Chapter Text
1
Thirty years ago, it would have been completely unreasonable to see a sentient machine outside of science fiction. Nowadays, however, something much stranger was the reality. Not only sentient machines, but sentient, transforming, alien robots were as typical to see as another human. While the Earth-bound population was perhaps only 1:1,000,000 still, it was hard to miss your neighbor housing a thirty-six foot tall alien made of metal. Especially when the Cultural Exchange Between Cybertron and Earth Bill (often shortened to CEB-CEB) was first signed. Originally signed by the 185 member states of the United Nations, in the current year there were 193 participating countries.
Megatron had been one of the original fifty-one Cybertronians selected to move to Earth and live with a human host family. The concept was, pardoning the pun, completely alien to him. Family systems as humans knew them were practically unheard of to Cybertronians. Nonetheless, he had been selected as an 'apprentice' — their closest approximation to a human child — and moved to Tagbilaran, Bohol, Philippines to stay with the Malto family, without much else other than his own designation.
His brother (the term still felt strange on his tongue after all these decades), Alex, was…fascinated in the kindest of terms. Transformers (a colloquial name for Cybertronians) were endlessly fantastical to him. Much to Megatron's chagrin, that also meant every family meal — another human quirk — he would be bombarded with questions about his function and life back on Cybertron until their grandfather sent them to bed. Alex had never outgrown this near obsession, even after he had graduated college and gotten married.
He knew this primarily because when it came time to renew his ID chip, Alex had practically thrown himself to the ground and begged him to come to the United States and live with him and his wife, Dorothy.
Megatron liked to think he gave a good defense for at least 20 minutes of his pleading.
That was why he found himself, thirteen years later, in front of the Pennsylvanian school to stand-in for Dorothy and Alex for a meeting with the principal.
"You're absolutely certain this can't be rescheduled?" He grumbled as he endured the gawking of the school yard.
"Yes, Megs," Dorothy — Dot — sighed on the other side of the phone, "This is the fifth time we've been called in, and —" her sentence is cut off by a heavy grunt and the metal snap of trap — "And unfortunately, I can't leave while we've got all of these traps pulled up and Alex is out in Baltimore until this weekend for a lecture."
Megatron withheld a groan as he listened to Dot dislodging and removing traps. Apparently, according to her earlier rant, someone had failed to properly report all of their hunting traps which resulted in a fellow Park Ranger falling victim to an illegal bear trap. Which meant —
"I assume this is part of my…what does he call it, 'uncle'-ly duties?"
"Yeeap," she popped the 'p', "So hop to it."
He sighed - loudly and exaggeratedly - before hanging up, resigning himself to his fate. Twitch and Thrash — two of the first Earth-born Transformers (colloquially known as Terrans) — weren't bad kids by any stretch. They were just…rebellious. Megatron could hardly blame them. Moving to the middle of nowhere from a major city was hardly easy for adults, much less children. Even less so for children who could transform into a drone and motorbike. That didn't mean Witwicky wasn't a perfectly fine place. He personally enjoyed the open, free airspace. It also had a rather impressive pre-existing population of fifteen Cybertronians. That was almost 0.21% of the town's population! As a result, D. E. O'Neil Elementary & Junior High School was built to accommodate the varied range of sizes.
Except when you were twice the size of the average Transformer, like Megatron, and having to duck between doorways and hope the ceiling didn't pose a risk to his helm.
After checking in at the front office — confirming that, yes, he was 'Megatron (Malto)' and yes, he was listed as a trusted adult to take the place of their parents for a conference — he awkwardly shuffled after the staff member who showed him the principal's office. He admittedly wasn't familiar with American school systems all that well. Completing his required sixteen years of education (technically, only twelve was required by local law but he was sponsored for University thanks to the CEB-CEB, so he took full advantage of the opportunity) in the Philippine education system left him slightly lost. Entering the Principal's office, he was met with his niece and nephew crouched up in their chairs and, to his surprise, a Cybertronian principal. Megatron was vaguely familiar with his fellow Cybertronians, but he hadn't known one was in charge of a school.
"Oh, good afternoon, you are…Mr. Malto?"
"No — that's my brother," Megatron corrected automatically (the concept of surnames still baffled him), "I'm their uncle. Unfortunately, their parents could not be here, I hope I will serve as an appropriate replacement."
"Oh no," the principal's face fell, "Is everything alright?"
The question and tone almost caught him off guard. His HUD had decided to flash up the tag [Pleasant Voice] next to the principal's face, stalling his processor as he tried to dismiss the automatic tag and focus on the question. He didn't think he had phrased it in such a way to rouse concern. It could have been an American thing, Dot was similar so he assumed it had to be that.
"Yes, yes," he waved off the concern, "Work came up for both of them, and so I was sent as to not delay anything further."
"Thank goodness."
The tag tried to assign itself again, to which Megatron removed it as he looked down at Twitch and Thrash. Megatron could tell this was going to be an 'embarrassing' type of meeting. He went through his processor to try and determine what exactly it could be. They didn't look injured, and there was no noticeable emergency vehicle outside, so it couldn't have been a brawl. They were in the principal's office so it couldn't be anything minor either. He hadn't noticed any structural damages to the school — both of their altmodes were also quite small so it was unlikely they could cause much destruction, even accidentally. If it were grades related, it would be more likely that their teacher reached out.
"Why exactly are they in trouble…" he trailed off, trying to parse the principal's name. He couldn't read the name plate on the table from his angle, and Dot hadn't thought to mention it in their call.
"Optimus." He supplied with a small smile.
"Why exactly are they in trouble, Optimus?"
It was a very Cybertronian name, and it felt strangely delightful on his tongue. He very quickly deleted that line of thought. This wasn't a social club, much less a mixer. Sure, he was handsome, and Megatron could see the tell-tale marks of a labor frame which was an additional plus in his optic—
— This could not be happening to him right now.
"Ahem," Optimus cleared his vocalizer, "Well, mister, uh…"
"Megs!" Thrash interjected.
"Mister Megs-"
"Megatron, with an 'r'," he grumbled.
"Mister Megatron," the slight exasperation was not lost on him, "I regret to inform you that Thrash and Twitch are in trouble with…all of their teachers."
"We're not in trouble with Mr. Smelt!" Twitch argued.
"Mr. Smelt isn't one of your teachers."
"Fine."
Megatron, momentarily distracted by Optimus' stern tone — and ignoring how his HUD once again supplied the tag — nearly whipped his helm toward Twitch. He couldn't believe the tone she was using. Alex had told him the schools here were more lax, but he thought that meant less homework not outright disrespect by talking back. Was that the reason for this meeting? A rumble cycled in his engine as he wondered how he was going to discuss this with their parents.
"What kind of trouble?"
"As much as it pains me to say—"
Listening to the explanation, he realized a few things. One, Optimus had a very nice voice. He reluctantly allowed his HUD to properly attach the tag, unable to deny he enjoyed the stern rumble that belayed a heavy-duty engine. Two, he allowed the children (Megatron had to remind himself still that they were not 'apprentices' technically) to inject without reprimand. It seemed to clash with his authority, but he never appeared to lose control of the conversation. Three, he had a very large set of windshields. On its own it wasn't exactly notable, but it was an additionally attractive quality in his opinion. Alex had once asked him what parts of a Cybertronian were considered 'desirable' — and Megatron had never regretted anything more than when the words 'chassis type' came out of his vocalizer as an example. The chassis varied greatly, so it wasn't a simple matter of large or small. Some preferred large windshields or windows, others preferred streamlined flight decks, and some preferred completely armored hulls. Unfortunately for Megatron, he had to learn the equivalent in humans was in regards to 'chest size'. Organic 'breasts' were frankly horrifying to him. It wasn't helped by his misconception that the distributed fuel was the same as their blood. He had long learned that unlike Cybertronians, humans could not power nor consume their own life force without it being detrimental to all involved. He had, regrettably (but not nearly as regrettable as accidentally revealing Cybertronian dating culture), yelled — not screamed as Dot told it — when he witnessed Robby being breastfed as a baby.
Returning to the situation at hand - he found the principal attractive. Distractingly so. He kept finding himself deleting lines of thought and catching his HUD's (and therefore, his own) focus on the wide-set windows. Trying to look elsewhere only seemed to prove he needed to see a specialist — maybe he needed a vacation back to Cybertron so he didn't risk being a charged up mess because he kept trailing his eyes across Optimus' frame as though cataloging it against his preference list. The fact his HUD kept supplying more tags was less than helpful.
Especially now that he had not taken in a single word of the explanation.
"I know how difficult it is to find a place for yourself in a world not built with or for you in mind, but I can't allow either of them to sabotage themselves like this any further." Optimus finished off, resulting in half-suppressed huffs from the children — likely they had heard it all before. Megatron, however, didn't have a single thought sequenced for a response.
"Mh," he nodded, "I understand."
"What—!? Megs!" Twitch cried out as Thrash just gaped at him.
"I'll be sure to let their parents know. While I can't directly change anything, I can at least suggest the solutions you brought up."
Optimus' expression brightened considerably, and Megatron privately thought the wide smile suited him well. He had absolutely no idea what the principal had even suggested, or what he had even been agreeing to. His processor was too busy noting how the smile looked as it eased the stressed metal of his face and the relieved rumble of his engine. He barely heard his niece and nephew's argument as he walked them out, bidding Optimus goodbye. The relaxed and joyous 'thank you' from Optimus as they left replayed in his processor like a script. He liked how that voice sounded, even more so than when it was stern. A part of him (likely the part that needed to see a specialist) wondered —
"Meeegs!" Twitch called out, "Do you have a cruuush?"
— How much shaved ice could he get away with buying to keep their mouths shut.
2
Terrans, unlike Cybertronians, had internal Energon that was closer to water than their cousins. This allowed them a wider variety of fuels - or as humans called it, 'food'. Complex foods were still highly restricted, but simple things such as shaved ice were popular as snacks. Megatron didn't fully understand the appeal of all the various flavors (cherries, for whatever reason, disagreed with him the most), but he assumed it was because he had very little context for the flavors they offered. Cybertronians preferred metallic tastes which were notably uncommon for human dishes, but Terrans appeared more varied due to the constant exposure of Earthen cuisine. Hence - Megatron had taken them to the local shaved ice parlor and hoped it would be enough to buy their silence.
Back in the Philippines with Alex, while he wasn't always fond of the human flavors, it had become a bit of a tradition during the summer to grab cups of halo halo and fill it with as many things as possible to determine which ones Cybertronians could taste the best. While proportionally they were tiny to him, Megatron had enjoyed the sweet, creamy dessert even when they were scolded for wasting their entire allowance on 'junk food' (despite Alex's excuse of 'scientific research'). When he had heard about a store in Makati that began including an option that included edible (for humans) gold, he had flown all the way himself to see how it tasted to him. That was, unfortunately, when he learned that he was allergic to 24-carat gold - apparently the pure gold disagreed with his systems to the point he needed to see one of the only Cybertronian doctors to have it scrapped from his fuel pipes. It was too soft for his tank to cycle through, and instead had collected in the pathways to create a blockage.
He condemned himself to making his own from then on.
They didn't have halo halo in the store (though the owner had expressed interest in expanding their offerings when Megatron had asked about it), so he instead settled with a small cup of shaved ice coated with orange, lemon, and grapefruit syrup. It created a refreshing, almost metallic taste that he would happily eat for days if he had to. While the worker refilled the ice machine and swapped out the syrup bottles, Twitch and Thrash were still debating on what to get.
"Should I get milk with mine? I don't really want ice cream, but-"
"Oh! Look!" Twitch pressed her face up against the glass, "They have soybean powder again!"
"Seriously? Why do you even like that? It tastes like nothing."
"You just don't get it, though what can I expect from someone who can't even keep his favorite flavor consistent?"
Thrash rolled his optics, "Oh so now I'm the bad guy because I like to mix it up a little?"
"You're the reason we can't keep any ice-pops at home!"
"I'm entitled to my favorites!"
Megatron chuckled lightly as he watched them butt helms. The two had emerged at the same time, which was always a point of contention between them. Whoever was the 'older twin' seemed to be a deeply important debate whenever it came time to assign chores or decide who went first in a board game. Once, the two had spent a full hour arguing over who was older for a game of Clue that their siblings and parents had completed an entire round during their argument. Megatron preferred to defer to any other rule of who started, purely because his age according to the Cybertronian calendar technically made him older than his grandmother. Dot had to deal with the Terrans trying to convince her for the next two weeks that they were technically old enough to get tattooed without her permission, up until Megatron mentioned how on Cybertron they would all technically not even be old enough to have finished Primary Programing. They changed their tune rather quickly after that.
"Okay! Banana topping, condensed milk, and coconut syrup!" Thrash pointed at each section behind the glass and Megatron wondered if he was ordering something so plain because he had already tried the weirder combinations.
"I want mine with sweet red beans and soybean powder toppings!" Twitch defaulted to her usual, albeit with the added note of 'extra sweet beans under the ice too'.
Once they were happily eating their shaved ice, Megatron allowed himself to think back to the meeting. He still…wasn't entirely sure what he agreed to, but he could probably take a guess or two. Something about responsibility and work ethic, that sounded right. Maybe something about teamwork and community, a focus on getting a good grip on things. Megatron scooped up another mouthful of the shaved ice.
Plus, with a voice like that, he could have probably convinced me to come by after hours, he thought.
He choked on the ice. As he tried to reroute the swallow, he tried to figure out where on the earth that thought had come from. That was his niece and nephew's principal, not a bot he met in a bar or at a party. That was practically the most un-arousing line of work next to a therapist or a mortician — and yet here he was, apparently fantasizing about his voice.
Megatron wiped at his mouth. That wasn't entirely fair to himself. It was a single thought, and it wasn't like he got to see other Cybertronians often. A minor excitement that his processor was overemphasizing because he just happened to tick a few of his boxes.
"So Megs," Thrash nudged his hip, "Twitch says you've got a crush on the principal."
He absolutely could not kill them.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Pretty sure he's single, at least he never talks about not being single."
"Mr. Smelt could learn a thing or two," Twitch nodded.
"His relationship status is of no concern to me."
"I dunno," she shrugged, "You were staring real hard at his windshields."
"Don't you two have missing work to make up?" He dumped the empty cup into a trash can, "Dot will be far worse than I am if she finds out you're missing assignments."
"Uhuh, sure." They both nodded, knowing full well Megatron didn't hear a damn thing during the meeting, "So, when's the date?"
Killing would be too good for them.