Chapter Text
Megatron pressed a servo into his swollen stomach. The occupants rolled and kicked beneath his palm and he growled, low and feral. As with every other time, they were not quailed. The sparklings yearned for their sire, the mech who Megatron cursed on the hour. Of course, said mech wasn’t even aware that he was a sire and Megatron had no intention of telling him.
How could he have known that this new frame was hyper-fertile? Megatron thought he should have known better, but Quintessa was the master deceiver and hiding one minor detail like fertility was nothing to her. And Megatron had been in no state to challenge her intoxicating thrall over him and ask questions. She had ripped his autonomy away from him and twisted his mind so that all he cared about was restoring his home planet. His desire for a renewed Cybertron was nothing new, but that it was more important to him than refueling or the beat of his own spark was. He had been suffocated with the need to please his master.
He felt it, the second Quintessa was killed. He had been in free fall through Earth’s atmosphere when her thrall over him snapped. It was painful, more so than the fire that engulfed him as he torpedoed through the sky. He knew that it was Optimus, it was always Optimus, but this one time he was relieved that the plan was foiled. He was less pleased when Cybertron was pulled back to her side of the universe, a fragmented husk; the picture of death.
That was the last thing he saw before he hit the ground. If his frame hadn’t forced him into stasis, he most certainly would have died. Instead, his body shut down all unnecessary daily functions to focus on repairing the extensive internal damage the impact had caused. He got one short month of peace, one month until he woke up and all he was left with was isolation —because where could he go— and the knowledge that he had been someone’s tool, a weak and subservient thing. The last time he felt this shame was eons ago, when he was still but a child in a world structured to reject him.
Now all that he was left with was isolation —because where could he go— and the knowledge that he was someone’s tool, a weak and subservient thing. The last time he felt this shame was eons ago, when he was still but a child in a world structured to reject him.
Quintessa haunted him: There was no escaping her. She was in his head. She was in the very body his spark inhabited. It made him sick and it made him want to rip every trace of her from his frame until his spark was all that was left.
This was exactly how Optimus Prime found him. Megatron was hunched over in a clearing in the woods he’d landed in, furiously tearing the metal from his body. Armored plates were scattered at his feet, and in spots his protoform was showing, silvery and bleeding. The ground was soaked in his energon but that didn’t stop him, knife digging under the next piece of framework. He flicked his wrist and the blade popped up the edge of the chest plate. He was speaking, or screaming, he wasn’t sure, and hadn’t heard Optimus’ approach.
“Megatron?” Somehow the quiet question cut through whatever Megatron was doing with his mouth.
He whirled and stood, brandishing the knife, but quickly found that was all he had the strength for. When he pitched forward, Optimus caught him by the elbows. He took the knife and tossed it to the side.
“What have you done to yourself!” He was furious and loud now.
Megatron laughed but even that was weak and pathetic and devolved into a coughing fit. He tried to push away but the Prime held him firm so he leaned closer. “What would you understand,” he spat, “you have never been owned.” He noticed the energon on Optimus’ servos where he held him and scoffed. “Why are you here?”
Optimus’ brow furrowed but his optics softened. He eased Megatron into a sitting position on a clean patch of grass. “I had hoped to speak to you,” he said, “but it seems that I must repair you first.” He twisted and removed a small leather pouch from where it hung at his hip. With deft digits he unclasped the latch and fished out a pocket welder and a handful of rags. He knelt and turned on the welder but Megatron snarled and smacked it out of his hand.
“No,” he growled.
Optimus scowled. “You are bleeding out, Megatron.”
“I want to die.”
There was silence then, both bursting and void of thoughts and emotions from both parties. Birds chirped in the background and Megatron spotted a red one that had been frequenting the clearing the last few days. It took to the sky and dipped to catch a bug before it disappeared back into the forest. Optimus stood and went to retrieve the welder. His joints groaned and hissed and Megatron was suddenly reminded of their age. Neither of them was young, and certainly ages older than the very planet they stood on. Shouldn’t it be their time to go? Had they not tormented the universe with their qualms long enough?
“On the ship. . .” Megatron looked at Optimus, not sure how he wanted to say what he was feeling.
Optimus flipped the welder in his servos, inspecting it for damage. “You were under Quintessa’s control.” He turned. “Is that what this is about? She cannot control you anymore, Megatron. You don’t need to kill yourself to evade her thrall.”
Megatron shook his helm, faintly aware that this grass spot was soiled now too. “I wanted to go home,” he said, “but now, all that is left of Cybertron is you .” He spat the last word, but there was no real venom behind it. He was glad that he was not alone, even if he knew this would not last.
Startling blue optics turned on him. “Let me help you,” Optimus said. He added, “If you fight me, I will tie you down.”
Megatron sighed and tilted his helm back. Optimus could just as easily knock him out and do as he pleased, and he would rather be conscious, no matter what was happening. “Fine,” he grumbled.
Optimus worked well into the evening. There was, after all, a couple days worth of damage to repair. Megatron had started small, and some of his wounds were crusted with old energon, so Optimus focused on the most recent, still bleeding ones. He welded silently, not once commenting when Megatron flashed in and out of consciousness. He hated that he couldn’t stay awake, but he’d lost so much energon that his determination meant nothing.
When Megatron passed out and woke again, the sun had set completely and the only light left was from Optimus’ headlights. He noticed Megatron was conscious again and shifted his grip on the welder.
“It is too cloudy for the moon tonight,” he said.
Megatron hummed, not the least bit interested in the condition of the sky. Optimus pinched a gash in his protoform together and his digits were cold.
“Humans,” he said, “have very lore-rich cultures, even though they are such a young species. A child once told me of the Man on the Moon. Some nights, you can see the crescent shape of the ‘man’.”
“Foolishness,” Megatron grumbled.
“Yes, perhaps.”
Megatron watched Optimus, waiting for something more, but he got nothing. He glanced up at the sky, suddenly hating the silence. “Why are you so infatuated with the humans?”
Optimus shot him a warning glare. “Tread carefully,” he said.
“I am serious. You have protected them for years and even herald their culture, their myths? They have hunted and killed our own kind and yet you always find a reason to stay. Why?”
He paused, staring at his hands. “At first, I believed that they were like us, in Cybertron’s golden age. I thought that, if I could protect them from you, they would continue to thrive.” He resumed his welding, but his optics were distant. “But they are too much like us. Stubborn and fueled by a false sense of security, an oversurity in their own capabilities. And yet, when I lost all hope, in myself and in them, the youngest and brightest humans have reminded me of who I am time and time again. And in that, they are also like us. We cannot make assumptions about an entire species when the individuals are all unique. It would be unjust. I’ve come to accept this as they have come to accept me.” He turned off the welder and stood. He flexed his wrists and gazed up into the sky. “They have let me call Earth my home, and I will forever be in their debt, Megatron.”
Megatron had no words. He had spent centuries assuming, and killing based on the assuming. Especially where organics were involved. He used to believe that the universe would be stronger and its resources better distributed if he purged the organics sapping up said resources. That idea had long since been rusting in the back of his mind. It got lost in his thirst for power and his ego’s desperation for attention. Post-Quintessa, the pathetic flare of his past was all the more obvious. It disgusted him. But here was Optimus Prime, a walking legend, who claimed to owe his life to organics, and Megatron had seen proof of this debt. He had been killed by a ragged human boy in the midst of battle and witnessed the dead Prime’s corpse revitalized by the same child. More than once he had heard stories about humans, both civilian and military, fighting on behalf of the Prime, and more than once were they the largest factor in his continued living.
Optimus stretched his arms over his helm and sighed. “How are your energon levels,” he asked.
”Less than optimal,” Megatron huffed. If he were being totally honest, he would have said that he was starving. It would be literal. Quintessa had fed him only enough to keep him functional, to keep him loyal even in his primal state of mind.
“I didn’t bring any energon, I will have to leave you.” Optimus gave Megatron a once over and shut off his headlights. “Will you be alright for a few hours?”
Megatron nodded. He thought he might miss Optimus but he also wanted him gone. Being around him was like standing next to a bolt of lightning. It was overwhelming and left his circuits buzzing. He watched and wondered where Optimus was headed as he activated his thrusters and launched into the sky.
Optimus was back before sun-up. Megatron had tried to rest but he felt hot and twitchy and every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Optimus’ stupid face. He was no stranger to the effects of starvation on a Cybertronian frame, but there was something different about this, something more urgent and it bothered him that he couldn’t place it.
When Optimus knelt and passed Megatron the most beautiful and vibrant azure energon cube, Megatron nearly fainted. Granted, it could have been his 0.3% tank level. Either way, he knew better than to down the whole cube too fast. He wasn’t exactly keen on purging his tanks and wasting perfectly good energon. So he carefully moderated himself and watched his favorite red bird flit around on the edges of the clearing. Optimus’ landing had spooked her out of her nest but she was quick to return. There were other birds but none as bright as her.
Optimus followed his gaze and smiled. “A cardinal,” he said.
Megatron finished the last of his cube and set it aside. “It’s song reminds me of the crystal gardens’ tunes.”
Optimus hummed. “Many things on this planet remind me of what Cybertron once was.” He peeled the lid off another energon cube and handed it over to Megatron’s waiting servos. This one went down a little faster, and the one after that even faster. The last cube topped off his tanks and he felt cooler and calmer and he slouched back against a tree that groaned under his weight.
He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke up again, his system running warm but not uncomfortably so. Optimus was busy welding away, working a path down Megatron’s leg. There was fresh energon on Optimus’ servos. Megatron grabbed the one closest to him and turned it over.
“You move too much in your sleep.” Optimus said, “A few of your wounds reopened.”
Megatron let him go and relaxed again, although his frame warned him that he needed to cool down. He dismissed the warnings and kept his cooling fans clamped down while he ran system diagnostics. Optimus resumed welding, although his touch was barely a ghost of sensation at this point.
Out of the corner of his eye, Megatron noticed a flash of red. It wasn’t his bird, it was a rope fixed to Optimus’ hip. Awfully flashy and completely unnecessary, Megatron thought, but there was something alluring to it. With only half his mind, he twined his fingers in that gorgeous red rope. One tug and Optimus toppled forward, dropping the welder and just barely catching himself from crushing Megatron.
“What are you doing?” Optimus snapped.
He was so close Megatron could feel his breath on his face. He winced when a jolt of electricity zapped down his spine. What was he doing? He reached out and ran his thumb down the off-grey stripe of metal on the side of Optimus’ face. They were never so close and he hadn’t noticed the scar from Quintessa’s mark on him earlier. Did he imagine it or had Optimus’ gaze softened, had he leant into the touch?
“She got to you,” Megatron muttered. How had he not known?
“We all wanted to believe her,” Optimus whispered, his optics a dull blue. “She was not and never will be though. She is dead, Megatron.”
Megatron feigned a grin. “You’ve often thought the same of me.”
“And yet, I never wished you dead.”
“That is why our war never ended.”
“Has it not?”
Megatron closed his optics and breathed deep. “I suppose it has now.”
He liked Earth’s air; it smelt of life, like new sprouts and healthy creatures. When he first came to Earth, he had hated everything about it, but this one thing he grew to accept. He opened his eyes and Optimus was even closer. The colors of their optics mixed and clashed and produced a fine purple hue that danced over their faces.
“I do hope so,” Optimus murmured. His lips brushed against Megatron’s when he spoke. He hesitated a moment then pulled away and continued welding.
Optimus bent over to mend the tail end of a still-bleeding gash on Megatron’s thigh and Megatron was overcome with a startling need to touch . He reached for the first thing he saw; a tinted blue finial. He only vaguely remembered how sensitive Optimus’ audial fins were from eons passed. He pinched the tip and Optimus froze. The gaze he turned on Megatron could have melted obsidian.
Megatron swore under his breath when his cooling fans clicked on to their lowest setting. To him, they were deafening, but he prayed Optimus hadn’t heard them, although he knew better. Optimus was so close . Megatron’s frame should not have been reacting like that to a look though and he shrank in horror. He was in heat, and the realization made him feel small and helpless. This was not his old body. This was a reformatted, brand-spanking-new frame. He didn’t even know what this frame’s spike looked like, and this must be its first heat. Which meant it would be more intense on every possible level. No wonder he was already leaking lubricants and so sore.
“Megatron,” Optimus growled. He leaned closer and —not the least bit subtly— sniffed the air. “You are still bleeding.”
“Is that all you smell?” Megatron scoffed.
Optimus resumed working. “I will not interface with an injured partner, regardless of the allure of their heat.”
Megatron could not have been more mortified when his panels opened of their own volition. Optimus didn’t even bat an eye, apparently too focused on mending the final tear in his leg to notice the dripping, bioluminescent valve mere inches away. Megatron groaned low in his throat, pride battling need as his heat reached its peak all too quickly. After everything, this is how he comes undone. He reached for his valve, only slightly miffed that his spike had yet to pressurize. Before he could actually touch himself, Optimus finished his welding and snatched his servo away. He set the welder aside and pressed Megatron down till he was flat on his back and he lay over him.
“I’ve never seen a heat consume a mech so quickly,” he said.
Megatron turned his helm and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to talk, Optimus,” he snarled.
Optimus exhaled and when he spoke again his voice was somehow a lower timbre than usual and raspy. “Very well. Do you consent?”
“So formal,” Megatron chuckled. He tried to move his hips up but Optimus’ weight held him still. It irked him, the very idea of asking for help. Why couldn’t this be just like when he was bleeding out? It was like Optimus did everything the exact way Megatron didn’t want him to do it.
“Answer me.”
“Yes!”
Optimus practically attacked Megatron’s neck, kissing and biting while he eased two digits into his fluttering valve. Megatron gripped the smokestack on the Prime’s back with one hand and fumbled for his modesty panels with the other.
Optimus’ digits hit a wall barely into the first knuckle and he paused. “You are sealed,” he said with wonder.
Megatron arched into the touch and bore his fangs. “Break them!”
Optimus frowned but removed his digits and wiped them clean in the grass. “As you wish.” His spark chamber transformed open in sync with his array.
Megatron craned his neck to see his spike but didn’t get a good look before Optimus slammed into him. Megatron’s vision whited out and he screamed