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“Thirteen” The voice of the one he knew to be Micronus called for him. Thirteen stirred from where he rested near his father’s spark. He was confused, he didn’t understand why he was being summoned. Primus had already prepared a frame for him to inhabit and it would not be long now. What could his brother wish for him before he returned to the living realm?
“We have need of you brother” Thirteen did not even have enough time to process what was being said before he was dragged away from his father. It hurt more than he would have expected as his connection to his new frame was totally shredded. It didn’t help that as he was stolen away, he could sense Primus’s distress and worried attempts to locate him.
“Why is he like this? How can he be our Champion if he is but a newspark?” Another voice, one that sounded a great deal like Prima spoke up. Thirteen looked around in curiosity, his spark flaring in mixed concern and interest as he looked upon his siblings gathered before him like a council deciding his fate, which they very well could be considering what Thirteen could gather.
“The purification process had progressed further than anticipated, but he can still do what is required if we return the Matrix to him” Yet another voice, this time Quintus if Thirteen’s guess was correct. He couldn’t really tell based on the fact that the forms of his siblings were veiled and his own lack of a body made sensing the world around him difficult.
“Memory does not equate to maturity. Even if his memory is restored and his frame rebuilt, he will not have the necessary mental development needed to apply the skills he previously had access to” He knew the voice that spoke up, it was Solus. His spark flared joyfully in greeting and Thirteen could feel his sister’s soothing field wash over him as his spark fluttered in place, anxious but intrigued. His siblings needed him for something important, and that brought him no end to pride.
“Look at him brothers, see his youth. He is practically a sparkling. We cannot send him into battle against the Fallen, he will not last” Solus spoke again, but Thirteen was hardly paying attention, his focus instead on the light his sister hung in front of him to observe. He followed it happily, his spark flying to and fro within the strange space his siblings had whisked him away to. He could hear her chuckle faintly as he tried in vain to locate the light when it disappeared.
“I agree. He is too young and not the mech he once was. Not only that but he was promised rest after all he did. This is not rest, merely a new burden, one that you want to have placed on a newspark of all beings” Alchemist’s voice rang out clear in the strange place, but Thirteen paid him little mind, his focus on his sister as she reached out and collected him. She held his spark in her servos lovingly and despite her shadowed form, Thirteen could sense her smile. He sent her pulses of affection and love as he nuzzled against her touch when she reached out to gently caress the outer layers of his spark, careful not to harm him.
“Would you have us choose another Champion, one from the living realm? All of the young on Cybertron are hardly wiser than he is and those that remain would not accept the weight of being a Prime” Vector added his own commentary, a hint of irritation in his usually calm voice. Thirteen perked up, worry etched into his being as he gazed at his kin and looked up to his sister for guidance. She merely washed him in her field again, muttering sweet nothings as the conversation continued.
“He is the only one we can trust with this burden. Besides, I do not believe he would be pleased to find his ward to have taken up the mantle he left behind under such stressful circumstances” Onyx chimed in softly yet somehow still powerfully. Thirteen hesitated, his concern only growing with every moment. He knew his siblings needed him for something, but what could be so hard that they fought over it?
“Then it seems we have no choice,” Amalgamous concluded after a tense silence. Solus seemed very frightened all of a sudden and the Thirteen could only try to send out pulses of inquiry. What was wrong? Did he do something to upset them?
“Forgive us brother, but this is how it must be” Solus let Thirteen flutter back toward the ground as Micronus spoke and stepped forward, Prima’s relic in his servos. Thirteen started to grow fearful as his brother approached and his other kin raised their arms, power flowing through them and coursing into his being.
He wanted to scream. It hurt, it tore at his very being. Why did it hurt so much?
He wanted it to stop, please stop, make it stop-!
Then as soon as it had come, the pain passed and Thirteen stood in a new frame, one that he sensed was not at all like the one Primus had been making for him when he had been taken away. It was strong, built for war, and obviously belonged to another. It felt strange being in this frame he had been given, uncomfortable even. Why was it so achingly familiar though?
“The time has come. We have need of you again Optimus Prime” Micronus held up the Matrix and Thirteen could only gape in surprise as the relic flew at him, forcing his chassis plating apart and snugly taking its place wrapped around his spark. This time it didn’t hurt, if anything it felt like coming home. The Matrix pulsed and sang within him, happy to be returned as it lovingly remade him again, making him stronger and reworking him to match the image it had designed.
As it worked, memories returned to him one by one. They were muddled and distant, some clearer than others but all accounted for and present. When he looked up at his brother again, he was not Thirteen, no, he was Optimus Prime once more.
“What must I do?” He inquired as he got a feel for his frame, adjusting to its strangeness and the memories that felt like they should fit him only to discover that they were nearly foreign. It was like he was walking within the frame of another mech, watching that mech’s life as if it were a movie from the memories all while piloting his frame.
It was strange, but he thought to himself that it would likely fade with time once he was settled into his new frame.
—----
“Optimus, what was the test!?” Micronus’s words were like daggers in Optimus’s spark. He looked to the ground guiltily before he reminded himself that he was not supposed to fall into such emotions. He had to look strong at all times, he could lament and feel in private, but never out in the open. It would ruin morale, at least, that’s what his rather muddled memories told him.
“You were supposed to reach the top of the hill, Optimus, not defeat the foes or guard the humans. Those were distractions, ones that you failed to overcome” Optimus winced and bodily shrank in on himself at the criticism. He didn’t know what came over him, he just knew he needed to protect the innocents. That was his mission after all, wasn’t it? He fought in a war to do just that, didn’t he? Why was Mincronus so harsh?
“The time to face the Fallen approached Optimus, and we… you are not ready” Optimus suppressed the coolant that began to gather in his optics. He was a Prime, he couldn’t afford to cry. This was supposed to be simple, his memories told him as such. And yet he just couldn't get anything right.
Why? He had done this all a million times. Why was it that this training tested him so?
“Get yourself together Optimus. The time draws near, prepare yourself” Optimus nodded simply and did his best to get rid of his turbulent emotions. The Matrix pulsed lovingly within him, offering praise and understanding as it helped him calm down. He sent back appreciation in turn as he hurriedly wiped at his optics and gripped his Star Saber tighter.
“I am ready to continue the training” Optimus proclaimed after a moment of composing himself. His memory was imperfect and his emotions were far wilder than they should have been, but he was certain that with time he would settle. He just needed time to get used to this frame and his state.
Everything would be rectified with time… right?
—----
The memories within the Matrix directed his steps, one after another. Dodge to the left, tuck and charge after a parry, keep moving, never stay still, and keep the battle brief. This and so much more entered his processors at the Matrix’s behest as Optimus traded blows with his foe. By his estimates, Megatron was a fiercer opponent than the Fallen, but as Optimus battled his once brother he found himself reevaluating this assessment.
“Foolish little Prime!” Optimus tried to follow the memories, he tried to apply the many memories of battles he had stored away. But no matter how hard he tried and how closely he tried to copy them, he was always off enough to give the Fallen an edge. It shouldn’t have been this difficult to fight, he had spent millennia on the battlefield. This petty conflict should have been something he could easily overcome.
Then why was he losing?
“I will take your helm as a trophy!” The Fallen threw Optimus into the nearest structure and the Prime could only gasp as his systems heaved at the attack. He stumbled to his pedes and raised his Star Saber, memories flooding his processors as he desperately tried to apply them. But even with so many experiences, he couldn’t decide what was the best move.
How could he possibly know what to do? The mech before him towered above him even with his height. His spark fluttered in fear in his chassis, causing his already uncertain attacks to become even more unsuccessful. He was near certain he looked like a sparkling flailing around a blade, and that more than anything else enraged him, especially as the Fallen laughed.
“FALL!” Optimus cried as he charged, logic all but gone in favor of desperation. He couldn’t lose, he had never lost this bitterly to anyone since becoming Prime. It was a humiliation he refused to endure.
“Ridiculous” The Fallen disarmed Optimus mere moments after he struggled in vain to launch a counterattack. The Fallen threw him away like a useless pile of scrap and all Optimus could do was lay on the ground pathetically and heave. His entire frame hurt, and while his memories told him he had endured and fought while suffering far worse, for whatever Primus-forsaken reason he felt coolant gather in his optics as he curled up, unable to move at all.
“What happened to the powerful brother I stood side by side with so long ago? You’ve become weak Thirteen. Pathetic” Optimus seethed but could only glare in agony as the Fallen raised his blade to strike him down. Why was he so useless? He should know how to fight, how to endure. His memories told him this, and yet his frame felt so uncomfortable and strange that he could hardly pilot it as his memories told him he should.
“OPTIMUS!” A cry echoed in his audio receptors as the structure he had been thrown against, a human monument of sorts, began to come crashing down. He managed to force himself up and stagger away in time for the Fallen to be crushed under the rock and metal, effectively destroying his physical form and sending his spark back to where it belonged.
He should have felt pleased as Bumblebee brought him back his weapon and his ward’s team celebrated, but all he could feel was shame. The Fallen was right, he truly was pathetic to need actual sparkling to come to save his worthless hide.
—----
“Would you stop pestering pops for war stories already!” Sideswipe demanded, immediately throwing off Optimus’s train of thought and sending him to a screeching halt. Optimus’s very first reaction was confusion, he couldn’t fathom what he was doing wrong. Strongarm had asked him for tales of the war and so Optimus had dug through his muddled memories and pulled up the ones most clear to relay to her. He saw no issue with that.
Of course then once the tone the youngling used was processed, Optimus felt anger bubble up within him. He wasn’t that old. His current frame was hardly two months of age and by Cybertronian standards he was middle-aged if his previous existence was thrown into the mix. Being referred to in such a manner sparked a flame of indignation in his being, he would not stand for being called pops of all things after millennia of being treated with respect by his soldiers.
He did not fight and die just to be referred to like he was some old coot. He frowned and for a brief moment, he contemplated getting to his pedes and squaring up, ready to defend his honor. However this rogue thought was swiftly ignored, it was not all Primely of him to fight a youngling of all beings, especially over a nickname.
“You will refer to me as Optimus Prime or Optimus. Are we clear?” He stood to his full height and couldn’t stop himself from glaring at the youngling as Sideswipe backpedaled. Optimus didn’t even realize it until the youngling began to shake, but his field was wild and angry, flaring wide and encompassing every bot in the nearby vicinity. It was not made any better by the Primely nature that infused his being, making his field all that more oppressive even with the most minor of emotions lacing it.
“Y-Yes Sir” Sideswipe murmured in terror as he shook and the others nearby paused to stare. Optimus was startled at his own reaction and quickly pulled his field as close to his protoform as possible. He had never allowed his field to flare in such a manner since Alpha Trion took him from the wilds. It was disgraceful as both a Prime and as an Iaconian.
“Optimus?” Bumblebee too looked slightly frightened as Optimus instinctually shrank in on himself, his plating flared to a degree to appear larger and not as weak and pathetic as he felt. He hurriedly dug through his muddled memories, searching for something that he could use and apply to this situation before everything went to slag. He was frantic as he searched, and in the end, he clenched his fists and managed to grind out a weak apology.
“Apologies… that was uncalled for” He bowed his helm in apology once before hurrying away from the scene a little too quickly to be called composed. Panic wormed its way into his processors as he ducked out of sight and found a quiet spot in the nearby woods. He didn’t stop moving until he was certain he wasn’t followed, at which point he collapsed against the nearest tree and leaned against it, his face in his servos.
“Primus… why am I like this?” Optimus asked the open air as he lamented his actions. He had broken protocol in nearly every conceivable manner in under a minute. He lost control of his field so horribly that even mecha from the boondocks would find it abhorrent and then nearly threw hands with an actual sparkling over a simple, albeit disrespectful nickname.
Why was he like this? It didn't make sense. Was it a curse? Or was he really just so incompetent?
Pathetic. Truly disgusting. He was supposed to be better than this.
He couldn’t stop the coolant that fell from his optics as he quietly wept. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to suppress the tears or how kindly the Matrix pulsed within his chassis, trying to comfort him. His emotions were running too rampant, he couldn't stop it even though with every tear he cursed and hated himself more.
—----
“I don’t think you should go on this mission Optimus” It took the Prime a moment to process what was being said as he briefly shuttered and unshuttered his optics owlishly. Bumblebee’s words were firm but not unkind, something Optimus found himself growing angry over rapidly even as he worked to snuff the emotion as quickly as it appeared.
He wasn’t made of glass. He could fight and he had been doing it for far longer than the youngling before him.
I have seen more battles than you have sunrises
His thoughts were bitter as he dug through his memories, searching for the proper response from times long past to ensure he didn’t have another fumbling moment as he had with Sideswipe. After a tense second of him reviewing old data and Bumblebee looking increasingly nervous, Optimus spoke.
“I am functional, and if I am functional, I can fight” He repeated the age-old words of his old comrade Kup, too worried to try and say something of his own creation for fear of backlash. Bumblebee seemed a little put off by his statement but nodded and directed him to join Sideswipe, Windblade, Drift, and his minicons Slipstream and Jetstorm.
“Optimus will be going with you-” Bumblebee began as Optimus moved to prepare for the mission, taking deep vents and running through the memories that he could access that might have any impact on his performance. He reviewed dozens of scouting expeditions, environmental hazards, mountainous conflict, and what he had access to from his time on earth previously with his team.
However even as he dug through every memory critically, they felt distant, like they belonged to another. He felt like an outside observer just watching the mech he once was perform feat after feat while he could only hopelessly attempt to imitate the skill involved. It made his ever-present frustration grow further.
He had fumbled time and time again with Bumblebee and his team. First with the Fallen and then again with simple tasks and battles. After the incident with Sideswipe, he had taken to relying entirely on the memories, for they would not falter and he could maintain his image. At least, that was the hope. As long as none noticed his reliance he could get by until he settled and forced himself to operate his new frame and eliminate the ridiculously rampant emotions that ravaged his processors at the slightest of quips.
“But Bee! He’s as clumsy as a newbuild!” Sideswipe remarked not at all quietly and very nearly breaking the stoic persona Optimus struggled to maintain in large part due to his newfound lack of control. He vented deeply and counted slowly in his mind, a trick he recalled Prowl using when others frustrated him.
It didn’t work particularly well, but Optimus continued the act as the conversation continued behind him, those involved seemingly unaware of his heightened senses.
“Just have him strategize or handle communications. He’s never been one to sit still, no matter how out of it he is” Bumblebee concluded the argument in time for Windblade to smack Sideswipe for his brash statement. One part of Optimus took a degree of sick glee in watching the youngling squirm at the hit.
He deserved it for speaking out of turn
As the thought began, Optimus shut it down. Where were such thoughts originating from? The only time he ever felt this finicky was during his early days as Orion Pax when he had yet to understand social cues and took everything as an insult or threat. He was millennia old, he shouldn’t be so upset over something so simple and foolish… right?
“Autobots! Roll out!” He opted to strike the rapidly spiraling set of thoughts down and focus on the mission and associated memories. His delegated team followed him without issue as they passed through the ground bridge and then made to move up the mountainside.
The trip was mostly silent, not a bot willing to say much of note as they climbed and clambered along treacherous passes. Optimus could feel the optics on him, the watchful gazes that followed his every step, searching for either weakness or an example to follow. It made him want to claw his own plating off. He hated the feeling of being observed so closely even when he was well aware he shouldn’t be.
Lost in his thoughts, he stumbled over a stone and nearly went tumbling right over the edge of the path they were taking. He regained his balance but looking back at his teammates, they were all giving him odd, almost pitying looks. His spark flared in indignation at their gazes. He was no newbuild just getting to his pedes for the first time or some delusional war veteran. He was Optimus Prime, former leader of the Autobots, and the vessel of Primus.
At least… that was who he was supposed to be.
“Sir, if you want to stay here and manage communications, we can continue and keep you up to date with what we find” Windblade suggested, worry evident in her tone. Optimus knew she had good intentions but he could hardly suppress the snarl that formed in his vocalizer.
“No, I can continue” He shot back a little more aggressively than intended, swiftly leading to him mentally kicking himself for his slip-up. Before his reforging, he would have never acted so brashly.
“Very well Optimus” Windblade backed off, once again making Optimus acutely aware of the way his field flared and how his plating was ruffled and out of place, trying and failing to not puff up and make him look larger. It certainly didn’t help that his expression was near murderous before he rubbed at his face and returned to his stoic persona with more than a little difficulty.
The target was not far, and he had his jetpack. If he could get ahead of the group, he would escape their oppressive stares and be able to do some scouting to hopefully make up for his mistake. It seemed like a solid plan to him, even if his memories had little to say in regard to it due to the relative newness of his ability to fly. The Matrix however did pulse in warning, telling him that what he planned could prove dangerous.
Optimus dismissed it. He was older than his entire team combined. He was certain that a simple flight through the air, albeit in snowy weather, was manageable. As such without saying a word he activated his jets and took to the skies, prompting several worried cries from his team. It was only once in the air that he cursed, remembering that communication was key on missions and that him up and abandoning his group would only lead them to suspect a potential threat.
Why was he so fragging forgetful?!
“Optimus! Look out!” Drift called up to Optimus just in time for him to see an avalanche beginning on the mountainside, likely due to the noise from his thrusters.
Yet another foolish oversight.
From his position flying so near to the mountainside, he had time to adjust and move out of the way, at least that is what his memories and the Matrix told him. But at that moment he panicked, his thrusters failing him as he tried in vain to swerve. Instead, all he did was end up losing control of his flight patterns, sending him careening down the mountainside with the incoming avalanche. All he saw before the snow overwhelmed him was his teammates taking cover in an alcove.
Next, he knew he was buried deep in the snow somewhere at the foot of the mountain and aching everywhere. This pain he was certain he should have been able to endure, and yet as he lay in his small little dome of snow, he winced and cried softly due to one of his legs having received a nasty hit from a rock on the way down.
He was unsure of how long he lay in the snow, his fans running on full blast to try and melt the icy prison he found himself in. But as he remained stuck in his self-made prison, he wept and bitterly cursed his own incompetence. How had he failed at such a simple mission? All he had to do was scout with his team. That was it, that was his one mission. But no, he had to go and get flustered and try to be a hero without thinking things through.
How very useless of him. What would Bumblebee think of him? His sparkling had been so distant, he could hardly feel their tie and he had taken every opportunity to keep it blocked for fear of his little one sensing his inadequacy. However, stuck in his dome of snow, Optimus allowed it to open just for a moment so that he could plead for forgiveness.
He wasn’t supposed to be like this. His frame was supposed to be comfortable, not like a cell that made his very spark burn in discomfort. He was supposed to be strong both in body and in mind, yet he couldn’t even control his base emotions, much less his rational thoughts.
Optimus… wasn’t the mech he once was. How could he be if he failed so miserably?
“Optimus! We’ve got you!” Light breached his confines and Optimus looked away, hurriedly wiping at the coolant that still stained his face. Slipstream and Jetstorm worked to remove snow and make the hole to the surface wider while Optimus watched on, struggling to get his hitching venting back under control.
He felt like a sparkling, crying over his failures like a worthless pile of scrap.
“Are you damaged?” Drift asked kindly as Optimus forced himself out of the snow and onto the surface again. His leg dragged behind him, an obvious sign of injury before he hurriedly corrected it, putting weight on the limb and doing his best not to wince and show weakness.
“I am functional” He answered simply as he locked his still wavering gaze onto the ground, doing everything in his power to keep from breaking down again.
He needed to be rescued by actual younglings, two out of five of which were less than a vorn of age. How very pathetic.
“Let’s head back to base and get you fixed up” Windblade put a comforting servo on Optimus’s thigh. He merely shuttered his optics and took a deep vent, once again fighting against the urge to cry and for whatever reason, lean into the loving touch.
Frag it all… what in Primus’s name was wrong with him?
—----
He had gotten repairs from Fixit without much issue, but his performance was not so easily rectified. From his place in the makeshift medical bay, he could hear Bumblebee and his teammates discussing what he could only assume was his monumental mess up outside. He didn’t have the willpower to keep his finals from dipping and his field from being laced with guilt even as he held it close.
He could hear their voices raising, some sounding to be in his defense whereas others were accusing him. He didn’t so much as twitch while the minicon worked to finish tending to the damage and only stood up when he was ordered to test out his leg.
“Optimus, we need to talk” Against his will, his finals dipped lower as he stepped out and was met with Bumblebee and his teammates who stood a few feet away nervously. He tried to keep up even the faintest pretense of confidence, but in the end, he could hardly meet his ward’s gaze. It was all so suffocating. The pitying and worried gazes, the accusing tone of Bumblebee, and the fact that he couldn’t stop fidgeting like a fragging newbuild.
“You haven’t been yourself since the Primes restored you. Don’t lie to me Optimus, not when you are actively putting my team at risk with whatever it is that is causing this” Every word tore into him and it took all his strength to not look down at his pedes and either fight or flee.
“Talk to me, Optimus. What’s wrong?” Bumblebee’s tone softened considerably and looking up briefly showed nothing but kindness on his former scout’s face. Still, irritation ran hot in his spark and shame at his failures.
He didn’t need pity… he just needed time.
“I’m fine. Nothing is wrong” He lied through his denta automatically, not wanting to reveal even more of his shortcomings than he already had. The mood shifted nearly immediately, growing cold with frustration from Bumblebee and growing concern from those watching. Optimus kept his gaze firmly on Fixit who scurried away upon sensing the oncoming storm.
“Is it pride, Optimus? Why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong? You try to hide it, but it's obvious you're not the same!” Bumblebee’s voice raised in pitch and his plating flared slightly in frustration that Optimus could only assume was long brewing. The Prime merely took a step back and turned to leave. He didn’t want to talk or be involved in this. He wasn’t sure he could keep his composure if he did.
“Stay right there Optimus! You aren’t going anywhere until you talk!” Bumblebee grabbed his arm to stop him and Optimus very nearly threw his former scout into the nearest wall on instinct. His entire frame tensed up at the contact and his optics cycled down threateningly without his consent.
It was wrong. His frame felt like it was on fire when Bumblebee touched him. He hated it.
“This frame is new. I need time to adjust to it” Optimus opted to offer part of the truth to try and get out of the situation before it escalated. He tried to pull his arm away somewhat frantically only for Bumblebee to hold on tighter, his optics boring into Optimus with intensity normally reserved for the enemy.
It shouldn’t have, but it frightened Optimus to have that gaze turned on him.
“That's a bunch of scrap and we both know it. It's been six months, and by this point, even bots who’ve been given total frame overhauls would be accustomed to their bodies” Bumblebee shot down his flimsy excuse before Optimus even had time to come up with another. He wasn’t sure whether to fight, flee, or face whatever it was that was happening.
“You got thrown around like a ragdoll by the Fallen, nearly got blasted to pieces in every battle you’ve been in since, repeated the same phrases, and overall looked lost at all hours of the day, and now you’ve gotten hit by an avalanche after forgetting about the noise your thrusters make. You are NOT fine” Almost as if every accusation was a bullet being fired at him, Optimus tore his arm away violently and shook every so slightly, his plating flared as much as Bumblebee’s, and his finals dipped so low they were practically pointed toward the ground. He wasn’t sure what face he was making, but the gazes of the team watching on had Optimus doing his best to smother whatever expression it was.
“I am functional. This… this will pass” He tried to feebly defend himself. But without his memories coming to him clearly, he struggled to form words of any eloquence. His voice cracked toward the end of his sentence and he grimaced slightly at his vain attempts to brush off the accusations thrown at him.
“I’ve had it, Optimus! If you are so certain you are fine then come! Let’s spar!” Optimus’s optics widened a fraction as Bumblebee took a blade from the nearby training rack and threw it to him. The Priem caught it without too much issue but he could hardly believe his optics as Bumblebee got into a defensive stance, ready to fight.
“To first blood. Let’s see who is right” Optimus wanted to object, to say something, but the Matrix urged him to act faster than he could formulate a coherent thought. Bumblebee didn’t waste a moment and lunged, blade ready to tear into Optimus if he didn’t act. And so in desperation, he called upon the memories of the strongest mech he knew.
He dropped the blade he had been thrown and instead extended his in-built weaponry, memories guiding him and the Matrix pushing him onward. Optimus was hardly aware of what in the pits he was doing as he copied every move that seemed to apply with guidance from the Matrix. His blade clashed with Bumblebee’s and he pushed as his foe would have against him so long ago.
Bumblebee however wasn’t like he was in his memories. The scout was faster, more agile, and not at all like he was when facing off against Megatron. Optimus could only scramble to stop Bumblebee’s blade as it bypassed his defense and aimed directly at his torso. In a panic, he dodged and tried to block with his blade arm as he had seen Megatron do so many times. But instead, he felt a sharp hit to his legs from his scout which threw off his weight and landed him on the ground before he could do anything about it.
As soon as he hit the ground, Bumblebee stood above him and raised his blade.
No no no no no-
His thoughts ran wild, his frame freezing up in terror as the blade came down.
He expected it on his neck, ending his life with the sharpness of cybertronian steel. Instead, he felt the blade tear across his cheek and dig into the ground beside his helm. Bumblebee glared down at him, but all Optimus could see were enemies long gone and threats from times long past. His venting hitched and his frame shook as he twisted and threw the scout off.
Bumblebee got to his pedes quickly and looked up at Optimus in mixed frustration, confusion, and now fear. The Prime all the while shook like a leaf, his plating flared as much as it could as he shakily reached up to touch the energon that now ran down his face. His optics flicked to the energon staining his digits and he hardly heard the worried calls of Bumblebee and his team as he broke into a sprint.
He didn’t stop moving until he reached his quarters a ways off from Bumblebee’s base of operations. He had chosen his temporary residence away from the rest to try and make it easier to think, but now he was only thankful it was out of the way so that he wouldn’t have to listen to the others' hushed murmurs.
As soon as he was inside, he closed and locked his door, baring it and even putting the blast doors in place. Then even as he continued to quake, he collapsed on the ground and touched his wound again while he cried.
He had been utterly and totally humiliated. Any pretense of Primely nobility he might have had went up in smoke the moment he slipped up. He could have handled a defeat, but his reaction afterward sealed his fate.
They knew he was broken now. He had failed as a Prime.
So very broken
—----
“-It’s no wonder he’s been holed up! He’s in a very delicate situation and you humiliated him in front of your entire team!” Optimus hardly moved as he lay curled up in the corner of his quarters. Ratchet’s voice was a blessed relief and a curse. He didn’t want his oldest friend to see him so weak and useless.
“Now shove off and give me that fragging saw!” The sound of shredding metal startled Optimus and on instinct he curled up smaller, fearful of what was to come and unable to produce the courage he had previously been able to muster at all times. He almost whimpered as the door came crashing down and light poured into his darkened room.
“Orion… it's alright. Whatever this is, we will work it out” Ratchet came in with soft steps. Optimus could see the curious forms of Bumblebee and his team standing ways outside the door, but his focus was entirely on Ratchet. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry in joy at having someone so familiar or weep at having his dear friend see him as he was.
“I need you to take deep vents with me, alright?” Ratchet gently took Optimus’s servos and held them while lovingly rubbing small circles with his thumbs. It was enough for Optimus to muster a shaky nod, no longer caring for the tears that stained his cheeks as he followed Ratchet’s lead.
In vent, ex-vent, in vent, ex-vent…
He followed Ratchet’s lead until the boiling storm in his spark calmed a fraction, at which point exhaustion began to hit him hardest. He had denied himself energon for days, unwilling to leave the relative safety of his quarters and possibly face Bumblebee and his team. He was so very tired, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness, not yet, not with Ratchet near.
“Come on, let's get you some energon” Ratchet helped Optimus to his pedes and the Prime couldn’t find it in himself to object. He winced and flinched as the optics of Bumblebee and his team bore into him as Ratchet led him toward Fixit’s station. In that moment he wished he could up and evaporate rather than be seen in his state.
“Drink and then we will talk” Optimus nodded blankly as Ratchet sat him down on the medical berth and handed him an energon cube. He consumed the contents in silence as Ratchet began running scans and Bumblebee and his team paced outside, not so subtly listening in for anything important.
“FRAG OFF FOR TEN KLIKS WILL YOU!” Ratchet hollered out at Bee and his team, prompting them to scatter as a wrench came careening toward them. Grimlock was not lucky enough to avoid the shot and made an undignified shriek as he fled with the others. Even Fixit vacated the area, although Optimus was nearly certain he was still listening in and relaying whatever was to be said to the others.
“Bumblebee told me what he knows, but I want to hear it from you Orion. Please, tell me what’s wrong” Ratchet took the empty cube from his servos and instead gently held him. Optimus couldn’t help it as he shook and wept for what felt like the thousandth time just that week.
He was pathetic, he knew it. But he wanted to feel this love, this acceptance, and enjoy the presence of the only constant from his memories.
He hardly recalled what happened next, all he knew is that words spilled out of his vocalizer like a floodgate had been opened. He rambled on about how terrible his frame felt, how uncomfortable it was, and how he could hardly pilot it as he wanted even after so many months. He poured out all his woes, revealing his distant memories and the emotions he could hardly keep control of. He told Ratchet about how much it hurt to block his bond to his sparkling but how he couldn’t live with himself if Bumblebee knew how broken he was. Everything came out and he didn’t even care, far too emotionally wrought and tired to bother keeping it to himself anymore.
It was not at all Primely, but he just wanted it to stop hurting.
“Oh, Optimus…” Ratchet held him tightly as he cried like a newspark and continued to babble on. He wasn’t entirely certain in regards to how long it went on, but at some point, the tears stopped and he only felt numb. By that point, Ratchet had not let go of him and continued to rub comforting circles onto his back.
He hated that he was so very weak. He despised the fact that he had burdened his oldest friend with these pains. And most of all, he was disgusted with himself for falling so far.
“Get some recharge. We will figure all of this out when you are rested” Ratchet guided him down onto the medical berth and tucked him in with a thermal tarp, something generally reserved for the young in need of comfort and the sickly unable to keep their core temperatures even. Optimus didn’t have the strength to object to the act and merely ex-vented hard before his systems slowed and he allowed recharge to overtake him.
—----
“Optimus, it is time for you to give back the power we lent you” Not even a day after his breakdown, Optimus had finally left the medical bay with the intent to sneak away somewhere quiet until he could think. Instead, his internal clock had been thrown off and he stumbled out into the scrapyard in the middle of the day looking like slag only to be greeted by Micronus.
Frag it all, the universe hated him.
“Take what you must” He murmured softly, still far too exhausted to deal with whatever it was Micronus wanted of him now. The memories of his hellish training were still fresh and he was not at all pleased with his brother. Seeing this Micronus sighed and stepped forward in his near ghostly form, prompting Ratchet and the others to gather around and watch in a growing concern.
“This was our fault, Optimus. You weren’t meant to be brought back like this… and our actions damaged you” His optics widened a degree as Micronus bowed his helm in apology and Ratchet came to stand at Optimus’s side defensively.
“You brought him back knowing the pain it would cause?” Ratchet remarked accusingly, standing strong and defiant in front of Micronus despite the fact that he was practically powerless compared to the Prime.
“We did. There was no other reasonable choice at the time, not when the Fallen would have roamed free without a Prime nearby to halt his efforts” Micronus’s answer was plain, but laced with regret. Optimus wondered if he really was remorseful or if it was all an act. His kin had never been the most truthful.
“We know the damage we did, and so I am here to rectify it” Micronus reached out a servo and suddenly Optimus was lifted into the air. His frame burned and every circuit felt like it was on fire. It was agony and he couldn’t stop himself as he screamed.
When the torment ended he was dropped back to the ground, weakened beyond words and feeling like complete and total slag, at least more than he was earlier. He could hear shouts from Ratchet, from Bumblebee, and from the others as Micronus came near and knelt before Optimus where he lay sprawled on the ground still reeling from the pain.
“You have earned the rest we took from you, Optimus. And while we cannot return you to Primus anymore, not after we tore you away from the frame he prepared for you, we can rectify this pain you endure” His brother’s servo rested against his helm, and soothing waves filled his frame, numbing the wounds and combining with the Matrix’s comforting touch to make him relax. He couldn’t hear anything aside from his brother’s voice as the memories that haunted him for so long faded away back into the Matrix like smoke.
Names, dates, places, wars, battles, conflicts, plans, teachings, and skills all evaporated one by one, returning to the Matrix where they remained. It felt like a pleasant release as the name he had carried for so long faded from his memory as well, leaving him blank, fresh, and ready to begin anew.
His frame shifted, becoming something different and smaller. Wings fell away and wheels took their place. Thin curves were replaced by thick powerful plating and his features melted away into something entirely new but reminiscent of what he once was. He didn’t know what his name was, but he had a sense that something incomprehensible had been healed. The pain he vaguely recalled seemed so distant now and his mind wasn’t fogged by the strange torment he seemed to remember once being there.
“Rise now young Prime. Live well until the day comes that you are needed once more” Micronus disappeared without a trace and the newly forged bot looked over his frame curiously. It was red and blue. That felt familiar, like home.
“Optimus?” A strange voice reached the young bot’s audio receptors and he swung around in interest, slowly standing on small legs to see who it was that was talking. He didn’t know the designation, but it sounded like something he should know. The Matrix agreed with him and hummed softly within him. He had a sense that it would remain quiet for a long time, but that didn’t upset him. It was with him and would always be with him, it didn’t matter if it was awake all the time.
“There we are young one” Strong red and white arms picked him up and the bot could only smile. This one seemed familiar, like his colors and a lot like home. A yellow and black mech came near too and ran a digit along the young bot’s helm crest, earning a happy chirp in return. He didn’t know this one either, but his spark sang at the touch. The yellow and black one must be important.
“It will be alright Orion. We will take care of you” The red and white bot soothed while running his digits along the young bot’s back. The red and white bot called him Orion. Was that his designation? It felt familiar too, almost incomplete, but not in a bad way. To him, it seemed more like a piece of what he was supposed to be rather than the entirety.
“I’m going to look after you, don’t you worry. You’ve done more than enough” The red and white bot started to cry. The newly named Orion didn’t understand and reached up to wipe the tears away with a concerned coo. The bot in turn smiled sadly and held his small servo in his own.
“Don’t worry… everything will be alright” Orion didn’t understand, but the words felt nice. He chirped happily and smiled up at the red and white bot, uncaring of the rest of the world at that moment.
He didn’t understand, but he knew he was home.