Archive of Our Own ^beta

The loud roar across the cosmos muffled his audials as he dangled from the crumbling carcass of the chaos bringer. Megatron gritted his teeth, feeling his grip of one hand on the ledge growing weaker. The other was grasping the smaller frame that was in danger of being sucked into the spiraling black hole that was the remnants of Unicron’s spark. Optimus Prime clung to Megatron’s hand, optics looking back towards the Decepticon.

“Megatron!” Came the Autobot’s call.

“Hang on!” Megatron shouted back, optics screwed shut as he tried to focus his strength on gripping the ledge. His fingers were practically clawing into the carcass, “Just hang on, Prime!”

“Megatron!” Optimus called again.

This time the Decepticon finally looked back to the Autobot, expecting to find fear in those golden optics. But what he found was ease, sadness, acceptance; Optimus was giving a weary smile towards Megatron, “You can let go.”

Megatron’s optics grew wide, “Prime- what?!” He shook his helm, “No!”

Optimus let his grip on Megatron’s hand go slack, his optics shimmering on the edge of tears, “It’s all right,” his voice was frighteningly calm.

Megatron grimaced, “No Optimus!” He tried to keep a hold of the Autobot’s hand. He gritted his teeth so tight they were on the verge of cracking, “Fraggit— I’m not letting you go!”

“It’s all right, Megatron,” Optimus’ smile was watery, and he ran a gentle thumb over Megatron’s hand. A tear ran down his scuffed face, “Take care of them— take care of Cybertron.”

Optimus let his strength drop, and Megatron lost his grip. The Decepticon watched as the Autobot fell into the abyss, Optimus’ tears leaving a trail as he was consumed by the black hole. Megatron screamed for him, the hole suddenly bursting, and he was consumed by light—-

Megatron shot up in his berth, his frame heaving, condensation running down his cheeks. He felt his spark turn in his chest wildly, and he placed a hand on his chassis in a vain attempt to calm it. He realized when he lifted his servo that he was shaking, and he clenched it quickly into a fist. Primus fraggit, Megatron leaned forward, his helm falling into his hands. He closed his optics, and focused on venting, just like Rung had instructed during their weekly sessions. Just sit there and breathe, nothing else matters right now but the air going through his vents. Little by little, his spark began to calm, the rotation slipping into a healthy cycle. After what felt like hours, but was merely minutes, Megatron finally sighed and flopped back onto the berth.

“That bloody dream again,” he murmured to himself, reaching up to rub at his face. He checked on his chronometer, seeing as it was close to where his alarm would be going off. He cursed, actually wanting some more recharge, but alas, he must greet the day.

Cybertron couldn’t take care of itself.

It’s been ten years since the end of the war, and Cybertron was flourishing. The Autobot and Decepticon treaty was strong and steady, having now incorporated Earth to form an Alliance that seemed to spread across the galaxy. Cybertronian settlements have popped up over Earth, some human settlements on Cybertron, each species coexisting as best as they can. Granted, there were the anti-treaty, pro-separatist that still skulked around in the undergrowth, but they weren’t a threat to Cybertron as much as the war itself was.

Especially after the battle with Unicron.

Unicron was eradicated; the corruption of his spark snuffed out and sucked into the black hole that fateful day about a decade ago. Good riddance, goodbye, and don’t come back. Unfortunately, many Cybertronian lives were lost during that battle, along with chunks of Cybertron itself. Starscream was amongst those casualties, his second in command having proved himself only to be blasted out of existence. It was a fatal blow for the Decepticons, more so for Megatron since their past professional relationship wasn’t exactly healthy. He underestimated the seeker greatly, and it hurt to realize that he was gone. A memorial was made in his honor by the seeker faction in the Decepticons, the Air Commander immortalized at the air base of Decepticon High Command. The Autobots shared in the loss as well, many lives wiped out by the chaos bringer. But one stood out amongst the thousands of Cybertronian lives that were sent to the Well, and it pierced Megatron’s spark the most.

Optimus Prime was dead.

He threw himself to Unicron in order to save Cybertron. The tall statue of him in the middle of Iacon Square is a mark of Cybertron’s appreciation for the sacrifice made by the great leader. To Megatron, however, it was a reminder of those last, horrific moments while clinging to Unicron’s wreckage, watching those golden optics shimmer with tears before fading into the black hole. The Decepticon had been found hours later by rescue crews, his frame a cracked and shattered mess, barely clinging to life. He was taken quickly to the medical bay afterwards, his frame going through a complete overhaul and refitted. His black and purple stealth bomber design was reformatted to a black and gray color scheme with hints of red here and there, his alt form taking on the Cybertronian version of a tank. As he was recovering in the medical bay, he got word that the Matrix was found floating amongst whatever wreckage was left after the black hole dissipated. There was a hope at that moment, funneling in Megatron’s chassis, that perhaps the Matrix would be able to bring the Prime back like it did before. Unfortunately, with no frame to work from, there was no chance of a revival, and the Matrix went dormant.

Megatron’s hopes were dashed out of sight, specifically of what could have been.

It wasn’t common knowledge to the Cybretronian populace, only a few mechs knew the background between the Prime and Warlord. The Warlord was once a gladiator, and the Prime was once a little archivist. They shared a bond, one could say it was teetering on the edge of romance. Megatron had plans, expectations even back in those days when it came to Optimus, or Orion Pax, as he was known back then. He wanted to spark-bond, he wanted Orion as his conjunx. But the Senate, and with it, the Primacy proved to be a cruel one and Orion was soon taken from him. He remembers very vividly the day he met Optimus Prime on the battlefield, his golden optics a dead giveaway. Megatron threw whatever sentiment was left in his cold spark, and dove headfirst into the war effort without mercy. Orion Pax was dead, Optimus Prime had killed him, and Megatron wanted nothing more than to rip out that ancient trinket in the Prime’s chest and crush his spark with his bare claws as punishment for his crime. The war ravaged on, millions of years of malice, revenge, cruelty, and the two leaders could never see eye to eye.

But on that day, when Unicron reared his ugly head, they formed their alliance, and with it came the expectation of joint forces to defeat an ultimate evil. It was difficult at first, despite millions of years of war, the betrayal was still a tender scar on Megatron’s spark. But the days of meeting face to face brought old memories, snark and venom would turn to semi-casual talk, semi-casual turned casual, casual turned personal, and then finally, he found himself sitting in Prime’s office, sharing a glass of highgrade with Optimus. He’ll never forget Prime’s face, out of everything upgraded to a warbuild, it was the only thing that hadn’t changed. Soft and gentle, perhaps a few scuffs and scars from the war but still that tender smile he always remembered from his little archivist. Whether the high grade was to blame, or just plain longing, he wasn’t sure. But on that night, they shared a kiss, and Megatron found that Prime’s lips were still just as soft too. The Decepticon felt some sliver of hope that after the war with Unicron, perhaps they could try again when they came back.

But Optimus wasn’t coming back. And Megatron was left with the memory of his last moments with the Prime.

That memory quickly turned into dreams, however those dreams felt more like nightmares. Recharging was difficult for Megatron to achieve most nights, Optimus’ sad smile and tears a recurring image in his processor, driving his spark into overdrive every time he would lose the Prime’s grip. It became an issue when they were in the midst of rebuilding Cybertron, Megatron falling asleep at the table and waking up in a panic, or the tremor that would wrack his hand every now and then. He was urged by Soundwave to seek out a psychiatrist, despite Megatron’s misgivings about the art of psychology as a whole. Nevermind that the Decepticon didn’t want to be seen as weak or vulnerable, but having someone needle their way through your processor was something he rather not deal with. Soundwave won out in the end, as he always does, and Megatron found himself at the office of Rung every week where he opened up his mind to the therapist.

Survivors guilt seemed to be a factor, however, Unicron’s mental torture that Megatron had endured briefly during the battle took over a major part of his mind. He recalls the fantasy of winning over the Autobots, the Decepticons taking over Cybertron and Megatron sitting triumphantly on his throne. But it quickly turned on him, the fantasy twisting into a torturous pit. He was thrown back into the days of the Senate, the Autobot scientists strapping him to a table and fiddling around with his processor. He could feel their fingers pull at his mind, his processor stretching and tearing, until he molded into a hollow, drooling shell. What the functionalist wanted from the beginning, conformation at its finest. Megatron couldn’t fight back, his face emotionless yet he screamed within his mind. Optimus had pulled him out of the nightmare, painfully ripping Unicron’s techno-organic-like tentacles from his frame. It may have been brief, but Megatron still had moments where he questioned whether or not he was in reality. Rung would always make it clear that he was out of Unicron’s torturous gullet, guiding Megatron into using resources so he could ground himself during moments of anxiety induced panic. Cue breathing exercises and the occasional EMDR session; the therapy helped when it came to work. Keeping a level head while balancing the reconstruction of your planet was a much needed tool. And as the days went on, Cybertron thrived. But Megatron’s dreams persisted.

“Bloody hell, you all are persistent today,” the Decepticon grumbled as he wiped down his armor, getting ready for the day. His HUD was being flooded with messages, both Autobot and Decepticon. He could see the little red tag of each message, signaling that they were ‘urgent’. But what the frag was so urgent? They weren’t being attacked, Megatron would know first hand if they were, especially with the intelligence network they’ve set up.

The messages kept coming; several from Rodimus, from Jetfire, from Soundwave, from Ultra Magnus, even Prowl— Megatron growled, tapping at the latest message that was coming in from BlitzWing, “What is it?!” He barked.

“Apologies, my lord,” came the frazzled reply from the Decepticon subordinate, “But we’ve been detecting an energy signature that I think you should look at?”

Megatron frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “All of this noise for a single energy signature?”

“Well, my lord, it’s not an ordinary signature,” BlitzWing said carefully, “It appears to match that of Unicron, sir.”

The line went very silent.

____________________________________________________________________

Unicron’s head was floating in space. A full scale battle, lots of explosions, firepower, fusion cannons, and even a spiraling, gluttonous black hole, and the fragging bastard’s head still made it out.

The scouting crew that was sent to investigate was currently sending back the video feed of the chaos bringer’s rotting noggin that was floating nonchalantly in space. Members of Autobot and Decepticon high command were all seated in a conference room, watching the live feed. Megatron was sitting towards the back, Soundwave standing by his side while the current Autobot Commander, Rodimus, was sitting opposite to the Decepticon lord. The Decepticon was focusing on the screen, finger to his mouth, optics trained on Unicron’s head. If he focused hard enough, perhaps he could make it explode.

“You’re joking,” Jetfire gaped.

“Obviously they aren’t,” Prowl grumbled, “As much as I wish they were.”

“It’s just his head though, right?” Jetfire looked back, searching around the room. “His head can’t just be emitting an energy signature— I mean he’s got no spark left!”

“Considering the chemical makeup of the samples we collected of his armor,” Shockwave chimed in, “It just might be possible.”

Jetfire slumped back into his chair, “So what’s the plan?” He motioned with his hand to the audience, “Besides the obvious?”

“Jetfire: Define ‘obvious’?” Soundwave turned to the Autobot Second in Command.

“We blow it up,” Prowl answered flatly.

Shockwave’s optic seemed to almost convey a frown, “Simple explosives might not work,” he leaned forward to get a closer look at the screen of the live footage. He pointed a finger towards the screen, “Its armor is mostly techno-organic, even taking it apart, the pieces could think individually. We would have to be more invasive about its destruction.”

Jetfire frowned behind his mask, turning to the two leaders that sat near the back, “Rodimus, Megatron— it's your call.”

Rodimus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, “I think Shockwave has the right idea, we do a clean sweep so we make sure there’s nothing left of him.” He looked towards the Decepticon leader, “Megatron?”

Megatron breathed, sitting straighter in his seat, “Agreed.” His optics glanced around the room, “We organize a task force for Unicron’s extermination.”

“Then it's settled,” Rodimus tapped his hand on the table before moving to stand up. “Prowl and I will start coordinating our approach. Jetfire, I want you to lead the team that’ll be handling the extermination—“

“I’ll go,” Megatron unexpectedly chimed in.

There was a pause, Rodimus looking back at the Decepticon with concern. Soundwave, despite famously known to keep his emotions in check, was also portraying a mixture of shock and concern through his red visor towards his leader. He exchanged a look with Rodimus for a moment, the Autobot Commander only shrugging in reply. It was no secret about Megatron’s issues after the battle of Unicron, most of High Command had their own trauma to work with, especially after the war. But Unicron played a huge part in Megatron’s injuries, both physically and mentally, and there was caution amongst the High Command ranks when even mentioning the chaos bringer. The intelligence commander leaned down towards Megatron, keeping his voice low, “Megatron: Is sure he wants to accompany the mission?”

Megatron turned to his subordinate, “Yes, Soundwave,” he sighed, “I appreciate the concern, but I am far from fragile.”

“Affirmative,” came Soundwave’s reply, “Soundwave: accompany Megatron?”

The Decepticon shook his helm, “No, I need you here on Cybertron.”

“Megatron: will be facing Unicron again,” Soundwave’s monotone voice held a hint of concern.

Megatron leaned forward, looking closer at the screen as the footage fizzled here and there, “I know.” His optics were practically glowing, narrowed into a fiery gaze towards the floating head, a snarl creeping up his face, “But I want to personally make sure that Unicron is reduced to dust.”

____________________________________________________________________

Unicron’s head was much more disgusting up close.

It’s said that there’s no scent in space, but Megatron could’ve sworn he smelled the rot of the chaos bringer’s corpse when the ship was on approach. Megatron — along with Jetfire, the Autobot CMO Ratchet, and a hefty crew of Autobot and Decepticon soldiers— were designated an A-Class Dreadnought Warship deemed The SteelHaven when finally taking the trip to space. Some would say it was overkill, but the High Command wasn’t taking any chances, especially when dealing with Unicron. They reached their destination in a matter of hours thanks to the space bridge, the ship popping out the gate right in front of Unicron’s floating noggin.

Jetfire called for the infiltration team, on which Megatron was dead set on going. With the crew armed, the explosives packed, and the detonators remote signal waiting for the green light, they were ready to go.

So they descended into the chaos bringer’s slacked-jaw, gaping maw.

The teams split up into ten groups, all of which set up explosives in designated areas of Unicron’s head. The Inside of Unicron’s head was much worse than the exterior, the walls of techno-organic flesh dripping and peeling away, floating around in the zero gravity chambers of goo and muck. Megatron thanked whoever above that he couldn’t smell anything right now, otherwise he’d be close to gagging. He set a detonator down into a spot amongst the muck, then moved on to the next position. Ratchet was set with his team; being the CMO of the SteelHaven meant that he’d have access to the crews’ medical files. Of course, Megatron’s file stood out amongst the rest, so the medic was taking extra caution by volunteering to be on the Decepticon’s team. Either that, or Soundwave was bribing him to babysit Megatron. He wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.

Megatron wrinkled his nose after setting the next explosive, some of the goo sliding onto his dark fingers. He wrung out his hand, “Eck!” Though while trying to get the goo off, he stepped back and his foot landed into a deeper puddle of muck. His face twisted in disgust, “Why the bloody hell did I come out here again?”

“Because revenge,” Ratchet’s voice echoed across the chamber, the medic currently setting down another explosive.

The Decepticon rolled his optics, moving to set another device.

“And you have anger issues.”

“Thank you, Ratchet,” Megatron grumbled, stepping around the grime, “That’ll be all.”

“Hey, you asked,” the medic shrugged.

The Decepticon shook his helm, taking another step against the slimy ground. When his foot hit the surface, it crumbled, the goo spilling down into a dark hole, pulling Megatron with it. He yelped, his voice echoing as he fell through the hole, and he tried to grab a ledge. But it was too wet, his fingers slipped right through the mess, and he reserved himself to his fate of falling into whatever gross casym awaited him. He slid down a corridor before finally landing in a heap, decay and slime splashing around him.

“Megatron!?” Ratchet called for him, voice echoing from up the tunnel.

Megatron groaned, feeling the slime drip from his frame and face. He grimaced, almost gagging, he was so going to be soaking in a very hot shower after this. He got up on one knee, taking a moment to gather his bearings while checking his systems. His HUD wasn’t flashing any warning signs, so at least he wasn’t damaged.

“Megatron?!” Came Ratchet’s call again, “Are you all right?!”

“I’m fine!” Megatron growled out, finally standing up from the puddle of decay. He wrung out his hands, making vain attempts to get the slime off of him. It was futile, and Megatron cursed under his breath, “Fragging hell.”

“Is there any way you could get back up?” A light was beaming from up the tunnel path where Megatron slid from. No doubt Ratchet shining his lights in search of the Decepticon leader.

Megatron glanced around, spotting the tunnel entrance and peering up. It didn’t seem difficult, if anything he could just use his thrusters to get himself back topside. “Yes, I think so,” he studied the slimy walls, “Hopefully there isn’t any of this mess in my thrusters.”

“I’m sending down a line, just in case,” Ratchet shouted back, “Keep an optic out!”

The Decepticon nodded, “Right,” he sighed. Megatron sat back against the wall, forgetting for a moment that it was covered in slime before physically cringing and stumbling back again. He cursed more under his breath, trying to get it off his armor, flinging his arms about when something caught his eye. A sliver of blue was situated amongst the walls of the brown, yellow, and greens of decay. It was very out of place, so it piqued Megatron’s curiosity.

The Decepticon stepped forward to the wall, optics glowing in the dim light of the room. He leaned in towards the blue object, his optics narrowing as he studied it. The blue object was angular, almost like a digit of an appendage. Megatron blinked, deciding to turn on his helm lights to get a better look. With more light, he was given a close glance at the object, and his optics grew wide.

“It’s a hand,” though his voice was low, it still echoed around the chamber. A poor soul that never made it out of Unicron during the battle?

The blue hand hung from the wall, and Megatron followed up the appendage, finding that it was attached to an arm, the arm attached to the shoulder which was attached to a torso. Megatron’s lights fell upon the helm of the poor frame that hung from the wall, studying the blue armor with hints of yellow. The helm had finials, ones that he was very familiar with. Megatron’s optics grew wide, the tremor starting to vibrate in his hand.

He swallowed thickly, voice low and hesitant, “Optimus?”

It was Optimus Prime embedded into the wall of Unicron’s corpse.

His frame was hanging like a marionette doll from its strings, dead weight. Megatron took another step forward, his optics falling onto the Prime’s face. Optimus looked as if he were asleep, his face soft and without a crease, however a nasty scar on his left cheek was the only affliction. Megatron reached out his trembling hand, “Optimus,” his fingers softly caressed along the Prime’s face. It felt cool to the touch, but not as cold as the decay that surrounded them.

Primus, how did he get here? Megatron looked over the Prime’s frame, noting how Optimus’ armor seemed to have almost melted along with the wall. His red optics looked back to the Autobot’s face, noting the blank expression amongst dark optics. Megatron couldn’t help but wonder if the Prime had been alive for a time after he fell. Had he suffered? Did Unicron torture him into death? Was Optimus his last meal in a desperate attempt to stay alive? Did Optimus scream for help? Did he call out for his friends? His Autobots?

Did you call out for me? Megatron’s optics bore into the face of the Prime.

His fingers lightly traced the soft, blue face, “Optimus,” he whispered out the name again. He gritted his teeth, “Prime,” he breathed, “You didn’t deserve this fate.” Megatron’s hands curled, clenching next to Optimus’ face. He hung his helm, “You didn’t deserve any of this,” he growled, “If you didn’t have to be such a heroic fool, I—“

A ping sounded in Megatron’s HUD, and the Decepticon was quickly flooded with notifications. Windows of Energy readings began to flood his vision, circuit systems, hydraulics, all indicating that he was face to face with another living organism. Megatron looked on, confused, though a final window popped up in his HUD. An energy signature indicating a Spark reading that was situated right in front of him. Megatron’s helm shot up, his clench fist quickly reaching down to search over the Prime’s chassis. His fingers slid over the melted frame, finally stopping where the spark housing would be located. Upon landing his hand onto the right spot, he felt the light thump of a spark beat.

He was alive. Optimus Prime was alive.

Megatron fumbled in his spot for a moment before looking back at the tunnel. He stumbled across the mess of decay, sliding into the entrance, “Ratchet!”

____________________________________________________________________

The energy scalpel sliced through the melted metal flesh of the wall, light smoke emanating from the burnt substances. Megatron had his hands up, holding the limp figure hanging from the wall, most of Optimus’ torso already free from its decaying prison.

When Ratchet had been called, it didn’t take the medic long to sprint down the tunnel, having instructed the team above to set up a tow line. He arrived at the Decepticon, expecting the worst until his optics fell on the Prime’s frame attached to the wall. Megatron saw the shock roll over the medic’s blue optics, noting a hint of fear and sadness towards the fallen Prime. However, the second that Megatron mentioned that he could detect a spark beat, Ratchet was immediately jumping into action to assess the situation. A thorough scan from the medic revealed that Optimus’ outer frame was indeed melted into the wall, but his protoform was independent from the housing. Ratchet’s plan was to simply cut Optimus out of the wall, the difficulty was making sure not to hit any vital components while doing so. Ratchet called on a few more medical personnel to make their way towards their current location with the necessary tools and equipment, readying the Prime for transport when he was finally free. Unfortunately, the equipment was currently topside, unable to fit through the slimy tunnel and into the chamber where Ratchet and Megatron sat. So Megatron found himself unwillingly playing nurse/assistant to the CMO.

“Make sure to keep him steady-- don’t move fraggit! You almost made me slice his arm off!” the medic continued his grumbling.

Megatron refrained himself to keep his mouth shut; despite his short fuse for the snark, there were more important things at hand. He looked up to Optimus, finding the Prime still having not stirred since Ratchet first began to cut into his armor. The medic theorized that since his protoform was detached from the casing, the Prime possibly couldn’t feel any pain. The Decepticon could only hope it was true, considering he was now holding onto the upper half of Prime’s torso, he didn’t want to risk the Autobot waking up and injuring himself further.

“Just about there,” Ratchet informed, scalpel slicing through the armor of Prime’s left leg.

Something shifted from Optimus, and Ratchet and Megatron went very still..

Ratchet blinked, pausing, “Uh…”

Before any words were shared, the Prime slipped from the wall, the Decepticon almost stumbling to catch him. Optimus slid into Megatron’s grasp, energon and ooze dripping from his frame. The Decepticon fell back on his aft, arms surrounding the smaller form and cradling him gently. Megatron shook off the initial shock, optics looking down at the frame in his arms, “Primus,” he whispered, “He’s...so small.”

Ratchet scooted over to kneel by the Decepticon, performing a quick scan. The medic frowned, “Most likely due to the Matrix’s absence.”

Megatron looked quizzically towards the medic, and Ratchet sighed, “When Optimus took the Matrix, it upgraded his frame. Pretty standard when a mech is chosen as a Prime.” He motioned towards the Prime, “What you’re looking at is Optimus’ civilian frame.”

Orion. Megatron felt the pang in his spark, turning back the smaller body in his arms.

It’s Orion, he hid the smile that was threatening to make itself known, My little Orion.

He noted again the softness of Optimus’ features, how his finials seemed to sit perfectly on his helm. His helm didn’t seem to change much, but the rest of him did, his protoform small enough to fit easily against the Decepticon’s chest.

Megatron smirked, “He’s quite short for a Prime.”

Ratchet snickered, “Don’t tell him that--”

“Mm…” Megatron and Ratchet froze, attention immediately flying to the Prime’s face.

Optimus’ expression was stirring, a light grimace crawling over his features. The smaller Prime’s helm shifted, optics flickering faintly, “Mmm…”

Megatron looked on, hopeful, “Optimus?!”

Said Autobot seemed to respond to his name, his helm bobbing slightly towards the Decepticon. His flickering optics turned to a dim golden glow, searching, “Ah…”

“Prime?” Ratchet tried to look at the Autobot in the optics.

“Optimus?” Megatron called again, though his voice dropped, “Orion?” He calmly spoke towards the smaller mech, “Can you hear me?”

Optimus’ gaze finally fell in Megatron’s direction, optics dimly looking up to the silver face above. His helm swayed a bit, as if he was drunkenly trying to focus, “Meg…” he slurred out. A trembling blue hand reached out, Optimus’ focus solely on the Decepticon. The Prime almost looked curious, “Mega--tron?” shaky, blue fingers lightly traced over silver sny-flesh.

Megatron caught Optimus’ hand, gently holding it in his grasp. His red optics were soft towards the Autobot, a faint smile on his features. He swallowed thickly, “Yes,” he kept his voice low, so as not to startle the Autobot, “Yes it's me, Prime.”

Optimus held his gaze for a few more, precious moments, the Autobot attempting to speak again. But the fatigue grew too great, and the Prime fell back into the darkness of unconsciousness. The hand in Megatron’s grasp went limp, yet the Decepticon refused to let it go.

Ratchet frowned, “We need to get him out of here,” he stood up from the decaying floor. He began to fiddle around in his subspace, pulling out a berth covering.

Megatron was still on his knees, optics trained on the sleeping face that nestled against his chassis. He tightened his grip ever so slightly around the limp, blue hand in his grasp for a moment longer, holding the Prime close. He sighed, then turned his helm to the medic, nodding, “Right.”

He stood up from the floor, keeping Optimus close as he followed Ratchet towards the tunnel entrance. Megatron held onto the Autobot securely, almost protectively, wanting to shield him from any more harm.

He quietly followed the medic, carrying Optimus away from Unicron’s nightmare.

____________________________________________________________________________

The ship was all a buzz when the word got out that Optimus Prime was back from the dead.

Ratchet had to practically bark orders to “Move the frag out of the way!” at the growing crowd that was making an attempt to squeeze through the medical bay corridors. Security was set up by the doors to make sure that no one would sneak in, though the murmurs and searching gazes from the curious crew could be seen down the hall from the Medical Bay entrance.

Megatron stood in the overhead balcony that looked over the intensive care center of the medical bay. His arms were crossed over his chest, the grime and decay still plastered on his armor. He hadn’t bothered to take a wash, in fact the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind the minute Optimus came into the picture. Megatron watches Ratchet, along with the medic’s assistants, as they begin to carefully yet skillfully work on the Prime’s frame. Optimus was already conked out, but for good measure, it appeared that Ratchet added in a sedative. Whatever it took for Optimus to be comfortable, Megatron didn’t object.

The door to the balcony opened, and a weary Jetfire stepped in, “Fragging’ Primus.” He garnered the Decepticon’s attention, “It’s like a zoo out there,” the Autobot Second in Command stopped by Megatron’s side, “Could barely get through the door.”

Megatron smirked, “Had to fight off your groupies now, did you?”

Jetfire looked over towards the Decepticon, flatly, “Har har.” He rolled his optics, turning his attention to the medical bay down below. His yellow optics fell on the small, limp form laying on the operating table, Ratchet and his assistants toiling away to ensure the Autobot’s survival. Jetfire’ s optics softened, “Is he all right?”

Megatron shook his head, “We’re not sure,” his red optics were glued to the Prime. He frowned, “His sparkbeat was very weak when I found him,” his gaze never faltered, “And he could barely speak once we cut him out of the wall.”

“So it wasn’t just a rumor then?” The Autobot Second in Command glanced over to the Decepticon, surprised, “He really was attached to Unicron?”

Megatron nodded, “The fragger was feeding off him, no doubt.” He sneered, fists clenching against his armor, “Like a bloody parasite.” He took a deep breath, engine slightly revving, “How long till all the explosives are in place?”

“We got another few days,” Jetfire eyed the Decepticon warily, “Fragger’s head is bigger than we expected.”

Megatron let out a small chuckle, sparing the Autobot Second in Command a glance, “Even in death, the mighty Chaos Bringer proves to be a difficulty.” He sighed, his chuckle falling into a frown, “How incredibly irritating.” His red optics fell back to the smaller frame down in the care center, the Decepticon’s shoulders relaxing slightly. A brief silence occupied the two Commanding officers, only the muffled sounds of the medics working down below seemed to ring around the room. Megatron couldn’t turn away from Optimus’ face, the Autobot deep in recharge, peacefully unaware of the bustling and complicated world surrounding him.

Once the Prime awakens, he’ll have a whole new galaxy facing him. The war is over, Cybertron is at peace, he could visit Earth and walk around freely without fear of the humans trying to destroy him. It was a calmer, more welcoming world to wake up to, albeit a whole decade later from when the Prime possibly went under. No more tactical meetings, or worrying about energon supplies, or the safety of their soldiers' lives anymore; it was all at peace. It was still something new, something better than before…right?

Megatron frowned, processor going back to that day when they came face-to-face with Sideways, or Unicron himself. When he spoke, it was specifically towards Optimus, the chaos bringer narrowing his pink optics through the frame he used as a puppet, almost smug.

“You can never have peace, Optimus. You love the thrill of war.”

Optimus never responded, he just stood quietly, optics narrowed into a piercing gold gaze as Unicron mocked him with truths. He could’ve defended his position, could’ve said anything in return, but he didn’t. Optimus remained silent, but it spoke volumes.

The Decepticon grounded his jaw, red optics looking towards the smaller Autobot once again, his gaze falling heavy with concern. There was peacetime for Cybertron, but would Optimus actually welcome it?

Megatron frowned, “He’ll need to adjust once he wakes up.”

Jetfire blinked, looking towards the Decepticon once more, “What do you mean?”

“Optimus has been through nothing but war,” Megatron turned to glance over towards the shuttle. His red optics softened a bit, “He’ll need some time to adjust to peace.”

The shuttle frowned behind his mask, turning back to the care center. He sighed, “Yeah,” his helm fell a bit, thinking for a moment before turning back to Megatron. Jetfire smirked behind his mask, “But this is Optimus, right?” He shrugged, “He’ll be okay.”

Megatron frowned, unimpressed by the shuttle’s bright outlook, “How can you be sure about that?”

“I’m not,” Jetfire groaned, hands settling on his hips. He leaned over towards Megatron, “But what I am sure about,” he kept his voice low, completely serious, “is that you really smell, Megatron.”

“Frag you!” Megatron growled out, frame bristling.

“I’m being serious, you really stink! You got Unicron guts all over you!”

“I’ve been preoccupied!”

“I get that. Really. I do,” Jetfire leaned back, readying to avoid a punch. “But please. Megsy. Sweety, for all our sakes— go take a wash.”

Megatron threw out a claw, missing Jetfire by a few seconds before the shuttle hightailed it out the door.

____________________________________________________________________

Optimus hadn’t woken up yet.

It had been a few days, and the infiltration team was on the cusp of wrapping up their mission. Megatron had been out to help of course, leading a new team to a new level of Unicron’s head each day. Ratchet had decided to stay behind to keep an eye on Optimus, the medic stating that the Prime was out of danger but was going to require a lot of rest for his recovery. After that first initial day where Ratchet and his assistants finished working on Optimus, they discovered that the Prime had some interior damage to his protoform. Thankfully it was all contained in one spot, however the spot in question was Optimus’ right hip joint. Ratchet theorized that the joint must’ve been injured sometime after Prime fell, there was shrapnel littering his leg, the worst of it cutting into the sensitive wires and circuits of his hip. Unfortunately, the Prime would require a cane when walking.

Megatron asked if there was any way to fix it, but the medic only shook his head, “The damage is so scattered around his hip, we would have to replace the entire leg of his protoform. It would be very dangerous, and considering Prime’s current state, I don’t want to risk it.” The Decepticon left it at that. He made a mental note to consult KnockOut or Hook later for a second opinion. But for now, whenever the Prime wakes, he would have to settle for a cane.

Megatron groaned, stepping out of his private washrack of his suite. He grabbed a nearby cloth, the hot steam from the shower permeating the air. He just arrived from setting up more explosives, his shift ending (again) in grime, goo, and decay. Just another day or two and then they would be able to flip the switch on the fragger. Boom! Unicron turned into space dust bunnies. Megatron sighed, Primus he was looking forward to that day. At the present moment, he was going to pay the Prime a daily visit.

After each day, Megatron would have a wash, then make his way to the Medical Bay to check on the Prime’s status. Whenever he would arrive, Ratchet would be either running tests, working at his desk, or attending to other patients. Megatron would spare the medic a nod before making his way towards the private room where Optimus was staying. And thus, he would take a seat by the Prime, and either try speaking to him, or sit in silence, pondering his thoughts while watching the Autobot recharge.

Jetfire made a joke that he was “creeping” on the slumbering Prime, of which Megatron would just roll his optics and wave it off. Of course, Megatron won’t deny that it very much appeared that he was obsessively watching the Prime sleep, however, that wasn’t the case. If anything, he was standing guard of the Prime; ever since Optimus was allowed visitors, Megatron felt this pull to make sure that the Autobot was safe. Optimus had given ten years of his life for the sake of Cybertron, Megatron would be damned if he would let anything happen to the Prime now. That, and his nightmares persisted; despite the fact he’d seen Optimus face-to-face, seen him take a breath for the first time in ages, Megatron still woke up in a cold sweat every night. There were moments when the Decepticon felt it wasn’t real, that it was all a dream and he was still in the bowels of Unicron, his spark being drained by the dark god. But seeing Optimus there, laying in the berth with a peaceful expression on his soft, blue face, would always help him realize that he was, in fact, alive and well.

Megatron stepped through the sliding doors of the Medical Bay, noting the emptiness of the corridor at this time of day. He quirked an optic ridge, glancing around, “Ratchet?”

A crash echoed from down the hall, and the Decepticon stepped faster towards the source of the sound. He turned the corner, just in time to witness a vial fly through the air and collide with a nearby wall. “What the bloody hell?” Megatron cursed under his breath, optics searching around. He paused the second he found what he was looking for.

The medical bay was a disaster; vials and tubes in pieces on the floor, tables flipped on their sides, tools scattered everywhere, and fluids pooling around fallen machines. Ratchet and Jetfire were currently crowding near a corner, their stances defensive, and the medical assistants hiding behind them, holding syringes full of green fluids. Before Megatron could ask what had happened, he heard a cry from the very corner that Jetfire and Ratchet surrounded. He stepped forward to take a closer look, pushing past the assistants and stopping just behind Jetfire. The Decepticon followed the Autobots’ line of sight, from across the fluid and glass covered floor to the corner where a trembling form sat.

Optimus sat in the corner, his frame huddled against the wall. His good leg was hugged against his chest while the other sat extended on the floor. His frame was still an exposed protoform, but the wires and tubes that kept him connected to the life support machines were now hanging off various regions of his body. In his shaking hand was a scalpel, held out towards the Autobots surrounding him. His golden optics were narrowed, his expression fearful as he sat on the cold floor. He was breathing heavily, “S-Stay away from me…”

Megatron blinked, optics wide, “Optimus?” He attempted to step forward, but Jetfire held out his arm, stopping the Decepticon. “What is going on?” Megatron growled, his voice demanding.

“He woke up an hour ago,” Jetfire sounded tired, the shuttle glancing over to Megatron. “I came in to see how he was doing and he just— woke up screaming,” he flew up his hands. The Autobot Second in Command turned back to the Prime situated in the corner, “He’s been giving us a hard time ever since.”

“He doesn’t recognize you?” Megatron frowned, looking towards the shuttle.

“Seems so,” Ratchet chimed in, “He thinks we’re a threat. He’s already injured a few of my assistants.”

“Well, have you tried talking to him?” Megatron motioned towards the Prime.

“We’ve tried,” Jetfire sighed, frame sagging just a tad, “He won’t let us near him.”

“We need to get him sedated,” Ratchet huffed, “He’s a danger to himself and us if we don’t get him under control.”

Megatron blinked, helm turning back to the smaller frame in the corner. Optimus was trying to curl in on himself but still being on the defensive, his extended arm shaking with the scalpel. He looked so desperate, his optics slightly dim and glassy, the trembling in his form no doubt a sure sign of his exhaustion. His frame was heaving with air, his EM field practically screaming with fear so much, Megatron could feel it from his spot a few feet away. “Stay away f-from me…” Optimus spoke again, “Y-You can’t have me. N-not again…”

“Not again Unicron!”

Megatron’s helm perked up, his audials zeroing in on those last few words. The Prime had been in stasis for over a decade, held prisoner in the head of a dying god, and being used as a last line of life support for said god. Unicron was capable of creating all sorts of illusions once his tendrils got a hold of you, making you experience either your happiest dreams, or your most chilling nightmares. There was no doubt that Optimus was subjected to such torture; being pushed through a sequence only to have it turn on him, fighting against Primus knows what.

Megatron’s optics softened, his features falling to ease, He doesn’t know that any of this is real.

He glanced around, seeing Ratchet ready with a syringe, seeing Jetfire set to make a tackle, and the assistants all standing by either looking uneasy or determined. They all seemed ready for a hunt, cornering an animal before throwing the final arrow to its heart. And Optimus was the unwilling animal, acting out as expected; in fear.

Megatron took a step forward, Jetfire reaching out for him, “Megatron, wait—“

The Decepticon just waved him off, his optics focused on the smaller form huddled in the corner. He held up his hands, “Optimus?”

The scalpel immediately darted in Megatron’s direction, the smaller Autobot shivering, optics wide, “Get b-back!”

Megatron didn’t flinch, keeping his hands up, “Optimus,” he called again, “It’s all right.”

The Decepticon took another step forward, causing Optimus to scoot back further, trying to become one with the wall. “N-No— NO!” He waved the scalpel around, arm shaking as he did so.

“Shh,” Megatron took one more step before stopping, then very slowly got down on one knee. Keeping one hand up, he reached out calmly, “It’s all right, Optimus,” he said, voice gentle, “It’s all right. No one is going to harm you.”

Jetfire and Ratchet watched, along with the assistants. All optics portrayed a mixture of awe and fear as they watched the Decepticon warlord.

“Stay away from me,” Optimus’ voice was dropping into a plea, arm still stretched out with scalpel in hand. He breathed, on the verge of sobbing, “S-Stay away from me, please,” he shuddered, “I can’t— not again—I—“

“It’s all right,” Megatron said once again, his reaching hand almost hovering over Optimus’ grip of the scalpel.

Despite the careful movements, it was still enough for Optimus to react, and the smaller Autobot lashed out with the scalpel. The blade stabbed into Megatron’s outstretched forearm, but the Decepticon bit back the growl of pain that threatened to spill from his throat. He only winced, gritting his teeth for just a slight moment before turning back to Optimus. The Autobot was staring towards the Decepticon, golden optics wide with shock. His hand was still gripping the scalpel, the blade managing to break through Megatron’s armor, allowing a few drops of energon to spill to the floor.

The Prime watched the energon drip, disbelief still lingering in his face. Golden optics looked back to the Decepticon, and Megatron managed a gentle smile, “I’m not going to fight you,” he said quietly.

Megatron’s other hand came around, carefully grasping onto the smaller one holding the scalpel. The Decepticon leaned forward towards the Autobot, looking him deep into the optics. He was calm, “You’re not there anymore, Optimus. Unicron is dead,” he said quietly, “This is real.” He pulled his hand away from Optimus’ hand, and reached out to the Autobot’s face. Large fingers caressed the shivering blue helm, “I’m real, Orion.”

Golden optics shimmered, “M-Megatron?”

The Decepticon offered a smile, nodding slightly.

Optimus’ vents began to calm, deep breaths rising and falling from his chassis. He swayed slightly, “You’re…” he breathed again, this time with a wobbly smile on his face. Golden optics flickered, and Optimus’ frame fell forwards. Megatron was ready this time around, catching the Prime with ease, holding him carefully in his arms. The scalpel fell from his forearm, but the Decepticon paid it no mind, his attention solely on the Autobot in his grasp. Megatron caught the sleepy gaze of the Prime, Optimus laying his helm against the Decepticon’s chassis. “Megatron…” he spoke weakly, the Decepticon’s name almost like a mantra.

“I’m here,” Megatron didn’t dare to move, eyes locked with Prime’s, “I’m here, Orion.”

The Prime gave a small smile, “You l-look so…” he breathed, “So different.”

Megatron could only smirk, “Needed an upgrade.”

Optimus was turning his face into the Decepticon’s warmth, “So different…” his optics were fading, fatigue taking over, “Real…” The Autobot fell back into the deep recharge, frame limp in the Decepticon’s arms.

Megatron let the smile fall, but held Optimus close as he stood up from the floor. “Yes, Orion,” he whispered, turning around to meet Ratchet and Jetfire, the medic and his assistants readying their tools for the slumbering Autobot.

“I’m real.”

____________________________________________________________________

Unicron was scheduled for demolition in two days.

Megatron just got the news from Jetfire, the shuttle having taken over most of the Decepticon’s operation. Not that Megatron minded brushing off some responsibilities, it was just that he couldn’t attend to said responsibilities at the present moment.

Ever since the incident in the medical bay, Megatron was asked (more like begged) to be present at Optimus’ side the next time the Autobot woke up. Jetfire and Ratchet wanted to avoid another whirlwind of anxiety inducing drama, and feared for Optimus’ mental stability. Seeing how the Prime reacted to Megatron’s presence, it was obvious that the Autobot was more comfortable around the Decepticon. Why? They weren’t sure, not even Megatron. But if it kept Optimus calm and away from sharp, life-threatening objects, then the Autobots would take it.

So the Decepticon found himself sitting by Optimus’ side as the Autobot slept. It’s been only a few days since the Prime awoke the first time, though he hasn’t stirred since. Ratchet took it as a blessing, considering the overhaul the medical bay had to go through due to all the damage from the Prime’s panicked rampage. However, the CMO was taking every precaution to ensure that there wasn’t going to be a repeat of the previous events. Guards were now posted at the medical bay entrance, and at the door of the Prime’s room. They weren’t armed, but they would provide enough muscle to keep the Autobot down if things got out of hand again.

As for now, Optimus slept.

Megatron had been coming by the past few days, bringing whatever work material he had on hand to pass the time while sitting by the Prime’s berth. Silence always met the Decepticon whenever he would step through the door, greeted with the sight of the Prime slumbering away on the medical berth, covered in a heavy thermal blanket. Optimus’ protoform was still exposed, so he was more vulnerable to the temperatures. He won’t be able to be refitted with new armor until they return to Cybertron. Megatron would have to adjust the thermal every now and then, considering Optimus would either twitch or turn over occasionally. The Decepticon would smirk at times when tucking the Prime back in, finding that Optimus’ smaller stature to be utterly amusing. Besides the trademark blue and gold, Optimus’ helm didn’t seem to have changed that much in the downgrade. However, his audial fins appeared to have gotten a tad larger. Megatron got a good chuckle whenever he found out that the Prime’s audial fins still flicked and twitched in his sleep, much like how they did when he was Orion. It prompted the Decepticon to poke at them every now and then when work got boring, or if there was nothing on the monitor to watch.

Megatron also realized that he was far too easily amused and probably should consider looking into some hobbies.

Megatron sighed, “Fraggin’ hell,” and sank into his chair. The Decepticon had been sitting at the Prime’s bedside for a few hours now, a small rolling desk propped up next to him with a stack of datapads laid on top. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his optics shut, Primus, he felt like he was going cross-eyed. Megatron let the datapad he’d been holding drop to his lap, stretching his arms up. He felt a few joints click and pop, the Decepticon groaning as he tilted his helm back against the chair. His optics met the ceiling, “I wonder if I could hire someone else to read all of this crap…”

“I-I could help?”

Megatron bolted upright in his chair, the datapad flying from his lap. His arms flailed, fumbling a bit before he caught said datapad, saving it from the hard surface of the floor. He blinked, optics glancing up towards the voice, and found golden orbs staring back at him. Megatron collected himself, resetting his vocalizer, “Optimus?”

Said Prime was sitting up against the plush cushion of the berth, a few wires and tubes connected to his thin arms as they sat in his covered lap. “Sorry,” Optimus gave a weak smile, “I-I didn’t mean to startle you.”

The Decepticon blinked again, “It’s—It’s fine, Prime,” he cleared his throat. He set the datapad aside on the small desk, “How long have you been awake?”

“N-Not long,” he laid his helm back against the cushion, the scar along the left side of his face flashing in the light.

Megatron nodded, studying the Autobot for a moment. He glanced down to Optimus’ arms, they were relaxed against the thermal. The Decepticon felt a tad bit relieved, At least he wasn't shaking. “How are you feeling?” Megatron asked, genuinely curious.

The Prime’s chassis rose and fell, his optics slightly dim, no doubt due to the exhaustion. “Like I’ve slept far too long,” Optimus swallowed thickly, voice staticky.

“Well it has been ten years,” Megatron tilted his helm with a smirk.

He froze.

Red optics looked on in panic to the gold ones. The Decepticon spotted the confusion on the Prime’s face immediately.

Shit.

“I-It’s been that long?!” Optimus moved to sit up, but Megatron was quick to press a gentle hand against the Prime’s chassis, easing him back against the berth.

Megatron screwed his optics shut for a moment, sitting back on his own chair, internally kicking himself. “This was not exactly how we wanted to break it to you, but—“ He sighed, hands falling open towards the Prime in surrender, “Yes. Yes, you’ve been gone for ten years, Prime.”

Optimus settled back onto the berth, chassis heaving a sigh. His optics narrowed, the growing concern evident on his face. His attention went back to the Decepticon, “Cybertron—?”

Megatron smirked, his frame relaxing a bit in his seat, “Cybertron is alive and thriving, Prime. Don’t worry.”

Optimus eyed the Decepticon for a moment, as if he were looking for a hidden truth within Megatron’s face. The sudden burst of movement seemed to catch up with him, and his optics grew a shade dimmer. Optimus leaned his helm back against the berth cushions once more, “Hm.”

“You should get some rest, Prime.”

“I-I’ve already rested enough.”

“Well, rest more, then.”

A light chuckle from the Autobot, and Optimus glanced back towards the Decepticon. There was a pause between them, the Prime falling into studying this new frame of the Decepticon leader. No more sleek, black armor, or the glowing purple neon that stretched across his frame, or the jet engines. Now there were tank treads framed in gray and black, hints of red to accentuate his figure, more compact to his body but still retaining the massive frame of a war-build. Optimus smirked, “I-It’s strange to see you without the flight frame.”

Megatron huffed a laugh, “I could say the same about you.”

Optimus blinked, “W-What do you mean?”

The Decepticon motioned towards the Autobot, “I never realized you were still so small under all that Matrix armor.”

“I’m not that small.”

“Mm, I beg to differ.”

Optimus crossed his arms over his lap, a frown that was more put on than genuine settling on his face. He looked away, towards the window that looked out into the cosmos, optics settling to (literally) stare off into space. Silence reigned once again between the two mechs, Megatron resorting to just watching the Autobot. Optimus began to fiddle with the thermal between his fingers, his optics narrowing towards his own reflection in the window.

“Megatron,” Optimus’ voice was neutral.

“Hm?”

Prime’s fiddling with the thermal picked up in pace, “Unicron,” his voice turned cautious, “Did…D-Did he—?”

Megatron clenched his hands, knowing that Prime didn’t have to finish the sentence. He knew what Optimus was asking, Was the bastard dead? The Decepticon flexed his jaw behind closed lips, red optics eyeing the Prime, “In a way…yes.”

Blue finials twitched, “In a way?”

“A few weeks ago, we picked up a spark signature,” Megatron narrowed his gaze, looking away from the Prime, “It matched Unicron’s. So we…investigated.”

“Megatron.”

Said Decepticon lifted his helm towards the Autobot, Optimus was facing the Decepticon, golden optics firm, “Just tell me.”

Megatron hesitated, just for a moment, but his frame deflated, surrendering, “We found Unicron’s head,” he shared bluntly. Red optics shifted to look into gold ones, “It’s—It’s how we found you, Prime. You were being held prisoner by him, whether as an energy source or something else. We weren’t sure, but we found you there—”

“Molded to the wall.”

Optimus grew eerily quiet

He recalls during the battle, how he had to pull himself from Unicron’s tendrils to save Megatron, having experienced a dream that turned into a crippling nightmare. He remembers seeing other frames across Unicron’s innards, poor souls that had the unfortunate luck of coming face to face with the chaos bringer that never made it out. Their carcasses still held color, unlike the usual gray that a normal Cybertronian body turns once offlined. They were rusted and flaking, almost sickly looking, Unicron’s slimy insides pulsing with purple energy that seemed to be deriving from those very corpses. But, in actuality, they weren’t corpses, those mechs were still alive, and still suffering. He had succumbed to the same fate. Possibly a last ditch effort for Unicron to survive.

Optimus’ hands were tightening around the thermal— the wave of memories beginning to sink back into his processor. The multiple realities of what if, scenarios where he was victorious or if he failed during the war, watching his Autobots die behind his optics, unable to save them— he could feel the pain from each battle wound, hear the cries of his friends, how it tore and ripped through his mind and body— He had to relive it all, including when he suffered at the hands of the Senate.

A puppet, to do as he was told, tortured if he failed or disobeyed, forced to fight for them, to kill, to conquer—

Forced to become their Prime.

The Prime’s hands began to shake around the thermal, the fabric on the verge of tearing. Megatron caught sight of it quickly, “Prime?”

Said Autobot seemed unaware, his optics staring ahead, face turning into a slight grimace, and his optics on the verge of tears. Megatron frowned, standing up from the chair carefully, reaching out a hand. He gently grasped onto the Prime’s trembling palms, giving them a light squeeze, “Optimus?” He called quietly.

Optimus seemed to finally react, his optics shuttering a few times, allowing tears to fall over his cheeks. He took a breath, one that he didn’t realize he’d been holding, turning towards the Decepticon before him, and finding grave concern in those red optics. He looked down at his hands, feeling the wetness against his face, “I-I..” he pulled a hand away from Megatron’s grasp to brush off the tears. He swallowed thickly, “I’m sorry— I…”

Megatron’s grasp was still on his other hand that sat in his lap. The Decepticon was unmoving from his spot, shaking his helm, “There’s no need to apologize, Prime.” He reached up, wiping away a few tears with his thumb against Optimus’ cheek. Megatron offered a small smile, “I know that this is all very difficult.”

“I-I should be able to handle it better,” Optimus looked away.

Megatron shook his helm, “It is not something you can do on your own, Optimus.”

“I’m a Prime—“

“Not at the moment,” Megatron frowned, “And even if you were— it doesn’t matter,” his hand having turned from drying tears to caressing the Autobot’s cheek. Optimus felt heat rise in his cheeks when that strong servo lay against his synflesh, golden orbs glistening in the low light. Megatron tilted his helm, “Even a Prime requires help with the scars he’s dealt.”

Optimus blinked, “And you?”

Megatron huffed a small laugh, “Well,” he pursed his lips for a moment, then smirked, “Even a powerful, legendary, and magnificent Decepticon such as myself needs assistance with unseen wounds.”

The Autobot chuckled lightly, “Magnificent?”

“Why, yes I am, Optimus. Thank you very much for noticing,” Megatron gave a smug grin.

Optimus laughed, a tired smile crossing over his face. Golden orbs looked into red ones, still feeling the warm hand against his helm. He turned into it, relishing in the touch, carefully raising his own hand to rest against Megatron’s.

The Decepticon’s red optics never changed, looking down to the Autobot with a warm gaze. “You’re not alone in this, Optimus,” he shook his helm, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Optimus’ smile was genuine, “Thank you, Megatron.”

“Er…Am I interrupting something?”

Both Autobot and Decepticon froze in their spots, helms quickly snapping to the new voice that entered the room. Ratchet was standing by the doorway, holding a tray full of energon and various other medical supplies. How they didn’t hear the medic step in was a mystery, but Optimus and Megatron were quick to detach themselves from each other, both sporting a healthy blush on their faces.

Megatron even offered a cough to clear the air, “You could’ve knocked, medic.”

Ratchet stared at the Decepticon flatly, “I did.”

Optimus waved a weak hand, his blush so deep that it made his face almost look purple, “H-Hello Ratchet, it’s been quite some time hasn’t it?”

Said medic sighed, shaking his helm. Idiots.

____________________________________________________________________

Optimus hobbled along, his arms shaky as one hand gripped onto the metal cane while the other clung to the larger dark servo that held him upright. “Fragging hell...” he vented, feeling his legs practically scream from the years of disuse.

“Just a few more steps, Prime,” Megatron followed Optimus carefully, walking him slowly around the Medical Bay.

“Easy for you to say,” Optimus huffed out a laugh, taking a few more trembling steps before finally reaching the berth. He moved to set the cane by the side table, Megatron quick to help him sit back onto the medical berth. Despite just being in his protoform, his fans were working twice as hard as they normally would. Optimus could practically feel the condensation dripping down his neck cables, and he spared the Decepticon a weary glance, smiling tiredly, “So this is what getting old feels like.”

Megatron chuckled, “Not quite,” he leaned against the berth, arms crossing over his chassis, “Give it a few more million years, and you’ll be just as unsavory as Ratchet.”

Optimus snickered, “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Another soft chuckle from the Decepticon, then the two fell softly into silence. The only sound was the heavy vents of Optimus catching his breath.

D-Day was tomorrow, and since he woke up, Optimus was hell bent on watching the fireworks. Megatron, however, was very wary about the idea of the Prime watching the embodiment of his prison blown to smithereens. On one hand, it would be cathartic, perhaps Optimus would feel lighter after watching the show. On the other hand, it could throw Optimus into an all out, panicked spiral, triggered by the mere sight of Unicron. There was also the consideration that the Prime could barely walk on his own. The prospect of mobility wasn’t brought up until this morning, completely catching the Decepticon off guard while they shared their morning meal together.

“Optimus,” Megatron set down the enegex-bar he’d been munching on, “You just woke up.”

“Yes,” Optimus nodded, carefully setting down the glass of low grade. He adjusted himself on the berth, face firm, “And?”

Megatron eyed him with perplexity, “And you haven’t moved in ten years, Prime— ten stellar cycles.” He motioned towards the smaller Autobot’s frame, “You can barely stand on your own, much less walk. And Ratchet would weld your aft to the berth before you got a pede to the floor.”

“He doesn’t have to know,” Optimus’ expression didn’t falter.

“He has an alert system on your aft, Prime. He’ll know,” Megatron sighed.

“Then I can order him to allow me out of the Medical Bay—“

“You’re sans Matrix right now, Prime—“

“Then why do you keep calling me one?”

The Decepticon sighed wearily, “Force of habit, perhaps? So sue me! It’s been a few million years with you— ah! Don’t change the subject!” Megatron huffed through his nasal unit, his frown deepening, “The answer is no, Optimus.”

“Then I’ll go by myself.”

Megatron snarled, “Damnit, Optimus! Were you even listening—“

“I need to see it, Megatron,” Optimus sat up on the berth.

The Decepticon blinked, “The demolition?”

“Yes,” came a curt nod from the Autobot.

“Why?” Megatron leaned forward, optics narrowed, “He’s dead, Optimus. You don’t have to worry about it anymore—“

“Because,” Optimus breathed out, his optics growing misty. His voice held a slight wobble, and he vented, "Because I need to see him destroyed, Megatron.” He swallowed thickly, trying his best to hold back the tears, “Because if I don't, I'll always wonder if it was all an illusion. I'll always be afraid that he'll come back for me."

That brought a pause to the Decepticon. Megatron felt the fight dissipate, his frame deflating. The once powerful Autobot leader was now a small, fragile frame sitting on a medical berth, body struggling to sit upright. Ten years of forced imprisonment, mental hells, and now a possible permanent limp; yet despite it all, he was still Optimus. Determined and brave as ever.

And stubborn.

Much like Megatron himself.

The Decepticon smirked. They really were too much alike weren’t they? He came onto this voyage to seek the complete destruction of the chaos bringer. He wanted to dance on Unicron’s proverbial grave, thinking, hoping, praying that it’ll bring him some peace at long last. So he could welcome recharge with ease, and not awaken in a cold sweat every morning from the trembling nightmares. For Megatron it was revenge. For Optimust, it was release. A release from the binds and confines of Unicron’s torturous prison. Both in a way, would help them grasp onto some semblance of peace in their long lives.

“You’re not alone in this, Optimus.”

That was the truth. So why should he stop the Autobot?

So here he was, helping a handicapped Autobot try to walk in preparation for a show of fireworks. And to put Optimus’ fears to rest.

“You did well,” Megatron handed Optimus a glass of low grade, the Autobot taking it with quiet thanks.

Optimus chuckled, “If you call stumbling ‘well’, then there’s definitely something wrong.”

Megatron smirked, “For your first day, I’d say you did better than most.”

“Hm,” Optimus sipped at the low grade, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I mean it,” Optimus turned towards the Decepticon. He fixed Megatron with those golden orbs, piercing and burning with life, “Thank you for helping me. I know you must have other duties to attend to, but…” a soft smile crossed over his lips, “You’re here helping me hobble like a invalid. And that— that means a lot. To me.”

Optimus reached out, albeit, shakily towards the Decepticon. His hand rested atop the Decepticon’s that sat next to the Prime on the berth. His smile grew stronger, “Thank you,” Optimus’ voice was quieter, “Megatron.”

The Decepticon was quiet, red optics staring into those golden orbs. He studied the outline of Optimus’ face, spotting the scar on his cheek that was growing fainter by the day. His audials that twitched now and then, the way his nose held a slight curve towards the end, and the brilliant blue of his helm. But Optimus’ optics always caught him, Megatron finding himself lost in those golden pools of warmth.

Megatron shifted, “Orion,” his voice was above a whisper.

Carefully, he reached out to the Autobot. His free hand, as powerful as it was, ran gently across the synflesh of Optimus’ face. He felt the rise of the scar, the warmth of the Autobot’s cheeks. Megatron ran his thumb across the synflesh and, without hesitation, leaned in. He captured warm lips, with no resistance. Optimus was open and willing, pushing against Megatron to meet in the kiss. The Decepticon’s other arm snaked around the fragile frame, pulling the Autobot close, deepening the kiss further. Passions rose, Optimus wrapped his arms around Megatron’s neck as the Decepticon brought him completely into his lap.

Hands roamed, Megatron’s touch exploring the prone frame of Optimus’ protoform. The Autobot let out a soft moan when one, strong hand reached along his lower back, stroking against the sensitive plating. Megatron’s other hand was currently cupping the back of Optimus’ helm, keeping him upright and secure with a gentle grasp. The hand on Optimus’ lower back began to wander further, sliding over his thigh, feeling against smoothe protoform. Another moan emanated from Optimus’ throat, and Megatron could feel the Autobot shifting in his lap. His thighs seem to be spreading, hips rolling against the Decepticon.

Megatron pulled away once feeling the click of his fans ignite.

Optimus had gasped when Megatron broke the kiss, vents heavy, “Megatron?”

“Ah. Hm.” Megatron bit his lip.

Optimus’ face fell, the twinge of concern creeping into his optics, “What’s wrong?”

The Decepticon couldn’t hide his smirk, “Nothing, my Prime,” he sighed, “But if we were to progress any further, I would prefer not to harm you.”

“Wha— “ Optimus blinked, then looked down to his bare protoform. “Oh,” he frowned, shoulders sagging, “Fraggit.”

Megatron chuckled, pulling the Autobot close. A cold shower was definitely in order.

____________________________________________________________________

It was finally D Day.

The whole ship was a buzz with life, bustling bodies hurrying this way and that on the Steelhaven’s bridge. Jetfire was directing most of the team, shouting at crew members to double, triple check every scan, reading, alert, what have you— they were approaching this mission with a fine-toothed comb. Nothing had to go amiss.

Where Jefite was directing the crew, Megatron was hovering over an Autobot.

“For Primus-sake Megatron! I’m not going to break!” Optimus grounded out, leaning most of his weight on the cane.

Megatron bit his tongue, snickering, “Just making sure you don’t break a hip—“

“If I hear another ‘old mech’ joke from you,” Optimus sighed heavily, “I will make you eat this cane.”

The Decepticon held his hands up in surrender, then proceeded to escort the smaller Autobot down the hallway. Behind them, Ratchet was trying to silence his snickering.

It had been a rough morning for the Autobot. Megatron came to the medical bay to find that Optimus barely slept the night prior. A case of nerves it would seem, Optimus held so much anticipation for the day's events that he found recharge to be elusive.

“I just want to see it done,” the Prime heaved a tired sigh, voice slightly hoarse, and optics a shade darker.

Ratchet was also making it rather difficult for Optimus to travel. It took quite a bit of smooth talking on Megatron’s part to convince the medic and allow Optimus to leave the medical bay for just a few hours. For a moment, it seemed Ratchet wouldn’t budge, but in the end, it took Optimus to offer his pleas and added, “You can do whatever you want to ensure my health during the demolition.”

Ratchet harrumphed, but yielded.

When the morning came, the medic was already in the process of getting any mobile machines ready and connecting Optimus to a series of cords. The process itself was annoying and agonizing, because Optimus had to stay standing in order for Ratchet to attach the necessary components. Added to the stress was the subject of making Optimus fit for the public. He had a temporary modesty panel and hip plating around his pelvis, but the rest of his body was just exposed protoform. Ratchet piped up with a solution already at hand: a thermal cloak to keep him warm and preserve his dignity. Optimus let out a weary sigh at that, and Megatron could only offer a sympathetic pat on his shoulder.

Optimus grit his teeth, stopping in the hallway.

“Prime?” Megatron looked upon the smaller Autobot with concern, watching him lean against the nearby wall. It had been a long trek from the medical bay, every step felt like walking in thick, slopping mud.

Optimus vented harshly, chest heaving, “I-It’s all right,” he swallowed thickly.

Ratchet was already by his side, scanning over the mech. The medic frowned, “His hip is seizing up,” he sighed, “This much movement is putting too much pressure on his system.”

“I’ll be fine,” Optimus attempted to push himself from the wall.

“Like pit you will!” Ratchet grumbled, “I knew this was a bad idea. We need to get you back to the med bay—“

“No!” Optimus’ voice echoed around the hallway.

Megatron and Ratchet were pushed into silence from the sudden reaction, watching the smaller Autobot. Optimus clenched his teeth, a shaking arm pushing back against the wall and shifting his weight to rely on the cane. He breathed, protoform already taxed and venting heavily, most likely on the verge of tapping out. But his golden optics portrayed his determination, and he turned back to the two other frames next to him, “Let’s go.”

____________________________________________________________________

Optimus could feel the optics boring holes into his helm, he tried his best to ignore it. The minute he stepped onto the bridge; a thermal cloak covering his small, vulnerable frame attached to various wires on a portable life support stand, all optics went to the Prime.

He was suddenly aware that no one else outside of the high command had seen him in his current state. The curious glances of the mechs, grunt workers and desk hounds, were looking at him with a mix of awe, pity, and disappointment. He was no longer the bulking mass that he used to be, he wasn’t The Prime anymore. But it was something that the public had never witnessed, Optimus in his most vulnerable state. The creeping feeling of shame prickled at his shoulders, and the Prime sank a bit in the chair he was given.

The reaction, however, didn’t get past Megatron.

“What the bloody hell are you all gawking at?”

His voice boomed across the bridge, optics red and narrowed, and engine revving. The crew all simultaneously flinched at the thunderous tone, immediately going back to their tasks. The Decepticon crossed his arms, the growl of his engine rumbling. Optimus sent a silent thank you to whatever deity for the Decepticon’s poor social skills, feeling a little relieved.

Jetfire chuckled, stepping up to the Decepticon and the seated Prime, “Charming as ever.”

“They should have more respect,” Megatron growled.

“It’s to be expected, I suppose,” Optimus sighed, meekly adjusting the cloak, “They all thought I was dead.”

“Doesn’t mean they can stare at you like some mangle sharkticon, Optimus,” the Decepticon shook his helm, huffing.

The smaller Autobot gave a tired smile, reaching up to Megatron, grabbing onto one of his hands and squeezing lightly, “Thank you.”

Megatron squeezed back, ignoring the look of bewilderment from Jetfire. He turned towards the shuttle, “What’s our status?”

Jetfire looked between Optimus and Megatron for a moment, optics shuttering a few clicks before gathering himself. He cleared his throat, “Uh, right,” he straightened, “We’re almost ready, just waiting on confirmation from the inspection crew.”

Megatron smirked, “Perfect.”

“What kind of charges were placed?” Optimus chimed in.

Jetfire motioned to the screens scattered across the bridge, “Wheeljack set us up with the ‘diamond dust’ explosives leftover from the war.”

Optimus blinked, “But we never used those,” he sat up in his chair, “Remember? We found them to be too dangerous to use in combat. The damage would’ve vaporized not just the enemy, buus as well.”

“And that’s why we’re using them on Unicron,” Jetfire crossed his arms.

“And you’re sure we’re in safe range?” Optimus quirked an optic ridge.

“Yes!” Jetfire exclaimed, though paused, “I think.”

Optimus and Megatron, plus Ratchet, all stared at the shuttle.

Jetfire held up a hand, “Uh, y’know what?” He turned back to the crew on the bridge, “Let’s back the ship up a few hundred clicks, yeah?”

Optimus buried his face in his hands.

____________________________________________________________________

It all came down to just a simple series of letters and numbers.

Megatron stared at the screen from his place on the command deck on the bridge. Next to him, was Jetfire standing in front of a similar screen, the shuttle looking on expectantly. The blanket of silence over the control bridge was thick, all optics on Megatron and waiting for him to make the first move. It should be so easy shouldn’t it? A simple press of a button and it’ll all be over. Right?

Megatron could feel his spark spinning at an accelerated rate in his chassis. His systems were beginning to enter a warning starge as a few windows popped up in his HUD. His red optics looked up towards the window, across the distance he could make out Unicron’s head. It was so silent, so still, so possibly harmless, but it could bring nothing but complete chaos if left alone.

So finish it! Megatron practically screamed in his mind, Finish him and be done with it!

His fingers tapped in the code.

Confirmed.

Megatron could hear Jetfire tapping in his own code before the alert system kicked on. Numbers displayed on the screen as the countdown was set.

“Ten seconds and counting,” someone from control spoke up.

Megatron stepped back from the console, optics locked onto the floating cranial carcass that was the cause of so much destruction.

“Nine.”

Crew members stood from their chairs, watching the window and the drone video feed.

“Eight.”

Jetfire crossed his arms, his orange visor slightly dim and a finger tapping impatiently.

“Seven.”

Ratchet adjusted a few of the energon and coolant lines attached to the life support stand. He noted that the wires were vibrating, causing concern in the medic. Ratchet double checked the lines, scanning them and ran a quick diagnostic, but found no abnormalities. His optics fell onto his patient, following the cables and lines to the smaller frame in the deck chair. He frowned further.

“Six.”

Golden optics were fighting back tears. Hands gripped the armrest of the deck chair tightly.

“Five.”

Optimus recalls the worlds that Unicron would throw him into. They always played out the same: a picturesque reality, a world without war and famine, everything is at peace. Megatron is at his side, his friends are alive and well, and Cybertron is thriving.

“Four.”

But soon, the skies would darken, the world around him would start to turn gray, wither, and die. Bodies would fall, energon splashed everywhere, there was screaming, screams of agony and loss. And Megatron would look to him, nothing but a burning rage in his red optics, drawing his cannon.

But Optimus was always the first to move.

“Three.”

He would find himself weeping over Megatron’s frame, the Decepticon’s death caused by his own hands.

And then it would start all over again.

Please.

“Two.”

Please don’t be…

“One.”

Bright, white light exploded around the SteelHaven, yet there was no sound to be heard. A chorus of faint gasps echoed around the bridge, the crew collectively flinching and trying to shield their optics from the blast. Soon it flickered, the light beginning to fade away into nothing, the cosmos swallowing up the ball of light and blinking out of existence. Then all attention was on the monitors.

Jetfire stepped forward, “Do we have a confirmation?”

The drone footage was currently nothing but static, but a small Decepticon crew member was working to get it back online. From afar they couldn’t make out any detail, only seeing that Unicron’s head was completely gone. They needed physical evidence, because they didn’t want to risk Unicron just swinging through a black hole again. With a few taps on the keyboard, the drone footage finally fizzled to life.

Chunks and particles of Unicron floated around in the footage, an optic here or a tooth there, but it was clear he was a deathly gray and very much in pieces. The sighs of relief did not go unheard, then there were cheers and whistling that followed.

Unicron was finally gone.

Megatron and Jetfire shook hands, exchanging quiet words of congratulations. The weight lifted from their shoulders after so many days of coordinating and prepping; they could finally relax.

Megatron turned around to search for the smaller Prime, a proud smirk on his face. It faded when his optics fell upon the deck chair, finding Ratchet kneeling by Optimus. Panic fueled his spark, Megatron quickly bypassed the medic to reach the smaller Autobot. He found a trembling Prime in the desk chair, his golden optics now shimmering pools of tears. He knelt before the Prime, large hands tenderly grasping on the smaller Autobot’s shoulders. “Optimus?” He called.

Optimus didn’t seem to respond, his gaze looking straight ahead towards the bay windows.

Megatron leaned closer towards the Autobot, his spark spinning with concern. He reached up to caress a tear-stained cheek, “Orion?” He called softly.

A moment passed before Optimus finally came around, his golden optics shifting towards the larger frame of the Decepticon. He took a shaky breath, chassis almost rattling beneath the cloak, “Y-You’re still here?”

Megatron nodded quickly, “I am,” he tucked his knees on the floor, under the chair to scooch closer to the Prime. His free hand held on Optimus’ tenderly, “I’m here, Orion. It’s all right.”

Optimus swallowed thickly, frame rattling with such force that it clattered softly against the chair. His lips pulled into a watery smile, “Then it’s real,” he said, another trembling vent through his intakes, “He’s gone.”

Megatron nodded, pressing his helm against Optimus’ crown, “Yes.”

“Let’s go home.”

____________________________________________________________________

The tapping of a cane echoed around the hall when Megatron entered the habsuite.

“Orion?” he called out, settling down the satchel he’d been carrying.

The tapping of the cane turned the corner, and the sight of a small civilian class frame came into view. Orion was plated in his signature red and blue, hints of gold here and there to compliment his gold optics. At least, that’s what KnockOut had told him. Orion smiled as he approached the taller warframe, “You’re home early.”

Megatron smirked, “I was able to convince Soundwave that I could finish the trivial tasks tomorrow.”

“You mean you’re procrastinating?” Orion quirked an optic ridge, “Crunch time tomorrow then?”

The Decepticon rolled his optics, “Yes, well—“ he reached out and snatched Orion around the waist, pulling him close. He brought the smaller mech into a deep kiss, hands holding with the utmost care. When he pulled away, the snicker crossed over his lips, “It would seem I have more important things to attend to here.”

Orion chuckled, “Uh huh.”

Megatron just didn’t let go of his smirk, releasing Orion from his hold. “How’s the leg?” He placed a hand on the smaller mech’s shoulder to balance him.

A pinched expression crossed over Orion’s face, his audials twitching. “A little sore,” he said, then motioned to the window, “Probably due to the approaching acid rain storm. Pressure change and all.”

Megatron gave a quiet hum, though the concern was there in his optics. He began to direct them from the hallway, “Then let’s get you comfortable.”

They moved to the living space, Megatron having grabbed his satchel and pulling a few datapads to read as they lounged on the couch that sat by the large bay window, looking over Kaon. Orion took a seat next to the Decepticon, setting his cane against the arm of the couch. Megatron reached and grabbed at Orion’s bad leg, splaying over his lap so the smaller mech could elevate it, thus reducing the pain.

They fell into silence, Orion laying back against the plus cushion as Megatron picked up one of the datapads and began to read. This became a recurring habit over the last few stellar cycles of living in a shared living space. A habit that Orion never expected he would ever see in his life, but hoped for. As he looked over to the bay window, seeing the storm roll in and casting the sky in a mix of oranges and grays, he found himself astounded at the leaps and bounds that occurred ever since his return.

After the complete eradication of Unicron, they made their way back to Cybertron. In his previous designation as Optimus, he found himself waking up a few days later in Iacon General, having fallen into a long recharge after watching the detonation event. He found his new frame rebuilt to fit his current protoform, the new small civilian class armor shiny and polished. His leg was still in need of recovery, but his frame overall felt less heavy and weighed down as it did when he first woke up from his imprisonment.

And right next to him, sitting in a chair and snoring up a storm, was Megatron. A light touch to the helm, and Megatron awoke with a start, looking around wildly before optics settled onto the smaller frame in the medical berth. Orion remembers Megatron’s smile; bright and warm, his powerful hands a tender comfort when bringing him against the Decepticon’s frame. The kiss they shared was also memorable, feeling long and grounded.

Their private moment didn’t last long, having been interrupted by Ratchet. From there, word got out that the Prime was awake and soon, friends came swarming in. Rodimus enveloped him into a tight hug, tears pricking at his optics. Ultra Magnus gave him a nice firm pat on his shoulder, though Optimus could see that the large mech was holding back tears as well, hiding it with a smile. Jazz, Ironhide, Prowl, and the minibots followed, all expressing their warmest welcomes and happiness that the Prime was not back amongst his friends and family. Even Soundwave and Shockwave made an appearance, a welcoming nod to the Prime.

Though a question rang out, as soon as all the ruckus calmed down, one that struck the Prime to his core.

“Are you going to take the Matrix up again?” The question came from Rodimus.

Megatron, upon seeing Prime’s frozen reaction, shared a less than stellar look on his face, obviously not too fond of the subject. He grabbed at Optimus’ hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, which seemed to help bring the Prime back to the present. The initial shock wearing off, Optimus had a moment to process the question.

Would he take up the Matrix again? Should he take up the Matrix again? Can he take up the Matrix again?

Despite the responsibilities, despite that Cybertron still needed governing, and despite the question on whether or not the Primacy needed to be filled— Optimus’ processor kept coming to one answer:

“No,” Optimus found himself saying out loud.

A round of stunned reactions, whispers and murmurs from his fellow Autobots.

“Why?” Jazz piped up.

Because.

Because the Primacy, for the past few million years, has brought nothing but corruption, agony, oppression, and recently, a war to Cybertron. The threat of anti-treaty and pro-separatist groups was still there, and with the Primacy, it could fuel their movement. Much like the functionalists used the primacy to rise to power, the Primacy could cause corruption all over again. The weight of such a title during these times of peace, where his role would be viewed as almost god-like, was not and should not be needed.

And so much death weighed heavy on Optimus’ shoulders.

“It’s time for Cybertron to move on from the Primes,” Optimus said, voice strained and frame tired. He looked around to his fellow Cybertronian, his friends, “You all have accomplished so much without a Prime. Why stop now?”

A few understanding nods as Optimus looked around the room. When facing Megatron, he was gifted with a proud smile on the Decepticon’s face.

So the Primacy was done.

Optimus, formally due to Ultra Magnus’ request, relinquished all Autobot control to Rodimus and the high command. The Matrix was locked away in a temple of Primus deep within Iacon, and Optimus returned to his original designation— Orion Pax.

As for Orion’s leg, it was going to require a number of surgeries over the course of a few stellar cycles to get it back to somewhat normal shape. Currently, he was scheduled for his third surgery in a few months, and dreading the day after because pain was inevitable. But he’ll manage, especially with his Decepticon by his side.

After Orion had woken up on Cybertron, Megatron would be by his side. He would work during the day, performing the necessary responsibilities as leader of the Decepticons. And when it was time to head home for the day, Megatron would high tail it to Iacon. Orion’s recovery was slow, but Megatron made sure to make the best of it for the smaller mech. They couldn’t recreate their first outings all those years ago, before the war, so the Decepticon improvised. Date nights during Orion’s recovery were a tray table, topped with whatever cloth Megatron found, with an assortment of energon dishes that the Decepticon would pick up from various restaurants. Orion recalls one night, eating their take out in the dim light of his medical bay suite, realizing how Megatron just seriously tried to make the medical bay a romantic date night venture. The Decepticon sputtered at the thought, faceplates actually holding a hint of color. Orion found it adorable, not even attempting to hide his giggles.

When there weren’t date nights, Megatron would be bringing his work home with. There were a number of nights where Orion would help the Decepticon with whatever dilemma turned up, whether it being trade agreements or political tactics. At least this way, Orion was keeping his processor active rather than just watching whatever was on the monitor or staring at the wall. Of course, Megatron would bring him datapads filled with literature to keep the smaller Autobot occupied.

When physical therapy came around, Orion was faced with a new struggle— where was he going to live?

Megatron provided an answer to that.

Kaon wasn’t what Orion was expecting, but it was a far cry from what he remembers before the war. The gladiator stadium ceased to exist, replaced with proper housing. New buildings, clean and up to date, bright lights, and an infrastructure capable of providing a stable ground for the populace. It was a miracle, Orion marveling at the fact that Kaon was completely desolate the last time he laid optics on it.

With a new home, and an upgraded habsuite (three bedrooms, one of which was Orion designated office and library, of which he was very happy with, thank you) Orion began to settle into his new life.

Though the heightened moods were soured quickly.

It wasn’t long into settling into his new existence that Orion was met with nightmares. Repeating scenarios from when he was imprisoned by Unicron would cause him to wake up screaming every few nights. Almost every night he would envision himself holding Megatron’s corpse, the Decepticon dead by his hands. He would wake, sometimes thrashing, until strong hands held him close to a warm frame. Megatron wiped away the many tears that were shed over those nights, providing words of comfort. But Megatron, from his own experience, was not going to allow Orion to suffer as much as he did after the war was over. At the earliest notice, the Decepticon brought Orion to Rung, and the long, slow treatment of the Autobot’s own trauma began.

Orion just hoped that it was working.

There was a kiss against his helm, and Orion found himself facing a pair of red optics. Megatron tilted his helm, “You’ve been quiet.”

Orion blinked, his audials just now picking up the sounds of the acid rain pattering against the reinforced bay windows. “Sorry,” he sunk against the couch cushion, “I’ve been…thinking much as of late.”

“Should I be concerned?” Megatron quirked an optic ridge.

The Autobot smirked, shaking helm, “No, just—“ he tilted his helm back, “I hope this treatment with Rung works.”

“You’ve barely begun, Orion.”

“I know, I know,” Orion sighed, “It’s just that— will it work?”

The Decepticon gave a soft smile, “I have confidence that it will.”

Orion twitched his audials, nodding against a moment before sitting back against the couch cushion. He sighed, looking out the bay window and watching the rain. He laid his helm back against the couch, “It feels as if…I have so much to fix.”

“Not ‘fix’, sweet spark,” Megatron reached out and grasped carefully at one of the Autobot’s smaller servos, “But to accept.”

Orion turned back to his Decepticon, optics tired. Megatron was smiling softly again, reaching out with his other hand to caressing the Autobot’s soft cheek. “It’s a long road, Orion,” he said, “But we all move at our own pace.”

Orion felt his lips wobble, golden optics shimmering yet he did his best to hold back to the tears. He held onto that strong servo against his face, “I will not deny,” he took a vent, “That I am a bit…afraid.”

“I know,” Megatron rubbed a thumb over the soft synflesh. “But you’re not alone in this, my spark.”

“I’ll make sure of it.”