Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Orion Pax had been a relatively small Cybertronian. Dee had commented on it, Darkwing had made fun of him for it, and Elita had judged him for it despite being roughly the same height. He was by no means the smallest, of course, but he was definitely tiny enough to let him get into places he absolutely shouldn't be in.

Now, though, as Optimus Prime?

Prowl apparently had a list of every time Optimus walked into a railing, smacked his helm and/or finials against a doorframe, clipped his shoulder pads against another mecha, and even that one time Optimus underestimated how large his steps were and tripped down a flight of stairs. Even when Prowl wasn't present -which was rare, given he was one of a handful of mechs Optimus trusted to know how the government worked- the list was inevitably updated thanks to one very grumpy medic.

And yet, despite it all, it wasn't until B-127 piped up that Optimus noticed.

“Hey, Optimus,” B-127 called with narrowed optics. Optimus blinked back, watching the other wiggle his own nubby finials as he thought. Then, “How does it feel being tall?”

Optimus opened his intake, paused for a long nono-kick, and closed his intake. The datapad in his grasp was much smaller than it was before, and the desks he tended to hunch over were closer to B-127's size. Of course, that wasn't even mentioning the fact he had to kneel to talk on equal level with Arcee these last few solar cycles. But-

Optimus glanced to his right where Zeta and Nexus were none too discreetly arguing over what to do with the materials that remained from Sentinel's destroyed statues. They both towered above Optimus, with each servo capable of covering his entire helm. Nexus’ one arm alone was the size of Optimus’ waist.

Optimus turned back to B-127 with a small smile and a shrug. He said, “You know, I hardly even notice.”

B-127 gaped and then proceeded to wave his arms around. “Wait- really? Because Optimus, you could probably accidentally step on someone! Like, I met Cliffjumper -he's a racer, did you know that? He said he'll take me somewhere to show me how to properly race instead of just fumbling forward really fast. Jazz is coming along, but I'm not supposed to tell Elita. Anyway, Cliffjumper is super strong, and even he would snap like a magnesium ration if you weren't paying attention to where you were going!”

Optimus very carefully did not voice any of his concerns, simultaneously ignoring Onyx, who raised a ridge brow with a wing following suit. It clipped through the ceiling. He was not helping make Optimus feel any less small. Optimus said, “I'll make sure to watch where I step, don't worry. Regardless, have you chosen a designation yet?”

And just like that, the prior conversation was forgotten. B-127 lit up and began to excitedly explain that he was reconsidering Badassatron for a nickname one of the others had given him, Bumblebee, which was apparently the name for an organic species several lightyears away that some offworld scouts found and wasn't that so cool-

Though Optimus was a dignified leader who had the mythical Matrix of Leadership resting within his chassis, he had once been Orion Pax, who was pretty well known for toeing the line of being downright feral. And Optimus, finally free of several boring meetings with Iacon's elite, was feeling several Orion-esque ideas poking around his processor.

“Don't,” Alpha Trion remarked dryly. Optimus shot him a wounded look, yet he continued anyway, “You have the same look Prima gets whenever he is about to do something stupid. Whatever it is: do not.”

“I'll be fine. I'm a Prime now, after all. Not much can hurt me,” Optimus shot back, quickly falling en route to a bar that had several pricey but colorful high grades. Thank Primus for Wreckers and their love of spreading gossip.

Alpha Trion's sigh shook his beard. “The rest of us are dead, fool.”

A beat.

“...Are you just upset you can't drink high grade anymore?”

“Sparkling-”

“Don't mix them,” Alchemist chimed in, falling into step behind Optimus so he could hover over his shoulder. His odd goggles gleamed in the light. “If you learn anything from any of us other than how to cry pretty, let it be to not mix high grade.”

Optimus made a considering noise, optics flickering over to the bar now within sight. The advice did sound like it was from experience, but the original Primes were born demigods. Technically, Optimus was one now as well, but he wasn't before, and the situation was definitely different. Perhaps…

Several groons later, and Optimus was regretting his actions. Alpha Trion's disapproval did not help matters much. Then again, neither did Elita's too loud laughter.

Optimus crouched down and scooped the sparkling up in a single servo. The little one wiggled fiercely, engine grumbling in a growl and colorless limbs writhing. Liege Maximo made a noise somewhere to Optimus’ left.

“Angry little fella,” he said, thin faceplate pulled into an odd expression. Optimus made his own noise in return.

“So it would seem,” Optimus replied, juggling the sparkling into his other servo. “Might need to take him to Ratchet- he knows how to deal with feral sparklings.”

“Experience?”

“Me. So he says.”

“I can believe that,” Vector grumbled, waving a digit before the sparkling. The sparkling didn't react much, though he did try to bite down on Optimus' arm. “Didn't that red bot -Ironhide- mention you breaking several laws to compete in a live sport-”

“We're not talking about that right now,” Optimus quickly chirped, standing from the reclaimed Well of Allsparks. The surface of Cybertron was livelier than ever, and the occasional sparkling still emerged from the Well. Optimus didn't want to be there longer than necessary, even so.

As Optimus hurried from the Well, careful to keep an optic out for any incoming seeker, Quintus scuttled beside him to ask in an echoing voice, “Do you have a designation for the little beast?”

He spared a glance down to the sparkling now determined to chew through Optimus’ arm plates. A feisty one indeed…

“Hot Rod,” Optimus decided on. He lifted the sparkling up closer to his chassis. “He will be called Hot Rod.”

“Calling it now:” added Vector, “he is going to make so many people angry.”

“Another sparkling?” Amalgamous asked, as he and Micronus tailed after Optimus. The distant stars gleamed bright, lighting the way back to Iacon and highlighting the sparkling nestled by Optimus’ neck.

Optimus hummed as he raised a servo to cover the sparkling, carefully prying developing dentra away from exposed cables -and really, why did he always get the bitey sparklings; this was the forth one. “Are you surprised?”

“More amused than anything,” came the answer. A piercing blue optic bore into Optimus when it was followed by, “He's another feral one.”

“Because he bites or because we found him hissing in an ash storm?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough,” Optimus huffed lightly, faceplates pulling into a smile behind his battle mask. The sparkling cooed at the jolt, and Optimus tapped his digits along the forming plating. “He does still need a name, however…”

“Sandstream?” Micronus offered.

“Or Stormwind?” Amalgamous challenged.

“Smokehide.”

“Dustwave.”

“Rocky Menace?”

“That wouldn't work.”

“We don't know that. We've been dead for 50 vorns; things change.”

“No, no. Those are all horrible,” Optimus interrupted mildly. Three optics shot to him, and he shrugged apologetically. “The sparkling will be called Smokescreen.”

“That's any better than Stormwind?”

“Yes, actually. It is.”

“That,” Prima muttered, somewhere between judgmental and impressed, “is the twelfth sparkling you have claimed.”

Optimus frowned, though he didn't stop repeatedly patting Heatwave's helm. He said, “I don't know what you mean.”

“You are a Prime,” Prima answered, gesturing out the large windows. Roads formed as Autobots swerved through the city, seekers shot through the air on their way to deliver messages, towers sparkled in the light finally coming in from the surface. “We have a duty to our mecha to take care of them and protect them from threats. You can not do that when you are constantly fussing over every stray you find.”

“Are they not a part of the mecha we are to be protecting,” Optimus shot back, drawing Heatwave into his lap. Heatwave seemed thrilled by this.

Prima shook his helm. “We both know that is not what I meant. You already have Bumblebee and Jazz as distractions-”

“Neither of which,” Optimus drawled with a raised ridge brow, “are strays.” He hesitated at the blank look. “Jazz specifically is not a stray.” Prima nodded.

“You can not keep caring for these mechlings personally. There is a civilization to rebuild and a possible war to prepare for. If you neglect too much in exchange for caring for the young, then the young and the old will perish.”

Optimus’ frown deepened, and his optics turned to Heatwave. The mech was babbling something, a blank datapad held in his loose grip as he kicked his pedes over the side of Optimus’ lap. A light servo landed on Optimus’ shoulder.

“Let your mecha care for the strays,” Prima said softly, his field warm as it encased the room. “That way, they can protect the young while you protect them. No one gets left behind.”

“We can only hope,” Optimus added, equally as quiet. Heatwave's pleased giggling filled the resounding silence a second later.

Optimus swung out a pede, landing it harshly in the mid-plating of the High Guard before him. Well, Decepticon now, he supposed. Regardless, the other mech toppled, letting Optimus swiftly wave his energon axe and cut through the Decepticon's weapons.

“Good! Now, right through the spark!” Liege Maximo shouted over the sound of blaster fire and wounded screams. Optimus ignored him and simply kicked the writhing Decepticon in the helm, rendering him unconscious. A handful of disappointed noises followed.

“They're just doing what they are told,” Optimus repeated. One would think that by the third time they had this conversation, the point would get across. Seven conversations later, and it still hadn't. “Until we can get to D- Megatron and ask what is happening, we do not need any unnecessary deaths.”

Megatronus gave an annoyed growl and crossed his arms. With the amount of spilt energon shining in the sun's light and Megatronus’ already imposing figure, he certainly gave off the appearance of a son of Primus. He said, “And yet if you keep traitors alive, there will just be more casualties down the line. Duck.”

Optimus ducked without question. He whirled around as he did so, just as an ion laser shot where his helm just was. Behind his mask, his dentra clenched, and there, standing upon a mass of the dead with his cannon raised, was Megatron.

His red optics gleamed, fierce and furious, as a sneer full of sharp dentra marred his faceplate. The edges of his digits curled into claws, likely sharp and painful as Megatron clenched his servos into fists. He took a step forward, crunching an Autobot's arm beneath his pede, and then another, splashing in a puddle of spilt energon. Optimus could feel the Matrix pulse alongside his spark.

The other Primes must have felt the Matrix's response as well. Megatronus heaved a rattling sigh. “Up and two to your left.”

Optimus fumbled through the instructions, barely getting to his pedes and stumbling sideways by the time Megatron launched himself forward. Optimus straightened and swept his axe forward.

Megatron caught it in a servo. Optimus’ optics widened. Megatron transformed his free hand and Optimus had to duck to avoid yet another blast. Megatron was unfortunately quick to elbow him in the faceplate at the action, making him stumble.

“Dee-” Optimus tried, even as he swung his axe upward. It was a blind movement, but it still caught the plating of Megatron's shoulder. The retaliating punch landed on his chassis.

“D-16,” Megatron growled, “is dead. Killed by your own hands.”

Optimus made a wounded noise. It felt like someone was blocking his vents. Somewhere above him, behind a glowering Megatron, Megatronus hissed. Zeta called out over both of them.

“It's just a distraction. Move!”

Barely hearing the other, Optimus could only lift his arms up to block against a flurry of enraged punches. The battle continued to rage around them, yet it almost felt it was only the two of them suddenly fighting to the death. Three more Primes gave shouts.

“Swing your knee up right into his faceplate!”

“Fire into his chassis! Fire into his chassis!”

“Distract him back! Tell him you loved him!”

Optimus clenched down on his dentra and struggled to pull his knee up. Megatron easily elbowed the offending limb away before leaning back just enough to aim his cannon. Optimus could feel his finials pulling back as he swung his axe out to either bat or cut away the threat.

Megatron, in response, apparently wasn't too keen on losing another cannon. He leaned back further, giving Optimus room to twist and transform, quickly driving far enough away to not be in the immediate lunging zone.

Blue optics met red as they both rose to their full heights again. The Primes tried to offer more advice.

“Focus on more defensive maneuvers,” Zeta chided, arms crossed and his plating shifting with clear agitation.

“Remember: anything can be a weapon!” Solus added cheerfully. “Kick his aft, bitlet!”

Onyx, ridge brows furrowed and helm tipped skyward, said, “Keep a lookout for outside interference. Starscream loves his sneak attacks.”

Optimus jerked his helm over to Onyx, then up, trying to figure out if that was actual advice or a passive-aggressive warning. Simultaneously, the previously downed Decepticon that Megatronus had advised him to kill reached a servo out and wrapped it around Optimus’ pede, pulling.

As Optimus descended haphazardly, he decided to heed some previous advice. He switched his axe to his own cannon, aimed, and fired toward Megatron's spark. Optimus landed on the ground with a heavy grunt, one that was almost mirror to Megatron's loathful shout.

The Decepticon from before surged forward and went straight for the sensitive material of Optimus' neck. The Primes all gave more distracting advice even as he batted the Decepticon away and -per Megatronus’ previous words- blew his head off.

Falling from the sky, as if that shot had been a flare of hope, came Elita and Bumblebee. The fury of a thousand suns fell upon Megatron's still wavering shoulders just as energon blades cut through a sudden swarm of Decepticons. The tide of the battle quickly changed in their favor.

Standing there amidst the carnage, ventilating heavily, Optimus pushed a message through the Matrix and toward the other thirteen.

We need to work on your backseat fighting.

Ratchet pulled away from where he had been repairing Optimus’ finials after the most recent fight with Megatron. The pain wasn't all that bad, at least physically, but it certainly made his spark hurt when he thought about it. Although arguably what hurt worse than that was Ratchet's look of concern and heavy servo on Optimus' shoulder which did not falter even at what Optimus had hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I am alright now, Ratchet. You are an excellent medic,” Optimus said softly, laying his own servo over Ratchet's. Ratchet did not change his expression for a long moment, and when he did it turned into a deep frown.

“Stay here,” Ratchet simply replied. “I'm going to get you some energon, and then you're going to recharge. You can leave afterward.”

With his piece said, Ratchet turned to leave the room without giving a chance for an argument. He swiped an up and coming medic -Knockout, Optimus vaguely recalled his designation being- on his way out and then Optimus was alone, staring silent after them.

He dropped his helm into his servos, optics still open and staring listlessly.

Optimus wasn't sure why he kept hoping D-16 was still there somewhere. Perhaps it was the way Megatron faltered when fighting Bumblebee; perhaps it was the way he steered his Decepticons away from a few ex-miners he had been close to; perhaps it was how he always insisted only he could lay a hand on Optimus.

And still, Megatron snapped Optimus' finials with glee, laughing as he said it was a pathetic weakness waiting to be abused. And still, Megatron almost ripped Jazz another new leg. And still, Megatron had spies -”Soundwave's little ones, if I had to guess,” Alchemist had muttered once- planting bombs around Iacon.

But then why -despite the fact he knew his D-16 was dead- did Optimus still love him?

A servos landed on his shoulder. It was much lighter than Ratchet's and just cold enough to seep through the plating. Optimus didn't need to look up to know it was the Primes.

“Bitlet, he's a huge glitch,” Solus helpfully said. Optimus groaned miserably into his servos.

“She's right,” Quintus hummed with a rumble. His long limbs clicked against the floor as he came closer. “No mecha who betray their Prime for power should be worth even a nono-klick of your time.”

“I am the reason he snapped in the first place-”

“Glad to see that being an idiot is a Prime staple,” Micronus sighed. Beside him, Amalgamous scoffed.

“You didn't realize that after the high grade incident?”

Nexus whacked them both. Optimus continued.

“-If I had just paid him more attention, or said something else when he was about to kill Sentinel, or if I hadn't forced him into the Iacon 5000- I don't know. It's my fault he's like this now anyway.”

The Primes were silent for a long moment. Optimus didn't need to look up to know they were exchanging glances like they did when he asked how taxes work. Eventually, however, Zeta sighed.

“We don't have time to unpack all of that. We're going back to making fun of your ex,” he said. The others made noise of agreement. Optimus jerked his helm up.

“Wait- hold on-” he stuttered out. But as usual, it was far too late to stop the mechling gossip session.

Megatronus leaned against Solus, who was polite enough to cover up her snickering as Megatronus immediately shot out, “That fragging glitch stole my name and my likeness and my T-cog- I already had to deal with one piece of scrap. And now there's another.”

Liege, who would be leaning against several of Ratchet's utensils if he wasn't a ghost, waved a servo and added, “Not to mention those optics. They're like giant headlights, for Primus’ sake.”

Optimus would lower his finials if he wasn't worried about damaging Ratchet's work. As is, he whipped around to face Liege and indignantly shot back, “They're endearing.”

“And also belong to the worst piece of toxic waste since Unicron,” Quintus chimed in again. “Meanwhile you, according to several sources, are currently the most wanted mech on Cybertron. You can do better.”

The others let out a series of agreements and further jeers at Megatron. Optimus dropped his helm back into his servos and prayed to Primus that Ratchet and Knockout returned quickly.

The light from Cybertron's surface fell upon Iacon as everyone went about the solar cycle. It seemed relatively peaceful; larger mechs drove through the city transporting energon, the Iacon Hall of Records were lit as people dug through its troves, and colorful trains continued to chart everyone where they needed to be. Even so, tension lay thick in the air, as all knew that this was just a moment of calm before another wave of the storm.

And yet Optimus, arms crossed, barely registered any of that. The window before him, giving him a wonderful view of the city, caught his reflection, letting him trace his optics over every new scar that had yet to fade under new coats of paint.

Solus stood beside him, halfway through the window and not descending only by force of will. She spun her hammer for a long moment, and it wasn't until she dropped the head of it on the ground again did she lean into the room properly.

“Bitlet, you keep glowering like that and you'll end up looking like Alpha Trion,” she teased. Solus stepped forward and poked at one of Optimus’ shoulder plates -larger than they were when he became a Prime as to provide more defense, but still smaller than a war frame for that little extra speed-, adding, “Though you could probably get a pass on wearing a cape…”

“How do you handle it?” Optimus softly interrupted, not tearing his gaze away from the thin lines marking where Ratchet repaired his finials. “The responsibility of being a Prime in a war?”

Solus hummed, turning her helm to gaze at something further into the room. Her pause lasted long enough for Optimus to tear his optics away from his reflection to find what the other was staring at. In the middle of the room, using their weapons to carve x's and o's into the ground, Vector and Onyx were apparently playing a game. Vector was very clearly winning.

Solus said, “You have to cherish the small things. There will be times when you just get so tired of the fighting and stress and worry that you want to leave it all behind, and there will be times when your choices lead to the termination of others that have your future orders being challenged and your friends leaving. But through it all, you have to remember that you're fighting for moments like these, where even the old bots have the chance to relax.”

“Hope can be a dangerous thing.”

“Perhaps. Sometimes it's all we can do.”

As Vector seized the win, Optimus turned back to the window, where down below his Autobots were scattered. He supposed Solus was right. Right now, the tide of battle was on their side, but they could only hope it stayed that way. They could only hope their collection of determined miners could fight against the High Guard of the Primes. They could only hope Megatron could see reason.

Solus elbowed him in the mid-plating. Optimus grunted in surprise while Solus cheerfully said, “You know, you are already pretty close to my level already.”

“How so?” Optimus groaned. Primus, could Solus pack a punch. He supposed she needed to in order to wield such a sacred tool, but ouch.

Solus winked and leaned back against the window. She waved toward where Megatronus stared blankly into the distance, saying, “Did you know there's apparently tales of me and Megatronus that really got muddled over the vorns? Solus Prime and The Fallen, fated lovers who ended up terminated thanks to a few twisted words~ Point is: you and D-16.”

Yes, hope was a dangerous thing, and right now Optimus was hoping he could end the war by giving the Matrix up to Megatron, because he was about to make this his problem.