Chapter Text
“My Prime, We captured this battalion after Megatron called a retreat. They surrendered.” Orion did not recognize the guardsmech addressing what he now knew to be the new Prime in control of his frame. The Prime, Optimus, Orion had only recently learned his designation, coldly cycled his optics to focus on the group of thirty or so Decepticon soldiers that all had all fallen onto their knees, with their helms hung low in submission and their servos raised in an obvious sign of surrender. Three guardsmecha surrounded the group, their spears raised and ready to attack. The captives were young, some of them just barely adults, and judging by their stances, they had not been properly trained. Optimus fixated his optics on each one of them, his helm tilted to the side in curiosity and audials raised in alertness.
Optimus said nothing to his guardsmecha as he took a step forward and walked towards the cowering soldiers, his pedesteps even and methodical. He stopped, uncanny in his stillness, once he stood before the mech Orion could only assume was this squad’s leader, though he looked barely older than the others. Optimus fixed his gaze on the back of the quivering soldier’s helm. All was silent save for the rattling of the terrified soldier’s plating. Orion attempted to reach out with his field, to comfort this soldier who was barely an adult, forgetting that he no longer had access to external energy manipulation. The Prime should have been comforting this mech himself. Being taken as a prisoner of war was not the worst fate these young soldiers could have faced, there was no logical reason to leave them trembling and on the ground.
Two guardsmecha came and stood at either side of the Prime, and Orion wondered if they even had enough restraints to bring in a group this large amongst the five of them, but he did not have long to ponder the logistics when the guardsmecha to his right barked out an order in an authoritative, yet even tone.
“Stand, and face your Prime to receive judgment.” The soldier went deathly still as he was addressed, and once again, Orion instinctually tried to reach out to soothe him as he slowly rose to his pedes, his optics fixed on the ground, in obvious terror of the mech standing before him. Judgment? What was he talking about?
“Present your optics to your Prime.” The guardsmech commanded, and Orion felt his own spark flinch at the harshness of his tone. The mech slowly looked up and into the optics of Optimus Prime. To Orion though… The soldier was boring straight into him as if pleading with him specifically for mercy.
“Traitors to the divine, you come on your knees to beg for forgiveness.” The Prime spoke in a cold tone, making the voice Orion knew to be his own sound authoritative and frightening. It was almost unrecognizable to him; a mockery of what he had always stood for.
“W-we just wanted to protect our home. Have mercy, my Prime…. The war was coming, and the only side offering us aid was-” The soldier was cut off when Optimus raised a servo as if he’d heard enough. Why was the Prime being so cold? Just earlier in the deca-cycle he had spoken at length on mercy and his hopes for a peaceful end to this conflict.
“Your pleas are heard, and so we shall answer and give you absolution.” What was going on? Per all the wartime codes, surrendered soldiers of enemy forces were to be captured and stood before a military jury. The Prime should not be talking of absolution and taking pleas, that was not his job… His spark churned in growing helplessness at the situation unfolding before him.
“Please! We had no other option!” One of the fliers knelt at his left blurting out in an obvious panic. Optimus tilted his head in that slow, curious manner once more, before slowly turning his helm to meet the optics of each soldier knelt before him. Orion felt sick. This was wrong. These were younglings, and they were terrified! Why was no one doing anything about this?
“You wayward creations who serve an abominable traitor, a betrayer to our god, there is much for which you must answer.” The Prime spoke with a frigid cruelty to the trembling soldiers before him. Orion felt the familiar sensations pinging up in the sensory receptors of his right arm, signaling an impending transformation, and he panicked.
“Stop! This is not right! They’re just younglings!” He screamed with all his spark, desperate to be heard. “You can’t do this! LOOK AT THEM!” He tried to seize control of his frame, to halt what he could feel was coming, tried to ping Megatronus for aid and reach for him through their bond at the same time, but he was helpless. There was nothing he could do, no matter how hard he tried to access his frame’s subroutines all access was blocked.
“Only in the spill of your own energon shall your sins be wiped away.” Everything happened so fast… In the same instant, Optimus spoke, his blade transformed and with the calculated precision of a true war machine, in one strike of his fist, he impaled his blade deep into the spark chamber of the terrified youngling in front of him.
Orion screamed in anguish as revulsion curdled in his spark. He tried to flee back into the relative safety and darkness of his spark chamber but found he was unable to retreat, completely frozen in place as he felt a thick, sticky liquid seep into the seams of his arm, burning into his plating like molten iron. In nearly the same instant, one of the fliers jumped up and took to the skies in a panic.
Orion watched with dread as the Prime transformed his arm from blade to blaster before even pulling it free of the frame he’d run through. The young soldier gripped Optimus’ arm in a panic, the tips of his digits digging into his plating as he cried out in agony while the Prime lifted him off the ground, his optics systematically trailing the flier trying to make his escape.
Optimus aimed over the soldier’s shoulder, hot droplets of energon dripping down his arm and splattering onto his face, scorching into his sensory receptors. With one shot, he took out the flier’s right wing, sending the poor youngling crashing to the ground with the sickening screech of scraping metal as he collided with the ground. Optimus spared one glance into the dulling optics of the grounder impaled on his arm before callously flinging him to the side as if he were nothing but scrap metal.
Orion wanted to purge, he wanted to run, he wanted to claw out his own optics just to not have to see anymore as the Prime approached the downed flier, who was trying to crawl away. His frame was badly damaged, his arms mangled in his attempt to brace for the ground, and his lower jaw completely shredded off. Optimus stood over him, still and stoic as a statue, taking in the perturbing state of the flier’s condition.
“Please stop… please please please, they’re just younglings! Why are you doing this?” Orion begged, desperate to be heard over the sickening gurgle of the flier’s tortured venting. Optimus perked his finials at the sound, and Orion tried desperately to force his way back into his chamber, he couldn’t bear to watch anymore, but some powerful force was preventing his escape, locking him in place and forcing him to endure as Optimus rammed his blade straight through the downed mech in a sickening crunch and splatter of energon.
As Optimus turned away from the flier to return to his guard, Orion screamed at the sight before them. The guard had decimated the remaining younglings, there was carnage and gore splattered everywhere. Not a single one remained, the entire battalion was murdered with a sadistic level of brutality. The ground was stained a sickening blue from the energon pooling around the corpses. The Prime glanced over at the rapidly graying frames of the young soldiers, being arranged dutifully in a row by the guard.
“Death to the betrayers, servants of the master of lies. May Primus accept them into his eternal embrace.” The Prime spoke it like a prayer, and his Elite guardsmech bowed their helms and clasped their servos while Orion flailed with all his spark, desperate to escape the sight of the mutilated corpses in front of him.
The powerful force finally released its grip on his escape and Orion crashed back into the darkness of his spark chamber, huddled into the corner where his bond with Megatronus poured in the strongest, desperate for the comfort of his lover’s embrace. But Megatronus had no comfort to offer him, only feeding Orion his own grief and rage. No… no no no no no no no no no no no no no.
Optimus’s voice echoed all around him, grisly and repulsive; completely impossible to blot out, “Take them, and dispose of them in the smelters. “
Orion came online with a scream and large streaks of coolant dripping from his optics. His field flared wildly around him in revulsion and terror as he thrashed to the side, shuttering open his optics as he crashed out of the berth and onto the floor. There was energon all over him, in his seams, on his face, splattered across his windshield… He could feel it, hot and sticky, seeping into his plating and burning him as if it were still fresh. His tanks churned harshly as he scrambled to get to his pedes and stumbled forward in his panic and falling on his face. Orion’s HUD flashed so many errors and purge warnings that he could not see clearly in front of him.
Megatronus called out his designation in alarm as he clambered out of the berth, his field thick with distress. Orion felt his touch in less than a nanoklik as his Champion slipped his arm around his waist hefted him up to his pedes and guided him swiftly to the washracks while his tanks seethed.
Orion stumbled inside, and as soon as his pedes touched the cool tile of the shower, he jerked from Megatronus’s protective hold and crashed forward onto his servos and knees while his systems initialized their purge. He fell forward onto his forearms as he felt the firm grip of the young grounder soldier still digging desperately into his plating; his dulling optics as the life dripped out of his frame etched into Orion’s optical processes.
Megatronus knelt beside him as he retched, running a comforting servo up and down his spinal strut as his tanks harshly emptied. He was speaking to him in soothing tones of reassurance, but Orion could not understand the meaning of his glyphs. He sounded too far away, muffled behind the repeating sound of a blade crunching through the grounder’s spark chamber and the gargling vents of the mangled flier replaying over and over in his helm.
He’d tried to stop it! He hadn’t even known then that he could influence Optimus. He hadn’t learned to channel his emotions into attacks until much later in his imprisonment, but the guilt still ate at his spark that it had been his own servos coated and stained with their energon. So much energon….
Orion choked on a sob once his tanks finally stopped rebooting his purge cycles, his emotional subroutines racing as he watched the last of his unprocessed fuels slide down the drain. His anguished wails echoed off the tiles, coolant dripping down his face and onto the tiles below him. It throbbed deep inside his spark as if he were being squeezed to death from the inside out.
He did not notice that he was shaking until the cacophony of his rattling plating joined his cries in reverberating across the tiles lining the walls of the washrack. He tried to push himself up, but his hydraulics failed to pressurize properly due to the tremors wracking his frame. Megatronus caught him before he slipped, and gently helped him maneuver to sit between his thighs, where he wrapped one strong arm firmly around his waist and hugged him tightly to his chassis while reaching up with the other to turn on the showers.
The solvent hit the top of his helm in a hot but welcome stream. It poured over his face, washing away his tears and easing the burn of hot energon splattered on his plating, but it did nothing to quiet the replaying audio of the tortured gurgling vents of the flyer repeating on a loop in his processor.
“I-I tried.” He croaked out softly, between his sobs. The rattling in his plating and digits was starting to slow as the solvent slowly washed away the lingering feeling of the energon he’d been covered with all those millennia ago. The firm grip of the soldier on his arm eased as he finally recognized Megatronus’ voice in his audials, covering up the rasped last vents of the young flyer.
Heed my voice, my chosen mate
Whose optics shimmer like sapphires
The one to whom I gave my spark
And for whom I slayed an empire
Megatronus's voice was soft, yet steady and his words swiftly overpowered the memories his helm was trying to force him to relive. Megatronus had one arm around his abdomen, holding him in a firm embrace. His free servo had slipped lower, between his legs, where his gentle claws traced out the glyphs corresponding with his poetry into the plating of his inner thigh, each one helping to ground him further.
Listen for me calling to you
You who set my spark aflame
Follow my song, my beloved one
It was never you who was to blame.
Megatronus rested his chin atop Orion’s helm, letting the solvent wash over the both of them as he began to hum softly, the tune they sang together when they’d first performed their bonding rites, as his digits persisted in writing their poetics upon his thigh. Orion gripped the arm holding him close tightly, a silent signal that he was on his way down. His sobs had fallen way to weeping, and his venting was no longer an uncontrollable mess, but his spark still ached at what he had seen, at what his frame had done.
By the time the solvent had run cold, Orion was exhausted. His coolant lines had run dry long ago, and it was difficult to keep his optics online, even with the pleasurable glyphs still being traced into his plating, which his champion regretfully stopped, in order to turn off the shower. He was grateful that the tactile memories associated with his memory did not return.
“Was it the one about the younglings?” Megatronus asked him as he carefully stood and scooped Orion into his arms. The archivist immediately turned into him to press his face into his champion’s armor and Orion merely reached up to wrap his arms around his neck and nodded, not wanting to speak the memory back into his helm. Megatronus hummed softly at the acknowledgment before grabbing a towel off the rack on the wall. “Let me dry you, and once we get back to berth, I will read to you while you recharge.”
“Thank you, Megatronus.” He allowed his optics to go offline as Megatronus toweled him off as best as he could and by the time he was laying in his berth, he could already feel recharge coming for him once more. Megatronus slipped into berth beside him, a datapad in his servos. Orion pressed himself firmly against his Champion’s side, one arm flung around him, and before Megatronus had even begun to read, Orion had succumbed to recharge.