Chapter Text
Megatron should have known better than to think that any stop of the Lost Light could be not a total catastrophe. At the very least he’s going to have to ban Rodimus from choosing the planets.
They’re hunkered down behind a convenient rock formation, Megatron keeping a wary eye out for anyone flanking them while the others shoot. Well. The others who brought weapons.
So Ultra Magnus and Whirl.
Shockingly, Megatron finds himself pressed up against Perceptor, Brainstorm, Rodimus, and Tailgate, all apparently weaponless.
“Your entire job is to make weapons! How do you not have any with you?” Rodimus demands, glaring at Brainstorm.
“You said they weren’t allowed on this planet!”
“Since when do you listen to rules like that?”
“I don’t know! Thought I’d give it a try!” Brainstorm flutters his wings at Perceptor in away that Megatron recognizes from his years dealing with Seekers. Ugh. Aerial flirting.
Perceptor makes a faintly disgusted sound.
“What are we gonna do?” Tailgate asks, visor sparking in panic. Megatron peers over their cover.
“It looks like they’re considering a retreat.”
“They’ll bring reinforcements if they do,” Ultra Magnus says between bursts of gunfire.
“What, were you just gonna let ‘em run?” Whirl cackles. Megatron winces and makes a mental note to suggest to Rung that Whirl needs more frequent sessions.
“Why are they even attacking us?” Rodimus tries to look out and nearly loses an optic for his efforts. “Hey! Stop it!”
“The local population isn’t fond of Cybertronians for some reason. What could it possibly be?” Perceptor gives Megatron a piercing stare.
“Whatever the reason, we’re here now.” Megatron does his best to ignore the glare in favor of watching their opponents. He’s distracted by a pained howl from Whirl, who’s taken a shot directly to the turbine.
Rodimus reaches out and drags Whirl behind the cover, where Perceptor starts hurriedly patching torn lines. Tailgate presses himself in under Whirl’s cockpit to offer comfort.
“They’re pulling back,” Ultra Magnus reports.
“Don’t let them get away!” Megatron orders, peering over the cover and straightening as it becomes clear their attackers are all fleeing.
Ultra Magnus downs one with a crack shot, then a second, but there’s still one more rapidly leaving effective range. It’s confirmed by a low growl of his engine.
“I can’t hit it.”
Perceptor stands, and suddenly Megatron is looking at a Wrecker, not a scientist.
“Give me a gun.”
Whirl hands Perceptor his gun strangely silently. Perceptor looks it over quickly and hands it back.
“Useless.” Perceptor looks around, scope optic audibly focusing in on Ultra Magnus’ guns and then away. “These won’t work, and no, Brainstorm, you don’t have time to modify them.” His optics land on Megatron. “You. Transform.”
Megatron looks down at him. “I haven’t taken that form in--”
“Do it!” Perceptor snaps.
Megatron finds himself obeying immediately, transforming and landing in Perceptor’s open hand. He hasn’t taken this form in a long time, and honestly wasn’t sure if this frame was even capable of it.
Apparently so.
Perceptor runs clinical hands over Megatron’s grip and barrel before nodding.
“Good.”
Megatron feels Perceptor brace the stock against his shoulder and brace his arms against their cover.
When he’s in this form, Megatron’s senses are severely limited. He can focus somewhat visually through his scope, but otherwise he’s limited to touch and relatively faint hearing. The one sense that is heightened is his sense of electromagnetic fields.
As a result, Megatron has had fairly extensive field contact with a number of mechs. He’s used to the violent, destructive glee in Starscream’s field; the reverent, focused determination in Soundwave’s; the cold logic in Shockwave’s.
From Perceptor, he gets...nothing. Perceptor is treating him like any non-sentient gun. Clinical hands carefully tweak Megatron’s scope and settle him more carefully. Megatron zooms in on their fleeing target, starting to calibrate the shot, when Perceptor squeezes him and whispers against his plating.
“Stop. Don’t try to help. Let me do this.”
Megatron freezes. Perceptor’s voice reverberates against his plating. His hands shift to brush Megatron’s trigger guard. Megatron is still frozen, too startled to say anything.
“Percy, Megs, he’s getting away! You might want to stop flirting and do something!” Rodimus shrills.
“Let me focus!” Perceptor growls.
Megatron can feel the moment Perceptor fully focuses on their fleeing target. His field freezes, no longer so much as brushing Megatron’s beyond where they’re physically in contact. His joints lock so he can’t move. At the last moment, as Perceptor looks through the sight, Megatron feels him lock down his vents.
There’s a moment of hushed silence before Perceptor’s finger grazes the trigger. From anyone else who’s ever wielded him, Megatron would take that as an indication to fire. But not here. Perceptor said to let him do this.
He can tell their target is reaching the limit of his effective range and tries to convey this through his field. Perceptor ignores him. There’s another long, silent moment before Perceptor finally, agonizingly slowly, pulls the trigger. It takes everything Megatron has not to jump at the suddenly decisive touch.
The sound of the shot reverberates through the otherwise quiet air and there’s a hushed moment before Megatron feels grim satisfaction from Perceptor and hears cheering from Rodimus, Whirl, and Tailgate. He almost forgot they were there.
“How in the Pit did you make that shot?” Rodimus gasps.
“He’s a Wrecker,” Brainstorm breathes in awe.
“I was a Wrecker,” Perceptor corrects him mildly. He sets Megatron down and steps back to give him space to transform. Megatron does so, his plating rattling a little.
That was...strangely exhilarating.
“We should get back to the Lost Light,” Perceptor says, refusing to meet Megatron’s eyes and turning instead to Ultra Magnus, who is also staring.
“Yes. Yes of course,” Magnus says, seemingly blinking himself back to awareness. “You are correct, Perceptor.”
Megatron can’t help but stare as Perceptor walks away.
“He’s amazing,” he breathes, almost a little overcome.
“Isn’t he the best?” Brainstorm agrees, wings wiggling. Back to the flirting.
“I never thought I’d be attracted to Perceptor,” Rodimus says, staring.
“Bitch me too, the fuck?” Whirl asks.
Megatron stares at Whirl for a long moment before shaking his head. Primus, he’ll have to unpack these feelings later.
Much later.