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Protocol - A TFP Minimus Ambus Fic

CHAPTER 1: Knight in Shattered Armour

Summary: Ultra Magnus was nothing if not reliable. Ultra Magnus was nothing if not the strong, alert Second in Command of the Autobot forces - what little numbers they had left.

But take away the big suit of armour... and what remains? Who is he, then?

AKA: Minimus loses the Magnus armour. And his mind.

WARNING: Robo-violence and robo-blood. Anxiety and identity crises in-bound.

AO3

- - -

Ultra Magnus did not often lose control. He was unshaken, unyielding, uncompromising. He was rigid. Stern. That is what made him an excellent commander, and why Optimus Prime made Ultra Magnus his Second during the war. Ultra Magnus was reliable and did not falter unless it was tactically necessary. His soldiers knew he would never fall.

That was the legacy of Ultra Magnus.

But that was before he faced the Predacon.

The golden hammer of Solus Prime swung into his body and Ultra Magnus crashed against the rocks. The Predacon threw him and beat him 'til Ultra Magnus had nothing left. Now, as he lay on the cavern floor, Ultra Magnus mustered his last dregs of energy to reach for the Forge. His fingers, outstretched-

The Predacon crushed them, grinding Ultra Magnus' digits beneath his heel.

Ultra Magnus' control shattered. The Autobot commander cried out, rolling onto his back as he drew his mangled hand to his chest. The Predacon reached for the hammer.

"How does it feel?" the Predacon rumbled low in his register as he bared his teeth. He hefted the hammer with little effort. "To be helpless, scared... now, you know how my brethren felt when you snuffed their sparks."

"Magnus..." Wheeljack called from his crumpled heap. A plea, or a warning.

Ultra Magnus looked up at the Predacon, letting his helm fall back on the stone floor. The Predacon turned his optics from the Forge unto his fallen enemy. There was no mercy in his golden gaze. Only ruthless vindication.

Ultra Magnus was afraid.

The Predacon raised the hammer - and he swung.

Ultra Magnus screamed.

His chest buckled under the combined might of the Predacon and the Forge. Metal cracked and bent. Pain lit up every sensor in Ultra Magnus' body and he barely opened his optics in time to see the hammer coming down again-

Wheeljack could only watch. His shouts were hoarse, crackling with static. He fired his blaster as he crawled toward Magnus. He could only watch as the Predacon brought the Forge down upon Ultra Magnus' head. The Commander stopped responding after the second blow.

Optimus arrived far too late.

Optimus crashed into the Predacon, hurling the large mech across the cavern. Yanking the minigun off his back, Optimus shot down more stalactites from the ceiling, which crashed upon the Predacon and the floor that had already taken a heavy beating. The ground crumbled beneath the Predacon's feet. Down, he sank into the earth.

Wheeljack had seen many horrors in this war - committed many of them himself. But the flattened, broken helm of Ultra Magnus stirred something within him. Wheeljack couldn't bring himself to look away. He staggered to his feet and hooked his hands under Ultra Magnus' arms, trying to drag the Commander to the exit on his own, despite its futility.

"Prime," Wheeljack said into proximity comms, hating how his voice shook, "you gotta get Magnus to the doc, now!"

Optimus turned to his comrades. There was little doubt in the Prime's mind that the Predacon would finish what he started once he emerged from the rubble.

Optimus didn't get a good look at his second-in-command until that moment. The shock that tore through his frame made the Prime freeze.

Primes were not supposed to freeze.

Swiftly, Optimus asked, "Can you drive?"

"I'm good," Wheeljack insisted. "Go!"

Optimus gathered Ultra Magnus' beaten body in his arms - a feat that would have been impossible without his reformatting by the very tool that had done this - and flew out of the cavern. Wheeljack stared at the pool of energon left in the commander's wake. He turned his gaze to the Forge. Of course, it was undamaged. Flecks of blue paint now dotted its bludgeoning surface. Wheeljack grabbed the handle. On a good day, he might have succeeded - but in his weakened state, the hammer did not budge. He glared down at it. Then, he transformed and drove as fast as his engine would allow, fleeing from muffled roars that were quickly becoming much louder.

The remaining pair of Autobots were clustered around the groundbridge portal. Bumblebee had long-ago pushed the last cart of energon through, leaving just Smokescreen and Bulkhead. They both jumped to attention when they heard the Prime's approach. First, headlights - then, a whole lot of blue.

Seeing that Optimus was not stopping, Bulkhead yanked Smokescreen out of the way. Their glimpse of the Commander in Optimus' arms was brief.

Wheeljack raced out of the cavern soon after. They wanted answers, but all Wheeljack could say once he transformed was:

"It's bad."

Bulkhead knew that look in Jackie's eyes. It was the same look when Wheeljack came back without Kup; the same look Bulk saw on bots who lost their entire squadron.

The trio entered the groundbridge to find chaos in Unit: E.

Ratchet was yelling orders, demanding to know what happened as he scrambled to stabilize the Commander on a ramshackle medical berth. Bumblebee was holding Raf and Miko in his arms, keeping his back turned to Magnus' body while Jack stared on from the catwalk. Arcee dragged the privacy screen out - just a draped tarp on squeaky wheels. It was enough to conceal the Commander and give Ratchet the illusion of his own space. White as a sheet, Jack turned away and tapped the key on Raf's keyboard that he knew would deactivate the groundbridge.

"Wheeljack," Optimus called. The Wrecker approached the corner that served as their sick bay, downplaying his limp. Optimus wanted to know what happened. Wheeljack told him; he didn't skimp out on any details.

"And the brute just kept swinging," Wheeljack relayed, his gaze straying on Magnus' broken, bleeding blue faceplate and cracked optics. Ratchet's hands never stopped, but Wheeljack knew he was listening. It was vital for Ratchet to know this. Wheeljack felt his own face crack, anger twisting his scarred mouth. He said, "I couldn't stop him."

Optimus laid a hand on Wheeljack's shoulder. Wheeljack didn't let it comfort him, but he didn't fight the contact, either.

"It's never easy seeing our comrades hurt," Optimus said in that gentle tone that Wheeljack didn't want to hear. Wheeljack wanted anger, revenge - something to fight. The Prime said, "Do not blame yourself."

"I don't," Wheeljack snapped. His fists squeezed 'til they creaked, then he loosened them. Subdued, Wheeljack said, "Just as I was startin' to like him..."

"Don't lose hope, Wheeljack," Optimus responded, increasing the weight of his servo as if he might drag Wheeljack out of his own head. "He is in good hands."

There wasn't much hope to lose: Magnus' chest was caved in. If his spark chamber wasn't hit, it would be a Primus-damned miracle. And his helm... if he survived, whatever was left of Magnus' brain module wouldn't be Ultra Magnus anymore. A few weeks ago, Wheeljack would've made a joke about that being a miracle.

"I'm goin' for a drive," Wheeljack muttered. Optimus' grip did not lessen and Wheeljack very nearly shoved the Prime off - but something else snagged his attention.

A hiss - like releasing hydraulics.

It was coming from Ultra Magnus.

Wheeljack limped toward his commander's crushed, unresponsive body, the Prime's hand easily sliding off his shoulder. Ratchet, in his surprise, had ceased his work. Wheeljack might have yelled at him for stopping - but something was happening to Ultra Magnus.

Magnus' concaved chest rattled like it was trying to transform.

Instinctually, Wheeljack's mind jumped to the worst case: rigor morphis. The dead changing into the body's preferred shape. Ultra Magnus died right here on this table - or even back in that cavern.

But Ratchet's display was still reading a pulse.

"Ratch," Wheeljack said, unsure.

"I don't..." Ratchet started, equally as lost.

"Ratchet," Optimus suddenly said, the urgency in his voice giving them both a start, "open his chassis, now!"

Ratchet didn't question - he acted. He grabbed a pair of heavy-duty pliers and buried its jaws between cracked plates. Ultra Magnus should've been too tough for such a simple tool, but the Forge had done so much damage that his armour came apart like fired clay.

Ratchet's prying did the job: Ultra Magnus' chestplates stuttered again, then began to shift. Pieces squealed and cracked against each other, paint chips scraping as they pulled apart to reveal the open cavity of his torso.

Then, within the cavity, there was light.

Twin red lights.

And then...

A hand.

"Oh, my," Ratchet uttered under his breath.

Wheeljack could only watch as a small - tiny - green servo breached the darkness like a zombie from its grave. A white arm followed, and then another. And then a helm.

The red optics instantly threw Wheeljack off, but he was frozen. He didn't reach for a blade or blaster, just... stared.

"Prime," was the first word out of the Minicon's mouth. It was quiet, and dare Wheeljack say, nervous.

The Minicon pulled himself out of Magnus' body like some kind of parasitic insect from those creepy wildlife documentaries that the kids put on to freak out their 'Bots. The mech was so small - barely bigger than a human, himself. Most of him was white, his joints detailed here and there by the same shade of faded green. A geometric strip of black metal sat over his green faceplate, uncannily akin to a man's moustache.

"Minimus," Optimus greeted, the relief in his voice knocking Wheeljack from his shocked stupour. Smiling softly, Optimus said, "I'm glad to see you unharmed, Commander."

Comma- Commander?!

"Hold on, now," Wheeljack interjected, squinting suspiciously at the Minicon who stiffly sat upon Ultra Magnus' lifeless corpse like a trophy - or like a ride. Wheeljack didn't miss how the small bot flinched when Wheeljack limped closer, the red-eyed stranger's posture straightening ever further. "You're..."

"Minimus Ambus," the bot answered, though without the certainty that introducing oneself should have. "And, yes, I am also..." He looked back at the body that he crawled out of. With a heavy weight of mourning, and in a cadence that was so familiar, he said, "Ultra Magnus."

Ratchet caught Minimus' eye. Sternly, the medic proclaimed, "So, this is why you always refused preliminary scans. And you didn't think I, as your primary care provider, should have known you were wearing a suit of armour?"

Minimus raised his hands in a placating manner. "Ratchet, please, I- I know it wasn't wise. It was... for my own comfort."

"Comfort," Ratchet blandly echoed.

Minimus clasped his servos, wringing them helplessly. Ultra Magnus did not fidget. Ultra Magnus did not wring his hands.

But he wasn't Ultra Magnus anymore.

For so long, Minimus had dreaded this very happenstance. The instant the Forge crushed the suit's helm, his connection to the armour had gone with it, leaving him veritably trapped within his own lifeless body. Minimus hoped the day would never come that he had to reveal himself - that he would continue to be Ultra Magnus: the strong, reliable Second in Command of the Autobot army. Blind, motionless, Minimus had waited while those outside fretted to fix him - but it couldn't be fixed with him inside, neither could he remain within the damaged armour forever. The Forge had come terribly close to damaging him; another blow to the chest, and Minimus might not have come away unscathed.

The emergency exit still worked, thank the Allspark. Thank Ratchet, Minimus corrected himself: it was because of the medic's intervention that Minimus escaped.

Minimus glanced Wheeljack's way. That look - that look was precisely what he wished to avoid. The judgement. It made him want to crawl back inside the armour. It was harsh and unpleasant - but it was also Wheeljack. 'Unpleasant' was the Wrecker's primary operating system.

Sighing, Ratchet asked, "Are you unharmed?"

Minimus said, "Yes - yes, I'm fine, Doctor. Thank you. Wheeljack is the one you should be tending to. The Predacon was not gentle or forgiving."

Wheeljack's expression shifted, but Minimus couldn't read it. Ratchet ushered the mech to a crate and ordered him to sit. Wheeljack's silent compliance took them all by surprise.

Optimus stepped closer, blocking off the doctor and his patient with his bulk. Minimus was forced to crane his neck back to meet the Prime's eye. It had been a very long time since they met face-to-face - and the Prime had grown in that time. 'Robust' was telling it lightly.

Coming to the same realization, Optimus knelt down, putting himself on equal ground.

"You look well, old friend," Optimus said, that slight smile making a return.

Minimus shook his helm. "I never wanted this, Optimus," he admitted. His fists tightened. "No one was supposed to find out. And the armour..."

"I know," Optimus soothed.

Minimus' features fell as his thin guise of control crumpled. "They will never respect me. The team - they'll never... I cannot fight like this." Minimus stood, what little good it did for his diminutive stature. "The team needs more soldiers, not..." Minimus splayed his servos over his chest, "me. Now, more than ever!" Minimus gestured widely. "What use is a load-bearer who can't even bear arms? I cannot wield a blade, a gun-"

"Old friend," Optimus tried to interrupt, but Minimus was on a roll. He paced the limited space of the medical bed.

"They will laugh, Optimus!" Minimus knew he was being hysterical. He was being dramatic, making a fool of himself in front of his leader. Any iota of professionalism fled his weak, miniscule grasp. Minimus was mindful of his volume. "They won't take me seriously - not ever again. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. The troops - they'll lose morale. After I'm finished being the laughing-stock. What good is a commander they can't rely on? That could be crushed under-heel? I've left a gaping wound in our ranks for the Decepticons to take advantage of, and-"

"Please, my friend," Optimus interjected, his imploring tone taking Minimus off guard, "do not speak in such a way."

"Optimus-"

"Minimus." A single word - his name - carried enough gravity to draw him in. It had not been spoken in so long. Leaving no room for argument, Optimus asserted, "Your value does not stem only from your strength on the battlefield, nor does your usefulness determine your worth as a member of this team. Do you see them out there?"

Minimus couldn't bring himself to look. And if he had, it wouldn't have mattered: the flimsy privacy screen was drawn. Minimus could not see over it as Optimus could.

Optimus said, "They are concerned for you. They care about you. Do you remember what we spoke of earlier?"

Minimus did not reply for a long moment. The question had burned in his mind since their conversation. It had followed him into Shockwave's laboratory, and now, he would finally know.

At last, Minimus asked, "What could be greater than an army?"

Optimus nodded. And he answered: "Family."

Minimus didn't know how to respond to that. Instead, he looked down at the suit of armour. That concern - that wasn't for him. It was for Ultra Magnus, which he still had a hard time believing. Ultra Magnus was not well-liked. He wasn't here to be liked - and yet, it still rankled in his spark when he recalled how joyfully the team flocked to their leader. Perhaps, he was too harsh on them. He was a newcomer. And not only that, but he enforced proper protocol that seemed to be entirely absent 'til now. They weren't an army. After so long, so much fighting, the concept was... foreign to him.

Ultra Magnus was accustomed to being disliked. Minimus Ambus expected it.

Family. The word rang hollow - not because it lacked meaning, but because in his own experience, family was just another title. It belonged to an estranged brother who was most likely dead. Perhaps, in this way, family had lost its meaning.

Optimus said, "Penny for your thoughts?"

Minimus looked up, puzzlement quirking one of his brows. "Another human saying?"

Optimus' eyes held amusement. His chin dipped, encouraging his friend to speak.

Minimus sighed shortly, frustrated. He took a seat on the armour. "I've already voiced them. I am... inadequate. Unfit."

"Because you feel your use has expired."

Rather lamely, Minimus nodded.

Optimus vented deeply. He shifted where he knelt. "I believe every one of us feels, or has felt, this way," he said, thoughtful in diction and tone, as always. "Injuries, self-perceived short-comings - they leave us feeling worth less. Words alone cannot combat it. This, I have learned. But I have also learned that those around us do not see our failures. There, I find, lies the importance of family. We support one another, even through strife. Especially through strife. In times of vulnerability, we may let others see parts of ourselves that we previously kept hidden. You may find your fears are unfounded, old friend - you believe they will laugh at you, but I do not. This may be a period of growth for all - to let them see you as you are. This is a great level of trust, of vulnerability, and I see only strength in that. You are not defined by your utility, my friend. Or have you forgotten why this war began?"

Minimus allowed his friend's words to sink in. Optimus was unfairly well-versed in rousing speeches. The Matrix, no doubt, had a hand in that: the collective wisdom of the Primes, all directed at making his self-conscious commander feel better. Minimus was embarrassed that he'd put the Prime in that position - that Minimus needed a 'pep talk' like a freshly-sparked foundling recruit.

"Your wisdom knows no bounds," Minimus said, presenting himself to be aloof. He was quiet, now, in his reflection and shame.

Optimus gave him a Look, then rose to his full height.

"I'll inform everyone that you're alright," Optimus said, "and that you require space."

"They'll have questions," Minimus warned.

"I'll leave those for you to answer, old friend," Optimus said, a teasing note in his words.

Optimus Prime walked off, his heavy steps echoing through the building. Minimus listened as he addressed the team, giving reassurances and vague comforts about the Commander's condition. Sure enough, there were questions - but Optimus was true to his word, responding only with more affirmations to soothe their minds.

"Hey," Wheeljack said.

Minimus turned his helm. Wheeljack hadn't moved from the crate. Ratchet tended to Wheeljack's wounds, mending lesions and popping dents. It occurred to Minimus, with a great flood of dread and fresh mortification, that the pair likely heard every word between himself and Optimus.

"That was some mighty fine teamwork out there, Sir," Wheeljack said, the slightest quirk to his lips. "I'm... it's good to see you still alive and kickin'. Was worried that beast really took you out. Woulda been a shame to lose ya, Mag- er. Minimus."

Minimus' spark uncoiled from its anxious knot. For the first time in - perhaps - millennia, Minimus felt a smile grace his faceplate. It was thin, obscured by his facial insignia, but it was there. "Thank you, Wheeljack," he said. "You fought well, today. You impressed me."

Wheeljack settled back on his impromptu seat with an easy-going smile. "Heh, thanks." Tipping his head forward, Wheeljack added, "Commander.Nice knowin'... well, the real you, I s'pose. You're a good mech. For whatever it's worth, I'm sure the gang agrees with me. You got nothin' to worry about, Sir."

Hearing that from Wheeljack, of all mechs... the Wrecker that hated him since the start, that wanted nothing more than Ultra Magnus gone... it meant more than Minimus expected. More than Wheeljack could ever know.

All other words lost to him, Minimus said, "Thank you."

Wheeljack refocused on the medic at his side, complaining, "Ain'tcha done yet? Bulk and the kids are waitin' for me out there! I got a kickass story to tell."

Ratchet's glare wasn't nearly as severe, lacking its usual menace toward their resident explosives specialist. He said, "Only if you want to walk out of here looking like a beat-up oil drum."

Wheeljack exhaled dramatically, resting his elbows on his knees. Ratchet worked out another dent on his shoulder while muttering about impatient patients. Outwardly, Minimus hid his amusement in all but his raised brows.

Minimus turned his attention to the Magnus armour. It was strange to gaze upon a body that, for millennia, had been him. His reflection in his mind did not match the reality. These small, green servos belonged to someone else.

Minimus' shoulders dropped as he looked over the extent of the damage. In the armour's usual state, the chest would have been far too large for him to see over. It was telling that Minimus could assess the damage without needing a higher vantage point. He slid off the torso and walked up the undamaged arm to a shoulder pillar, where he stopped to examine the armour's grotesquely smashed helm. A normal mech wouldn't survive such an attack. Minimus spun himself in circles trying to think of ways to repair the damage. Ratchet had many talents, but was he experienced in the field of cosmetic surgery? And Ratchet had so many responsibilities already... fixing a non-vital suit of armour wasn't a priority. It would be a waste of so very limited resources.

One final dent popped into place and Ratchet said, "There. Now, you're free to go. Get out." Ratchet turned to Minimus. "I need a word with our commander."

Wheeljack hopped off the crate, saying, "Thanks a bunch, Sunshine."

Ratchet scoffed angrily and began to object. Before Ratchet fully formed a sentence, Wheeljack was swaggering off with a half-serious salute and nod sent Minimus' way. Wheeljack cut Ratchet off with a casual, "See ya out there, Sir."

Wheeljack disappeared behind the tarp serving as a privacy screen.

Wielding a scanner, Ratchet approached the occupied medical berth. "You're not getting out of it this time," he said, flicking on the handheld device. "Come here. I need you away from the armour."

Stiff as a steel rod, Minimus hopped down to the berth and sidestepped the blue helm's antennae. Minimus stood close to the edge. Ratchet lifted the scanner and a green beam of light swept up and down Minimus' diminutive person. It beeped. Ratchet performed another scan with the one built into his forearm.

"Unsurprising," Ratchet muttered, then said, "Tell me: how often do you practice self-care? Oiling, polishing, debugging, et cetera, et cetera."

"Bi-weekly, on-schedule," Minimus proudly reported.

Doubtful, Ratchet said, "Uh-huh. And how often for your real body?"

Minimus didn't answer.

"When did you last exit the armour?"

Minimus couldn't answer.

Ratchet exhaled. "...right. I'll be straight-forward: your body is neglected. You are long overdue maintenance of any kind. I'm seeing rust build-up around your joints - and don't think I haven't noticed your stiffness. You need a good oiling and a long, proper defrag. I recommend daily stretching exercises, as well, and a soak and scrub to deal with that rust. It's very little, thank goodness, given how long it's been left to fester. The armour held oxidation at bay, I'll give it that."

Ratchet examined Minimus again, though there were no beams or lights following his optics. Ratchet never could have imagined Magnus - towering, imposing, authoritative Ultra Magnus - looking so small. And Ratchet didn't refer only to his physical stature, either: it seemed as if Minimus were trying to withdraw into himself, like there was another shell of armour he could hide within. Ratchet knew from his scans that this was not the case. Without the armour, Minimus was struggling to retain his unwavering confidence; Minimus felt powerless.

Ratchet empathized deeply.

Ratchet let his shoulders sag. He wasn't good with emotions; he wasn't that kind of doctor. That was Optimus' job: empowering words and a comforting presence. Ratchet looked over the privacy screen, his gaze landing on the back of Optimus' helm. Sensing his friend's gaze, Optimus turned, a silent question on his faceplate. Ratchet hoped his own expression conveyed his loss on how to proceed. Optimus' look of reassurance wasn't reassuring one bit; Ratchet wasn't the one who needed it.

When Ratchet's optics dropped to his patient, Ratchet was met with Minimus' back. The Commander was surveying his damaged armour.

"Would you like a moment alone?" Ratchet asked.

"Yes, please - if it's no bother," Minimus replied, uncharacteristically subdued. "Thank you, Doctor."

Ratchet did not respond, leaving the Commander to his contemplating.

Wheeljack was amidst his retelling to the kids, no doubt exaggerating and playing up the heroics. The rest of the team was enraptured, Bumblebee and Smokescreen and Bulkhead listening just as - if not more - intently than their human companions. Arcee leaned against the mezzanine, equal parts curious and unsettled by the fact that the Predacon could, in fact, transform. It - he - wasn't some mindless beast; he was fully capable of intelligent thought and, quite possibly, reason. And no less a threat in his bipedal mode. Wheeljack and Ul- Minimus' destruction of the developing Predacons had made things personal.

Ratchet looked over the stock of energon that they just so happened to find outside Shockwave's laboratory - an awfully convenient discovery. Perhaps, Megatron had drawn the same conclusions as the Wreckers: more indestructible, independent soldiers loyal to another mech was not an army the warlord wanted. Predacons were not Vehicons, after all.

"Me and the commander start beatin' the scrap outta big, mean, and angry, just tossin' him back and forth like a lob ball," Wheeljack was saying. "We don't let him get his bearings. One hit after another - wham, wham, BAM!" Wheeljack punched his palm in time with each enunciation. From her perch on Bulkhead's shoulder, Miko's eyes sparkled. Smokescreen bounced on his feet, the doors on his back fluttering with pent-up energy. Older members of the team knew this victory was short-lived and did not share their excitement. Not even Bumblebee, whose hands cradled Raf to his chest. Up to that point, the fight had been brutal on the both of them; Wheeljack's wounds when he exited the groundbridge were story enough. Wheeljack said, "It was beautiful, I tell ya - like a work of art." Wheeljack paused. Even the youngest among them sensed his change in demeanour.

"But he got the upper hand," Raf said quietly.

Dire, Wheeljack said, "We dropped a whole mountain on him, and he picked up that rock like it was nothin'. Gave me a taste of it, too - nearly flattened me into a tin can. I was lucky. Magnus..." Wheeljack's brows lowered. "If we're talkin' about luck, Magnus musta been blessed by Primus himself. Predacon stomps on his hand and picks up that hammer..." Wheeljack glanced down at the kids. He looked away. "I think you can put the rest together. It wasn't pretty. I thought Magnus was a goner..." Wheeljack straightened up. "But the Commander's strong. He pulled through. Whatever happens now, he had my back, and I'm gonna have his. Now, he might not be easiest mech to get along with, but he doesn't leave a bot behind."

"Whoa," Arcee said, going for light-hearted, "is that respect I hear?"

Wheeljack gave her a non-serious side-eye. "Yeah, well... the Commander's earned it."

Arcee's smirk softened. She nodded at him. Wheeljack looked to Bulkhead, who was torn between pride and concern. Bulkhead pointed his thumb to a secluded corner of the military hangar. They waited for the rest of the team to become engaged by their own stories and speculation about the Predacon, distracting themselves from the worry that was hanging over their heads. Bulkhead urged Miko onto his hand and gently set her on the mezzanine next to Jack. She was confused.

"What for?" Miko said.

"Just for a minute," Bulkhead told her. "Me an' Jackie are gonna have a quick aside."

Wheeljack and Bulkhead split off from the team. Bulkhead reached for Wheeljack's arm, pulling him aside. Unit: E didn't offer much, space-wise. Privacy was practically non-existent.

"I know that look," Bulkhead said, his voice hushed. "I know when you're not tellin' the whole truth. Spill. What happened back there?"

Wheeljack glanced at the privacy screen hiding a lifeless body, then shook his head. "Bulk..." Wheeljack ex-vented. "It was bad."

"You said that."

"Real bad. You don't want the details, trust me."

Bulkhead squinted. "You're hiding somethin'."

"It's not for me to say, alright? That's up to the Commander. I'm not goin' behind his back."

Bulkhead appraised his best friend with a growing smile under his hinged jaw. "Aw, 'Jackie. Magnus has really grown on you, huh?" Bulkhead closed his hand into a fist and nudged Wheeljack's shoulder. "You see? He's not so bad."

Wheeljack groaned, weakly pushing Bulkhead away. "Don't! Don't start. If I hear an 'I told you so', I swear-"

Bulkhead threw his hand up, chuckling. "Alright! Alright. It's just... nice seein' you two get along. Being part of the team. And not, you know, butting heads anymore."

Wheeljack hung his head. "Yeah..." Unable to stop himself, Wheeljack looked toward the privacy screen again. He mumbled, "Real nice."

Behind the tarp, Minimus Ambus was thinking. 'Stalling' would be the more apt term. He paced up and down the berth, his strides barely making a sound: small, proportionate clangs that were drowned out by the others' conversations. Ultra Magnus' steps could never be drowned out.

Minimus spun on his heel and began his pacing anew.

If he was ever going to readjust to his own body, Minimus simply must stop comparing himself to... him. An idea. An ideal. Minimus may have been Ultra Magnus, but Ultra Magnus was not him. That was an empty shell to be passed down and puppetered around, to keep the image and authority of a dead mech alive. Did Optimus know the previous Ultra Magnuses? Had the original been his friend, as well?

Minimus preferred those questions unanswered. He'd rather the questions haunt him over a yes.

Minimus stroked his chin. He stood in place, his processor a-whirl with plans and strategies that would ultimately lead nowhere because he knew only one, true path lay ahead: confrontation. No matter how long he delayed, there were no other roads to take. Minimus crossed his arms, holding himself a meagre comfort. What comfort was to be found in this stranger's embrace?

Minimus tore his crimson gaze from the desiccated corpse taking up valuable space on their sole medical slab. It would serve better thrown in storage, stripped for spare parts. Fitting, thought Minimus, that an empty husk had more use than he.

Minimus was startled by a voice speaking directly in his helm - the only mech that had access to his personal comm line.

"Are you well?" Optimus asked.

Minimus ex-vented. "I would be a liar if I answered that."

The line went quiet. Minimus tapped a digit on his arm, an even tempo timed precisely. After the sixth count, Optimus' voice returned.

"Is there anything I could do to ease your discomfort?"

Tap. Tap. Tap. Minimus said, "I... I don't know, Optimus. Introductions seem... tacky. I won't ask you to speak for me."

"You don't need to ask."

"Then I shall kindly ask not to." Tap. Tap. Minimus put an end to his nervous tic, saying, "I'm sorry, Optimus. Your offer is... appreciated. I am struggling to think of the proper approach. The body - it should be stowed away, out of sight. It may be... troubling to look at. For the young ones, especially."

"That is very thoughtful."

Minimus scoffed a little. Optimus gave him too much credit. "The barest of considerations."

"Perhaps, but considerate all the same. If I may... would you be amenable to physical support, if not verbal?"

It took Minimus an embarrassingly long moment to decipher what Optimus meant by that: quite literally, Optimus was offering a hand. Minimus was surprised by his lack of outright disgust. It was quite rude to pick up a Minicon without their consent, and a touchy subject overall. Many argued how depersonalizing it was to be treated as an object, insisting it was never right even when granted permission. Minimus could recall only one instance: a bodyguard, far in the past - prior to Minimus being fitted for a larger frame to walk the streets without worry of trampling. It wasn't proper for a noblemech to be of such small stature, so decreed the House of Ambus. Minimus' brother - Dominus - befell the same unfortunate status, receiving his own matching suit of armour. Minimus was forced to abandon his when he became the latest bearer of the 'Ultra Magnus' mantle.

It was likely slumped in a basement somewhere on Cybertron, as lifeless as this suit. Another empty shell whose purpose expired.

"I," Minimus said in reply, "am not unopposed to it."

The team couldn't possibly lose more respect. And... Optimus was a comforting presence.

Optimus' smile was audible. "Thank you, Minimus."

Minimus was puzzled. "For what?"

"For trusting me."

"Of course I- oh, I see. You're trying to turn this into a teachable moment. You are not subtle, Optimus."

"Only partially. Truly, my friend, I am touched that you would trust me in this manner. I understand such a thing is... controversial."

Hastily, Minimus said, "We don't need to discuss it. I prefer we didn't, actually."

"Very well. Have you come to a decision? The children must go to their families, soon, and I know they are eager to see you. Will you see them?"

Optimus was cruel to use the children against him, introducing a time limit. Minimus began to tap his arm again. He had wasted enough time already.

Minimus pursed his lips, but the word struggled to leave them. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. At long last, he managed to get it out: a strained, "...fine."

Minimus heard the approaching steps before he felt them. Optimus needn't make any announcement: once the gargantuan mech started for the makeshift medical bay, there was an abrupt cut-off of all chatter that unsettled Minimus. A silence that was suffocating; it was reminiscent of the deadly quiet before an air raid, the very atmosphere holding its breath before the bombs dropped. Optimus' helm crested the privacy screen and he met Minimus' anxious gaze with a gentle smile that made one forget their troubles. Minimus was not one to forget. He felt so small as Optimus' shadow settled over him. So small, so vulnerable, like an exposed fuel line. Minimus hugged himself tighter.

Optimus brought himself down on one knee. His shadow receded. Despite his best effort, he still hovered many heads over Minimus' own.

"It will be alright," Optimus murmured.

"Will it?" Minimus nearly pleaded.

"Yes."

There was not a hint of doubt in the Prime's voice. It was almost enough to make Minimus believe it.

Minimus' vents flushed in a deep sigh. The thin armour of his biceps protested as his grip tightened, then released. He wouldn't be the least bit surprised if his fingers left indents. He was so fragile - nothing like the Magnus armour. And look at it now: broken beyond repair.

Optimus stood. With measured grace, Optimus lifted his hand and laid it on the medical berth, palm to the sky. Minimus took a step, then another, then faltered.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" Minimus said without looking away from the offered servo.

"Of course," Optimus replied.

It was a pointless question: Minimus saw how Optimus handled the children on the rare occasions they asked. He was so relentlessly gentle, holding them as if made of something endlessly more delicate than glass. They would sit or stand in his palm with such confidence - such certainty that they were safe and cared-for.

Minimus couldn't allow himself to be outperformed by children. Him, a soldier and commander who faced death without falter. This was child's play.

Even so, Minimus moved deliberately slowly toward the waiting servo. He extended his own, hesitating before making contact. Minimus pressed his weight into Optimus' large servo and braced a knee, hoisting himself up as he pushed off his heel and crawled into Optimus' palm. Minimus settled within the centre, his legs folded as the children so often sat. Such a position wasn't comfortable in the far larger Magnus armour. Minimus must look the part of a lost newspark, glancing around as if seeing through brand new optics and unsure how to react.

Joints rasped and clicked as Optimus moved his palm. His other servo cupped beneath the first, and they settled below the windows built into Optimus' chestplates - below the privacy screen. Though Minimus sat ramrod straight, he swayed in tune with the motion.

Minimus untwisted his lower half and rose to his feet, a slight judder of his knee joints making his movements awkward and stilted. His head only just reached the emblem in the centre of Optimus' chestplates. Minimus forced himself to say, "Gather them. Quickly. I want this over and done with."

Optimus spared Minimus several more moments of grace before he looked over his shoulder. "Everyone," he said to the entire hangar, "please gather 'round. This is very important. I request that you bear an open mind, and above all, be kind. Thank you."

Bulkhead offered a hand to both Miko and Jack. Miko didn't wait before scrambling up his arm and parking herself on the flat plane of armour next to his head. Jack rode out his lift, leaving Bulkhead's servo and sitting on Bulkhead's other shoulder. Bumblebee carried Raf over. Them and the other members of Team Prime joined to form a semi-circle around Optimus. Ratchet was quick to stop them from coming too close, bodily enforcing a perimeter around the privacy screen so that none got close enough to see over - Bulkhead and his passengers, especially.

"What's this about?" Arcee asked from the front row. An undertone of dread clung to her words.

Optimus sent a message over his comm line. He said, "Are you ready, Minimus?"

Over the line, there came a resigned, "I must be."

Optimus turned around, and Minimus faced his team. His... no. Minimus wasn't comfortable calling them 'family'. He hadn't earned that title.

Nine pairs of eyes stared Minimus down - or up, in Arcee's case.

Minimus wanted to crawl out of his body. He didn't want to be here. Skirmishes and ambushes and armies and Predacons, and none ever had him so shaken. He stood stiff as a statue, his servos folded behind his back. Not a peep was spoken or beeped. And then:

"Who's the Pringles' mascot?"

"Miko," chorused a host of disapproving voices: Ratchet, Arcee, Bulkhead, both Jacks, and even Rafael.

"Don't be rude," called Raf.

"Am I wrong?" Miko protested. Jack leaned around the back of Bulkhead's cranium and swatted her on the arm, missing his first swipe. Miko swung blindly in retaliation, and Jack backed off.

"It," Minimus pronounced in his 'Listen to Me' voice, "is a facial insignia of my House. My name is Minimus Ambus, and-"

"Ambus?" Smokescreen piped up. "Like the- oh! Okay! I read about the House of Ambus when I was studying for the final exam. That's cool."

"As I was saying," Minimus said, trying to be patient whilst simultaneously charmed by Smokescreen's diligence, "I-" What was he saying? Scrap. How could he lose focus?! Minimus conjured, "I am an ally. Your ally. I..." Slag. He didn't know what to say. His script was failing him.

"Where did you come from?" Arcee asked, ever critical.

Behind his back, Minimus began to tap a digit on his wrist. Three beats later, Minimus stated, "I arrived on this planet two months past. My name is Minimus Ambus, but you know me by another. In another form. You know me as..."

Minimus' nervous tick quickened. Tap-tap-tap-tap-

Minimus steeled himself, clamping his digits tight. At last, he declared, "Ultra Magnus."

There was a beat of stunned disbelief.

Then, chaos erupted.

- - -

AO3