Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As Unicron’s persistent antibodies dropped like Earth bugs, all at once with the littering of clinks and clangs of metal upon metal, Bumblebee’s systems were running high. His spark was pulsing, pumping charged energon through his lines and powering his blasters, which fell silent but burned with overuse. His battle protocols were still on alert, ready to spring into action, waiting a second wave, for Unicron to try to terminate them all in one powerful blow.

Bumblebee wasn’t sure he could stand another go, his systems overclocked and overheated, his fuel running low. Not to mention the dark energon that swamped them. It clung to him like dirt and dust did when racing through the desert. His protoform itched terribly, his armour felt uncomfortably tight, and it was like Knock Out had taken his buzz-saw right to Bumblebee’s processor. It was the same exact sick feeling that the scout had met while patching into Megatron’s mind, the warlord poisoned by the stuff through his own choice. Bee hated it, he wanted to purge his tanks and shut down for a few deca-cycles to forget. He wanted to go back to base, back Raf to play videos for groons, back home where his family was – where Optimus was…

Optimus!

“Bulk! Gonna need you to break us through, and quick!” Arcee ordered from behind Bee, her voice laced with worry. Bee turned, quickly darting to her side, needing the comfort of being close to somemech because dear Solus he was terrified. Bee wouldn’t let that control him though, Optimus needed him now their battle was over, meaning their ceasefire was moot too.

The only issue was the giant door behind them, shut solid and as thick as a blast door. His guns wouldn’t make even a small scratch against the metal and neither would Arcee’s weapons, so it was all up to Bulkhead. However, the poor ‘bot had been feeling the effects of the darkEn even worse than the rest of them. And yet, Bulkhead swapped his servo for his mace and dragged himself along.

“One new door comin’ up.” Bulk grinned tiredly before he swung his arm back, bringing his mace down against the metal door with an echoing crash. The sound reverberated for miles it seemed, accompanied by more and more of the same deafening crashes as Bulkhead went to town on the barrier.

Bee had to hop from pede to pede to work through the charge still coursing through his frame, made all the more worse by his anxiety. Watching the Wrecker work, it left Bee feeling useless. He couldn’t do anything at all except worry. His comm-link didn’t work, any attempt at contacting Ratchet or Raf left a horrible screech of static in his audials – Ratchet had warned them it might happen, but that didn’t mean Bee had to like it. When he attempted to contact Optimus, in the hopes it might work anyway, the same painful response deterred him. Unicron’s core or the dark energon had to be interfering even with his assumed defeat. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all…

Beside him, Arcee was restless too, unable to hold one position for long and even walking over to one of the dead antibodies to give it a rough kick for good measure. They were both as worried as each other. Bee could tell even if her field was drawn in tight to ward off as much of the dark energon’s sickly tendrils as possible. She’d lost two partners already, the idea of losing Optimus must have terrified Arcee as much as it did Bee.

Because...Optimus wasn’t just their leader, their Prime, he was family. To Bee he was as close to a sire as he could get, having raised Bumblebee like Optimus had been his creator all along. Their bond was closer than Arcee and Bulk had with Optimus, but that didn’t mean the two didn’t love him any less and neither did Optimus. Their unit was as close as Jack and June were, their bonds as strong as any blood ties or spark-bondings.

They had no idea what using the Matrix to stop Unicron would do. Not even Optimus had known. It wasn’t just the wisdom of the Primes that made Optimus the leader he was but knowing that even he was clueless, it made everything all the more scarier. Bee could only hope and pray to the Thirteen and to the Earth god that Raf and his family worshipped, that this mission hadn’t ended in a termination sentence.

.: C’mon Bulk… :. Bumblebee chirped quietly, not trying to pressure his friend, but his processor was getting antsy. Waiting was never his strong suit, even as a scout which often meant he had to stay in one place for groons just for a patrol to pass or for Mirage or Jazz to send a signal. His frame was crawling, a weird heaviness to it that the scout knew meant he needed to just move. Pacing would help a bit but Bee didn’t want to expend any unnecessary energon. Beyond the door, they had no idea what would await them. They might have to fight more antibodies or go up against Megatron, and who knew what state Optimus would be in.

“Almost through!” Bulkhead unannounced as the door crumpled and warped inwards with each powerful collide of the Wrecker’s indestructible mace. They could have used some of Wheeljack’s grenades or Ironhide’s pure might to make things quicker but neither mech was on Earth. Ironhide would never have let Optimus go on his own either, the red warrior as stubborn as he was old. Bee loved him though, Ironhide always had his back and helped raise him alongside Ratchet and Optimus. When they had to split up and evacuate the Ark, Bee had promised Ironhide he would keep Optimus safe in his place. Now look at them… separated by a hunk of metal with Optimus stuck with Megatron. Bee couldn’t stop the guilt he felt at failing Ironhide, at failing Optimus…

“Bee, we’ll get to him. He’ll be okay, Optimus has to be.” Arcee’s voice cut through to him, her tone as gentle as she was capable of. Bee turned to her, his door-wings drooping behind him. He wanted to believe her but they both knew better than anymech that no bot was invincible, even one was amazing and powerful as Optimus Prime. Still, Arcee offered him a tight smile and a servo to hold as they waited.

Bee wasn’t sure how long it too for the door to give in, but it felt like it could have been vorns. The door still took too long as it fell back from its stand, dropping to the floor with an even louder bang. Even before it had hit the ground, the trio of them darted right in. Bulkhead was first, while Arcee followed, her servo still in Bee’s but she didn’t need to drag him along as he kept pace with her easily. His spark had been pounding before, but now it was erratic in his chassis, his tanks churning at the uncertainty of what they were going to find.

The tunnel stretched on longer than Bee liked, dark and ominous with no sight of Optimus or Megatron. Then, they hit another door.

.: Scrap! :. He hissed glaring up at the blockage like he could will it to delete itself. Bulkhead wasted no time in getting to work again even as his frame sagged with exhaustion. They were so close to Optimus, Bee was even more impatient the second time round. Arcee just remained silent, her face set in grim determination as she squeeze Bee’s servo.

Finding a strength underneath his fatigue, Bulkhead broke this door down quicker. It opened up into a grand and daunting chamber, void of any natural or artificial light. Bee only hesitated to activate his scotopic feed before he launched himself down into the room just after Arcee.

“Optimus–” Arcee froze, just for a split astro-second, taking in the scene in front before Bee did. As his vision adjusted to its new setting, he spotted two immobile shapes near the centre of the chamber. It was easy to tell who was who, their frames distinct and their colours polar opposites. Optimus was closer to the middle, lying unmoving on the front of his chassis. Meanwhile, just a few step away, Megatron was sprawled on his back as though he had been tossed aside uncaring.

“Bulk, you keep Megatron in line, we’ll check Optimus.” Arcee ordered sharply, recovering from her brief shock. They split off into their respective groups, Bee rushing towards Optimus with Arcee at his side. Worry continued to eat away at Bumblebee’s spark like a million scraplets even with each step that brought him closer.

Metal scraped unpleasantly against metal as Bee slid to his knees, stopping right at their leader’s side. He reached out but as soon as Bee touched Optimus’ pauldron, a hot pain burned his palm. With a startled beep, the scout swiftly withdrew his servo and held it to his chassis, watching now as steam rolled off Optimus’ frame. Sharing a concerned look with Arcee, they were forced to wait for until they were able to quickly turn Optimus over, avoiding smelting their servos or accidentally getting welded to him.

Once turned, Optimus’ helm lolled backwards as his blank optics stared up at the vast ceiling. It was unsettling, seeing his usually bright and kind optics so empty, but thankfully, it wasn’t a sign of deactivation. Even though his armour had burned furiously, it held his regal blue and red paint meaning his spark still shone and energon flowed through him. Periodically, his vents let out heavy blasts of hot air, working to regulate Optimus’ temperature, also confirming he was not yet one with Primus.

As Optimus’ frame quickly cooled to a more suitable temperature, Bee was able to finally press his servo to their leader’s chassis. Underneath his palm, he could feeling the strong but slightly erratic thumping of Optimus’ spark. Bee’s own vents let out a relieved sigh and his frame relaxed, letting go of the tension it had been holding ever since Raf had first been injured. Opposite him, Arcee was waiting for a sign everything was alright, and as soon as she realised things were, she too let go of her panic. A smile graced her face, her optics holding Bee’s gaze for a moment as they both revelled in their victory and good news. Arcee had been right, after all.

Now sure they hadn’t lost their leader, Arcee rose to her pedes and moved away to attempt to contact the base. Meanwhile, Bee took in the state of Optimus’ frame, hoping he could at least help Ratchet by gathering up a report.

There were no new glaring injuries to Optimus’ front or back, although the seams around his chassis were scorched and his glass from his wind-shields was entirely gone. His servos had a similar singed looked to them, particularly the tips of his digits. Other than that, Optimus had all his limbs, armour, and kibble. Any minor cut, dent, or scratch was likely from their earlier tussle with Unicron’s many selves or his antibodies. It was a relief to know that Megatron had not betrayed them by shooting Optimus in the back or stabbing him through his spark chamber. The only thing Bee couldn’t check for was internal injuries. Ratchet would have to do that but Bumblebee could hope nothing was wrong with Optimus’ spark or processor.

Taking one of Optimus’ servos in his own, Bee leant down further, dialling his vocoder down to its lowest setting.

.: We’ve got you, OP, don’t you worry! Ratchet will fix you up soon :. Bee promised his guardian, pressing the warm back of Optimus’ large servo to his cheek plate. Shuttering his optics, Bumblebee simply enjoyed the peace as he knelt beside Optimus. .: Thank you for not leaving us :.

A few astro-seconds passed before Bee set Optimus’ servo back down, wiping a small trail of energon that had leaked from a small knick near the outer corner of Optimus’ left optic. Then, something drew Bumblebee into turning to look at Megatron. A curiosity, maybe, or simply wanting to see the rust-bucket beaten. Bulkhead stood watch over the warlord, his heavy pede pinning Megatron to the ground with both cannons aimed right at his bucket-shaped helm.

It hadn’t been at all easy allowing the monster to set a single pede inside their base and then fight alongside them as if they were allies! He had hurt Raf! He’s infected his friend with dark energon and almost killed him! Then he’d taunted them, fought Optimus, and had the audacity to propose a truce only a few Earth cycles later! Bee hadn’t liked it one bit and even now the idea still sat uncomfortably within his spark, but Bee had also trusted Optimus and ultimately it had worked.

Still, seeing Megatron fight alongside Optimus had made Bee feel… jealous. He knew Optimus and Megatron had history but seeing them fight so effortlessly in sync, as though they had been at each others side the whole war instead of at each others throats… It was just wrong. Team Prime had earned their fluidity and dynamic over vorns of fighting as one on the same side. Yet, Megatron fell in stride beside Optimus like he’d never forgotten how. They had literally tried to terminate each other the cycle of the planetary alignment!

Bumblebee hoped they would never have to fight as allies with Megatron again. He’d hurt them too much to be forgiven, he’d hurt too many of Bee’s friends, especially Raf.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Arcee stopped at his side again.

“Bee, switch out with Bulk for a klick.” She requested with a tone that said it wasn’t optional. Although Bumblebee didn’t want to leave Optimus’ side, he did as he was asked. Bringing his blasters out, the scout stalked over to Megatron and clicked them online. Both were aimed right at his ugly faceplates as Bee didn’t trust the warlord to stay down without Bulkhead’s might keeping him down. So far, he was still offline but Bumblebee kept his guard up.

Although his full focus was on Megatron, he still kept one audial open to what Arcee and Bulkhead were discussing.

“I can’t reach base, I think our depth is blocking the signal from reaching Ratchet.” Arcee reported quietly, helm tilted towards Bulkhead.

“Have you tried boosting your signal?” He suggested, just as quiet.

“Yeah, nothing works. We’ll have to wait for Ratchet to send a bridge.”

“Got it.” Bulkhead didn’t sound too pleased and neither was Bee. He didn’t want to spend any longer in the Earth’s core with Megatron. Optimus needed medical attention and everybot was getting weary.

“I’ll keep trying.” Arcee assured him anyway and then the chamber fell into another silence.

Staring down at the warlord as each klick ticked by, Bee wasn’t able to stop his anger from simmering. He hated the mech more than any other. He’d ruined, not just Bee’s life, but countless. Cybertron was gone because of Megatron’s greed, Bee’s voice was gone because of Megatron’s anger, Elita was gone because of Megatron’s cruelty. And now Raf and Optimus had nearly been killed because of Megatron’s insanity. The longer he glared at Megatron, the more horrific memories that loaded up into Bee’s processor, and it all made his rage boil over. Bumblebee could end him right here and now, fill his helm so full of blaster bolts that his processor melted into liquid metal. He could stop the war, stop the death.

Immediately, Bee’s blasters powered up to full.

Then the dingy chamber was set aglow by a ground bridge at the other end of the room. With his scotopic feed disabled, Bee stared at the bright vortex until it hurt his optics.

“Quick, Bulk, help me with Optimus!”

Then a klick later, “Bee!”

Bumblebee jolted out of the weird trance he was in, throwing himself back into gear. He made to run, only to be stopped short as sharp metal digits grasped his lower leg painfully. His battle protocols instantly hit high and Bee fired. Unfortunately, as Bee looked down, it had missed by a nano-metre, scorching the ground beside Megatron’s helm instead. Furious blue optics met terrifying red. A shudder ran down Bee’s spinal strut as Megatron said nothing, optics unnaturally calm as they dared Bee to try again, to kill.

Bee couldn’t… it wasn’t what Optimus taught him.

The smooth plating on his leg bent as Bumblebee ripped himself from Megatron’s hold. He didn’t hesitate to transform, tyres screeching as he burned rubber to get away as fast as possible. Megatron’s sick laugh followed. Arcee quickly ushered him through the ground bridge before following close to his bumper as the bridge sealed up behind them.

Bee could only relax and forget that sharkticon-like grin when he optics fell upon Raf. His best friend was awake and standing leant against the yellow railing for support, looking much better than he been. The sickly purple tinge and paleness to his skin was gone and as soon as Raf spotted Bee, he beamed brighter than a mech’s spark.

Eagerly, Bee raced over and let Raf wrap his tiny arms around one of his larger digits. It was the closest they could get to a hug (they had tried with holo-forms but Raf had just fallen through) however it worked wonders in settling Bee’s racing spark and making him feel at home again.

“Are you alright, Bee?” Raf asked, as if he hadn’t been the one attacked by Megatron cycles before. Bee slowly nodded, gently ruffling his friend’s hair with the tip of his fore-digit. It made the young human laugh and Bumblebee’s spark hummed in delight, his tight armour unwinding. Some time ago, Bee had discovered humans couldn’t feel their EM fields nor did they have their own, but it had never stopped him from extending his out to any of their human friends. Right now, Bee let his field embrace Raf in a second hug, expressing his joy and relief.

It was then Bee noticed the cube sitting patiently behind the boy, looking comically large in proportion. “Ratchet prepared you all some energon with strict orders that you finish it.” Raf explained at Bee’s confused beeping. The confusion turned to a delighted trill as Bee picked up the cube and eagerly consumed it. Even though it was the awful tasting medi-grade stuff, Bee took it in one go, relishing the immediate after effect that removed some of the heaviness from his frame.

“He said it would make you feel more energised after being around dark energon for so long. Then he’ll have to do some decontamination routines.” Raf shrugged, rubbing at his optics behind his glasses

.: I’ll do anything to get the awful stickiness off me :. Bee whined, door-wings shuddering. .: Then I want a nap :.

“Do you think Ratchet will let us have a sleep over?” Raf’s face lit up at the idea and Bee couldn’t deny his own excitement. He loved sleepovers with Raf! They could play video games, watch a movie, talk about whatever all in Bee’s room now that everything was over and done with. With a bouncing whistle, Bee answered.

.: He will if Optimus says– :. A sudden sadness hit Bee like a Metroplex sized vehicle. Forgetting all about the sleepover, Bee darted away from the platform towards the med-bay. What Bee found left his door-wings drooping and his vocoder whirling in upset.

Ratchet was busy flittering around, using tools and machines Bee didn’t know the name nor the function for, and the medic was muttering in Neocybex glyphs to himself. The scout only caught a glyph or two but none of them were reassuring. Whereas, Optimus remained still and quiet – not his usual stillness or quietness either. He’d bounced back quick from the Cybonic plague and the last lot of dark energon exposure but here Optimus was still worryingly offline. Lying prone on the medical bed, Optimus did not quite fit the space, too tall and broad. The scene was jarring and brought back too many upsetting memories, making him turn away.

He was going to have to break his promise to Ironhide again, unable to stay in the room any longer. Even Raf’s calls after him didn’t bring Bee back.

They were all safety home now but only Primus knew what fighting Unicron had done and what state Optimus would be in when he powered up. As much as Bee wanted him online again, he wasn’t quite brave enough to face the uncertainty…

~~~

It took a swift three solar-cycles for Earth to right itself and go back to its rather primitive norm, the people upon it moving on like their world hadn’t almost killed itself to revive one of the Universe’s worst creations. It had also been the same length of time since Team Prime had all returned from Earth’s core marginally unscathed, thank the Allspark.

Ratchet could not voice how just much anxiety had corrupted his code and left him trying not to have a meltdown the moment the team entered Unicron’s domain. This hadn’t been their usual kind of mission and Ratchet had been blocked from all levels communications, then their signals had been lost and, even though Ratchet had assured the humans it was just interference, it had scared him immensely. It had taken too long, too much waiting while unable to do anything. He’d understood Agent Fowler’s desire to do something even though there was nothing.

When all the wrongs happening across the global had been righted, as relieved as Ratchet had been, it had been overshadowed by the fear of what could have happened to Optimus. It wasn’t just the comm-links and the signals that the distance, the electro-magnetic anomalies, and the dark energon had blocked… Ratchet had been unable to reach Optimus through their bond, and, although it had not been a breakage (Ratchet would not be so functional right now if it had), the cold and still link between them had been terrifying. Watching Bulkhead stumble through, dragging the powered down form of Optimus had frightened Ratchet so much the first thing he rushed to grab had been the spark-restarter. It hadn’t been needed, thank the Allspark and the Thirteen this time, but Optimus had not booted back up no matter what techniques Ratchet had deployed.

Within those three Earth cycles they called ‘days’, Optimus had recharged deeply. Miko had, regrettably, attempted to wake him by playing her guitar just like she had done when Bulkhead was down. All it had done was succeed in giving Ratchet a severe helm-ache and he had banned the instrument from the base for the time being.

They were encroaching on three and a half cycles now, as Ratchet studied his internal chronometer, jotting down the subtle but important fluctuations to Optimus’ spark-rate, line pressure, and internal temperatures. All stable, just not waking up. He was, understandably, growing more concerned as each klick went by. Optimus wasn’t worse, per se, but he should have powered up by now.

Cybertronians did not need to recharge as often as the humans did and Optimus was a frequent non-recharger even at the best of times. Ratchet supposed it was down to his processor and frame demanding rest after everything that had happened recently, but he couldn’t be sure. No amount of medical knowledge could help when he didn’t know enough about the mysterious powers of the Matrix. He didn’t exactly have the Hall of Records to visit any more and the Matrix was perhaps the least researched item in all existence.

In theory, Optimus should have been fine, Ratchet concluded. He had lived many millennia without the Matrix anywhere near him, let along inside his chassis. However, the latter part was one such issue. The fancy database sat right against his spark chamber, practically merging with it. There was absolutely no telling what it might have done ever since Optimus let the thing plug into his internals. Never in the eons that Ratchet had known Optimus as a Prime had he seen anything wrong, but then again, he’d never had reason to. They had never spent any amount of time near any dark energon nor had Optimus ever used the Matrix to banish a primordial force back into a deep recharge at the centre of a backwater planet’s core!

“Calm down, Ratchet.” He muttered to himself, resetting his plating. There was no use getting worked up, this couldn’t be changed now. Earth was awful but regrettably Optimus had come to love the place enough to do stupid things for it.

Back to the bothersome bauble, Ratchet had no idea if it had some sort of secret linkage to Optimus’ processor. It was the repository for the ancient Prime’s knowledge, so it had to have some sort of connection whether hardwire or wireless. And, it wasn’t like Optimus had never removed the device from his chassis. Ratchet had seen him discard it often, like it was bothersome, stating the Primes within were getting on his nerves. But those were careful and usually calm moments, not in the middle of battling a being as corrupt as Unicron. So, removing it might have caused some upset within Optimus’ mainframe.

If Ratchet had to explain it to the children, he would say it was like removing a USB before unmounting it. If it was connected to Optimus’ mind, then without the proper dismounting protocols, data could be lost. But Optimus’ mind and the Matrix were much more complex than a simple USB, which just made everything all the more convoluted. And Ratchet no way of predicting the damage done until Optimus powered up and showed off his pretty blue optics.

When the team had worried and demanded answers, Ratchet had just reported to them that Optimus required rest. Too much fighting, long exposure to large amounts of dark energon, and not enough recharge and fuel – a simply lie, believable really. They had all seen the weakened state Optimus had been in after fighting Megatron before Unicron made himself known, so everymech had taken Ratchet’s diagnosis as truth. For three stressful Earth cycles, none of them had bothered him further, leaving Ratchet too look after Optimus in his new temporary habsuite that was the small med-bay within the outpost’s hub.

Currently using his servo-held scanner over Optimus’ prone form, Ratchet couldn’t stop the deep sigh from his vents as the monitor read nothing inauspicious from any of his full frame and processor scans. Not that he wanted anything untoward, but at least he could diagnose and treat that sort of thing despite their low supplies and shoddy machinery.

“No change?” Asked the polite voice of one such Nurse Darby. Ratchet solemnly shook his helm, unsurprised by her presence – it was more welcomed than anymech else at this point. At least Nurse Darby knew how to suture a wound, even if she was used to using stitching with a needle instead of using a welder. To Ratchet’s utter delight, she also didn’t ask stupid questions unlike some guitar wielding nuisances. Anyway, they had already worked together to save the young Rafael, there was absolutely no question when June had offered her assistance with Optimus.

“There are no worrying signs, everything is stable,” Ratchet began, dropping the scanner on a nearby surface just a little too roughly. At the back of his processor, Ratchet could hear his own voice scolding himself along the lines of I needed that! He still had a few tools to fix up that he’s launched across the hub in a frenzy when Raf had been dry drowning to dark energon. With the useless scans done, Ratchet replaced the soft blanket the humans had (somehow) provided to keep Optimus tucked in.

“However, I cannot determine the true cause of Optimus’ unconsciousness, nor will I know the full extension of the effects on his processor until Optimus wakes up.” Nurse Darby nodded along sagely, although she did not really need an explanation. It did help to free up some space in his processor, which had been occupied by unnecessary lines of anxious code.

“What if Optimus never wakes up?” Miko asked, startling Ratchet just a bit. He had forgotten she and the two boys were going to be around base more often now (something about breaking springs?). She was perched on the sofa with Rafael, keeping their guardians company as they kept out of Ratchet way.

Overcoming his minute shock and registering Miko’s words, Ratchet’s spark flared in an intense anger and he almost snapped at the girl. However, his brain module worked quicker than his spark did, registering the undertones of upset and worry in her voice that replaced the typical snark and teasing. It was easy to forget the humans cared for their kind, as small and insignificant as they were. And somehow, in response, they had all (yes all, including himself) had come to care for the native life forms in return. Especially Optimus, the big sap, as they too cared for Optimus a great deal, even if he was not one of their designated guardians. He always had a tenancy to adopt any strays.

“He will reboot, Miko.” Ratchet answered in a more gentle tone that might have done any other cycle she annoyed him. He did not wish to raise her, or any mech’s, hopes too much just in case of the very, very worse, but that scenario was one Ratchet refused entirely to consider. Optimus was not ill like with the Cybonic plague, he would recover, it would just take time and patience. Most of Ratchet’s function as a medic was spent waiting, he would endure.

“As you sure?” Miko questioned again, leaning in closer. Ratchet spotted a thin line of water resting along the lower lid of her optics, which he understood to be tears, a response to sad stimuli most of the time. He frowned, not wanting her to cry. Ratchet wasn’t sure how to handle it if she did start bawling. It would set Raf and Bumblebee off, followed by Bulkhead too, then maybe even himself...

“Everything was simply too much for his processor to handle at the moment. Even big strong ‘bots like Optimus need to power down and recharge.” He hopefully assured her as she wiped her optics with the back of her servos. “Optimus had a lot to recover from, but he will recover.

“And we can’t just heal him like we did Raf?”

“Unfortunately not.” Ratchet frowned deeply, optical ridges drawn in and furrowed. Dear Primus, did he wish it were that easy. He was keeping Optimus topped up on energon, but they could not just wash away his exhaustion with a flip of a switch and some good fuel. “We can only wait.”

Miko pouted at that but gave no argument, choosing instead to plonk back down on the sofa and draw Rafael into a loving hug. The young boy was doing better, thankfully, even though he was as upset as the rest of them about Optimus’ condition. Nurse Darby had assured Ratchet that Rafael was in no danger of a relapse and it had not caused irreversible damage so far as they could tell. Rafael was suffering from nightmares, but that was to be expected and Ratchet could not cure that any more than he could fix Bee’s voice-box or wake Optimus up.

They had yet to inform Rafael’s creators about the incident, something Ratchet was inclined to leave that mess to Nurse Darby and Agent Fowler.

From his spot near the children’s area, Bumblebee sang a downtrodden tune, his door-wings drooping low while he held himself in a hug. Bulkhead tried to cheer him up with an affection pat to the pauldron, but it had no effect. The morale of the team was suffering greatly despite their victory, as though it itself was poisoned by dark energon. With Optimus down and out for now, they had no mech to give them an awe-inspiring speech about greatness and sacrifice and saving the world. They had no mech to assure them everything would be fine in a voice that was so delightful to hear and so righteous, you just had to believe every glyph it spoke. Ratchet had tried, of course, but he didn’t have Optimus’ natural charisma nor did he even know what to say. He wasn’t leader, just an old medic…

The second recharge shift right after everything had come and gone, Ratchet had had the peace and quiet to ponder what exactly might have happened had they failed to bring Optimus back with them. Not the dreadful possibility that he had been terminated – that would have been the be all and end all of their fight. No, Ratchet had wondered how things might have played out had Megatron taken Optimus prisoner aboard the Nemesis.

Firstly, they would have had no way of reaching Optimus to rescue him and Ratchet highly doubted Megatron would even consider ransoming him. He had done, in the past back on Cybertron, but that had been when the Autobots had had things Megatron needed. Now? They had absolutely nothing that would interest the warlord, just the SynthEn research but that was hardly stable at the best of times. Optimus held most of the sensitive information, he had the Matrix, he was their Prime. Megatron would have kept him. For what purpose? Ratchet hadn’t been able to follow that line of inquire, only determining that it would have been an outcome worse than death.

Had Optimus been taken from them, the team would have been in shambles, Ratchet was certain. Leadership would have fallen onto him and Arcee, mostly because he was most senior and she was the most experienced fighter. However, that could never have worked. Ratchet never left the base and, even if the team listened from time to time, he couldn’t strategise and command them like Optimus, or Ultra Magnus, or even Jazz could. He wouldn’t have the patience for them or for dealing with the human alliance. And that was even if Ratchet could have pulled himself out of his grief. He had little left in the universe that he truly cared about. Optimus was his amica long before he became Ratchet’s Prime. If anything had happened to Optimus, Ratchet would have hidden away to finally rust in peace.

Arcee, on the other servo, would have been blinded by her lust for revenge for Cliffjumper, for Tailgate, and for Optimus. Ratchet had pictured her running off on her own mid-mission, launching herself through a Decepticon ground bridge, racing through the halls of the Nemesis looking for Optimus, only for Megatron to tear her in half or for Soundwave to leave her stranded with the use of an expertly timed ground bridge. That was if Arcee didn’t get them all killed thanks to her impulsiveness. She too lacked the endless patience and innate nobility Optimus held within him. Bulkhead and Bumblebee might have felt more inclined to follow her, but Arcee was no Prime and she did not have the same capacity for leadership that Optimus embodied.

Overall, their team would stick together, Ratchet was sure of that because they were family. And yet, without Optimus there, they would have had little hope and even less to fight for. Everything would have fallen apart and Ratchet would have allowed it, wallowing in a deep grief until he wasted away and silently rejoined the Allspark…

There was hope in the fact that none of that would come to fruition, but the close proximity they had come to that timeline kept Ratchet up during recharge joors. Just another one to add to the list...

Arcee’s two-wheeler engine echoed through the base and caught every mech’s attention as she zipped into the hub. Jack was perched on her seat before he hopped off, removing his helmet while Arcee transformed into her root-mode. Ratchet caught as both of them cast equally concerned and gloomy glances to their recharging leader.

As Ratchet observed the young boy climbing the stairs to join Miko and Raf, he couldn’t help but think back on how Optimus had entrusted Jack with the key to Vector Sigma. It had come as a complete shock, seeing the very precious item being flapped around in Jack’s servo like it was nothing more than a fancy piece of scrap!

At that moment in time, Ratchet couldn’t believe it. His bigotry got the better of him, scoffing at the mere suggestion that a human would be entrusted with such an important item. A hint of envy had hit too, because Optimus hadn’t chosen him for it. No matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter, it didn’t meant Optimus didn’t trust him, envy’s green tendrils had already wrapped themselves into his brain module and wouldn’t be booted. It also hurt that Optimus hadn’t bothered to discuss it with him. They often talked about big decisions or even small nuisances that they could only entrust with one another. But this? Not a glyph or even a hint. Ratchet later put it down to the Prime avoiding Ratchet’s wrath and any attempts to stop Optimus was sacrificing himself for Earth.

Even though he was mostly over those unpleasant feelings now, he still struggled to quite comprehend fully the logic behind making such a small being, a child at that, the keeper to one of the most sacred relics ever created on Cybertron. Partly, Ratchet wondered if his little stunt saying Orion had been like Jack was what spurred Optimus to his decision or not. However, Optimus had obviously trusted Jack undeniably and wanted to give him the key as just a precaution. Ratchet would be lying if he said he didn’t trust Optimus. He often questioned Optimus’ logic units, but never let that get in the way of what mattered most.

The Decepticons and Unicorn would never have expected a human to be entrusted with it. And, at the very least, Jack was less prone to snap it like Miko or Bulkhead.

Though, what truly scared Ratchet when he thought about the key? Optimus had clearly assumed something amiss would happen. He had told the team he didn’t know what the outcome would be, but either he concluded it himself or the Matrix had given him some incline. Ratchet knew what the key led to and it didn’t take much processor power to deduce a likely outcome upon using the Matrix as they had. If Ratchet was correct and it had happened, for now, he kept that possible outcome to himself lest he wanted panic to ensue.

~~~

Time bled by and Earth’s single sun had nearly set with everymech loitering around the main hub still. The children had been ushered into doing their maths and science homework at June’s behest (and Miko’s many, many complaints). Meanwhile, the Autobots were not bothered about attempting to look busy. There was not much they could do anyway, but Bulkhead was fully recharging whilst standing upright and Bee was close to joining him. All the place was missing was Agent Fowler’s presence. He had been called away by the orders of his superiors, likely wanting the full report of everything, which Fowler had been procrastinating since its resolution. He would be back eventually, partly because it was his duty to be at the base but more likely because he had begun to care for the team, even if he only showed it by shouting and bursting their audial mesh regularly.

Ratchet, unsurprisingly, had barely left the med-bay at all. His servos had begun twitching as they demanded to be used for some task or other, except there was very little he could do presently that wouldn’t drag him away from Optimus’ side. Ratchet had done a few tasks, mostly the very necessary and if he did do them now, everything would get fragged, kind of jobs. But even then, he was hardly away for long. ‘Speeding running’, Rafael had dubbed it, not that Ratchet understood.

For now, he was just repairing his damage tools and listening to the steady rhythm of Optimus’ spark-beat. It was slow and typical, and Ratchet had been listening to it on repeat since bringing Optimus home, meaning the moment it changed, Ratchet locked onto it. It was a minute change at first but it meant everything. His head snapped round to the left as the beats per klick ticked up. That was when he noticed the flickering of soft blue as Optimus’ optics tried to power up.

Immediately, Ratchet sprang from his perch on a stool, disregarding the clatter it made against the floor. “Optimus?” He whispered hopefully, crowding in and leaning over his friend while the rest of the room fell into silence. Ratchet could feel every set of optics on him but he kept his own locked onto Optimus’ faceplates.

“Come on, Optimus. Come back to me.” He urged desperately, palm set on one of his newly replaced wind-shields. As Optimus’ optics gradually grew brighter and slowly expanded then contracted, Ratchet’s vents nearly stalled. He gently expanded out his field, filling it with encouragement as it mingled with Optimus’ own. Then, Ratchet reached along their bond for good measure. He felt Optimus responding back, albeit it slowly and with confusion, but it was a weight lifted off Ratchet’s shoulder. With each passing astro-second, Optimus’ systems rebooted and came online, then–

The moment Optimus’ gaze locked onto him with a glint of recognition, Ratchet’s spark clenched in such absolute relief that Ratchet could have cried. Optimus recognised him, that was a great sign. He couldn’t stop himself from gently pressing the fronts of their helms together, Optimus’ engine purring quietly in response. “Welcome back, Optimus.” Ratchet smiled, but there was that same burst of confusion from within Optimus’ field. It was understandable that he was a bit lost. As far as Optimus was concerned, he was last at Unicron’s core, fighting beside his life-long enemy, briefly turned unpleasant ally.

“Let’s get you sat up.” Optimus didn’t respond but neither did he fight Ratchet’s help as he pulled Optimus up right and settled him with his back plating against the wall. His voice box crackled, a slight glitch in its sound as it reset and recalled how to talk again. Instead, Optimus gave his appreciation through a pulse over their bond. Comfortable and blanket tucked around his legs, Optimus’ gaze slowly rolled around the room, taking everything in quietly. As he did, Ratchet gathered a few things, intending on performing a few routine checks before he got started on the more important tests regarding his processor.

For the first time in three cycles, Ratchet waved his scanner over Optimus’ helm and upper chassis without the intense feeling of dread and uncertainty for his amica’s fate.

As before, there were no concerned with the results, everything in order for a mech who had just come out of an extended recharge period. Grogginess, confusion, and even tiredness were expected. Optimus’ engine would need a good oiling and his protoform would probably be a bit stiff and achy but nothing some light exercise wouldn’t fix. After all of that, then would Ratchet finally tear his amica new exhaust pipe for nearly sacrificing himself for Earth, of all the planets. Every mech else, to Ratchet’s relief, remained quiet instead of bounding to hound their Prime with countless questions (some of dubious relevancy) and overwhelming him so soon after booting up. Optimus being Optimus would have taken it in stride until Ratchet had managed to corral them away with threats of wrenches, mop duty, and groundings.

With his pen-light in servo, Ratchet was just about to shine it into Optimus’ left optic when the Prime spoke.

“Where are we, Ratchet?”

That wasn’t American English. It wasn’t even an Earth language they had downloaded from the World Wide Web , instead, Optimus had spoken in Iaconian dialect. Now, it wasn’t uncommon for the team to switch back to their original syntax from time to time, especially if they didn’t want certain native life forms overhearing, but that was typically Neocybex. This was just the Iaconian language model. It wasn’t too worrying, just unexpected – maybe a subroutine had routed the wrong way or his language cache had selected the wrong directory.

It was the question itself that rattled Ratchet more, making his tanks feel a little unsteady. They had been on Earth for near twenty-six full orbits around its giant blazing star. There wasn’t a cycle since their truce with the American government that Optimus hadn’t spent time in the outpost.

“What’s the last thing you recall, Optimus?” Ratchet asked back, also in Iaconian, wanting to know just what Optimus could remember before he went diagnosing anything. It might have been a temporary glitch, just his systems struggling to find the right pathways while everything starting running again. On the other servo, it could mean something wrong with his memory core or its recall functions – which was not the most uplifting sign, but it also didn’t spell out complete disaster either. Ratchet didn’t need to go scaring himself or the rest of the team.

On the bright side (no pun intended), Optimus’ optics reacted well to light stimuli, contracting and expanding in necessary conjunction when Ratchet brought his light closer or further away. He also had no issue following the light when instructed to either and Optimus didn’t report any blind spots, double vision, or issues with focusing.

“Why do you call me by that designation, friend?” Optimus asked instead of giving an answer. They were as bad as each other.

“What do you mean? It’s yours?” They both frowned, staring at each other. Now that Ratchet looked at his friend’s faceplates properly, there was something different. It was subtle, probably a change that would go unnoticed by one who wasn’t Optimus’ amica endura. But Ratchet caught it quick.

It was his opticals ridges. They sat just a smidgen higher, looser. Yet it made all the difference. Optimus looked younger, less stressed, more like–

Like...

“Orion?”

“So you do remember!” Optimus– Orion grinned teasingly. Ratchet didn’t even need proof it was true because that grin had Orion written all over. He hadn’t seen it in eons, but the memories of a younger, less burdened version of his amica jumped to the fore-front of Ratchet’s mind instantly. “I was worried your memory chip had begun to degrade with old age or thanks to all that high grade you get down your intake.” Ratchet couldn’t even fumble through his shock to register the jab let alone throw one back, caught on the mischievous brightness to Optimus’ optics that had been dormant for so long.

The pen-light slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground loudly in the open space and rolling away somewhere. It made Optimus’ jump, but Ratchet hardly heard it, wobbling on the spot. He had to support himself by clutching a bright red, armoured shoulder. Even as Optimus’ faceplates morphed from shock to concern, servos rising to help steady him, Ratchet just stared dumbfounded. All he could see was Orion.

This couldn’t be happening… could it? What had the Matrix done? Why had it reverted Optimus to his previous self? Was Orion returned to him? Was it simply a momentary glitch? A permanent alteration? What was Ratchet supposed to do?

He had no idea what to do…

“Ratchet? What’s happening?” The English glyphs cut through to him, jolting Ratchet from his stupor. The two of them look over his shoulder to find Arcee had stepped into the med-bay and was watching with sharp but concerned optics. Ratchet had an answer for her, but he couldn’t voice it. Not yet.

“Who are they?” Optimus (Orion?) questioned cautiously, either only just realising they weren’t alone or having forgotten in the short interim that there were others present. That was the second question to make Ratchet’s tanks drop.

.: Optimus? :. Bumblebee lingered just beyond Arcee’s shoulders, optics circling wide as the young scout watched too . As Ratchet turned back to Orion (Optimus?), there was no hint of the earlier recognition in his optics, not even a nano-byte of tender affection . Oh frag...

“Optimus– Orion, what is the last thing you can recall?” Ratchet questioned again, pushing harder for an answer this time. He probably shouldn’t have, but Ratchet even gave Optimus a quick shake. Ratchet just needed to know this one thing and he needed to know it now. Because if he was right, then–

“Megatronus and myself were preparing to meet with the High Council.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck–

Stressed out, Ratchet ran a servo over his faceplates, giving himself just a tiny moment of reprieve. He could have used a huge tankard of high grade right now. Or two. Or just a whole sea’s worth.

“I do not understand why you are asking,” As Ratchet dropped his servo to his side and looked down at Orion again, his helm was cocked to the side in innocent puzzlement. “You were present, right by my side. Ratchet, it was you who was keeping me from losing my processor.” The irony of that was palpable, nearly making Ratchet laugh in acute mania.

“Alright. Okay, uh– Okay.” Ratchet had to take a step back, rebooting his logic units to flush out the panic that had nestled in. He would not lose his mind, yet. Ratchet had a duty to perform. Later, in the privacy of his own habsuite, would be when Ratchet could go mental.

“I’m sure you’re very confused, Orion, and I promise I’ll explain everything soon.” Ratchet promised, not even sure where he would begin with that explanation. There was so much to cover, eons worth of history and date. If they were back in the Hall of Record, Orion could just download and read everything in a few klicks. But they were stuck on a scrapheap of a planet instead…

“First things first, I need you to tell me if you can access your memory banks entirely.”

Orion’s optics went slightly unfocused as he concentrated on rooting through his internal files. Then after a few astro-seconds, he focused back on Ratchet, answering, “I can.”

“Good, good. That’s good and bad.” Ratchet muttered the last part to himself as he jotted it down in Optimus’ current medical notes. Good because it meant there were no protective firewalls or burnt out connection nodes in their way! Bad because, at least, protective firewalls or burnt out connection nodes would have been so easy to to fix…

“Now, I need you to tell me if your have a language packet that’s not like Iaconian or Neocybex.” This search took a little longer, Orion’s optics dropping focus once more, while his optical ridges furrowed and a small frown pulled at his lip plates. This facial expression was enough of an answer, Orion far more open than his future self turned out to be.

“I’ve got ancient Cybertronian?” Because of course he did. Nerd.

“That’s not quite what I meant.” Ratchet reiterated, huffing out a small but amused vent. He then settled a gentle servo over Orion’s pauldron. “For now, I’m going to send you a new language packet, it’ll make things a little...easier.”

“Alright.” Orion agreed, although he did not sound so sure. Their bond wobbled with confusion and uncertainty, but Ratchet was just thankfully Orion trusted him to wait for clarity. It was easy sending over the language packet, blue finials twitching minutely as they responded to the transmission signals. Orion’s voice-box crackled again like before while it adjusted again, an unpleasant feeling according to the sudden droop of his tall finials.

Now, the rest would not be so easy. Ratchet had very little clue on where to start. This wasn’t a case of a simple welding fix or energon infusion. Nothing upon Earth would remotely helped them and Cybertron–

Cybertron. Vector Sigma.

Of course! Ratchet had neglected to recall the key in his elation and his following shock and panic. It was just… how would they get to Cybertron to use it? Optimus had given Jack the key, had he foreseen them truly needing to use it? How did he expect them to even do that?! Earth was no longer harbouring any space bridges…

Ratchet was back to square one.

“We are not on Cybertron any more, are we, friend?” Opt– Orion deduced, vocaliser glitching out on a few syllables and consonants before it stabilised. Of course he had figured that out on his own. Orion’s processor did always work a higher data-rate than Ratchet’s, observing and analysing everything around them on levels only an archivist was programmed to achieve. If only he could figure out their little dilemma with Vector Sigma.

.: Why’re you asking that, Optimus? :. Bumblebee’s binary voice came their way again before Ratchet could speak first, his whirls and zips reaching a higher pitch and more distressed this time. As Ratchet turned his attention to the scout, Bee’s optics locked onto his, flooded with desperation. .: Ratchet, what’s going on? :. Bumblebee stepped further into the crowded space, so Ratchet quickly guided him and Arcee away with only a hint of resistance from the latter. Thankfully Bulkhead seemed the only one not eager to butt his way in and take up space, instead watching from the side-lines with the humans.

“Bumblebee, I need you to settle, please.” Ratchet request, not quite yet falling to the level of begging or shouting. Bee simply deployed his usual tactic of, what Miko had named, ‘puppy-dog eyes’. The only affect it had on Ratchet this time was making the medic feel guilty. “I understand you’re worried but I cannot–”

“We get patient confidentiality, Ratchet,” Arcee interrupted, her vents giving out an indignant huff. He didn’t appreciate the tone, but Ratchet would let to slide for the time being. They were all very stressed out right now, especially Ratchet. “But we have a right to know what’s going on!”

“I know, I know! It’s just– It’s a delicate situation, you see.” Ratchet stressed, hoping it would click in their helms. However, Arcee levelled him with a look that meant she was not going to leave without an answer. She would find it herself or Ratchet would have to tell her. He really should have chased everymech from the base groons ago or moved Optimus to the more private and larger med-bay. With a heavy sigh that Ratchet’s ventilation had been holding in for eons, he gave in. “Optimus has lost his memory–”

“What?!” Came an unexpected and surprisingly loud yell. Ratchet quickly swivelled around, spotting Miko standing right by Optimus’ pede. The children often darted around their pedes (to much of Ratchet’s frustration) so, it wouldn’t have been an issue any other cycle. Only, Optimus wasn’t Optimus right now.

Optimus– Orion– Whichever version of himself he was, hadn’t yet noticed Miko near him. Her exclamation drew his attention, causing the very large ‘bot to practically leat of the bed with a string of extremely startled Iaconian curses. His optics went wider than wheel-rims and a huge puff of smoke exploded out of the stacks at Optimus’ back. Then, Optimus stumbled backwards ungracefully, pedes stomping as the blanket wound around his lower legs. In response, Miko screamed with terror. Extremely luckily, she managed to dodge Optimus’ frantic pede-steps. However, her shriek only served to alarm their confused leader further. It equally didn’t help that everymech else reacted all at once. Three of them surged forward suddenly, shouting in surprise, and each trying to protect Miko. Meanwhile, Ratchet went for Optimus, hoping to calm the situation somehow.

Except... the chaos and terror reached a new level the moment both of Optimus’ servos changed into his blasters. They powered up instantly, aim right at the human child–

Twin shots were fired. Ratchet stumbled to a stop, optics fixed on the devastating mark that remained...

“Miko!” Bulkhead wailed, becoming a raging mess of anger and grief. Blinded by it, the wrecker sailed past Ratchet, right for the frozen Prime.

“Bulkhead, she’s fine!” Arcee shouted but it was too late to stop the unfortunate momentum of a vengeful Bulkhead. The two collided, Optimus too horrified with himself to leap out the way, and they both were sent flying backwards. There was an Earth-shaking crash as they hit into whatever had stopped their momentum.

“Bulkhead!” Ratchet shouted, angry about the damage but more panicked for poor Optimus. He raced forward, practically yanking the mech off Optimus stuck underneath him. Luckily, they missed the infusion chamber entirely, but the monitors to the right of it were not so fortunate…

“Sorry Ratch’,” Bulkhead groaned, holding his helm as he wobbled backwards. He immediate went to Arcee’s side, searching for the girl tucked safely in her servos. Miko’s luck was off the scales, had Arcee been even a fraction of an astro-second too late– Thankfully they had been able to avoid the worst outcome.

“You shouldn’t be apologising to just me!” Ratchet snapped but he didn’t care for whatever response Bulkhead might have given. Instead, he moved closer to Opt– Orion, who was half crushed on the floor and not looking too good. A swift check to ensure Orion was still online, Ratchet turned back to the group, taking charge effectively. “Arcee, let Nurse Darby check Miko. Bee, Bulkhead, stay back and no humans down here until I've given the all clear!” He didn’t need everyone crowding around them, even if they only wanted to help. No ‘bot argued for their own sake and they scattered away quick to do as Ratchet had ordered.

With some peace and quiet, Ratchet knelt beside Orion, who had begun to extract himself from the ruined remains of the console and its multiple screens. At least its data had been stored to their cloud-system and not locally. Ratchet began to help him, brushing off broken glass and metal from Orion’s upper chassis, before unwinding the blanket caught up in his many wheels. Then, he helped Orion back up onto his pedes, which was when his amica tensed up and frozen.

“Orion?” He prompted.

“Why am I armed?” Orion questioned fearfully, reverting back to Iacon’s dialect. He wasn’t looking at Ratchet, instead staring down at the twin blasters that that protruded from his fore-arms. They had since powered down, but remained exposed and shaking ever-so slightly. After eons of war, Ratchet had known Optimus to integrated weaponry longer than Orion had been without. Ratchet hadn’t had the time to fully comprehend that Orion was back, let along consider how he would be feeling about the changes to his own frame.

“A lot has changed, old friend.” Ratchet professed solemnly, gently using his servo to turn Orion’s helm towards him. His gaze followed slower, dragging its way up to Ratchet’s optics. There was a soft sadness to them already as well as a tiredness that had not yet become accumulated to the exhaustion of warfare.

“I’m going to take you to your habsuite, okay?” Ratchet tried to smile encouragingly, guiding Orion back to the medical bed. The mess left behind could be sorted another cycle. He did perform a quick check-up but any and all damage done by Bulkhead was superficial, Orion more emotionally distraught than in physical pain. “Just give me a few klicks.”

Ratchet left Orion’s side once the mech had settled some more and transformed his weapons safely away. He just needed to ensure Miko was unharmed and talk with the team for a moment. Approaching the human’s platform, Ratchet spied Miko now wrapped in a thick blanket, holding a mug of hot milk and cuddled into June’s arms.

“Is Miko unharmed?” He asked gently.

“Yes, thank you.” Nurse Darby responded curtly, none too pleased with what had transpired. Ratchet wasn’t either, disappointed in Miko for her actions, however now was not the time to chastise her, nor did he have the effort to do it anyway. He would also have to talk to Bulkhead about bulldozing their leader.

“We’ll need to discuss our newest problem in detail later,” Ratchet began as every bot and human looked to him for an explanation. “It appears that, after using the Matrix to return Unicron to his deep stasis, Optimus lost not only the wisdom of the Primes, but also his own memories from after receiving the Primacy.”

Ratchet was not happy that his earlier deductions were highly likely to be correct. It made everything so much more complicated. But, there were two comforts he could cling too for now: one being that Megatron had not had the chance to dig his claws into Optimus and manipulate the circumstance to his own benefit. Secondly, Optimus– Orion had not lost himself entirely. The wisdom of the Prime and the entire war was gone, but Orion knew himself.

“Is there a way to get his memories back?” Arcee questioned, arms crossed over her chassis as she hugged herself tight.

“Can’t we use the key to Vector Sigma?” Jack spoke up, approaching Ratchet and holding up the small device. It glinted in the bright silo lights, taunting Ratchet with its uselessness.

“You have the key to Vector Sigma?!” Bulkhead gawped, optics bugging out as he looked at the boy.

“We’ll explain later, but yes, Optimus entrusted it to Jack.” Ratchet told them swiftly, wanting to get back to Orion sooner rather than later. “I do not begin to fully understand Optimus’ plan in giving it to you Jack, except that perhaps he did not intend on returning.” The last part made Ratchet’s spark squeeze to near extinction. He did not like to dwell on that.

“What is Vector Sigma?” Rafael asked, giving Ratchet something else to focus on.

“It is the repository of the wisdom of the Primes.”

“So we can download Optimus’ memories from it then? Sweet! It’s a perfect plan!” Miko exclaimed, still bundled up in her blanket, however seemingly recovered from her near death experience. Letting his overused vents exhale once again, Ratchet shook his helm sedately.

“It is on Cybertron and we do not possess the means of getting there.” Ratchet explained, the morale of the group taking another hit. Of course, the Autobots knew that already, but to say it out loud just made everything seem worse. They were lucky to still have Optimus functioning, they all knew that. But they needed him back whole.

“Uh hello? What’s that, dude?” Miko gestured to the ground bridge, definitely already over nearly being crushed if she was capable of giving attitude. Ratchet might have scoffed and rolled his optics at human simplicity. He had once hoped things would be that easy for them, but the length of the war had show Ratchet the truth. Nothing was ever so simple, not even to those who deserved it.

“Miko, the ground bridge struggled to even reach the edges of Earth’s atmosphere.” Rafael explained for him, saving Ratchet the trouble. At least somebot understood.

“So? Ratchet built it, he can just turbocharge it!” Miko suggested and Ratchet got close to dismissing the ideas as unhelpful and naive. However, he paused, delete the command before it could leave his voice box. It had actually sparked an idea in his processor, although he would need to think further on it and test any tinkering done. Fiddling with a ground bridge was dangerous and could result in so many complications: mass displacement trauma, twisted limbs, severe metal burn, to name a few. Ratchet wisely kept the idea to himself for now, not wanting to raise any hopes that would only be dashed and stamped upon should it fail.

“For now, there is little we can do except wait for Optimus to regain some strength, then we can figure out a game plan and go from there. I’m going to take Optimus back to his room, no one is to disturb him, so no sneaking down there, Miko.” Ratchet ignored the girl’s grumbling response, heading back to Orion, who was staring up at the ceiling as though he were searching for something. Orion’s gaze dropped down to him as Ratchet approached, a gentle smile forming despite the tired slump of a frame too big for an archivist.

The two of them slowly made their way to Optimus’ room, Orion leaning heavily against Ratchet as he limped – courtesy of Bulkhead’s body slam. They also moved slow with Orion’s unfamiliarity with his own frame, not used to the height or its weight. It was odd but reminded Ratchet of when Optimus had first been granted his upgrades. The number of doorways that had a dent shaped suspiciously like Optimus’ helm or his wide shoulders was numerous, only superseded by the amount of hanging lights that had been ripped clean from the ceiling.

The peace, quiet, and solitude of Optimus’ room was welcomed and Ratchet almost felt like he had stepped into a hot oil bath. Carefully, Ratchet helped Orion lower himself to the bed, helping him disconnected the smoke-stacks at his back for more comfort.

“I hope you were not too spooked by Miko.”

“That was embarrassing…” Orion groaned, hiding his faceplates in the palm of his servo. Then his second and third digit split apart to allow one optic to peak through. “For a moment I was convinced she was a scraplet.” Orion admitted abashedly, making Ratchet bark out a laugh.

“There are some similarities between them, that is true.” Ratchet agreed, feeling a portion of the tension leave his frame. As Orion lied down, Ratchet took a step back, intending on leaving his friend to rest. He had many things to do, as well as a team to coral.

“Will you stay?” Orion requested gently, stopping Ratchet in his tracks. He looked back at Orion, who had half his face pressed into his mountain of pillows, the blankets held open to Ratchet invitingly. Ratchet didn’t need to consider his response, whether it was Optimus or Orion he eagerly cuddled up to. The bed wasn’t really made for two, hardly big enough for Optimus alone, but Ratchet had no qualms with being half on top such a broad chassis with Orion’s arm holding him in place. Orion’s field reached out to him, intertwined with unnecessary gratitude.

As Ratchet set his audial over Orion’s chassis to listen to the steady spark-beat underneath, he tried not to think about anything. It was difficult, the more he tried to avoid it, the more Ratchet couldn’t not think about things. The situation was slagged, no matter how he looked at it. They have Optimus but no way to begin to help him. They had the key to Vector Sigma, but no way to get to Cybertron. Meanwhile, the Decepticon certainly had Megatron back and would no doubt start to wreak havoc sooner rather than later. The team would be able to fight back but Megatron would grow suspicious with the lack of appearance from Optimus. The warlord would either grow bolder and more ambitious with his attacks to lure Optimus out or even attempt a full take over assuming they had lost their Prime.

A warm hand on his cheek plating momentarily ceased further spiralling, guiding Ratchet’s helm to look up at Orion.

“Something is wrong, isn’t it?” He asked with a tiny frown. Ratchet opened his intake to answer only to close it again. Where would he even begin? Instead, Ratchet sat up enough to look at Orion properly.

“This might seem odd, but do you know what a snowball is?” The question certainly seemed out of place, but Ratchet just needed to test something. His friend’s optics lost their focus, finials twitching back and forth in precise movements.

“The Merriam-Webster dictionary determines that a ‘snowball’ is ‘a round mass of snow pressed or rolled together’,” Orion recited, obviously having managed to access the internet. “But the search engine Google has also provided me with the term ‘snowball kiss’, which is where ‘a person holds the ejacu–’”

“Okay!! Okay, stop!” Ratchet stammered in panic, slamming his servo over Orion’s intake before he could go any further. Add that to the list of Earth-terms he wish he did not know…

Orion blinked owlishly at him, waiting for Ratchet to move his servo away. So he did while trying to scrub his own memory banks of the last few astro-seconds.

“I don’t have any memories containing anything about any ‘snowballs’,” Orion reported. “Should I?”

With a shake of his helm, Ratchet moved on. “What about Jasper, Nevada? Anything pinging in your memory banks?”

A nano-klick passed. “Negative. Why?”

“Just checking a theory...” Ratchet tried not to feel too down-trodden but he couldn’t help it. Part of him had been wishing that maybe all Optimus needed was a little bit of time for things to fix themselves. Ratchet really wanted to be proven wrong about his hypothesis… He would have to check again after Orion had rested some, just to be thorough, but Ratchet’s hopes were hanging on by a thin and fraying cable.

“Would you be able to tell me a little of what is happening?” Orion questioned in a whisper, optics watching Ratchet with uncertainty. He reached towards Ratchet, who clasped Orion’s servo in his own with a comforting squeeze. “I feel lost and yet, I know I am safe, especially with you.”

Ratchet’s old spark did a few flips at Orion’s words. “You always did know how to make an old mech like me swoon, Orion.” He teased softly, smiling. Orion’s side of their bond wriggled with light embarrassment.

“I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you a few facts.” Ratchet conceded before getting them both to shift around so that he was the on lying on his back and Orion was draped over him like a big, metal blanket. It wouldn’t make leaving very easy, but Ratchet would approach that issue when the time came around. For now, he was comfortable and warm, slowly massaging the tight spot of protoform that joined to the back of Orion’s helm. Atop him, Orion’s vents let out a hefty sigh, frame relaxing and weighing just a little heavier on Ratchet.

“For the past twenty-six solar-cycles we’ve lived on a planet designated ‘Earth’. It is… it’s somewhat adequate. Here we lack many of the wonders of Cybertron, but we, at least, have enough sources of energon to keep us fuelled even if it is no better than hog-wash.” Ratchet put lightly. There were many other choice glyphs he had for this planet and their situation. He could probably rant for vorns if somemech let him. “We speak the local language because yo– our leader wished for us to mingle with the locals. They are primitive, uninteresting, and extremely annoying.” Ratchet complained, making Orion’s engine rumble in amusement.

“And yet, for now we call it home.” Ratchet said surprisingly softly. It was home, but not the planet, nor the continent they had landed on, or even their little outpost in the middle of the desert. For Ratchet, it was home because Optimus was there. He cared for the rest of the team (humans begrudge included) but it was Optimus’ spark Ratchet had bound with his own.

“I once told a dear friend that if he left me stranded on this planet, I would never forgive him.”

“And did they?” Orion asked, looking up at him with the loveliest optics, full of softness and understanding. Ratchet had to look away, instead focusing on tucking the blanket around Orion’s shoulder as he answered.

“You could say that, yes.” He half shrugged, one shoulder pinned underneath the huge mech.

“Then I sincerely pity that mech.” Orion laughed quietly, hitting Ratchet with a smile that hurt worse than when Megatron smashed his chassis in. He couldn’t help but melt, his own smile in return tinged by a soft sadness caused by memories his friend no longer possessed.

“Rest, Orion.” Ratchet advised, deciding he too was going to recharge just for a few groons. Maybe if he did, then he’d wake up and find everything was a lucid nightmare brought on by the synthEn.

“But I have some more questions!” Orion argued gently, making Ratchet roll his optics.

“Of course you do.”

Before Ratchet could consider switching Orion into shut down mode, his amica had lifted himself up to sit back on his haunches and began rattling of questions. “How did we get here? When did we get here? You never told me who those other mecha were–”

Knowing Orion wasn’t going to stop, Ratchet simply answered each as they tumbled out of his intake. “By ship, obviously, which crashed landed. The Earth solar-cycle of 1984. They are our friends; Bulkhead’s the green one, Arcee’s the two-wheeler, and Bumblebee is yo– is our scout.” Ratchet quickly amended.

“–and I still don’t understand why we have left Cybertron.” The question had Ratchet sitting up as well.

“I’d rather tell you after a good recharge, let everymech settle after this cycle’s excitement, sorry, Orion.” He apologised sincerely. Really, he’d like to be certain that Optimus’ memories weren’t going to jolt back into place first. Yet, they wouldn’t be able to Orion in the dark forever. He had a knack for discovering information.

“Alright…” Orion pouted, letting Ratchet drag him back down to the bed and cuddle up again. “Can I ask one more thing?” Ratchet shouldn’t have been surprised, rolling his optics again with the added short huff of hot air from his vents. He vaguely gestured for Orion to ask, not expecting the query that followed.

“Does it have something to do with why your spark is so sad, friend?” The way Orion asked that was so tender, Ratchet’s entire being stalled for a nano-klick. Orion’s servo laid flat against Ratchet’s chassis, right over his spark chamber hidden underneath thick metal and layers of protoform. He didn’t look up at Ratchet, probably because Orion knew it would chase him away from answering.

“I–” Ratchet stalled. He couldn’t exactly lie, Orion knew his spark as well as his own. Swallowing down the uncomfortable lump that had formed in his throat tubing, Ratchet spoke, “Yes, it does.”

Orion fell quiet after that, simply nodding and wrapping Ratchet up in his field that felt warmer than the blanket covering them both. He didn’t ask any more questions, instead, appearing to have finally chosen to follow Ratchet’s request of getting some recharge. Meanwhile, Ratchet to a moment to work through the unwanted emotions his friend had stirred with in. And by ‘working through’, Ratchet truly meant ‘ignoring’. He stared up at the dark ceiling, servo languidly tracing shaped across the expanse of Orion’s backplates, forcing himself to think of nothing at all.

It worked enough that a prompt to activate his recharge protocols popped up on his HUD. Ratchet almost triggered them, when the silence was broken again.

Orion’s helm raised, though his optics were half shuttered. “One more question.”

“You already said that.” Ratchet reminded him, forcing Orion’s helm back down.

“I mean it this time.” Orion promised tiredly, voiced slightly muffled by the armour beneath his face. Ratchet indulged him, simply because he was certain Orion would fall into recharge before he would have to answer.

“Did Megatronus join us?”

Really, Ratchet should have learned his lesson from the last round. Once again, the question asked basically yanked his spark from his chassis and crushed beneath a huge weight of guilty. He was right though, recharge pulling Orion under, saving him from a painful answer.

Ratchet was not looking forward to having to recount the war to his friend, both because of the lack of brevity and because of just how much it was going to hurt.

Chapter Text

Just under an Earth week passed by before Ratchet deemed any of Team Prime fit enough to do anything except rest and resume minor patrols. Bumblebee and Arcee fared better than their larger teammates, smaller frames working through the dark and medical grade energons swifter, meaning they ended up returning to routine before the rest and took up the slack where Bulkhead and Optimus couldn’t. Bulkhead, who had been weakened worse than the others, had only just returned to patrolling multiple times an orn and as for Optimus…well…

Despite his stronger frame, it had suffered more exposure to dark energon than anymech should have go through. The fight with Megatron under the looming shadow of one of Earth’s volcanoes was bad enough, but putting himself into Earth’s core and right into the Chaos Bringer’s own spark would have killed any other mech. Without the added protection of the Matrix and Primus’ power, Optimus’ frame and spark had been left weaker than it had when he was infected with the Cybonic plague. After his initial waking post-return, Opt– Orion had barely enough strength to lift his helm, let alone walk across the hub or get to his habsuite. With time and care, Orion had recovered almost as quickly as Optimus had done before in just under an Earth month, lifting one of the heavy weights off of Ratchet’s spark. It was just–

At every chance he got, Orion asked question after question, none of which Ratchet had felt brave enough to answer. He still didn’t right now, even after he told Orion that he would finally explain everything to him. It wasn’t exactly easy telling your oldest friend that he had inadvertently caused an eon long war that destroyed their planet, and that the enemy was led by the one they had trusted and loved the most. Ratchet would have preferred to have done it somewhere private, away from prying optics and audials, but the team had decided amongst themselves that they wanted to help Orion remember and to Ratchet’s dismay, Orion had decided he didn’t mind one bit.

Which was where Ratchet found himself now, sitting Orion down on the lower platform near the monitors, the children lingering around on their raised platform, with Bulkhead, Bee, and Arcee littered about the hub. Too crowded, even though Ratchet had plenty of room to pace and stress.

“Drink this while I explain.” Ratchet said a little more tersely than he meant to as he shoved a hefty medical grade cube into Orion’s too big servos. They were Optimus’ servos. Orion’s had been thin and delicate for handling artefacts…

Orion just blinked at him, wordlessly taking a sip and grimacing. At any other point, the Orion Ratchet missed would have spat the liquid out and cursed it to Primus and back. For an Iaconian, he did always have a dirty intake. Shaking away old memories that would likely resurface at a more quiet, private time, Ratchet let his vents hiss and cool his systems.

“There is a lot more than I can tell you in one sitting, and most would be easier through a datafile–” Ratchet admitted because it was true, millennia could not be explained in moments. He stepped away from Orion’s side after urging him to continue drinking his energon, moving to the console and typing in a few glyphs before unmounting a data card. It sat in his palm, tiny yet holding so much within it. Each and every important document, image, and testimony that might help Orion remember who he was or at least give him some incline of the ‘bot he had become. Undoubtedly, it would take an archivist’s processor only a few groons to sort and read through it all, far quicker than it had been living through it all. The one thing Ratchet couldn’t provide was the raw emotions, nowhere in between military files and mission reports did anymech ask how Optimus had felt during the moment, how it had torn at his spark and left him feeling hopeless, feeling guilty at the sparks lost, at the destruction of their home. Orion could learn about the battles, about the killing, about the bombings and plagues, all cold, hard facts, but only Optimus would know how he had felt about those orns. Ratchet did not think Orion would feel vastly different about what he read compared to how Optimus felt experiencing them, but it was hardly the same.

Almost hesitating, Ratchet dropped the data card into Orion’s awaiting servo, dwarfed even more so in his large palms. His digits curled around it carefully, immediately beginning to fiddle with the card, rolling it between his digits, spinning it in his palm. A simple thing that managed to make Ratchet smile just a little. Optimus often didn’t fiddle or fidget when in company of others, some nonsense about it being ‘un-primely’ which Ratchet always thought was utter scrap. Orion, though, could always be seen doing something with his servos or his pedes, flapping his arms about, rotating his finials, clicking his glossa against the roof of his intake. Simply doing something . Ratchet, as annoyed as he had often been by the repetitive noises when trying to study, had missed it most out of the things Optimus hid away that made Orion the mech he had been.

It was only for a select few optics to see Optimus Prime act anything like Orion Pax, and Ratchet had been privileged enough to be within that circle of trust.

“The beginning might be a place to start, but I’ll get to that later. For now, we are on planet Earth, in a solar system light years away from Cybertron, which is inhabited by a race called ‘humans’.” Orion watched him with such sincere interest, Ratchet almost choked up. Not that Optimus had never done that, but there was something so relaxed and unguarded in Orion’s optics that Optimus had never had. Almost carefree, a weight lifted, no longer carrying a deep sadness to them. Ratchet could have stopped there, could have ripped the data card away and never let Orion know the horrors of their war. But that wouldn’t be fair. Not on Optimus, not on Cybertron that needed its Prime more than Ratchet needed his oldest friend.

Resetting his voice box, Ratchet had to look away from his friend. “They are… a fairly primitive race compared to our society, yet we share commonalities and our planets are far more connected than anymech would have guessed.” Part of him still scoffed that such a small, insignificant planet like Earth was linked to their great home, but he also knew that was an unfair view. He would never say it aloud, but he had grown fond of the small group they had unfortunately adopted, finding them quite impressive despite being so small and squishable.

“We landed around 1984, mostly kept to ourselves until yo–” Bulkhead stumbled over his words as he took up part of the explanation. The wrecker floundered for a nano-klick, shying away from Orion’s awaiting gaze. “Uh, our leader joined forces with the local government. Agent Fowler’s our inside man.”

“While the children scurried into our lives like scraplets and unfortunately will not leave.” Ratchet grumbled, earning a pointed look from nearly everymech.

“Arcee and Bee brought us in, although it wasn’t exactly intentional,” Jack laughed nervously, the next to be subject to Orion’s inquisitive optics from where the children stood behind him. “Then I had to explain things to my mom when she got kidnapped by Arachnid, and well– yeah, now we’re here.”

“I see…” Orion mused, digits tapping on one of the sides of his half empty cube. Ratchet could see the gears turning in his processor, Orion’s optics following a path they could not see as he sorted through all that he had been told so far and undoubtedly produced a million more questions that only branched off into more questions. His gaze sharpened again as he focused back in on the present around him. “I still do not understand why we are on this planet.”

“Because we are at war.” Arcee said simply, frowning as memories of Cliffjumper and Tailgate undoubted rose to the forefront of her processor.

“War?” Orion echoed, optics widening a fraction. He nearly couldn’t believe it, yet with all his research into Cybertron’s history and corrupt, it shouldn’t have surprised him. It was always inevitable, with the unrest in the lower castes and for so long Megatronus had promised his people an uprising, Orion had just hoped he might sway his friend to be peaceful.

“It had been going on for eons now,” Ratchet elaborated, a heaviness to his voice that spoke of the toil the war had had on his oldest friend. Eons . Their people could live that long, eons was nothing to a healthy Cybertronian, but a war to last so long? It was spark-breaking to the archivist. Orion yearned to reach out to Ratchet, so similar yet so different to the ‘bot he swore he only saw a few orns ago but was being told that was millions upon millions of years ago. Although Ratchet had closed up his end of their bond, Orion could still feel the deep sense of grief and exhaustion that curled around their connection, emanating from both ends, which only confused Orion further as he had not felt such mourning, such tiredness in all his functioning.

.: Autobots, the good mecha, fight the bad Decepticons, doing our best to stop them from taking over Cybertron and ruling through tyranny! :. The young yellow ‘bot said this time, demonstrating his point by throwing a few punches at an invisible enemy in front of him. It was impressive, however, Orion’s processor got caught on one glyph in particular.

“Decepticons…” He repeated, feeling the world around him starting to shrink in.

A memory, this one sharp in his processor. The early parts of an orn, Orion watching as the most powerful, most intelligent, most handsome mech he knew captivated a crowd just below.

“They brand us as nothing but thugs and ruffians, deceiving the good mecha of Cybertron into throwing away the caste system that they claim so lovingly looks after them. I say, if exposing corruption and freeing the masses is deception? Then we will gladly be called Decepticons!”

A new flag unveiled, a symbol of their movement, weaved into the centre. Purple burning bright against a grey background, almost gunmetal. Decepticons. A title Orion had worn with pride. A title Orion had suggested one recharge cycle as Megatron had stomped around their awfully small apartment, grumbling and complaining, rightfully so about the council, about Sentinel Prime. 

Orion’s digits traced the different symbol adorning his unfamiliar armour, the shape not right. Somehow he knew it was Prima’s faceplates, rather than that of the Fallen’s. Orion did not know how to feel about that.

“They’re led by Megatron,” Arcee pulled Orion from his memories, her words with such venom in her tone there was no deny that the mech she spoke of was vile, cruel, and evil. His Megatronus was not that. He had been a gladiator and unfortunately had killed more mecha than Orion liked to count, but he was never vile or cruel or evil. Megatronus killed to survive until he rose up and fought with quick words and grand promises to stop others from having to stain their servos with spilt energon ever again

“Megatron–” It had to be a coincidence… Orion sought out the one mecha he could trust most. “Ratchet?”

Ratchet just nodded, because of course Orion had already figured it out. He was nothing if not one of the smartest mecha forged on Cybertron.

“And the Autobots?”

“Followers of Optimus Prime.” Ratchet told him, and once again, he could see Orion’s processor working a mile a klick. A deep frown had settled on his friend’s face, one that he did not wish to see. Orion had been so distraught the day Megatronus had cast him aside as a traitor that he had been inconsolable. Then, Orion had been dragged away by the council and Optimus Prime shoved back into society without being allowed to properly grieve the friendship and love that he had lost. 

“... You called me Optimus before.” Orion said hesitantly, keeping his voice nearly timid, like he didn’t want to know the truth. Ratchet shut down the turmoil in his spark, but he could feel the unease in the room. The situation wasn’t an easy one. How do you deal with losing the leader you’ve followed for centuries, replaced by a younger version of himself that was no less wise, no less noble, and yet was not the same mech you knew? One who saw Megatron as the revolutionary he used to be, not the tyrant he had become, with no knowledge of the war he had led them through.

“You were given the mantel of Prime after a somewhat disastrous meeting with the council, one you and Megatronus had attended together but left separated.” Ratchet summarised with a gentle sigh from his vents. That was another whole cluster of viruses…

“I am no Prime, Ratchet.” Orion almost laughed at his amica’s words. Him? A prime? “Just a simple labourer who wanted to become an archivist, a caste above their own.”

“You are much more than that, Orion, far more.” Ratchet stressed, but how could Orion believe him? When had he ever been worthy of being a Prime in his functioning? A mech of his caste would never be given the position.

“You have that thing, don’t you? The Matrix-y thing in your chest?” Asked one of the humans, Miko, if Orion remembered right. The one he had almost squished because she had startled him.

“The Matrix?” That was ridiculous, surely not? Reluctantly, Orion opened up his chassis, windshields popping up while metal and protoform shifted to the sides and back to reveal–

The air left his vents as he removed the Matrix of Leadership from his own chassis, it shutting closed while he stared at the priceless relic. It felt heavy in his servos and in its centre was a colorless crystal, the gold of its wings dulled and in need of a shine. It didn’t feel like the Matrix, but Orion knew in his spark that it truly was, even though the relic was thought to have been lost. Sentinel had never been granted it; a secret kept guarded, one Alpha Trion had somehow known.

Then, why did he have it?

Orion set the Matrix aside, feeling as though he should not be holding it, whether it was his to bear or not.

“But I am not worthy.” Orion said so softly and in such disbelief, it cut Ratchet’s spark in two. He wanted nothing more than for Orion to see himself as Ratchet saw him. There was no mech more worthy than Orion Pax, and Primus themself had seen that.

“You have no idea how wrong you are, my friend.” Ratchet assured him, taking Orion’s servo in his own and squeezing it. Orion’s optics watched him, flicking minutely from left to right as they studied Ratchet’s own gaze, searching for any hints of dishonesty. 

“You’re the best Prime we’ve had since– Well, I don’t actually know many Primes personally.” Bulkhead laughed, but his words were sincere, drawing Orion’s attention. It was not often most mecha saw past Bulkhead’s well… bulk . Sure, he had a few circuits missing and just because he didn’t know medicine like a medic or battle strategy like a general, didn’t mean he wasn’t smart in his own way. Optimus saw that, saw who Bulkhead really was.

.: Optimus is the only Prime I've known, but you’ve always been so kind, so caring, even when you’ve got the weight of the entire planet on your shoulders. :. Bumblebee added on, optics circling wide as they looked at the mech who would become his adoptive creator. His wings fluttered lightly as he thought about all that Optimus had done for him. Despite growing up in a war, Bumblebee had been given as much of a normal upbringing as possible, all thanks to Optimus. Without his love and care, Bee had no idea where he would be now. .: You took me in, always had time for me, while running an army and fighting a war. :.

“You’re my Prime, whether you’ve got that fancy decoration in your chassis or not.” Arcee insisted as she drew in closer to their small group, knowing she would have been on a much darker road without Optimus’ support, that’s if she hadn't already blown her helm off with her own blaster by then. For most of the war, she never knew the Prime, but since arriving on Earth without Tailgate, then losing Cliffjumper, his support had been invaluable. He took the time to make sure she was alright, even when she had disobeyed him or snapped something harsh out of anger and grief. Never once had Optimus forced her to move on, only encouraging her out of the deep pit of despair she had dug herself into.

“You don’t remember it,” It was Jack’s turn to add something. “But the last thing you did as Prime, before losing your memories, was save our planet. A place you’re not even from, where most people won’t even know of your sacrifice.”

“Optimus risked his life to save our planet, and he’s not even human. We owe it to him.” Jack had said to his mom the night they all gathered to finalise their plan to get to Vector Sigma. It still baffled him now, how an alien, who by all accounts had no reason to care for Earth and its inhabitants while fighting their own war, would sacrifice his own life to keep them all safe. Jack had never really had a father figure, but if he had to choose one person to look up to (figuratively and literally) it would be Optimus Prime.

“You did it without hesitation. I don’t know what exactly makes a Prime, but I’d say that’s a solid reason.”  Jack said with conviction, and Orion looked at him with an expression he had never seen on Optimus. Somehow, despite having the same exact face, neither bot looked the same. “You also believe that anymech can change, ‘bot or ‘con, you’re trying to save your planet and your species even so far away from home and scatter across galaxies.”

“Optimus also always treated us the same as he did the ‘bots, even if we’re smaller than you guys and no matter how often I followed you guys into the ground bridge.” Miko admitted the last part a little sheepishly, because she knew she shouldn’t go through, but all things Cybertronian were so interesting. Optimus encouraged her curiosity, albeit in a less dangerous way. “You were always so kind and understanding. You didn’t like my music much, but you never yelled at me or took away my guitar. You let us be us .” Because at her host parent’s place, Miko could never really be herself. Although she never spent much time with Optimus compared to Bulkhead, whenever they were in the same room, he had never chastised her for stimming vocally or physically, never yelled at her whenever she did follow them onto the battlefield (although his disappointed looks were somehow worse than yelling), and always listened whenever she had something to say even if Optimus has zero clue about demolition derbies and Creature Double Feature .

“This team, it’s a family.” Raphael piped up, one of his race cars clutched to his chest. He was still felt weak from the dark energon and nightmares from Megatron’s attack kept him up most nights, nightmares he couldn’t tell his mama about when she finally found the time to focus on him and not his siblings or work. “Optimus protects us all and keeps this family together, even if we argue and fall out.” Rafael was used to being bullied, being shoved aside and forgotten. Optimus, not matter how much he had on his mind, never seemed to forget about him. The moment Optimus had returned from fighting Megatron, infected with dark energon and weak, he had smiled at Raf. It had been such a gentle smile that the boy had been surprised. But what really blew Raf’s mind? Optimus had only attacked Megatron after the ‘con had hurt him. Him . Optimus protected Raf because they were family.

“See? There is more to you than meets the eye, Orion, believe us all when we say you are worthy of the title granted to you.” Ratchet insisted as he gently took Orion by the shoulders, hoping his friend might finally understand. “You will always be worthy, whether you recall your memories again or not. You have an innate nobility within you that I believe will shine through whether you call yourself Orion or Optimus.”

Blue optics looked towards the Matrix before turning back to Ratchet, an uncertainty still there, although chipped away by the words of the team. Ratchet would happily repeat himself each orn until the uncertainty crumbled into dust.

Suddenly, Ratchet was tugged forward, and he found himself enveloped in Orion’s embrace, large servos and strong arms that were not Orion’s holding Ratchet as close as he could possibly get. Initially surprised by the hug, Ratchet quickly relaxed into it and held him just as tight, not caring about the optics watching. A heavy weight then draped itself around them both, Ratchet only able to see a patch of green, then yellow arms curled around his middle, and Ratchet caught Arcee’s optic over Orion’s shoulder. Tinier footsteps signalled the children clambering over them all to join in on the group hug.

Everymech stayed close when they separated, nobot mentioning when Orion wiped his optics, giving him a moment to compose himself while the children returned to their platform, Miko choosing to perch on Bulkhead’s shoulder. Ratchet kept his servo on Orion’s pauldron, thumb tracing his insignia.

“Thank you, all of you. I… Your words are touching, even if I do not yet recall what you have talked about.” Orion spoke sincerely, touching his chassis and over his spark chamber. Although he had no memories of any of it, Orion felt the love and appreciate and respect from each ‘bot and human as they spoke. He did not know this group, however, he found no deception from them and his spark told Orion he could trust them all as much as he trusted Ratchet and Jazz and Elita.

“I do have one burning question. If we are on this planet and not Cybertron, does that mean…?” He could only trail off as his processor brought forth all that he has researched of warfare, both on Cybertron and in their neighbouring planets and colonies. Orion had never seen war himself, yet he could only imagine the state of their home, the death and destruction from previous conflicts substituting their own ruins into that of Iacon, Praxus, Kaon, Tarn.

As he looked around the group, none of them met his optic, a profound sense of mourning engulfing the room as their fields mixed. Arcee hugged herself while Bumblebee whined sadly. It was enough of an answer on its own, but Orion had to know.

“Cybertron is… dormant. Not quite dead, not quite alive.” Ratchet explained, tone as grief-filled as his EM field, optics holding an intense sadness to them, one Orion wished he could wipe away. His friend’s feelings of sorrow did not match the last few memories he had of Ratchet, the medic laughing at Orion as he got far too charged on Vosnian high grade that Jazz had sneaked into the archives to celebrate something or other.

Ratchet made his way back to the computers again, grabbing a hologram projector he’d brought from storage just for this. He knew this was going to be the hardest part of this conversation, one he could save for another orn, another stellar-cycle. But Orion was as curious as they came, he’d find out one way or another, Ratchet would only be extending their misery. With the projector already programmed, Ratchet lowered the lights and placed the projector just above the Autobot insignia on the floor. Switching it on revealed a levitating globe, the gunmetal grey of a dying Primus, endless energon wells empty, life long since dead.

Orion reaction was immediate, audible and visible. A horrified gasp escaped his intake, optics going as wide as wheel rims. He rose from his seat, hesitantly approaching the projection as he took in each inch of the image for the first time. Orion’s servo reach out to touch the picture, hovering just over where the Iacon Hall of Records would have been, now a bombed out crater of nothing.

“Cybertron…” He said so quietly, slowly circling the projection to study it. Orion’s spark had clenched inside his chassis, a feeling of dread so deep that it made his frame hurt. He could not believe the image he was seeing. The Cybertron he knew was alight with life, glowing as Primus’ spark pulsed beneath its metal surface, not the desolate husk that stood before him. As he reached out to it, Orion wanted to weep. Instead, he looked to Ratchet once more, seeking the truth.

“Megatronus did this to our home?” Orion asked. It made no sense. It had to be some other mech. Megatronus loved Cybertron, they were going to heal it together.

“Not just him, but yes.” Ratchet answered slowly, like he didn’t want Orion to know. Looking back at the projection, Orion’s spark broke in two, as confusion and turmoil wracked his processor.

“All because I became Prime?”

“That is part of it.”

“But our plans, our dream…he couldn’t have…” Orion insisted, although he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince the others or himself. The way Megatronus had spent recharge cycle after recharge cycle telling Orion the ways in which he would improve Cybertron, weaving his words into a great tapestry that painted the most beautiful future for their home. The poetry the gladiator had created from their shared dream, that cast Cybertron back to a golden age, a proper one. Orion had readily agreed to it all, eager to see his planet made into something much more than it was, a world Primus would surely be proud of.

And yet, if he truly was this Optimus Prime, then that meant it was not solely Megatronus responsible for Cybertron’s ruin. He too had played a role in bringing their world to its extinction. They were going to fix Cybertron, not kill it. Free its people from the caste system and let all mecha be equal, to function without fearing for when their next energon would be.

How had everything gone so wrong? How could he fix it?

“Megatronus knew I didn’t want the Primacy, why would I ever want that?” Orion would never have stolen the title from his beloved, not when becoming Prime would have meant so much to their movement. A gladiator of Kaon, bearing the name of the Fallen, now a Prime? The power it would have given their revolution would have been exactly what they had needed. Orion would have supported Megatronus in any way possible, and had even encouraged the mech to go for the position. It would have been one powerful slap to the faceplates for the Council and its corruption. Never, in all their time together, had Orion thought about being the Prime instead. He just wanted to be an archivist, accidentally falling into the role of revolutionary, but never Prime.

“He was too power hungry, too jealous and unable to see that it didn’t matter if the Prime were him or you.” Ratchet hissed in the darkened room, his glowing optics alight with an anger Orion did not recognise. “I can only be thankful it was not Megatron who received the Matrix, knowing what he had done, had he had the power of the Prime, it could only be much worse.”

“What is he like?” Orion asked because he had to know. He just didn’t want to, Orion’s spark was already suffering enough.

“He is a tyrant, willing to kill mecha no matter what, especially if it furthers his own gain.” The anger burst into fury, a deep-rooted hatred lingering in Ratchet’s field like a miasma. His servos clenched shut tight, his denta grinding, tanks rolling as he recalled the atrocities done by or under Megatron’s designation. Beside him, Bee flinched at Ratchet’s next words.

“He ripped out Bumblebee’s voice box because he would not betray the Autobots, he crushed Elita’s spinal strut for protecting innocent sparklings, he poisoned Primus and doomed our planet to die because he did not get his own way.”

Orion listened in utter horror as Ratchet listed but a few of Megatronus’ awful deeds. They all made Orion’s spark weep, but one designation hit the most.

Elita…

It couldn’t be true. Orion could picture the blazing pink of his other love. The strength in her protoform, the scars littered across her armour, as she fought in the gladiatorial pits with the power of Prima himself. Elita was the reason Orion even met Megatronus. They had been friends first, a stronger bond between them than Orion had ever achieved. Megatronus would have killed for Elita, never–

“I… I cannot believe it… that is not Megatronus,” Orion wanted to yell, but his voice box crumbled under the strain of his emotions. Fresh wiper fluid welled up in front of his optics, obscuring his vision of the room, of the hologram of their destroyed planet. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be true.

“We campaigned for freedom for all Cybertronians, to smelt the caste system into nothing so that all life, new and old, might choose who they wish to be!” Orion stressed, arms spread out as he gestured, emphasising his emotion, his fury, his confusion. He paced the room, like he often had done when he and Megatronus had discussed anything, but now they were the topic here. “He was a gladiator, he knew what it was like to be enslaved, to have no will of his own, not even a name. Megatronus, he– no, Ratchet… no…” The last few glyphs came out in a sob Orion couldn’t hold back, reality settling in as his spark was torn into tiny shreds. He buried his face in his servo, wanting to hide away from that reality.

“I wish it weren’t so…” Ratchet said in genuine, helm shaking slowly. As much as he hated Megatron and all that he had done, more than anything, he would never forgive the mech for breaking Orion’s spark. The anguish that never quite left their bond, the frequent moments of self-doubt and blame Optimus had, all Megatron’s doing. Ratchet was a healer, but this was one thing he had never been able to fix for his amica, the one mech he was supposed to care about most.

As he circled the projection again, Orion stopped with his back to the team and allowed the tears to fall while watching the remains of Cybertron float in front of his optics as he thought on everything he had been told. There was so much to unpack and come to terms with, so much to grieve and to get angry over, so much to try to forget, and yet it was hardly anything in the grand scheme of this war. Eons he had lost in saving an unknown planet when he had failed in saving their own. Eons he had to remember to be the Prime they all expected him to be.

Yet, for now, Orion let himself mourn in silence. As much as he truly wished to not believe what he had been told, Ratchet had no reason to lie. The look in each Autobot’s optics was enough to confirm it all. Megatronus, the battle-hardened gladiator with an affinity for poetry and holding servos, was gone, replaced by a mech Orion did not know. Part of him feared that maybe he had never really know Megatronus either. Had it all been a lie? Was their dream just a gilded cage of thoughts to keep Orion in a place where Megatronus could use him?

Temporarily, Orion put those thoughts and questions on hold, fearing if he dared entertain them that he might never find a way out of their depths. He had known Megatronus for a while, spent so much time with him, if he were to search through each and every interaction for signs of deception, Orion might be there just as long as the war he did not know.

A war he had a servo in starting despite all his wishes for peace…

An image unexpectedly flittered across his processor, one of Megatronus and Elita. The two gladiators hunkered down in their tiny quarters down in the barracks, a small oil lamp illuminating the room while they both played a game of tetra-chess. A game Orion had introduced to them both and, to his dismay, discovered they were far better players than himself. In this photo, Elita was glaring at their board with the same such intensity as she gave everything in her functioning, whilst Megatron looked only at her . The softest expression on such a terrifying gladiator, one that had to be real.

And yet– Elita was gone. Even though his processor did not remember it, his spark knew it was true as it tried to reach out for the missing mech and found nothing. Taken by the mech who had, once upon a time, looked at her like she was his own spark…

A burning desire for justice ignited in his chassis, not just for Bumblebee, not just for Elita, but for each and every mech who had believed in their cause and who had died for a tyrant who no longer cared for them. For Cybertron. And… for himself.

Orion understood what he had to do, what Primus chose him for.

“Ratchet.” Orion called gently, helm angled slightly and awaiting his friend’s response, although he did not turn to the group behind him just yet, keeping his optics on the hologram before him. His voice and just one glyph hushed out all other conversations in the room, commanding the attention of every bot and human in the room without effort. It was not a power Orion was used to, hardly anymech had listened to him before.

“Is Megatron still on this planet?”

“Yes, aboard his warship, the Nemesis .” Ratchet answered, scowling slightly in confusion, before asking, “Why?”

Orion turned, bright optics wet with unshed tears, haloed by the image of their dying home planet. He cast a long shadow over them all, watching them with a strikingly familiar gaze. Despite the low light of the hub, his faceplates were set in a righteous determination equal only to Optimus Prime. A hope that had gradually begun to disappear from Ratchet’s spark long into the war’s beginning burst into fruition at the sight.

“Megatron must be stopped, no matter the cost.”