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As a gun-alt, Megatron was used to being handled. It was in his programming to enjoy it, even. But there was a level of unspoken intimacy to mass-shifting and transforming himself into an object small enough to fit in the palm of another mech's hand. A great deal of trust had to go into it.
He had chosen his marksman centuries ago, picked a mech who was bright and loyal and deadly- under the foolish belief he would stay that way.
Every time he transformed and lent his weaponry to another mech, he put his life, literally, into that mech's hands.
Starscream's hands.
Not a day went by that Megatron didn't curse his younger self for such complete and utter idiocy.
To make the indignity of it all so much worse, Starscream was now in the disrespectful habit of simply tossing Megatron's alt-mode over his shoulder once he was done firing him, boosted enough by his own sense of superiority that he was the only Decepticon permitted to wield his leader in battle that he seemed to forgot he was nothing more than an over-manicured finger pulling a trigger.
Three dead Autobots, shot clean through the spark, meant the seeker was a tad overexcited by his own mediocre performance today, and he threw Megatron higher and further than he would ordinarily.
"And that is how a true marksman gets the job done!" He had declared arrogantly, spinning Megatron around his finger by the trigger- rattling Megatron's processor like the ball in a spray can- and tossing him.
Megatron braced himself, hearing the chorus of frightened and frustrated 'Starscream's!' some of the other seekers let out at the sight of their leader's gun-form soaring into the air and disappearing from sight.
Mid-air, Megatron went to transform, as he often did in this situation. But the spinning had muddled him, left him dizzy and disorientated. Gravity caught him and suddenly he was being dragged back to the ground, plummeting in an uncontrollable spin quite some distance away from the colourful little specks his seekers had become.
He fell through alien foliage, catching against branches and leaves on the descent. The ground was rushing up at him and in a panic, he activated his transformation cog in order to catch himself. But still landed face first in the dark mud with an undignified splat.
Growling, he lifted his head and wiped his face, mud in his optics.
"Star-screaaaam!" He bellowed, looking through the trees. This time he really was going to kill that seeker for-
He stood up, disorientated from the tumble. He grabbed a nearby plant for balance and realised something wasn't quite right. The perfectly ordinary forest that had sat next to the battlefield had at some point become super-sized. Megatron was standing next to a colourful flower that was of a size with him, petals big enough to use as sunshades.
He stepped back cautiously, optics drawn further up towards the colossal trees towering over him like skyscrapers.
Oh no.
He threw himself back into a transformation sequence, folding his plating and parts back into the shape of the gun. He landed with a gentle thump in the grass, waiting a beat, before transforming back.
But again, the mass shift didn't happen. He had unfolded into bipedal-mode at the same compacted size. This crashing descent must have glitched something.
It was at that point he heard an approaching mech- heavy, thumping pedefalls that seemed to shake the ground beneath him, causing him to sway.
Realising that Starscream might be looking for him in an attempt to minimise the fallout of lobbing his Commander halfway across the battlefield, Megatron shrunk back against his flower. He was armed, but a fusion-canon at one-twentieth the size it should have been would do no more damage to a seeker than a slingshot. He was defenceless. That blasted seeker could step on him and that would be the end of it-
"-clear to the Southwest," a low voice was speaking, a heavy rumble of baritone than cut right through Megatron's armour. A huge pede came down on his right, completely crushing the flower he'd taken as shelter.
Megatron stumbled and fell back into the grass, his optics tracking up the tall frame to recognise Tarn. "No sign of Autobot stragglers." The tank continued speaking into his commlink. Crackling static answered him, someone's voice murmuring; 'acknowledged."
Megatron froze, hardly daring to breath as Tarn's masked face turned slowly to survey his surroundings. He could just as easily step on Megatron- clumsy and unaware of his leader's mere existence, crushed him like a human-insect under foot.
Megatron inched back a little, looking for a new source of cover before Tarn could look down and-
His tiny movement drew Tarn's optic. The mask tilted down and his red glowing gaze fixed on Megatron. Spotted.
He clenched his denta as Tarn instantly dropped into a crouch, wracking his brain-module for an explanation that wouldn't rob him of quite so much dignity as admitting that Starscream tossing him into the forest had turned him into a defenceless-
"How disrespectful," Tarn purred, reaching for him.
Megatron was about to shout an indignant 'Don't!' when Tarn's fingers closed around him. His vocaliser became plugged by sheer shock as he was lifted, higher and higher as Tarn straightened, and held reverently in the tank's warm, open palm. Tarn's thumb brushed some of the dirt from Megatron's chest, clearing it away from his insignia.
"Detailed, accurate." Tarn was musing to himself nonsensically. "A true recreation of your image... Perhaps I shall give you a good home-"
"Tarn!" Starscream's shrill voice called, interrupting the bizarre moment.
Before Megatron could snap at Tarn to let him go, the screechy seeker came charging through the trees towards them.
Tarn whipped around at Starscream's appearance, hiding his discovery behind his back. Megatron didn't hear any more than Tarn's distasteful groan of Starscream's designation- he was being slipped into the dark void of another mech's subspace.
And he was trapped.
This day was not at all going to plan.
Living beings were not designed for transport or containment within a mech's subspace. Trapped within something of a pocket-universe, where time and space behaved differently, barely minutes had passed for Megatron when Tarn deigned to remove him from the featureless void of only near-existence.
Subspace was a ...difficult concept for those less scientifically inclined, and experiencing an artificial dimension beyond his comprehension had left Megatron with something of a headache.
Tarn held him in his palm, large blunt fingers curled around his frame, keeping his arms pinned to his sides. Being gripped in such a way would have made it difficult to move to start with, but after an untold amount of time kept suspended in subspace, Megatron's joints and gears had become painfully stiff, making it almost impossible to do much more than twitch.
Tarn didn't set him down, humming to himself in that warm, rich voice of his as he gathered things together. Megatron couldn't see what he was doing until Tarn raised a damp wash cloth. It swept over his stiff frame, worked itself in all his nooks and crannies. His face heated with indignity as he craned his neck back to try and save himself from a smothering, teeth grinding together as it took all his restraint not to snap at him to stop.
Tarn paused and held him up, using the corner of the cloth to wipe away the last few specks of dirt and grime from the battle's aftermath.
"You would make a perfect addition to my collection," Tarn murmured, flipping Megatron upside-down to check his back.
Collection?! Megatron cringed -unseen by Tarn- at the idea of kept by the fanatic like a collector's item. He had to put a stop this.
There was one thing that held him back though: self preservation. He wasn't entirely sure how deep Tarn's obsession ran. Was he safer playing along for now? Waiting until Tarn turned his back and escape was possible? Would revealing himself as the real Megatron (defenceless and conveniently pocket-sized as he was) free him, or condemn him to an even worse fate?
Yes, Tarn was loyal. But Starscream had been loyal once upon a time, and look where trusting that seeker had gotten him?!
"Whoever constructed you did not have a great deal of respect for our leader's image..." Tarn tutted as his finger brushed one of Megatron's more recent scars, talking to himself -perhaps a sign that he did not have a great deal of friends...
It was almost too embarrassing to cope with now. Tarn turned him back around and Megatron kept his frown fixed in place, trying not to give any indication that he was real. He would slip away when he could, seek out Soundwave, get his mass-shifter reset...
Tarn set him down, positioned carefully on his pedes standing upright like an action-figure on a desk that was big enough to Megatron to feel like a stage. He held his position, wishing he'd chosen a more relaxed pose.
Tarn turned away and began digging in a storage crate. Megatron's optics darted from side to side to take in his surroundings.
They were back aboard the Nemesis, in a nondescript habsuite that Tarn must have been assigned during his brief transfer to the crew. Megatron could feel the gentle hum of the ship's engines through the desk and realised were in neutral. There was a viewport over Tarn's massive shoulder through which he could see the stars of the system they were in a territorial spat with the Autobots over.
They were still in orbit over the same planet then. Perhaps there were Decepticons down there, searching for him...
Megatron's lip curled. The idea of the entire faction learning what had really happened to him filled him with sickening dread.
Tarn found whatever he had been looking for and straightened up, turning around with something in his hand.
"The least I can do is offer company," Tarn sighed, and set down a figurine of equal size next to Megatron.
Megatron stared, unable to quite believe what he was seeing
Another Tarn. A tiny figurine of him to be precise. Methodically carved out of metal and painted with artful accuracy, every detail in place. Right down to the worn appearance of his purple mask.
Megatron's would have let his mouth drop open if he weren't trying so hard not to let on that he was alive.
He knew the loyal Justice Division leader was something of a fanatic. He had heard rumours of a museum aboard Tarn's own ship...
But why? Why?! Did he have other figurines? Tiny ornamental models of other Decepticons? Was Soundwave hidden away in one of those boxes? Was there another him in there? And what was Tarn-
What was Tarn doing with them?!
Now more sure than ever not to give himself away, he kept his expression carefully neutral, staring at the dead-eyed Tarn Toy as the real Tarn leant back in his seat and surveyed the both of them together. Tension grew in Megatron as seconds ticked by.
Tarn reached out. Megatron suppressed a flinch but the tank only nudged them closer together. The Tarn Toy's shoulder brushed his own. It was cold, stiff, lifeless metal. Megatron clenched his jaw against the shudder that tried to climb up his spinal strut.
"We do look good together," Tarn murmured.
Megatron's optics widened. What?!
Tarn gripped the toy version of himself and turned it to face Megatron head on, wriggling it to imitate movement.
"My Lord Megatron," he began in a completely serious voice, speaking as though he were the toy as he tipped it forwards in a bow. "I pledge myself to you. I am your weapon. Wield me as you see fit..."
Megatron stared at the toy's lifeless mask, suppressing a flinch when Tarn wrapped his fingers around him and held him in a similar fashion, tipping him towards the toy -closer, closer, too close.
"My loyal Tarn," Tarn's low voice adopted a mockery of Megatron's own rasping cadence as he imitated him. "Your dedication is so inspiring, if only there were a way I could express my adoration for you-"
"But there is, my Lord-"
Before Megatron could do anything to stop it, Tarn pushed his frame against the toy's with a dull clack, his nose bumping the purple metal of the Tarn-mask in some bizarre, lifeless kiss. Megatron snapped his head away with a snarl, "Tarn!"
Tarn dropped them both in shock, shooting out of his seat and letting the chair tip over and drop to the floor with a loud thunk. His optics were huge behind the mask. "... Megatron?!"
Megatron, having overbalanced and fallen on his aft, pushed himself upright furiously. He gave the Tarn toy a good hard kick before facing the real one. "What the Pit was that?!"
Tarn's huge hands were open and aloft, as if to profess his innocence. He seemed too shocked to speak.
"Tarn, answer me!?" Megatron demanded.
He saw Tarn's throat cabling work as he swallowed, "My- my Lord, you've come to life-"
"Don't be a fool, Tarn, it is me. My mass-shifter malfunctioned. Starscream- it was that fool Starscream's doing!"
Comprehension started to dawn across Tarn's face. He leaned back, his optics glowing with untold emotion. "I -I hadn't realised-"
"Evidently," Megatron snarled through his teeth. "So for the sake of my sanity and your continued function, I would suggest you destroy that thing, now." He pointed to the Tarn toy. "And any more like it."
Tarn looked somewhat conflicted. He picked the toy up and silently slipped it into his subspace.
"Yes, Lord Megatron," he said in a tone that left it rather ambiguous as to whether or not he'd actually destroy the creepy little thing. "Starscream... He implied you retreated from the battle alone. That you had hidden yourself in the woods. I suspected the traitor of deception-"
"Yet you came back here anyway to play with your toys, leaving your leader to fend for himself?" Megatron folded his arms unhappily.
Tarn's gaze darkened, "Starscream ordered the force back to the ship. He claimed he alone would search for you and 'convince you' to return. Had I known he had incapacitated you-"
Megatron couldn't bear the thought of anyone thinking Starscream had managed to get the upper hand on purpose. This whole ordeal was the seeker's blunder more than anything.
"This is a result of Starscream's idiocy," Megatron told him. "Not a brilliant scheme. I will deal with him once I am properly restored. Now if you don't mind, I would like to have this situation resolved sometime before a treacherous usurper takes advantage of my absence to seize control."
Tarn stood up quickly, spurred into action. And he positively towered over Megatron. He cupped his hands together and reached to pick his leader up, "Of course, my Lord-"
Megatron backed away, still too creeped out from the last time Tarn had gotten hold of him. "What are you doing now?!"
Tarn paused, "...It may be difficult to climb down from the desk in your... condition, my Lord."
Megatron glowered at him, stealing a quick glance over the edge of the desk. It was quite a long way down. He huffed, sticking his nose up to try and save face. "I suppose," he began darkly, "for the sake of convenience..."
Tarn lowered his hands again, keeping them flat so Megatron could step onto them with dignity. It was pointless because Megatron wobbled precariously as he was lifted, having to stumble over to grip Tarn's thumb for balance.
"Where to, my Lord?"
"The med-bay," Megatron ground out, "and take the back corridors. I don't want to be seen like this."
"Of course not, my Lord," Tarn dipped his head reverently. "I will do my utmost to preserve your reputation as -"
"Shut up and walk Tarn," Megatron growled.
"It's a simple fix," Hook, suppressing a great deal of amusement, told Megatron from behind the magnifying glass he was using to inspect his minimised hardware. Only his large blurry optic was visible to Megatron, terrifyingly bright through the glass. "I can even do something to prevent this from happening again, if you're interested?"
Megatron was. Obviously. He looked up at Hook's large glowing optic. "What would you guess?"
"Brilliant." Hook's optic narrowed. "Stop letting Starscream wield you."
"That's your solution?!" Megatron snapped, temper causing him to flush. "What about failsafes?!"
"We've had this discussion before," Hook's tone was bored and put-out. "Failsafes are worthless in the face of Starscream."
Megatron's olfactory flared with frustration. "You're not usually this ...disrespectful."
"You're not usually this small," Hook pulled away from the magnifying glass to show Megatron his cheery, unaffected expression. "I'm not complaining. I would never complain, my lord, but it seems every other week I have you strapped down to this med-berth, attending to your various Starscream-related injuries-"
"He's my-our best marksman," Megatron ground out defensively. "What do you expect me to do? Sacrifice expertise for my convenience?"
"Starscream is not the only mech here capable of firing a fusion weapon."
Hook didn't look over Tarn, but Megatron did. The tank -who was not supposed to be eavesdropping- looked down sharply and inched his considerable bulk behind a nearby pillar that did nothing to hide him from view.
Megatron sighed, "Being at Tarn's mercy is hardly any more dignified."
"Why?" Hook frowned unsympathetically. "Does he throw you in the bushes when he's done with you?"
Megatron glared. If only Hook knew.
"No," he grit out. "Much worse."
Tarn, who was definitely respecting doctor-patient confidentiality and his leader's privacy, hung his head in shame.