itself against its casing, clinging tight to the other through their bond. Megatron’s loud energy hushed, taking in his bonded, and he coiled even tighter around him.  

… You’re crying.

Optimus gasped for air, and the sob that fell from his intake could’ve been a laugh. Primus, only one mech in any universe would ever understand his spark so well.

I know you are. Optimus, please don’t cry.

He vented again, lifting his helm off his knees to wipe some of the coolant away. Megatron was alive. The bond was whole. He wasn’t alone.

Where are you beloved?

Megatron prodded him gently from across the bond.

Did they take you back to the cell?

Optimus felt himself so immersed with his partner he physically nodded.

Yes.

The tendrils coiled around him moved to lace into every part of him they could. He did the same and felt the emotions in their bond change.

Relief… Determination.

I’m coming.

Chapter Text

Megatron shifted his weight back on the berth, allowing his peds more freedom to move. Glancing down at the energon tube stuck underneath the seam of his arm, he gave it a dismissive huff before pinching it between two claws and pulling it back. A pinch shot up his arm as the needle slid out of his protoform. He stuck it into the berth padding with an air of finality.

Surprise. Confusion.

W-What?

He felt Optimus’s shifting tendrils of light as if they were in his very frame. He offlined his optics, savoring that sacred touch between them, before they onlined again.

I’m on my way to you. I’ll be there soon.

 Surprise. Confusion.

He felt that small jitter of a pulse, and could picture the Prime blinking, taken aback.

But… you’re in… and you…

Testing his peds one more time, Megatron found his joints to be functional, and began to shift them over the side of the berth.

Reassurance.

Unimportant. So long as energon flows through my frame, I will come for you.

He couldn’t stand to be in this pit-forsaken hospital room anymore. Not when he knew too well what it reminded his bonded of. He fought off an oncoming shudder, letting the wholeness of their bond work to calm him.

Just hold onto me. Alright? Hold onto me, and I’ll be there soon.

Over the bond, he felt Optimus’s spark shudder again. He weaved himself in every possible way into the silver mech’s mental grasp.

Gratitude—Desperation—Love—Hope.

Megatron’s lip plate twitched upward as he placed each of his peds solidly on the ground. Optimus’s emotions were jumbling and catching on each other. They did that too often when he was overwhelmed by a situation.

Settling most of his weight on his right arm, he took on the next challenge of rising off the berth. Though his leg struts were functional, they were weak. They shook as he straightened, and he cursed how much strength his injuries had sapped from him. It took him a few kliks of pausing and straightening. When he was finally standing, he stumbled around to grab onto the rails of the berth and steady himself. Stars danced behind his optics, his processor spun, and the blaster wound made his entire chest throb.

He homed in on the bond before those sensations could reach it. He concentrated solely on Optimus.

I know you’re still crying, beloved.

The other spark quivered and pulsed.

F-Forgive me… I’m simply grateful you’re alright.

Megatron felt his lip plates twitch again.

You should know by now; no Starscream of any universe can vanquish me.

Gratitude—Exasperation—Love—Fondness.

Megatron could picture his bonded shaking his helm at him. By the time a klik passed, he opened his optics and felt much more grounded. Glancing over his shoulder, he found the door attached to the handle in the nearest corner of the room.

Onto the next trial: walking.

Gradually, he shuffled towards the wall, testing the ability of his peds to move without faltering. So far so good. He let go of the berth rails and fell against the wall, steering himself so that his less injured shoulder took the brunt of the impact.

Pain. PAIN.

His frame jolted, the blaster wound screamed at him and he choked on a yowl. He had to stop and slouch against the blank surface when his vision went white.

Surprise—Distress—Anxiety.

Megatron?!

It occurred to him how lucky he also was that no medics had yet to enter in on his activities.

Cycling air through his vents, he shook his helm to recalibrate his sensory mechanisms on the room.

… Assurance. Determination.

Sliding a servo up and placing it squarely on the wall, the silver mech began to shuffle away from the berth.

I’m fine, Optimus. I’m on my way.

The tendrils of light weaving around him quaked at the remnants of hurt lingering in the bond and pulsing through his spark. He was not convinced.

… How bad are your injuries?

Megatron almost winced at the question. He finally reached the door, grabbed at the handle with his right servo and slowly pulled it open. A crack of light flooded in from the hall outside and he peered through the gap. No medics were seen walking down past, nor could he hear the sound of peds in the near vicinity. He waited another few nanoseconds to be sure, then pulled it open all the way. He shuffled out as the door closed behind him, pressing his right fist against it and carefully letting it slide back into the frame. It closed with a small click.

Less than appealing. But I’ve survived worse.

It was as much of a response as he would allow.

Servo firmly planted on the wall, he looked down each end of the hallway. Past memory files recalled this as the surgical ward of the hospital. He knew it, he’d walked down this hallway multiple times and he knew the way out. The flights of stairs that stood between him and ground level would be absolute pit, but he’d worry about that when he got there. He hobbled towards the exit at the eastward end of the hall.

Distress—Anxiety—Exasperation.

Do not lie to me! You—You were shot in the chest! I thought you were offline—!

Megatron’s progress reduced to a pause, the hardness in his expression going lax. There were too many implications that came with that reply. Too many that gave hint to Optimus’s anguish and misery. Too many that could explain the piercing chill he felt in their bond the moment he’d woken up. The silver mech growled low and his expression hardened. He needed to get out of here. He could do nothing unless he reached his bonded first.

I function, Optimus. We once swore would never be apart again.

Reaching the end of the hallway, he glanced through the windows of the exit. The stairs were empty of bots for the moment. He looked back over his shoulder to be sure no one was behind him.

I plan to hold to that promise, no matter what it takes.

He pushed the door open and closed it quietly before turning back to the stair flights he would now have to tackle. Taking in a vent, he pushed himself away from the door and staggered towards the stairs to catch himself on the inside railings. Anything he could do to decrease the distance and make this part go quicker. He took one step down. The chance of being seen now was much higher. He took two steps, then three. The blaster wound pounded with pain. Four, five, six. He hung to the rail with quivering claws. Seven, eight, nine. Optimus’s anxiety seeped further into his spark with every passing moment. He reached the bottom of the flight. Progress was laborious and agonizing. He needed to get out of here.

Two and a half flights down, it didn’t even occur to him he should be listening for other mecha.

His vents were heaving, and every piston was wound tight from the throbbing ache that pulsed from his wounds to every length of his frame. Loosening his knee joints to step down became an individual effort for each leg. Over the bond the spark tendrils of his bonded kept him from drowning in the agony, and he held on tight. Kept those precious blue optics at the forefront of his processor. He didn’t even hear the exit to the floor below him click open and closed.

Megatron did receive a reality check when a flash of orange and white appeared on the next flight down and climbed up towards him.

Dismay. Dread.

There was nowhere he could go. Climbing back up the stairs was a fruitless idea that would only end in a fall. Trying to rush past the medic was even more rash of an idea, he could not accelerate faster than a shamble. Panic made him freeze.

Ratchet turned onto the next flight to climb upward, his expression weary and aggravated. It went slack quickly when his optics flicked up to meet glazed crimson.

“What in the name of—?!”

He jerked to a stop on the second step up. The silver mech’s frame shuddered with heaves, and his servos clung to the rail. Patient injury protocols kicked in and he jogged up the next three steps.

“What are you doing out of berth?! You slaggin’ idiot, you’re going to tear the welds!”

Distress—ANXIETY.

 Megatron?! What is happening?!

Physical and mental stimulations bombarded him and forced his instincts on overdrive. In response to his bonded’s fear his armor flared, and his own dread disappeared under a wave of defensive anger. His sharp denta were bared as he snarled at the old medic.

“Don’t come any closer!!”

Ratchet halted, warded off by the angry crackling field surrounding the mech he knew could be dangerous. Gradually, cautiously, he raised his servos in a gesture of peace.

“Ok…” He spoke calmly, taking a step back down the stairs. “Look, you need to listen to me. You’ve been gravely injured. Walking around so soon after surgery could damage your welds and lead to delayed recovery. You need to return to your berth.”

Megatron?!

The silver mech did not budge. His resolve hardened like stone and he held his ground. Crimson optics narrowed downward at the medic.

“No.”

He hissed, and his field lashed around him again.

“You took me from my bonded. Now I am returning to him.”

It took a fair effort for Ratchet to not sigh. This couple would never make his job easy for him, would they?

“I understand you’re worried about your bonded after yesterday’s events. He is just as worried about you.”

Ratchet began, not exactly sure how much reasoning would reach this mech.

“But the injuries you sustained will not hold up to such strenuous activity yet. I doubt you’ll make it halfway to the facility. And even if you made it all the way, Maximus will not be so inclined to let you enter. But if you let me help you back to your room, I promise I’ll go there immediately and notify your bonded that you’re awake—”

PANIC.

MEGATRON TALK TO ME! PLEASE!!

That was it.

This mech knew nothing. He could not grasp a fraction of what he thought he understood about the silver mech and his bonded. He would never know that these words meant nothing. That nothing else mattered but this trial that stood between them.

RAGE.

This medic did not know who was speaking to.

RAGE.

And that no longer would he submit to anything but those invaluable blue optics.

“Cease your ramblings, medic!”

He roared, one of his servos falling away from the rail and curling his claws menacingly. The medic stopped speaking, his optics widening at the outburst.

“I will not be commanded by you any longer! You think these wounds will stop me? Medic, I have survived conditions that have eradicated billions of life forms before me. You hold no right to tell me what I can and cannot do. I will tear down these walls as if they were made of glass. I will take on the guard of the facility with nothing but my bare servos. I will crawl though the fiery chasms of the pits if that’s what Unicron bids me do. I will do whatever it takes to return to the only mech I have left to live for! So you can either get out of my way, or I will take you on right here.”

Silence followed his words like the destruction after a storm. Ratchet stared at him, and he stared back. At least a klik passed with nothing exchanged between them but Megatron’s sheer will. But after that, the old medic closed his optics and shook his helm.

“Fine! Fine.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his olfactory sensors in between two digits. “Primus, you’re relentless no matter where you come from, aren’t you?”

Megatron blinked at him, shocked in his own right at the response. He was even more surprised when the medic climbed the last few steps towards him. Ratchet’s servos carefully unwrapped the claws of his right servo from the railing. The medic then stooped himself underneath the silver mech to brace him.

“Come on, put your arm up. Relax.”

He flinched away from the medic but was stuck in between him and the railing. There were a lot of reactions he’d been expecting, from fear to outrage to more exasperation from the old medic. This was not even in the range of those he’d imagined.

“What the frag are you doing?”  

Ratchet glanced over to regard the silver mech from the corner of his optic.

“What’s it look like, you scrapheap? I’m escorting you back to the facility.”


*

The thermal blanket had been abandoned on the berth.

Optimus paced restlessly up and down the length of the room. His arms were folded over his bandaged chest and he clenched his digits in between his denta.

He didn’t know what to think, what to say, what to do. Megatron was alive. He was injured. He was attempting an escape from the hospital to get back to the facility. There were so many ways in which the attempt could go wrong. His processor conjured every single one of them. His spark flipped and jittered in its casing, dropping into his tanks any time the projected emotions from his bonded changed. Optimus wanted to be there, wanted to know so badly where the silver mech was with each passing klik.

Megatron?

The other spark pulsed at him, weariness growing but offering comfort.

Peace, beloved. I’m alright. I’m almost there.

How? How did he get out of the hospital? How was he able to get through the city sidewalks without falling? Without being caught?

Maybe the better question was whether or not he should care at this point. He paced back towards the door, looking through it as if the silver mech would be on the other side.

Back on the berth, the Prime watched him pace with ever increasing worry. He had yet to speak at all since last night. He answered none of his questions when he broke down sobbing under the blanket. But then he jumped up and off the berth, seemingly working off nervous energy that never truly ebbed. Any attempts to approach him proved ineffective, he’d either jump back or keep walking without an acknowledgement to give.

That was the point the Prime decided it was a better time than never to call Rung.

As far as he knew the psychologist was on his way and should be here any nanosecond now. He’d told the red and blue mech the same, but it didn’t look like he’d heard him, much less cared. This must’ve been a panic attack unlike anything he’d ever seen. Definitely the strangest. There wasn’t much he could do in the face of it; he hoped Rung could instead.

Weariness… Weariness… Satisfaction.

The emotions changed. Optimus bit down harder on his digits and vented shakily.

I’m entering the facility, beloved. I’m almost there, hold on just a bit longer.

He didn’t have a clue how his bonded could get through the guard alone. But he didn’t care. He was there. He was so close. Optimus turned on a heel and raced back towards the door.

He wasn’t prepared for how quickly the lock clicked, signaling a bot’s entry.

Optimus froze, a dozen different emotions hitting him all at once. They made him nauseous and exuberant in the same instant.

Megatronus…?

But his spark was brought crashing down to the floor at his peds when instead of his bonded, it was the orange psychologist. A distraught howl caught in his throat and he staggered back a step.

Comfort. Love.

I’m in the facility Orion.

The psychologist entered quickly; his expression engulfed with concern for his patient. He half jogged through the second door as the first door began to swing closed.

“Orion? What’s the matter?”

He couldn’t control his ventilations. The realms of reality and bond waltzed around him, spinning and spinning until they blurred into one.

What’s the matter?

What mattered?

Megatron mattered.

Megatron was all that mattered now.

Optimus’s helm snapped towards the doors. They were still closing. There was only one chance.

He took that chance because he knew his life depended on it.

“Orion!!”

He dodged around the orange bot as he burst through the first door. Rammed through the second door just before it could click. He ran with such speed and force that he collided painfully with the wall on the other side. His chest burned.

Desperation. Distress.

MEGATRONUS!!

Orion?!

Optimus’s helm jerked towards the other end of the hall just as the Prime and Rung ran out after him. The double doors had opened, and now they were closing. From them emerged a tall silver mech slumped against an orange and white medic.

Those crimson optics, though a good distance away, were the only things he saw.

Bright. Cycling. Here. Alive.

Optimus felt his vocalizer cry out. It cried out in a release of all the pain he’d felt up to this point. It betrayed him of lingering sanity. It pierced every corner of the facility and caught the attention of all who strayed near. It was a cry of relief, of frailty and flaw, one unlike any he’d ever made in his life.

Breaking away from the wall, Optimus tore down the way as fast as he could, leaving behind the bots who stared on in astonishment. At the other side of the hall, the silver mech pushed himself away from the old medic, uncaring of his disputes as he pushed himself faster with the aid of the wall.

Solace—Gratitude—Elation—Reprieve.

Their emotions flew and caught each other in the bond, mixing into a mess of two sparks that pranced as their bodies finally came back into reach. Returned to where they belonged; two stars revolving on the edge of eternity.

Optimus felt physical pain when he caught a glimpse of the crater in his bonded’s chest. Megatron’s optics narrowed when he got a better view of the mesh bandage covering his partner. Unanswered questions were the only thing that stood between them now.

He tried to stop himself before they could clash and wound each other further, stumbling and almost falling flat on his face in front of the silver mech. But Megatron leapt out and caught him in his right arm, grimacing when the movement wreaked havoc on the blaster weld. Optimus wept as they steadied themselves, hyperventilating as he felt the solid silver claws holding onto him.

“Y-You… You’re…”

Megatron nodded, on the edge of tears. His shoulders drooped as he leaned down, letting their forehelms connect, hiding against his bonded when the first drops of coolant slid down his face. Optimus pushed up into the touch and nuzzled the ex-warlord for all it was worth.

Gratitude—Relief—Love.

Optimus…

Blue optics onlined, meeting crimson. They closed again when they kissed, their servos shaking where they latched onto the other.

It was beautiful. It was healing. It was sanctuary. It was truly worth living for.

Love… Exhaustion.

Optimus’s optics shuttered online again when he felt Megatron’s frame sagging forward.

Optimus, I don’t think I’ll be able to stand for much longer.

His optics cycled wide even as coolant continued to stream from them. Pulling back a step from the silver mech, he ducked under Megatron’s right arm and looped it over his shoulders.

I’ve got you, love.

Megatron groaned as he sank against his bonded, so depleted of strength he could barely hold his helm up. He put any remaining coherence into tentatively placing one ped in front of the other. Optimus guided him, feeling his chest throb as his bonded’s weight settled harshly over him. When the silver mech tripped, both of them nearly collapsed. Optimus couldn’t bite back a ragged gasp when he was jolted forward, unable to hold them both up. But a pair of strong servos on his free arm pulled him back into balance. He glanced over and blinked to see the other Ratchet at his side.

“Steady now,” the old medic soothed with a mild gaze, keeping a firm servo on his shoulder. “One step at a time. You’re nearly there.”

Rung and the Prime jogged up to them just as they came into sight of their living cell. They swore under their vents, very obviously dumbfounded at the sight of the silver mech. But they caught up with the situation quickly, helping the couple back to where they could finally rest.

Exhaustion. Worry.

Y-Your chest.

Optimus’s helm tilted towards his bonded, quickly losing strength as well and taken off guard as they worked their way through the first door to their cell.

Confusion.

What?

Exhaustion. Worry.

Your chest. It’s bandaged. Why?

Optimus winced at the question. That was an answer he hadn’t realized he didn’t want to give. The group of bots filed through the second door into the room.

Megatron’s crimson optics were dull, but they flashed at the sight of their cell.

The shredded sheets and crumpled blankets. The tipped chair. The energon staining the floor. The mangled pieces of his bonded’s frame.

SHOCK.

His helm shot up.

What... What the frag happened?!

Chapter Text

Rung was the one to inform them they’d be moving into the cell a few blocks down after a brief recovery period.

The secondary reasoning for it was fair enough. The state of their living space unsettled Megatron to a high degree. Optimus would not look at the floors or even the berth after they’d entered, instead staring at the nearest wall if not at his bonded. The wall took more of his attention whenever Megatron returned a questioning and deeply disturbed gaze. In consideration of their mental stability and the uneasy dynamic settling between them, simply cleaning the room would not serve either of them well. All stable bots present agreed it would just be easier to transfer them to a new living space.

The primary reasoning was not disclosed until they walked into the new cell later that evening and noticed the differences in setting. This room lacked a desk and chair. This room lacked the shelves on the wall. The berth was located across from the window instead of under it, and in place of spaced bars over the glass stood a smooth grated surface. Two simple nightstands stood on either side, and all of their corners were noticeably rounded out. Their datapads were moved with them, but their wired chargers were replaced with wireless hook-up stations on the nightstands. The walls offered a noticeable padding, the glass on the doors were reinforced, and four camera lenses were embedded into the ceiling corners.

“I understand this room contains different accommodations than what you are used to,” Rung had said, smiling apologetically. “But these are the city protocols for housing patients who’ve enacted harm upon themselves. I’m afraid even I cannot change them at the moment.”

Optimus refused to look him in the optic. He would not speak after they moved in. He turned himself away at just enough of an angle to hide his bandaged chest.

That’s when it clicked.

Megatron felt a number of things after the realization hit him. He felt shocked and angry. Mournful and guilty. Resigned and distraught. They all blended into a mess of a reaction that left him silent too. That night they couldn’t speak. They sat side-by-side on the berth. Their plating touched to keep them grounded, their fields were drawn in and fearful of reaching towards the other. They stayed this way, watching the moon pass through their window, until it fell with the arrival of morning.

By then, his frame couldn’t take it any longer. When he tried to move, the world went black. He was so exhausted his subconscious could not even conjure a dream.

When the silver mech came to again, it was to the sound of a door opening and closing. His chronometer told him it was the next evening. His frame ached terribly, but he was no longer sitting up. He’d been tucked into the berth, pillows had been propped up behind him, and an extra thermal blanket had been thrown over him.

Optimus was no longer on the berth.

At this, his optics onlined with a start and he scrambled back up, his entire body tremoring with the burst of agony that hit with a sudden movement. Where was he now? Why did the door open? Did a guard come and take him away again? Were they back in the—

A flash of red and blue halted his spiraling progression of threads.

Megatron quickly turned and found Optimus at his berth-side. Black servos were grasping his claws. Blue optics stared at him for the first time since the day before, glazed with worry. Relief swamped him and he leaned back with a long vent. They’d not been separated, they were fine.

He looked back up at his bonded, raising an inquiring brow.

Why were you at the door? How did it open?

In response, the red and blue mech leaned over, picking up one of the energon cubes he’d thrown on the nightstand in their brief moment of alarm. It was offered to him, exhausted blue optics begged him to take it. Comprehension dawned on him, and he squeezed those black servos in gratitude before reaching out to take it.

Optimus’s servos shook when he shifted to move back, and Megatron stopped. Those blue optics had drifted down and were staring at their servos, their tips that brushed against one another over the cube. His bonded hadn’t slept or fueled in two days. His face twisted, and within nanoseconds he looked on the edge of a panic attack.

The silence between them grew excruciating.

Megatron ignored the protests of his shoulder and slowly raised his other servo between them, turning it so that the back of it faced his bonded.

“… Where are you?”

His voice broke the quiet of the room like the crack of a whip, and both of them jumped at the sound. Optimus’s optics cycled once, twice, then three times and focused. He looked from the clawed servo to his bonded’s face and back, as if confused about what he was doing or scared of responding. This went on for a very long klik.

Then he reached back. When their servos were clasped together the red and blue mech let go of the cube to hold his claws tight in both servos. He fell forward and leaned his forehelm against them, venting shakily. Megatron set the cube in his other servo aside.

“Talk to me.” He rasped, his other servo curling around Optimus’s bicep. “Please.”

Optimus’s shoulders shuddered with his next ventilations. He did not speak for a few kliks, and near the end of them the silver mech uneasily wondered if he was falling back into speechlessness once more.

When he did speak, he shrunk in on himself as if preparing to be punished.

“… I tried to kill myself.” He murmured, his head tilting as if to look up, then going rigid where it hid. “You were alive. And I tried to kill myself.”

Megatron blinked as his expression fell, and with it he felt the return of the mess in his spark. He squeezed his partner’s servos and arm.

“The shot was near fatal.” He replied, his voice low and withdrawn in the statement of facts. “The bond was silent. You couldn’t have known—”

“I should have.” Optimus interrupted. His voice rose and cracked with a swell of emotion as he forced himself to look up. “I should have known.”  

Blue optics were glimmering with coolant. Before it could fall, they disappeared as the red and blue mech burrowed his face back in their joined servos.

“But it hurt… It hurt so much.”

Agony echoed through their bond like sound within the depths of the ocean. Megatron felt it as his own and felt coolant streaming down his faceplates. He made no effort to stop it. As if floodgates had been opened, Optimus continued, losing control of the words pouring from his intake.

“You weren’t there, and I thought you’d never be there again. I was scared. I couldn’t take it, I gave in! After everything we have been through, even receiving a second chance at a life worth living, I gave up!” He growled, his voice caught in between something somber and fuming. “… I broke our promise.”

Each word settled against him like an individual weight. They registered slowly, like the edge of a storm that only rained when it came close enough and then poured without mercy. Every shred of anger and resignation he carried paled in comparison to the guilt his bonded laid open between them. Megatron was rendered silent at the admittance.

“The Prime was right. I have no more self-respect. No dignity. No honor… I am a shame to our lineage, to the memory of our people, to you. I—”

Megatron pulled his servo off the other’s bicep to curl around his chin and cheek plates. Optimus ceased speaking, his next ventilation caught in his throat and his helm jerking up from their joined servos.

“Do not speak such profanity against yourself. Don’t you dare. I will not hear it.”

His chest shuddered as his vents gave a hiccup. The injury that rattled him came nowhere near the emptiness in Optimus’s optics, and Megatron couldn’t control the quiet sob that they wrenched from him.

He tugged at his bonded’s servos and pulled at those faceplates. He let his field go and wrapped it around the other. Come here, it said, and Optimus could not resist its pull. Crawling up to the silver mech’s right side, his own field slipped with every shamble to tumble around him. Megatron’s arms curled around him the moment he was close enough, and he leaned down to bury his head into the crook of his bonded’s neck. Optimus fell into a similar position, his audial fins clicking against the other’s spiked pauldron. They stayed like that for a while, their fields pushing and pulling at each other where they lay swarmed with angst and grief. The silver mech’s tears plinked into the old mechanisms of the other’s shoulder, and his bonded shivered at the sensation.

 “If I weren’t abhorred to the idea of injuring you further, I would beat some common sense into that self-sacrificing idiotic helm of yours…” Megatron spoke at last, his voice a fragmented rumble. “But I have no right to fault you for any decisions made when your mind was not clear. Not in the face of my own.”

Ancient flashes of memory showed brief moments of the council meeting. Of the war. Of his brief but self-destructive phase with dark energon. Pulling back slowly, crimson optics met the sunken vision that was once Optimus Prime. They slid down to the mesh bandages covering the other’s chest. The heavy weight of his sorrow pressed bore down on him relentlessly.

“The spark cannot go on when a piece of it is ripped away. You were overwhelmed, frightened, in misery. And you…”

He did not want to finish that thought, but he didn’t have to. In a way, in their own warped sense of logic, Optimus had acted in the right. They’d been through too much for too long. The only way they survived was by each other’s side. Too much had been broken that could not be fixed. Wounds like theirs could only be soothed by the other’s familiar servo. If they parted, there was no life they could live. No one, not even Rung could change that.

But Optimus was alive. They were both here, together. That’s what mattered.

“You are not a shame, beloved.” He declared, his field echoing a residual certainty around the other, the lightest emotion he was able to draw from it since the cycle before. “Not to me, nor to the memory of our people.”

Optimus pulled back as well and stared at him for a long klik before his optics then fell downward. Megatron followed, and they both felt the subconscious jar at the missing glass plates which had stood guard over his spark. Such a different appearance of their frames after all this time was hard to cope with, whether they wanted to admit it or not.

“I was their last Prime,” the red and blue mech replied softly, his voice wavering. “I tore the Matrix out of my chest. I destroyed the only remaining artifact of Primus’s first warriors. What honor or dignity did I possess then?”

To that, Megatron snorted. Optimus’s helm snapped up, discomposed by the starkly insulting reaction, and the silver mech caressed his backplates in apology and consolation.

“Honor? Dignity? We abandoned those virtues long ago. The Matrix has been nothing more than an eroding relic for centuries, and frankly I am glad to see it gone. I don’t want to know what kinds of side-effects that rusting adornment may have caused to your frame in the future.”

Blue optics averted themselves. Megatron pulled them back when he stroked over his bonded’s audial antennae with gentle claws.

 “Your life has revolved around your title since receiving the Matrix. But that was never your choice to begin with, was it? A Prime was called upon to lead the other side of the war, a war that has long since ended. There is no more need to bend yourself to its will and call that being ‘dignified.’ Let your self-respect grow from being you, not from being a Prime.”

He thought darkly of the other Prime that convinced his bonded such a way of thinking was wrong. Silently, he vowed there would be words, perhaps even threats, exchanged between them the next time they met… But for now, what was thought would remain unsaid. He focused back as Optimus’s optics wandered again, analyzing his statement so intently he did not register the sweet touches to his audials. Absently, he placed a servo over the bandages, and his digits drifted over the empty place where the Matrix had sat for almost all his life.

“But who am I, if not a Prime?”

Megatron’s helm tilted as he regarded his bonded. His claws shifted down from the audial to Optimus’s chest, grasping the other’s black servo over it.

“A question we’ll have to figure out now that we have the chance, won’t we?”

Optimus’s optics shuttered offline at the touch. And finally, finally, his lip plates twitched upward into the semblance of a grin. A hint of gratitude shown through his heavy field, pulsing against the silver mech. Megatron stroked his other servo over the other’s backplates again.

A victory. Small as it may be, it counted.

The silver mech opened his intake to speak again, but a sharp gutter between them beat him to it. Megatron blinked as Optimus’s optics snapped online and he tensed, as if the sound had knocked him back into awareness. The silver mech realized what it was the nanosecond heat began to shimmer around his bonded’s face.

He withheld an irritated sigh, releasing his bonded’s servo to snatch up the cube he’d put down earlier and hold it out.

“Fuel. You’re supposed to be recovering.”

Optimus recycled his optics. He made no move to take it, glancing between him and the cube.

“That is your—”

“Take it and fuel, now.” Megatron growled, his optics narrowing at his bonded. “Or else I will not either.”

Optimus sighed heavily, barely holding back an optic-roll as a flash of exasperation ran over his field. He took the cube and pulled himself away. Sitting back on the berth, he tipped it up, and when Megatron saw the energon begin to deplete from the cube he nodded to himself. Then, with a poorly hidden and pained groan, he twisted to grab the cube on the nightstand, feeling his injury complain with the movement.

Optimus pulled the cube away from his intake at the sound, but Megatron stopped him with another glare. The red and blue mech sighed again. Megatron threw back his own cube in a few gulps, not even attempting to disguise his own hunger.

When they both finished, Megatron went to return his to its position on the nightstand.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Optimus muttered, catching him off guard when he swiped the empty cube out of his grasp. He threw back the last of his and then slid over to his side of the berth, placing both on the other nightstand. They’d be picked up at a later time.

Megatron rumbled behind him. The red and blue mech looked over his shoulder, finding his bonded’s servo hovering where he’d previously been. Crimson optics bore into him as intensely as they had in those dreaded final moments they were on the shore.

“Come back here.” He grumbled. “It’s your turn to recharge.”

Optimus shed another small smile, reaching to pull the blankets of the berth down. He slid underneath them, turning back into Megatron’s right side. Neither of them said anything when the red and blue mech reached up to carefully wipe away the streaks of coolant on his bonded’s scarred faceplates. Their fields conveyed enough. He then nestled into the crook of the other’s arm, feeling it drape over him protectively.

They both gazed up at the ceiling, wishing they could break through it. Wishing that instead of an eerie blankness, it could be the stars to shelter them.

“… I revealed our identities.”

He whispered after a while. Megatron’s optics drifted to his bonded, to the cameras in the front corners of the room, and he released a ventilation. The arm that sheltered Optimus rubbed up and down his side.

“We both did.”

He responded. Optimus pressed closer into his side.

“What do you think they’ll do?”

It was a loaded cyclical question, and his loathing of it grew quickly. Would they call them delusional? Would they demand answers after being lied to for so long? Would they separate them again? Would they execute them the next time they walked through those doors?

“I don’t know.”

Unanswered questions always seemed to stand in their way, and Megatron had the unnerving realization that most of them may go unanswered for the rest of their life cycles.

They both dove into the deepest archives of their memories, back to the days of a Golden Age and they hid from their damnable future. The ceiling no longer existed when they replaced it with the stars over Cybertron.

Chapter Text

The Prime stopped in front of the door, just out of view of the reinforced window.

In other circumstances, the Prime would never hesitate before a meeting. He never had before, when they were caught in the midst of war and time was of the essence. Nor did he now, after he’d traded battle strategizing for city construction and diplomacy with the leaders of Earth. In those moments he would rationalize that he never needed it; he had a war to end, a city to run, a new era to shape. The survivors needed him. There was no time to waste.

But here and now, he paused, faltering in the façade he’d been able to put forth for so many eons. His peds felt momentarily immovable, grounded like stone. The Prime’s optics flicked from them to the crack beneath the door. It was hardly wide enough to allow air to escape through. Yet the longer he stared at it, the longer his processor had to work against him, conjuring images against his command. Energon, hot and thick, dribbled outward and into a pool. It cast up at the Prime his own reflection. Orion’s screams and sobs raked at his audials. The reflection splattered when into it fell the broken pieces sculpted by gods and golden rusting petals housed around the dark inner core of—

“Prime?”

Reality slammed back into focus. The Prime’s processor recalibrated as he turned in the direction of the voice and was met with two familiar sets of optics. One of them round and owlish, the other weathered and hard-set.

“Prime, we ready to proceed?”

Ironhide’s stance displayed cool confidence, but his field was tightly reined, more than likely a disguise for the uneasiness that was better seen in his gaze. Rung stood at his side, his expression more worn and wary than it had exhibited since the war. He could not tell for sure which factor they feared more; the bots on the other side of that door, or their infallible leader’s reluctance to face them after the events of the previous week. Perhaps even they did not know.

The Prime quickly looked back down at the floor; the vision of energon was gone. Before he could dwell any longer on it, he looked back up at the two mechs accompanying him and pointedly ignored the firearms Ironhide carried with him.

“Affirmative.” He spoke with a nod.

The old soldier returned the gesture and stepped forward, entering the code for the new keypad next to the door. Optimus held himself rigidly as the keypad buzzed and the double lock to the primary door clicked open. He stepped in without another word, allowing Rung to step past and type in the code for the next door.

What he did not expect was when the psychologist halted in front of him, turning around to face both the Prime and Ironhide as he stepped in last.

“Optimus, sir, with all due respect I feel the need to stress that I do not agree with this decision.” Rung said cautiously, his optics bright with restrained apprehension. “They have barely come to terms with the incident on the beach, let alone regained any of the progress lost in their mental recovery. Confronting them at this point in time will only—”

Ironhide stepped up to the Prime’s side, cutting in sharply as he stared down the psychologist with a hard gaze.

“This ain’t just another case of helpin’ strays anymore Rung, an’ you know it. Everyone’s been up in a panic since Screamer lost it. We ain’t got the choice to sit around on our afts.”

Rung could only blink at the interruption. He quickly turned to the Prime, hoping to plead to his compassion for the couple’s sake. But the barrier he was met with held fast in the Prime’s optics, allowing for no other arguments.

“I understand these consequences, Rung, and I have allowed them as much time as I could to recuperate. But this cannot wait any longer. There are more forces at will here than any of us originally assumed, and their source resides with your patients. We need to know their extent before they catch us off guard and take away our hard-fought peace.”

Without waiting for the psychologist’s reply, Optimus nodded to Ironhide. Rung could only take an abrupt step to the side when the old soldier punched the code into the keypad. The second buzz sounded off and the door unlocked.

“Wait-!”

The psychologist pleaded, but the old soldier was already in the room with Optimus right behind him.

They were both met with an audial-grating and vicious snarl.

Optimus and Ironhide stopped once more, taken by surprise at the sound and immediately blocked off by a wall of an electro-magnetic field. Most startling was the sheer weight of rage it encompassed, and the Prime had to force himself stay out of a battle stance, to not acknowledge his tank dropping at that rage’s familiarity. The Prime looked up and was blinded by the glower of crimson fixed solely on him, accompanied by bared fangs and twitching claws.

A whirlwind of war and another pair of monstrous red optics flashed through his processor before he could stop it.

Rung immediately rushed in front of the Prime and Ironhide in an attempt to dissuade his patient’s violent temper.

“Tron, we are not here to harm—”

“What’re you, a fraggin’ cyberhound?!” Ironhide growled, recovering more quickly than his leader with dwindling patience for the situation. “Cut that slag out! We need some answers from you!”

Rung had never wanted so badly to slap a mech upside the helm.

The silver mech hissed from where he sat on the edge of the berth, waiting for their entrance the moment shadows began moving outside the reinforced glass. His optics flared and his field overwhelmed the room with a more repressive wrath. Despite his injury, he was off the berth and on his peds in nanoseconds, ready to charge them and tear them apart with his bare servos.

The room suddenly became a flurry of motion. Ironhide drew his blaster without a second’s delay, digit on the trigger and poised to fire if the silver mech took another step closer. Rung jumped in front of the soldier, begging him to hold fire. In the same moment, his second patient scrambled off the berth and leapt in front of his bonded, unseeing of the blaster and blocking both their views of the intruders. The silver mech was given no chance to react before the red and blue mech grabbed the sides of his helm, pulling his gaze down to meet blue optics.

Fear. Love. Fear—Calm. Love. Calm…

The result was almost instant. Vengeful crimson optics softened, unwilling to bring harm to their partner, and the anger which had taken over the room began to recede into a low swarm of irritation. Ironhide and Rung remained frozen where they were, watching the scene intently. After a few kliks the silver mech relaxed into his bonded’s hold, his optics closing and his right spiked pauldron slumping. The tension in the psychologist’s field loosened, and at his hard look, Ironhide took his digit off the trigger and lowered the blaster halfway.

The Prime watched it all in a stupefied daze, taking it all in as his processor warred between the reality in front of him and the memories behind his optics.

“Ok…” Rung said finally, taking a step back to put himself more firmly in the middle of the two parties. “Perhaps now we can approach this situation with more tact.”

A small derisive snort answered him, and Rung’s attention once again snapped back to the old soldier, his field disapproving.

“Ironhide, your comment was derogatory and uncalled for. You should not insult someone for defensive behaviors stemming from previous trauma.”

Ironhide huffed, muttering under his breath but putting the blaster away. Rung nodded at the action, shifting his attention back to his patients. The red and blue mech watched him warily, small pained tremors running over his armor and anxiety clear in his field but refusing to budge. The silver claws of his bonded’s right servo wrapped around him possessively, keeping them both steady. Crimson optics had reopened, casting baleful glances at the Prime and his soldier, but the mech remained quiet and unmoving. Their therapist sighed.

“My apologies for such a horrendous intrusion.” He amended, wondering if either of them would even indulge their intruders by speaking today. “We mean you no harm… but there are questions we need to ask you before we can go further with your treatment.”

 Stony silence was his answer, accompanied by a shared expression from his patients that told him they were not fooled. They knew why he and the Prime had come, why Ironhide was so willing to dispense insults and demand their cooperation. The psychologist tried again.

“Please, this is highly urgent. Your actions as of late have persuaded us that you have given false information about your identities in your previous sessions. I understand this is a highly sensitive topic for you both, but I cannot guarantee that we can continue your rehabilitation if you cannot give us an honest account of your background.”

Silence was his answer again, but there was a perceptible shift in the red and blue mech’s optics which was soon mirrored in his bonded’s. His patients shared an almost imperceptible glance, and when blue optics narrowed to the slightest degree, the silver mech turned with a grumble to amble back towards the berth, sitting back down with shaky limbs and a creak of his joints. His bonded followed, each movement stiff and weary. Not once did that piercing crimson gaze stray from the intruders.

Finally, after a klik, the silver mech’s growl shaped itself into words.

“Judging by your company, it’s clear you already know the answer.” He stated his voice biting at their audials like metal being dragged over stone. He slowly shifted his gaze toward the other red and blue mech whom had also been silent up to this point.

It took every ounce of willpower the Prime had to not pull out a blaster, a blade, any weapon that could defend against that familiar, hateful stare. He stood unmoving, knowing that the silver mech was right, and understanding that this must’ve been what Starscream felt on the beach, face to face with the mech that could bring down the universe if he wanted to.

“So then it’s true.” Ironhide cut through the palpable tension building back up in the room. “You’re Megatron.”

The silver mech’s gaze slid back to Ironhide, and his chin lifted as he regarded the old Autobot soldier. He did not smile, though the Prime knew it was a very close call when his lip plates twitched. His optics gleamed in something like mischief.

“The one and only,” he rasped in reply. “considering the last I heard of my counterpart before I was mauled by his second in command is that he is no more.”

Disgust floated in the inflections of the seeker’s name, an eerie reminder to the intruders of the abhorrence the Decepticon warlord harbored for Starscream. An abhorrence that was only rivaled by that for a Prime. Rung looked to the red and blue mech sitting rigidly next to him and posed his words as gently as he could.

“And you, Orion? Is you real designation Optimus Prime?”

He flinched when the final words reached his audials, a servo automatically rising to brush over his bandage-covered chest. Megatron momentarily tore his optics away from the intruders to his bonded, placing a comforting servo on his thigh strut. They locked optics again, most likely speaking over their bond, and the red and blue mech finally pulled his gaze to meet the far wall.

“It was once.” He spoke softly, receded and distant as if in the midst of a dream. “It is not anymore.”

The Prime felt a heavy chill run through his lines, reminded of the previous week when he watched his reflection tear out his own insides and quickly squashed the urge to look down at the floor. To search for the lost golden crown stained by spilled energon. He wondered for a moment what had happened, what could’ve brought his reflection to this point of defeat. A ghost in his own frame, clinging to the vilest mech in this and the next universe like he was a final lifeline.

“Alright,” Rung replied with a small nod, breaking both Primes out of their trance-like states. “Are we to understand then that you come from an alternate reality of some kind?”

Megatron huffed lightly at the question, momentarily looking away as he brought a clawed servo up to tiredly rub at a sore spot on his helm. In that single gesture, one could see the exhaustion of eons that had passed and the exhaustion of eons to come.

“We deduced our journey to be a jump through the fabric of space between universes.”

Ironhide raised an optical brow at the statement, suspicious and disbelieving despite his conviction in the silver mech’s identity.

“Right… An’ how did you get here from another universe, exactly?”

He received a snapping glare in return.

“Exactly how I previously explained it to your Prime.” He sneered, impatience bleeding drip by drip into his field. “We were attempting to utilize one of the highly powerful space bridges owned by our captors to escape imprisonment. But it malfunctioned, and for some Primus-forsaken reason, dropped us into the middle of your city.”

“So then,” Rung responded slowly. “your captivity was not a fabrication.”

The psychologist received a similar crimson glare and a stare from blue optics that could’ve been described as incredulous.

“You think we would lie about beings who wiped out our armies as if they were mere humans?” Megatron said with a growl, showing his distaste yet again, this time for the small-statured alien species that his bonded had once held dear. “If they were anything less than what they were, then we wouldn’t be here before you. We’d have left their ships in pieces to be lost to space. And we’d be ruling over Cybertron in our universe.”

An unspoken pain spread through the room as that final word lay hanging in the air, barbed and bitter. All mechs present tried not to flinch, the only exception being the red and blue mech on the berth who brought his knees up to his chest and breathed a quiet but heavy sigh, focusing back on the wall across from them. Ironhide was the first to shake himself out of it and come back with another question.

 “You keep tellin’ us these captors are monstrous and horrible and all that. But you ain’t ever told us that much about ‘em. So who the frag are they? What the frag are they?”

Both of Rung’s patients stiffened. Megatron’s optics glazed over, losing themselves to some scene that only he could see. Long moments passed in silence until his bonded grabbed his digits in both servos and yanked them hard towards him. The silver mech jolted, the tension in his shoulders and the optical flashes only seeping away when Optimus pressed his lip plates against the back of the digits and held them there. His claws curled around black digits and he looked back at the intruders with a distant glower.

“They didn’t see fit to indulge us with their identities while they tortured us. They only saw fit to mock us with their victory.”

“Yeah? What did the fraggers look like?”

The silver mech’s optics traveled over the old Autobot soldier for a few moments, their glow dark and unamused.

“… If we tore off all your armor and dipped you in white paint, they may just call you one of their own.”

“That’s real funny, you slagger. Now stop dodging questions and answer me.” Ironhide returned, equally unimpressed.

Optimus’s grip on the silver mech’s servo tightened, his field shrinking in on itself. Megatron did not have to look at him to know that he was beginning to drown in the oceans of memory which he tread. Lingering on their image would cause them both to drown. His gaze refocused with a pointed intensity.

“This is not a conversation that my bonded and I are capable of having at this point. What I have said is all we will say on the matter.”

Ironhide scoffed at that, about to speak when Rung promptly jumped in to conclude the current conversation.

“That is fine, Megatron. Thank you for your cooperation on the matter.”

The old Autobot soldier turned back to the psychologist with an angry sneer.

“You’re seriously going to defend them now, Rung? After they lied to us?”

He was met head on by owlish optics whom had already taken in the behavioral progression of his patients and deduced another breakdown would likely be soon.

“Ironhide. From my standpoint in this meeting, and in observation of your reaction to this situation, I can understand why hiding their identities was the desired option.”

“Well, that’s where we differ, ain’t it Rung?” Ironhide remarked crossly. “You’re the therapist, an’ I’m the head of city security. From my standpoint, it woulda been nice t’ know that a slagmaker from another universe was here with a terrorist species on his aft!”

The psychologist’s optics narrowed.

“Regardless of his identity, he has only posed you harm when provoked, which you instituted immediately after entering.” The orange bot retorted; his voice uncharacteristically sharp. “And if you wish to find out more about their captors, you will not attain that information with your current questioning methods.”

Ironhide’s field shifted around him, and the light emanating from his optics shifted with it. Rung did not like the blaze that emerged from the shift.

“Can’t I? I got a lot of experience under my hood, Rung; I know what I’m doin’.” The soldier turned towards the still silent mech staring at Rung’s patients. “Prime, please just give me the word, I’ll—”

“Drag my bonded and I out of this cell like prisoners of war?”

Megatron’s voice slid smoothly through Ironhide’s statement, cutting it off like infection. It attracted the attention of all optics in the room once more. “Interrogate us? Beat us? Shoot us if we don’t comply? Please, by all means, try. But you should know we’ve survived far worse punishments these past few eons than any repercussions you could ever attempt against us, soldier.”

Rung and Ironhide both erupted into simultaneous responses followed by the hum of a blaster.

“No!! We would never—”

“Why you—!!”

“You will not be terminated.”

All voices ceased, tension which hung in the air lingered without anyplace to escape after the distant boom of thunder. Even the hum of Ironhide’s blaster immediately shut off when the Prime’s low voice echoed through the room for the first time since entering. His optics trailed to each bot present; Rung, Ironhide, Megatron and his bonded. Even those crimson optics shuttered in surprise at his disruption.

But as quickly as it came, it went, and they were soon swirling with something heavy and oppressive.

“Prime?”

Ironhide questioned cautiously, if not a little bit annoyed at this point by how many times he’d been interrupted. The Prime, finally drawn out of memory and contemplation, did not look at his security officer. He looked at his reflection, his reflection’s nemesis. They looked back.

“I have lived in denial up to the day of the incident on the beach. Even afterwards, I had hoped anything otherwise was possible.”

Crimson grew darker. Wrathful, as if they hated every word that fell from his intake.

“I was wrong to do so; I see that now… Optimus, Megatron, you hold my respect, especially in your survival against a species that decimated your armies and held you prisoner. But with that respect comes obvious inquiries, as I’m sure you know, such as what kind of species exists that could have done this? Would they seek out those who escape them, despite your previous assurances that the bridge you commandeered was destroyed? Would they then count this city to be next?”

He stepped forward, setting his servos behind his back to regard the mechs before him.

“As leaders, you can understand why I will not take that chance. In this universe, our war ended. We have established peace. I do not wish for my people to come to harm again... The city officials and I have welcomed you here since your arrival to heal and take back your lives. Perhaps you can repay us with your knowledge of these captors? If they were to follow you here to take you back, then such knowledge would prove useful in yours and the city’s protection.”

The silver mech and the red and blue mech both stared hard at him, each EM field an echo of their reactions. But the oppressive rage that had stood in Megatron’s optics was growing, had spread into his field to flood the room again, and the Prime realized too late his own mistake.

Because Megatron knew what this was. It was a change of tactic, one that he knew well and that he refused to take. This was not respect; this was pacification. Bribery. The uneasy blue optics he turned back to told Megatron that Optimus knew it too.

… Wariness. Anxiety.

They also knew that if there was a way to stop the captors, they would’ve already used it. But they were lucky to have escaped at all. And if Ironhide or even the Prime knew that, then what would stop them from immediately terminating their prisoners? Perhaps even find a way to return them to the catacombs save their own hides?

No, Megatron was not about to let that happen. Not again. Never again.

Gently pulling himself out of Optimus’s hold, he turned on the berth to properly face the Prime.

“You can attempt to throw such pretty words in our faces to pry information out of us” he spoke with a building snarl, finding himself uncapable and unwilling to control his anger now that his bonded was safely out of his grasp. “but not before I rip that arrogant, snubbing, and self-serving spark out of your chest. Along with that oppressive little trinket you so foolishly call a sacred artifact.”

The Prime’s optics shuttered, taken aback by the insult, and Ironhide growled next to him. He kept himself and Ironhide in check, however, replying calmly.

“What I offer is no falsity. It is an honest request of alliance; I would not stoop to the level of your captors to—”  

Megatron pushed himself off the berth and raised himself to his full height, reminding the Prime of the height advantage this warlord had over his deceased nemesis. He was a titan, an image of sharp edges and blunt threat without even trying. Now that his plating raised in a display of fury, he was every bit the picture of his name and reputation.

“Why don’t you tell that to my bonded, whom you degraded and besmirched in some of the lowest moments of his life. You might as well have set him back on a lab table like they did and stripped him of his identity again!!”

Optimus’s entire body went rigid at the reminders and put his servos over his audials, trying to stall another attack. Rung’s posture went lax and his optics flicked between Optimus and Megatron, replicating his mute epiphany and horror. The Prime was caught off guard by the attacking remark, barely able to backtrack.

“That—That was never my intention! I only meant to remind him of his true identity to help him persevere—”

Megatron laughed. It was cold, wicked, and razor-sharp. It sent more chills down the Prime’s spinal strut.

“Oh, do not delude us into some notion of heroicness on your part. We are nothing but marvels to you. Fantastically strange beings that you now have under your thumb. You locked us in a cage to stare and prod and bend us to your will. No, Prime, you are at the level of our captors, you just pride yourself in hiding it better.”

He felt himself snap at the accusation; his field breaking free of his hold to block against the silver mech’s.

“I am no genocidal monster! I do not take profit from the suffering of others!”

“No?” Megatron asked, his voice suddenly wrapping itself into the epitome of calm, a stark contrast to his field that slowly turned into an enraged scowl. “Then tell me, Prime, how much energon stains your servos? How many millions of lives did you recklessly destroy to make this haven of yours? You can add my bonded’s life to that list, considering that you took away any shred of self-confidence he still had.”

The Prime shook his helm in steadfast denial.

“I did not—”

“And how about my counterpart, Prime? He wouldn’t have gone down easy, but I’m not shocked you found a way. Tell me, what lows did you stoop to in order to get rid of your nemesis and end your war?”

The hum of Ironhide’s blaster once again sounded off when the Prime was left speechless and stunned. He held no qualms about releasing the safety and aiming for the silver mech again, this time catching the attention of his bonded.

“That’s enough, glitch!” He barked. “Shut your mouth before I blow your jaw off your face!”

“Please, everyone calm—!”

Rung was cut off when a keening howl filled the room. He and the Prime barely had enough time to turn their helms and see Optimus launch himself off the berth in a wild ferocity, just caught by his bonded before he could reach Ironhide.

“Don’t touch him!! Don’t touch him!!”

Ironhide stumbled back in shock as the red and blue mech spat and growled in his direction, relentlessly fighting against the arm Megatron had wrapped around him.

“Back up!” Rung ordered, turning around and pushing on both Prime and Ironhide’s chests. “Now!”

They finally retreated, and each step they took towards the door Megatron mirrored as he pulled Optimus back to the corner of the room. Any trace of the warlord’s oppressive field they noticed had been retracted. He knelt, forcing Optimus whose optics crackled with a fierce energy and whose frame shook with emotion to stumble down to his knees against him. He then definitively pressed his faceplate into his bonded’s audial finial, whispering and rasping to it something they could not hear. Whatever it was, it gradually calmed the electricity in those cerulean optics, taming it in a way perhaps only he knew how. The shakes did not stop but their force wavered, allowing his limb struts to relax.

It was eerie and incredible, the power and influence they had over one another. Perhaps Megatron was right, they were a marvel. They were a testament to a bond that survived the worst conditions a universe could throw at them.

Then Megatron looked up, his glare focused back on them, and the Prime remembered where his anger remained.

“Get. Out.”

He could’ve bellowed a war cry with the foulest insults known to humans and Cybertronians; it still would’ve been less malicious than that two-worded hiss. Rung heeded the request without argument, looking back at his patients in something between guilt and sorrow before approaching the door and typing in the code.

“I think this questioning session is finished.”

Ironhide, despite everything that had just happened, scoffed and shook his helm.

“Oh no, we still got more answers to pry outta these—”

“No, Ironhide.” Optimus interrupted firmly, turning towards the door with an air of finality. “Rung is right. We’re finished.”

Rung opened the door and Optimus walked through, leaving Ironhide mutely throwing a look at the mecha in the corner of the living cell. His optics flicked between the door and them twice, indecisive. But then he sent them a small glower, one that Megatron returned with another hiss, before walking out the doors and locking them behind him.

The Prime and the psychologist stood for a moment by the door, both of them looking in through the windows. They could hear sobs breaking through the walls, pulling at their audials, likely the red and blue mech. The Prime was deaf to it, attention focused on the window’s blank view. He kept expecting it to be shattered, to be filled by a spiderweb of glass and a broken reflection clawing through to the other side—

“Sir, what exactly did you tell my patient the night of his attempted suicide?”

He blinked, shifting his gaze to Rung who had not looked away from the room they’d exited.

“That is not of importance—”

“With all due respect, sir, I completely disagree.” Rung stated firmly, his expression set and grim when he finally looked his leader in the optic. “Both of my patients lashed out today, something neither of them have ever done in my care, even in the first few visits. I need to know what was said.”

Next to them, Ironhide placed the blaster back in its holster and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, now you’re gonna go after Prime? He saved the mech’s life! Are you gonna have to analyze that act too?!”

Rung did not answer the old Autobot soldier, his gaze, alike to Megatron’s, fixed intently on the Prime. It terrified him, as if he might still be crushed if he remained under that familiar intensity in a gaze. Crimson optics flashed behind his optics beside a broken, energon-stained Matrix, and that was it. He could stand it no longer.

“I reminded him of his identity. That is all.”

With that said, the Prime turned on a heel and strode back down the hallway, leaving behind the window to his reflection. Ironhide shot the psychologist a glare before he followed like a shadow, mumbling irritably to his leader. Rung thought he heard the Prime murmur back, but the exact words were lost to distance.

The psychologist turned back towards the door, staring at it with troubled, unseeing optics.

The sobs of his patient seemed to pierce deeper as his Prime walked out of the hallway, the door slamming behind him.

Chapter Text

Weather was never predictable in the tropical regions of the island’s location.

Wind beat against the outside of the window, swiping at lone trees near the shores and digging into the ocean to throw waves back out. Seawater roiled and crashed, sounding off in echoes that overwhelmed the city. Dark clouds hung overhead, droopy with the weight of rain that had yet to fall.

Orion stared up at them through the grated screen, numbly taking in their slow crawl across the sky. Somehow, they felt stronger and more ominous than the storm clouds he’d known once in Jasper, Nevada. Those storms were few and far between, causing occasional floods and dry lightning to streak over the skies. These clouds which he watched now held the promise of torrents, waterspouts, hurricanes, tsunamis, devastation. But they waited, they let the promise of their chaos sink in without unleashing any of it, able and willing to drive the beings below to madness.

It was a daunting foe to his battered mind. Especially on a day like today, following the previous weeks’ events, when there was no calm to be found in his spark. It was not something that should be overthought, not something that anyone should dwell on for longer than they absolutely had to. But he’d already exhausted his other options. Listening to music did had done nothing. Meditation only honed his focus on recurring bad dreams that continually degenerated out of control. And Megatron…

He looked down for a moment, taking in the frame that had sunken into the berth humming under the warmth of extra thermal blankets. The rust had been scrubbed away weeks ago, but they left something of a permanent imprint in some spots: a discolored patch that curved around the left side of his diaphragm, a loss of the shimmer on the second spike of his right pauldron, a permanent tinge of fire on the once purple abdominal vents. It was a show of the ancient age to which the ex-warlord would never admit to, more scars just as stark as the ugly welt on his chest.

… Megatron’s rest was not something he would interrupt when his own dreams were at bay and his blaster wound was finally beginning to heal.

Clenching his fist to refrain from touching and startling the other awake, Orion glanced back up at the ominous setting on the other side of the window, hearing the wind rush at it and beat the glass with a whoosh.

The sound of it was as disturbing as it was familiar, comforting.

He remembered the wind. He remembered how it felt against his armor in alt mode.

In the desert of Jasper, Nevada, it was always a dry wind, carrying with it the day’s heat and many times strewing sand across the highways. He remembered driving through it, the sand wisping into the grooves of his tires and fluttering around his frame as he drove the long, straight stretches of road. The heat never bothered him, only enough to spread warmth through his sensory receptors, but he’d always preferred driving in the evenings. At that point, the heat of the day would finally give way to the coolness of night, and the air that breezed past him on the roadways turned into a pleasant balance between the two.

His tires were long gone, removed at a point which he could not remember and for reasons that only his captors could’ve answered. They left empty spaces in his leg armor and blank circumferences in his shoulders, but even without them he remembered the residual heat that gravitated into his wheels every time he went for a drive at sunset.

The three quiet years which preluded Megatron’s return to the Nemesis were those that recalled the longest drives. Spread out to all corners of the globe in search of energon deposits, he’d assigned his team to examine every crevice they could reach and trek every landscape that held promise. His tires had set down on so many different surfaces. In his mind, they blended together as much as they stood apart.

The winding highways on the coasts of the United States of America.

The dirt pathways climbing through the mountains in Argentina and Chile.

The four to twenty-five lane intersections entering cities in China.

The herd-trampled safari routes meandering the plains of Africa.

The white beaches, untouched jungles, and surrounding ever-blue ocean of Grecian archipelagos. 

The snow-scraped backroads carving through the dense forests of Canada.

So much contrast painted on the outside of that rocky planet, divided and secluded by the roads which humans carved in their travels.

Sometimes his team conversed about what they saw of Earth over the group comm. More times than not, energon was nowhere to be found But they found other intriguing topics to chat about and take away the sting of lingering starvation. It was usually started by Cliffjumper who remarked about the sparse and uninhabited landscapes in a not-so-subtle complaint about going solo on such long searches. Ratchet saw fit to rant weekly on the annoyance of weather or the conditions of traffic wherever he was to which, as his friend as well as his leader, Optimus always listened with a patient and sympathetic audial. Arcee never said much if not in response to her partner, but he’d had a lingering suspicion that she liked the open roads and solitude to a similar degree that he did. Once or twice he noted on her location signal that she would linger in desolate areas if only to burn off her lingering inner turmoil. Bumblebee seemed content to explore whatever location he was sent to but seemed especially fascinated by and gave numerous updates on the human cultural activity of whatever local settlement he passed through. Bulkhead, like Arcee, never spoke much. But he tended to focus his searches on what could’ve been best described as ‘tranquil landscapes,’ mountain ranges where bridges were built by waterfalls and where country roads passed through quiet meadows. 

As for the Prime that led them, he rarely ever let his personal opinions sway his view of the terrain he traversed. His missions held the utmost importance in the forefront of his processor, distracting him much of the time from taking in any of the scenery. But there were a few trips he’d taken in the northern European countries; Sweden, Finland, Norway, and Iceland. He remembered the days of winter he spent plowing through their snow-swept streets, not as deadly cold as the lands of glaciers at the top of the Arctic Circle or the Antarctic tundra, but cold enough that he returned to base with subtle tremors running through his protoform. Not the most enjoyable of experiences; his plating always prickled with the memory. Although he also remembered days when the snow ceased falling and the roads were clear.

On those quiet, windless days of polar night, rivers and lakes would emit otherworldly sounds as the ice over them grew and expanded. Sunlight would disappear for days on end, as the nearest star could not quite reach where he stood on the tilt of the planet’s axis. Other stars in the sky would become the backdrop to the aurora borealis, glowing colors streaking and dancing across the atmosphere above him. He remembered stopping on those dark and silent days, parking under the sunless sky to watch the Arctic's artistic display, pulling near the shores of expansive bodies of water for an hour or two to listen to the ice as it sang.

He remembered… He could see it… He could hear its music now…

The long and expansive crackles resounding like the vacuum of space…

It was a freeing experience, cathartic...

… But it wasn’t supposed to come from behind him.

Cerulean optics snapped open. He hadn’t even known he’d closed them. The sound came again. Something was behind him.

Every part of him protested the idea of turning around. His joints coiled into a painful tightness; his limbs turned to lead weights. That dark creeping storm which hovered at the back of his processor surged forward and wrapped him in a frigid embrace, whispering what horrors could be there.

No. You don’t control me. I am not in danger. We are not in danger.

The sound came again. This time he forced himself into motion, struts creaking with the agonizing effort to pull away from the window and look towards the other end of the room. Beside him, Megatron’s expression hardened and twitched, caught in his residual anxiety.

Nothing was there. The doors were sealed shut, all objects were in place, and no one stared into the glass from the other side.

But the sound came again, emanating from outside their room.

Orion immediately ran an internal scan for a full-frame status update, unwilling to do anything until he could confirm that the sound was not of his processor’s making. It came back normal; his audials functioned at one-hundred percent capacity, data transfer cables in his helm were connected to their proper sockets, sound-processing threads were all up and running, and his processor wasn’t fading or backfiring.

Convinced, but no less uneasy, he pushed himself towards the edge of the berth. He looked back at Megatron, ensuring his bonded stayed in recharge as he slowly swung his limbs down to the floor and pulled away to stand. Instincts protested vehemently, driving his processor to calculate layers upon layers of possibilities for what may lay beyond the door. By the time his peds took steps towards it, his limbs held a visible tremor.

You don’t control me. You don’t control me.

Orion looked over his shoulder at Megatron repeatedly, reassuring himself he was still there with every step. Unconsciously he turned sideways, creeping towards the side where he could lean in, peek out, and return to cover if needed. He reached the door after three more cracks struck outside, his field broadening beyond the walls of the room to seek out any possible presence in the hallway. None was found, but wavelengths of sound strummed through it, hitting from a short distance originating directly across from him. He stopped next to the wall and out of sight of the hallway, leaning forward just enough to look around the edge of the window and peer through the glass.

Where seconds ago there had been nothing, there now stood a figure with penetrating green optics.

Orion’s armor flared and he backpedaled halfway into the room before he realized it, ending up in full view of the glass. His vents struggled to cycle air. Behind him there was a low growl, and his helm whipped back to see the silver mech fidgeting on the berth, hints of anger and restlessness reverberating from the far side of the bond in response to his panic. He clamped his denta down to hold in a frightened noise, turning around again to stare at the mech that had appeared.

They said nothing; they did nothing, only cycled those green optics at him every few moments. Any emotion that could’ve come with the action was not discernable from his vantage point. For a long time, the figure and he only stared at one another, leaving Orion in an oppressive state of disquiet and disorientation. The longer they stand motionless on their respective sides of the wall, the longer he has to pick out details which anxiety had previously shut out. The figure is not standing on the other side of his doors, but on the opposite side of the hallway, entrapped behind their own set of doors in another room. The figure is not standing stiffly in the middle of the room like he is but leaning against their door like a lethargic sort of statue. The figure’s outline is light, very near a perfect white and slender enough to reveal the corner of a window behind them.

Memory protocols ping him and he realizes that he recognizes this bot from his first day in this facility.

Green optics continually cycle on and off every few moments as red and blue armor starts to flutter back into place. He moves no closer, but his field flicks with a bit more curiosity than it did half a klik ago. The mech has a visible mouth, but its outline is so still it could've been a line on a facemask, with audials that are hidden by their shapely helm. Their face is hard to read but shows no true distress or malice. Orion cycles his optics when the green ones on the other side blink four times in fast succession, as if trying to remove a particle from the surfaces. But then they slow, blinking once before speeding up again. He watches them turn on and off, cycling again and again, his head tilting in inquiry of the action. He wonders if he should speak, spout out the multiplying questions that are burning beside the residual twinge of nervousness, but he’s unsure if the other will hear him through the doors. The figure continually cycles his optics fast, then slow, then fast, then slow again. There’s a pattern to it, he realizes.

He recalls old files in his databanks, compiled with information from centuries past as he focuses on the figure intently. He counts the blinks, then he counts the spaces between blinks. Twenty-eight blinks in total, eleven fast-paced blinks, twelve even-paced blinks, five slow-paced blinks. The files are pulled to the front of his processor, analyzing the forms of military communication once given to him by Agent Fowler. Eleven short spaces, twelve even paces, five long spaces.

H-E-L-L-O

Human Morse Code.

The realization is startling. But when it sinks in, he sees it for what it is: a simplistic but ingenious method of greeting without sound and without over-expended action. He’s somewhat relieved when he recognizes the sense in what he originally perceived as a physical manifestation of mental degradation. For a moment, he debates his next move, wondering if he should leave the realization as just that or wake up Megatron. After a couple kliks he decides that will not be necessary; he has nothing to lose with the options posing any amount of risk and, as much as his anxiety hates to admit it, even those are unlikely to cause harm. So Orion takes a careful step towards the door, straightening himself and consulting his databanks. He blinks back.

H-E-L-L-O

The bot in the room on the other side ceases blinking for a klik, staring him down lazily. It’s no less unnerving for the paranoid part of him, and he waits somewhat anxiously for any incoming action. Then, the figure’s optics begin to cycle again. He counts. Fifteen short spaces, twenty-four even paces, eighteen long paces. There are fourteen additional blinks not accounting for letters: a pair of seven blinks signals the pause between each incoming word.

I-S—C-O-N-J-U-N-X—O-K

His plating flares in an unconscious rise of emotion at the posed inquiry, a cold shock zapping up his spinal strut at the palpable prospect that this mech had been watching them. This mech had seen their struggle and panic and injuries sustained in just one day outside of the facility. Somewhere in the back of his processor, he acknowledged that this couldn’t be unexpected of a facility inmate who’d lived across from them for some time. But it was no less eerie to a mech who for so long had garnered the attention of unwavering eyes as a subject of research and experimentation.

Orion dipped his chin back towards his shoulder, peering towards the berth to catch a glimpse of the recharging mech. His field reached out, catching the edges of the dormant familiar other. He hesitated, knowing that lying would be futile, before producing an answer.

H-E-A-L-I-N-G

Not three blinks into the word, the green optics which gazed back flashed. They started blinking immediately, their speed almost describable as a frenzy. It took the red and blue mech a klik to reanalyze their sequence and produce a solid translation.

D-O—N-O-T—M-O-V-E

Blue optics blinked once in notable perplexity, his helm slowly and cautiously moving from its previous position. Green optics began another frenzy, and he studied their frequency and count carefully.

C-A-M-E-R-A—W-A-T-C-H-E-S

He froze. The implications of the blunt statement crashed down one by one as he took a quick glance at the camera closest to him in the top left corner of the room. It’s red light was blinking; he remembered what that meant. Somewhere stowed along his logic threads he must’ve known already. Megatron must’ve known. But that knowledge didn’t hit very hard when consumed by every other fear. Now he felt it, it slammed down like a bludgeon that every move he made was at the mercy of another’s gaze. Memories of the catacomb labs sizzled and boiled in the darkness of his processor, stalking towards his attention. Suddenly it was a lot harder to focus.

More questions raced down his procession of thought. He blinked out the first one he could manage.

W-H-O—A-R-E—Y-O-U

The next answer he received was less frantic, more controlled. And yet it only continued to twist the knife deeper.

P-R-I-S-O-N-E-R—L-I-K-E—Y-O-U

That word.

That word was terrifying. It was poisonous. It tore open the flood gates of hell.

It was wrong. It had to be wrong. They weren’t there. They weren’t controlled anymore. Rung and Megatron had spent weeks drilling that one fact into his helm and he’d been trying so hard to believe it.

It took every shred of self-control he still had not to shake his head vehemently in denial.

N-O-T—P-R-I-S-O-N-E-R—P-A-T-I-E-N-T

He struggled with the long answer, repeatedly pulling up the old data files numerous times to check his numerical pattern, and the answer was slow in coming.

The reply he received in turn was short, fast, and certain. One short space, three even spaces, four long spaces.

N-O

The word was communicated in silence, but its force resounded in his audials. Green optics blinked out another sequence.

P-R-I-S-O-N-E-R

Orion nearly shuddered. He scrambled for something, anything that could take him away from that word, and ended up forcing out another laborious question.

Y-O-U—M-O-V-E-D—R-O-O-M-S

A simple acknowledgement was returned.

Y-E-S

This time the code sequence came easier.

R-U-N-G—M-O-V-E-D—Y-O-U

Green optics returned one short space, three even spaces, four long spaces.

N-O

Another damning set of implications were released, further fracturing the glass of his current mental stability. He stared at the figure with green optics for a long amount of time, wondering if backing away from the door, waking up his conjunx, and forgetting this ever happened was the better idea after all. Or better yet, requesting another session with Rung and begging the therapist to get a shade hung on the inside of their door.  

Was there no one in either universe that would allow them some modicum of privacy?

His next inquiry wasn’t long. Five short spaces, six even paces, five long paces.

H-O-W

The answer did not come immediately, as though the bot on the other side was taking a moment to think through what he would say. He thought he caught the smallest glimpse of a shift in the figure’s position. Their head had moved forward in a near imperceptible measurement. Then they blinked.

T-H-R-O-U-G-H—W-A-L-L-S

Orion paused, analyzing the sequence he received twice to be sure he read it correctly. It was not one of any kind he’d expected. Blurry memories of waving and melting walls penetrated his vision for a split second. The absurdity of the answer became frustrating to his agitated logic threads. He reiterated the question again with a harder stare and forceful cycles.

H-O-W

Another near imperceptible movement, this time it was a small twitch in the figure’s lip plate. Something close to the way Megatron used to attempt to smirk.

S-E-C-R-E-T

The red and blue mech became stuck for a moment in between tense suspicion building in his tanks at the answer and rising frustration at the ridiculousness of the situation those green optics were putting him in.

What was this to them? A game? Orion was starting to get a sense of why this mech was in a secure facility receiving Rung’s care.

He risked a second cautious glance upwards and then crafted his next sequence.

C-A-M-E-R-A-S—S-E-E

The insinuations of that statement should’ve been clear when the mech stood as still as he did, heeding their own warning. The irony was so clear cut it was painful. Hadn’t those on the other side of security noticed by now, if not already sent someone to escort the figure back to their actual room?

Green optics did not even flinch before they responded in kind.

T-H-E-Y—D-I-D—N-O-T

Orion was beginning to feel dizzy. Whether it was caused by the answer given or by how many optical cycles he’d gone through in the span of five kliks, he didn’t know. He almost grasped at anxiety just to have something semi-stable to cling to.

H-O-W

Another twitch of the lip plate.

S-E-C-R-E-T

Frustration finally climaxed to a blaze of anger. It felt good. It felt wonderful in comparison to fear. It felt like a grip of stability, of control, at last.

He homed in on it. His shoulders set automatically, and the components of his spinal strut realigned into linear perfection. Digits lined with scars flexed out of line of sight. An echo of the identity of the Autobot commander could’ve been perceived in his shadow.

W-H-A-T—Y-O-U—W-A-N-T

No more wandering questions. Straight to the point. The figure on the other side must not have expected it; they blinked twice in rapid succession and looked at him with what might’ve been a curious gaze on another bot. Orion stood against it, meeting the green optics with a hard stare and a stoic expression. Complete motionless substituted what was now the silence in their conversation.

Orion was a patient mech, and he waited with an unchanging stance until the green optics of the figure finally gave him an answer.

T-O—H-E-L-P—Y-O-U

Metal brows above blue optics arched and creased. His field emanated a wave of distanced suspicion.

W-H-Y

The reply blinked back was the shortest in pause for thought, but the longest in length. Twenty-three short spaces, thirty-nine even spaces, twenty-five long spaces, twenty-eight blinks for the spaces between each word. Orion knew the meaning of the statement was two-fold.

Y-O-U—D-O—N-O-T—B-E-L-O-N-G—H-E-R-E

 ***

Fists slam against the door. Glass around them cracks into spindly limbs.

“How much energon stains your servos?”

Energon seeping down the body, bleeding over his arms.

His… Or are they mine?

Orion’s screams and sobs rake at his audials.

Why does he look and sound so much like… me?

“What lows did you stoop to in order to get rid of your nemesis?”

The figure in the darkness pulling at his chest.

“Orion NO!!” 

“Sir, are you alright?”

He tossed.

His appearance. His voice. His background… His bonded.

Blinded by the glower of crimson, accompanied by bared fangs and twitching claws.

“You locked us in a cage to stare and prod and bend us to your will.”

“Sir, are you alright?”

Where one mask had been torn away, the other was always engaged.

“I am no genocidal monster!”

Digits scrabbled over chest plates. The screech they made was jarring.  

Looking into a mirror and seeing yourself again.

“How many millions of lives did you recklessly destroy to make this haven of yours?”

Faltering in the façade he’d been able to put forth for so many eons.

He turned.

“I do not take profit from the suffering of others!”

Wires snapping, cogs bending, struts cracking.

Fragments falling off the red and blue mech in the mirror.

“What lows did you stoop to in order to end your war?”

Where one Matrix pulsed, the other lay dead.

Energon, hot and thick, dribbling outward and into a pool.

Casting up at the Prime his own reflection.

“Optimus Prime… broke.”

“Sir, are you alright?”

His reflection shatters when from it falls the broken pieces of a god.

Optimus Prime was sitting up in berth nanoseconds before he truly perceived it. His blankets were a mess around him, tangled around rigid limbs and shackled to the catches in his armor. The room around him was lit by the flash of a bolt of lighting, thunder crashing alongside the whine of his engine. His ventilators strained on the high speed in which they were attempting to cool him down with fresh air. His field was a mess of conflicting emotions. Anger, uneasiness, regret, hatred, bewilderment, sorrow, terror—

This couldn’t go on any longer. He couldn’t lose it. It wasn’t possible. He wasn’t mad.

This had to stop.