Chapter Text
“If I let you kill me right here, right now, would you finally stop, Megatron?”
Megatron the warlord didn’t stop his movements. This had to be one of Optimus’ newest tricks, trying to appeal to their previous friendship now buried under Sentinel’s shadow and the false Prime’s rubble. Sometimes, when the night strikes, and Megatron finds himself awake, he would wonder: how long would it take for Optimus to stop pretending? It has been millions of years already. Cybertron was now reduced to a planet of ash and smoke, a wasteland with no one to lead and be led. How laughable.
Yet every time they traded blows, every time his cannon flew too close to Optimus’ chassis, the Prime would always say, “we can still turn back.” Easy for him to say. The Prime, revered by all, and his mortal enemy, the tyrannical warlord. The difference was palpable to anyone with functioning optics. Cybertron might welcome Optimus with open arms, but there was no one waiting for Megatron there. Not anymore.
(He remembered Orion Pax smiling brightly at him after one of their shifts—which Orion missed because he had broken one of his stabilizing servos—from the medbay’s berth. The smaller bot had pulled D-16 into his arms readily, ignoring D-16’s grumbles.)
The booming sounds of the war around them didn’t register into Megatron’s audials. The explosions, the shootings, all of them now sound horrifyingly quiet.
“It’s alright, D. You’ve done it before. Just one shot, and I’ll be out of your optics.” Forever, the unspoken word was damningly louder than Thundercracker’s deafening magnitude.
“Keep that name out of your mouth, Prime.” His cannon was now positioned right in the middle of the Prime’s chassis. The matrix’s light was blinding at this close of a distance, but Megatron would persevere. There was something odd in Optimus’ optics once the other heard his reply. Megatron ignored it in favor of pushing his cannon even more onto Optimus’ chest plate. The slightly shorter bot’s battle mask was half torn, ruined by Megatron’s own servo. The silver bot could easily see how Optimus’ face plate twisted at his scrutiny, the ruined mask leaving his face plate half bare. He shifted and abandoned his cannon.
(It’s odd, Megatron thought, how similar Prime is to Pax.)
The world seemed to slow down as his servo pierced through his beloved mortal enemy’s chassis, past the chest plate with a sickeningly familiar sound. At this point, Megatron had lost count how many times he had mutilated Optimus. He tried to ignore how he had remembered each and every detail of Orion’s frame. He knew which cable to pull to stop the bot’s pump, he knew which part of the frame still hurts Optimus the most, even after it had been eons since he had put the scar there. A permanent mark of Megatron’s servo on him, however twisted.
He didn’t pay attention to the fight going on in the background. At this moment, his optics contained Optimus and only Optimus. The Prime, who coughed out energon at the strike. Megatron could nearly fool himself and feel the warmth of Optimus’ spark seeping through the metal of his digits. But the truth was that Optimus’ spark was far colder than before, and the chill might as well freeze Megatron with it.
Optimus was limp on his arm. The Prime’s pedes weren’t even holding him up anymore, arms hanging on either side of his frame as if he had surrendered. If his enemy was acting, it was a fragging good act because D-16 found himself hesitating. The odd glimmer in those blue optics came back, and Megatron, for the lack of better words—it was Orion who had taken to reading whatever he could get his servos into—felt haunted. The Decepticon leader twisted his servo, squeezing Optimus’ spark, dangerously close to cracking it to pieces.
Primus, how could you be so cruel? Megatron’s spark whispered, yet when he declared war on the Autobots—on Optimus Prime—he knew it was entirely his doing. Or maybe both of them had been played for fools in the ancient god’s servos. (In the back of his processor, if he focused on it rather than the ache which came with it, Megatron would hear a voice cursing at him in old Cybertronian.)
Prime was usually only half a mechanometer shorter than him. Now, however, the bot looked hilariously small, slumped on Megatron’s arm. The warlord stood, silent. He thought he could hear Starscream roaring at him. Soundwave’s voice crackled through the commlink, but Megatron was too preoccupied with the weak Prime who looked as if he had given up. Those brilliant blue optics which used to shine brighter than any star D-16 had seen were now dim.
Megatron, however, had seen stars who burn brighter.
“D.” The unfamiliar designation went through his audials. The ever capable Autobot leader now looked at Megatron as if he had run out of options. “Forgive me.” Wasn’t it ironic that Megatron was the one who felt as if it was his own spark breaking? He didn’t know how to reply, letting the whispered curse hang in the air between them. Of course Orion had words for everything. A beat had passed, and Megatron did expect Optimus to bounce back on his pedes as if nothing had ever happened. It would hardly be the first time his enemy had come back from the dead, after all. Yet nothing came.
Megatron squeezed the spark in his hold tighter, threatening to break it. Optimus didn’t stop him. There was a slight grimace of pain in the Autobot’s face plate before the matrix lit up all of a sudden. It was partly out of reflex and a mix of fear which prompted Megatron to crush the spark. It broke easily under his servo. Yet the blinding light from that damned relic didn’t diminish. He could barely see anything other than Optimus.
“May I be kinder to you, D.” Megatron wanted to laugh. Even when he had crushed Prime’s spark, even as the bright light from whatever the other did enveloped them both, of course Orion still managed to blame himself.
This is your fault, Megatron.
Megatron D-16 woke up with a start.
His optics were wide, chassis heaving as if he was about to throw up. At the unfamiliar sight, he quickly glanced around. A barrack of some kind…? What’s this, a new tactic from the Autobots? He embraced the rage that had been momentarily smothered by Optimus’ words before it finally clicked to him where he was. The mining barracks. Oh. Oh. Was this how Primus wanted to play? By sending him back to this cursed mine? D-16 thought he already moved on after the mine collapsed a few months into the war. Yet the tightly spaced barracks proved otherwise, the sounds of the ever active mine playing in the background.
The barracks were quiet despite it all, every bot on their assigned recharge pod, optics closed. Barely did he manage to realize where he was when across from him, Orion Pax stared at him with equally wide optics. D-16 could only watch as the smaller bot pushed himself off of the recharging pod, before approaching him carefully. D-16 couldn’t move, his frame locking him within himself. He braced for whatever Optimus had to say.
“D?” Contrary to what he expected, however, Orion whispered the question with a too soft voice and it suddenly hit Megatron that he had forgotten how Orion sounded like. His former best friend’s voice was drowned out by the war, and even in the nights where Megatron found himself wide awake, more often than not he found himself trying to remember what it was like before. “What?” The reply came out a bit harsher than he wanted. For a split second, D-16 thought he saw a flicker of a familiar expression on Orion’s face plate, but he brushed it off. It didn’t take long for Orion to tug on his arm. “C’mon, I have an idea.”
He followed Orion without question. Everything felt so… unreal. He stared at their joined servos. This couldn’t be real. Surely, even Primus Himself couldn’t manage this… this time travel glitch. His optics were glued to how perfectly their servos fit with one another. Contrary to his feelings—which were about to explode like Earth’s volcanoes, thank you for asking—all he did outwardly was to squeeze the other’s servo. Orion’s smaller one creaked within his grip, and along with it, the bot winced in pain. D-16 promptly released his grip, letting his servo hang on his side.
“Ow? D, what are you doing?” The feeling, the voice, the world all felt so real. D-16 looked at his best friend’s optics, taking in the worried looks Orion was shooting at him as if he was a crazed bot. Megatron didn’t know whether he wanted the world to collapse right now, or if he wanted to snatch Orion away. Away from Sentinel. Away from the matrix. Away from Cybertron. Away from himself.
But he’s not your Orion Pax, isn’t he? The voice—horrifyingly similar to D-16—whispers, resentment clear in his voice. You killed your Orion Pax back then, when you dropped him to his death.
Megatron wanted to scream. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
“D?” Probably confused by D-16’s lack of response, Orion took his servo into his own. “Are you alright? I— let’s just go back, after all.” Orion was promptly silenced when D-16 suddenly pulled on their joined servos hard enough to send Orion backwards. Backwards… towards the silver bot’s frame. D-16, with all of his experiences as Megatron, and the smaller frame’s clumsiness, caught Orion. He wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, leaning to put his helm on Orion’s shoulder.
The skies were dark and the winds blew on the rooftop. “Let’s hear the genius plan, Pax,” he said eventually, with his face plate hidden between Orion’s neck and shoulder. “What? How did you know I was gonna propose a plan?” Came the other’s reply, surprise and excitement mixed into one. Orion’s frame shook as he moved around to speak, but D-16 clung to him as if the other was about to become one with the unseen stars if he ever let go. Once upon a time, it did.
“It better be good enough for you to wake me up,” D-16 replied at last. Orion huffed, and even with his optics trailing the cabling around Orion’s neck, D-16 could already see Orion’s beautiful face scrunched up in annoyance. “Okay, hear me out. What if, what if… tomorrow, we run in the Iacon 5000?”
D-16 remembered this part all too well, for he had replayed this moment over and over again in his processor when he found himself, well, too lonely. Soundwave, despite his loyalty, was in an awkward position to hear him mope around. Shockwave would just say something outlandish. Starscream was out of the question. Maybe it was this moment which propelled everything into motion, wasn’t it? The question went unanswered, as it always did. It always did, but he supposed it was no one’s fault but his own.
According to his memory, he should reply with, what if I kill you for waking me up? D-16 however, after apparently having traveled back in time, found that no words would be formed on his glossa. His derma moved, but no sound passed his voicebox. Strange, wasn’t it, D-16 mused in his best friend’s arms, that he used to rile up the Decepticons—his Decepticons—using the very same voice. The silence seemed to envelope them both. Orion didn’t rush him to answer, seemingly having picked up D-16’s uneasiness tonight.
D-16 should have rejected entertaining the idea, maybe, maybe, he could steer Orion away from the truth. Maybe then, Primus couldn’t separate them. (But was it really Us who drove you away from Optimus, Megatron?) But he remembered how brightly Optimus had looked, even as he swung his axe to Megatron’s way. For D-16, Optimus had been the brightest star he had ever laid his optics upon.
After much consideration, what escaped his derma wasn’t a refusal. D-16 pulled back his helm just enough to look into Orion’s optics. Their foreheads touched with a quiet thunk, and D-16 had the front row seat pleasure to watch as colors bloomed in Orion’s face plate. “Sure.”
“No, no, no, hear me out— wait what?” D-16 didn’t know whether he would regret it or not, but at the moment, the evident surprise in Orion’s frame consoled him. He had considered steering Orion away from the truth, but for some unexplainable reason, Megatron felt it in his spark that he could not hide it away forever. Orion was a curious bot, eager on his quest to prove himself to the world that he was more than just a mining bot. Megatron would hate to see that bright spark not seeing the light of the surface, and he feared that he would destroy the entirety of Cybertron if Orion found out that D-16 had been deliberately keeping the truth away from him, specifically. D-16 didn’t think he would survive that. Betraying Orion again when he was given the opportunity to do otherwise would break him.
“Yes, Pax, I’m listening. Go on,” D-16 adds, trying to coax an explanation out of the other. Orion repeated the things D-16 had already heard him say million years ago, but this time, he swore to himself that he would make everything right. This time, he hoped, instead of being Megatron as opposed to Optimus Prime, he could stand side by Optimus’ side.
“...we would show everyone that we're– we're capable of so much more.” D-16 and Megatron could guarantee it. But first, they needed to actually plan this out properly. Last time, they had survived out of sheer stubbornness and teamwork—one that went very amazingly, if he could say so—but if they wanted to win the race, then they needed to have some sort of a plan. No more he would follow those damned protocols. He would hold back his urge to rip Sentinel in half—preferably not somewhere public, as that was probably Orion’s main point back then—once the time comes. His optics went to Orion’s, who was gesturing to the imaginary track in front of them. For now, he had a bot to impress.
D-16 didn’t say much, letting Orion muse over their plan for tomorrow. Most of it they would definitely have to improvise on the spot, but Megatron was used to unexpected situations. Millions of years in war would do that, he thought. He offered some ideas to add to their plan to win the race, to which Orion responded pleasantly. D-16 never thought he would be seeing Orion smile this much ever again. Yeah, he thought as he heard Orion ramble, scrap the protocol. My protocol is to support Orion and Optimus to the best of my capabilities.
D-16, suddenly, missed Megatron in the way that his frame was bigger. What good could he do with this small, cogless mining frame?
Our youngest’s sadness ached Our spark, yet We could do nothing but watch. Watch as he ruined himself, watched as he sacrificed himself, watched as he was turned away, rejected, by the bot he had once called best friend. Watched as his spark went dim over and over again, yet you had to push him out to the surface despite how badly We wanted to keep him down here, with the rest of the Primes.
We still remembered feeling Our youngest’s spark breaking into pieces as Megatron the traitor struck him down without any hesitation in his motion. We are not Omnipotent, only Omniscient in a way that Does Not Matter. We could do nothing as Cybertron became a barren wasteland. We heard Our youngest’s prayers for everything to be better, but at some point even he seemed to not know what better meant. He fought longer than he had been online, and We could do nothing but whisper sweet words to Our youngest, hoping to placate him even just for a little while.
Cybertron warped beyond repair, and at times, We pushed and pulled the terrain to keep the traitor away from him. Because if there was anyone who knew the weight on Our youngest’s shoulders, it was Us.
Our youngest was exhausted. His steps faltered not because he wasn’t sure anymore, but because exhaustion had etched itself into every nook of his frame. As the traitor reached inside of Our youngest’s chassis, We knew it was time to act. The matrix shone as Our youngest’s spark dimmed, a painful contrast squeezing at every inch of Our being.
We didn’t want everything to go perfectly, but just enough that Our youngest wouldn’t be plagued by night terrors. Just enough that the traitor wouldn’t become a traitor again. Just enough that Our youngest could reach out his servo and not be rejected by the traitor. Perhaps, We never trusted the traitor, but Our youngest surely would. And that was what We counted on. For the traitor to see everything he had lost the moment he dropped Our youngest to Us.
We did not regret your decision to pull Optimus Orion Pax back to the mines, where everything was simpler. We decided to put Orion further back in time, and watch as he became glued to the not-yet-traitor. We had made sure he had no recollection of the future. Still, his spark ached with betrayal, fear, and something else that even We cannot name, even as Orion placed the Megatronus decal on D-16.
We were known to be more or less absent, much to Our displeasure. If the other Primes were to know that We put so much effort into fixing the youngest’s spark, surely they would squabble. Or maybe not. At any point, We sent visions after visions to Megatron (for the traitor would always be Megatron to him, and never he would be D-16 anymore) just to soothe Our own rage. Cybertron lived on without a tyrant in its midst.
The moment where Megatron found out the truth. The moment where the traitor’s mind had begun to crack. The moment where the traitor had struck down Orion Pax, and left him to die. We sent dreams after dreams, extracted from his own future memories. We gave him no mercy, for he had none when he took Optimus’ spark. Over and over again. The endless cycle needed to end, and what good would it be if the warlord does not repent?
Your Orion had died, Megatron, We reminded him without a smidge of kindness in Our harrowed voice. You killed him. It was you, and only you.