Chapter Text
The first few days were a blur. Orion Pax knew he had emerged from the Well of Allparks once before, which made emerging a second time rather confusing. The shocked expressions of the new-spark collectors did little to reassure him after he had clumsily fallen over yet a third time.
They kept calling him ‘Prime’.
Orion Pax looked at them as if they were crazy.
He told them his name was Orion Pax, expecting some level of explanation, but for whatever reason, the remark had only landed him in the hospital.
It was on the ride over in a large transport vehicle that Orion realised that to be reborn, one must have died.
Which was concerning, as Orion Pax could not think of anything that could have killed him. So he came to the next reasonable conclusion (despite the mech sitting next to him insisting he was a miracle): he had too much to drink, had a wild adventure, and woke up in the middle of nowhere. Which wasn’t a predicament Orion experienced… often.
Leaving the transport, he was dragged into the hospital (but not rudely), he imagined, because he had attempted an ‘escape’ thwarted by a cold T-cog. The said ‘escape’, consisting of three steps away from the hospital, as Orion Pax realised his shift had started three kliks ago.
His captors were still calling him ‘Prime’.
Orion Pax was getting annoyed.
Alpha Trion wouldn’t believe this story even if it were filmed.
Once Orion was handed off to a rather dumbfounded doctor, he had expected some level of reason. Considering unreasonable mechs didn’t tend to get medical qualifications. He was saved! Finally, someone to listen to Orion!
Then the doctor called him ‘Optimus Prime’.
Adding a whole name to the lunacy.
Safe to say, Orion’s frown hit the floor at record pace. He resisted the urge to roll his optics (out of sheer politeness) as the doctor rambled on about frame resets and rebirth. Orion tried to slip in his need to get to work, but all that prompted was praise for his astounding sense of duty.
Sure, ‘duty’ to his landlord.
It was sometime during that ramble that a mildly familiar medic barged in. He looked a lot like Ratchet (a mech Orion had regularly sourced information for and was on friendly terms with), just horrendously old. Not that he would say so aloud.
He received a hug, and Orion could confirm he was the only sane mech in the room. This was further confirmed when Ratchet (Orion had spontaneously decided this was Ratchet) called him Optimus. At least he dropped the title.
Regardless, Orion went off on a far too uncomposed ramble, indirectly insulting just about every mech he had met so far before he paused to take in a vent. A pause long enough for him to notice the shocked stares of both doctors.
It was then that Orion Pax caught the word ‘amnesia’ and let out an elegantly formulated question:
“Eh?”
Ratchet aged three centuries in the span of a nanoklik, and the other grew hysterical.
***
The next few days, Orion found himself relocated to Ratchet’s apartment, against his will, with literal millennia's worth of history crammed into his helm. And while Orion liked history (very much so), he wasn’t too fond of the made-up stuff.
Orion couldn’t have recharged through an idle engine, let alone a couple of millennia of war. And if this whole rebirth thing was true, Orion was certain he’d have offlined falling down a flight of stairs instead of sacrificing his spark to reunite the Allpark with Primus.
He always thought the older one got, the less imaginative one's thoughts, but Ratchet was a walking (and talking) refutation of that. And rather impressively so.
Still, he had requested to speak with Ratchet’s supervisor on multiple occasions. This was no way of treating a perfectly capable mech; Orion had practically been kidnapped under the guise of cognitive impairment. A diagnosis his captor delivered at that.
Orion thought Ratchet was projecting. He was going to try to deliver the news gently.
“Right. So Megatronus killed the planet.” Orion knew Ratchet didn’t like him, but that was a bit much.
“Yes.”
“I was a Prime.”
“Yes.”
“And I fought a very long war.”
“Yes!” Ratchet looked very hopeful at the idea of Orion Pax finally believing his tales.
Orion walked over slowly and sat next to him. “And we’re friends, right?”
“Yes.”
Orion nodded, “I mean this well…” Ratchet narrowed his optics. “But I think you should see a doctor.”
Ratchet went out to get some energon after that.
And Orion climbed out of the second-floor window.
***
Freedom was short-lived thanks to a missing person report filed by a potentially well-meaning Ratchet and because Orion Pax seemed to be a glowstick with the light capacity of high beams for law enforcement. The fact that he had walked to the very public archives and was instantly recognised by just about everyone didn’t seem to make escaping easy.
And everyone still called him Prime.
Orion wondered how the whole planet had a few screws loose.
He asked the officer transporting him back to Ratchet if there was some kind of collective information creep.
His partner snickered and gave Orion some fuel for thought:
“Maybe it's not the whole world, maybe it's you.”
The concept behind the words was received, sure, but the fact that it implied Ratchet was telling the truth was not. Orion let out a snicker of his own. “Right, the council made me a Prime, Megatronus was a warlord and possessed by the uncreator, and I swan-dived an ancient artefact into God?” Orion wheezed; it was the best joke he’d ever heard.
“Yeeep.” The officer popped the ‘p’, and the other stared back with a concerned expression. As if Orion were the crazy one.
Ratchet was terribly concerned when Orion was escorted back into the building and started bombarding the officers with questions. Asking if he ‘did anything’ was among them.
Orion was frowning; he was within audio range and possessed self-control.
The cop told the truth, saying Orion Pax was asking for his shift schedule.
Meanwhile, Orion Pax tried to find inoffensive ways of suggesting retirement, as Ratchet was clearly stressed, and a divorce from work is apparently very relaxing (if one has savings).
That evening, Ratchet tried pulling out proof, which Orion had looked forward to, as he could explain how it was fabricated.
Orion tried not to laugh when Ratchet’s proof was a recording of some mech that shared Orion's colours. Ratchet’s expression seemed to suggest he had felt victorious, proving without a shadow of a doubt that Orion Pax was this fabled ‘Optimus Prime’.
Until Orion pointed out the height discrepancy. And the weight difference. And the obvious kibble differences. And personality diff—
“This is you!” Ratchet was shouting.
Regardless, Orion tried—very calmly—to explain that he and “Optimus” looked very different.
Ratchet excused himself, citing a helm-ache.
***
It was a day later that things finally sank in. And no, it was not the silence from Megatronus’ comm link that aided Ratchet’s arguments (but it was a contributing factor). Ratchet had spontaneously decided that Orion had been a ‘good mech’, a slightly derogatory term, but Orion had granted Ratchet some leniency, and had taken Orion for a walk to the archives.
Orion naturally bee-lined it to Alpha Trion's workstation, apologising profusely as soon as he was within visual range and unashamedly pointing a digit at an unimpressed Ratchet, who was struggling to keep up.
Alpha Trion nodded, somewhat amused, excused Orion’s absence, and allowed Orion to deflate with the excuses he was ready to deliver.
Then he realised Alpha Trion also looked considerably older (something Orion previously thought impossible), and had a dawning suspicion that he too spoke of the same tall tales as Ratchet.
But unlike Ratchet, this mech held considerably more visual proof of Orion Pax’s history.
A recording of Orion Pax’s frame converting into Optimus Prime’s before Primus’ spark was pretty hard to deny.
And so was the council meeting…
Orion could recall fragments of its beginnings, but he could not recall that hate in Megatronus.
And that was that.
He and Ratchet walked back to the apartment in silence.
Orion wandered up to his room (the one with the locked window) and sobbed.