Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Many years ago, long after the fires of war had cooled and Cybertron began its slow, fragile road to recovery, a lone figure approached the gates of a crumbling royal stronghold.

He was a mech draped in silence and shadow, known to most as Shockwave. Once, he had been a scientist of war and cruelty, his name whispered like a blade in the dark. But in these new days of uneasy peace, he was something different—something older, stranger. A sorcerer.

At his side walked his only creation, his only child: Soundblaster. The boy said little, his faceplate visor unreadable, but there was an intelligence in his gaze that unsettled those who dared to meet it.

They came not with soldiers nor threats, but with gifts. Shockwave offered knowledge, spells to mend or to break, power that seemed endless in a world trying desperately to rebuild itself. And so, where once such a being might have been turned away, he was welcomed. The fractured kingdom, desperate for order and strength, allowed him into the royal court.

Within those decaying halls dwelled a young prince: Nightflyer. He was the first spark born after the war to Starscream and Skyfire, his lineage noble, his frame sleek and flawless. He was the promise of a future Cybertron rebuilt.

But Nightflyer hated his reflection.

The frame others called elegant felt like a cage. The regal face he wore felt false. Every glance from courtiers, every bow from servants, was like a dagger twisting inside him. He longed not for crowns or thrones, but for truth—his truth.

And in Soundblaster, the quiet boy who walked at Shockwave’s side, Nightflyer found something he had never known before. Understanding.

The two met in secret—whispering in corridors, walking together on starlit balconies, laughing in the abandoned gardens where no one else dared to tread. It began as friendship, innocent and unspoken, but soon grew into something more. Something fierce.

Something real.

One night, when the stars burned red against the horizon, Nightflyer approached the sorcerer himself.

"I want to be sorcerer like you," The Prince pleaded. His voice shook, but his optics burned bright. "I want to be an animal! I want to be wild! This body isn’t me... But if I had power like yours... I could make orhers realize how it feels to be in  a body that betrays you... And… Since Soundblaster is your son… I could spend the rest of my life with him..."

Shockwave listened. Silent. His single optic betrayed nothing. At last, he gave the boy a choice. A spell. A ritual. A chance to be remade.

But all magic has a cost.

Desperate, Nightflyer agreed without hesitation.

And so, beneath a blood-red moon, the ritual began. Glyphs burned into the stone floors. The castle trembled. Magic howled through its walls like a storm.

When it ended, Nightflyer rose—transformed. His sleek royal form was gone, replaced by something sharp, regal, and monstrous. His helm now bore cruel, horned dragon crests, his teeth were fangs, and a great black cloak of living shadow coiled around his shoulders like bat’s wings. A creature of night. A vampire prince.

He was still himself though...

But everything else had changed.

Soundblaster, who had stood at his side, was dragged into the curse. His frame twisted and split apart, stretching until his body was massive, armored in jagged plates of black and violet. Wings like a dragon’s tore from his arms, vast and terrible. His mouth split into rows of jagged teeth, dripping with venom. His voice, once quiet, now rumbled like a monstrous echo.

He was still himself. Still Soundblaster. But the world would never see him that way again.

The backlash tore through the castle. Servants screamed as one by one began to change.Their bodies bent and warped. 

A maid’s laughter froze into porcelain. A steward’s hands twisted into silver branches, their flame burning eternal. Others bent into teapots, clocks, wardrobes, instruments, statues, furniture—mockeries of their duties, parodies of their lives.

Though they could still speak, still move, their lives were no longer their own.

And worst of all, Nightflyer’s little sister and the second child of Starscream and Skyfire, Slipstream, was caught in the magical blast. Once a bright spark of speed and pride, her body shattered into fragile porcelain, sealed within a pitcher whose glassy surface pulsed faintly with her spark. 

And when the magic faded, the castle was no longer a palace, but a ruin of nightmares.

Shockwave was gone. Vanished into the shadows, never to be seen again. Some say he was consumed by his own spell, others that he fled, leaving his son and the prince to their fates.

Over the empty throne where his parents once sat, a single rose bloomed within a glass dome. It's petals glowed faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

And so Nightflyer was left with everything he had asked for—and everything he had never wanted. His reflection still betrayed him. The world saw a beast where a prince once stood. His family was broken, his court in ruins.

Soundblaster, monstrous in form but steadfast in loyalty, remained. He never left Nightflyer’s side, even as despair consumed them both.

The rose that was given to them was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-one years. If he could learn to love another and earn their love before the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. But if not, he and all with him would be doomed to remain a monsters for all eternity.

As the years bled on, despair took root. The halls grew cold. The prince lost all hope.

And the rose, untouched, began to shed its petals, one by one.

The curse waited.

The beast waited.

And in the hollow dark of the broken castle,a single, hopeless question haunted the silence:

"Who could ever learn to love a... beast?"

Or worse…

Two.

Chapter Text

Almost at the foot of a quaint Iacon town, the front door of a small cottage opened to reveal a small femme with black helm with small green and yellow on it and yellow optics with a basket hanging from her arm walked down the porch stairs.

She wore a green and beige dress which included a floral hem, puffed sleeves, a shawl, a ruffled apron, and simple dark brown laced boots.

Her name? Her name was Sparkplug.

Leaving her small house, she headed over to the town and the girl started her trek to the town where nothing unexpected happened. She couldn’t help but sigh in boredom as she walked across the bridge that was over a small creek.

"Little town, it's a quiet village"

"Every day like the one before."

"Little town full of little people"

"Waking up to say…"

On cue, people walked out of their home and started their day with vigor, opened stores, kids going to play in the streets, and carts being unloaded with new goods to sell.

The townspeople of Iacon opened windows and doors as a greeting their neighbors shouting, "Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning! Good morning!"

The small femme slightly smiled as she continued walking, She waved to a few people that crossed her path as they greet her with friendly voices and waves.

"Hello, Sparkplug!" exclaimed one mech.

"Hi, Sparkplug!" said another.

"Good morning, young Sparkplug!" greeted a different mech.

Sparkplug greeted back politely as she made her way over to a bakery. Other bots milled about around her.

"There goes the baker with his tray like always, with the same old bread and rolls to sell." She murmured quietly to herself.

"Every morning is just the same, since the morning that we came," Sparkplug bowed in greeting to a mech who greeted her.
"To this poor provincial town."

In front of a bakery, red mech with horns had put the last of his baguettes on on a shelf from a tray. After he greeted a pumpkin seller, he spotted the girl.

"Ah, Good morning! How are you today, Sparkplug?" Cliffjumper greeted.

"I’m fine. How are you today?" Sparkplug replied, walking up to him.

"Oh, I’m doing the same old, same old," he replied, setting a fresh tray by the door of the bakery
"Anyways, where are you off to?"

"The bookshop," Sparkplug replied with a joyful expression as she pulled out a book she borrowed from her basket, "I've just finished the most wonderful story about a beanstalk, and an ogre..."

But Cliffjupper was getting bit annoyed and paid no attention, turning over his shoulder to call to his conjunx.

"That’s nice—MIRAGE! THE BAGUETTES!!" he yells.
"HURRY UP!"

Sparkplug frowned in resignation. She knew what he meant, she done this routine before. He just didn't want to listen as she was too different. Oh well, his loss on not reading an interesting book.

She rolled her optics and continued he way to the bookshop. As she passed the various town people, they talked about her amongst themselves.

"There she goes again," said two aristocratic seekers, watching the Sparkplug walking past them as they gossiped 
"That girl is strange, no question! Dazed and distracted, can’t you tell?"

Sparkplug continued to walk, passing by more bots.

At the tavern, two pompous velocitronians were having their tea when they spotted Sparkplug. 

"Is she ever part of any crowd?" Blue racer asked.

"Course not! Cause her processor’s up on some clouds!" His yellow friend with leopard spots answered as he twirled a finger next to his helm

"Well, it’s no denying she’s a funny girl, that Sparkplug." said a duo and a group of villagers.

Sparkplug jumped onto the back of a wagon that she knew was heading to the bistro, which was close to the bookshop. The wagon drove past many shops and she heard all of their conversations

"Hello!" Blue seeker greeted a green grounder, who was walking.

"Good day!" Green grounder replied.

"How is your family?" Seeker asked.

"Hello!" grounder with yellow frame greeted as they were purchasing some paint.

"Good day!" Sleek wrecker with white and green racing stripes, replied with a seductive smile.

"How is your conjunx?" The grounder asked before turning away and leaving poor bot to the mercy of their conjunx.

Wrecker locked optics with him, but his bulky, armored build conjunx with white and red medic colors, a stern face with a head crest, and mechanical limbs suited for repair work glared at him and hit him on the helm with a wrench.

"I Need... SiX EgGss!" A distressed carrier cried as he carried his sparklings, who whailed in his arms, wanting attention.

"That’s too expensive!" Massive grounder with blue and gray and orange face with a single yellow optic, armored and tank-like that is selling pottery warned his customer that the glass vase he was about to buy was too expensive.

"There must be more than this provincial life!" she exclaimed to herself.

She jumped off the wagon before it drove any further and finally getting to the bookstore. She stepped into store, ringing the bell and announcing her presence. There, the bookseller, Perceptor, greets her, stamping some books.

"Hi Sparkplug." Perceptor said, a pair of small glasses perched on his face.

"Good morning." Sparkplug replied, as she took out a green-covered book out of her basket and setting her book down on the table next to the others.
"I just came here to return the book I borrowed."

“Why am I not surprised you’re finished already?" Perceptor asked rhetorically.

"Well, I just couldn’t put it down! It was super interesting!" Sparkplug said back, climbing up the bookshelf ladder.

"Oh, have you got anything new?" She asked, looking at the shelves, only seeing books she had already read many times over.

"Not since the last time you came here. Which was yesterday." he sighed.

"Ah, that's okay then." Sparkplug reassured him as she searched for her most favorite book.

I'll just burrow... this one, then." she said as she plucked a red covered book with gold highlights then going over and opening the cover for it to be stamped.

"That one?" Perceptor asked her surprisingly on the book she picked. "You do realize you’ve read this book five times, right?"

"Yeah, but it’s my favorite! Far off places, daring swordfights, a prince in disguise!" Sparkplug began excitedly, but he interrupted her.

"That’s nice. Why don’t you just take that book for yourself? You seem to like it a lot." Perceptor told her

"What? But sir-!" Sparkplug said in surprise.

"I insist." Perceptor interrupted her, then handing her the book she loved to read so much about.

"Thank you. Thank you very much." She said, taking the book and heading back out the door and began her trek back home

She then opened the book and began to read, deciding to ignore the townsfolk around her.

As Sparkplug walked home, some mechs that were peeking in through the window turned to stare at her leaving form, talking amongst themselves.

"Look! There she goes!" they said in unison.
"That girl is so peculiar. I wonder if she’s feeling well!"

As Sparkplug continued on her way, she absentmindedly patted the head of a child. Another femme poured some water into a gutter from her top floor, the fluid flowing down. Even with her helm stuck in a book, Sparkplug simply used the sign next to the rain gutter to block the liquid.

Some femme also stared after her, unable to help but join in with everyone else and talk behind her back.

"With a dreamy far-off look!" they exclaimed.

"And her faceplate stuck in a book!" the mechs joined in once more.

"What a puzzle to the rest of us is Sparkplug!" The townsfolk around Sparkplug said as she went to the town’s fountain.

Sparkplug sat down at the fountain's edge, where a herd of sheep were resting. She spoke to a few ewes that were laying next to her, showing them the pages of the book

"Oooh! Isn’t this part amazing?" she asked them excitedly, bringing one closer by hooking her arm around it's neck lightly.

"This is my favorite part, because you'll see!" she explained to the very fluffy sheep. "Here's where she meets her prince Charming, but she won't discover that it's him till chapter three!"

"This place isn't for reading." The shepherd grumbled as the sheep started moving again when he rounded them up.

Sparkplug looked at the clock tower and realized it was time to go back home.

"It’s no wonder they call her "beauty"! Her looks have got no parallel!" A spider-like Cybertronian said, trying on purple shades that matched her black frame as Sparkplug walked by a shop.

A passing merchant, complete with his cart being pulled by a horse, watched as Sparkplug leave

"But behind that fair facade, I'm afraid she's rather odd." He takes off his hat, as if to grieve.
"She's very different from the rest of us…"

Sparkplug stepped on a flat cart, a mech crouching down. As she descended and the other side turned up, slamming into the guy’s chin comically.

"She’s nothing like the rest of us! Yes, different from the rest of us, is Sparkplug!" The whole townsfolk around them said.

BANG

A gunshot rang out.

Some duck in the sky is shot, dying instantly as it plummets to the ground. A short mech with a black helmet and purple optics wore yellow darcy and black breeches. 

He held up the bag expectantly to the sky. Suddenly, a dead animal fell beside him, missing the bag entirely. The mech quickly grabbed the goose and stuffed it into the bag. He rushed off towards a tall and muscular mech, who was holding a smoking rifle.

The figure was tall and broad, his frame red and powerful. His blue visor gleamed under the sunlight.

He was also more muscularly built in frame than everyone else, making his better strength perfect for hunting monsters.

He wore a deep red almost maroon shirt with a white undershirt, the collar corners sitting above his red shirt's collar. His pants were dark brown, the ankles stuffed into a pair of black boots. He had a black belt wrapped around his waist and his smoking rifle rested in his hands.

His face was filled with pride at his successful kill.

"Wow, didn’t miss a shot, Landlot! Then again, what did I expect from the greatest hunter in the whole Cybertron?" The smalled mech praised highly.

"I know!" Landlot agreed, blowing smoke from his rifle.

"Hah! No beast or predacon alive stands a chance against you! And no femme or mech for that matter!" Swindle praised even more.

"It’s true, Swindle!" Landlot agreed, before crouching to his height and wrapping an arm around Swindle’s neck. 

"And I've got my optics set on..." he exclaimed as he pointed the handle side of his rifle towards someone, "... that one."

Swindle followed his rifle. Sparkplug walked a few yards in front of them, still reading her book. 

"You want… the medic's daughter? The daughter of the guy who was previously a warlord now a medic?" Swindle asked, raising an eyebrow, sounding both shocked and little bit worried for Landlot.

"Exactly. She's the one, that lucky Sparkplug!" Landlot confirmed with a smirk, now standing straight.

"She’s the lucky girl I'm going to marry!" he declared.

"B-But she's—" Swindle tried to say, only to be ignored.

"The most beautiful femme in town? Indeed she is." Landlot interrupted.

"Yeah, I know, but—OW!" Swindle said before he got bonked on the head by the rifle.

"And that makes her the best! And don't I deserve the best?" Landlot concluded.

"Well, of course you do, but I mean…" Swindle agreed, trailing off forcibly.

Landlot then drops his rifle on the furs and sack Swindle was carrying. He fixed his messy frame that is considered his helm.

"Right from the moment I met her, saw her, I said, "She’s gorgeous!" and fell!" Landlot explained as he saw his reflection in a polished pan hanging by a shop.

He smirked and admired himself. Swindle noticed Sparkplug walking away, her eyes transfixed on her book. He attempted to get the hunter’s attention, but Landlot was too entranced by his vanity to pay attention.

"Here in town, there’s only she." Swindle tried to get Landlot’s attention, only to fail.

"Who is as beautiful as me!" Landlot continued with pompousness.
"So I’m making plans to woo and marry Sparkplug!"

He finally turned his head, only to find Sparkplug missing. He frantically looked around until he saw Sparkplug heading home. He attempted to reach her before she disappeared into the busiest section of town.

Three bots in outfits of purple, red and black  watched longingly from nearby There were dreamy looks on their faces as they swoon over him as his path was blocked by a wagon.

"Look! There he goes!"Blackarachnia cried, pointing.
"Isn't he dreamy?"

"The famous Landlot. Oh, he’s so cute." Knockout said next, voice dripping with admiration.

"Be still, my spark, I’m barely venting!" Nightbird fanned herself with a hand to keep her body cool. Her cooling fans can be heard whirring within her frame.

"He’s such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!" they all cried.

Landlot pushed his way through the crowd, seeing less and less of Sparkplug as she delved deeper into the bustling marketplace. All the townsfolk's constant chatter didn't make it better, for it only made him confused.

"Hello!"

"Pardon-"

"Good day, sir!"

"Good day!"

"Oh, What lovely flowers!"

"Ten yards"

"May i take a sample please?"

"One pound, please"

"Excuse me, please let me through." Landlot pleaded, trying to get to Sparkplug, who was almost out of the marketplace. However, it was in vain as townsfolk continued on with their business.

"This bread is stale!"

"These fish smell!"

"Madam’s mistake."

"Well, maybe so!"

When she finally came out of the marketplace, For once since pucking up the book, Sparkplug removed her eyes from her book. She turned, seeing that she had become so used to the town’s routine that walking through the busiest part of town was like merely walking through an empty hallway.

"For once, there must be more than this provincial life!" she sang, exasperated by the same thing every single day.

"Just watch, I’m going to make Sparkplug my conjunx!" Landlot, who was still stuck in the middle of the marketplace, shouted out.

"Look, there she goes! That girl that’s strange but special!" the town started in unison again, everyone staring at Sparkplug.

They all blocked Landlot’s path. Irritated, he looked around, spotted a door, and slipped inside the house, making his way to the roof window.

"A most peculiar lady." the town continued.
"It’s a pity and a sin that she doesn’t quite fit in!"

Landlot hopped from one roof to another, managing to catch up to Sparkplug without trouble.

"Cause she really is a funny girl." said the group of bots from earlier.

"A beauty, but a funny girl." added Blackarachnia, Knockout and Nightbird before, almost sneering.

"She really is a funny girl! That Sparkplug!" the whole town cried in unison once more.
"GOOD MORNING!"

Finally feeling many eyes on her back, Sparkplug turned around. The townsfolk went back to their normal lives and to what they were doing just before she can see them all staring at her. Sparkplug dismissed them staring and returned back to reading and walking. 

Chapter Text

As Sparkplug was continuing on her way back home, her optics on the book in her, when suddenly, Landlot leaped down from a with a dramatic thud and a large grin that was more teeth than charm.

"Hello, Sparkplug." Landlot greeted.

"Hello, Landlot." Sparkplug greeted back, still not bothering to look up from her book.

Landlot walked up behind her and without any warning, snatched the book right from the girl's hands. Sparkplug stopped walking, surprised that her book was out of her hands. With a frown, she turned to Landlot.

"Landlot, may I have my book back, please?" Sparkplug politely asked despite being annoyed.

Landlot moved out of the way, holding the object out of reach like a sparkling with a stolen toy.

"Ugh, how do you even read this scrap? There's no pictures." he exclaimed, turning the pages and the book in different angles

"Some bots use their imagination." Sparkplug replied, folding her arms, optics narrowing.

"You know, Sparkplug. I think it's about time you got your helm outta those book and paid attention to more important things—." Landlot told her, tossing the said item carelessly over his shoulder.

It hit the ground with a heavy splat, landing in a puddle of oil-slicked mud.

Sparkplug went over to save it as if it was made of gold, but Landlot stood in front of it, blocking her path.

"Like me." he finished, flashing a grin.

From nearby, the trio from before—Blackarachnia, Knockout, and Nightbird—were swooning over the town's hunter, practically glowing with adoration. 

Sparkplug, on the other hand, rolled her eyes.

"The whole town's been talking about it!" Landlot criticized. "It's not natural for a femme nor mech to spend this much time reading. First it's books, then it's giving speeches, then next thing we know—another war. Doesn't it sound familiar?"

"Landlot, you are absolutely primeval." Sparkplug commented him as she pushed past him and knelt to pick up her book, wiping it clean with her cloth apron.

"Why, thank you, Sparkplug!" Landlot beamed proudly, fixing his undershirt collar, not even knowing what she said.

Before she could turn away, he took the book again and wrapped his arm around Sparkplug's shoulder as he guided her toward the town square, walking past the trio.

"What do you say you and me take a walk and head to the tavern and take a look at my new trophies?" Landlot asked "Maybe plan our future?"

"Maybe some other time." Sparkplug said with a bit of sarcasm in her tone "Like never."

Behind them, Blackarachnia crossed her arms with a loud huff.

"She's crazy." Blackarachnia whispered, loud enough to be heard.

"She doesn’t even deserve him." Knockout sneered.

"Landlot's gorgeous." Nightbird said simply, her neutral expression giving away nothing except fact.

Sparkplug, who managed to get her book back and get out of Landlot's hold, then walked back to her path and away from the towering hunter.

"Please, Landlot. I—I have to get back to help my father. Goodbye." Sparkplug told him, not exactly lying, but also knowing she needed an excuse to get away from someone like him.

She then scurried off, an expression of relief and tiredness peeve on her face. Swindle, who had finally got back to his boss's side, panting his lungs out, laid the bag of furs on the ground. He laughed at the mention of Sparkplug's father.

"That disgraced clanker?! HA! Why am i not surprised" Swindle mocked. "He needs all the help he can get!"

With that, Landlot and Swindle howled with laughter. Sparkplug now mad, turned around, anger in her optics.

"HEY! Don’t talk about my father that way!" She scolded angrily with a yell.

“Yeah, don’t talk about her father that way!" Landlot yelled, before realizing what he'd said. He turned to glare at Swindle, immediately, he bonked his lackey on the head.

"And my father isn't crazy! He's a genius unlike you two!" Sparkplug corrected, glaring  at the two, setting her book in her basket, and then darted off toward the edge of town.

As Sparkplug neared home, she heard the crack of an explosion. Smoke began billowing from the basement of their small structure.

She broke into a run.

"Dad?!" she called as she threw open the cellar doors. Acrid black smoke rolled out, making her cough through her vents.

Banging, coughing, and a string of ancient Cybertronian curses echoed up from below.

"Dad?!" She exclaimed.

She rushed down into the haze.

Megatron stood amidst scorched metal parts and shattered energon filters, yanking a smoking tool from the workbench. The scent of burnt circuitry and ozone filled the air.

"By the Pit—what in the frag was that?!" Megatron bellowed, optics squinting through the haze, relieving Sparkplug.

"Are you alright?" Sparkplug desperately asked, rushing to check him for burns.

"I'm fine!" he grunted, waving away the smoke. "I was trying to rebuild that old energon purifier—the one that was supposed to make low-grade energon safe to drink. I thought I had the converter balanced, but the stabilizer overloaded and—well, you can see the result."

He gestured to a melted patch of floor, the remains of a cooling tank still sizzling beside it.

Sparkplug exhaled — exasperated but unsurprised. She started clearing the space of flammable scrap, still watching him closely.

"You need to rest, not rebuild half the war with scrap metal." she muttered.

"I'm not dead yet, Sparkplug." Megatron grumbled. "And we can’t afford the good supplies anymore."

"I know." she said, sadly.

Megatron huffed, lowering himself into the chair with a faint grunt. Sparkplug fetched a cleaning cloth and started wiping soot off his servos.

"…So." he said eventually, trying to sound casual.
"Did you have a good time in town?"

"Mr. Perceptor gave me a free book" She replied just as loud, holding said item.

"That’s nice of him." Megatron commented. "One of your favorites, i suppose?"

"Something like that." She replied, walking towards him.

There was a long pause as she sat beside him, book clutched close as she couldn't help but feel depressed. So she asked the question that was on her mind all day

"…Dad." she asked softly. "Do you think I’m strange?"

He turned, optics narrowing.

"My daughter? Strange?!" He asked "Where in the world did that come from?"

"I don't know. It's just… there's noone I can really talk to. Others only talk to me unless they're saying "hello" or..." Sparkplug admitted.
"Unless they're warning me about you. Or trying to marry me."

"Ah. Him." He said, knowing very well who she was talking about.

She smirked bitterly.

"He's rude, entitled, loud, unhygienic, probably incapable of saying three words without flexing—" Sparkplug began to rant

"But handsome." Megatron teased dryly.

"Oh, he's handsome, alright." Sparkplug sarcastically remarked.

"Not to mention rude, conceited and-!" Sparkplug stopped her ranting and sighed.

She sighed again, her frame slumping a little. She sat down on a fireplace, one hand holding her helm.

"He's just not the one for me..." Sparkplug finished.

Silence settled in between them. The smoke had thinned now. The only sound left was the faint crackling of cooling wires. Megatron sat next to her.

"Well." Megatron said, feeling empathy for his daughter "As long as you know that, that’s all that matters."

She leaned her shoulder against his arm, still holding the ruined book. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I just wish there was more out there than this." She said

"…There is." he said quietly.

The silence that followed was thick, pressurized with the ghosts of dead worlds and the hum of a war that had carved up the stars. She turned her helm, studying his face—the soot etched into seams, the grim set of a jaw that had commanded legions. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was turned inward, fixed on memories she knew only from torn-out pages and half-whispered curses.

"You always say that," she murmured, the hope in it thin and brittle. "But out there's just sounds like more of this. Just… different dirt."

Megatron's engine gave a low, tectonic grumble. He lifted a servo, still smeared with carbon scoring, and gestured to the wrecked purifier.

"This thing. The idea of it is perfect. It should work." He finally looked at her, his red optics sharp as broken glass in the gloom. "But the parts… they’re weak. Corroded junk. So. Do you blame the perfect idea, or the junk parts?"

She knew this game. He loved it. "So we’re the junk parts?"

"No." The word wasn’t loud, but it had an edge to it, an old, hard echo from a time before smoke and ruin. The kind of edge that didn’t belong in a medic’s basement. "This is the junk. This whole town. Weak metal, weak sparks. You, Sparkplug… you’re the perfect idea. And they're all too stupid to even know what they’re looking at."

Her spark gave a single, warm, fragile pulse. It was the closest thing to praise he’d ever given. Then reality, cold and hungry, shouldered its way back in. "Perfect ideas don’t buy energon, Dad. Landlot’s credits does."

At the name, Megatron's entire face changed. The weary medic vanished. Something colder, sharper, and infinitely more dangerous looked out from behind his optics. It was the mech the town whispered about but never truly saw.

"That polished piece of scrap?" The words were a low, venomous growl. "He'd have you stuffed and mounted on his wall. His money isn't a lifeline. It’s a leash. I didn’t claw my way out of the Pit just to watch my daughter get collared by an idiot."

The heat in his voice made her flinch. She always forgot, in the day-to-day struggle, what he used to be. The strategist. The force of nature.

"You won’t be here forever," she whispered, the fear she kept locked away finally spilling out. "And then it’ll just be me. And my books. And him."

He leaned forward, his chair protesting.

"Listen. I made deals. In the war. Bad ones. Traded what I believed for what I thought was power." He said 'power' like it was a curse. "Look where it got me. A future of smoke and rust and a name I can’t even speak aloud."

One thick, finger came up, tilting her chin to force her to meet his gaze. "Don't you do it. Don't trade what you are for what he’s got. There’s more. I've seen it. Cybertron before the lights went out. Stars you wouldn’t believe… places where a mind like yours wouldn’t be strange. It'd be a miracle."

He never talked like this. It lit a tiny, stubborn flame in her chassis. Not hope, not yet. But a spark.

"How?" The word was a breath. "How do we get from here to there?"

He leaned back, the intensity fading, replaced by the familiar, grinding fatigue. But a plan lived in his eyes now.

"We finish the purifier." he said, nodding at the wreckage. "A real one. We could sell pure energon. Not rich. But free. Free enough to tell Landlot to go take a long walk into the smelter."

Sparkplug looked at him. Really looked. Not at her forgetful, explosion-prone father, the town’s disgrace. She saw the soldier. The planner. The mech who looked at a mountain and saw only a thing to be climbed.

"Alright," she said, and her voice found a new firmness. "I'll get the tools."

The relief on his face was profound. He simply nodded. "Good. We’ll need something to carry the salvage in."

For two hours those two words—"There is"—were a secret they shared. It was a tiny, glowing shard of a possible tomorrow, and for a while, it made the weight of today feel lighter.

But life has other plans

A few hours later, a courier arrived at their door—a rusted mech with a clipped voice and a datapad full of bad handwriting. Sparkplug watched silently as her father read the summons, his optics narrowing, his mouth tightening the way it always did when money was involved.

"Looks like I've been requested for some repair work in Kaon" Megatron finally said, setting the pad down with a faint thud.

"Kaon? That'll take few days to get there." Sparkplug said, alarm creeping into her voice.

"It's decent pay. Enough to get us stocked for the next month." He looked at her then, voice gentler. "Might even mean you won’t have to... marry that slagger to keep this roof overhead."

“That’s not why I—" Sparkplug’s mouth twisted

"I know." Megatron cut in softly. "But I also know what the town says. What they expect."

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the datapad on the table.

"When do you leave?" she finally asked.

"Dawn." He replied, feeling worried for her.

She nodded, slowly. Tiredly.

“I’ll be fine,” she told him before he could say it.
He nodded back, but didn’t look reassured.

Sparkplug stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Megatron hesitated only a second before pulling her in with one arm, careful of the plating still scorched from the explosion earlier.

"It's a simple trip." he said gently, resting his chin briefly against her helm. "It’ll take a lot more to kill your old man."

She let out a sound—a choked hybrid of a laugh and a sob—and held on a moment too long before forcing her hands to unclench.

That night, recharge was a forgotten concept. She sat by the grimy viewport, her book open but unread. Outside, the stars were cold, indifferent pinpricks in a sea of void. She traced the constellations she’d memorized, her spark a silent, yearning echo in the dark.

Chapter Text

The morning Megatron left, the sun barely crested over the jagged horizon. Fog clung to the earth like smoke from an old war, and dew glistened on the cracked windows of their little homestead. Wind whispered through the bones of the house, rattling loose panels and singing through broken seams. The air tasted faintly of iron and woodsmoke.

Sparkplug had been up for hours already, though she pretended otherwise when Megatron stepped into the room. She sat at the corner table, nursing a lukewarm cup of energon brew, pretending to be halfway through a page she hadn’t turned in an hour.

"Hitch up Philip, Sparkplug. I’m off to Kaon." Megatron said, dusting off his traveling coat and strapping on his old toolpack—half of it held together with wire, the other with pure stubbornness. The pack clanked with every move, a familiar rhythm.

"Just try not to get crushed by falling timber this time." She arched an optic ridge, hands on her hips in the doorway.

As if summoned by the very act of tempting fate, a log from the shed roof broke loose and clocked him directly on the helm with a loud whunk.

"Perfect. The universe is already mocking me." Megatron staggered, rubbing his head and scowling up at the roof as if daring it to try again.

Sparkplug smirked and tossed him a rag from the counter. "Preemptive karma. You must’ve done something really dumb in a past life."

"No such thing as past lives." he muttered, dabbing at the spot."Just long regrets."

"You sure you don’t want me to come with you?" she asked, more serious this time.

Megatron hesitated. That pause told her everything before he even spoke.

"No. It’s just a few bots who need repairs. Nothing worth dragging you through Kaon for." His voice softened a notch. "Besides… someone needs to make sure the roof doesn’t fall in while I'm gone."

She didn’t argue, though her optics flicked briefly to the old fissure in the ceiling above them. Instead, she handed over a small satchel—provisions, extra energon rations, and a cloth-wrapped bit of scrap she refused to let him peek at.

"Just in case." she said, forcing nonchalance into her voice.

He gave a quiet huff that might have been gratitude, or amusement. Then, after a long pause, he reached out and rested one large servo gently on her helm. His palm was warm despite the morning chill, fingers careful not to tug at her braids.

"Be safe." he said, low and steady.

"I will." she answered, and for once, didn’t try to make a joke of it. "You too."

With a nod, he stepped out into the dawn.

Philip waited in the yard, shifting his weight from one metallic hoof to the other. The horse didn’t like travel—not since the collapse of the south road last cycle—but he obeyed his rider without protest. His armor was dusty but solid, marked with scratches from previous storms and stampedes. A scarf hung loosely around his thick neck, its edge fluttering in the morning breeze.

Megatron fastened the last of the supplies to Philip’s back and climbed into the saddle with a grunt.

"Goodbye, Dad! Be safe!" Sparkplug bid him farewell.

"Goodbye, Sparkplug!" Megatron yalled back. "Take care while I'm gone!"

"Back in five days. Six, tops."  he called.

"Seven if you ignore the map again!" Sparkplug shouted from the porch.

Little did they both know that this journey would lead to a chain of events that definitely would change both of their lives.

The early part of the journey was almost peaceful.

Philip’s hooves clanked softly on the winding path. Wild energon flowers swayed beside the road, glowing faintly blue in the morning light. Birds darted between low-hanging wires, chirping in erratic bursts, and the rustle of vermin in the tall grass was rhythmic, almost soothing.

Every few miles, an old marker stone jutted from the earth—weathered, but still pointing toward Kaon’s main thoroughfare. Megatron passed them in silence, one hand resting on the reins, the other on the shock-spear secured to his pack.

By midday, the clouds had thickened. The path narrowed. It was practically midnight in the middle of the forest when Megatron had finally admitted to himself that he might be lost.

"I should be there by now." Megatron checked his map once, frowned, then folded it up like it had insulted his intelligence. "Maybe we missed a turn..." 

Then, he saw a fork in the dirt road. There was a sign there, too. They came across a crumbling signpost.

Megatron lifted his lantern to read it—but the words on the aged pointing signs had peeled away so much that they were practically just scribbles. 

Philip moved left instinctively, where birds still sang and the mist thinned.

"No, let's go this way." Megatron insisted, steering them right.

Philip balked. The right-hand path was which was much spookier than the left path, complete with fog-covered grounds and tree branches that looked like hands. 

"I'm telling you, it's a shortcut. I know it."

Philip stared at him like he’d told him he was Primus himself.

"Shortcut’ll get us there quicker." he said with a triumphant nod.

Philip gave him a withering side-glance—the kind only a creature who had nearly been drowned in a flood thanks to a "shortcut" could master.

But, as always, he obeyed.

The path veered off into the underbrush, narrowing to little more than a half-forgotten trail carved between gnarled tree roots.

A few miles in, the world seemed to change.

Fog thickened until it crawled low across the ground, swirling around Philip’s hooves like liquid silver. The air buzzed with static and the faint, unnatural whine of corrupted code humming just under hearing range. Birds fell silent. Wind stilled.

Megatron reached for the lantern tied to his belt and thumbed it on.

A faint circle of light pushed back the gloom—just barely.

Then came the sound.

Low. Ragged. Mechanical.

Not just one, but three synthetic growls. Too deep for vermin. Too deliberate for simple scavengers.

Philip stopped dead. His ears pinned back, legs locked.

Megatron could've sworn he saw something zoom behind a few bushes. 

They stepped into the open—three wolves. Their bodies were lean and jagged, constructed from shredded plating and weaponized intent. Visors glowed yellow beneath thick brows of twisted metal. Oil dripped from their fangs, sizzling where it touched the ground.

Philip reared with a panicked screech. Megatron swore and yanked the shock spear from its binding.

"Back! Go!" he shouted.

Philip obeyed.

They bolted.

Trees blurred. Roots clawed at the ground. Branches snapped against Megatron’s face. He clung to the saddle with one hand and the spear with the other as the world became a rush of panic and fog.

The wolves followed—silent except for the occasional hiss and growl.

Then—

A cliff.

Philip skidded hard, hooves scrambling.

Megatron was thrown.

He hit the mud hard, rolling down a steep incline. The lamp flew from his grip. The world spun, went dark, and came back in flashes. A howl split the air above.

Dazed, he looked up.

The last thing he saw was Philip’s silhouette—his horse, his supplies, his only way home—vanishing into the mist, two of the wolves in hot pursuit.

The third… was watching him.

It turned slowly. Sniffed the air.

Its glowing visor locked onto him.

"Oh, scrap me sideways." Megatron breathed.

Then he ran.

Branches tore at his coat. His shoulder slammed into a tree trunk. Mud splashed beneath his feet. He didn’t look back.

Thunder cracked overhead.

Lightning flashed—illuminating the jagged shadow just behind him.

The wolf snarled.

He stumbled through a thicket—and slammed into something solid.

BOOM

Metal. Cold and ancient.

He looked up, and to his great relief, saw a large, black-steel gate entrance with stone walls.

The doors loomed ahead, bound with chains long since broken. Cracked stone arches rose into the mist above, choked by ivy and silence.

Thunder rumbled as lightning flash when Megatron turned his head to see the wolves closing in. He stood up and rushed to the gate.

"Let me in! Anyone—!" Megatron shouted as he grabbed the bars, tried to pull them outward. "Open—!"

The gates groaned.

Then creaked open.

He hurled himself inside just as the wolf lunged.

Steel clanged shut behind him. The beast slammed into the bars with a howl that echoed into the storm. Its teeth scraped metal. Its breath fogged the air.

And then it was gone.

Megatron lay on the cobbled ground, breathing hard. His circuits buzzed with adrenaline. Somewhere above, something creaked in the wind.

"Trust the horse, Megatron." he muttered, pushing himself up "Just once."

It was when he stood that he saw it fully and he couldn't help but sharp intake of air .What had stood before him was a giant, gothic castle.

It was massive—impossibly large, like something out of an old storybook Sparkplug used to read when she was small. The kind with knights, ruins, and forgotten kings.

Slender turrets flanked the grand entrance, their crooked roofs tilting inward as if whispering secrets. Faded banners clung to their poles, and their emblems too worn to decipher—one looked like a broken gear, or maybe a sunburst. Vines curled through arched, shattered windows. Rust ran like blood down the old drainpipes.

He limped forward.

Every step echoed too loudly.

The air was still—but charged, somehow. As if something had only just vacated the space he now occupied.

He passed a toppled statue of a mech—half-buried, helm cracked open, moss crawling up one arm. The expression on its stone face was serene.

Lightning flashed again as thunder roared. Finally, rain started to pour.

"Oh! PERFECT! JUST PEACHY!" Megatron groaned in irritation, he wasn't fully prepared for rain.

With that, he rushed towards the castle's entrance. The huge double doors were set deep within a stone archway. He banged his fist against the right one. It gave way with a slow, deep-throated creak, swinging inward on protesting hinges.

Inside, the hall was grand and ruined all at once—broken chandeliers, shattered tiles, long tapestries moth-eaten, and scorched. A grand staircase rose to the second level, where shadows pooled like oil.

Flickering lights glowed behind cracked wall panels.

Dust floated in the air, and with it—something else.

A pulse.

A rhythm.

Like the slow heartbeat of a sleeping titan.

"…Alright." he said to no one in particular. His voice bounced off the walls and came back quieter. "Let’s see who still lives in a place like this."

And he stepped inside.

Chapter Text

The grand doors groaned shut behind Megatron, the metallic boom reverberating through the castle like a war drum. Cold clung to the air, dense and unmoving. For a moment, he stood still—listening.

Nothing stirred.

No voice greeted him.

No welcome came.

"…Thanks," he muttered to the silence.

He crept farther in. The entrance hall was vast, dark, and dreary. A grand staircase split into two directions at the far end, disappearing into deeper shadows. The air was tomb-silent, yet the faint, charged hum in the atmosphere told him someone—or something—still lived here.

He quietly closed the door behind him and stepped further into the gloom.

"Hello?" he called out.

No answer. Perhaps the wolves had made him run so much that the chase had left his voice hoarse and his throat parched.

"Hello," Megatron said again, his voice firmer now, as he ventured away from the exit.

He trembled—not from fear, but from the cold that had seeped into his joints. His plating was slick with melting snow and mud, his cables stiff with ice. He cupped his servos, breathing warm air into his palms, willing his digits to flex again.

"Anyone here?" he tried again.

Silence.

"I’m not here to cause trouble." he said, louder this time. "Just shelter. That’s all."

"Poor bot," a voice whispered.

Megatron jumped, his spark lurching, and he snatched the shock spear from his back.

"Hey. Check it out, Bee," the voice continued, conversational. "He must have lost his way in the woods."

"Shh! Keep quiet!" another voice hissed, this one sharp with anxiety. "Maybe he'll leave if we are."

"Is someone there?" Megatron called out, his curiosity overriding his caution. He slowly lowered the spear.

"Not a word, Rodimus. Not one single word," the second voice demanded, barely containing its panic.

“Did you see him?” the first voice whispered again, ignoring the warning. "Looks like the poor bot got dragged backward through a glacier. Positively tragic."

"You fool," the second voice snarled. "He’ll hear us! SHUT UP!"

But it was too late.

Megatron had already heard them.

He turned slowly, optics scanning the dim room. His gaze landed on a side table. Upon it sat a candelabra, its arms wrought in a lively, red and yellow design. Beside it stood a stout mantel clock, painted yellow and black, with tiny horns atop its casing.

Megatron approached. Curiosity overcame caution. He gently picked up the candelabra.

"Beautiful," he murmured, more to himself. He set it down and reached toward the clock, running a light digit over its finely detailed casing. "Old… but cared for."

But as fine as the pieces were, he needed to find a host. The silence was unnerving. He turned away from the table, addressing the empty room.

"A mech of taste," the first voice hummed, a note of pride in its tone.

"He was talking about me," the second voice retorted with a snort.

"I don't mean to intrude," Megatron explained, his tone as polite as his weary frame could muster. "But you see, I've lost my way. Just one night here is all I ask. Shelter until the storm lifts."

He moved away from the table, deeper into the castle's heart.

"Oh, Bee..." the first voice—Rodimus—pleaded. "C’mon, have a spark—"

"Shaddup! Shush!! Shush—shhhhh!!" The second voice—Bumblebee’s—voice whispered harshly, followed by a muffled sound as if a hand had been clapped over a mouth.

There was a pause. Then a sharp, pained yelp.

"Ow—ow—OW! OWWW!! OUCH!!" Bumblebee shrieked, the sound of frantic movement following. "YOU BURNT ME, YOU SLAGGER!"

“I’ll start the fire in the fireplace,” Rodimus said primly. The soft clink-clank of metal on stone suggested the candelabra was trotting off toward another room.

"W-Wait! RODIMUS!" Bumblebee exclaimed in panic, the sound of his own ticking movement following. "No, no, no, no, no, no! Rodimus, you know that the Master won't be happy when he finds out about this stranger in the castle!"

Unseen by any of them, from the shadowed heights of the split staircase, two hulking figures had been glaring down at Megatron. After a moment, they turned and melted back into the dark.

Megatron moved deeper, his initial awe giving way to a low, simmering annoyance. His unseen hosts chattered about him but refused to show themselves.

But then—

Light.

Faint and flickering.

A fire, kindled somewhere deep in the left corridor.

He turned toward it and followed.

In the hearth room, a frantic, hissed argument was unfolding.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Bumblebee whisper-shouted, his little clock hands flailing. "You can’t just light a fire! He’ll see it! He’ll come in here!"

"Oh, calm your gears, Bee." Rodimus scoffed, his candlestick arms crossed. The mech was practically blue with cold. He was shaking! Primus below, have a spark!" He tottered toward the massive, ash-filled fireplace. "A little warmth isn’t a crime."

"In this castle? It is! The Master’s orders were clear—no visitors, no signs of life, nothing to draw attention!” Bumblebee hopped in front of him, blocking his path. "We’re supposed to be invisible!"

"We’re also supposed to have sparks." Rodimus retorted, sidestepping him. "Watch and learn, worry-wart."

Before Bumblebee could protest further, Rodimus leaned forward. With a soft, concentrated puff, a small, bright flame sparked to life at the tip of one of his candle-arms. He touched it to the aged kindling nestled in the hearth.

Whoosh.

Dry wood and ancient coal caught instantly, flames leaping up with a hungry crackle. Light and warmth exploded into the dark room, painting the stone walls in dancing orange and gold.

"Oh, you’ve done it. You’ve really done it now." Bumblebee said, frozen in horror.

"Done what? Provided basic hospitality?" Rodimus said, puffing out his brass chest. "He’s not a threat. He’s just some poor, lost miner-bot covered in mud and—"

The distinct, heavy sound of a boot scuffing on stone echoed from the entrance hall.

Then another.

Slow. Cautious. Getting closer.

Both of them went rigid.

"Oh, scrap," Bumblebee breathed, all his ticking seizing up for a second.

"Shhh!" Rodimus hissed, his own flames guttering low.

They listened, two enchanted objects pretending desperately to be inanimate, as the footsteps drew nearer, hesitated outside the doorway, and then crossed the threshold.

The hearth room welcomed him like an old friend.

Flames burst to life in the wide stone fireplace, flooding the space with golden, biting heat. He dropped to one knee before it, his metal joints groaning in relief as the warmth began to soak into his frozen armor.

"Oh, thank Primus," he whispered into the crackling logs. "Finally…"

For a long while, he stayed there, motionless. Letting himself thaw. Letting the silence and the fire hold him.

Then—

A shimmer. A shift of light at the edge of his vision.

He turned.

Outside, past the frost-glazed glass of a tall window, the garden glowed beneath the fractured moonlight—impossibly, unnervingly alive.

Roses bloomed beneath a crust of ice, their crimson petals bowed but unbroken. Strange purple flowers and clusters of snowdrops gleamed along frozen borders. Trees drooped with pale blossoms that should not have survived the deep frost.

Drawn by a cold wonder, Megatron rose and followed the vision.

He found a narrow side hall, and at its end, a heavy, ornate door stood slightly ajar.

He stepped outside.

When Megatron rose from the hearth and wandered toward the garden doors, drawn by the ghostly light outside, Rodimus and Bumblebee watched him go from their places in the room.

"See?" Rodimus whispered, his flames low. "Just curious. He’ll have a look and come right back."

Bumblebee said nothing, his internal gears wound tight with dread.

The heavy door to the garden creaked open, then thudded shut. Silence returned, broken only by the crackle of the fire.

It lasted less than a minute.

Then, the unmistakable sound of heavy, purposeful footsteps echoed from the grand hallway—not the hesitant scuff of a lost traveler, but the swift, synchronized stride of two beings moving with dire intent.

Rodimus’s flames guttered out in a wisp of smoke. Bumblebee’s ticking hitched.

"Uh-oh," Rodimus breathed.

Outside, the cold slapped Megatron anew, but the surreal beauty numbed the sting.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he moved among the crystalline flowers and curling vines of frost. His breath plumed in silver clouds. His optics traced the impossible life around him, a garden preserved in a silent, frozen curse.

He paused by a cluster of white peonies, their full, ruffled blooms pristine against the ice. A faint, sad smile touched his lips. Sparkplug’s favorite. The thought of his daughter was a pang of warmth in the desolate cold. Almost without thinking, he reached out, his servo hovering near the stem. He’d take just one. A small, impossible piece of beauty to bring back to her.

His digits closed around the cold, stiff stem. He gave a gentle, testing tug.

It held fast, rooted deep in the enchanted earth.

He hesitated, the guilt of theft warring with the need to bring a piece of this ghostly beauty home. He pulled again, firmer this time.

Snap

The crisp sound was deafening in the frozen silence. The bloom came free in his hand, its stem a clean, white break.

He stared at it, the stolen flower suddenly feeling heavy, a transgression made real.

Then—

A stillness deeper than before. Not the quiet of a garden, but the silence of a predator’s breath being held.

The feeling of eyes upon him was so sudden and so heavy it was like a physical weight on his shoulders.

He froze, the peony clutched in his servo. Slowly, he turned.

At the far edge of the garden, where the moonlight failed, two figures stood among the shadows.

The first was tall, cloaked in living darkness, with great bat-like wings furled against his back. Crimson optics burned with cold fire from beneath a narrow, horned helm.

Behind him loomed another—a massive beast, armored in deep violet and black. A sculpted metal mask obscured the lower half of its face. Then, with a slow, sickening grind of gears, the mask split down the center.

It peeled back to reveal a monstrous maw lined in jagged, uneven teeth. Saliva glistened on each fang, dripping in slow, viscous strands that hissed where they struck the snow.

The wind died completely.

"You dare" whispered the winged one, his voice a blade drawn in the silence. "Intrude in my garden."

Megatron’s logic circuits screamed. He opened his servo, the white peony tumbling into the snow at his feet. "I—I didn’t know—"

"Liar."

"I didn’t come to fight!" Megatron raised his servos, empty, his optics flicking to the flower in the snow. "I was lost! Attacked by wolves! I barely made it—"

"YOU'RE NOT WELCOME HERE!" The winged one’s whisper shattered into a roar.

"I-I'm sorry. I-" Megatron tried to force an apology out, but the words choked in his intake. The horrific sight of them—these monsters—locked his vocalizer.

"WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?!?!" The winged beast lunged forward a single step, baring his own sharp, gleaming fangs.

"N-Nothing!" Megatron replied, attempting to wrench his gaze away, but it was held fast by primal terror.

"So... YOU'VE COME TO STARE AT THE MONSTERS, HAVE YOU?!" The shout was raw, agonized.

The winged one lunged, his wings snapping open with a metallic shriek, casting jagged shadows across the snow.

"N-No! I swear—!" Megatron cried.

"You’re just like the others!" the winged beast spat, closing the distance with terrifying speed.

Megatron turned to run.

Too late.

The masked beast moved with a blur of unnatural motion.

A colossal, clawed hand seized Megatron by the collar and hauled him bodily off the ground. That snarling maw opened wide—rows of glistening teeth now inches from his face, breath steaming hot and sharp with the scents of ozone and decay.

"Please—!" he gasped, kicking uselessly. "I meant no harm—!"

The beasts did not answer.

Behind them, the garden doors slammed shut with a final, deafining crash.

The castle swallowed them whole.

Outside, the encounter in the garden unfolded. The roaring, the snarling, the final, deafening crash of the doors.

Back in the hearth room, Rodimus and Bumblebee heard it all. The furious shouts, the monstrous growl, the terrible silence that followed.

The two enchanted objects looked at each other, the firelight reflecting in their wide, horrified optics.

The castle had swallowed the stranger whole. And they had, in their small way, helped guide him to his fate.

Chapter Text

Near noon, Landlot, wearing his bright maroon tailcoat that glittered absurdly against the dull winter trees, crouched with all the grace of a warthog in a porcelain shop. He pushed away thorny branches from a bush, revealing Sparkplug’s home. Beside him crouched Swindle, his ever-present smirk plastered across his face as though he’d already won some bet.

They weren’t hunting. They weren’t sneaking. They were STALKING waiting.

Waiting for Sparkplug to emerge from her house so Landlot could enact the most elaborate plan he’d ever devised. A plan he was certain would end in wedding bliss.

"She's gonna get the surprise of her life, huh, Swindle?" Landlot whispered, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Oh, absolutely! Sparkplug's one lucky femme," Swindle agreed, expression unreadable. "Though… you could’ve picked a better season. Like, I dunno—spring? Less mud, more flowers? Maybe now ain’t the best time."

"I don't have time to waste!" Landlot hissed, puffing his chassis out like a bird showing off. "I can't let that walking war machine get between me and Sparkplug."

"This—" he spread his arms grandly, nearly smacking Swindle across the helm, "—is my moment!"

He released the branch, letting it hit Swindle in the mouth.

"Lovely. Well, that explains the rush to plan a wedding in three days," Swindle muttered, spitting out leaves. "You’re lucky I even managed to gather all the preparations on such short notice."

"Shut up!" Landlot growled.

Already dressed for the occasion, Landlot wore a maroon tailcoat with gold trim, a bright golden vest that shimmered with every self-important breath he took, white pants pressed to perfection, and boots polished enough to blind a Decepticon scout. The look screamed, "groom." Or perhaps more accurately: "desperately delusional warlord of love."

Landlot walked towards a small group of people who seemed to be preparing for a wedding. There was a white and flower-embedded arbor with a red carpet and a priest. A white wedding cake was on the bride's side, and the band and champagne were on the groom's side. Landlot cleared his throat, catching everyone's attention.

"Thank you all for coming to my wedding!" he declared to the crowd gathered not far from the house.

"I suppose I should go in there and uh..." Landlot winked at the group. "propose to the girl first!"

He chuckled as most of the bots laughed heartily, and the taken bots merely rolled their optics in amusement. However, the same couldn't be said for the single bot trio—Blackarachnia, Knockout, and Nightbird.

Blackarachnia and Knockout were crying dramatically, theatrically, as if it were a tragic opera. Knockout dabbed at his optics with a silk kerchief that probably cost more than the venue.

Nightbird stood stiffly, arms crossed and fangs bared in something that might’ve been a smirk. A single tear rolled down her face, though whether it was from emotion or sheer disbelief, no one could say.

Landlot ignored them all and marched over to the makeshift band of Constructicons, where Scrapper was directing a group of misfit musicians armed with instruments more suitable for demolition than melody.

Swindle snickered before Landlot poked his digit on Swindle's helm.

"Now Swindle," Landlot ordered him. "When Sparkplug and I come out that door—"

"I know, I know!" Scrapper interrupted, reassuring. "When you come out, Swindle strikes up the band! Hit it, boys!"

And with that, the band started playing a polka version of "Here Comes the Bride." What followed was a catastrophic symphony of clanging brass, screeching strings, and something that may have once been a trumpet committing acts of violence against harmony.

The noise hit like a sonic boom. Landlot’s smile twitched at the edges, as though even he couldn’t pretend it sounded romantic. Scrapper smiled until Landlot stuffed his head inside a tuba.

"Not yet!" Landlot growled.

"Right, right! Sorry!" Scrapper apologized, his voice echoing throughout the copper brass instrument.

"You said they were musicians!" Landlot snarled at Swindle.

"They are!" Swindle defended himself. "Well—musicians adjacent. It’s all I could find on short notice! If you want a perfect pitch, hire the Enforcers’ Philharmonic next time!"

"Shut up!" Landlot growled, hitting him at the back of his helm.

Inside the home, Sparkplug lounged in the dining room of her quiet home, legs draped over the side of a mismatched wooden chair. Her optics were locked onto a worn, faded copy of Atlas of the World. Her foot tapped rhythmically against the leg of the chair as she flipped through the pages, tracing her digit along forgotten coastlines and long-lost cities. Unfortunately, her processor wasn't focused on the words on the pages.

It had been three days since Megatron left for Kaon. The medic was summoned to repair a handful of injured bots, and though he reassured his daughter that the trip was "a simple job, nothing more," Sparkplug still carried the weight of his absence. She hated how empty the little house felt without him, how the silence stretched on between chores, how the world outside seemed to creep in closer each day.

A sudden knock broke her focus.

Sparkplug set her book open on the table and walked up to the front door. Another knock came, this one louder—more urgent.

She peeked through the peephole. Instead of her sire, most likely carrying credits for the both of them, she saw a staring Landlot.

"Landlot," she muttered, deadpan. "Fantastic."

She silently groaned in annoyance, rolling her optics as well. It was bad enough she was worried for her only family member. Now she had to deal with this numbskull while he was gone?

Nonetheless, she wiped her frown with a pleasant smile and cracked the door open an inch, only to have it flung wide by Landlot, who burst into the room like a parade float.

"Landlot," Sparkplug said politely. "What an absolutely pleasant surprise."

"Is it, now?" Landlot replied, his voice full of arrogance. "Then again, I'm full of surprises, love."

He walked further in, backing up Sparkplug. As he leaned in, a pungent, animalistic odor washed over her—a mix of stale energon sweat, wet fur, and something deeply musky. She recoiled, her face twisting in disgust.

"You smell… so fucking bad." she said, the words escaping in a horrified whisper.

Landlot blinked, then smirked, puffing out his chest. "It's my hunting musk. Drives the beasts wild."

He walked further in, backing up Sparkplug until he leaned onto a chest with a mirror. "You know, Sparkplug, there's not a single bot in town who wouldn't love to be in your shoes. This is the day—"

Landlot had caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He smirked at himself and licked a tiny, barely noticeable herb out of his white teeth. Then, he turned back to Sparkplug. "Anyway, this is the day your dreams come true."

He walked towards her as Sparkplug crept back into the dining room, putting as much distance between them as the small room allowed.

"What do you know about my dreams, Landlot?" Sparkplug asked, her eyebrow raised.

"Why, plenty!" he replied, flopping into her chair like a sack of stolen gears. He slammed his muddy boots—still wet from earlier—onto her precious book.

The filth smeared across the yellowed pages, staining maps of ancient landscapes with grease and grime.

Sparkplug's expression twisted with slow, simmering disgust. She felt anger and irritation flare up in her chassis as she held back a growl.

"Picture this... a rustic hunting lodge," Landlot described as he took off his boots, completely ignorant of Sparkplug's reaction towards his cruelty to her books. "My latest beast’s head mounted above the hearth. My loyal wife massages my feet while little ones play with our loyal hunting dogs on the floor!"

She stared at his boots like they had personally insulted her lineage. But that was wiped away when Landlot stood up and came closer to Sparkplug.

"We'll most likely have six or seven," he said.

"Six or seven?" Sparkplug asked, hoping that was the right answer and a bit nervous of his rude intrusion. "Dogs, I hope?"

"No! Strapping young bots—like me!" Landlot said proudly, thumping his own chassis with a greasy fist as she took her book off the table.

"Imagine that," Sparkplug falsely chuckled, cleaning off the filth and setting a bookmark in it. She walked towards the bookcase when the hunter smirked, walking towards her.

"And do you wanna know who that lucky wife will be?" he continued, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Let me guess…" Sparkplug, who had put the book back in its place, replied, even though she knew the answer. "Blackarachnia?"

"It will be you, Sparkplug!" Landlot, who decided to play the dominant role as he cornered her, growled in a lustful tone.

"Wow, Landlot, I’m—I’m just speechless!" Sparkplug ducked under his arm and backed into the door. That was when she had an idea to get this stubborn idiot out of her house. "I really don't know what to say."

"Say you’ll marry me, Sweetspark!" the hunter ordered. Sparkplug feigned a sorrowful expression as she reached for the doorknob.

"I'm truly sorry, Landlot, but I..." She grabbed the doorknob, twisted it slightly, and before Landlot could kiss her...

She ducked underneath his arm and threw the door open. Landlot, who had put all his weight on his servos on the door, fell right down the stairs and into a mud hole, yelping as he did so.

"Not interested in over-inflated blowhards!" she shouted, slamming the door behind him.

True to his word, Swindle pulled out a conductor's baton and started the band to play the polka version of "Here Comes the Bride," not noticing Landlot's embarrassing fall. And to make matters even worse, his lower back and feet were sticking out of the watery hole, and his suit was ruined.

"And take your nasty boots with you! They smell like decomposing servos!" Sparkplug yelled, tossing out his boots onto her doorstep before slamming the door.

SLAM

Swindle turned his head, expecting to see the would-be couple, smiling. However, that smile vanished when he saw Landlot in the mud. He waved his servos to silence the band and leaned down to Landlot.

The hunter raised his head, anger present on his face. It was clear that her rejection had done major damage to his pride.

"I... take it she said no?" Swindle asked innocently, a sympathetic smile etched on his lips. Landlot bared his teeth, grabbing Swindle by the collar.

"I will have Sparkplug as my wife. Make no mistake about that!" Landlot snarled in his face, and with that, he tossed the little mech into the mud.

As Landlot walked away from the mud puddle, Swindle groaned, dragging himself out of the water with a soggy sigh, glaring at Landlot.

"Yeah. Real charming," he muttered.

A few hours later, after Landlot's proposal, Sparkplug unlocked her door and peeked out.

"Is he gone?" she asked a chicken that sat on a stair column.

The chicken nodded to her. Sparkplug sighed with relief, then her face twisted into one of anger as she walked down the stairs.

"Can you imagine?" Sparkplug asked, grabbing a bucket of chicken feed and walking to the tiny farm behind her house, the chicken waddling behind. "He asked me to marry him! Me! The wife of that uncivilized, pigheaded, brainless—"

"Madam Landlot. Can you just see it?" she said, setting the feed down. She took a small towel, putting it on her head like a veil.

"Madam Landlot. His little wife! Ugh!" she groaned, disgusted with the thought.

"No, sir! Not me! I guarantee it!" she said with great determination, tossing the cloth on the ground. "I want much more than this provincial life!"

Sparkplug walked out of the pen and to a hill that overlooked a beautiful landscape. Trees with leaves that made them resemble fireworks stood on the rocky hills, and a shimmering river traveled to who-knows-where.

"I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere," she sang, staring at the majestic sight, voicing what she had longed for in years. "I want more than some pompous idiot with a loud coat."

She sat down next to a few dandelions that were puffing their seeds into the breeze.

"And for once it might be grand," she whispered, plucking one and gently caressing the fluff. "To have someone understand."

She released the seeds into the air, wishing to be one of them.

"I want so much more

Than they've got planned..."

For a few moments, Sparkplug just stared at the horizon. Then she turned, walking home with steady steps. She reached and paused at the door, pressing her hand to the frame.

"I hope Dad comes back soon," she murmured.

And then she slipped inside and gently shut the door.

Chapter Text

The sound that tore Sparkplug from recharge wasn’t a sound at all, but an absence—the deep, watchful quiet of the farmhouse at night, shattered.

It was a scream of pure animal terror, cutting through the frozen air from the edge of the forest.

She was on her feet before her optics fully adjusted, her spark a cold, hard piston in her chest. She didn’t grab a weapon. There was no time. She flung open the door just as Philip, her father’s steady, stoic workhorse, erupted from the treeline.

He was a vision of madness. Lathered in fear-sweat, eyes rolling white, he charged toward the homestead not with direction, but with the blind need to escape what was behind him. His saddle was empty. The reins trailed like severed nerves in the churned snow.

"Philip!"

Her voice, sharp with command, sliced through his panic. He skidded to a halt before her, chest heaving, great plumes of vapor bursting from his nostrils. She moved forward slowly, hands up, her movements calm and deliberate even as her own systems screamed.

"Easy. Easy now." Her servos found his sweaty neck, stroking the tight muscles. "What are you doing here? Where’s dad?"

The horse shuddered, his terror ebbing under her familiar touch, but the whites of his eyes still showed. He nudged her hard with his nose, a desperate, wordless plea.

The reality of the empty saddle, the trailing reins, crystallized into a single, devastating point. Her father was not coming home on his own.

"Where is he, Philip?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, steel wrapped in ice. "Where’s dad?"

The horse stamped a hoof, tossing his head back toward the dark maw of the forest.

That was all the answer she needed.

Sparkplug rushed back into the house, snatched her cloak, and returned to the shivering steed. She gathered the dangling reins, put a foot in the stirrup, and swung onto Philip’s back. She leaned low over his neck, her digits twisting in his mane.

"Take me to him" She ordered.

And with that they ran to the trail her sire had taken before he disappeared. She will look for her last family member, even if she had to take on a beast.

It was near dusk when Sparkplug had reached the castle gate.

Philip, lathered and trembling, slowed to a stop of his own accord, his nostrils flaring. Before them, a vast, neglected clearing opened up, dominated by a sight that stole the air from her intakes.

She stared at the intimidating Gothic castle. 

"What is this place?" She whispered.

Philip would go no further. He planted his feet, a low whinny of fear rattling in his throat.

"It’s alright," Sparkplug whispered, more to herself than to him. She slid from the saddle, her boots crunching on the frost-rimed ground. She gave his neck a final, reassuring stroke before looping his reins over a skeletal branch. "Wait here."

She turned to face the castle and noticed the entrance was slightly open.

"Don't worry, dad. I'm coming." Sparkplug whispered, creeping inside, she kept her fear in.

She walked up to the giant doors and silently opened the left one. Sparkplug peeked her head in, seeing that the inside was a bit more frightening that the outside.

"Hello?" she called out. "Is anyone here?" 

Nothing. Not even a small breeze or subtle whisper. The only sound that returned was her own voice.

Sparkplug walked further into the castle, closing the door silently. She walked up to the stairway, feeling as though the stone gargoyles were watching her, "Dad? Are you here?"

No response.

She walked up the marble, red carpet stairs. She started looking for a sign, a voice, anything that would at least help her.

Meanwhile, Bumblebee and Rodimus were in a room not too far from the dungeon tower. The stout mantel clock was still angered by the fact that the candelabra had let in a stranger. Now they were both in trouble by their master.

"Just couldn't keep quiet, could ya?" Bumblebee growled. "Just let him wander around, huh? Lead him to the Master's fire place! Let him be curious! Let him go to the master's garden!"

"Well, excuse me for trying to be hos-peet-able!" Rodimus then argued back, rolling his optics.

 Bumblebee made a sighing sound, putting his servo on his optics, "Roddy, I don't blame you for trying to maintain whatever we have left of our humanity? Just look..."

"Why? What's wrong with -" Rodimus drew himself up, his tone defensive, then he remembered his current form, his tone sounded depressed, "Oh, right."

"We should consider ourselves lucky," Bumblebee remarked. "We still have our thoughts and our will. It's happening to some of the others, slowly but surely. We aren't far behind."

Bumblebee looked at his servos, "With every day closer to the twenty-first year, we become more and more like... objects than a being" 

Rodimus sighed miserably. Then his face held a shrewd expression, "Ooh, I still don't see why we got dragged into this mess in the first place. I mean, it's not like we're the ones who let that sorcerer in in the first place and made a deal with him!"

"But don't you think that we, too, are responsible?" Bumblebee said back. "We could have stopped him before he tricked the mas-...the kid."

Rodimus's mad face was replaced by a disappointed one.

"I suppose we did." he said, leaning back on the wall, as he crossed his candlesticks, and looked down to the ground.

"All I can hope for," Rodimus said as he sat down, "is that I will still have my humanity if the Master breaks this curse."

"Just hold on, Roddy. Just hold on" Bumblebee walked up to the sad candelabra, patted his friend on the back, and comforted him.

"Hello?" a feminine voice asked.

The two froze still, their mechanic fluids turned cold. They silently turned their heads to the entrance and saw Sparplug in her cloak walking by slowly. In this tense moment, the two said nothing and stayed as still as the metal creatures they are. When Sparkplug left and they were sure that she wouldn't hear them, they relaxed and sighed with relief.

"Ooh, it's just a girl." Rodimus said in reassurance as Bumblebee wiped imaginary sweat off his forehead,

The two smiled, a smile that widened. That turned into dawning, electric realization.

Their optics met.

it was like five seconds when they realized at the great opportunity and shouted to each other, "IT'S A GIRL!"

Rodimus rushed to the door, a goofy smile on his face, "Mademoiselle! Yoo-hoo!" Fortunately, Bumblebee grabbed him by the arm, causing them to square dance a do-si-do.

"Rodimus, hold on a minute! Let's not be hasty!" Bumblebee loudly whispered.

"Why? She's the one! The one that will break the spell! After all these years, some bot has finally come to save us! Oh, happy, happy day!" Rodimus whispered back, looking at him confused. 

"I know!" Bumblebee argued. "But we can't just barge right over there looking like this! She'll run right outta here! I have a plan..."

Meanwhile, deeper in the castle’s musical wing, two small, lyres, one pyrple and blue while the other one black and red, were vibrating with excitement, hopping on their pedestal.

"Boss! Boss! You won’t believe what we saw up the stairs!" Rumble chirped, his strings twanging.

The object they addressed was a tall, solemn harp made of dark, polished wood and silver strings. 

"QUERY: WHAT IS IT?" It turned slightly, a single, questioning note humming from it.

"We saw a girl in the castle!" Frenzy answered, bouncing.

"RUMBLE AND FRENZY: WEREN’T RAISED TO LIE." A low, disbelieving chord resonated from the harp. 

"But we really did! We saw a real girl!" Frenzy insisted, sounding offended.

Before the harp, Soundwave, could respond, a new voice interrupted. A feather duster with a sleek, feminine design and a frilled purple aesthetic zoomed into the room, her feathers quivering.

"Soundwave! Did you hear?" she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. "There’s a girl in the castle! I saw her myself"

"See? We told you. And she’s very pretty, too," Rumble added smugly.

"Okay, you got it?" Bumblebee asked.

The candelabra smiled, confident that the clock's plan will work. He sneaked out of the room, looked down the hallway, and saw Sparplug near the entrance to the dungeon tower. With soundless footsteps, Rodimus quickly tip-toed until he was right behind her. When he reached the door, he quickly slid in, making sure the door made a loud creak. It caught Sparkplug's attention, for it may have been a person

"Hello?" She asked

She turned and saw the open door. 

"Hello? Is someone here?" Sparkplug cried out, raced in and walked in

No answer. It was merely a spiral, stone staircase with little light. However, a light at the top of the stairs was flickering, and it was moving upwards.

"Wait! I'm just looking for my father!" Sparkplug hoped it was someone who lived in the castle, Sparkplug gave chase to the light.

Little did she know, Bumblebee smirked as his plan was starting to work. Now it was time to get the Master.

When Sparkplug stopped at the top of the stairs, she realized that she was in a small prison. Gargoyles were holding unlit torches (except one) as large wooden doors signified the jail cells. The temperature in the room was just as cold as it was outside, and the stones weren't helping. But what was most surprising was that there was not a soul to be found. Sparkplug walked in further, unaware of Rodimus hiding around a corner in the shadows

"Odd. I could have sworn there was someone." Dismissing this as her imagination

"Is anyone here?" she called out in case if there was somebody

No response again. Sparkplug sighed, now knowing that there might not be anyone in this large castle at all. However, after she turned and before she could step back on the first step, a hoarse voice that sounded like a grandpa disrupted the silence,

"Sparkplug? Is that you?"

She knew that voice. She spun around, and looked at the cell that the voice came out.

"Dad!" she cried out, horrified of his situation.

Sparkplug rushed towards him, grabbing the only lit torch as a light. Sure enough, the old mech knelt down behind a small hole with bars. He reached his servo out, a smile etched on his face, "H-How did you find me?"

Sparkplug took his servo and held it to her cheek, noticing that his servos felt as cold as refrigerated steaks, "Your servos are like ice!"

Then her gaze dropped to his other side. "What happened to your servo?!"

His right arm was gone. Not just injured. Severed cleanly at the shoulder joint, the wound crudely sealed with a smeared, glowing paste that did little to hide the brutal truth.

She cringed when Megatron coughed harshly into his other remaining servo. It was clear that he had fallen ill from the winter air.

"Don't worry. I'm gonna get you out of here." She reassured him, regaining confidence.

However, what shocked Sparkplug was that he said something she never thought he'd say, "Sparkplug, listen to me. I want you to get out of this place as fast as you can and never come back!"

"Who did this to you?"Sparkplug, stunned, ignored his command and said in an infuriated tone

it was true that the people in town thought he was crazy, but she never thought a few would go as far as to put him in a freezing-cold dungeon tower.

However, Megatron ignored her

"Leave me! GO" Megatron said with fear present in his voice, looking around as if he was expecting someone.

"But i can't lose you too!" Sparkplug yelled out, completely confused as to why her father was accepting his fate.

"And i can't lose YOU!" Megatron pleaded. "Sparkplug, please!Go before he finds you!" 

"Who's 'he?!'" Sparkplug asked, now unnerved of her father's voice.

"What are you doing here?" A new voice asked from behind Sparkplug.

She turned swiftly, her father calling out to her. Sparkplug had her lose her grip on the torch. It fell into a puddle, and the light extinguished, leaving her in the near dark.

"SPARKPLUG, RUN!" Megatron screamed.

"Who's there? Who are you?" She shouted, regaining her senses and looking around

Since it was dark with the only source of light coming from the hole in the roof as moonbeams, she could only see a large silhouette with blazing red shades and massive wings.

"I'm the master of this castle." The winged beast responded "You may call me Nightflyer."

"I’ve come for my father! Please! Let him go!" Sparkplug begged, still sitting on the ground.

Nightflyer growled lowly. Sparkplug could see the -she assumes male from the voice- guy blink. He looked to be genuinely contemplating her plea.

"Can’t you see that he’s becoming sick?!" Sparkplug exclaimed. "He could die if he stayed here for another day! He means no harm."

"He came into my home, trying to rob me" Nightflyer spat, his gleaming shades right into her optics. "He now has to pay for his crimes!"

"Please!" Sparkplug begged, her optics still watching the moving red shades, indicating he was walking.

"There's nothing you can do," Nightflyer growled.

Sparkplug was horrified and felt trapped. Was he really doomed to die in a tower? There had to be something she could do. But then again, This Nightflyer guy won't be willing to lose a prisoner and he wants someone gone. Hold on. If he didn't want to lose a prisoner, then...

"I'll do whatever you want..." Sparkplug declared. "Just let my father go."

All three were caught off guard by what Sparkplug said.

"Sparkplug, no!" Megatron begged.

Nightflyer ignored the old mech, and asked with disbelief, making sure if he heard right, "W-What did you say?"

Sparkplug paused, she couldn't believe what she said. But if was to save her father, so be it, "I said I'll do whatever you want, just let my father go."

"You?" Nightflyer asked softly, shock clear in his shades. "You'd actually take his place?"

"Sparkplug, no! You don't know what you're doing!" Megatron begged once more.

"If I did," Sparkplug continued, "will you release him?" 

"Yes..." Nightflyer replied

"But you must promise to stay here." Nightflyer added, making a deal. "Forever."

"Sparkplug, don't!" Megatron yelled.

"'Forever?'" Sparplug inquired. If she stayed forever, then she'd never see her father or her home again. She might as well toss her dream to see the world out the window while she's at it.

"Yes." Nightflyer answered.

Now Sparkplug's spark was thumping with fear. Was she really going to throw her freedom away for her father's?

"Yes," she thought. But then, she realized that she didn't see him for real. If she was going to stay here for the rest of her life, then she might as well see what her captor looked like.

"Come into the light," she said.

A deep sigh was heard over the dripping water.

"...very well" He said.

With some hesitation, a foot came out of the shadows and into the moonlight.Then the other foot came out as did the rest of the winged beast. Sparkplug gasped at the sight of him, fear now taking over. He looked like a cybertronian, but he looked like a mix of a cybertronian and a vampire!

He was almost as tall as Sparkplug, about half a foot taller than her. He was covered in oversized cloak, rivaling the night sky itself. His helm was tall, narrow and angular, tapering slightly towards the chin. He also had horned crest. His shades were a blazing crimson red. Just to sum it up, he was downright terrifying!

Unable to look at his horrific appearance, Sparkplug turned away from him and back to her father.

"Sparkplug, I won't let you do this!" Megatron yelled. With closed optics, Sparkplug turned back around to the winged beast and stepped closer to him.

"You have my word." she swore, with no hesitation and extending a servo. It did not shake.

"A deal is made then..." Nightflyer declared, as his clawed hand enveloped hers. His grip was surprisingly careful, but impossibly strong.

He then walked towards Megatron's cell. Immediately, Sparkplug collapsed to her knees and covered her face with her servos in an attempt to hide her tearing optics. Nightflyer unlocked the cell door and Megatron rushed past him and to his daughter.

"Sparkplug, listen to me," Megatron tried to persuade her. "I'm old, I've lived my life and I won't let you do this!"

Sparkplug grabbed her father’s remaining servo, still feeling stiff at the joints and cold to the touch. Megatron also started to cry, afraid for his daughter and her life.

"It’s okay, dad." Sparkplug said through her tears, still trying hard to keep her smile despite her sorrowful emotions. "I’ll be okay. I promise. Go life the rest of your life in town, with everyone else, just forget about me!"

"How could I ever do that?!" Megatron asked, bewildered.

As they kept talking and crying, Nightflyer watched in silence, back in the shadows. He couldn’t bear to let the two never see each other again without at least saying goodbye. He could do at least that much, now that he’s taking the girl as a prisoner. It reminded him of him with his carrier, Starscream.

But he also couldn’t let this conversation go on for much longer. They were both stalling for more time with each other, and as much as Nightflyer wanted to give it to them, her father had to go.

So Nightflyer walked over, grabbed him by his collar and started dragging him down the stairs. He could hear Sparkplug cry out for her father, and it honestly broke his spark. But Nightflyerhad to ignore her and stay strong.

"Wait!" Sparkplug cried out, wanting to at least say goodbye.

"Sparkplug!" Megatron yelled out. Sparkplug tried to plead with the winged beast, but it was in vain.

Outside palanquin sat in some bushes, overgrown with vegetative vines. Nightflyer came out, Megatron in his grip.

"LET ME GO! PLEASE SPARE MY DAUGHTER! TAKE ME" Megatron pleaded.

"Don't worry. She won’t be hurt. And I’ll take good care of her. I promise." Nightflyer promised, opening the door.

Before Megatron could protest further, Nightflyer knocked him out quickly. The old mech went limp.

"Take him to the village. But not too close to it." Nightflyer ordered the palanquin, after shoving Megatron in and slamming the door

The palanquin hummed to life, vines uncurling from the ground, and sped off silently into the night.

Up from the tower window, Sparkplug watched the palanquin crossing the stone bridge. The fact that her captor hadn't let her say her final farewell to her last family member was definitely a pill that was hard to swallow. Her optics then started to leak out tears of sadness for being all alone and anger at that monster who caused this. If Nightflyer didn't seem so strong, she'd give him a piece of her mind. Just who did he think he was? Some sort of prince? Even if he was, he had absolutely no reason to act like this.

But then again, what was done is done. Sparkplug will never see the world she longed to see.

Chapter Text

Back with Nightflyer, he was walking back up the spiral staircase to lock up his prisoner's replacement. Rodimus, who was watching Sparkplug's deal from shadows, felt pity for the girl. Even though most of Bumblebee's plan did work, she was supposed to like Nightflyer. Maybe if he showed her a bit more kindness, that would work. She could be the one to finally break this twenty year-old curse, after all. So the candelabra, halfway down, accidentally blocked Nightflyer's way.

"Um, Master?" Rodimus whispered from candle ledge

"Hm?" Nightflyer hummed, stopping to turn to the candelabra.

"Um, since the girl will be staying with us for, heh, quite some time, I was thinking, just maybe, that you can offer her a... more comfortable room?" Rodimus replied, twidling his candlesticks

Nightflyer didn’t need to think about it to agree with him.

"I was already going to do that, don’t worry." Nightflyer smiled gently at Rodimus

"Oh! That's good to hear." Rodimus whispered, stepping aside for his master.

When Nightflyer returned back to the cell, he saw Sparkplug on her knees, trying to not cry her spark out.

When she had heard his footsteps, she looked at the winged beast, glared at him, and shouted in rage, "You didn't even let me finish saying goodbye! I'll never see him again!"

She turned back away from him, no longer wanting to look at him.

Nightflyer's glare was wiped off when he heard her broken-hearted tone of voice and smelled her tears. He looked down in shame, rubbing the back of his neck, wondering what he could do to make her feel at least at home. She was going to stay here for a long time. Then, he recalled Rodimus's suggestion to give her a comfortable room. So, he looked up at his "prisoner"

"I'll show you to your room." Nightflyer said softly.

That caught Sparkplug off guard. She was a prisoner, not a guest. Right?

"My room?" she asked, completely confused. "But I thought-"

"Do you really want to stay in the tower?" Nightflyer asked confused, his eyebrow raised.

"No," she replied.

"Then follow me." Nightflyer scoffed at her pettiness, turned around

Sparkplug stood up and followed the winged beast.

Down to the second floor, Nightflyer, who was holding a lit candelabra, aka Rodimus, was leading Sparkplug to her new room. She was distracted by the rather intimidating statues and stone carvings of demonic gargoyles, dragons, serpents, and hydras. When she realized that she was starting to slow down, she increased her pace. Nightflyer looked over his shoulder a little, seeing a small tear falling from Sparkplug's optic. When they passed a dark hallway, Nightflyer heard Rodimus's voice whispering, "Say something to her." He looked down at his servo where he was holding Rodimus.

At first, he didn't get it. But then he realized he might as well start a conversation, so he said with some hesitation and pathetically, "I, uh... hope you like it here."

Nightflyer turned to Rodimus, who made a motion that said, "Keep talking."

Nightflyer sighed, and informed Sparkplug, "This castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you want in here... except for the West Wing."

"What's in the Wes-" Sparkplug asked, curious.

"IT'S FORBIDDEN!" Nightflyer yelled, his snarl echoing the halls as his wings unfurled halfway, turning to her.

Sparkplug was startled at his suddenly raised voice and swift turn. Nightflyer noticed his partially opened wings, so he closed them back up and had them hug his back. Nightflyer now feeling even worse at his outburst. He’d even scared Rodimus with it.

"I'm sorry...Just... Don't go there please" Nightflyer apologized

Nightflyer calmed down and turned back to his trail with Sparkplug following him.

When they arrived at a bedroom in a corner next to a window, Nightflyer opened it and motioned Sparkplug to enter it.

He paused in the doorway before she could fully enter.

"Your role here is not passive," he stated, his voice formal, as if reciting a decree. "You are the maid of this castle. Your duty is to take care of the people residing here. They will instruct you in your tasks."

Sparkplug stared at him, baffled. "The people... residing here?" She looked past him into the empty, silent corridor. "There's no one here."

A complex expression flickered across Nightflyer's face—impatience, sorrow, bitterness.

"You are wrong" he said flatly.

"They are here. You will see but just not in the way you think. If you need anything," he continued, his tone shifting back to the earlier, softer instruction, "and I mean anything, my servants will attend to you."

Nightflyer stared for a moment longer before shutting her door. It clicked closed behind her, the weight of the tall thing making it slam loud.

Sparkplug stood still for a moment, grappling with his words. Maid? People? The castle felt utterly deserted. Was this a joke? A cruel mind game?

Suddenly, the fact that she was a prisoner for life and would never see her father or home again slammed into her with renewed force, overshadowing the strange instruction. No longer wanting to hold it in now that she was finally alone, Sparkplug ran to the bed, fell on her knees next to it, and the dam behind her optics collapsed. She cried into her arms, her tears falling like the first snowflakes of winter outside her window. She sobbed for her loss of her family, friend, and home, but most importantly, her freedom.

And unbeknownst to her, Nightflyer was holding his audial up against the door. His enhanced hearing allowed him to listen in on her crying. He then lifted his head from the door. A saddened, whining growl rumbled from his chest, his optics gazing at the floor

"You did the right thing, Master," Rodimus whispered, his voice soft with pity. "Giving her that room. It's... a start. It could have been much worse."

Nightflyer didn't respond. He simply stared at the door, listening to the grief he had caused, knowing no comfort could reach through it.

After a long, heavy moment, he finally turned away.

"Come," he murmured, his voice thick. "Let's leave her be. We should... we should check on the others."

He walked down the corridor, his steps slow and heavy, the echo of her weeping a ghost that followed him through the silent, cursed halls.

At the pub back at the town, Landlot sat in his throne of furs, facing the fireplace,

"Just who does she think she is? That girl has tangled with the wrong mech! No one says 'no' to Landlot!" Landlot exclaimed.

"Oh, absolutely." Swindle said, who was holding a mug of engex in each servo.

"Dismissed! Rejected! Publicly humiliated!" Landlot moaned in dismay. While Swindle held out one engex, Landlot took his and Swindle's, just as he was going to take a drink. With a furious growl, the hunter threw the mugs into the fire, "It's more than I can bear!"

"More engex?" Swindle asked, dhivering away from the tiny combustion of fire

"What for? Nothing helps," Landlot said depressed, scooting his throne of furs to a left ninety-degree angle away from the little mech. "I'm disgraced."

Swindle felt pity for the hunter. So he attempted to cheer him up, "Who, you? Never!" Still displeased, Landlot scooted his throne again, facing the custom.

Unfazed, Swindle rushed up to the hunter’s side, setting his arm over the hunter’s shoulder and gestured at Blackarachnia, Knockout and Nightbird, "You know, there are other ones."

The trio waved at Landlot flirtatiously. Landlot, however, merely laid his chin on his servo, not looking at Swindle, "A great hunter doesn't waste his time with rabbits."

"Gosh, it disturbs me to see you, Landlot. Looking so down in the dumps" The little mech sighed

Swindle attempted to make a forced smile on Landlot's face, but the latter punched the former into a table of four.

Unfazed, Swindle just sat up on the table, "Ev'ry mech here would love to be you, Landlot. Even when you're taking your lumps"

Even when the burly Cybertronians drinking their mugs of engex cheered in agreement, Landlot faced his throne to the fireplace in despair.

Despite this, Swindle walked up to him, placing his servo on Landlot's shoulder, "There's no mech in town as admired as you. You're ev'ryone's favorite guy!"

Ev'ryone's awed and inspired by you. And it's not very hard to see why..." Swindle turned the throne back to the crowd

Blackarachnia,  Knockout and Nightbird, who were admiring Landlot, sighed lovingly. Still grumpy, Landlot pointed his nose up high like he was a very important person. 

"No one's...Slick as Landlot. No one's quick as Landlot" Swindle continued, stealing Blitzwing's belt and causing his pants to fall, rushing off.

No one's neck is as incredibly thick as Landlot's. For there's no mech in town half as manly." Swindle tied the belt around Landlot's neck, making sure it was tight,

Landlot, acting like this is nothing, merely flexed his neck to break the belt. Unfazed by the belt and the amazement of the Cybertronians, he glared at Swindle. 

"Perfect, a pure paragon!" Swindle continued, pointing to Landlot's portrait above the mantelpiece, unaware of Landlot’s glare.

"You can ask any wrecker, speedster and seeker." As he said this, Swindle jumped on Sunstreaker's head, stepped on Sideswipe, and spun on Jetstorm's noggin.

"And they'll tell you whose team they'd prefer to be on..." He jumped back to Landlot

Landlot rolled his optics as Swindle was grabbed by Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Jetstorm and Jetfire. 

"No one's... Big like Landlot! A King pin like Landlot!" However, instead of attacking the little mech, they joined in the song, thrusting Swindle to Landlot in a playful way

"Who's much more than a sum of his parts like Landlot?" Swindle was put down and he elbowed the hunter.

"As a specimen, yes, I'm intimidating!" Landlot admitted, flexing his arm cables, finally flattered with his pride healing

"My, what a guy! That Landlot!" The quartet clanged their mugs of engex

"Give him five "hurrahs!" And twelve "hip-hips!"" The customers yelled out loud, then raised their mugs

"Landlot is the best! And the rest are all drips!" Standing in front of Landlot, Swindle was holding an engex and claimed

Coincidence that he said "drips," because Landlot had stood up and Swindle accidentally tossed his engex behind him, splashing the hunter with the drink. Landlot glared at Swindle as the latter gave a sheepish smile, hiding the mug behind him. Still, Landlot rolled up his arm and gave a mighty punch to the little mech.

"No one... Fights like Landlot! Douses lights like Landlot!" The crowd sang

Landlot lunged at the four Cybertronians, starting a fight. 

"In a wrestling match, nobody BITES LIKE LANDLOT!" Sideswipe yelped when the hunter bit his leg.

"For there's no one as burly and brawny" Blackarachnia, Knockout and Nightbird, all three sitting on a bench, sang along

"As you can see, i have biceps to spare." Landlot, who had his fill of a fight, lifted up the femmes on the bench with one arm clean off the floor,

"Not a bit of him's scraggly or scrawny!" Swindle pointed out before Landlot tossed the bench onto him,

"That's right! And ev'ry last inch of me's covered in battle armor!" Landlot laughed, smoothing back his helm's crest

Landlot, who started a game of chess with a data clerk, discovered that the clerk won a checkmate.

In his rage, he tossed the board away, the crowd singing, "No one hits like Landlot! Matches wits like Landlot!"

"In a spitting match, nobody spits like Landlot!" Swindle sang as Landlot bit a chunk out of a belt

"I'm especially good at expectorating!" Landlot then said arrogantly with his mouth full

With that, Landlot spat the goody like a gun. The four Cybertronians ducked and each held up a ten-point sign, "Give ten points for Landlot!"

The hunter walked over to the bar, where a carton of cyber-eggs was open. 

"When I was a youngling, I ate four dozen eggs. Ev'ry morning to help me get large" He juggled them, and swallowing each one raw

"And now that I'm grown, i eat five dozen eggs. So I'm roughly the size of a barge..." When Swindle tried to juggle some eggs, but failed, Landlot continued, bragging about himself

Then, Landlot pulled out his rifle. He smirked and shot three times at a barrel full of engex.

Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Jetstorm and Jetfire held out their mugs at the leaking holes for full glasses, "No one... Shoots like Landlot! Makes those beauts like Landlot!"

"Then goes tromping around wearing boots like Landlot!" Swindle mimicked stomping while Landlot returned to his throne of furs

With his pride and confidence dramatically increased beyond the limit, Landlot laid on his throne, pointing out his non-Cybertronian trophy decors, "I use trophies in all of my decorating!"

"My, what a guy!" All the customers clanged their mugs in cheer

"What a guy!" Swindle yelled out loud

"LANDLOT!" The crowd finished

"All right! Drinks are on me!" Landlot stood up and yelled over the cheering

Swindle smiled, happy to see his boss having his pride back. The customers shouted for the free engex.

"And one more song for our beloved hunter!" Swindle asked, getting his guitar out. Landlot smiled with pride, ready to bask in more adoration.

However, a blast of cold air entered the toasty warm tavern as the door swung open, making everyone fall quiet.

Everyone turned to see a certain old mech with an angered look on his face.

"Megatron?" "What does he want?" "Megs?" "Why is he here?" the people whispered to each other, careful not to offend the former Decepticon warlord turned medic—the mech everyone now thought was a bit out of whack. Swindle ducked behind Landlot's throne, clutching his guitar like a shield.

"You have to help me!" Megatron grabbed the nearest customer, shaking them. He lurched toward Sideswipe, begging, "They got her! They got her locked in the dungeon as a slave!"

"Who?" Sideswipe asked, shrinking back, frightened by the old mech's frenzied behavior.

"Sparkplug!" Megatron roared. He released Sideswipe and grabbed Jetfire, "We have to save her! Not a minute to lose!"

Landlot stood up, quite amused by the mech's actions, and said aloud, "Whoa, now, old mech. Who's got Sparkplug 'locked in the dungeon,' and who is keeping her as a slave?"

Not once did anyone expect Megatron to cry out, "BEASTS! TWO MONSTROUS, HORRIBLE BEASTS!!"

At first, it was silent. Then, the tavern was full of giggles. Of course they would dismiss the old mech's need for help as a ridiculous hallucination.

Instead of trying to comfort Megatron, Lockdown swaggered forward, towering over him. "Are they big beasts?"

"Huge!" Megatron insisted, his single fist clenched.

Getaway sidled up, a mocking grin on his face. "Did one of them have an ugly maw?"

"Hideously ugly!" Megatron spat, backing away only to bump into Galvatron.

Galvatron swirled his heavy coat around himself, making his frame seem to expand like dark wings. "Did the other one have massive, dark wings?"

"Yes!" Megatron confirmed, optics wide with frantic certainty.

The old mech stumbled toward Landlot, his voice dropping to a strained, pleading whisper. "Please! Can you help me? They could be doing to her Primus knows what!"

Landlot stared at him for a long, silent moment. He took in the scent of high-grade engex thick on Megatron's breath and the wild, desperate look in his optics. This was the scene he’d been waiting for.

He let the silence stretch, then threw his head back and laughed—a loud, derisive sound that gave the rest of the tavern permission to join in.

"Megatron," Landlot said, his voice thick with annoyance once the laughter died down. "You're drunk. You're  seeing things that aren't there. Everyone has bad memories from the war you caused, but they aren't real."

He gestured dismissively. "We all know Sparkplug's a very sweet girl, but... burdened. Tired of your brooding. The violence and all that. She didn't get 'taken.' She finally got away from it all. She probably left town for a while. She'll be back when she's ready."

He sank back into his throne of furs with a weary sigh. "Now get out! Haven't you ruined everyone's night enough already?"

Megatron stared at him, his expression shifting from shocked disbelief to smoldering, unbridled fury.

"DO YOU THINK I'M MAKING THIS UP?! HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO ME?!" Megatron bellowed, tearing aside his tattered cloak to reveal the brutal truth he’d been hiding: his right arm, severed cleanly at the elbow, the stump wrapped in crude, stained bandages.

It earned sharp gasps from everyone in the tavern. Even Landlot was shocked. The evidence was brutal and undeniable.

Landlot recovered quickly, his processor racing back to the explosion everyone had heard days ago.

"Do you take us for an idiots. We all heard that blast from your hause" he said, his tone full of arrogance "The whole town jumped. You said it was the purifier. If you lost your servo tinkering with unstable scrap… it's a tragedy, but it's your tragedy. Don't go making up stories for your own mistakes."

The dismissal was swift. The crowd, eager to believe the simpler, safer story, latched onto it. Of course—the explosion. Megatron's own reckless handiwork. The shock turned into murmurs of agreement and pitying shakes of the head.

"MY DAUGHTER HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM ME!!" Megatron roared, the sound shaking the mugs on the tables, a final declaration to deaf ears. "AND I DON'T CARE IF YOU OR ANYONE ELSE HERE THINKS I'M CRAZY! I NEED WEAPONS! I NEED MEN!! I AM GETTING HER BACK!!!"

Everyone stared at him with wide optics, even Landlot and Swindle. The raw, desperate conviction in his voice momentarily silenced even the smirks.

He turned on his heel and stormed toward the exit, his fury a physical force. He slammed the tavern door so hard the frame shuddered, leaving a ringing silence in his wake.

For five full seconds, no one moved.

Then, a nervous snicker broke out from Lockdown. It grew into a relieved chuckle, then a wave of full-bellied laughter as the tension shattered. Swindle crept out from his hiding place and stood beside Landlot, joining in the mockery.

"Ha! 'Beasts!' Crazy, ol' Megatron!" Lockdown laughed, slapping his knee.

"Yeah, he's always good for a laugh!" Getaway agreed, shaking his head

Swindle and Landlot chortled until Landlot heard what the blue mech said. He mused, pinching his chin in though, "'Crazy, ol' Megatron,' hmm? 'Crazy, ol' Megatron...'"

Landlot's optics widened with an idea.

"Swindle, I'm afraid I've been thinking" He said to Swindle, who had noticed Landlot's sudden cease of laughter,

"A dangerous pastime" Swindle commented

"Yes, I know. But that drunk old clanker is Sparkplug's father. And his sanity's only so-so" Landlot couldn't help but agree as he held up the little mech, "Now the wheels of my head have been turning. Since I've looked at that enraged and loony old mech. See, I've promised myself I'd be married to Sparkplug. And right now, I'm evolving a plan!"

"If I..." The hunter coned his mouth to Swindle's audio receptor to whisper

"Yeah?" Swindle asked.

"... and then we..." Landlot whispered some more

After a moment, Swindle asked, "No, would she?"

Landlot whispered some more, and finally said out loud, "Guess!"

With a smirk, Swindle exclaimed, "Now I get it!"

The duo said, "Let's go!"

They sang as they performed a little dance, shoving tables aside to make room.

"No one plots like Landlot!" Swindle sang, pointing an accusing finger that curled into a conspiratorial thumb's up.

"Takes cheap shots like Landlot!" Landlot sang, miming a sucker-punch with a wide, smug grin.

"Plans to persecute harmless crackpots like Landlot!" Swindle warbled, twirling with a flourish.

"Yes, I'm endlessly, wildly resourceful," Landlot crooned, tapping his temple with a knowing wink.

"As down to the depths you descend," Swindle sang, gesturing dramatically toward the floor

"I won't even be mildly remorseful," Landlot declared, placing a servo over his spark with mocking sincerity.

"Just as long as you get what you want in the end!" Swindle finished with a triumphant spin.

They came together in the center of the cleared space, back to back, then broke apart in a synchronized stride.

"Who has brains like Landlot?" Landlot sang, preening.

"Entertains like Landlot?" Swindle echoed, playing a jaunty riff on his guitar.

"Who can make up these endless refrains like Landlot...?" they harmonized, their voices twisting together in perfect, devious pitch.

"For my marriage soon will be celebrating..." Landlot sang out, his optics gleaming with a cold, ambitious fire as he envisioned Sparkplug all falling perfectly into his waiting servos

"Say it again Who's a mech among mechs? Who's the super success? Don't you know? Can't you guess? Ask his fans and his five hangers on... There's just one guy in town! Who's got all of it down..." The crowd sang out as they stomped to the beat.

"And his name's 'L-A... A...' I believe there's an 'N.'" Swindle shouted. "L-A-N-D-E... L-A-N-D-L.. OH!" He decided to drop it and finished with the tavern,

"LANDLOT...!"

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