Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Long ago, two factions fought for the hand of their home planet Cybertron. This war raged for eons, and soon enough, that battle was taken off planet. To Earth . Many proud bots on both sides lost their lives in this great civil war, which drew longer. One day this fighting became too much. Too much was lost in the pursuit of a unified Cybertron… as a result there was a truce between the two leaders of their factions. This deal resulted in the survivors residing together peacefully in an apartment complex. Ownership of the building and its resources was given to Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, while the rule and care of the tenets was left to Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots. All lived in domestic harmony under the same roof until a threat that loomed over the horizons, one that could not have been predicted by either leader, arose. Thus began a new chapter in Cybertronian history…

Transformers: Building Wars

Episode 1: Apartment Complexities Part 1

Megatron’s door swung open, hitting the wall with a dull thud. Starscream’s voice pierced the hallway, resounding into every neighboring apartment. Autobots and Decepticons alike buried their heads into their pillows. Those blessed with being away from the fight were soon equally affected as they both paced down the hall, towards the stairs.

“This ‘treaty’ is a mistake! This is so stupid, only a fool would believe that groveling beneath the Autobots is peace!” Starscream yelled. This was happening all morning, and those with the displeasure of being downstairs heard them approach. Jazz was making a pot of hot brewed energon in the communal kitchen, as it was the only place equipped with a machine. He heard the commotion and cranked his earpiece’s music louder to drown them out. Ratchet and Astrotrain had no such luck as they were perusing the lobby library shelves, and favored attempting to read in whatever concentration they could keep. 

Megatron was moving towards the lobby and away from the seeker, who was relentless, swaying from side to side to talk in both audials. Megatron likened it to a mosquito in his thoughts. “ Peace is letting me recharge without your incessant noises!”

The mech followed, practically biting at his heels. “If I owned this building, this wouldn’t be happening!”

“Rant all you want Starscream, but a building curfew is my decision, not yours.” Megatron said firmly, stopping to rest himself propped forward against the front desk. His desk, he reminded himself. Astrotrain abandoned his chair to slink away to the boiler room, opting out of.. this. Other, more curious bots lingered by the stairs to hear. It was better than cable. 

“Your leadership will run us into the ground! I have a life! You have debased us into incompetent lackeys! What are Decepticons with no weapons?” the mech hissed, pointing at his own clipped null ray, and to the big grey arm cannon over the lobby mantle, adorning the fireplace. “You’ve gone soft.” Starscream added with venom, crossing his arms and raising his wings to be big.

Megatron had a laugh. “This is my choice as your commander! You don’t know the half of what leadership is! Even your trine has left you,” he reminded the seeker. Skywarp and Thundercracker had long since abandoned their posts as Starscream’s trinemates, taking new work as security. “At least they get to keep their guns.”

“I left them!” The seeker screeched. Starscream scrambled for another retort, glancing around until he found one. “Well… well I’m pregnant!”

Megatron stalled. The air seemed… heavy. Ratchet looked on at the two, very, very weary.

“You’re what ?” he asked, losing his fighting momentum.

The seeker shrugged dismissively. “Pregnant. Carrying. With spark. Eating for two-”

“Oh shut up, no you’re not,” the mech rolled his optics.

“How would you know, Megatron? Spying on me?” Starscream hummed, feeling clever.

He was amused. “Who on this planet would get near you?”

Starscream turned away on his heel, taking up walking away from his opponent. “Augh! You’d never understand,” he huffed and threw his arms in the air, circling a lobby couch. 

Megatron followed, never one to lose pace in a conversation. He thought carefully for a moment, but not very carefully, or for too long, and stopped quite suddenly.

“I do. In fact…” he paused and decided, “ I’m pregnant.”

The seeker was flabbergasted, and his face morphed into offence. “Liar. You’re lying! You can never let me have anything! ” Starscream hissed, throwing a lobby pillow at the mech. “It’s always about you!”

Megatron’s tone was smug, and his face displayed it further. He crossed his arms. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be happy? We’re both carrying.”

Starscream was livid, growling and picking up a lamp, unplugging it unceremoniously.

Megatron couldn’t help taunt him further. “What are you going to do? Hit a carrying mech?” He laughed, deep and loud.

Starscream dropped it and decided to storm off to his apartment, although not without final word. “You… you… wretched diva! Taking everything, this isn’t over!” When he turned to catch a glance at the silver mech he had the audacity to hold his stomach in faux affection towards some mysterious sudden sparkling.

—

“Are you… keeping it?” Knockout asked with a slight sneer, clearly unnerved. He had never, ever been in this predicament before. 

Starscream looked lost in a daze, thinking out loud. He was leaned back on Knockout’s couch, uninvited of course. Knockout checked the time, until Starscream spoke again. “I don’t know. I’ve never been carrying before. Maybe I’d make a good parent- raise a little mini-wing,” he hummed.

Knockout disturbed him from his fantasy, clearing his vocaliser. “I don’t think you’re very fit to raise anything, Starscream. I don’t know a single spark who would leave you alone with a technoplant, let alone a sparkling.”

Starscream rolled his optics and sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Besides, I’ve been getting threatening notes about keeping it anyway. I’ll let you take care of that,”

“Excuse me?” Knockout’s optic ridges raised.

“Get rid of it. Abort it. It probably wouldn’t even like me, for that matter,” Starscream waved off the insignificance and folded his arms up, figuring it decided.

The silence was awkward.

“Who… would it like? Whose the unlucky sire?” Knockout drawled out.

“Er…” Starscream seemed to fumble for an answer.

After a beat he prodded for more. “Is it… Lord -”

Starscream responded quickly at the insinuation, swatting at the mech with a free servo. “Absolutely not. Consider it a failed experiment, Knockout, you’ve had plenty of those.”

The red mech rolled his optics. “So snippy.”

Starscream scoffed. “I’m hormonal.”

—

Optimus had the opportunity to have a quiet morning and took it. He was ignoring the fight in the halls, he was ignoring the comms from Ratchet, and he was giving himself a semblance of self care- sitting outside and reading a good book on his datapad. Bumblebee and the twin Arcees were keeping busy on their own, fooling around at a human mall, doing whatever kids do these days. Maybe riding a tiny horse for a dime or something. Maybe listening to jaunty tunes at a music store like they do when they go out with Blaster. It wasn’t until there was a banging at his door that he, hesitantly, broke away from his peace. The apartment was messy, sure, but warm and inviting, as he always tried to keep it. Beside the door as always was a photograph of his beautiful lost wife, Elita. He’d never forget losing her.

“What is it?” He asked as he opened his door to see his good old friend Ratchet, who looked like he had seen a ghost. With a wave of his arm he gestured the medic in.

“Optimus- you and Megatron are having a child ?” Ratchet practically whispered in horror.

The prime blinked once, twice, thrice before looking away from the mech. He opened his mouth and spoke slowly. “No… that isn’t true at all. Ratchet, where are you getting this from?”

Ratchet raised an optic ridge, still perturbed. “Megatron has been announcing it all over the building- he’s carrying and it’s yours ! He gave many details,” he added, and Optimus looked queasy. “Enough to warrant an explanation out of you.”

Optimus stood by his sink, grabbing the edges to give his servos something to do. He looked at his unfinished book longingly where it perched on his chair. Ratchet grabbed and moved it, taking the seat and taking up Optimus’s gaze. 

Ratchet had a certain atmosphere of betrayal. “Optimus…I thought you said you weren’t ready for a relationship after-” he started, ready to delve further when he was cut off.

“I still love Elita. Megatron is spreading lies, Ratchet,” The prime decided, staring into the cabinets instead of his old friend’s warm blue optics. “I’ll make an announcement, to the building,” He sighed. He pinged the building's inhabitants, from the upper reaches of the seeker’s floor to the triple changers in the basement. Everyone was requested very seriously to the usually-for-meetings recreational center, which was technically just a room with chairs and a few fold out tables. 

Ratchet slid a servo into his friend’s, squeezing it in an offer of strength and support. Optimus smiled softly, but it faded and he pulled away, moving down to the center to prepare his words. The medic lingered, peering into Optimus’s book, adjusting the bookmark a little straighter. Optimus had a well loved copy of Pride and Prejudice , he noted, likely thrifted or from a library, as the mech was fond of them.

—

Similar news hit Soundwave faster than a rumor could truly spread. A combination of cameras and nosy cassettes meant he knew just about everything happening; when and where. The news of Megatron being pregnant sent a wave of anxiety down his spine, and Ravage whined sensing it. The news of it being, according to Megatron, Optimus’s child was entirely unexpected however, and he relayed it to Shockwave, who paused in his tidying up to give an awkward “oh”. They agreed via personal link that this was something to keep a serious eye on.

There had been sparklings here before; but they quickly ended. A few had been dropped off on Shockwave’s door to be disposed of, unfortunate things. Mostly insecticon offspring, ones they found too defective to form proper adults. He collected the abandoned ones, ones that Thundercracker left to the lab after his night rounds. Those rejected that weren’t left for dead were simply eaten- consumed and digested to make energy for more. Shockwave witnessed once or twice, catching glowing optics through beams or stairways, gnashing and crunching noises on little wings and digits. Though, once or twice they were suspiciously seeker shaped, glistening and new, with some malformations. The genetic wrongness that usually came from cloning, something Shockwave had dabbled in. He would monitor that.

Shockwave had a lot of time on his servos in the building. Peace was slow, and agonising. Having only one arm made his progress difficult, as his cannon was regarded as a weapon and promptly removed, disfiguring the mech further. He considered the loss of his face, his servo, and now his complete arm. If he had the capacity to mourn his body, it would have happened a long time ago. What he felt now was the frustration of his work being hindered. Regardless, he was relentlessly creating and destroying in the small world of his lab. Machinery, equipment, tools, weapons, medical wonders, life . He had crafted life many times over, many failing to grow or falling apart like clay in his servo. Some rapidly decomposed from the inside out, others simply couldn’t live beyond the controlled environment of a tube. He tried to make things for Soundwave, including a cat intended to be a companion to Ravage. Unfortunately, its legs never took, so it became a flat rectangular terrible thing, hovering and meowing. He wanted to euthanise it immediately, but the cassettes took a liking to it. He used it as a table now, putting down his energon on it as it buoyed in the air. Soundwave would pet it often, eliciting static purrs.

“Shockwave and Soundwave: Summoned to meeting,” the sleek blue mech across the room relayed, breaking Shockwave’s thoughts. 

“Yes, I got that,” he hummed, standing to leave. The table-thing chirped goodbye.

—

The bickering was immediate. The hall had rarely been this crowded, nor as noisy, save for nights of incomprehensible drinking, and even those died down eventually once the highgrade ran out. Ironhide was the usual supplier, the mech always having a digit in every local pot of honey. The frequency of these events had to be restricted, however, as the broken items and hangovers put the building into disrepair too frequently. The difference in this commotion was how emotionally charged it was; some angry, some confused, and some looking for someone or something to blame. Optimus listened from behind closed doors, unsure exactly what he would say. With a deep invent, he entered the room. There was grumbling amidst the crowd, and Optimus caught snippets as he stood to speak.

“Optimus would never -!” Bumblebee spoke loudly, gesticulating wildly, standing supported by his sisters on a fold out table. The Arcee twins were a small error; Optimus had thought he was given the same paper twice, and named both sparklings Arcee. He painted one pink and one blue to tell the difference, using his and their carrier’s colors as a good excuse.

“Seems your leader is a whore,” Astrotrain spoke, flat in tone but loud with his booming voice. He sat beside Blitzwing, sharing the biggest couch they had, a twinbed turned sideways.

That statement caused an uproar, especially by the especially loyal members of the Autobots. Despite lines being blurred, most knew where they stood, the faction barriers a technoelephant in the room. “How dare you!” Ironhide growled, held back by Jazz from taking up fisticuffs with the towering mech, who rolled his optics.

“He’s a seductress sent to ruin our leader!” Skywarp hissed from where he leaned on Thundercracker, who nodded solemnly. They stood by the door, guns on their hips. They, under Prowl, were law of the land, and took it relatively serious. They only held up someone at blasterpoint for laughs a few times, until being reprimanded by their commanding security officer.

Bulkhead grumbled to himself a few times, seemingly hyping up his courage. “He’s the only honest bot we have! Megatron’s a crook!” Bulkhead voiced from his seat, tense with the conflict, getting a hum of agreement from Ratchet and Blaster, the latter of which was more concerned with playing tug-of-war with Steeljaw and a wrench.

Some mechs scoffed at that. “Megatron must have been blind or drunk to sleep with him !” Breakdown shouted, gesturing at the prime, before giving him a look almost to say ‘no offense’ as if possible.

Optimus sighed and cleared his vocaliser. “Autobots,” he began, and the crowd quieted, but did not become silent. “And all fellow cybertronians,” the Prime added, “we are gathered to discuss a rumour in this building.”

“Is it true? You really sparked Megatron ?” Ironhide asked in almost a panic, looking to his leader for guidance. Optimus cringed and looked forward.

“As we all know, I lost my Elita many years ago. I have remained to be faithful to her,” he said with a cutting seriousness. “I have not had any relations with Megatron that could possibly result in any kind of sparking, or carrying of any capacity. Furthermore, I-”

“Hello Prime,” a haughty voice called out. The gunmetal grey figure that sauntered in was Megatron, who seemed very self satisfied. Optimus lost his words. “Robocat got your tongue?”

“Megatron, I do not appreciate you spreading lies and rumours-” he began, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

Megatron put on a faux offence, making sure to look around the seated mechs so they would see his face. “Lies? I’m carrying your child and you’re calling me a liar?” he pointed at his own chest, then to his stomach and underlying chamber. He patted himself a few times, cooing at it.

Optimus averted optic contact, practically sweating. His voice drew quieter. “You know this isn’t true, stop implicating-” he waved his hand in place of a word he seemed unable to say.

“Implicating I know you in the mechanical sense?” Megatron teased, walking closer, toe to toe with the prime. “That I’ve been close and personal with your circuitry?”

Optimus looked at him with growing frustration, flustered and red faced. “Megatron! I will not stand for this,”

“You’re scaring the baby,” Megatron lamented with a barely contained smirk, patting his stomach.

“There is no baby!” Optimus fumed, fighting to keep composure.

Jazz had leaned close, and reached a servo to grab Optimus’s shoulder. “Prime, this isn’t worth getting so worked up over. There has to be a way to clear this,” he implored quietly. “A test maybe?” he asked hopefully.

Ratchet piped up with a thought. “A paternity test! To find the sire, that would be perfect” he decided, a bit loudly. 

“Paternity test? How untrusting, Optimus.” Megatron huffed. “Taking no responsibility are we?”

“I’m not taking any responsibility until you have evidence, Megatron.” Optimus said firmly. Megatron stared hard at him for a minute. He seemed extremely reluctant to follow through, and kept his gaze with Optimus even as he called in.

“Thundercracker, comm Shockwave. Get him in here now .” He commanded a bit bitterly.

The seeker hopped to it, jostling the resting Skywarp a little as he rang up the mech. He was the more attentive of the two. He gave Megatron a thumbs up and closed the call. “He’ll be here soon.”

Megatron sighed and turned away. Optimus peered to get a closer look. “Something wrong, old friend?” he asked, and Megatron couldn’t tell if he was doing it out of kindness or to be cruel. While the former was more likely with Optimus, somehow that burned him more. Old friend was more akin to cranky old medics or war veterans, not someone who he could have had something with. Old friend was going to get himself into trouble.

Everyone seemed in quiet anticipation until they heard steps on the stairs. Exceedingly light steps, which then turned into a cascade of thumps, slams, and cries of pain from a missing seeker. He stumbled quickly into the room with a cough of pain, some energon coming up his intake. Optimus looked horrified. 

“Don’t mind me,” he sputtered, limping to a chair. “I’ve only… fell,” he winced. “Down the stairs,” he added. Everyone who had looked towards him seemed to turn away after a moment so he carried on for their attention, drawing focus. “I’ll probably lose the sparkling ,” he said as loudly as possible. Knockout walked in soon after, clearly taking the stairs one step at a time instead of all at once. Knockout seemed unfazed by the matter, though he looked at Starscream with the sort of puzzlement that the seeker often evoked. Instead of making any statement he strode beside Breakdown and sat down.

“Don’t worry too much about me,” he whimpered, gesturing for someone to come closer, arms empty. “I’m only experiencing the worst loss a carrier could have,” he cried out. “Something Megatron could never understand!”

“You’re right, I don’t understand Starscream. My child is that of a gladiator and a Prime. It could never fail as easily as yours,” he laughed. Optimus returned his attention to the mech, ignoring the arguable cruelty at play. 

“You don't know that until it’s tested.” He grumbled.

Knockout looked around, out of the loop since he was busy patching up a newly lighter Starscream. “What test? What did I miss?”

The heavy thudding steps of a tank preceded Shockwave’s entrance, Soundwave and cassettes in tow. “A paternity test. For Lord Megatron’s… condition,” he settled on. He took up a table with his tools and canisters, walking up to Megatron and coaxing him to sit and have his energon taken and an ultrasound prepared. 

Megatron complied, glancing back at the prime with a huff. “At least Shockwave treats me with kindness, Optimus, something you could learn,” he hummed. Shockwave didn’t acknowledge it, just proceeded to his work, preparing and scanning the mech’s abdomen, over his gestation chamber. Starscream sat in the corner, nursing his wounds and pulling Blaster a little closer.

His servo trailed up Blaster’s arm, who gently took it off. It didn’t deter the seeker who put his other one on Blaster’s arm, practically curled into him. “You’ve carried,” he compelled out of the boombox. “Have a little pity?”

Blaster seemed to resign himself to being under the mech’s attention. He settled beside the seeker, letting him rest draped dramatically on his side. Optimus didn’t know if it was sparkwarming to see his Autobots offering kindness to the other side or gross to see Starscream on one of his bots. Megatron certainly seemed disinterested in his second in command, choosing to watch Optimus, something sad and strange in his face.

“I’ll take my readings once this is processed,” Shockwave declared, allowing everyone to take a break and get fresh air while they waited.

—

Knockout took a bitter drink of old brewed energon. “You’re telling me Big M is carrying too? And it’s an Autobot baby?” He was at a table outside, soaking up a little sun before they’d have to return. Breakdown nodded, having informed him during the commotion what had been occurring. It was talk of the building, so he was surprised he didn’t know sooner.

“It won’t be an autobot, that’s out of his chamber.” Bulkhead scoffed, shaking his helm. He didn’t think he’d ever see Optimus canoodling with Megatron, and maybe he didn’t, but the visual it gave him was unnerving. His Optimus would never, but regardless he kept seeing his Optimus wrapped across Megatron and he almost lost his fluid, intake contracting.

The little yellow bug looked conflicted. He was hopeful, but not blind. “It would be… a new, third thing. A bridge maybe? Between both sides,” Bumblebee talked, partially to himself. “Although I don’t know how much I want to deal with it as a sparkling,” he admitted. Optimus raised him, and he knew where he came from. If he was Megatron’s? The world would be very different to him. Would it come out like a tiny Megatron? Or an Optimus-Megatron hybrid? He felt nervous.

“At least Starscream isn’t still pregnant,” Knockout shrugged and took a drink. Quietly he put a little high grade in his cup. Then a little more. It was a long morning and now a long afternoon. Breakdown put his cup towards the mech, prompting a silent pour.

Bumblebee tilted his helm. “Well, we don’t know. I mean, he only fell,” he implored.

Knockout laughed a little too loudly, realising it was a bit inappropriate and reined it back in with a cough. “I assure you it’s gone, did it myself,” he chuckled.

Breakdown nodded, having been privy. Bulkhead stopped to consider it and figured it was for the best. “So he’s just saying it might be gone…”

“For attention, yes,” Breakdown finished after a swig. Bulkhead scoffed, not particularly surprised. He glanced at where the not-so-carrying mech was causing commotion.

The sound of said seeker’s complaints was loud as ever. “It probably wasn’t meant to be, this place is horrible and inhospitable, isn’t it?” he bemoaned to anyone listening. Currently Blaster was held captive. He already deployed Rewind to give the minibot some leg room to run around. At least his kids got on well enough with Soundwave’s, regardless of previous wartime conflict. They all could agree on playing games and pestering other bots so it suited him fine enough. 

“Uhuh,” he said half listening. “Sure,” the mech mumbled and checked the time.

“Are you even listening ?” he practically shrieked.

“Uhuh.” Blaster didn’t hate Starscream, Blaster didn’t hate all too frequently at all. But he did get extremely bored, and this was straining his capacity for sitting still and doing nothing.

Starscream huffed and pushed himself off the orange and red autobot and sulked off to his former trine near the door. They didn’t speak, only sat in silence. Starscream had to have known that they wouldn’t offer him any company or condolences. All they had was the gentleness not to tell him to leave, nothing more. A thoughtful look passed Thundercracker, but Skywarp elbowed it out of him.

Optimus was being consoled across the way by Ratchet, Jazz, and Ironhide, who assured him they would support him even if he was the father, though Ratchet gagged a few times thinking about it. “Optimus I know you’ll make it right,” the medic urged. Optimus only looked at him and frowned.

“I’ll do my best,” he settled on, locking eyes with the doctor, watching the confusion in them. He wondered how much was his friend’s, and how much was reflected from his own. Ratchet didn’t seem satisfied with the answer. He never was.

Finally a deep low voice rang through the room. “My tests are conclusive. My findings are complete.”

Everyone who wasn’t close enough scrambled to get in hearing range, pouring in from outside and nestling into chairs and couches. Prowl preferred to stand by the wall, but even he got closer. Soundwave was by the makeshift lab, looking into the computer screens beside Shockwave. Optimus looked ready to shoot himself, to put it lightly.

Megatron looked uncomfortable, and had been silent the entire time. It was eerie. He had shooed away anyone who came to comfort him or offer thoughts. He turned away Soundwave even, not letting anyone in. His words were saved for an audience. He stood, beginning to speak until he was cut off by Shockwave. “My Decepticons, I was never truly carrying-” he began to admit.

“The child isn’t Optimus Prime’s,” the scientist stated clearly, and what little colour was in the grey mech’s face drained.

He looked confused, whipping around to face the purple mech. “ What .”

The tank began again. “The child isn’t-”

“I heard you, but I wasn’t actually carrying, there is no baby!” Megatron growled. The crowd was awkward and low.

“You are currently. Optimus may not be the sire, but I have the results of who is , my Lord.” Shockwave reminded him, and Megatron rushed over, looking panicked. He leaned close, hiding himself and his secrets from his men and the enemy alike. Privately, a little black and white image showed the developing sparkling within Megatron’s chamber, being forged as they spoke. Megatron looked sick. The ultrasound image heralded a baby with antenna and little paper thin wings. A silence fell between the two, no one wanting to say the obvious. That was a bug baby. “Would you like to know the exact sire? I have data on most inhabitants and compiled a narrow list of the most likely mechs,” he started anew, before being shushed. 

“Delete that. Delete that file. This never happened,” he mumbled low.

“The results, Megatron?” Optimus demanded clearly, wanting them to speak up. Wanting something, some conclusion or relief. “Shockwave?”

Megatron swallowed hard around nothing. “A misprint. There’s no baby. Whoopsie.” He shook off, trying to play cool. “Ignore this,” he waved at the ultrasound. Starscream watched with intense amusement. 

“I bet Lord Megatron was sparked by a stranger! ” He jeered. “Our gracious leader must have let the bed bugs bite a little too freely!” He laughed immensely. “Say, whose is it? The milkmech’s? At least I knew what I had growing in my forge,” he snickered. Megatron stormed to him and grabbed his collar, making the seeker choke on his intake for a minute before losing his fire and dropping the jet, sulking to his room. Knockout followed him, having an inkling of what he would be needed for.

“Wait, where are you going?” Optimus called out.

Megatron didn’t look back, voice harsh. “Extermination.”

Ironhide nodded, feeling knowledgeable. “Must be ‘bout all these bugs under our fraggin’ pedes.”

“There has been a bug problem,” Blitzwing chimed in, having been mostly uninterested before. 

“After Megatron kicked them from the rooms they went into our basement, so we kicked them out of there too,” Astrotrain continued, getting a nod from Blitzwing.

“So where are they all then?” Bumblebee asked. The question hung uncomfortably, and the skitter of legs against a wall made everyone a bit nervous. 

“I… don't know,” the triple changer admitted. “But they’re…not gone.”

—

For a moment Megatron held it in his hands. Underdeveloped and grey, extra legs twitching. It disgusted him, and he set it aside. Kickback took it graciously, whispering thank yous for the child, neonatal or not. Kickback used his twitchy servos to bring it up to his mouth, mandibles grabbing and consuming. Everyone else turned away at the sight. Megatron sighed and allowed Knockout the space to work as he needed. Knockout for his part was less unnerved by the pregnancy than the sire. He shivered to think that one among them tasted sparkling. He made a new rule to keep bugs out of his office when performing surgery in the future, although he hoped this was an anomaly of an occurrence.

“You’re good as new,” he hummed, buffing out spots here and there. “Physically, I mean. Mentally, eugh, I can’t even imagine,” he shuddered, garnering a huff from his leader. When he turned the insecticon wasn’t even there. Gone, into… somewhere. Breakdown came by to see if he was needed, but Knockout waved him off with a ‘don’t worry about it’. Breakdown watched the walls nervously. He’d privately invest in bugspray, he concluded. 

“How gracious,” Megatron mumbled, swatting the medic away. He grabbed an icepack and stumbled his way out into the hall, towards his room. He needed a drink to cool his nerves, and numb both his gestation chamber and his mind. He needed something else he couldn’t put his glossa on, but if he couldn’t figure it out himself he wouldn’t look for it.

–

Optimus thought hard about the events of the day. As much as he was upset by the accusations of fatherhood, he knew Megatron was struggling through…something. He worried about the mech from time to time, to the displeasure of Ratchet and most of his nearest and dearest. He had stopped once by Megatron’s room to knock, but refrained. Instead he wandered back to his own, greeting his kids before retreating to his own quarters. Optimus was in the sanctity of his own room when he received a call. He considered ignoring it. It was a very long day, but something gnawed at his mind. He laid himself down, groaning at the ache in his joints. Answering, he looked at his photo of Elita by the bed, seeking comfort before more responsibilities to attend made themselves known. “Hello?”

The line was quiet for a moment. “What are you wearing, Prime?” came a low, hoarse voice.

He stiffened. “Megatron? This is an afterhours call,” he began, unsure what to say. “I hope you know I don’t do business this late.”

Megatron breathed on the other end of the line. “This isn’t business,” he stated, then paused. “I just came to ask some questions,” he almost mumbled.

Optimus curled into his berth. “I had my own. Are you… alright? How’s the, ah,” he struggled for the word. “Gestation cycle?”

Megatron answered quickly, and with some level of disinterest. “I got rid of it.”

“Oh,” Optimus reacted awkwardly, preparing some speech about the pain of loss when the mech on the other end of the line spoke again.

“It wasn’t yours,” he clarified, seeing it very simple.

Optimus hesitated. “I know.”

Megatron spoke with some kind of longing after. “What would you have done if it were?”

“I would have… well it would have been my responsibility…” Optimus began, optic ridges furrowed in contemplation.

“Would you want me to get rid of it?” Megatron asked without second thought, wanting the core answer given to him. He wanted to know what could have been, even if he only ever made it up. Maybe Optimus would be different if it was his. 

Optimus considered, before coming to what felt appropriate. “That would be your decision, not mine, Megatron.”

“Would you want to raise it ?” He prodded once more, less brash and more curious.

Optimus sighed, concentrating but too tired to think as straight as he’d like to. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t want it to be raised inadequately,” he mumbled, trying to figure out what was the right answer. 

“Go on,” Megatron urged, voice as soft as the scratchy toned warlord could be. Optimus could feel his optic cover lashes batting across the line, like the mech was twirling the nonexistent phone cord in his digits, twisting on the berth.

“I… I don’t know how well I’d be able to raise a sparkling right now,” he mumbled. “My home is very full, you know. And my own kids are a responsibility,”

“But would you have tried?” Megatron pleaded for an answer, close to his comm, breathless. Optimus waited a moment, wracking himself for a conclusion.

“Soundwave: Needs to speak with Megatron,” a third voice cut across the call, startling them both. It was easy to forget Soundwave could do that.

Megatron snarled into the line. “Soundwave- I told you to stay out of my personal calls. This is an important conversation for the matters of the building!”

Optimus listened awkwardly to the chastising of the warlord’s officer, checking the time. “Notice: Urgent ,” Soundwave added.

The prime settled on talking a different hour, one not so late. Not one where he could get so caught up in fanciful futures. “I’ll call later, Megatron.”

Megatron groaned and ended the call. In the Decepticon’s own quarters, wrapped in a blanket to rest, he pinged Soundwave back. “What is so urgent that it interrupts my personal, medical rest?”

“Building: Being repossessed.”

Chapter Text

::Soundwave: Will repeat himself::

::No need to, Soundwave. I’ll… attend to that::

::Lord Megatron-::

Megatron closed his comm link, silencing the TIC’s concerns. Turning over in his berth, he was restless. Optics stared straight up, the popcorn ceiling making vague shapes in his mind like clouds on a cool and quiet night. Doubt did not fill his processor- Megatron did not doubt. That was for underlings and Autobots. He did, however, acknowledge the unknown. The solution to this was not yet upon him, which left him feeling unsatisfied. Tossing once more, he held the ice pack close and relegated himself to recharge as much as he could manage, pulling an eye mask over his optics.

—

Jazz was stressed. The mech paced around his office, talking both to himself and his confidante. It was late, and everyone else was likely in recharge or trying to be. The room was dark besides a desklamp light, casting panicked door-winged shadows as he heel-turned and repeated the motion. “Repossesion… Optimus won’t like this…don’t know what we’ll do if we lose the building…” the mech muttered. He paused, looking across to the office chair and the red optics watching him, completely still. “Show me that again,” he mumbled, putting a servo out.

Soundwave passed back the datapad they had been pouring thought over, and Jazz read it again with scrutiny. “The building is foreclosing because of missed payments? I thought you guys were in charge of it?” he questioned, tilting his helm. He leaned against the wall, checking the page again.

Soundwave glanced over at the open computer screens, eyeing the Decepticon finance page. The moment news hit he had sent quick notices to his former warlord, informing him as quickly and subtly as possible. Every move mattered. Every second they had ahead of the enemy counted, even if his lord was making pillow talk to the enemy instead of seizing the power he drooled about in his recharge. Then again they were supposed to be over with the war and the fighting and the faction bred hatred, but no one really could forget.

“Payment: handled by Starscream- Megatron’s request,” he supplied simply. Not his cybercircus, not his technomonkey. He would never show it, but he was tired, and a bit perturbed to be awake and working. The end of the war should have been the end of constantly being ripped from resting for Primus sake. Now, he had been called down at an ungodly hour when he should have been with his cassettes and his king sized berth and his prerecorded tv shows- not being grilled on the building expenses like it was his responsibility.

Jazz looked surprised. “From the building fund?” he asked with an incredulous glance. The mech nodded. Jazz hummed and looked over what files he had access to, clicking in and out of tabs. “I can’t believe he’s been in charge of all our money,” he mumbled, irked.

The cassette player said nothing, waiting until he wasn’t needed. He already informed Megatron and that was his work. Jazz continued to speak, scoffing to himself. “Just a choice to make, certainly. I mean, he’s never been the most sound-of-processor. We’ve all known he was a few bolts loose…” he scrunched his nasal bridge and set down the datapad. “Not because he’s, y’know, a Decepticon,” he added quickly after when he caught Soundwave’s gaze.

“Soundwave: Wasn’t going to say that,” the blue mech replied dryly.

—

The news hit Optimus like a semi-truck. It was early in the morning when Jazz tentatively sent a report to the Prime, detailing the important bullet points of their problem; they received a notice of foreclosure, they only had a few days to fix this, and the source was that building payments had been unpaid. Which was, of course, under the part of the agreement where Optimus relinquished assets and funds to his mortal enemy and old friend. The part where he trusted Megatron. He washed his faceplate and shook off his unease. He was Optimus Prime and he would handle this like his Autobots needed him to. He knocked on Megatron’s door, only to find it pushing open softly and slowly. He poked his head in, then pushed through it, finding Megatron sitting on a chair with his arms crossed and face scrunched, Starscream pacing circles on him like a bird. 

“Are you even listening?” the seeker bemoaned, crushing his faceplate into his servo. He tapped his pede impatiently, and it was obvious there was tension fogging the room.

Megatron was refusing to look at the flier in the optic, taking a drink of energon from a mug. “I hear you not taking responsibility for your mistakes,”

Starscream fumed at the statement, throwing his servos in the air and running another lap around the gunmetal mech. He halted in front of him and growled. “My- you glitch-” he hissed. “My mistakes? Oh excuse me for not pulling money out of my aft to pay for this building!” he shrieked. Megatron poured some highgrade in his mug. He took a swig and winced when it was more than he intended, and tasted bitter mixed into the brew that sat on the counter overnight.

He sighed and glared at Starscream, shrugging his heavy shoulders. “Use the rent!”

“What rent? None of these sorry sparks pay a credit if they can help it!” the seeker groaned, wings flaring up. “You certainly don’t give me half of what you use to drink!” he gestured at the empty bottles in the corner among the take-out and delivery, trash that Megatron rarely removed. It gave his room an eternal sourness.

Optimus interrupted with a cough, silencing them both. They turned to look, Starscream hovering over Megatron like a parent chastising a child in timeout.

“Now isn’t the time Prime,” Megatron offered, waving him off.

Starscream put a servo towards the Prime to hold him up instead. “Oh no, it most certainly is. This buffoon expects me to get rent from these freeloaders like a debt collector! I budget, I don’t shake mechs down,” he scowled at the warlord. “Not when I’m not paid to.”

“I shouldn’t have to pay you to do your job,” Megatron countered snarkily, earning a sigh from both of his guests. Optimus still stood in the doorway, hunched a bit awkwardly.

They were quiet, so he spoke, tone calm. “Why aren’t you handling the funds yourself, Megatron?”

Megatron mumbled something under his breath and looked away from them to his streetview window, if one could call a parking lot streetview. It was adorned with a blackout curtain that Starscream had haphazardly tried to pull off.

Starscream leaned on a wall and gestured the Autobot into the room further, having plenty to say and demanding an audience. “I know why- he pisses his credits down the drain and comes to me to borrow the building money! And he has never once paid it back,” Starscream yelled as he pointed at the sitting mech who made a pissy mocking sound.

“How? When- Why?” Optimus asked impatiently.

Megatron took a moment, before exventing deeply. He turned to look at the Prime, seeking an ally. He spoke with wonder, like one who had nearly touched the sun. “I was enthralled with this amazing machine, Optimus. It was covered in lights and offered huge credit payouts if I just pulled it-”

“You lost it all on slots?” Optimus questioned incredulously, glancing at Starscream in disbelief who only snickered.

“They promised high reward! There were painted images of beautiful femmes and the music was enchanting!” Megatron threw his servos up, feeling it was truly not his fault.

“The house always wins, Megatron!” The Prime yelled. Megatron growled and turned away. 

“Maybe for you. I was going to win eventually. I think I had it figured out, I just ran out of credits,” he implored, tone petty.

“I cannot believe you gambled our money!” Optimus waved a servo in irritation. 

“If Starscream did his job-” he began again, riling the seeker back up like a taunted dog.

Starscream shot back up off the wall. “Making money we don’t have isn’t my job! Getting these idiots to shape up and pay is your job!” the seeker hissed, storming closer and putting a digit up to Megatron’s faceplate, leaning so far in Optimus worried he might bite the silver mech. “If I were in charge I’d make it work- I’d hold them up by their ankles myself, but you have your helm too far up your aft to give up control, you dementia riddled old scrap-”

“That’s enough Starscream,” Optimus offered with a sigh, putting a servo in front of his chest, over his cockpit. The seeker quieted, relaxing back for a moment, wings unruffling and laying flat to his back. 

“If your boytoy wasn’t here I’d tear you a new one,” the flight commander sneered, pushing Optimus’s servo off and dusting his finish.

The Prime sighed, continuing. “Which is why- boytoy?” he took a doubletake at the seeker, who had already lost interest in him and started rummaging through Megatron’s cabinets, tossing things on the floor and earning a long groan from the gunmetal gladiator. 

Megatron implored assistance, if without the compassion to ask nicely. “Optimus… get him out. He has no power here, this is still my building,” he said loudly, speaking over the dull thuds of his personal waxes and rags and touch up paint hitting the floor.

Starscream scoffed. “The building that you’re running into the ground. I suggest a vote of no confidence,” he said as he dug around. “And of ugliness, of course these are all unused,” he mumbled and put a few into his subspace.

“Oh what would happen then, you would wheel me off and declare yourself leader?” Megatron snarked.

Optimus thought heavily for a moment. He saw Megatron looking at him for backup, to gang up and remove his treacherous second in command, but he also saw a new opportunity. “You know Megatron, that isn’t the worst idea. I don’t think you’re fit… anymore. After your carrying stunt, and the gambling, and the drinking…” he carried on, and Megatron kicked away an empty bottle.

“Not…’fit’,” he said low, tasting the word. He leaned forward for the first time in this conversation. “Not fit? Who's feeding you this? Is it that pet doctor of yours?” he asked with a scowl.

“Leave Ratchet out of this,” the Prime said softly but firmly.

Megatron scoffed. “He’s always poisoning you against me. So what, you’re here to challenge me? Call me old and senile too?” he huffed. Optimus averted his gaze for a minute before steeling himself.

“I’m here to offer a democratic solution. A show of hands,” he nodded.

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “An election? What are the stakes?”

Starscream perked up, and Optimus continued to speak. “The building. All of it. Both shares,”

“Winner take all,” Megatron floated, and nodded himself. “So the deal is off then. Our agreement is void,” he hummed.

Optimus stopped to really consider the ramifications of his decision. Normally he would get the advice of his closest and most dear, but he didn’t have that choice now. “Until the votes are in… yes.”

“I’ll see you at the polls then,” he declared.

Starscream stood up, dusted himself, and prepared to leave. “Yes I’ll be seeing you both. On the battlefield. Verbally,” he clarified, like it mattered.

Optimus put a servo up to halt him. “Wait, I don’t know about three candidates… spoiler votes-”

“Oh let him Prime, he can’t do anything, no one would vote for him. Spoiler candidates aren’t real,” Megatron said with a roll of his optics. In that moment the cards were dealt, and the game was afoot. 

The Prime agreed with a sigh. “Today, we campaign. Tonight,” he gathered his voice, strong and sure. “We vote.”

—

Ratchet wanted to squish these goddamn bugs in the apartments. Everywhere he looked there was a lanky purple figure chittering at him, or worse yet small crawling things running past him or reaching for his food.

“Are you going to finish that?”

“Yes I- Primus,” he invented deeply. “Get- go away!” he swatted a hand at the insecticon, who resembled Hardshell the most between the dominant three that they spoke with. The original bug inhabitants. The rest were all either asexually reproduced or laid, making a dozen different variations, including mutations among them.

The insecticon looked dejected, but took a quick swipe at Ratchet’s energon before being chased out of the communal doctor’s office. The medic felt he couldn’t catch a break. He started eating in the medbay to avoid these kinds of interactions. Knockout returned just in time to see the insecticon scurrying away. He scrunched his nose at the sight, setting down two glasses for himself and the Autobot. “Ew,” he said in passing, sitting down.

Ratchet scoffed. “Ew is an understatement. I think they’ve been stealing from the office. We’re missing all sorts of things- I made a request for new antiseptics, new bandaging, we’re getting low left and right. It hasn’t even been processed,” he sighed. Knockout nodded.

“Yes, I do think it’s gotten out of hand. Though, I’m not sure they’re the only culprit.” Knockout mused, swirling his drink.

Ratchet looked over at him curiously. “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. “What does a bug need with medical grade equipment and supplies?”

Ratchet stopped to think. He’d like to say that maybe they had some injuries and didn’t wish to see a doctor, but he knew they healed remarkably well on their own.

“Or with paint,” Knockout continued, looking a bit more serious.

Ratchet dug in his mind, glancing around the room. “Well they may simply be roughhousing enough to warrant some touch ups.”

“Maybe. But we’re not missing purple or black at all.” Ratchet’s finish crawled, wondering what else could be stealing from them.

A strange sound jostled them both. A box in the corner shifted, moving slowly and exposing them both to the idea of life in the lab. Ratchet grumbled and said something low about ‘all these damn ‘cons’ that Knockout decided to believe was short for insecticons, lest he need a fight with the medic. Knockout hummed and went to move the box and shoo whatever was in the corner away. He lifted it only to unveil a pale, paintless sparkling with no discernable features. It wasn’t newforged, but it was certainly miniscule. He jumped back in surprise.

“I… thought you got rid of Starscream’s…offspring,” Ratchet said low, watching with concern. Absentmindedly he moved closer, scooping it up in his arms. It made soft gargling sounds, reaching up to paw at Ratchet’s helm.

“I did. That is not his- he was barely developing anything this-” he stammered, waving at the child. He took a cautious step back, like it would explode. The child only watched the red mech with big cautious optics, like a curious kitten.

“We’ll have to take care of it, until we find where it came from,” Ratchet mumbled, swaying the sparkling side to side, pacifying it until it fell into recharge. He wondered where on earth it came from, and if it was abandoned. “Sweet little thing,” he cooed.

Knockout looked queasy. “I don’t like this at all,” he said mostly to himself. 

A voice boomed over the PA system that Knockout didn’t even know they had. “Insignificant building dwellers; until further notice, the agreement is postponed. I, Starscream, will be running in a campaign against your so-called leaders to take command!” the mech announced with a forced and piercing laugh, giving both doctors the same tired unease.

Ratchet muttered to himself as he hoisted the sparkling up. “I need to go. Optimus needs me,” he assured himself.

—

Shockwave never knew what to do with them. They were noisy, rude, and damn near feral. The beast cassettes were better behaved. Rumble had been, for the better part of the day, nosing around and playing private eye- something he saw on TV at some point, since of course Soundwave gave them unregulated TV hours. Frenzy had been either besting her twin or pretending to be the criminal. Currently the twins were digging around to play with Shockwave’s tools, always a fan of pressing buttons until something broke and the scientist was fuming. He tried to focus on his work but one too many ‘woaaah’s and ‘try this’ got to him.

He turned to face them, currently tugging a cattle prod between them. “Both of you- get out!” he said, glaring.

They looked completely guiltless, still holding the tool. “Boss says we’re your problem while he does some financy stuff,” Rumble reminded the cyclops.

“Uhuh. Really important stuff I’m sure,” Frenzy agreed, her voice taunting. Shockwave refused to stoop to it, but they knew he had weak points.

The scientist’s voice was flat, wet-catish, and naturally unenthused. “I’m certain.” He turned away and returned to his efforts, moving instruments and cleaning surfaces with rags. Ever bothersome, they leaned in on either side of him.

Rumble peered over at his samples and the tube of some sort of flesh and surrounding fluid. “More important than playing with whatever this gross stuff is,” the blue twin said with a scrunch of his face.

Shockwave sighed. “These are my experiments. This is my lab.”

The red one was trying to read his datapad and… struggling. “Why can’t you experiment something cool?” Frenzy asked flatly, raising an optic ridge.

Shockwave eyed the trash heap by the door, and the shells of failed minibots he had tried to engineer as replacements. He sighed. “Limited resources.”

They seemed to get quiet, so he resigned himself to working with their presence. There was silence, then the electric crack of the prod and the hiss of something dying.

“Rumble.”

The twin answered with a squeak. “She did it.”

“We was only killing a bug, Shockwave,” Frenzy defended, hiding the prod behind her back. Shockwave turned and put his servo out to take it back, getting the weapon returned very slowly. “Pinky swearz,” she added and did some sort of human hand sign. Shockwave wondered if that was from TV too.

“Yeah, you hate them in your lab, so you can’t be mad,” Rumble implored, optics big. Shockwave looked over and saw a small insecticon about half their size had crawled into the lab and been very mercilessly shocked to death. They looked proud of themselves, though.

Besides, the twins weren’t entirely wrong. He hated all these insecticons swiping things from his lab. Everyone swore they would do something about it, but nobody wanted to be the bearer of bug news. “They’re worse than the two of you,” he thought out loud, earning a weird look from them. “…I suppose you’re right.”

They seemed to take that as getting let off the hook and turned to scamper away when he motioned for them to stay. “Wait. I have a job for you two. A game,” he changed the phrasing to sound more appealing, and enjoyed the curious interest in their optics. He held the prod back out towards them, and got up to find something in his cabinets.

“Really? For serious?” Rumble asked as he took the weapon. He knew using weapons in the building was off limits, everyone was banned but… Shockwave was letting him, so he didn’t worry about it long. The scientist brought out a stamp and adjusted the letters that faced out until he was satisfied. Passing it to Frenzy, she read it out loud.

“Ev…evict-ted?” she sounded out. The tank realised he really oughta teach them something useful one day. 

“Stamp every bug in the building. Take the prod to defend yourselves,” he explained clearly, before turning to his work again. “Exterminate them as necessary. They’ve been pests.”

—

Astrotrain woke from a groggy nap when there was the sound of something hitting his door. He got up off his tied together mattresses, trying not to shake Blitzwing too much. They liked to sleep in if they could help it. Opening it he was face to face, or rather face to stomach with Starscream. “What do you want?” he asked without much nicety.

Starscream paused in his work, a bit surprised. “I forgot you lived down in the basement…” he mumbled. Astrotrain gave a ‘hmph’ and watched him. “I’m putting up some signs.”

“For?” he asked with minimal interest.

“Didn’t you hear? Our gracious Megatron is off his rocker. There's going to be an election…” the flight commander trailed off, shrugging before deciding to lean into the doorway, propping a servo up and blocking the exit.

Astrotrain watched him. “And?”

“And yours truly, me, is- am running!” Starscream announced with a smirk, waiting for the message to impact the triple changer deeply.

The purple mech only crossed his arms. “On what platform? What are your impact goals and leadership objectives? What are your fiscal policies? Are social issues on the table?” his eternally loud voice bellowed. He turned his helm to peek at the signs Starscream had been posting. Most were in bright red and blue, with messages like Megathong Hates You, Optimus Crime: Causing Overdose?, Child Labour Rocks, and Vote for Me or Die plastered along building walls and now the basement door. There was even a stapled ziplock bag of what may have been powder cement.

Astrotrain didn’t figure he’d vote for Starscream, not by a long shot, but considering how short notice this all seemed, he was impressively exceptionally quick to put so much up. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve had help,” the seeker said flatly. Astrotrain would have assumed it was his trine if they didn’t have that big falling out with the screaming and the throwing a few months ago, so he had to assume it was someone being coerced.

“Right.” He turned to leave back to his dark and dank room when he got a ping from Megatron, calling him up. “I have to go. Our gracious leader is calling,” he taunted with a snicker, watching Starscream’s wings flatten like a cat's ears against their head as he shoved past, nearly toppling the jet.

Astrotrain walked with heavy steps towards Megatron’s room. He turned the corner on an insecticon, and without second thought stepped on it. He had no sympathy for the bugs, and much rather see them under his pede than in his room, but in the moment he extinguished whatever gross spark it had, he heard the hiss of secondhand pain from the shadows and under the floorboards. He almost ran straight into Ratchet on his way upstairs, but paused curiously to look at the sparkling in the medics servos. “Oh,” he mumbled, letting the doctor pass, more shocked to see a newspark than offended to be held up. 

—

“Are you sure about all this?” Jazz asked only half convinced by the Prime’s ‘uhuh’. “I mean, not that you can go back now,” he added after. He had been absentmindedly bouncing the child that Ratchet dragged in, but it didn’t cloud his focus an ounce. Ratchet however seemed singleminded toward it.

Optimus sighed, fiddling with his data pad. He had been fussing all day preparing, writing- he had an essay and papers all lined up. Still, no matter how many speeches he gave, and how many debates he had won, he felt humble about his skills. He needed to stay sharp, and not let overconfidence get in his way. Not that Megatron ever made it easy. “Jazz, I need you to watch over the Autobots until this is over. I don’t trust anyone else,” he admitted.

Jazz nodded. He needed to give Optimus some sort of security, the peace of mind to keep him focused on winning and fixing this. “You got it Prime!” he chirped, and tried to pull a smile from the semi with an exaggerated grin, getting only a depressed chuckle.

“Thank you, I trust them in your servos,” he asserted. “Prowl, you’ll stay with me. Ratchet, see to what Jazz may need,” he delegated. Prowl nodded stiffly and looked to Jazz, who returned the sparkling and turned to leave, having his own business to attend to. Ratchet hesitated to follow.

“Optimus, are you sure? I’d rather be there to support you,” Ratchet implored. Optimus looked conflicted. His gaze fell on the sparkling resting in a makeshift bed, not asleep but not quite interested in them. Ratchet saw where his optics were.

“I believe you have enough on your plate, old friend,” he said as he nudged the mech gingerly.

Ratchet grabbed his arm, grip firm. “Let me. I can help.” Optimus saw the concern in the medic’s eyes, and the need, too.

Prowl coughed, clearing his vocaliser. Optimus made his decision, even if it wasn’t the most thought out. “Prowl, you… follow Jazz. I have enough company,” he mumbled. He felt a bit bogged down, but he would live. Prowl stared questionably, but left with a ‘sure thing’ nonetheless. 

Optimus’s work was silent, and he wrote like he had no future if he didn’t. He was always gifted with words and writing, and his essays reflected it. Still, he was occasionally distracted by his campaign assistant, who was much more busy and enamored with the sparkling he had found. Optimus didn’t ask yet where it was from. Partly because he was far too busy to deal with it, but partly because there was some sort of domestic magic to pretending this was how it was. Like when he had his own sparklings and Uncle Ratchet would rock them or tell them stories, until they became too old to want to sit around with the doctor. Like it was Ratchet’s, or maybe even his. Then again he professed a thorough disinterest in them beyond the ethical need to keep them alive.

“Do you think the sparkling likes me?” Ratchet asked with a low hum. He was playing with it, its grey little faceplate a bit fangy, but otherwise ambiguous. Most sparklings were; they didn’t gain much of their parent’s features until they started to shed their protoform mesh, a down fluff of sorts to be molted. It was a good survival technique; anyone may take in a sparkling with the same fondness as if it were their own, because it might as well be. Until it grows and can survive with less supervision, at least. This one should be reaching that point, but Ratchet couldn’t blame a late bloomer. What he knew was it had deep, red optics, and a penchant for grabbing.

Optimus turned to look. “I thought you didn’t like sparklings,” Optimus mentioned, before returning to his work.

“I don’t I just… well you know I never had one myself,” he mumbled.

“The war made it tough for everyone, Ratchet,” he said with a gentle sort of pity. He had the pleasure of three, but he was lucky. Then again, losing Elita made him a single parent. It was hard.

“And I never had anyone to have one with. I’ve been chasing you just about all the war, your… your good friend! No time to fall for anyone, not when I was busy keeping your frame intact!” he tried to explain cheerfully but came off strained and upset.

Optimus felt discomfort in his heart, and cleared his vocaliser with a small grunt. “I see…” He stood up, reaching out to Ratchet’s shoulder. The medic turned with dull eyes, what hope was in them shriveled like dried fruit. “Ratchet…”

“Yes, Optimus?”

“I hope you find it one day. As I had with Elita,” he hummed, mourning her with love. “Nothing compares.”

Ratchet fought several curse words, but they died in his throat. He didn’t need to be reminded. He had the picture on the wall of her beautiful portrait, and the look in his children’s eyes, and the way the Prime spoke her name under his breath. “Thanks.” He looked at the sparkling he was knelt beside, and his anger subsided. He couldn’t be angry looking at new life. Life he could envision with someone else. “You’ve… raised, before,” he began, spark breaking a little at his own proposal. “You can… you can take him, if you’d like. I was ah… never the youngsparks favourite Uncle.” The medic laughed it off, but it was dry and pained.

Optimus was still, only glancing thoughtfully and warm at his friend. “I think he likes you, Ratchet.”

—

Megatron donned a cape and presented himself in the recreational hall. Knockout spoke over his comms to somebody somewhere. “Yep. Mmhmm. Yes. Well, no. Right. Oh you…” he trailed, twirling his digit on an imaginary phoneline before catching Megatron’s gaze and straightening up. “See you shortly.”

Megatron rolled his optics and exvented. “Are we ready to begin?”

Planning was going well enough. Astrotrain and Knockout were his loyal campaign help. Loyal of course because they had no higher ambitions above him, unlike his TIC and science officer who certainly could do better if they tried hard enough. The arrangements were made, divisions of labor accounted for. As far as anyone was concerned, Astrotrain was merely putting up the last of the ‘Megatron Wants YOU’ posters and the dismally grey balloons, and Knockout did a last spellcheck of his Lord’s often crude typing. 

“You like this or higher?” Astrotrain’s booming voice asked. “I can move it.”

Knockout hummed and tilted his helm one way, then another. “Ummm hows about you bunch those balloons together so they make a nicer impact, big boy?” the cherry red mech suggested.

Astrotrain followed without hesitation, almost bashful. It made Megatron stop and think. “Knockout,” he started, awkwardly. He didn’t second guess himself often, after all. “You seem to have a certain… effect on some mechs. How do you do that?”

Knockout laughed, then realised he was serious and stopped. “Why my Liege, it’s only an excess of personality. You have quite an impact yourself, I wouldn’t worry too much,” he soothed.

Megatron grunted, turning to look at a passing by Thundercracker, who had his arms full of energon he was placing out for attendees. “Thundercracker!” his voice pierced the air, making the seeker halt. “Hows about you bring me some energon too, big boy,” he called out, making the seeker ooze discomfort, wings pulling close to his frame defensively.

Knockout cringed. “My Lord, perhaps make them feel… wanted?” he offered tentatively.

The mech growled, then turned to the seeker and grinned, a nasty and wolfish face. “I want you,” he declared in a viscous low purr and laughed, making the blue mech’s wings drop further, his face terrified.

Knockout jumped in front of his leader and waved hands. “Perhaps not like that,” he said, exasperated. He gestured to Thundercracker to simply see himself off and to not take it to heart as best he could. The poor spark left as soon as he set things down, likely to confide in just about anyone else about the affair.

“Maybe I’m not cut out for your style of… manipulation,” Megatron hummed.

Knockout made a small sound of awkward disagreement. “Er… I wouldn’t call it manipulation,” he started, but Megatron waved it off.

Megatron took a huff, then cracked his neck on both sides, reminiscent of the mech who fought near endlessly. He would fight again today. “Alright. Where is Optimus?”

“Megatron!” The Prime’s stern voice carried across the hall, as if to only his audials. There he was in the doorway, and suddenly all pretense was lost.

“There you are,” he said in an almost singsong voice, feeling like a cat with its prey, so close to having it all. Not that he’d have Optimus, but that was a much more complicated thought. “Ready to debate, big boy?” he purred once more, and Optimus almost tripped.

“I won’t be falling for your tricks, Megatron. Fool me once…” he said as he looked across the room. Ratchet was not far behind, the sparkling seated on a chair nearby, coloring on paper and being played with by Ravage who had a soft spot for little things like him. The cat pawed at the crayons in the child’s hands, prompting him to pet Ravage instead, who purred into the hold, even if she got squeezed a bit hard once or twice.

“Don’t be naive. We’ve been at this for a very long time.” The Decepticon checked his entourage, and the stage before them. “Shall we?”

Optimus followed the former warlord up, watching Autobots and Decepticons alike filter through the doors, taking seats. Jazz and Soundwave showed up eventually, sitting together by the computer monitor. Prowl was there, but highstrung, moving across the room with his weapon drawn like he was protecting the president. One could suppose he was- whoever won. He had however, much greater concerns; if someone had been stealing from the medical office, trying to break into Shockwave’s lab, and sneaking around, tampering with the polls would be no big jump. Jazz watched amused, and didn’t bother calling him over, but left a seat regardless beside him. 

Optimus coughed, and straightened up. He locked eyes with his many supporters, a few holding the cookies he left in boxes against their doors, and others waving the tiny Optimus flags Ratchet put together haphazardly before the debate. “My Autobots… and my Decepticons,” he began, causing a few gossipy whispers over his word choice. “Today we stand here not for a sparkling-scare, but for the responsibility of the building. A good leader listens to his people, and that is what I choose to do. I’ve asked many of you to send me questions and concerns, and many of you have. Some anonymously, which I… understand,” he said as he squinted to read a few, ignoring one asking if he was as old as Primus. “Blitzwing asked… ‘Will there be bigger food rations if I vote for you’,” he read clearly, having put his glasses on. Megatron scoffed at them. “If we can secure money for the building, I’m sure we can afford bigger meals,” he offered, getting a happy commotion.

“That’s pretty good,” Astrotrain mumbled, though it carried quite a bit. Megatron glared at him and scowled, and the triple changer piped down.

“You cannot win through intimidation, Megatron,” Optimus chastised. “Under me we will have no fear of leadership! I treat all my friends the same, all are important. Every sentient being has a right to happiness and the chance to give me their load to bear,” he waxed on.

Megatron sighed and cut him short. “How poetic, Prime. Yes, you can sell these poor sparks on a dream that you have no way of achieving. I propose that under my complete and total rule, the apartments shall invest in the future of our inhabitants, and focus on the earning of income,” he said with a puff of his chest.

Blitzwing waited, looking around before speaking. “How will that affect rations then?” A few other voices joined in, questioning. Astrotrain added a ‘this effects me’ to the chorus.

Megatron waved a servo displeasingly. “Gluttony will destroy you all! Rations will be cut, and water will be withheld, and curfews will be imposed if you don’t shape up!” he growled, loud and clear. The Decepticons in the crowd winced, and Optimus felt himself hurt for them.

“This is no way to lead. Or to earn their favor,” Optimus gestured at the crowd. “I trust in my constituents, and I trust their sparks are in the right place to improve our home together.”

Megatron groaned. “The road to the pit is paved with sparks in the right place. At least I have a semblance of a plan, something you don’t,” Megatron countered. “What you forget is that I have always led my Decepticons out of the rock bottom, and back to glory. They know that I will never give in, and I will always prevail.”

“Evil does not prevail, Megatron, it would do you well to remember that,” Optimus gritted. “Let there be votes,” he decided, though his gaze stayed locked. 

The crowd went quiet, except for a few questions here and there. Breakdown asked how anonymous these votes were, and Skywarp inquired about how long it would be. Jazz answered everything he could, and between them looked for Prowl, who was now nowhere to be seen. “Prowl? Where did you go?” he asked, calm and low to not alert anyone amiss.

Soundwave watched his screen in confusion. The numbers grew, but there was something strange. Starscream wasn’t even there to give a speech, and he was getting votes.

Soundwave pinged him curiously, getting back a muffled and very flustered voice. “Give me a minute!” the seeker hissed. Soundwave sighed and closed the call. Soon enough, a heavily disheveled Starscream appeared, although he seemed as cocky as ever.

“Hello my admirers and underlings,” he began, strutting up to the stage to stand between the two mad dogging mechs. “I have come to remind everyone that I, Starscream, am running for leader of this building! I, the only mech who has paid his rent,” he noted sharply, making a few audience members look away, “am running on a campaign of total assurance. I am the only mech who can keep any of you in line, and as Megatron’s former right hand mech, am well suited to leadership without his old dementia riddled mind getting in the way. Neither am I encumbered by Optimus Prime’s softness,” he declared, crossing his arms contentedly, making both burned leaders look at each other incredulously.

“Starscream,” Megatron growled. “Be quiet, your incompetence is not endearing when there are serious matters.”

“Says you. According to the polls, I have fans,” he said with far too much confidence. Soundwave looked at him suspiciously, and glanced back at Jazz. The mech nodded and called Prowl.

“Prowl, I think you’re right,” he voiced to the security officer. “The votes are being tampered with. There are people voting from outside of the room,” he said low, concerned.

Prowl was breathing close to his comm link, making him sound fuzzy. “Jazz, it’s coming from Starscream’s apartment, I hear noises,” he sent back, and Jazz’s frame crawled.

“Investigate it,” Jazz ordered. “Carefully,” he added after.

Ratchet, across the room, seemed to stir from his peace when the sparkling began to cry. “Shh, don’t fuss,” he soothed, grabbing the child and noticing its outermost film was breaking and peeling off, molting like a snake. It was endearing, in a gross way, as all sparklings were. 

“What’s it doing?” Thundercracker asked, leaning in.

Ratchet rubbed the child, helping it shed better as he spoke, and Ravage licked at the shed soothingly, second nature. “Ah, well, all sparklings do this. Soon they’ll gain recognizability,” he said simply. “Become distinguished, like the older youngsparks you see around. Newforges are still forming,” he explained, patient and gentle with the child. He didn’t expect to watch its back move and separate, and for a thin fragile set of jet wings to pull away from the child’s back, stretching with an ache that made the baby cry out. He soothed the sparkling as best he could, while being in a bit of shock. He turned to the seeker beside him. “This isn’t…”

“Not mine!” He exclaimed quickly, face pink with panic. Starscream however, looked past his poll numbers to see the baby, and gained new interest. 

The mech waltzed up easily, plucking the sparkling without permission. Ratchet stood immediately. “This is mine, you can let go now,” he instructed casually. The room was shocked to say the least. 

—

Prowl pushed the door to Starscream’s apartment open slowly, gun in hand. The room was pitchblack, and there was whispering and hissing. He flashed his light on, and when his optics had adjusted he saw himself staring into a dozen more pairs. Red and gold sets of optics looked back at him, blinking, helms twisting and moving. It was terrifying, and Prowl almost dropped his light. They moved like rats when you turn the light on, and he wondered if they would bite him, tear him to pieces, pull his frame apart.

“Show yourselves!” he yelled loudly, busting into the room. It was a serious raid on serious accusations, and he had a duty.

—

“I’m sorry- I thought you didn’t have the sparkling! I- I thought it was a misforge!” Ratchet cried out, reaching for the child and having it pulled away. He was confused, and upset. He looked to Optimus for support, only to find him in a heated discussion with Megatron instead. It hurt to know he was alone in this fight.

“Oh, no, I lost that one. This is a clone,” Starscream shrugged casually, holding the sparkling by its scruff, who looked mad. Ravage growled at the seeker, ears pinned back. He shook it a little for emphasis, and it tried to bite him. “See? That’s mine.”

“A what?” Shockwave grunted out, helm turning immediately.

—

“Prowl? Prowler? Speak to me,” Jazz urged through the mech’s comm link. 

“There are…” he stopped to count, before answering. “Sixteen Starscreams in here,” he said, almost not believing it himself. They were all lined up in various sizes and builds. Some were the size of minicons, some about average for a seeker but more lithe, and others huge, towering so tall they had to crouch in the room. “And they’re all voting for Starscream.”

—

The sight was ugly. Shockwave inspected the clones, poking and prodding. All commotion over the debate halted to address the brand new voters present. All sixteen in a pile, being stared down, the sparkling in one of their arms. Ratchet was depressed, and Optimus cradled his medic’s form against a chair. Soundwave looked tired, and he checked the numbers. 

“Starscreams: Voting as separate entities,” he explained, looking over between the two leaders and, uncomfortably, the Starscreams.

“So what?” Starscream scoffed. “A win is a win,” he rolled his optics, looking at his clones who all variably nodded.

Jazz was hunched over the computer by Soundwave and turned quickly. He put up a digit, wagging it. “Not yet it isn’t!” he said with true enthusiasm, leaping up from his seat. “It’s a tie.”

The tallest clone, broad and strong and raspy as Unicron himself, looked confused. “What? With who?” she questioned, taking a drag from the smoke that Ratchet was mouthing for her to put out. 

“Optimus,” Jazz half announced, half cheered.

The gladiator turned candidate looked offended when he peered and saw his own low numbers on Soundwave’s computer screen. “What? Then what about my Decepticons- and their votes?” Megatron growled out. Some of his former soldiers looked away in shame or embarrassment, not wanting to look their leader in the eye after voting for the enemy, even if the enemy offered a lot more kindness.

“My vote was for, uh, not-Starscream,” Skywarp snarked, and Thundercracker laughed from beside him, propped by the wall as guards. They were, under Prowl, in charge of keeping these clones from running. Neither seeker liked to stare at them though; it was unnerving to know they as a trine were replaced by clones.

The blue seeker picked up after. “I’ll certainly vote an Autobot over Starscream these days. I mean, uh,” he flustered. “If I did vote that way, I mean. The votes were…”

Breakdown coughed. “They were… anonymous,” he said as he fiddled with his arm plating.

The Prime waved a servo in the warlord's faceplate to take back his attention. “They voted on their own accord, whether in or out of their faction. Megatron… there are bigger issues. If this is a tie then I only need one more vote for me to win- we could still share this,” Optimus implored. He grabbed Megatron’s servo and pulled it towards him, guiding it towards a datapad with a big hopeful ‘VOTE’ button on it. “One choice can change everything,” he smiled slightly, a tug at his faceplate.

Megatron seemed to take that into account. “Yes… you’re right. As your partner, I can still help you lead…” he trailed off, and Optimus was going to correct him when someone else spoke.

Starscream, the original, looked up from a smudge on his paint with a hum. “A tie? I can change that,” he said casually, walking up to Bumblebee and snatching his ‘Vote Optimus’ megaphone quickly, ignoring his protest. “I have a new platform,” he explained, getting back on the podium. “I’m running on…sugar water.”

Megatron laughed, until he realised there was no joke. He still laughed a little more. Optimus watched him suspiciously. “Starscream… what is the meaning of this?”

“I have new constituents, Optimus,” the seeker smirked. “Everyone who votes for me will get unlimited sugar water!” he cackled into the speaker.

“Ignore him Prime, he’s a fool. Soundwave, the tie?” Megatron asked, shifting topics.

If Soundwave had hairs, he’d be ripping them out. “Starscream:...is landsliding.”

“Who’s voting for him?” Optimus asked, looking at the bots in the room, who all shook heads and looked at each other skeptically. 

A small shrill pair of cries alerted Soundwave that his cassettes were returning. A swarm of insecticons walked in, some of which covered in bright red sticky ‘EVICTED’ stamp marks. Rumble and Frenzy were in their arms, held tightly to apprehend them as they flailed and yelled. They all looked panicked and out of sorts. 

Soundwave glared at Shockwave. “Cassettes: Shockwave’s responsibility today.” Shockwave was quiet, until Soundwave touched his temple and the scientist winced in pain, the telepath administering a small marital punishment. Quickly, the cassette player stormed to the insects and retrieved the children, who were very disgruntled.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Megatron commanded an answer out of them.

“WE are voting…” one started, and another continued. “We have been accused (accused)," he insisted. Knockout took a few steps back, unnerved. Many others took the same course of action, Ironhide and the triple changers gently herding everyone away and making a barrier.

“They’ve been stealing from the medical office!” Ratchet yelled, pointing at them. Many of them shook their heads disjointedly, like puppets all crawling over each other and speaking practically disembodied.

“Kickback only steal from kitchen, not from doctors (from doctors),” he said earnestly. Ignoring the admission, Optimus and Megatron questioned what to do now.

Megatron decided to cease the commotion. “You all have no voting power. You may leave.”

“Was it not Optimus (Optimus) who said…” they traded turns speaking, “That all may participate?” they reminded the Prime. Optimus sighed and the warlord groaned. “We are voting for Starscream (for Starscream),” they continued, “for the sugar water…” another finished, and they all hissed with something that sounded a lot like hunger. 

“Starscream is kind to us… feeds us failures… gives us nice things,” one whispered, craning towards Rumble. “Maybe insecticons not spare snacks next time…”

Testy mouths leaned in towards Jazz’s doorwings, earning a right hook from Prowl, faster to it than Jazz himself was. Soundwave called his minibots back, docking each and every one.

Starscream cackled, throwing it in their faces. “Looks like I won! Hah! Come forth my locust!” he shrieked. “And welcome to the age of the Starscream Republic!” he cheered, his clones resounding in hooting and clapping.