Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mission had only ever seen images -news reports, wanted posters, propaganda reels, hidden holos Starscream thought he didn’t know about- and in all of them Megatron looked ...tall.

(So why wasn’t he tall, he’d always wonder.)

Megatron was imposing, broad-shouldered and stern-faced. He looked older than Mission's creator, and he didn’t shine like him. He was worn, covered in scars and scuffs that said more about him than a hundred historical data-files ever could.

He had a strong jaw that reminded Mission of the heroes and champions in those juvenile data-pads his creator used to get for him, filled with stupid little stories about adventure that were so unrealistic because no one ever died, or even got hurt.

Mission would look at those images of Megatron and try and muster up as much hate as he could for him, or at least indifference. But it was hard. Hard to hate someone he didn’t know. Hard to hate someone his creator reminisced about as much as he slandered. Hard when he thought that in another life, he probably would have loved him.

“Is that my sire?” He remembered asking Starscream, when he’d been younger, jabbing a finger towards the news flash of a Decepticon attack lighting up a billboard overhead.

His creator had grabbed his hand and hauled him away. And hadn’t answered.

But Mission wasn’t an idiot. He knew. He’d overhead enough hushed, furious conversations. And Lockdown wasn’t good at being subtle either, whenever he was around.

He was older now, nearly eight vorns, and smart enough to know if he wanted answers he was going to have to get them from another source. Because Starscream sure wasn’t talking.

“Stay away from the windows today,” Starscream ordered, dumping a stack of data-files in front of him to keep him busy. “I need to get energon, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Mission nodded and didn’t comment on his creator’s twitchiness. He knew the Decepticon flagship had been spotted in the system. He’d overheard mechs talking about it that morning, beneath their apartment window, while his creator had still been recharging. Starscream must have heard now too and was going to gather as much energon as he could so they could flee the system.

Mission pretended to be interested in a data-file on law defying thermodynamics as Starscream dragged a crate out from under their shared berth. It was full of weapons. His creator took most, hiding them away in his subspace.

But placed one small blaster on the table in front of Mission, hand lingering on it.

Mission met his gaze.

“Emergencies only,” Starscream warned him.

Mission nodded, “Sure.”

Starscream’s gaze narrowed suspiciously, “I know what the charge level is.”

Mission ignored him, glaring down at his data-file.

He heard his creator sigh before moving off. The door opened, shut, and then click-clacked with all the locks Starscream had installed.

Mission counted to three before throwing down the data-file, snatching up the blaster, and climbing out the window. Now all he needed to do was find the Decepticons.

The city was big and bustling, but it was the only one on the planet. If Decepticons were in the system, they'd be making landfall here.

“You lost?” A Venbee sat outside a bar noticed him.

As a Cybertronian on an alien planet Mission stuck out like a wonky wing, and his unenviable height meant it was obvious he was young.

Mission nodded, “I was separated from my ...trine.” He stalled over the unfamiliar word that never had and likely never would apply to him.

“You look pretty young, where are your progenitors?”

“My species come in many sizes,” Mission corrected her impatiently, “have you seen others like me?”

The Venbee frowned, but nodded, “Yeah, East Side landing stripes. Winged things, like you but bigger. Been coming and going all cycle.”

Mission nodded and headed off.

He stayed on foot and was glad for it. Seekers filled the air surrounding the landing stripes, shooting by overhead and causing him to flinch at their similarity to his creator, who could, at any second, swoop down on him and ground him into the next millennia.

They flew in beautiful formations, looping and spinning and crossing each other’s paths like it was instinct, like they were an extension of each others minds. Mission had wondered what it was like to have trine, to have closed ranks behind you, always. To never be alone.

He wondered if Thundercracker and Skywarp were up there.

He must have stared up at the sky for too long.

“-spent nearly as much energon coming here as we will be able to procure,” someone was coming. Mission ducked back, pressing himself against the wall of a side street. “Why'd we come all the way out here?”

“You know why,” another replied, their voices familiarly electronic and their accents... well, Starscream would have called them low caste. “He’s still hung up on you-know-who. One seeker sighting and he hauls the whole fleet halfway across the galaxy on the off chance we run into him.”

Mission peaked out as the mechs passed him. They were Cybertronian. He began to follow them, making sure to stay hidden.

“We’re here for energon.”

“Convenient excuse, and a bad one at that. Planet’s pretty dry and we already knew that. Why else are the air force scouting the planet?”

“Won’t find him. Probably dead.”

“Don’t ever say that ‘round him.”

They moved too far ahead, and Mission couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation. He slipped back into a side street and boosted himself up onto the roof of a building with a blast from his thrusters.

The Decepticons were heading towards an old building that Mission knew belonged to a bookmaker Starscream liked to con and swindle. Outside, two seekers leaned against the exterior wall, looking bored.

Luckily Mission knew there was another way in.

He went around the back, climbing through the little window into the empty basement. It was dark and dank and smelt like musk and oil, but he ignored it in his excitement to hear more. He ran up the stairs and pressed his audial to the door.

“-never gives his real name, there’s no point-“ a panicked voice was claiming.

“You’ve been associating with a potential Decepticon traitor and you think there’s ‘no point’ in divulging more?” a strong, rasping voice interrupted. Another low caste accent, but this one firm, commanding.

Mission thought that he recognised it. He pushed the door open a crack and peaked out.

The bookmaker, a squid-like species Mission couldn’t remember the name of, was on his knees, eyes steaming with ink black tears. Two mechs wearing Decepticon badges stood over him, large blasters aimed at his head.

“Please,” the bookmaker begged. “I don’t know who he is, he’s a-a thief, a conmech, I wouldn’t protect him-!”

“Is he a seeker?” the mech in charge was out of view, but Mission couldn’t open the door any wider to see him without risking being seen.

“I- I don’t know what that means.”

“Wings!” the mech snapped, shifting slightly into view, slamming a large black fist against a nearby steel table. It dented under the force. “Did he have wings?!”

“They-They both did.”

“They?”

The bookmaker nodded, nearly blinded by his tears.

The mech fell silent for a long while. Mission watched him move entirely into view as he began to slowly pace. He was grey and scarred, tall and stern.

“Megatron,” Mission mouthed to himself, spark tripping over itself.

He was taller that the pictures implied, the scars deeper than holograms did justice. He seemed too big, too imposing, too much to picture beside his creator, to be his sire.

“Shall we look into the seekers, sir?” one of the Decepticons spoke into the silence. “They may be open to recruitment.”

Megatron’s face was tilted down, hidden in shadow. “...Focus on the original mission.” He rasped. “Gather energon.”

“And the local?”

“Shoot him.”

The bookmaker didn’t have time to panic before he was shot in the head. Mission didn’t react, to the bang or the death. He’d seen his creator do worse to much nicer people.

What did make him jump though, was the creak of the basement window opening.

Mission whipped around, fumbling to get the blaster out of his subspace, but the shadow that had dropped into the basement with him was a familiar one.

Starscream's optics were alight with terror.

“Crea-“

Starscream was across the room in a flash, one hand slapped over Mission's mouth, the other gripping his arm so tightly it hurt. Mission whined in pain but Starscream shook him. “Shh!”

Mission realised he could feel his creator shaking.

“What are you doing?” Starscream whispered, pulling him away from the door. “Have they seen you? Has he seen you?”

Mission would answer but his creator was still gagging him.

“Are you insane?” Starscream continued. “Are you defective? Tracking him down to- for Primus knows what reasons and-and, just what is wrong with -“

Mission wretched his mouth free.

“Is he my sire?” He cried, looking up at his creator imploring.

Starscream started dragging him away again, “We’ll discuss this later-“

Mission dug his heels in.

“No, now. Or I’ll scream,” Mission threatened.

Starscream stared at him. “You won’t.”

“I will.”

“He’ll kill me.”

Mission swallowed thickly, his spark twisting painfully.

 “...Will he kill me?” He asked quietly.

Starscream’s grip on his arm flexed, “...He doesn’t know about you.”

Mission didn’t know what to say to that. “So he isn’t-“

“He is.” Starscream interrupted, casting worried looks towards the door. “He...sired you, yes. But I’m your creator. I’m your parent.”

“I know that,” Mission said softly.

“This isn’t the time, or place, to talk about this,” Starscream implored. “We have to leave, now. I’ve waited too long as it is-“

The longing only grew in Mission’s spark, “But I just want to see him-“

Starscream whirled on him, furious suddenly, “What is it about ‘he’ll kill us’ that you don't understand?”

“You said he’d only kill you,” Mission scowled. “Why? Why will he? What did you do?”

“How dare you,” his creator glared. “What did I do? I  protected you. I’m still protecting you. Everything I have ever done, has been to protect you. And I will keep protecting you until you’re old enough to fend for yourself and make your own stupid decisions and only then will you be free to run off and join your sire on his crusade to rule the universe and die as his canon fodder. Because that’s what you’ll be. That’s all anyone is in war. Do you understand?”

Mission felt tears prickling at his optics as he glared, “I hate you.”

“You’d hate him more,” Starscream warned, releasing his arm. “We’re leaving.”

And with that, he turned towards the window again, confident that Mission would follow.

Mission glanced back at the door, wishing he wasn’t too much of coward to just push through it, before following his creator out of the building.

Chapter Text

Mission glanced back at the door, a lifelong curiosity on just the other side. He could still hear Megatron's low rasping drawl as he criticised his Decepticons for splattering alien blood across his pedes, and knew his creator wasn't feigning his fear of this mech. 

He knew his creator was a liar too. And he’d never wanted anything as much than to just see him. 

"Mission!" His creator hissed at him, urgent and sharp. He was at the window to the basement, incredulous that Mission hadn't obeyed. "Get away from the do-" 

The door swung open and a tower of light fell across the basement right where Starscream stood, illuminating him like he was under a spotlight. He froze. Mission's spark all but stopped. Even the air felt still. 

Dread seizing his spark, Mission turned to the open doorway to face a pair of large blood-splattered pedes. He forced his gaze up, and up, and up, past long legs and a powerful chassis, into the face of a mech he knew only from wanted posters and propaganda campaigns, who was staring, transfixed, at his creator, like nothing else existed. 

He might not have even seen Mission. He certainly didn't acknowledge him. 

Megatron's mouth opened, "Star-?" 

When he was struck in the face by a sudden bolt of light. He stumbled back with a grunt and was only barely out of the doorway before Mission was being rushed past him into the room, dragged by his scruff bar, Starscream firing wildly overhead. 

The old building was full of Decepticons. They lined the walls and stood guard at the doors. Mission tripped over his pedes, not knowing where to run until his creator shoved him down and under a nearby table. Mission clung to its leg, fumbling with his blaster as bolts fired around the room wildly. They struck the floor and exploded against walls, leaving dark scorches. No one was shooting to stun. 

All he could see were pedes, stamping back and forth, stumbling. Someone swore, and his creator shouted in pain. Mission saw him drop to the floor. 

He watched Starscream move to get up, when a large black pede stepped on his back, pinning him. He grunted in pain. 

There was silence save for panting vents and the groaning of injured mechs. Still hidden, Mission squeezed his blaster between his hands, knowing what he had to do but struggling to summon the courage. There were so many of them. They had never been outnumbered like this. 

"...There was a sparkling." Someone spoke, breaking the tense silence.  

Starscream stirred beneath Megatron's pede. 

Mission knew if he was going to do something it would have to be now. 

“Interesting. Where is your accomplice, traitor?" Megatron asked smoothly, tone laced with a malice that set Mission's armour crawling. No answer came, and Megatron responded by pressing down on Starscream's back until his armour started to groan, his vents wheezing. 

Mission hesitated. Now. He needed to do something now. 

"Shall we take him back to the ship, sir," Someone interrupted, stepping forwards. They had black pedes, with thrusters. Another seeker. 

Megatron took some of the weight off Starscream's back. Mission heard his creator suck in a sharp breath. His servos around the blaster were shaking. 

"...Take him." Megatron ordered, lifting his pede completely. 

Mechs moved forward to obey but Starscream continued to struggle, spitting out insults and kicking his pedes until Megatron moved very close to him and he stilled. Mission couldn't see, but he heard the hum of a powerful weapon charging. 

"Kill me then." Starscream said quietly. 

Mission squeezed his blaster so tightly the grip would be dented under his digits. He watched the pedes before him unblinkingly, breaths uneven and optics watering. 

After a lifetime seemed to pass, Megatron stepped away. "Get him out of my sight." 

And Mission did nothing, just sat under the table like a coward as Decepticons filtered out and dragged his creator with them. He had a blaster but was too useless to use it, and too selfish to have listened when Starscream had warned him. This was his fault. His doing. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe. His vents hiccuped and he fell back on his aft, crying under the table like a pathetic sparkling. 

Only once he was sure the Decepticons had left did he crawl out, staring around at the wreck of a room, it's furniture broken and overturned, the bookmaker’s body in the middle, his ink black blood spread about the floor by a dozen sets of footprints. 

He stared at it abysmally, wondering how soon Megatron would have his creator shot in the back of the head too. 

"Hey there, kiddo," a soft voice spoke. 

Mission near jumped out of his armour, spinning and firing his blaster at the blue seeker leaning against the wall behind him. They sidestepped the bolt with ease, arms folded across their chest. Mission aimed again, finger on the trigger. 

"Good aim." The seeker praised, glancing between him and the scorch his blaster bolt had left. 

Mission hurriedly wiped his face with the back of his servo. "Who are you?" He demanded. "Where did you take him?" 

"Starscream?" The seeker asked, tilting his helm. He was taller than Mission's creator and broader in the shoulders too. His face was squarer, and kinder. His optics glowed softly. "They're transporting him to the Nemesis. I can take you there." 

Mission glowered, "I'm not interested in surrendering." 

"What's your designation?" The seeker asked. 

"None of your business." 

"How old are you?" He asked next. 

"I'm not answering any of your questions!" Mission shouted. "Contact your comrades and order them to release their prisoner before I shoot you full of holes." 

The seeker didn't look particularly threatened, but he did lift his comm link. "Unfortunately, I don't have that kind of authority. But I can call someone who does?" 

Megatron. Mission shifted his weight nervously, remembering what it felt like to stand beneath the warlord's looming stature, so small and insignificant he may as well have been invisible. It stung. He didn't know why. 

He hadn't even looked at him. 

"Don't." He said. 

"You don't want to see your creator?" 

"I don't- he's- who said he's my creator?" Mission stumbled over his words. Starscream had warned against advertising their relationship. He had enemies he didn't want Mission to share. 

"You look just like him." The seeker pushed away from the wall and began to walk towards him, cool as anything. "Your sire, too." 

Mission retreated back, blaster steady and straight and ready to fire when next to him the air split into crackling purple light and another seeker was there, yanking the blaster out of his grip and twisting his arms behind his back. 

Mission struggled, fear rising from his chest and into his throat so he couldn't even shout. 

"Gentle, Warp," the first seeker warned. 

"Frag, you weren’t joking," his captor's low voice breathed. "A mini Screamer. Cute though-" 

"Get off of me!" Mission found his voice to yell, shoulders aching as he fought against the seeker's hold. 

"Pick him up. Let’s go." The blue seeker ordered, striding past with a clear sense of urgency. 

Mission's wrists were released but he didn't get one step before arms came around his front and hauled him off his pedes, one around his chest keeping his arms pinned, the other securing his legs. Mission couldn’t break his hold. He was too strong. Stronger than his creator-

"Hey, TC," he rumbled, words vibrating against Mission’s back, "He's shaking pretty bad." 

"He's scared." The blue seeker threw over his shoulder. 

"No, I'm not!" Mission shouted, renewing his struggles, even if all he’d do is wear himself out. His creator had been taken captive for him. The least he could do is fight to stay out of the same enemy’s hands. 

But the dark seeker only laughed. 

"You hear that, TC? He's a tough little mech." He grinned, stumbling slightly as he struggled to walk straight with Mission’s thrashing. "Your- ow!- your Daddy's gonna love you." 

Megatron, Mission realised. He meant Megatron. They were taking him to share in his creator's fate. 

"You really do look just like him," the dark seeker told him lightly, like Mission wasn't sick with dread. "Same scowl and everything." 

They were outside the building by now, back in the light of day. Cybertronian presence had frightened the locals off the streets and only a group of Decepticons loitered outside. Most of them looked over with obvious interest. Mission avoided their optics, scratching at the arm across his chest and doing his best not to look afraid when they gathered closer, all tall, broad, and well armed. 

"Well, frag me," a large green and purple mech breathed as they passed, leaning in. "No wonder ol’ Megs wanted him back so bad..." 

"Back off, Long Haul!" The seeker holding Mission snarled, yanking him away from the other Decepticons. "He's scared enough without you shoving your ugly face close." 

Mission had never been around so many of his own species before, and never realised how comparatively slight his creator was. Decepticons were, as a group, densely armoured mechs with large fists, stomping pedes, and thick low-caste accents. Mission clung to the dark seeker's arm, scowling as he forced himself not to shrink away from their attention. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. 

"-probably has tunnel vision for Starscream right now but that’s gotta be his sparking," the blue seeker was speaking with a visored mech nearby, who was also staring at Mission with intense interest. "It’s best he hear it from you. He trusts you. And I know he’s angry -I’m angry, we’re all angry- but I don't think you want to have that sparkling hanging around for hours whilst they try to figure how they feel about each other any more than I do. Than he will, once he calms down and realises what’s happened.”

Mission wasn’t stupid. He knew what they were talking about. Starscream’s words from the basement drifted back to him, about how dangerous Megatron was, about how his creator had always protected him from him. Megatron wanted to kill his creator. Would he want Mission dead too?

“It’s not fair.” He seeker had dropped his voice but Mission could still hear him, “He's scared, he doesn't know what's happening..." 

The visored mech nodded, already moving away from the blue seeker towards Mission. He was tall too. They all were. So he lowered himself to a knee in that horribly patronising way people did to sparklings, even though Mission wasn't one anymore. 

"Designation." The visored mech demanded. 

Mission kept his mouth stubbornly shut. 

"He's shy." The seeker holding him supplied. 

"I am not!" Mission burst out, to a chorus of humiliating laughter from the gathered Decepticons. His face burned. He glowered at the floor, tears of fury threatening to spill. 

"Sounds like Screamer too, huh," Someone muttered. 

“Shut up!” The seeker holding him snarled, and the laughter quickly died. 

"Designation; Soundwave." The visored mech introduced himself. "Decepticon Communications. Your creator has been taken into custody. You will be joining him shortly." 

Mission swallowed thickly and lifted his helm high. He had been locked up before; ship brigs and holding cells and many dark small rooms. He could handle it. 

"You will not be detained," Soundwave stated, as if reading his mind. 

Mission hardly dared to let himself hope, "…You're going to let us go?" 

Soundwave didn't answer. He stood up and nodded to the seeker holding him captive. "Lord Megatron; informed and awaiting his arrival." 

Mission didn't even have time to panic. One minute he was surrounded by thugs and warriors, the next, his world disappeared behind a veil of purple light. Then he was on a ship, with grey walls and dark floors and ceilings tall enough for even the biggest shuttles. 

The seeker turned them around, hands on his shoulders, to face the mech who had been waiting for them, standing in front of a thick durasteel door secured by a multitude of computerised locks. The brig, probably. 

But that was only Mission’s secondary concern. He looked up, and up, and up, into Megatron's crimson gaze. There was a blackened patch of armour streaked across his left cheek, where Starscream had shot him. Mission couldn't stop staring at it.

The seeker behind him gave him a little nudge. Mission took a nervous step. 

Megatron's optics were dark, but soft and curious, searching his features, lingering on his wings and his optics and his nose, like he could find answers within them. Answers Mission wanted to. He didn’t look like a mech ready to hurt him, or size him up for cannon fodder. He wasn’t as intimidating as he’d seemed before. 

Mission thought about his creator's words in the basement - "...He doesn't know about you."- and he wondered why, and remembered he wasn't the only person Starscream had kept secrets from. 

"…Hi," he said, barely more than a whisper, immediately feeling stupid. His creator would have snarked something clever and insulting. 

"Hello," Megatron rumbled back in the same stilted tone as him, mouth twitching with a barely suppressed smile, proud and pleased by something. "Come," he gestured with a huge servo, beckoning Mission closer. "Let's go and see your creator. I have questions that need answering." 

"You're going to interrogate him." Mission realised. 

"There's no need for that." Megatron reassured, but there was an edge to his voice. He was angry and trying not to show it, like when his creator pretended to be calm right before he shot someone. "Starscream will be so pleased to see his sparkling here he'll be only too happy to comply." 

Ah, Mission realised -looking back over his shoulder at the dark seeker, who gave him a thumbs up of encouragement- he was to be used as an incentive. 

Mission nodded along, crossing the distance between them to join Megatron at the durasteel door, where his creator was being held. He would play along for now, but he hoped this sire of his didn't get any foolish ideas about Mission betraying his creator for a strangers sake- sire or not.

Let Megatron think he was nothing more than a lost, helpless little sparkling. As soon as the old fool’s guard was down, he was shooting him in the back and breaking them out of here.