Chapter Text
The thing that separated Optimus Prime from the average mech was his name. Optimus Prime. This name was assigned to a mech who graduated from the illustrious Autobot Academy. It was given to a mech who scored high marks in his classes, displayed excellent leadership capabilities and had all the makings of a true Autobot leader. The name served to identify how important, how faultless, he was in Autobot society.
Optimus Prime lived up to that name: leader of a small exploration brigade, assistant chief archivist at the Iacon Hall of Records, progeny of the great Codexa. Many Cybertronians knew of Optimus Prime, and if he wasn't recognized instantly when he rolled down Iacon's streets, his bright blue and red paint screamed, "Attention! Look upon me! I am a mech with purpose!"
No bot would think Optimus Prime would spend his evening crouching in a crevice a cybercat would consider a tight squeeze with a servo gripping a botling's toy.
"Almost got it," the Prime said. His backstrut creaked in protest when he stretched further to pull the toy out of the crawlspace. The crowd of botlings behind him were making incessant beeps and fidgeting against his larger frame. He felt tiny servos clutch and pull at his plating.
With the "help" of the smaller Cybertronians, Optimus yanked the toy out of the crawlspace and backpedaled into the freedom of open air. The botlings let go with a chorus on triumphant beeps as the Prime stayed crouched at their level.
"Here you go, kid." He handed the toy to the botling it belong to, earning a shiny smile and a harmonious chorus of beeps. They were too new to say "thank you" but the message was clear. He waved good-bye to the small group and watched silently as they transformed into small vehicles and zipped away.
Standing up at last, Optimus was greeted to the sights of Iacon's famous structures towering above him. Iacon, the Autobot capital, had architecture that was was one of those amenities visitors came to marvel at. The buildings pierced the sky, tall towers of rainbow glass and silver and steel. Every building was geometrically perfect and built to last longer than Optimus would be online.
Cybertronian drove down winding roads of lights interconnected between spires beyond Optimus's helm. The Second Sol, preparing to disappear to in a two short megacycles, shot rays of thermal radiation and light cross the atmosphere. The pristine buildings looked even more glorious at this time of the cycle. Optimus vented the clean air of Iacon into his systems and felt at peace. For approximately 13.6 nanokliks.
<Incoming communication. Des: Bumblebee>
The Prime let his frame sag by two degrees and answered.
<Boss Bot! I need help!>
"I'm on my way."
He hung up and continued his route to Study Hall 3A of the Autobot Academy. It was there Bumblebee and Bulkhead were currently sitting in on a lecture by Flareup. Optimus was going to pick them up to go explore an asteroid caught adrift in Cybertron's outer atmosphere. If necessary, they would obliterate the asteroid. (The likelihood of this occurring for his small but humble team was abysmally low, but he wasn't going to mention that to Bumblebee.)
The walkways of Autobot Academy were filled with young bots and old memories his processor attempted to suppress. Optimus kept his face-plate neutral and took in the gleaming metal statues of past Autobot leaders dotting the white campus. It was the statue of Impactor Major guarding the buildings designated for combat and defensive education. His sharply carved optics were always watching the bots beneath him. It was common for a young cadet to lose their metal in front of it.
When Optimus walked into Study Hall 3A, he immediately ducked as a grenade whizzed his way.
Evasive Maneuvers can be easily programed into anybot. The Cybertronian processor can run the program, moving the bot's limbs to engage with what its optics captured with a format that minimized damage. But there are too many scenarios to account for. Too many possible ways to damage or offline a bot. The processor cannot capture and account for every move, so to save storage space, Autobots manually train their battle programs on the highest probable ways they could be off-lined. Evasive Maneuver programs run the probabilities in the background while prepping the Autobot's body for how certain foes will act.
So, young Autobot cadets were trained instead of programmed unlike other inorganic species.
Decepticons were fond of explosives and so was Flareup. This made her an excellent teacher for younger bots.
"Eee-yaaa!"
Optimus watched Bumblebee launch himself across the red training ground in the middle of the room. The yellow bot ran straight for him as a beautiful orange fembot launched herself in the air. She tossed three grenades at his back.
"Bumblebee: Failed," Flareup announced as only one grenade made contact with Bumblebee. The explosion launched him sky high, over the crowd of students watching, and crashing to Optimus Prime's pedes with a clang. Optimus bent down to him as Bulkhead, whose chest-plate bore a superficial scorch mark, ambled over.
"We, uh, might be done here, Boss Bot." Optimus felt his face-plate harden without meaning to. Flareup would never use lethal grenades in training, but a flick of the optics revealed no marks on the other students. The one in the middle of Bumblebee's back-plate would need to be sanded out.
Optimus lifted Bumblebee to his pedes. The yellow bot looked at his best friend, communicating with lit-up optics on how this was about to turn into something big.
The Prime strode up to the training platform and stood five paces from Flareup. She stiffened at his approach and stood salute. A deep frown carved into her face-plate when Optimus trained his optics into hers. He let sarcasm bleed into his vocalizer.
"Flareup. Good to see your aim is still at above-average accuracy. One would think you're the best sharpshooting fembot the Academy has ever produced."
Flareup opened her dermas to respond and shut them immediately. Everybot knew Chromia's aim was far superior. Compared to her, Flareup's grenade throws were almost amateurish. The younger bots stayed silent, but their optics shined at exchange, no doubt messaging others on the drama.
Optimus could go further, dig into her, cut her ego down to the size of a Minibot—he would not do that. "Teaching means imparting wisdom your students can use later. If you don't understand that objective, I suggest going to Kup for a refresher. Otherwise, don't be surprised if students you taught don’t measure up against their peers." Optimus watched her face-plate bend in fear before turning away.
"Good-bye, Flareup."
"Safe travels, Optimus Prime," a quiet voice said to his back. He walked his subordinates out in a stiff silence until they ended up in front of Impactor Major's statue. Second Sol's light turned the campus a bright orange as it continued its descent.
Optimus turned to Bumblebee. "That was awesome!" the yellow bot shouted before he could speak. "Oh! She soooooo deserved that! Thank you thank you thank you for coming to our rescue, Boss Bot!"
For Bumblebee and Bulkhead, Optimus Prime was their Boss Bot. He was the one who called all the shots and had connections only offered to a Prime. Having a Prime as a leader involved way more than the average benefits, such as sitting in upper-level lessons without charge.
"Sorry we screwed up the class," Bulkhead, the more sensible of the two, apologized. "We really tried to pay attention and learn. But Flareup kind of had it out for us."
"She thought we were there to fool around! She didn't even answer Bulk's questions before she started tossing grenades like a Decepticon with its helm screwed backwards!" Bumblebee waved his servo in his faceplate to emphasis the insanity of the situation. "She was crazy! Processor scrambled! We're lucky you came on time!"
"You know," Optimus cut in since interrupting Bumblebee was one of the only ways a bot could talk to him, "I didn't get you guys in that class to get blown up. You could've just left before she used you for target practice."
The dermas of both young bots popped open in incredulity. Optimus knew neither would dare (Well. At least one of them wouldn't.) leave a lecture he painstakingly arranged for them, but he thought they would value comfort over their supposed prerequisites to be in the Elite Guard. Optimus was more than fine with teaching them himself. He was a graduate with honors and despite his current status, he was confident he could shape them into Elite Guard Autobots himself.
As they walked through the campus, Optimus kept his optics on the road ahead. Bumblebee was chattering away about their asteroid mission and how long it would take and how it wouldn't be worth it unless they blew up the asteroid. Bulkhead kept quiet. They looked like any other Autobots among the crowd, but what tipped off Optimus was the higher pitch of Bumblebee's voice. And Bulkhead was hunching his shoulders, shrinking his massive frame. Their tension broke what resistance Optimus had. He finally registered the optics lazering into him but did not acknowledge them.
Many Autobots knew of Optimus Prime. He was famous for all the right reasons, but it was his one failure that defined him.
Waves of scrutiny, disbelief, and mild disgust filtered into his processor. Optimus wasn't a Cybertronian who was sensitive to the emotional waves emitted by others, but even a drone could pick up on the hostile energy surrounding the trio. He could see out the edges of his optics how some bots shifted away or pointed accusatory digits at them.
If this was stellar cycles ago, his helm would be down, shielding his optics from the glares of his peers. He did not do that. He was the leader of a team. Bumblebee and Bulkhead relied on him to be steady in this turbulent environment. They were obviously more sensitive to the hostility than he was. Thus Optimus needed to stand tall, he needed to keep his stride unbroken, he needed to ignore it as he always did, he needed to show he was worthy of the title of Prime.
"Let's get to the ship," he told his teammates. Both bots lit up and kept pace as the trio exited the campus and back into the streets of Iacon.
Optimus felt the Second Sol cast a ray of off his plating. He could envision how he looked: tall and heroic, a young Prime with the universe ahead of him. A quick glance told him others thought the same, but anybot who knew of Optimus Prime would not dare think that way. Wouldn't ask him to help or offer him a smile, unless they were botlings who didn't know better.
The name Optimus Prime was marred by rumors of his inadequacy. He was no hero. He was a failure.