Chapter Text
And now you’re just Sentinel’s bitch.
The stupid human had a point. He supposed even insects could elevate themselves into a single, coherent thought. But what did an insect understand about the struggles of his kind? What did an insect know of a conflict and betrayal older than its entire existence? Humans were but a cosmic blip on a scale so large they couldn’t fully comprehend.
And yet.
And now you’re just Sentinel’s bitch.
Pit-spawned glitch, she had a point. And it wasn’t one she could understand either, because it unified everything that Megatron had let slip through his claws in the better part of a millenia.
He’d been enthralled by The Fallen. Even though he hadn’t been mentally deprived and absent, he’d still been a slave to his will. Him. Megatron! High Protector of a world he handedly destroyed. High Protector of a Prime he now called enemy. Servant to another Prime, one that was not beyond destroying his successor if he stood in the way of their plans.
It was a wretched state of things. And now, command, the last thing he’d held onto with his dwindling pride, was not even in his servos anymore.
Stupid insect. He rose from his seat with a rattle of chains and a snarling engine. The Primes, the two surviving ones, had dismissed what a High Protector was. Or forgotten. Either way, he wasn’t going to stand by and accept any more orders from anyone.
As soon as he moved and locked onto Optimus’ signal (because that was undoubtedly where Sentinel was), he felt it. It wasn’t a conscious call, or even a clear distress beacon, it came from a deeper level, one where Megatron had not dared look since The Fallen’s demise.
His Prime’s spark was crying out for help. His Prime was calling out to be protected.
Megatron moved faster without conscious thought, leaping into a battle that shouldn’t be his own.
Sentinel had been poised to cleave Optimus’ helm off of his neck, and turned away from the far side of the bridge. He didn’t see the tank rolling, until Megatron barrelled into his back in root form, furiously snarling as his claws ripped into ancient plating, tore cables and tanks as he forced himself between Optimus and Sentinel, all of his protocols reduced to the primary, primal function he was always supposed to perform. Protect. His. Prime.
Sentinel went sprawling to the other side of the bridge, Megatron’s back to Optimus, shielding him even if his frame and armour were torn and blown apart in numerous places.
In that very moment, aeons could have passed, and Optimus would not have noticed. Where he had been embroiled in a battle with Sentinel, his trusted teacher, now traitor to his own teachings, just a moment ago, he was now fully caught in the onslaught of something he had not felt in millions of years.
Megatron’s field flared like his rage, scorching and savage and true , his retribution an attack so fierce that the bridge shook from the impact. Optimus’ entire spark mirrored the impact, trembling in his core as long-lost connections finally found their counterparts again. To be bonded, Optimus had nearly forgotten what that meant. War on a universal scale that they had forced it out of him, that knowledge. Being reminded of it now on such a primal level had him reel, unable to keep his spark from reaching out to Megatron in turn, his memory banks supplying him with impressions he thought he had banished for good. Megatron’s vows, etched into his very frame, spoken in front of many, meant only for him. His High Protector’s eternal promise to be his shield and sword. Broken as it had been for half an eternity, now renewed in the most unexpected moments.
What went through Megatron’s processor, Optimus did not need to know. His spark, his field, conveyed his intentions clear as day, clearly enough even for Sentinel’s optics to widen as he scrambled for leverage against the bridge’s railing.
“You– You dare interfere?” Sentinel swept his leg across, attempting to take Megatron off of his pedes. It allowed him to get himself back up. Although he had lost his shield, he still held his glaive in hand.
Damage reports and schemes had been forcibly pushed out of Megatron’s damaged processor, but that didn’t stop him from avoiding the low sweep. Sentinel may have been his teacher once too, but he’d never been his combat instructor. He was just an old engineer, if you stripped away his presumptuous title and faceplate.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, he respected Sentinel. That sentiment had long since burned out of him. Once upon a time, he trusted Primes. Oh how wrong they’d steered him. No more of it. He couldn’t actually think about it now, so he let his base programming drive him. His voice was low, his vents hot and steaming with the power pumping through his frame as his helm dropped low, stance ready, claws ready to savage Sentinel should he dare move.
“You dare touch my Prime?”
Megatron’s voice only confirmed what was blatantly broadcasted by his field and, if one had access to it, his spark. It was blinding in intensity, the clarity of Megatron’s base programming, and it took Optimus fully by surprise. He had spent millennia hoping, sometimes even praying despite his better belief, for this to happen one day. When all of that had given him nothing but more disappointment, more hurt, Optimus, in his grief and, successively, anger, had allowed himself to mourn the loss of his other half fully, so that he may be free of further faith that there was some part of him left that remembered .
And now, when all of this hope was long gone, on a planet light years away from home, in a fight that Optimus, doubly betrayed, had not expected to ever win, Megatron’s most basic instincts commanded him to do what he always should have done, to shield him and to fight for him.
How exactly this had happened or why it was now, Optimus could not figure out, not in this moment, possibly not ever. It did not matter though, not in this moment where suddenly, things had become more right than they had been in ages.
His sensors were blaring various alerts at him for having lost a limb and suffered other damage, external and internal, but Optimus’ spark was surging with a power long forgotten, overlaying the warnings with protocols it downloaded through the bond, uninhibited.
Megatron’s battle protocols were as strange as they were familiar, his own processor too quick to assume that the derivative it procured was entirely new. It wasn’t, Optimus had been trained by his Protector, potentially the only Prime to have ever undergone warframe-teaching.
With his functioning servo, he pushed himself up, grabbed his energon axe and charged Sentinel from behind. It was a reckless attack: damaged as he was, he would not be a match for the other Prime, but Optimus was not going for the killing blow here. When Sentinel whirled around, having fallen for the opportunity to attack the weaker target, Optimus’ optics flicked over Sentinel’s shoulder to rest on Megatron entirely, to witness the glory that would be his High Protector fulfilling his vows.
They didn’t communicate, but they never had to. This, this was all down to ancient coding that two newly spark-bonded, bright leaders of a world had etched into each other. It was as permanent as the glyphs they’d worn proudly back then, and still did now. Something that could surmount a betrayal as personal as theirs.
Optimus ran a distraction. A dangerous one, considering he could easily suffer more damage at Sentinel’s servos in his current state. But Optimus already knew what Megatron had not told him - this was no longer his fight. This was his High Protector’s moment to choose - the agony and hatred of four millenia, or proving himself to his Prime in his hour of need.
Sentinel turned to deal with Optimus, but Megatron wouldn’t let him touch Optimus ever again. With a rumbling growl that could have been his vocalizer or his engine, he launched himself at Sentinel. His bulk, even damaged as it was, outstripped the Prime’s tall frame, forcing him down, down on his front, down on the ground, prostrating before his successor. Megatron’s claw enclosed his helm, dragging the old Prime’s head and chassis back up, enough to face Optimus, to stare up at him in outrage and shock, though it wouldn’t last long.
Megatron’s cannon blasted the first hole through Sentinel’s shoulderplates, severing an arm to mirror Optimus, and disabling his ability to use his glaive. Not that Sentinel had much time or opportunity to execute any sort of defensive move, because Megatron’s other arm crashed and ripped through his chest until Sentinel’s sparkchamber was in his grasp, bursting out of Sentinel’s front. The old Prime sputtered, gargled, undignified and desperate. Megatron pressed him down with a heavy knee and crushed his spark whole, the chamber bursting between his claws, the blue plasma dissipating, the core dripping aqua energon and shimmering chips of sentio metallica.
Megatron stilled where he was, optics moving slowly from his kill up to Optimus, standing before him, just beyond the offered slag in Megatron’s palm.
Thinking was beyond him at that moment. Optimus’ spark swirled in its casing, surge upon surge feeding his field with the pride and pleasure derived from Megatron’s devotion. In this moment, the darkness of their strife faded away behind the blinding light that was their sparkbond reignited. His optics took in what was in front of him, the fallen foe, a Prime’s crushed sparkchamber in the claws of his victorious High Protector. An offering like this, proof of a victory claimed in his name, Optimus’ ancient protocols dictated, must be accepted, always. His processor being overridden the way it was, Optimus had no choice but to obey what ancient coding demanded. With his good servo, he reached out, sparks flying from damaged joints and connectors, but he managed to enclose his hand around the slag in Megatron’s claws. More sparks flew when their digits brushed, their frames electrified from battle and bond alike. When Optimus withdrew his hand, he held a shimmering chip in hand, the sentio metallica more reflective than any other material on this planet. His battle mask slid back, a rare sight in front of his enemy.
Their optics met, cerulean and crimson joined, as Optimus swallowed the piece, accepting what his co-ruler had offered him.
Only when he had done so did the ancient necessity fall away from him, gave his primary processing capabilities priority again so he could understand, fully grasp, the situation in front of him.
Optimus tasted energon, found his frame hurting and weak, and his first conscious reaction was to point his axe at his kneeling foe. Except that his arm wouldn’t move, instead his spark stretched out, reaching for its counterpart.
“ Megatron .” Optimus tried the designation. He spoke it and it came out filled with both pain and delight alike, a far cry from the commanding tone he had intended to use.
It was like a spell wore off from both of them, transporting them out of the past, where this kind of thing was an ode to their union, to the present, where they were enemies that should tear each other apart.
Megatron rose, disgusted with his instinct to kneel to anyone, even if Optimus was maybe the only thing left of worth in this universe. He was in better shape than his Prime, but his helm was open and his frame lousy with rust. If they fought now, they’d end each other.
“Optimus.”
His processor was racing. This was the first moment in millenia when he was completely free, and Optimus was not in a position to change his mind on his actions. No Fallen, whispering into his mind, not Sentinel, providing a quick fix to a terrible situation. No army at his back to drive him into his warhawking state of mind. Nothing but Megatron’s will, and the freedom of choice.
He stepped over Sentinel’s remains to tower over the prone Optimus. It would be so, so easy, to put an end to the Prime. An end to all that could stand in his way.
But he put his claw out instead, still messy and drenched. He opened his servo.
“I think it’s time for an end to this war.”
Optimus’ field frazzled at the edges, before he managed to draw it in tightly with enough force to have a nearby car siren wail and some broken street lights to flicker. Optimus’ optics finally lost their almost innocent touch, as his processor scrambled the last remnants of the former protocol activity and returned him to his usual state: respected leader, seasoned warrior, honed diplomat.
Some, reckless part of him edged him on to end it here and now, to preserve himself from further betrayal. Had they still been closed off from one another as they had been just some kliks ago before Megatron had jumped into the fray, Optimus might have taken that choice. Now, their bond burned brightly between them and with it, Optimus understood his intentions were pure.
Megatron’s servo, clawed and made to tear mecha apart just as he had done a moment ago, was larger than Optimus’ own. Still, Optimus’ fit perfectly into Megatron’s, blunt digits curling around sharp ones as he joined them together. As they should be.
“I think it’s time for us to figure out a way to go home. Together.”