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Cybertron.
Millions of years ago…
Optimus had been lucky to avoid this sight for himself thus far. A little sparkling - Primus, she looked so small - sobbing over her parent’s body, which was half-burnt as it lay in the kitchen of her old home, the walls and ceiling were completely blasted to bits, unveiling the terrible sight of a once great city that had only half-survived an attempted Decepticon takeover.
Optimus looked around, his optics scouring the city of Daecon. He saw his Autobots placing the surrendered Decepticons in restraints. He saw more burnt-out homes - or perhaps a better term would be ruins - with Cybertronian citizens mourning their loss. He saw flames all around the city as fire crews and his autobots did their best to put them out.
But he did not see the child’s father, nor anyone else running towards the house.
Disengaging his cannon, he cautiously made his way over to the child, who scrambled away, terror flaring in her eyes. Terror… and a blazing, protective fire, which blazed yet brighter as she picked up a pipe that had fallen on the ground, determined to defend her mother’s corpse at all cost.
But Optimus Prime did not flinch.
“I am not going to hurt you, nor will I damage your mother’s body.” he told her, his tone feather-gentle as he disengaged his mask and held out his hand. “Please, would you come with me? It isn’t safe here.”
She shook her head. A simple gesture that meant so many things.
“I will have my soldiers protect her.” he reassured her. “But you may soon join her in death if you stay, and that is the last thing I want.”
While she still shook her head again, she became a little less tense. She then began communicating in sign.
“Can’t leave B-127.”
“Is he your brother?” asked Optimus, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah. He’s in the basement.”
“Then let us go and get him, shall we? And do you have anyone I can take you to?”
She shook her head, then hesitated. “He can’t see her.”
“Of course. And what is your name?”
“...RC-127.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you. And I am so sorry…”
. . .
B-127 was a little yellow sparkling, even younger than RC. He seemed to be completely, blissfully, thankfully ignorant to the death and carnage around them all.
“You’re Optimus Prime!?” he gasped, excitedly. “Can I see your cannon? Can I see your axe? Can I see your alt-form?”
“Of course.” smiled Optimus, picking them both up and carrying them. “As soon as we get back to base…”
“Awesome!”
He went up to Elita, whose face fell at the sight of the two children.
“War orphans?” she asked, much blunter than she would have been before the war, but far, far from dispassionate.
Optimus nodded, his heart feeling like it held all of Cybertron. “They have no-one else.”
“Then we shall prepare some beds until we find someone.”
. . .
Autobot Outpost 135683, Optimus Prime and Elita-1’s quarters.
“So, how do you like your energon?” asked Optimus, taking a raw batch out.
“Frozen! Frozen!”
“Frozen.”
“Frozen it is.” smiled Optimus, placing the energon in the refrigerator. Ten minutes later, he placed two bowls of the soft, cold food down for the kids, who picked up their spoons and began to eat.
Elita sighed wearily. “Weird, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“These kids aren’t that old. They wouldn’t remember Cybertron before the war started. Before rationing. Before bomb shelters. Before… everything.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“They will be there when it ends.”
“Will they?”
Optimus hesitated. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Worrying will do us no good.”
Elita nodded, but that did not hide the worry on her face, nor the tiredness of her optics. Luckily, Optimus had a way to distract her from it.
“Let’s have some frozen energon ourselves. We could use some.”
Elita smiled, taking his hand and leading him to their supply. “That would be nice. It has been too long…”