Archive of Our Own

Cybertron was slowly coming back to life. Restoring the planet took time, and dedication, and the operation itself wasn’t short on hiccups, but it was carrying on.

Bulkead had been rebuilding and finding people willing to help and learn. Arcee was organizing resources, and spreading the blessed message across the galaxy using Bumblebee’s voice: "The war is over, and it’s time to make Cybetron home again.”

Ratchet himself had been incredibly busy. Being the only medic initially, with people coming in from only Primus knows which corner of the galaxy and beyond, he’d been overworked, but it wasn’t any different than when the war had began. He was older, though, and the continuous working hours had been taking a toll on him.

But then other medics had come. First Aid, young but with battle experience, and sweet and caring Hoist, who offered him part of his energon rations when Ratchet was looking particularly tired. And for the love of all things good, Pharma was back. He was alive, bossy as usual in telling Ratchet to get a decent defrag cycle, and they’d both cried in each other’s shoulders when they had a free nanoclick to actually hug.

Then others had landed, people he even remembered had been under his hands on an operating table. Eventually things had become more manageable. They had working shifts in the hospital (he hadn’t had shifts in millennia!) and he’d met more people, thanking him, asking advice, some even offering what small gifts they had managed to wrap up.

Among those was Drift, one he hadn’t met in the whole war. The kid had looked mournful, regretful during his arrival check-up, and once they’d chatted a bit, and after half a pint of engex he’d revealed of his poor choices, changing names, joining the Decepticons, but then turning his back around and becoming a key teammate in a small squadron of Wreckers led by Kup, who was getting checked in those very moments under Pharma’s experienced hands.

What then surprised him had been the odd addition of Perceptor to his team, who’d had to become a sniper out of all things, and his spark ached as his processor filled with old memories of a cautious and calm scientist that didn’t want anything to do with war.

Over time, he and Drift had talked and caught up and gotten closer. Cybetron had become shiny, habitable, comfortable. Finally the dark streaks of ashes and dried energon were being wiped clean with the help of anyone who was willing. He’d seen Decepticons throw away their badges, but Autobots too who didn’t want to be looked at any different than the ones who had remained neutral or their newly found brothers.

Yes, brothers. It reminded Ratchet that he had had a sibling, time ago, before throwing everything away in his small town and moving to Iacon to become a medic. Now they had a kid, a child sprouted from the newly-lit Well of Allspark. He couldn’t wait to meet him, whenever he’d actually manage to scramble away from what was becoming New Iacon.

A ping on his comms interrupted the thoughts about his nephew. Drift hummed delightfully once he actually picked up the call.

:: So you really are taking your time off! ::

:: I am, Drift. Do you need anything important? :: He replied, although his face scrunched up in the smallest of smiles. Luckily Drift needn’t know that.

:: They’re restoring old pieces of Iacon. Lately, they’ve been reopening a wing of the archives. :: Ratchet had heard something about it on the newly-restored radio frequencies of the cities. Blaster, the new radio host, wouldn’t stop blabbering about the restoration’s endeavors.

:: I’ve heard something about it, what part did they recover? ::

:: A sizable chunk regarding Cybetrons’ Religion and Culture! ::

Ratchet rolled his eyes.

:: Sorry, Drift. I know you’re very religious, but I don’t really care about it. :: He carefully omitted the part where he’d preferred if it was the recovery of long lost medical or scientific texts of any kind, although he suspected most of those would be lost forever in the bends of time and war.

:: I know that. :: The answer came a bit sheepish. :: I was just wondering if you’d like to accompany me? You need to get out more, and it could be a good experience to see what your fellows have been doing while you’ve been curled up in the medical halls! ::

Ratchet vented. Unfortunately, Drift was right. If he wasn’t working, he was resting, but his processor didn’t have a moment to stop and contemplate something that wasn’t fetching medical files and procedures. Would it really hurt if he distracted himself an and hanged out with Drift like that?

:: Please? :: Came another reply, and he finally huffed.

:: Alright. But know I have a shift at midvorn. ::

He could feel the smile in Drift’s voice as the speedster giggled.

:: I’ll keep that in mind! Be under the hospital in ten! ::

Ratchet sighed, the communication cutting off with the sound of smoking tires and transformation. If he got hurt while coming at breakneck speeds, he’d tell first Aid to be stingy with their supply of painkillers.

Giving one final wave to Pharma and the other medics working their shift, and he had to admit, looking incredibly more rested than he remembered ever seeing any of them, Ratchet stepped out of the hospital that was becoming bigger and bigger. No more than a couple of clicks later, Drift’s pristine white alt mode sprang in the air and he nimbly transformed, landing perfectly in front of him.

“Hello, Ratchet!”

“Hi, Drift.”

“Thanks for coming.” He said, walking down the pathway that would lead them straight to the archives. “I didn’t want to look like a lone fanatic.”

“Now you’ll look like a lone fanatic that has dragged someone there.” Ratchet replied, although it lacked any bite. Drift laughed it off, his shoulder lightly bouncing up and down with the sound of his crystalline laugh.

“Actually, now that I think about it, do you know anything about religion? I think I recall medics needing to take a class in the culture of Cybetron, but I’m not sure.” He asked, as they carefully rounded the corner of the hospital, the towering tower of the Hall of Records already visible above the rest of the reconstructed buildings. Ratchet shrugged.

“Culture and religion went together in the early days. I know a bit of both. About Primus, the Thirteen Primes, Unicron…”

“The Covenant?”

“The Covenant, yes. Although I fear this new aisle might just be prints upon gigantic prints of the same book.”

Drift shook his head apologetically.

“Oh, no. Well, I suppose they will have a handful of the old Covenants around, but what they’ve recovered from the rubble of where Iacon fell were these big, enormous statues of the Thirteen. They were supposedly hidden deep under Iacon, but have only seen the light now! After all, the rest of the Hall of Records isn’t accessible yet, so they’ve put everything they could recover in the same room right now. It’ll be like… a mini-archive, maybe.”

Ratchet gave him a tiny smile, finally feeling more in his turf.

“You should have led with that one.”

Regardless of the now-growing population of Cybetron, there weren’t many people in the streets, or the building once they entered. There weren’t even the help desks Ratchet had met Orion at for the first time, and half his mind thanked their disappearance. He didn’t have to think about his lost friend now.

Inside it was still quite barren. The area was clean, but there was more working personnel than actual visitors. Perhaps people still couldn’t quite put enough order in their lives to come out and witness the rebirth of their culture, or what had survived. Ratchet himself wouldn’t be here either if it wasn’t for Drift, after all.

“Ratchet?” The other called him softly, and the medic hadn’t even realized he was standing in the middle of the room, probably looking lost. Drift waved at him from a place closer to the wall, away from the various people walking about looking like they had places to be. “If you need a minute we can wait. I know this is where you met… uhm…” Drift hesitated, and Ratchet couldn’t find it within himself to give a straight answer either.

He hardly remembered his friend ‘Orion Pax’. His memories had been changed and rewritten over the course of the war as the ones with ‘Optimus Prime’, and Ratchet himself wasn’t very sure of where one ended and the other began, because they had been two different people at some point, even if he doubted there had been a neat line separating the two of them.

“… Him.” He replied in the end, not finding a better way to put it. “My friend. I suppose this place… does bring back memories. But let’s go, I can’t spend all my time here dwelling on the past.” He lightly pushed Drift forward, and even if he didn’t look convinced the speedster complied.

They stepped through various doors, some glassy and others pristine white that led into empty chamber, before they came into a truly gigantic room that might be just wide enough to host a titan. Rather than a room, perhaps it should be described as a long and tall corridor, with thirteen statues on one side, and tall bookshelves on the other. The shelves were made of metal, but painted a darker tone in complete contrast with the blinding white of the surrounding walls, that reminded Ratchet of a medical bay. The books themselves seemed to be divided in old-looking datapads, some so fragile they had to be covered in glass, and a few definitely new ones on which what was left of the recovered books had been copied.

At the bottom of the shelves there were small screens, a sort of catalog, where a few mechs were looking for texts to read. In the middle, various different tables had been put, although sadly many of them remained unused, with only a few people actually managing enough time to sit down and read. Plenty of those tables were obviously new, a couple built from what was left of the old archive, although a low number of original ones were still standing. Ratchet mindlessly caressed the top of one, feeling how the metal had been scrubbed to counter the action of rust. Perhaps he’d even studied on one of those in his younger days.

Overall, the archive looked strained, constricted and very different to his eyes. But it was a first step towards something greater: Cybetron taking its heritage and history in its own mind and making it accessible to anybody, not just upper-classes bots.

Orio- Optimus, both actually, would have loved it.

He turned around to find Drift looking in awe in front of the first statue, the one closer to the entrance. It was big, lacking any color, and depicting someone who, judging by the heavy armor and a sword in hand looking just like the Star Saber Optimus had wielded as well, must have been a fighter. His gaze was stern, looking up, towards the horizon, once Orion had told him. Or looking to be just a bit above everyone else, Ratchet had supplied after a while, drawing a slow and stifled laugh from his friend.

“Prima.” He said, coming right beside Drift. He nodded.

“Yes, the first of the Primes. The weapon he brings forth is the Star Saber. Does it look anything like the one you saw?”

Ratchet arched a brow and studied it accurately. Whether the original Primes really were this big, or if they were made like this only to show their grandiose power was beyond him, but the sword had a striking resemblance to the one he’d once tried to cut to make more manageable to carry around – and failed.

“It looks just like it.” He admitted after a while. Drift gave him a side glance that tried to make him say more, something about Prima not necessarily being real just because something that looked like the weapon existed, but he held his tongue. There was no point in starting a ruckus in the middle of the quiet mini-archive.

So Drift just hummed and walked calmly over to the second statue. He didn’t need to look down at the tag underneath, but Ratchet read it just to be sure.

“Vector Prime.”

“Wielding the Blades of Time.” The other continued. This statue did have a sprays of color, looking greenish and purple, and it carried the same hard face as Prima. He certainly held something in his hand, although he wouldn’t really call it a blade. It looked mostly like a puzzle of various pieces, all differently looking.

“Those don’t look like any blades I’ve ever seen.” He huffed.

“Of course they aren’t. They could be combined in a variety of ways and let him open other dimensions according to how they were built.” He indicated something in the statue’s hand. “Some say that configuration opened the present. But there were many others he could visit. The combinations were almost endless.” Ratchet rolled his eyes.

“Of course. Did he create Vector Sigma, or what? They share awfully familiar names.”

“I don’t think they’re very connected, or at least I can’t think of any text that connects them openly.” Drift pondered. “I suppose his unifying the laws of time and space has something to do with the combined knowledge of the Prime being collected in Vector Sigma, though.”

Ratchet snorted, thinking it was a coincidence that Drift had even come up with that, and walked out to the next statue. This time, though, he had to keep his vents from stuttering. He hadn’t exactly known Orion’s superior, Alpha Trion, but he’d seen him a couple of times. And this statue looked just like him.

“Alpha Trion, the living memory of the Thriteen. Do you know he supposedly wrote the Covenant?” Drift said in a murmur, while bowing silently to the statue.

Ratchet was frozen. Everything was identical. From the long beard, to the piercing eyes, to the more calm approach the statue seemed to convey, maybe distant but never uncaring. The white of his robes seemed to almost glow, definitely some kind of paint, but if it wasn’t like this when Orion had been his apprentice, it certainly looked like Optimus described him in his visions.

The statue held a quill in his hand, a book in the other and in that moment Ratchet knew he had already seen that book in his grasp, held protectively to his chest like the pose showed. He’d wrongly supposed it was just a version of the Covenant.

No, it was the original Covenant.

“Ratchet?” Drift asked again today, putting a servo on his shoulders. Ratchet blinked a couple of times before looking up at him. He was worried, the yellow lines on his face scrunched up on his front, making him look a lot older than he actually was. “You seem a bit off.”

“It’s… I…” Ratchet closed his eyes and vented heavily. Of course, this could just look like a very clever prank. Alpha Trion, head of the archives, had made a statue of himself and put it among the others since he shared the name with the actual legendary Prime. But something didn’t feel right.

“Maybe we should just head outside.” Drift looked at him worried.

“No.” Ratchet said, mouth dry. “I need to look at all of them.” Yet, no matter how much he tried, his optics were too frightened to look at all the other statues.

“Should we at least take a seat?” He whispered. Ratchet shook his head.

“I knew him, Drift.” The other mech grasped both shoulders, eyes wide in surprise.

“You can’t be serious!”

“I am.” Ratchet replied. “Actually, I… Maybe it’s best to tell Smokescreen to come and see for himself. He knows Alpha Trion better than me.” The medic, after all, had only seen him a few times. Yet…

He willed his pedes forward, supported by Drift, and reached the next statue. Solus Prime was next, with her forge that looked just like the one Ultra Magnus had claimed as his weapon. The objects didn’t surprise him anymore, he’d seen enough of ancient weapons that could snuff out a spark, but another detail on the statue brought his processor forward and forced him to think hard about it. The dark red paint of the statue, where it could still be found, kept his eyes glued to her right arm.

Drift was about to open his mouth again, but this time Ratchet beat him to it.

“Megatron stole that arm.”

He pointed, with a hand that was now almost shaking, to the hand grasping the forge. The same arm Megatron had taken from a tomb. The rest of her body, still attached, looked calculating and intelligent, with long strands of something he might call hair after all his time spent with the humans.

He kept going to the next statue, this time faster, to the point where Drift had to catch up to keep him on his feet. His head was swirling and turning and he had a terrifying feeling slowly settling into his chest.

Next, was Micronus Prime. But he was shorter than anybody he’d ever known, although supposedly not less powerful, so he was fine with that. Alchemist Prime, right beside him, stirred his spark again.

A mech with a knowing look, two very peculiar lenses in front of two kind eyes that made people gather closer and…

“Can I offer you some of my hand-made engex?”

“Trust him, Ratchet! It’s really good!”

“… Alright, Orion, I’ll trust your word… what did you say it was called? Ah, a ‘Maccadam’s special’, please.”

… Maccadam.

How had none of them realized? Out of everyone that ever came into his energon café, there had to be one who had looked at this statues once! There had to be one to make the connection! It couldn’t… it couldn’t have such a striking resemblance too. Alpha Trion, maybe that could be accounted for in his mind making weird connections and filling the blanks, but he’d known Maccadam. They’d spent lots of nights at that bar, him, Orion, or some of his friends from the Academy of Science after the exams were over… He remembered him clearly, his big laugh, the cryptic way he liked to talk into, blabbering about the pureness of materials and engex and spirits and…

Those lenses let him see exactly that.

… Maybe he did need a moment.

“-tchet, do I have to call Pharma?” Drift asked nervously, probably missing some more words he’d tuned out before that. “You’re spacing out really bad.” Ratchet held onto his arm, draping around his shoulders and used it to ground himself.

“I… Okay, let’s take a break.”

Drift let out a vent of relief and brought him closer to an empty table. It was one of the newer ones, white and made of light aluminum. Drift set him on a chair so that his back was to the statues and sat down in front of him, gently caressing his hand.

“Are you alright?”

“I… I can’t believe I know some of them.” Ratchet let out. “That one was Maccadam.” Drift raised his head to look beyond him, to the statue.

“Are you really sure?” The question sounded weird coming from someone as religious as him, who insisted they had existed. “I’m not distrusting your judgment, Ratchet, and I’ve never met this fellow myself. But you’ve known a lot of people in your life. You’re sure you’re not mistaking him for someone else?”

“There was this energon bar.” He began, eyes flying down on the table. “It was always filled to the brim with people. My friend went there anytime he could. He always had a drink with the ones he trusted the most there… And, I clearly remember, the bartender had this weird-looking goggles nobody dared to even question.” He pointed to the statue at his back. “Those are identical, and I’ve never seen another mech wear something vaguely similar.”

“The Lenses…” Drift murmured. Then he continued, with a bittersweet smile. “I’ve gotta say, this will probably make you change your beliefs, but… that was absolutely not my intention. And I’m sorry it’s making a number on you. We can leave, if you want.”

“How many times do I have to say this, I can’t leave now.” He continued, bringing a hand to his face. “I may be the only one left who can recognize them. Smokescreen might remember Alpha Trion, but I don’t know if any of the people that spent time at Maccadam’s even remember what he looks like.”

Drift didn’t like that idea and it reflected in his gaze.

“Ratchet, you don’t have a duty towards them-”

“I do.” The medic sat straighter. “Mind you, I’m not doing this because they are Primes.” It sounded weird saying that, but he couldn’t deny it any longer. “I’m doing it because they are people. And they deserve to be remembered, just like everyone else. With the names and faces people knew them as.”

Drift looked down, and then nodded.

“I understand. But you were really unresponsive earlier. If something like that happens again.” He put his finger towards the other’s face. “I’m calling Pharma or First Aid, or both. For all we know, this might be a stress response.”

Ratchet waved him off, but he already felt better with his mind off things for a couple of minutes.

“You don’t know anything about stress responses. Now, let’s take a look at the other statues before I have to turn in for next shift.”

With a final huff, Drift followed him when he rose up and pointedly ignored Alchemist Prime’s depiction to go to the next.

Nexus Prime was a weird statue Ratchet raised an optic ridge at. Supposedly the first combiner, it could be viewed from different angles and it would turn into a different view, a different part of his body. Nexus himself could combine and separate in five different pieces that were still his self, Drift added, and were autonomous. When asked why Nexus didn’t have any weapon or thing like his siblings before him, Drift explained that he did have one – the enigma of combination. But it being an enigma, nobody knew what it looked like. To reply to that Ratchet snorted, and silently hoped it wasn’t something he’d seen and brushed off instead.

Onyx Prime even Ratchet knew from icons and paintings on metal, it was really hard to miss his gigantic wings and beast-like appearance, or his mask.

“It’s made of three different faces.” Drift supplied, keeping a keen eye on Ratchet. “Farsight, the first, let him see in other places and times. The second, Predator, gave him insight on any creature, and the third one supposedly let him see even in the afterlife. It was named Mournsong. Ring any bells?”

When the medic shook his head and continued on on his own, Drift figured he was probably going to be okay.

The statue of Amalgamous Prime was supposed to move and change, but the staff hadn’t been able to supply the right energy to the mechanism. So it was stuck in an eerie combination of pieces of armor, eyes and limbs that made Ratchet wonder how even it had ended up in such a formation.

“Did you ever meet a shapeshifter, Drift?”

“Not really, I know some even consider them myths or quirks of Primus. Did you?”

“We fought against one.” He replied. “Dressed up as Wheeljack, and Bulkhead had to lay a trap to catch him. I think his name was Makeshift, but if we ever saw him again, I couldn’t recognize him. I wouldn’t even know what his real form would look like.”

“They might not have a real form.” Drift shrugged, observing the next statue of Quintus Prime. “But Nexus Prime did have a transforming cog. It’s why we can transform now.” Ratchet was by now back to his old self, and shot the other a glare.

“Saying that is a bit of a stretch, but regardless… Tell me, theologian, why he is ‘Quintus’, but he isn’t the fifth.”

“I never actually studied theology, mind you.” Drift replied with his own deadpan, before turning back to the statue, holding a greenish stone made of see-through material and various cracks that had been refined and hidden on the metal. “As you can see, this statue was the one with the most damage – ironic, considering Quintus was considered a perfectionist. But he also loved life deeply, and his artifact is said to have granted life on many other planets and species.”

“Including Quentessons.” Ratchet let his armor rattle only for a second. “I still think this retelling was just a way for Quintessons to sow fear into is.”

“But you really have to wonder if the Emberstone still exists, and what is it doing out there.”

Ratchet snorted. “Probably standing idly in a cave or something.” He shared another glance after Drift’s disappointed look. “What, do you want me to add that is surrounded by magical cave water and sprouting life on… I don’t know, Earth at the top of my head?” He gestured wildly with his hands as Drift sighed and moved on.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Come on, you have to admit it does sound ridiculous.” Ratchet was quick to catch up to him again. The other, despite his better judgment, couldn’t stay angry or annoyed at him for long.

“Add that to a retelling in which Megatron joins forces with a human, and I might just consider it a good fantasy novel.”

As they came to Liege Maximo’s statue, with his big horns and manipulative face, even Ratchet felt small under his gaze. As if he was being judged for his previous joke.

“The manipulator. Using his words as darts to make other think like him.” Drift said calmly. “He might just have been the most dangerous of the Thirteen, considering they were all young and naive at the beginning of the universe.”

“That’s certainly one face I never want to see.” Ratchet commented. “And the weapons?”

“Those were his darts. Filled with Toxins, they might even poison a Cybetronian. But his words weren’t less poisonous.”

“… I don’t like him.”

“Me neither. Let’s move on.”

They came to the second-to last statue. Ratchet recognized the head piece, the piercing gaze and for a moment, he was reminded of someone that had carried that name, before shortening it to appear more menacing.

But no, this ‘Megatronus’ didn’t look anything like Megatron. Drift, certainly, would have noticed before him. In fact, this Megatronus looked shockingly alike to the first statue, almost identical to Prima, but made of black metal alloys and possibly some rock bits. The only thing he was lacking was the sword, and Ratchet’s tanks turned being unhelpfully reminded of the Dark Star Saber.

“The most… complex of the Primes.” Drift explained with an aura of sadness and regret. “He was incredibly powerful, but he found himself to be… more of an outcast when compared to the other Primes. He wasn’t even born with a thing to call his own, and he asked Solus to make it. The Requiem Blaster.” Drift pointed to a gigantic cannon standing at the fallen’s feet. His face was one of a pained lost soul, though, coaxed in darkness so that the other might live in the light. Ratchet had to remind himself that Megatron and Megatronus had been and always would be two different beings. But it seemed like the former’s actions poisoned the latter’s recollection. Ratchet couldn’t bring himself to like him.

“Did he do… anything bad in his life?”

“Well, supposedly he did go against his siblings at some point, earning him the name ‘the fallen’.” Drift continued. “But none of the texts focus on him. Some say that it’s like this because he was too complex to put into words, or maybe he simply was never the main subject compared to his siblings.”

Ratchet vented, feeling conflicted as well. So much so he kept his gaze down and unfocused as he walked the last few steps in front of the last statue. Deciding it was a bit too much for how his mind was fairing, he instead looked up to the last one.

It looked the most normal of the statues, maybe a bit smaller than the rest. He didn’t have the Primes’ fierce gazes, or pointy shoulders like Megatronus, nor the Lenses of Alchemist, but he did share the same kind eyes. Something about the curvature of his mouth spoke of comfort and understanding, and his hands were not locked on any weapon, but open and inviting. He did look out, beyond, but there was no ego in his eyes. Something in Ratchet’s spark clicked. A visionary, perhaps.

And then his spark exploded in his chest.

The statue was lacking color. It was the barest of silvers, yet red and blue colored his arms and legs in his vision. He had the broad shoulders that would always impair his view when he was walking behind him, the small helmet that would turn to the side whenever he was curious about something and just looking at those hands, he could feel them wrap around his shoulders and settle him, calming his panic whenever a patient slipped away from his hands in the times of war.

Drift had been explaining something, giving him information, but he turned the moment he saw Ratchet’s figure plunging into the ground. Not on his back, no, he seemed like he at least had control over his body to fall on his knees, but his hands were shaking and he was looking at them, some coolant forming into his eyes.

He tried not to panic, he immediately fell down close to him, taking a hand in his.

“Ratchet! Ratchet what is it?”

Ratchet’s blue optics flickered in an out, but slowly turned to Drift.

“T… Tell me.” Drift squinted his eyes, debating whether to call Pharma right now.

“What? What do you want me to tell you?”

“Everything you…” Ratchet vented, roughly, heavily. “Everything you know about him.” This was beginning to become worrying, but at the very least Ratchet still seemed sane. He brought Pharma’s contact up in his HUD, just to be sure. First Aid’s as well.

“Well, Thirteen was… the last and he…”

“Quote it.” He replied again, eyes burning an icy blue hue. “Quote the Covenant, I know you know it.”

Drift swallowed something, but nodded. Ratchet didn’t stop shaking.

“Thirteen wasn’t like any of the other Primes. His type was a warrior, a physical adept, with the leadership and intellectual fortitude of kings.”

Ratchet brought his hands to his face and started sobbing softly into them.

“Ratchet.” Drift called out to him, trying to sound soft and carefully shaking him. Ratchet vented again.

“Tell me you recognize him.” He murmured from his cover, and Drift had never heard him sound so weak. He turned his gaze up, to the Thirteen’s Prime. To the calm face and inviting servos. Slowly, he shook his head.

“I… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him, I’m sorry.”

“He’s… he’s…” The words escaped him, and Ratchet felt defenseless. And stupid. Who spent that much time to the side of a mech just to learn millennia later that he- that he was…

He needed an old file. He had to have an old file of Orion Pax’s specifics, right? Then he could compare the two pictures and see the similarities. No, not the similarities. The differences. He had to convince himself he was not looking at him.

But the more he even thought about raising his gaze, the more he felt regret and self-hate. Orion had been a believer, had never shied away from the topic of faith and old legends that made their culture. But they’d never talked about it because Ratchet did not believe. He’d been adamant about it, calling them all stories and fantasy novels in his face. In the face of an original Prime.

Did Optimus even know about that? Had he always known he was one of the original Thirteen, had he even actually known Orio- no, Optimus, he’d always been Optimus!

…He had to be going crazy. He had to.

“Call Pharma.” He whispered to Drift, leaning into him.

“What happened there, Ratchet?” Pharma asked, once he had closed the door. Drift was allowed to remain inside, and looked filled with worry from his seat just besides Ratchet.

“Run a BM scan and you’ll see that I’m losing my mind.” The medic replied, still looking down.

“You reply with a bit too much certainty to be going crazy.” Pharma replied without skipping a beat, moving closer.

“But I am! I- Just run the scan already!” He forced his hands to go limp at his sides. Pharma rolled his eyes.

“I am not of that idea, but since it can be done rather quickly with this equipment, I’ll humor you.” Pharma gathered a cable and put one side in a monitor, added in his code and moved behind Ratchet, who opened obediently his back panel.

“I thought I saw Optimus Prime as one of the Thirteen.”

Pharma was calm in plugging in the cable, and let the diagnostic run in the background as he came again in front of Ratchet, wings moving in a pattern Ratchet had learned long ago it meant he was worried and thoughtful. Usually he kept that wing behavior at bay while talking with patients.

“And he is a Prime.”

“He can’t be one of the original Primes!” Ratchet barked, leaning forward. “He was younger than me, I remind you. I had his certificate of birth in my memory when I became his medic!”

“Have you crossed sources, yet?” The flier asked, crossing his arms. “Maybe they just look really alike.” Ratchet had thought about it. But he feared the outcome should he actually find out that he was right, and that there wasn’t any discernible difference between Orion Pax and the statue of the thirteenth Prime.

“I won’t do that. But I keep thinking they’re identical.”

“Drift, did you take a picture of the statue?” Pharma asked, turning. Drift was still looking very worried, sitting on the berth close to Ratchet, and he only nodded. There was a soundless movement between the two as they shared the file through their comms.

“I can’t say I’ve seen this mech before, either.” Pharma said, turning to the same terminal and pushing the diagnostic in the background. “But we do have something else we can do, since you dumped everything you could remember about your patients in our database when we asked you to. There it is.”

Ratchet was looking sideways, so he couldn’t see anything on the screen, but Drift leaned back just enough to get a glimpse of something. His mouth opened.

“I… I don’t think you’re crazy, Ratchet.”

“Me neither.” Pharma stopped the scan without a second thought and disconnected the cable, with Ratchet doing the same with more hesitant movements. “You have a point. It certainly looks like the young Orion Pax.”

Ratchet drowned his head in his hands again, simply wishing to disappear.

Soon there was a hand on his right shoulder, and another on his left. When he dared open his optics, Pharma was seated besides him too, and Drift waited for him to start talking.

“I never believed. I considered myself… one of his best friends and I dishonored him with every day of my life-”

“Did you ever do something against his religion?” Drift asked, taking one of his hands in. Ratchet didn’t bother scanning all his memories for something like that.

“I certainly said things in my younger years.”

“Ratchet, you know I don’t disagree on your beliefs.” Pharma took over.

“Well it’s becoming a problem because I’m disagreeing with my own beliefs!”

“But hear me out.” The medic nudged his shoulder, and Ratchet finally looked at him in the corner of his eye. “If I remember correctly, you were hand-picked by Optimus himself. He came to see you even while you were working in emergency med-bays during the war. When Cybetron fell, he insisted you boarded the Ark, and I remember you discussing vehemently his choice.” Ratchet’s gaze fell down again. “Yet he never abandoned you. You two were close, Ratchet. You two were Amica Endurae. And apparently he was chosen from the beginnings of time to be a Prime, but he always was your friend. Had he not cared about you, would he really have never let you leave his side?”

Pharma’s words crept their way under his armor, calming strained cables all the way to his spark, where they settled and drowned into his subconscious.

“Do you really think he didn’t mind?”

“I’m sure you had your disagreements, like any of us with you.” He moved his head towards Drift. “But it was how you two worked your way out of those that shaped who you were. Not who you two were at your roots. You fought this long against functionism to judge a mech who was born a Prime?”

Ratchet laughed awkwardly.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m sure he’s sorry for having caused you such an attack.” Drift said with a welcoming smile.

“Yeah, sure, I was best friends with a legendary being.” Ratchet said slowly. “It still sounds crazy.”

“I can cover some extra time for you while you gather your bearings.” Pharma said, getting down from the berth and heading for the door. “When you feel like you can actually work, just come to me, alright?”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

The door closed behind the medic, leaving only Ratchet and Drift. The speedster squeezed his hand before letting go.

“When you’re ready, we can go.”

“Actually, Drift?” The speedster turned back around to him. “I was wondering… you said they reopened the Well of Allspark?”

Drift’s eyes shone for a second as he scurried closer again.

“Yes? You want me to carry you there?”

“I can walk myself, Drift.” He replied, rolling his eyes. “But yes, maybe we could go and see the Well.”

When they arrived there, it was very quiet. The Well had been sprouting out life, but in sputters. After millennia of misuse, it probably needed some time to gather its – his? Their? Considering who was inside? – energies back. Drift bowed before the sacred soil, and Ratchet somewhat more hesitantly copied him.

The well was just as he’d remembered when Optimus had sacrificed himself to reignite the spark of life into their planet, except the rubble around had been cleaned. It was a long descent into the bottoms of their planet, now pulsating with fragile life. Ratchet had never been on the various pilgrimages people used to take there, and for a while he’d thought they were useless if not from a sight-seeing prospective. One could lean on the edge and look down, but nobody had ever actually fallen in. Whether it was the planet itself not letting his offspring fall down, or simply something nobody had ever found the courage of doing, he couldn’t tell.

But he sat on the edge, looking down into the calm swirls of blue that came from underneath. He didn’t really know what had brought him there. There was no particular reason, and again, he didn’t really believe that those who had been good would turn back into the Well of Allspark, and the damned ones into the Pit. But Optimus had literally dived into the Well, so maybe he was still in there.

Drift had remained back, and was just looking at him, contently. He nodded in his direction, and he really didn’t know what he was encouraging him to do.

“Hi.” He said in the end, a whisper swept away by the light breeze that came from underneath. “I… I’m Ratchet.” That was ridiculous, and stupid, so he mentally whacked himself. He took another vent and tried again. “I… I was wondering if… Optimus, was still there?” No, that sounded even more wrong. When time passed, and he lost count of the clicks, he decided to… simply get it off his chest.

“I… I know we argued a lot, and some of our… visions, diverged. But you still didn’t… excommunicate me, because I’m here and… well, I’m not burned to the ground. Yet. Still, I… Oh Optimus, why are you making this so hard.” He got one more vent, and decided it was going to be the last attempt. So he’d better make this count. He chose a few words in his mind, before actually speaking.

“You know I’m awful with words. I’m… not the inspirational speaker you were. So, I hope you will bear with my rantings for one more time. I found… well, they found. They’ve been rebuilding Iacon, you know? It’s… different, without you, but they’ve reopened a part of the archives. They’ve found statues that were buried under the hall of Records, thirteen statues to be exact. You know, of the thirteen Primes. The ones I was so adamant didn’t exist.

And then when I saw them, well, it was certainly a way of proving me wrong. I recognized Maccadam, or Alchemist Prime. And then Alpha Trion himself. Did… did you know that? You seem like the kind of person that would realize that, unlike me. But, apart from them there was… the thirteenth’s statue. Of the thirteenth Prime. And, well, now you probably know but… but it was a statue of you. The young you, like- like first frame you. And you looked so kind and gentle and… and…” His words staggered again, but this time it was because his optics were filling with coolant all over again. “Nothing, I guess. It just made me think of you. Of how… this new Cybetron wouldn’t have been possible without you, really. So, well, good job. I’m just… I guess I still haven’t wrapped my helm around… the fact that you’re not by my side anymore. How I’m here, a place people consider to be the birth of the living, but that has become your… your tomb.

So, I guess it was just this. This… selfish part of me that hopes one day you may just spring back from this Well, like you did once already apparently. I… I’ll leave it at this, because I don’t think I ever said it enough. I love you… and I miss you. I loved and cared about you. And, regardless of how it looks, I… I don’t think I’ll stop any time soon.” He wiped the final tear of coolant that was falling down his face, and whispered. “Good luck, Amica. I hope you’ll be okay.”

There was a flash in the deepest core of Cybetron. A perfectly blue hue that traveled until the surface and for a mere click, everything was covered in the blinding icy color. It was so blinding from the edge that Ratchet had to close his optics and was swept on his back from the wind that came from underneath. There was another gust of wind, that twirled on itself until he was in the center of the forming hurricane. Initially he was scared, he thought he was going to end, but as he slowly took his hands away from his face, there was… a face. Then, stepping into the clearing the wind formed, a frame, strong yet gentle, caring and lowly smiling. He hadn’t seen that smile since the beginning of the war.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak. After the previous endeavor his intake had simply forgotten how to let out words. His hands began to tremble and that was it he was actually going crazy-

“Old friend.” Optimus murmured. His voice wasn’t loud, not by a long shot, felt like a small whistle mingling in the air. Yet the stronger sound of the hurricane didn’t stop those words from reaching his ears.

“O… Optimus-” Was all he was able to say. The figure offered his hands, palms up and reassuring. For half a micro-click, some part of Ratchet thought this figure of Optimus was leading him right into the hole of the Well, but he didn’t care. He raced forward and hugged him, feeling the cold air moving under his fingers. Yet when Optimus hugged him back, he swore he could feel the warmth from his servos.

“I missed you too, Ratchet.” Those words almost broke him. His optics started losing coolant all over again, but this time they were swept away by the wind. When they left the embrace, they still held to their servos. Part of Ratchet was afraid he’d disappear if he was to let go. “I hope you’ve been fairing well.”

Feeling that voice speak was another shock that his brain was having trouble dissipating. He couldn’t be imagining all of this, right? When he looked up, Optimus was still smiling in understanding.

“I… I’m okay.” He whispered. “Apart from the… well, shocks of the last vorns and now you in front of me, appearing out of nowhere…” He huffed again.

“I know I’m making things difficult.” The other continued.

“No, no, really I-!” Ratchet offered immediately, only to gain an amused glare. “I’m glad to be seeing you. And… well, it’s a bit hard to think that… uh…” Words failed him once again, but Optimus let out a soft giggle that sounded like bells ringing in the distance.

“You have a best friend in a mythical being. Yes, it’s… it can be hard to understand.”

“A… about that.” Ratchet took a hand to his head, he really didn’t know how to do any of what he was supposed to do. “I… I’m sorry for… not believing, for claiming they were all just legends and…”

“Do not worry about it.” Optimus dismissed the whole apology with his servo. “Had I been angry with you, I would have confronted the matter when we had time. No, I think your cynical point of view helped me understand which were the most important part of our history, since it’s so greatly intertwined with Primus’ life. You helped me look at them from a different point of view.”

“I’m glad you understand.” Ratchet found himself saying.

“I wouldn’t be your friend if I wasn’t willing to.” Something in Ratchet’s spark shifted again, feeling it become more open now that the bond he had thought he’d lost was in front of him again, brushing his spark like energon flowing from the inside of their planet.

“So, how is it… down there, I suppose?”

“Busy.” Optimus replied, looking behind. “There are so many new lives and souls just… waiting to come out. I can’t wait to see them all out here. I hope you won’t mind waiting a bit longer.”

Ratchet’s gaze shed light in the small hurricane by how wide they were.

“You… you’ll come back?!”

Optimus nodded. “But not now. You each need your own time to shine, every Cybetronian alike. You’re rebuilding Cybetron, and it’s thanks to your efforts. Although, I suppose I am also needed… some… place, else?” He did a small shrug. “I have no idea how else to phrase this.”

Ratchet let out his own small cackle.

“I see, we both have our own tasks to attend to. Are… the other Primes also down there?” He wondered.

“All of them. It’s been… destabilizing, understanding I was part of such a group of people, and I think I remember why I chose to… come back from the Well.” Optimus explained.

“So you didn’t know, or well, I suppose remember, that you were the Thirteenth Prime?” Ratchet supplied, some things finally clicking into place.

“I’m not entirely convinced now. In fact, one of my tasks is discerning my old memories from the ones stacked in Vector Sigma, understanding which ones are mine and which from my… fellow… siblings? …Primes.” He offered a small smile in return. “Just saying it out loud sounds weird.”

Ratchet remembered of a young Orion Pax, explaining how happy he’d been to be accepted into the Archives under the apprenticeship of the legendary Alpha Trion. Full of life, but also a bit insecure, who had consoled Ratchet after his first failed exam and had always been supportive by his side. He was sure now, Optimus Prime and Orion Pax had never been different at their spark.

“I’m sure you’ll do great. Memories and data definitely won’t be what holds you back, not after working as a data clerk for so long.” Ratchet said, finally finding clarity in his mind and the space to even make a small joke that caused some mirth in Optimus’ spark as well, if their bond let him know anything. “I will be waiting for you, then.”

“I was counting on it. Very well then, until we may meet again. Come here, whenever you want to have a chat. I’ve always enjoyed our conversations.”

“I do too, Optimus.” Ratchet did a final, awkward bow, that made the Prime laugh out loud for the first time in probably forever. He shook his head fondly.

“Oh please, Ratchet, if I had to bow for every time you saved my life, we’d be here until the end of time. Just have a good rest, my friend, as usual you look like you need it.”

Turning instead to waving like humans did, they parted ways. Optimus dove back into the wind behind him, and gradually the hurricane subsided, leaving a bunch of dust at his feet.

Beside him, wide-eyed and worried, stood Drift with his hand on his sword. He dropped it immediately in favor of checking over Ratchet once he appeared by his side.

“Ratchet! Thank Primus you were alright! I thought- I thought…!” Ratchet got his hands and calmed him down.

“Look at me, Drift. I’m okay.” He added with a smile. “And, as crazy as it might sound, I don’t think I’m going crazy. And I suppose I can accompany you on a few more trips to the Well of the Allspark.”

He began walking away from the well, Drift in hand. The other staggered a bit and almost tripped while they made their way back.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Ratchet? What happened in there?? First you walk in here believing you might be descending into madness, then you get swept up by a mini-hurricane, and now you’re just telling me everything is fine?”

Ratchet only smiled.

“I think this thing about having a friend in one of the original Primes is not as bad as I thought.”