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Neon blues and vibrant pinks dashed across the night sky. Metal spires reached up like the hands of Primus himself, housing millions, going about their own lives, their own rich stories never to be told. High above the bustling streets, there was no noise that could reach the balcony. Silence ruled.
Once the air was filled with the chirping of birds, of buzzing insects and the rush of winds that rustled the green leaves. Here, on Cybertron, home, there was nothing that reached so high up.
Silence was a cruel dictator.
And Optimus balked under that tyranny.
Reconfiguration was the first of his mother’s orders. In the mirror he saw what he once was; the blue helm and silver diamond that marked him an heir of the Primes was restored to his visage. His body was jet black, smooth, trimmed with gray and crimson. Red eyes stared back, as red as they once were so long ago.
His room was as pristine as he left it. Plants from Earth were fresh and alive, cared for by loyal servants. Yellows and greens not seen on Cybertron curled against the stark metallic walls. Data pads waited patiently to be read again. His sleep pad was set and it glowed a soft blue.
Her next order was to rest. Rest died twice.
Underneath the silence of Cybertron, his mind remained fixed as he stared into the mirror again. The same memory played over and over again. Finding him collapsing onto the ground, surrounded by flames, burning away at the life he held so dear. The spark fading away so slowly. He should’ve rushed to him, flown faster, Dinobot would still be alive. He would be here, right beside him, if only-
“Primal, sir?”
The present swarmed back in. Optimus blinked rapidly, and in the mirror’s reflection he could see a humble mech holding a tray of fresh energon cubes. They quickly bowed their head.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Primal,” they said. “Your mother is still meeting with the Tripredacus Council, but she sent me to provide your supper.”
“Leave it on the desk,” he replied, clipped.
At that sound, the servant rushed in, put the silver tray down with trembling arms, and left as quickly as they came in.
He wanted to tell them. He wanted to tell his mother, the entire planet, anyone who would listen.
As soon as he returned to his home, as soon as his servos could reach a computer, he told Dinobot’s story, in the way he had asked in his dying moments. Every step of his journey, from betrayal to saving humanity, he wrote and chose each word with painstaking care. Even there, he felt choked, his own voice box held in an iron grip.
One side of the story, he could never tell. The moment under Earth’s true moon, silver light illuminating confessions hidden away from others. Red flowers blossomed as they walked alone, free from expectations, judging optics, the dividing line of their species. He couldn’t write how Dinobot made him feel, with him he wasn’t the heir of the Primes, leader of the Axalon but just Optimus, his lover. And how Dinobot wasn’t just a Predacon turncoat, another soldier in the battlefield, but Optimus’ lover.
When he wrote these records, Optimus took the time to run Dinobot’s background. One of his mentors still lived, far away in a secluded ghetto of historic Kaon. He himself was a thespian, part of a Predacon theater troupe that was able to cross borders to perform. They even came to Maximal territory once, granted special permission to put on a human play. His spark ached harder.
But no Prime ever took a lover. All the way to the original leader of the Autobots, each one vowed to serve Cybertron, and Cybertron alone. Optimus’ own mother upheld that vow, and when her spark no longer shined, Optimus was to take her mantle. Even if he were to break that tradition, as he tried so hard to escape his own heritage before, when he imagined the citizens seeing the leader of Cybertron, the son of Optimus Prime, loving a lowly Predacon…
He was doomed to be alone forever, no conjunx by his side. Perhaps that was preferable. Perhaps, that’s what he deserved.
He pulled away from the mirror and stared out to the city skyline beyond the window. Just as he tried to imagine Dinobot’s presence besides him, that same wave of guilt flooded him. Electric blue began to seep from his eyes, spilling over his half-mask. Hunger’s flare was drowned out. Every sense numbed out in the clash of memories. Blooming flora burned in the flames, moonlight dying out, his metallic body turned to ash, the images never went away.
Only one thought murmured in the cacophony of his failure: If only I could see you alive one more time.
Suddenly, it all stopped. Something clicked, silencing the storm inside.
He looked towards the computer screen, still displaying Dinobot’s information. The Predacon emblem shone over it, but so did his career, and each credit of his performances. 15 stellar cycles ago, Dinobot was here, in Maximal capital, to play the eponymous lead of The Tragedy of Hamlet.
And Optimus already passed through the threads of time. Twice. It was indeed a two-way street
Maybe, just for a moment, he could see him again. One final time.
***
From Protoform X to studies of history, no one questioned the heir himself when he began to access all sorts of controlled technologies and converse with the scientists who worked on them. Most of all, the repair teams for all the transwarp ships that were destroyed in Megatron’s heist. Optimus inquired about the drives themselves, how they ticked, how small they could be, their limitations.
“Ours send us physically back through space, time if so desired, quite a feat for such huge ships.”
“It used to be that we could only do stationary bridges, or even just throw someone back alone. My mother was one of those agents, scary stuff.”
“Didn’t it only work for a few minutes?”
Optimus nodded along, humming and agreeing, all while a little line of code logged each word in his processors. In between their chatter, explaining facts and engineering, he stayed focused on his own goal. His, and his alone. Surely, from everything he’s gone through, he deserved one moment of selfishness, when it affected no one.
Blueprints for the device itself weren’t even made. Piece by piece, gear by gear, Optimus assembled it by his own design. All the help from Rhinox repairing and constructing during the days on Earth all came back to him, bright and clear as the other memories. A red petal fell on his head, bringing the sad aroma with it. But the construction did not stop.
His mother nearly found it. She walked in without any announcement, and only his hunched over figure hid the device’s existence. Her voice betrayed the battle mask she always wore, hiccuping and stuttering just like it did when he first returned. Wrapped in her tight embrace, tears obscured her sight, sobbing more about how she missed him dearly. After eternity, she finally left, giving her good night as the sun disappeared under the metallic horizon.
It was that very night it was complete.
Fingers rushed to set the dial and flash backwards. However, the sight of the mirror stopped Optimus. Red eyes narrowed as he scrutinized his visage. Too much portrayed his heritage, even down to the grand emblem on his chest. Reconfiguration would take too long.
So shallow into the night, servants roamed the halls. Delicate servos polished the walls and floors, restoring artifacts from Earth and other planets. A dedicated team wiped down the giant portrait of the original leader of the Autobots, tall enough to reflect the heights of their ancestors.
A few noticed Optimus as he marched down the hall. Stopping to say hello, give their gratitude for his return and the imprisonment of Megatron, all sorts of things. He nodded along, agreed, whatever it took to reach his goal. Without much resistance or questioning, he was able to step into his mother’s sleeping quarters.
Fortunately, she was already asleep. Unlike his, his mother took to no decorations, no opulence for someone of her rank. Her still body rested on the pad in the middle of the room. Her mask was still on, but thankfully not her cape.
Another gift from the humans from so long ago, free from the rot and decay of organic life it had stood the test of time. It was sheer white from her care, and long enough to swallow him whole. Still only a fraction of the original meant for their namesake.
Out the door and back again, he returned to the privacy of his own room, greeted by the smell of soil and flora. Optimus carefully wove the cape over his head and over his chest. Tying the knot, securing it to his plates, the mirror no longer showed a descendent of Prime. Only red glowed from the only opening, hiding away the diadem that marked him.
He returned to the device. The date of the show was bright and clear on his monitor, the sole occupier of his mind, the only thing that drove away the despair.
The device matched it. And, softer than he wanted, his finger clicked the button.
Just like that, everything was different.
The star felt different as it filtered through the window of his room. The flowers were smaller, younger. The bed was the same, and so was his desk. Though, the date displayed was what he worked for: 15 stellar cycles into the past, on the day he set for.
The play itself was in an hour.
Jumping off the balcony was easy enough, easing his fall with jets and a few swings practiced by the form he gained on Earth. Dozens of bots crowded the streets, paying him no mind miraculously, chatting and laughing and walking in sync. Referring to the device, it gave 5 mega-cycles until he would be forced back into the present. Hopefully, it would be enough.
Weaving through the crowd, lowering his voice to give excuse me’s and sorry’s, he marched through the streets and down alleys of the capital city. After so much walking, the destination reared its unassuming head.
The Predacon troupe advertised their play outside a dainty little theater, barely standing the height of an Autobot ancestor. There wasn’t even a ticket holder, the few Maximals who heard about this walked into the pitch black doorway with ease.
Not that a ticket would stop him anyways.
Optimus nearly crashed into another patron at the doorway, which led directly into the seats, set in neat rows facing the plain stage. White curtains, smudged with paint, billowed slightly with the thudding of backstage workers setting the scene. Voices floated up to the ceiling, hushed but not quite so, eagerly awaiting what some lowly Predacons could produce, even given permission to cross the border.
Some sliding and powering through unmoving legs, Optimus found his seat. He fell down with a sigh, rubbing his optics and smiling underneath his cover. Someone besides him scoffed deeply, but he was given no mind. Something fluttered in Optimus, those same feelings from secret meetings on Earth, embraces only seen by the moon and the stars. They were his and Dinobot’s alone.
He was only ever known as a warrior. How did he act here, Optimus wondered, trying to fight against the creeping aching in his spark.
Behind them, the only way out was shut by a Predacon worker. She huffed and hawed as they stepped down the aisle, and then up onto the stage. She fiddled with her neck, and then in a clear voice, she spoke aloud.
“Welcome, esteemed Maximal guests! We, the Performers’ Troupe of Tarn are honored to be given the privilege to perform here in the heart of your city, to show the talent of our Predacon brothers and sisters. In a show of history and unity, we decided to put on a play from the allies of the Autobots: the Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark…which is a country of Earth.”
The announcer bowed as the audience clapped, metallic and sharp, and she retreated behind the curtain. The mech besides Optimus groaned again.
After some clunking and scraping, the stained curtains were pulled apart. Optimus, initially leaning over the edge of his seat, slumped back down when he did not see Dinobot. Only 4 strange mechs stepped about a mediocre set, rusty walls painted as bricks to resemble a human castle. They spoke strangely, unlike all records of human speech and writing. The spotlights made them glow as fake stars blinked overhead.
Then a fifth mech appeared, painted a ghastly white and silver. On his head were modified parts to extend his finials, circling his head like a crown. Their odd speech continued, Optimus himself unable to grasp their meaning.
“Couldn’t just translate this normally…” he muttered.
The person beside him turned a bit, revealing dim red optics. He narrowed his eyes and then looked back at the stage.
Soon the scene ended, the curtains closed and the lights faded away. There was some shuffling and footsteps abound in the darkness. Optimus tapped the dingy armrests in a rhythmic pattern. Much like the man beside him, he let out a huff. The records said he was the main character! Why hadn’t he shown up at all? Humans - perhaps they were stranger than he previously thought. If the way this play spoke was anything to judge by.
Finally, the lights shone again, much brighter as the curtains were pulled apart. The background was now a vibrant pale blue, still marred with the poor decorations of castle walls. One mech stood upon a pedestal, upon him a gold-painted crown. A slim one with a smaller crown stood besides him, and another towering over the walls with no decoration whatsoever.
And there, sulking off to the side, head cast down and covered in black plating. He was recognizable all the same, and the sword that struck the ground in front of him was a tower of twisting teeth, shining a bright silver.
Blue metal underneath shades of brown, two horns swept away from his head. As the gold-crowned mech began to speak, familiar needle-like teeth bared in disdain.
There. There he was. Optimus shot up in his seat, eyes wide and mouth agape, as he leaned towards the stage. Towards Dinobot.
Only now did the words of the play finally register in his head modules, once the crowned mechs approached Dinobot.
“Take thy fair hour, Laertes. Time be thine, and thy best graces spend it at thy will,” the gold-crowned actor made a bow as his smooth voice stretched over the crowd. He turned to Dinobot, a smile spreading across his face, as he spoke once more, “but now, my cousin Hamlet and my son-”
Dinobot sharply turned and picked up his sword in one swift motion. His head remained on the crowd however as he sneered discreetly, “a little more than kin and less than kind.”
“How is it that the clouds still hang on you?” The gold-crowned mech asked, a hand over his spark. His optics creased dramatically, comically so, and the silver-crowned actress followed suit.
“Not so, my lord,” Dinobot responded as he faced them. His tone softened, yet that raspy edge remained. Optimus nearly lit up like a firework at his second line. “I am too much in the sun.”
Their exchange continued, and Dinobot still spoke more. More and more, Optimus felt like all the light had returned to him. The words began to make sense, spelling more of the plot, even more once Dinobot delivered his lines. He was impeccable even in this one scene. All the other actors played their roles well, yet they were still outshined by him. At least, Optimus thought so. Objectively, of course.
The play went on. Even when Dinobot was not included in a scene, Optimus still followed to decipher the dialogue. Once he showed up again, Optimus could easily follow to understand the placement of his character. Further into the play, once the drama ramped up, he thought over it more and more. Death, insanity, the overwhelming power of tragedy against the intelligent free will they all possessed. It was enlightening how serious Dinobot took his role; each expression was calculated and precise, every line had the right amount of drag and roll to match the tone. Even at the part where his character went to stab the treacherous king, instead killing the royal counselor, his sword moved like that of a warrior, the warrior Optimus knew him on Earth.
Everything about him shined here, even brighter outside the confines of war and conflict. It was hypnotic, it was like a drug that flooded his veins. An overdose in all the right ways.
At the end, an all too familiar scene played out. Dinobot was surrounded by the bodies of those who betrayed him. The silver-crowned actress, the Queen, fell dead from poison. Dinobot was smeared in fake energon blood, a slimy, drippy paint across his body. He soon fell, clutched by another actor, and gave his dying speech.
“On Fortinbras; he has my dying voice, so tell him…” Dinobot sucked in a hoarse breath, forcing his arm to tremble as he reached towards the faux sky. “ With th’ occurents, more or less…which have solicited - the rest…is silence…”
Upon the last syllable, his body went limp and the light of his eyes faded. The actor which held him produced tears right from his optics.
“Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”
The play continued. Though, often, Optimus could faintly hear the roar of fire, see the blue of the sky flash red. He shook his head, and forced away the dread in his spark. Dinobot was alive here. He could drink that at least. That’s what he came for.
The final part conceded. With one more draw and pull of the stained curtains, all the actors appeared in a line. The audience clapped once more, more ferociously as they took a bow. Optimus applauded with the same vigor, cheering with the rest.
The mech beside him shifted and muttered, “finally it’s over.” He stood up and forced his way through the seated patrons, hardly acknowledging them protesting.
That didn’t matter. The actors stepped off the stage and towards some room. Maybe they’ll come out to greet the crowd? Some Maximals weren’t so hesitant around Predacons - and this was meant to be a gesture of friendship, wasn’t it? And Dinobot would follow suit?
The crowd, unlike the man Optimus sat with, got up gently and left in rows, muttering to themselves. Many expressed shock at the sophistication and elegance the Predacons displayed, even for the one of sharp teeth and raspy voice. Perhaps there were a few decent Preds in this world? One even wondered if they could invite them to join a proper Maximal theater company. Optimus only followed in silence, keeping his head down and out of sight.
Soon enough, underneath the night sky of Cybertron, the Predacon actors met the crowd outside. Much of their costume extensions and paint were washed off. The mech who played Laertes towered over all of them, causing everyone to crane their necks up towards him. The actors for Claudius and Gertrude were present, even holding hands and never separating from each other.
And, like a beacon in the darkness, Optimus spotted him at last. Dinobot had a share of Maximal patrons surrounding him. They were abuzz with chatter, and Dinobot nodded along, only giving the slightest hint of a smile. It was mesmerizing all the same.
Finally, the patrons moved on, and he was left alone, aglow underneath the planet’s satellite. Optimus forgot to approach, consumed by the sweet bygone past underneath a similar moon, a similar silver light.
“Are you alright, sir?”
The raspy voice from those echos became real. Optimus shook his head slightly, and the past materialized before him. Dinobot had his head tilted, red optics blinking, one hand on his sheathed sword.
“Absolutely!” Optimus replied, brandishing a useless grin. Dinobot only looked more confused as he now took in the strange apparel he donned. “Just…admiring the moon above in the meantime.”
Dinobot hummed as he looked upward. He nodded once. “The same moon that hangs over Predacon skies. I have to thank you Maximals for letting us perform here; it is quite the opportunity.”
“What an opportunity it is,” Optimus said, still grinning. Tremors within his spark fell away. He was with Dinobot. Why would he be so afraid? No matter where in time, it was just him. “I never expected to see a human play in motion.”
“It has many strange twists of the tongue, and how mentorship - family - is treated is very different from even modern Cybertronian drama,” Dinobot replied as he tapped his chin. “But an excellent work of treachery and emotion nonetheless. Even from organic aliens, the tragedy is very much understood.”
“Exactly what I thought!” Optimus beamed underneath his shawl. Dinobot’s own smile grew a little wider.
Just like before, the conversation flowed seamlessly. Back and forth, analyses and comments and opinions, Optimus forgot he was in the past. He forgot many things. Dinobot spoke passionately, even when his smile faded there was still that fire in his voice.
“And then, as the character says, the rest is silence,” Dinobot placed a hand on his chest. “Leaving only the audience to judge the actions they witnessed, for Prince Fortinbras does not speak his own opinion, merely lays Hamlet to rest.”
Something sharp pierced Optimus’ spark. However, he shoved it aside to continue this conversation. He opened his mouth, only to be interrupted.
“DINOBOT!”
A deep, booming voice crashed into them from the alleyways. They both flinched, and turned towards the source.
Another hulking mech, though not quite as tall, stepped out of the shadows, red eyes glaring bright. Metal skin was casted in shades of purple, some neon green shining in the street lights. A hunkering click was heard as he attached something to his arm.
“Time is up,” he said. “We need to go now.”
Dinobot blinked, and then sighed. He turned to Optimus and bowed his head. “I apologize, but I must leave. It was a pleasure speaking with you.”
Optimus only stared dumbfounded. He knew that voice. He knew that visage standing in the alleyway. Dinobot had walked away, towards the mech there.
15 stellar cycles, Optimus had traveled back to.
On this day, 15 stellar cycles ago, a group of Predacons attacked the Iacon Museum, bombed an airfield of all transwarp ships, and stole the Golden Disk.
6 Predacons made up the rap sheet - Waspinator, Terrorsaur, Scorponok, Tarantulas, Dinobot and…
Megatron.
There he stood, before he declared his new name. There he was, right before the attack on the museum. Before his beast mode, before running through time and space. Megatron, Galavar, the mech that nearly destroyed the universe stood right there.
The mech that would cost Dinobot his life.
A million decisions played out in Optimus’ head in one split second.
All throughout the war on Earth, he fought to set time right, and ensure everything that was to come was allowed to.
He never meddled with time, only fixed it.
And he could stop it all right here.
He could stop all the pain, all the loss, everyone that was to come, everyone that was to die at his hand. Tigatron, Airazor, Dinobot.
“MEGATRON!”
Cloth ripped away as Optimus’s servos shifted to sprint, revealing bared teeth as he charged towards Megatron, Or Galavar, whoever he was, it didn’t matter.
Upon hearing the name, Megatron turned around with slight annoyance. His face shifted as he grasped the mech that was barrelling towards him. Red eyes wide, shocked, and then it morphed into rage. Dinobot himself looked back, bewildered.
Soft red light began to emit from Megatron’s fusion cannon as he raised it towards Optimus. However, it flickered out as Optimus slammed him into the ground. Metal scraped across the ground, singing harshly, and his arms moved to pin Megatron’s head to the ground.
“Maximal prince scum!” Megatron snarled as he also began to claw at Optimus’s face. “I’ll rip your circuitry out in front of your own subjects!”
He tried to roll over, and a shot fired from his cannon, blasting into a wall, but Optimus held him down. He said nothing. Megatron flailed and struggled hard, glaring daggers from between Optimus’s digits.
His own weaponry opened from his forearm, and Megatron’s eyes widened and trembled ever so slightly. “Dinobot! GET HIM OFF ME!”
From the corner of his eye, Optimus could see that Dinobot did not move at all. Just now, he shuffled back, gripping his segmented sword tightly. Yet, he stayed inert.
“DINOBOT!” Megatron bellowed again.
Now Optimus raised his arm, aiming his own double-barreled weapon at Megatron’s head. He only bared his teeth more, struggling even more.
“For everything that ever was, Megatron,” Optimus hissed.
Tick, tick, CLICK.
Suddenly, the world blurred around him. Colors smeared like paint, whirling and spinning. Megatron dissipated from his hands, and, unbalanced, Optimus fell onto the nonexistent ground. He heard distant shouting, and suddenly everything went quiet.
The vertigo around him shifted, turning from black to gray and green, brightness scattered around like stars. It slowed down. Then, it all stopped. Optimus, blinking rapidly, stood up and processed the world around him.
His room, just as he had left it. Dinobot’s biography was still on the screen, unchanged.
Optimus blinked more as he stared at his picture. New memories manifested in his head. Dinobot confronted him about his attack on Megatron. He asked how he knew about their plans, why he didn’t try harder to stop him. Why he had just walked away. Megatron also gloated how Optimus had tried to stop him, but he was too weak to do so.
But, even brighter, sharper than those memories, was the fact that he had failed again. Dinobot was still dead, and beyond reach.
Knees hit the floor, and his hands moved to clutch his head as guilt and grief flooded over him. However, it was gone when he felt something in his palm.
The mini time travel device was still here. It was still intact, just out of power.
Optimus looked up to the screen. Upon the portrait of his lover, for the first time since his death, he felt something other than grief.
Hope. Blackened, embittered hope.
He could try again. He could recharge the time device, and track down Megatron, and finish him off for good. It didn’t matter how many times it would take. Even if he somehow grew wise to Optimus’s time travel, he would never stop until Megatron was dead even before he stepped into view of the Iacon Museum. He would try over and over again until Dinobot never had to join Megatron’s radicalist group in the first place. He would be saved, alive on Cybertron, and Optimus would find a way to meet him again.
Nothing would stop him. Nothing will get in the way.
He stood up, and left for the labs.