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It had been some time since he last experienced nightmares.
But the setting always started the same: an open expanse on Cybertron, the Well of AllSparks visible from where he stood.
Everything was familiar yet so foreign, every time feeling as though he had walked this world before. No settlements, no carvings of solar systems over Primus’ dormant body.
It was strangely empty; he had the feeling that there should have been a crowd, a flood of beings from the gaping maw of the Well. Yet it was desolate, all of Cybertron was.
He walked around aimlessly, searching for any signs of sentient life. As always, he forgot that he could transform into his alt-mode and drive. Never would he notice the change to himself until it was too late.
A sharp bark from a little ways off.
His optics zoomed in on the source.
It was a turbofox, the first other living being he’d seen in some time.
His legs sprang into motion, pistons working as he got up to speed. The creature darted away, ducking and weaving through the desolate landscape, but that did not deter him. He wasn’t going to give up that easily!
When his surroundings began to grow dark, he paused at the opening of what could only be an entrance to the world beneath the surface. The turbofox had scampered into the darkness without hesitation.
Nanokliks passed before he too plunged into the unknown.
Light indicated the end of the winding darkness he had been stumbling around in, and he was all too relieved to see it.
The turbofox was long gone. He could only hope it hadn’t gotten lost in the maze of tunnels or trapped somewhere.
As he approached the end of the tunnel, he could make out faint cheering. His audio receptors had been fluctuating in the dark, sometimes making him hear things that weren’t there. Was this the same? And had it spread to make his processor think he was seeing an exit?
But the more he listened, the more unsure he was of his theory.
Some shred of courage within his Spark emboldened him enough to make him pass that boundary, to step into the light-
The glamour and lights was the first thing he noticed, followed by the cheering crowds of countless Cybertronians. Bots of all shapes and sizes, all high up in spectator seats.
Beneath his feet, a surprisingly well-kept sandy floor that was both stained and unmarred. Somewhere, an announcer’s voice rang out but he couldn’t make out the words. His optics caught the sheen of greyed metal lying around the edges of the walls that separated him and the spectators.
The Pits.
How did he get here? Why was he here?
A hand on his shoulder made him jump. His head whirled around and-
“Did I startle you, Brother?” a familiar voice chuckled.
He stared at the silver bot that towered over him, smiling with amused blue optics.
Megatronus. The gladiatorial Champion of Kaon, a bot dear to his Spark.
“For a bot your size, you are surprisingly good at sneaking up on others,” he huffed.
His taller companion didn’t stop smirking, patting his shoulder in a gesture of mild jest. It was peacefully familiar and he wondered why that simple fact was such a surprise.
“And for a bot of your calibre, you are surprisingly good at zoning out, Orion,” Megatronus replied in kind.
Orion? Ah, he must be Orion Pax, the archivist of Iacon, in this instance.
With a small flick of a finial, Orion nudged the gladiator’s hand from his shoulder.
“Did I accidentally miss one of your speeches?”
Megatronus shook his head, still smiling fondly. It looked both wrong yet so right.
“Fear not, you missed nothing of the sort,” the silver bot assured him. “Though I have to wonder why you suddenly had the compulsion to step out onto the arena’s floor.”
Orion was confused about that too, finials tilting back slightly.
“I... I don’t know,” he admitted sheepishly. “I can’t remember the reason for this course of action.”
He raised his optics to meet Megatronus’, relieved to see that the gladiator was not angered by his answer. The other opened his mouth to speak when a sudden BOOM! came from behind.
Spinning on his heel, Orion turned to see what had happened.
His body froze, he could have sworn his Spark skipped a beat.
The once clean and lively spectator benches were now rusted and decayed, falling apart with evidence of battle and slaughter. Lubricant, oil, energon, so much death littered the now empty space.
He felt something cold on his arm. There was bright blue covering his lower arm, a dead bot’s energon.
Orion struggled to process this turn of events. He was unused to such a sight. But Megatronus...
“Brother”, he murmured, “what is this?”
No answer.
Dread gripped his Spark.
“...Megatronus?”
Suddenly, he didn’t want to turn around.
It wasn’t fear. It was an uglier feeling, one that felt all too familiar. The bite and stab of a pain that weighed so heavy.
A hand found its way onto his shoulder. Silver, scratched up now, and fingers sharpened to claws.
The limb was cold against his metal, almost as if it was sucking the warmth from him. The fingers curled inwards, digging into him and leaving small dents.
Orion winced, somehow still managing to make his voice sound steady and calm. “What are you doing?”
His Spark stilled in his chest at the low and menacing chuckle.
He was all too acquainted with that laugh.
A warlord was leaning close to his audio receptors, closer than need be. His other hand, the one not digging into his shoulder, caressed Orion’s head finials.
Wait, he could feel Megatron behind him. The warlord was standing tall but wasn’t Orion- oh.
A quick glance down showed not the build of an unusually sturdy archivist but a lean war machine. Within his chassis, just over his spark chamber, was the familiar hum of the Matrix.
His voice box glitched with static as Megatron suddenly slammed a fist onto the glass windows, shattering them.
He shook from the force and shock but the warlord had clearly worn out his mercy, was no longer entertained.
Optimus could do nothing as his nemesis continued assaulting his body with blows, denting the metal under the sheer brutality of the attacks. At some point, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint when, he began to cough up energon.
Though the Decepticon tyrant was visiting nothing but violence upon his frame, Megatron still held the trembling Prime up on his feet.
Dim optics watched as silver claws, only sported a few flecks of coughed up energon, pried at the seams to his chest. His voice box emitted nothing but static as he unwillingly transformed the armour back, revealing the Matrix that sat over his very own Spark.
Optimus shivered as Megatron ran the tip of a claw over the casing that held a piece of Primus’ Spark.
He hadn’t anticipated the blow, then the one after that, and the one after that.
The world seemed to collapse inward. Everything went out of focus, all thought fleeing his processor.
His Spark throbbed, no, it was screaming. Wailing as it was jolted about, the chamber doing nothing to keep it from further harm.
Distantly, he could hear twelve other voices crying out from somewhere.
That faded just as quickly as his life, Matrix dented and flickering sorrowfully as his own Spark fizzled out within its own protective chamber.
“Optimus?”
He suddenly found himself on his back, staring up at a familiar ceiling.
A white and orange blur leaned over him and it took a resetting of his optics to finally recognise it as Ratchet, his friend and medic.
Optimus opened his mouth to speak but the other cut him off with his usual ‘no no no’ vocalisation.
“Don’t say anything,” Ratchet murmured sternly.
He knew better than to try again and just nodded.
The medic went on to perform a physical examination of his body. He wasn’t in pain- ah, no. There it was. A dull, all-encompassing ache in his torso. On his chest, just like in his-
“Optimus?” Ratchet asked again.
Meeting the gaze of those blue optics, he settled for an apologetic blink. It didn’t dissipate the other’s concern. A silver hand, warm and gentle, lay itself over his own.
“Do you want me to stay?”
His voice was not cynical or gruff, just kind and understanding.
Optimus felt his Spark both sing and clench from such a simple gesture.
He could find no words. The only answer he could give was the smallest nod, finials falling back for the first time in a long while.
Ratchet said nothing more, hand still placed over the Prime’s as the other stroked his head.
Those two points of warmth grounded him.
He would feel bad about it later but for now, Ratchet’s presence and company for the rest of the long night eased his Spark more than any words could.