Chapter Text
The journey to Cybertron would take a few hours, at least. A few hours for the whirl of emotions to settle in Optimus’ spark.
Hearing Ratchet’s voice, fearful but alive.
Watching the Omega Lock power on, Cybertron’s last chance, and hearing Ratchet beg him to destroy it, despite knowing how the doctor had suffered to bring Cybertron’s last hope back.
Watching Bumblebee die.
Hearing Bumblebee's voice, then watching Megatron, his oldest friend and worst enemy, perish by his servo.
And then, suddenly, they were going home.
Optimus could scarcely believe it all, watching Bumblebee joyously chat with Rafeal with a soft smile on his face. He almost didn’t hear Ratchet excuse himself, but still managed to see the doctor turn into one of the Nemesis’ many corridors and vanish from view.
In all honesty, Optimus was too selfish to let Ratchet out of his sight. It would be some time before he felt safe enough to let him walk away, even with Megatron dead.
The Prime mumbled an “excuse me,” before wandering in the direction Ratchet had, smiling still as the children gasped in awe at the sight of his homeworld before them. The war was over. They had won, with no casualties from this iteration of the unit. Primus, Optimus couldn’t stop smiling.
Then he found Ratchet in the Nemesis’ medical wing, hunched over a table.
The Prime was there in an instant, grabbing the doctor's arm to support him. Up close, he could see Ratchet’s suffering in full view. His face was pinched in pain, optics closed and denta clenched. Optimus’ smile slipped from him.
“What do you need?”
“P-pain patch,” Ratchet said, cracking one optic open and pointing towards a drawer.
Optimus, under protest, guided Ratchet to the berth in the center of the table before walking to the drawer he had indicated. Inside were hundreds of patches, proof of the Decepticon's vast difference in resources. He pulled two out and returned to Ratchet’s side.
“Only—only need one,” Ratchet grimaced, weakly pushing Optimus’ servo away when he tried to place them.
“There’s no need for frugality, old friend. We have plenty now,” he said softly, before gingerly pressing Ratchet’s servo to the berth and applying the patches to his shoulder.
The doctor sighed in relief; some of the tenseness bled from his frame, though slower than the energon did. It was then that Optimus first got a good look at what Ratchet had been through. You couldn’t find a place on his frame without a scratch, dent, or wound. He bled from the mouth, indicating an internal injury, and his shoulder was almost caved in.
Predaking. They sicked a Predacon on a medic.
Optimus couldn’t help the sudden desire to bring Megatron back from the dead, so he might kill him all over again. His servos clenched into fists, trembling in outrage and guilt, and his head bowed low.
“Don’t.”
The Prime looked up to find Ratchet’s tired optics on him, grimace replaced with soft understanding.
“I know that look, Optimus. Don’t blame yourself for this.”
“I wasn’t there. If I had never taken Soundwave—”
“I was their only way to restore the planet. If not Soundwave, they would have found me some other way. Some other way where you couldn’t have fooled them into blowing up the wrong base,” Ratchet smirked. Optimus didn’t have it in him to return the gesture.
“I tried to fool them and got myself hurt as a result. But I managed to turn the Predacon against them. I don’t regret it, so neither should you.”
He reached up a servo from the berth that Optimus took with care.
“I’ll be alright,” he said with a smile, “with care and time.”
The Prime was silent. But you aren’t alright now.
The doctor released Optimus from his grip and reached up with both arms to take the Prime’s face in his servos.
“Optimus,” he whispered, his optics growing wet, “we’re going home.”
“Yes, we are,” Optimus said, closing his optics and brushing his digits against one of the servos.
“Thanks to you and your brilliance. You turned magic to science, Ratchet,” he said in wonder.
At this, Ratchet’s face fell. A single tear slid down his face plate.
“I was so desperate to save Cybertron that I almost doomed Earth—”
Optimus felt the doctor’s servos begin to fall from his face. He quickly collected them in his own, holding them close.
“You didn’t. Earth is safe. We’re all safe, old friend.”
Ratchet returned the Prime’s shaky grin and pulled him closer. Soon enough, they were forehelm to forehelm, servo in servo.
“It’s over,” he muttered, reclining back into the berth, “it’s over, Orion.”
Optimus’ optics widened at the name.
“Ratchet, I—”
“You’re free.”
The medic dragged his digits away from Optimus’ and brushed them over the Prime’s chest plate. Shocked, Optimus searched for any sign of inebriation or confusion, but Ratchet’s optics were clear as ever.
“Tell me you’re free,” he all but begged.
Optimus smiled. His medic was brilliant. He really should give him more credit.
“I’m free, old friend.”
They kissed slowly, unhurried. They had all the time in the world left for their new beginning.
I’m free.