Archive of Our Own

The blades clash with a blinding crash, their wielders grunting in unison with the effort. Sapphire optics convey millennia of wisdom, skill and experience, they are charged with emotion, with feelings that are only evident to an unique and unrepeatable individual. They search desperately for something they know they will not find, something they have learned that, in the desire to hurt and mock, Megatron has destroyed or hidden exceptionally well. And he knows that to some extent, only Optimus can't see it because he wanted to.

Optimus huffs, taking distance when he gives up again upon seeing the fierceness and the hatred and the contempt... and finding nothing.

His spark pierced his chassis heartbreakingly, the war confrontation he was more than accustomed to was not turning out to be any different from the other million times he had to take his blaster and point it at Megatron. The Decepticon leader would never make things easy for them, he was so intrinsically determined to finish off the Prime once and for all.

It wasn't that he hadn't tried before or that he couldn't. Of course not. They were both quite capable of finishing each other off. But they were so capable that it was impossible not to notice that they simply did not want it that way or were putting it off.

Optimus clenches his servos into angry, frustrated fists as he charges at Megatron once again. He was angered by the unnecessary spilling of energon, that every battle with his enemy ended in screams, pain, death and misery. Megatron laughs in his face and unlike Optimus, delights in his visceral anger. He rejoices in the torment that he causes the Autobot to watch him finish off his followers, making him hurt Megatron himself, knowing how much it hurts him. He takes great delight in causing so much despondency and destroying the hope that Optimus instills in his friends.

“Come on, Prime! Is that all you got? I’ve seen you do better.” He meanly mocks him, feeling the clash of their bodies as he is whipped by a hard servo.

He doesn't respond to the provocation, barely changing his already enraged expression, but he grits his teeth and clashes his helmet against Megatron's, briefly obstructing their view. Optimus tries to remember a time when he wasn't beating up Megatron, a period of time where they weren't fervently trying to kill each other.

Optimus seems unable to remember and pretends that it doesn't hurt him more than the shot he received.

Arenas of Kaon, Cybertron.

The mech wrinkles his face plates in disgust and concern, standing on the edge of the railing that separates him from spectator to participant -ironic, because those who were down there were not participating, they were forced-, gripping the metal beneath his fingers with vigor. He bites his lip, impatient and restless, searching for the gladiator in the cloud of dust raised by the collision he had with his opponent. Come on, Megatronus, you can do it…, is what Orion Pax thinks.

With an euphoric scream from the bots, Orion watches as Megatronus bursts out of the arena with a vigor that he uses to crash into the gladiator who, like the archivist, was looking around. The silver fighter's wounds drip with energon, there are dents in his armor that he knows must hurt and that are astonishingly ignored with disdain.

Orion lets out a sigh of relief, melting against the railing because, slag, Megatronus was still there, he wasn't dead, he was alive. He's almost angry at Megatronus for convincing him to think it was a good idea to bring him to witness him slaughter mechs and nearly get slaughtered himself. Orion was not having fun at all, he was itching to get down to the arena and drag Megatronus out –if necessary– to a safe and calm place where he could tend to his injuries.

He bristles again when the gladiator receives a new wound and Orion, exasperated, begins to ask Primus to please, somehow, advance the battle and end everything so he can leave that bloodthirsty place. The cheers of pure ecstasy around him did not help his mood.

Apparently and fortunately for him, Primus hears him because it is then that Megatronus finds an opening in his opponent and runs his sharp blade through him, defeating him. The mech falls to the ground without any light in its optics, making Orion grimace. The bots' unison screams resonate uncomfortably in his ears, and he feels disconnected from that raw scene. Was he happy that Megatronus had emerged triumphant? Of course, was he upset that it had to end in another death? Yes.

There was no way Orion could accept that it had to be this way, deaths for show, even though Megatronus often reminded him that it wasn't his choice. The mech huffs. As if Orion could forget it.

He senses a persistent gaze coming from the arena, and when he raises his helmet, there is the occupant of his processor, giving him an arrogant smile, his optics were shining brightly and his chassis was going up and down… Orion gritted his teeth, blushing. Even if Megatronus looked very handsome in his post-fight delight, he was going to give him a well-deserved lecture about how dangerous the whole thing had been, that he shouldn't feed the morbid, how much the archivist wished that... Bah, who was he deceiting? Orion rolls the optics and returns his own shy smile. He points to the exit, reatreating.

He is lost in thought as he descends from the stadium into the tunnel that leads to the arena entrance, some gladiators give him sidelong glances or nods, having already seen him before. He found it a little strange how accustomed they were beginning to seem to his presence, but with how often he visited his friend, he shouldn't be.

He feels like he's hits something hard like a wall, a wall certainly full of energy.

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

"Orion, my good Pax! Did you see that? I hope you saw it all." The mech's chassis swells as he preens in victory, as always. He holds him close with his servos—since he tripped—and wears an ecstatic expression. He seems far too happy for someone who has just killed another mech.

Another mech, with thoughts, with desires, with friends, with… Orion shakes his helmet.

“Of course, Megatronus. I told you I wouldn't miss it this time, but only Primus knows how much I wish I had! I was certain that my spark would stop every time his sword touched you, don't tell me you're that careless in all your fights, oh, Primus, I'm sure you are…”

“Orion…”

“You have to pay more attention, Megatronus, what happens if someone catches you next time? What happens if you get seriously injured?”

“Orion.”

The archivist misses the gladiator's incredulous gaze.

“Those elitists don’t care about you, they love this frivolous spillover of energon! But I- I, Megatronus…”

“Orion!”

The archivist is panting when his dear friend's grip tightens and interrupts his anxious, slightly overprotective babble; his cooling fans kick in at that moment. Megatronus doesn't seem bothered by this; if there were a way to describe it, Megatronus looked at it as if Orion were the most coveted book in the Archives of Iacon, with endearment and an expression of affectionate exasperation.

“My sincere apologies for frightening you so much, my dear archivist, I didn’t think you would get so worked up. Look at me, I’m here, aren’t I? You can check for injuries, but these are just scratches.” The gladiator dismisses them with disdain and a smug, haughty smile.

The archivist feels his faceplates begin to heat up and his fans stutter with embarrassment burning through his chassis.

“Yes. You’re right. It’s just that, you know, I get worried. I’m afraid to think that…” Orion hesitates in his statement, unsure if he should overwhelm his companion with such dark thoughts, his esteem for him pouring out like molten energon from his intake. “It doesn’t matter. You’re okay.” He nods firmly. “Yes, you’re safe.”

Megatronus lets out a small chuckle, patting Orion's shoulder pad as if he'd said something hilarious. Orion looks at him as if he's lost his processor.

“Did I say something funny…?”

“Ah, no. Don’t get so worked up, my archivist. I just like seeing that fire in you instead of the docile facade you usually wear; it’s good to see you have fangs.” Was that pride in his tone? Orion decides to take it as a compliment even though it sounds more like he's being mocked.

He huffs and rolls his optics, the stress escapes his body and he ends up collapsing on top of the gladiator with a ‘clank’, the aforementioned looks at him in amazement, unsure of what to do. Physical closeness has never been his strong suit, considering he had never been blessed with it. He didn't know the intimacy of a hug, of holding onto each other's servos, of a kiss, and casual fragging between gladiators didn't count as intimacy. Megatronus only knew the touch of violence; that was his language, after all.

Finally, he places his open palm on the archivist's helmet, who shows no signs of noticing the importance of this gesture.

Planet Earth.

Megatron cannot recall a cycle of his existence that was not filled with anger, in which his existence was not surrounded by pain. Megatron definitely does not remember the gentle touch of servos with round, soft, smooth digits; only the claws he carries and which he is used to seeing among his troops. Megatron simply doesn't remember it nor does he want to remember it.

He was always driven by anger, by the passion to rise up against the injustices to which they were subjected daily. Those are… Those are cycles he could and never will be able to forget, and that's what keeps him afloat through the other difficult cycles, the cycles in which he remembers. It's what keeps him on course when he sees his enemy and falters.

There was a time when he allowed himself to be weak, and look where it led him. Where he ended up. So if Megatron is asked if he has ever been on the receiving end of soft words, bright optics, and laughter that sounds like hope, he will say no. He will laugh bitterly, with the spark hitting his chassis in objection, and he will deny any experience that is remotely close to what he wants to forget.

But… There are things he forces himself to recall from his memory files. Those memories he plays back when his actions and words lack passion, when he feels tired. And he remembers them now, at this very moment, as he watches Optimus running to catch up with him, with the blaster in his servos and a look that burns and sears him. When the Autobot is just inches from impact, Megatron deflects it by landing a fist on his mask, hearing the groan of pain with satisfaction swirling within him.

"Surrender, Optimus, you will die under my cannon and none of your loyal followers will be able to stop me this time."

It’s just you and me and I will finally get the justice you owe me for stealing what belongs to me.

Megatron remembers injustice, Megatron remembers violence, Megatron remembers a betrayal.

Gladiator Habsuits on Kaon, Cybertron.

“Orion, my sweet spark, stop worrying so much, you’ll see everything will be alright. The Senate will have to listen to me whether they like it or not. And… you’ll be by my side, won’t you? We’ll be fine.” The revolutionary mech held his very anxious lover in his arms, trying with special care to comfort him and, above all, reassure him.

They were at the stage of their plan where they would head towards the Senate Council to expose to their privileged faces the ideas that their followers and all the marginalized castes shared. They were going to—at last—make the roots they had sown on the path of equality between mechs grow. Megatronus now had just enough people to confront these… disgusting functionalists and demand the respect they deserved, the rights that were taken from them simply for existing in an ‘lower’ caste. And the gladiator was extremely excited by the notion, practically fantasizing about it with dangerous glimmer in his optics that produced in Orion a feeling of unease, as if a dark pall were about to fall upon them the moment they stepped onto the expensive floor of the Council Chamber. For Megatronus, the day he had been waiting for for cycles after raising his gaze towards a path of freedom, had finally arrived. For Orion, they were about to face the step that screamed threat and carried the risk of either winning or losing everything forever. It could end either very well or very, very badly. And Orion kept spiraling towards all the bad possibilities.

“My beloved spark, you can’t ask me not to worry, all I’ve done is worry about you because I’m afraid it won’t turn out as we hope… But especially because I fear that if it doesn't go as we wish, they will retaliate against you and I-" Orion inhales deeply, his optics brimming with tears, telling him a thousand things without speaking. “–and I can do nothing to stop them, to protect you. My love, do not ask me not to watch over you.”

Megatronus's gaze softened in that warm affection that was visible only to him, dedicated only to him. He feels the gentle pressure of a kiss on his helmet—something Orion had to teach him was not a surprise attack, but pure, unadulterated affection—, and he sighs shakily, tightening Megatronus' servos to anchor himself to the present. He is gently squeezed by strong arms, and Orion feels how warm Megatronus is and he tells himself that he is alive, that he is with him, that he is okay, as he does when he cannot prevent nervousness from overwhelming him.

“Forgive me, Megatronus. I didn’t mean to be so negative…”

“No, forgive me, darling. I keep thinking about how exciting it is to do this and I haven’t taken into consideration your concerns. I understand your fears, sweet spark, but I want you to know I won't be alone. We're in this together, aren't we?" He encourages him in a honeyed tone, kissing him again, this time on the cheek. "I will protect you, and you will protect me."

“Hopefully we won’t have to resort to any extreme measures.” He responds with underlying sadness, appreciating the attempt to calm him, but the worry remains. “Megatronus, I want you to promise me something.”

“What is it, my spark?”

“I want you to…” Orion pauses himself uncertainly, he knows in his spark that Megatronus could say ‘yes’ and then throw that overboard in order to achieve his goal. He would say 'yes' to keep Orion happy, but he would find a loophole to exploit, because once Megatronus had a goal, he wouldn't let go until he accomplish it. “I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything drastic unless it’s necessary.”

Megatronus grimaced almost imperceptibly, his field stirring with discontent. "Orion... You know I'll have to take drastic measures if they do not listen. I'm not afraid to confront them."

"But that doesn't mean you have to do it, does it?!" The mech turns up the volume on his vocalizer, feeling overwhelmed immediately, as it crackles with static. “It… It doesn’t have to end in energon, it doesn’t have to escalate to something bloody. Promise me you will prevent that from happening unless it is your last resort, until you have tried all peaceful means. Promise me, Megatronus!”

A heavy silence fills the habsuite as soon as Orion finishes his sentence, and suddenly the atmosphere becomes cold and tense. He feels that he is going to break, that something is about to change into something irremediable, to a place where he cannot reach Megatronus. And that thought alone drives him to cling, distressed and overwhelmed, to his lover's arms, his helmet tilted downwards.

"Please…”

That plea seems enough to snap Megatronus out of his trance.

“Shh, shh, my Orion, my spark, my love.” The gladiator cradles him gently, getting closer than possible and stopping Orion’s trembling. “I promise, I won’t let anything bad happen. I promise.”

The two mechs embrace each other, preparing for the inevitable. Using their remaining kliks until they had to part ways. Whispering the adoration they share.

Senate Council on Iacon, Cybertron.

“...You can’t dismiss us without even considering what I said! Or are you going to ignore everything? Are you going to turn your backs on the voices of the Cybertronians and agree with me? Go ahead, then, do it! Show that you are nothing more than a group of corrupt individuals who take advantage of minorities they label as weak and disposable. That you are scum and rust.” Megatronus roared like nothing he had ever seen or heard before. So vehemently that it seemed as if the walls of the Hall trembled. And with a fearsome fury. Megatronus had that twinkle in his blue optics that gave the vision of being red, the sparkle that foretold the outcome that Orion with all his spark hoped not to have to face.

"You will show respect to the Senate, you insolent mech. Know your place, and if it is said that you are dismissed, you are dismissed and you leave." The voice of one of the Senators reverberated through the Chamber with a tinged repulsion, echoing and causing a tremor in Orion.

Before Megatronus could protest further, Orion found himself speaking.

“However, Senators, Megatronus is right… You need to hear what he has to say, the Cybertronians–” Primus, the Senators were intimidating, and the archivist felt an urge to remain silent, but he didn't. He had to do this for his lover, for both of them, for the effort they had put into getting there. “The lower caste Cybertronians are in unequal conditions to our peers on Iacon. There is no sign of justice when these castes are violated, and the b-blood—excuse me—the blood sport only affects those who have contracts they cannot escape without a high cost… Those most in need of help are silenced, defiled, and ignored.” Orion pauses to glance sideways at Megatronus. “There is a clear privileged exploitation of the upper caste mechs over the most oppressed in our society, as the Pits do. Only a select group of individuals benefit from these, as you call them, spectacles. It's not just about the spectacles, but the difference in the treatment. The rigidity of this system that is supposed to support and protect us. Megatronus believes that we can and should freely choose our path—and so do I.”

The more he displayed the data, the horrors he had witnessed firsthand, what Megatronus had explained to him, the same thing he had investigated about, the more confident his position became and he was surprised to find himself feeling good when he saw that they were paying attention to him. Orion recited in a cautious but firm tone, hoping that Megatronus was feeling proud of him.

“What my companion Megatronus asks is only reasonable. Please think about it.”

When he finished, he was breathing heavily, with palpable relief that his words were being taken into consideration. He felt somewhat hopeful and, more than anything, happy to have been able to say what he and Megatronus thought without stuttering or being scared by the prospect of speaking for himself. Orion was excited to believe that his beloved would look at him with love, with pride, that he would whisper words of encouragement, but when Orion turned to look at him, there was none of that.

He is framed by cold optics and a distant, almost reproachful expression. As if he could no longer recognize Orion. There was anger, there were feelings he never thought he'd see in Megatronus, much less that they were directed at him. His spark flickered in his chassis, his expression shifting from bliss to confusion, to a plea for his beloved to stop looking at him with such contempt and apathy. Orion is not so lucky, and the voice that now seems like a terrifying premonition rises and plagues the silence.

“We have thought about it thoroughly and have come to a conclusion.” The owner of that voice stands up, Orion feels like the ground beneath him is about to collapse and swallow him whole, his audials filter the noise out of the Chamber. “Our decision culminates in the fact that, if this future you speak of with such devotion exists in some way, if justice is something we can achieve; you, Archivist, will now be the guide to that future." There is a weight that slowly settles on the mech's shoulder pads. "From now on, you will seek the Matrix of Leadership, because you are now Optimus Prime. You will unite Cybertron."

That feeling of sinking only grows with the new responsibility, with the weight acquired, with the tiredness and the shock quickly reaching him. With the unbearable feeling of loneliness that his new title brought him. Now he was a guide, a leader… a proclaimed hero by selfish mechs. He didn't want it. He didn't want any of it at all. This was a trap; they were going to break them. Orion would have been happy under his lover's leadership, under his judgment and the daring he himself lacked. Orion Pax… No, ‘Optimus Prime’ was afraid.

“I object! I refuse! You should not be worthy of deciding who the next Prime is. You’re corrupt… Blinded by your own greed. I refuse, and I won’t let this happen!” Beside him, Megatronus bellows with power, with a rage that seems about to consume his blue optics in scarlet flames.

“Megatronus–” Orion tries to approach him with a servo reaching out to touch him, the astonished screams outside the Chamber stunning him.

“Silence, Archivist.” The gladiator cuts him off disdainfully, the cold tone seeping into his processor, making him shudder and his servo freeze. "What do you know about leading and guiding? I've taught you everything. Don't try to get in my way or try to tell me how I should do things. Oh, no." He sneers and flashes a cruel, fang-filled grin, but the joy doesn't reach his optics. "That's over. The Council proclaims you Prime? I defy it!"

“You would do well to surrender, Megatronus! You are not in the Pits of Kaon and you do not own this Chamber. You are not going to modify it to suit your purposes.” The disgust and chaos of the mechs witnessing everything it all is almost enough to drown out the Senator's words, but he manages to get through. "You are deceitful and a disappointment to Cybertron."

“A disappointment, you say?” Megatronus lets out a laugh. “If I am being deceitful by wanting Cybertronians to take control of their lives and do what they want without the oppressive chains of the caste system, If I am a deception for seeking freedom for my Cybertronian brothers and sisters and wanting to fight for them, then I am gladly a Decepticon!” Megatronus howls, and the mechs supporting him shout his name. They shout it so loudly that his designation begins to distort. Megatronus begins to sound more like ‘Megatron’. Orion watches as the revolutionary figure of his twin spark transforms into something grim and unrecognizable. “And you…” Megatron(nus) turns to look at him, O(ptimus)rion freezes in place.

Time stops for both of them, and Orion begs him, his face contorted in a look of unease, to stop, Orion has the expression of a mech with a broken spark, and Megatronus hesitates, hesitates just long enough before regaining the fire that was ready to burn everything to the ground, including them. It is at that instant that Orion knows he has lost any chance of repairing and reconciling with his beloved, that they have been damaged forever.

“You betrayed our ideals, I should have seen it coming. You betrayed me.” There is pain there, there is hatred. "The Chamber calls you Prime? Fine, I refuse to acknowledge you as such, I refuse to acknowledge you as my leader! And I defy you..." Megatron pauses as he approaches a stunned Orion, frozen in place. “I defy you, you who have betrayed everything we built, everything I built!”

Optimus stands still, both from the words spoken and from his own dejection; the spark is constricted in his chassis. He hears the shouts chanting ‘Megatron’, ‘Megatron’, Megatron and he cannot—he cannot distinguish the name of his beloved, he cannot distinguish who it is that they are calling him with such fervor. Orion is buried under a torn Optimus. He had never before felt such profound abandonment. His servo scratches at the place where the spark he thought he would share with that mech resides.

Megatron examines him, searching for something, for a reaction; their bodies vibrate with the chaos surrounding them. And Optimus is unable to give him what he wants, his sapphire optics lock onto Megatron's, and he can only see red. That icy premonition that terrified him came true.

That unknown mech activates the plasma cannon attached to his arm —a perk it had been given for a well-earned victory— and fires at the spark chamber of the Senator who declared him Prime, killing him. Killing outside the arena.

Orion and Megatronus would never be the same again and perhaps... they would never find happiness either.

Planet Earth.

The energon surrounds them in a grim semicircle. They are panting, lacking the initial vitality with which their encounters used to occur. Optimus was tired, he was terribly tired and could no longer be reduced to physical fatigue. Optimus was fucking exhausted because this was just one more battle he'd lost count of, and the warbuild no longer longed to fight. Enough was enough. They had spent four million years hitting each other, pulling out their gears out, destroying each other over and over again.

Optimus was already fed up with the damage. He no longer wanted to hurt him, to hurt anymore, he never wanted to use his sword again. He was supposed to be a leader, a hero, a guiding light for his Autobots, but all he wanted was to disappear.

Despite everything, Megatron wouldn't leave him alone; he wouldn't be satisfied until he saw Optimus humbled before his his feet, weak and defeated. He wouldn't be satisfied until he had worn Optimus down and made him utterly miserable. But Megatron didn't need to do anything to achieve that, Optimus had stopped fighting to survive many cycles ago.

Optimus' misery began when Orion had to die for him to be born, Optimus' misery began when he lost what he loved.

How ironic.

Optimus Prime would have been more than willing to give the Matrix of Leadership to Megatron if he had only asked for it, Optimus Prime would have given him his very spark if it would make Megatron look at him again as if Optimus were the most coveted datapad in the Iacon Archives, he would have given him everything.

But there they were again, just the two of them, with looks that lacked hatred. In a repetitive dance.

“Megatron…” The Autobot’s vocalizer cut off with static, his voice hoarse. “Stop, we don’t have to do this.”

The Warlord sneered wearily, resigned. “Of course we have to do this, Optimus. Don’t be a fool. There will never be a place where we can be allies.”

“We can… We can try.” Optimus lowered his blaster, giving Megatron his thousandth chance to stop, to truly stop. The battle mask unlocks and the youthful face—looking old only because he's spent too much time at war—shows through. Optimus gives him a yearning look, and a tiny, ever-present hope is fixed in his optics hardened by the things he has witnessed, the mech offers him an open servo.

Optimus has forced himself to commit to the role of Autobot hero, a good leader who can make no mistakes, the messiah who would guide the Cybertronians to reclaim their Homeworld, without flaws. A perfect symbol. Facing Megatron, he doesn't have to be that mech, that unattainable figure, because Megatron knows him better than anyone.

It's Megatron's turn to freeze and appear numb to the offer as if it were the first time. He looks with suspicion and uncertainty from his enemy's exposed faceplate to the extended servo.

They have danced this dance countless times, and each time Megatron is stunned as he seems to seriously consider accepting the opportunity to return to his once lover's side. This time, the Decepticon's crimson optics have a glow that, if he didn't recognize it, resembles one Megatronus possessed. A glow he believed he'd never see again.

Then the glow fades, and with it, any hint that there was even the remote possibility of a world where they were linked. And although Optimus fails not to feel disappointed, he cannot allow himself to digest that feeling, because instantly Megatron is upon him and Optimus reacts instinctively.

The proximity leaves only one alternative: Optimus fires his blaster in a matter of nanoclicks and the shot accurately pierces the reinforced chassis, reaching Megatron's spark.

There is a shock brewing in both of them, Optimus stares at Megatron with wide, bulging optics, his ingest, half-open—still visible—in a state of disbelief, likewise Megatron reflects the feeling when energon leaks from his own ingest.

What… What just happened? What did he do? What did he do?

Optimus feels panic wash over him before he even recognizes it as panic. He holds Megatron's suddenly weakened body and... and he doesn't know what to do, frag, he doesn't know what to do. He should call Ratchet and request emergency medical assistance, but, oh, Primus. Oh, Primus, there's too much energon leaking in, his servos are flooded with energon, and Optimus feels like he's reverting to being the naive archivist who was just learning about the horrors of Cybertron.

“Megatron, I didn’t mean…” The Prime is scared and Megatron, bleeding profusely, watches him in amazement. Since Orion was granted that title, he never again faltered in his presence. Megatron's flickering spark shuddered in pain, and he couldn't discern whether it was because he was dying or because the sight of a genuinely terrified Optimus hurt him.

It felt as if they had been returned to the distant life that once belonged to them, Megatron thought that if he was already dying, there was no point in denying what he was forcing himself to forget and forget. He watched in awe as Orion, his Orion, emerged from his hiding place for Megatronus.

“Ah, Orion…” Optimus was struck by this, by the red optics that looked at him with the veneration he assumed he had lost. It infuriates him, anger assails him, and he feels his energon lines boil.

Optimus gets angry because they needed to reach that point for Megatron to drop his stupid facade, he's angry because what he had to do to get Megatron to look at him again was shoot him point-blank, and now... and now Megatron is dying in his arms. There's a knot in his vocalizer. Because Megatronus returned to him and he's losing it for the second time. And this time, this damn time it's his fault. There's no Senate to blame, only the forgotten blaster.

"How dare you do this? Call me that?" He berates him furiously through a static-filled vocalizer, his stoic composure broken and forgotten, his face wrinkled in the most wretched expression possible—even as he tries to suppress it– And Megatron can't do anything about it. He can only stand there and watch. Warnings on his HUD are getting in the way. “We could have… Why did you reject me so many times when we could have…” Optimus interrupts himself, grinding his teeth with such rage that it hurts. “Why did you have to push me into this?”

Megatron laughs, and for the first time in far too long it is not a mocking laugh; he is not feeding off his enemy's suffering. “Optimus, this was meant to—to…” He coughs energon and the lights in his optics seem to flicker. “To happen. It couldn’t end any other way.”

“You are a coward.”

“Indeed. Perhaps I was.”

Megatron sighs, lost and melancholic, Megatron looks as if freedom is finally reaching him. He looks whole and it's absurd to even think that because... because Megatron is going to die, he has a hole in his chassis, why would he be looking whole?

“I will ask you for something, just as you asked me for something eons ago…” Optimus looks as if he's about to cry —he won't, he won't— despite himself, he looks at him attentively, Megatron senses that he doesn't look very well and that he doesn't have much time left. “I want you to hold me until I leave.”

“You’re not going to disconnect, you have so many accounts to settle and—” His first instinct is to lash out. A glance tells him he knows it's not true, that it's inevitable. With no doctors nearby, even if they were called, by the time they arrived, Megatron would already be in permanent stasis.

Optimus clears his throat; the words feel heavy in his gloss. Reluctant, but resigned.

"I can give you that, Megatron." And I could have given you more.

Megatronus was forged from pain and has lived from pain, but he is happy, although it still hurts, to know that his end will not be the same.

He will lose the war, he did not kill the Prime and he failed to turn Cybertron into a utopia, but quite the opposite. His death will cause suffering to the only bot he loves, leaving him alone to clean up his mess, and he doesn't think Optimus will ever get any rest, but Megatron will die happy because he was loved in return. There's a part of him that wants to protest this outcome, but he won't let it win. He supposes he's already done too much damage.

Optimus cradles him in his arms, his scarred lips kissing Megatron's helmet, the energon in their armor. Optimus will not be the same after that, this is the second time Megatron has marked him. Megatron's last thought before disconnecting is to hope that Orion achieves the happiness that he took from him and that Orion briefly returned to him.

Megatron is right, he thinks. They could never have been happy. There is no world where there is both Megatron and Optimus.

Megatron doesn't hear the deep, piercing howl that is ripped from Optimus, the pain fills his spark, feeling Megatron's spark extinguish.