Chapter Text
Nickel did not believe in ghosts. If she did, then the Peaceful Tyranny alone would be overpopulated and plagued with minor inconveniences such as things randomly disappearing.
(Nickel did not need ghosts for that. Oftentimes Vos took her tools for personal use and returned them coated in mysterious substances. He cleaned them for her after she'd barked at him for hours on end. It was a minor comfort because Nickel could only guess what said substance was.)
Though Nickel did not believe in ghosts, something told her that she was seeing them regardless as there was something so startlingly familiar about the mech that came with Megatron on the Last Light.
Damus, he introduced himself in a tone all too cheery and unsuited for that voice that it had sent the mechanical equivalent of shivers through Nickel’s systems.
Wrong. It was wrong.
He asked her if his visage upset her. Perhaps he got that often as a victim of Empurata. Nickel wanted to reassure him, to ease his anxious fidgeting, but the words died on her glossa.
No, all Nickel had said– exclaimed – was a realization that threw her processor for a loop. A dull ache thunked at the inside of her helm and Nickel braced herself on the slab to her left. It was all too much for her to handle.
“Tarn."
The mech– Damus – cocked his helm to the side. “Er, yes, that's where I’m from. Was from.”
Nickel’s knowledge of the functionist universe extended to what the crew had been willing to tell her, which, admittedly, was very little as they remained wary of her. She counted herself lucky they'd allowed her within quarters rather than outright tossing her in the brig.
Putting together snippets of these cryptic conversations had her drawing the following conclusion: the functionist universe was parallel to their own with the only difference being that Megatron had never existed there. Without the Decepticon movement, without Megatron, Cybertron turned out as a complete shithole.
And yet.
This was Tarn without Megatron’s influence. No, Nickel quickly corrected herself:
This was Tarn without Megatron’s manipulation.
She staggered back and would have hit the floor had one of Damus’ servos not reached out to grab her shoulder and keep her upright. It was an automatic response, Nickel guessed, because he tried to withdraw almost immediately after. Nickel placed a servo on top of his to prevent that.
The look he gave her was reminiscent of a frown. Nickel knew that victims of Empurata often had no real discernible expression but she knew the mech he was– the mech he would become– well enough to recognize the shift in his demeanor.
“Are you–”
Nickel grabbed either side of his optic casting when he came close enough to whisper his concern and drew him in close. He was smaller than the him she knew, much, much smaller, but still had an advantage over her in height, so it was all she could do to hug that stupid helm to her chassis and offline her vision.
“What have they done to you?” She asked. It wasn't him she asked, but a ghost, a ghost long-gone whom she'd hated for the longest time, or thought to have hated, but when Damus… when this mech revealed himself to her, Nickel realized that all that fury, all that fire and ice, was directed at the likes of Megatron.
( She’d know this all along. It was easier to blame a dead mech than a living one as it was all that kept her from pursuing Megatron in the same, obsessive way Tarn did. )
Megatron, who took him from her. Who took all of them from her with no remorse.
Megatron, who created a monster out of an innocent, anxious creature.
( Tarn had been anxious. Nickel knew this better than anyone. It was the way he acted on those anxieties that bordered him on instability. )
The little medic choked on a sob. Where she usually had a colorful vocabulary at her disposal there was none of that there, not now. Nickel had no words for Damus.
Only regret.
It dawned on him a moment later. He carefully eased out of her embrace to look at her and Nickel forced her arms to rest by her sides, suppressing the overwhelming urge to reach out again.
“You knew me. The me from this world. Didn't you?”
Nickel nodded.
“Based on your reaction… is he gone?”
Again, Nickel nodded.
Damus fell silent. Nickel reluctantly looked up to meet his gaze and he took one of her servos in both of his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “If you wish to, tell me about him.”
Nickel’s mouth went dry.
“What did you do to him?!” Nickel demanded. Megatron cringed away from her with a wide-eyed look to his face and a sick sense of satisfaction washed over her at the sight.
Good. He deserves as much.
“I don't–”
“Oh, but you do,” Nickel spat. She gained on Megatron and bullied him back against the bulkhead. He held his hands up in a feeble attempt to placate her. It only fed Nickel’s fury and she continued to rant, jabbing an accusatory digit up at his face. “Don't act like you don't know who I am. You knew. This whole time. Why did you stay quiet, huh? Cowardice? Fear of facing me? Running from your own mistakes?”
“I–”
“Shut your damned mouth, I’m not done!” Nickel raged. Megatron clamped his jaws shut. There were murmurs behind them as a crowd started to form, but Nickel didn't care. Let them watch. Let them talk. Though they're more than aware of who she is, they never saw her as a threat. While once that sentiment pissed her off, here, it worked in her favor. “For the record, I didn't think it was a mistake. You unwittingly gave me a place to belong to, before you took it from me. Like you did from them. From so many others.”
Megatron didn't meet her gaze. Nickel wished she could reach up and grab his helm, perhaps twist it at an unnatural angle and–
No, calm. Nickel drew a deep vent and forced herself to cycle out her intakes.
“You can't tell him,” Megatron pleaded. His shoulders slumped. He looked pathetic. It wasn't a good look on him, and Nickel realized she wanted a fight out of this mech. This… husk. She ground her denta hard enough to produce an audible crack.
“Why? So you don't have to deal with your own shortcomings, is that it? That he'd look at you with all the disgust you deserve because you had no problems turning innocents into monsters?!”
Megatron turned his helm. “It would destroy him.”
He was right. Nickel had declined Damus’ offer to tell him about the person he was in this universe for that reason herself, but hearing it from Megatron…
She almost reconsidered out of pure spite.
But apparently Nickel’s gaze demanded more answers, so Megatron continued. “I did wrong. I hoped… with this, I could steer him on a better path. What I did to the one you knew… I did it to prove a point to someone.”
Nickel punched him. The impact was only a dull ‘thud’ to Megatron’s armored chest, but the sentiment landed regardless. Someone gasped.
“You disgust me,” she sneered. “You strung him along again, and for what? To fix your own mistakes? Don't give me that crap about wanting to help him, because you know damned well it wasn't about him , but about your fragile ego.”
Nickel spun on her wheels and left Megatron there with a few choice words as a parting gift. “You deserve everything that happened to you. And what's coming.”
It hadn't occurred to either of them that the very object of their discussions had been watching. To say he was disturbed would be putting it lightly, but if neither his leader nor his apparent friend would care to give him the details, he'd have to do his own research.