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CROSS - CHAPTER 1: This Plan is Never Going to Work

SUMMARY:

“After his last mission with you, Sentinel Prime related something of interest to me,” Ultra Magnus had said, giving Optimus an appraising glance. “He informed me that Megatron seems to be under the impression that he can recruit you.”

Optimus’s optics cycled wide, and without almost any actual thought, he blurted out, “I would never betray the autobots!”

Ultra Magnus’s face did not change, but his optics glinted. “I am aware, Optimus Prime. That is exactly why I am asking you to do just that.”

A pause.

“What?”

—

A new Autobot-Decepticon war rages on. Both sides cling to what territory they have and struggle to achieve any real progress.

For the soldiers on the ground, the battles seem never ending. Victory is short lived and often followed almost immediately by new defeat. For the mechs at the top, the choices are never easy. Sacrifices and risky plays are the name of the game in this eternal war.

The Autobots may have numbers, but there is a traitor in their midst who is proving difficult to uproot.

And then Ultra Magnus makes the decision to give the Autobots their own peek behind enemy lines. By sending Optimus Prime to become a Decepticon.

—

Chapter 1 (here) | Chapter 2

Read it on AO3 or here below ↓

—

Maybe none of this would have gone so badly if they’d simply learned who Shockwave’s Autobot alter ego was.

::Optimus you are not clear to engage, I repeat, you are not clear to engage! Get the frag out of there before they shoot you out of the sky!::

Optimus resists the urge to mute Ratchet—because despite the old mech’s nagging, it’s still never a good idea to go dark on comms. Instead, he continues ignoring Ratchet as he cleaves his way through the Decepticon ranks, catching one in the wing with his axe and swinging them down to meet the missile headed straight for him.

The seeker shrieks as one of their legs gets blown off. If Optimus had been hit by the anti-aircraft artillery, even if it only shot his leg, he’s positive he would have been turned to scrap from the force of it punching through his frame. The only Cybertronian anti-aircraft weapons that existed had been made with a warframe’s thick plating in mind, not a civilian frame’s softer metal.

Optimus is even aware that he’s much more armored than most Autobots, but under the claws of a Decepticon, all that armor would fold like the lowest grade steel. For an Autobot, getting hit by a Decepticon just once can often mean death.

So Optimus will simply have to endeavor to not get hit.

He remembers well what happened the last time a warframe had him in their claws. In his claws…

::Slagging pits, you love making my job more difficult than it has to be, don’t you?:: Ratchet’s voice pings in his audial. ::You’ve given us all the room we need. We’re pulling out now, if you’d care to join us instead of going off on your own again.::

Ratchet’s words send a shiver through Optimus’s very spark. Ratchet wouldn’t know it—he can’t know it—but the medic’s statement hits a bit too close to home right now.

Optimus kicks off a seeker and rockets away from the throng of battle. Omega Supreme looms in the distance, his body folding back down into a spaceship, and he opens a door just as Optimus gets in range of him. He slides to a stop in a familiar bronze corridor, and Omega Supreme’s voice echoes around him as the entire ship begins to quake.

“Preparing transwarp.”

What seems like the entire world goes white, and then the shaking subsides. Optimus allows himself to lean against the wall and just vent long and slow, cooling his heated systems.

He gives the wall a soft pat as he pushes off from it, a habit he’d picked up from Sari. Before Omega Supreme, Optimus had never known any bots large enough for him to physically ride in, and he’s still not sure what etiquette he should hold now that he does. Sari had never exactly been gentle with his frame, but she’d had an adorable habit of giving his door or his steering wheel a little pat ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’.

He’s not sure if Omega Supreme finds his adopted habit adorable, but the metal of the wall usually warms under his touch, so Optimus would like to think that the big bot doesn’t hate it.

Optimus feels guilty enough about Omega Supreme’s new role in this young war. Acting as a glorified freighter for a motley crew of Autobots that only existed because Optimus called in one really big favor. Omega Supreme had no choice in where he would go, and while he seems content serving under Ratchet and Arcee, Optimus doesn’t know how much of that is genuine and how much is his airtight compliance coding.

And for all of Optimus’s guilt, he knows in his spark that it all pales in comparison to what Ratchet must feel for Omega Supreme.

The way Ratchet speaks so softly to Omega sometimes, Optimus can’t help but wonder if his medic thinks of the mech as his own sparkling. And Optimus wonders what a world where Ratchet got to simply be the bot’s mentor would look like.

Maybe Optimus would have even gotten to see it, if not for Megatron escaping Autobot custody and the war starting anew.

A part of Optimus is still deeply ashamed for what happened that day, even if there really was nothing he could’ve done. Still, if he’d just kept close to Megatron instead of folding to ceremony, maybe he’d have been able to stop… whoever it was that had freed the Decepticon warlord.

The memory replays in his processor like—ah, how did Sari always put it—like a broken record.

His servos, fidgeting around the handle of the Magnus Hammer as it sparked in his grasp. Wielding the hammer had been a heady experience, holding power like he’d never known before. But it was also terrifying. The Magnus Hammer, it seemed to him, had a life of its own and could be very… opinionated.

Optimus would have described the hammer as discontented at that moment. For what reason, Optimus wonders if he’ll ever know. If it was maybe impatient to be returned to its master or dissatisfied with how Optimus handled it. Some small part of him that sounded much too alike to Sentinel for his comfort whispered that maybe the Magnus Hammer was upset to be parted from him.

That voice was quashed in his processor before it decided to inflate his ego any further. Optimus tightened his hold on the Magnus Hammer for a moment and the sparks died away. He then knelt before his Magnus and held the great weapon aloft.

Ultra Magnus looked down at him with strangely soft optics, and though he didn’t smile, his expression was not nearly as severe as it usually was.

“Optimus Prime,” Ultra Magnus had said, words firm and loud enough to ring through the great hall. “You have done Cybertron a great honor, and I thank you on behalf of all of us.”

Behind Ultra Magnus had stood two familiar members of the Elite Guard. Jazz at Ultra Magnus’s left hand, giving Optimus a soft smile. Sentinel, at the Magnus’s right, his servos flexing at his sides and a stifled grimace on his face.

Ultra Magnus grasped the handle of the Magnus Hammer in a single servo that dwarfed Optimus’s own. For a moment, Optimus felt the warring delight and distaste in the weapon and watched as lightning arced over the hammer, dancing harmlessly over Optimus’s digits. Then, as Ultra Magnus lifted the hammer, all sensation of it in the back of Optimus’s processor left him, and it was suddenly nothing more than a weapon in another mech’s hand and not some untamed beast.

As the Magnus brought his hammer to rest at his side, Optimus caught the slight spasm in the servo holding it and he wondered if perhaps the hammer and its owner were having some silent argument. Optimus certainly would never look at the Magnus Hammer the same ever again, not now knowing what it was like to wield it.

“Many stellar cycles ago, I denied you entry into the Elite Guard,” Ultra Magnus continued, “but your efforts in these past few quartexes have proven that to be an error on my part. So, if you would accept it, I would offer you a place at my side, Optimus Prime.”

Optimus had frozen at the offer, optics going wide. His intake opened, but no sound came out. How could I say no? This is all I’ve ever wanted, he might have said. But the truth was not as easy as that. His processor caught on his own team—Ratchet, Bulkhead, Bumblebee… Prowl. What would become of them in his absence, in his promotion? And what of Sari and the Earth?

It had once been his greatest shame to be sent off to lead a space bridge repair crew, but he’d found a quiet sort of contentment in doing that. Would he be able to handle the strict rigidity of the Elite Guard after spending so much time as leader of his own unorthodox band? Could he stand spending the rest of his life fighting one battle or another? Or, after everything he went through on Earth, would he ever be able to stomach peace again?

He hadn’t been able to give Ultra Magnus an answer, but a knowing glint in the Magnus’s optics gave Optimus the impression that the mech knew exactly what was causing Optimus’s processor to stumble over the offer.

But Ultra Magnus hadn’t been able to give him much of a response before alarms blared and mechs rushed into the room. Iacon was under attack by Decepticon forces.

What came after was all a bit of a blur to Optimus. He remembered the panic that had seized much of the council, he remembered the Elite Guard being ordered to protect the city. He remembered Longarm Prime bursting into the room, shouting that Trypticon had been breached.

He remembered rushing to Trypticon himself only to find the prison already blasted apart and Megatron and his Decepticons long gone.

Everything Optimus had done… all for naught.

It hadn’t been long after that the Decepticons began targeted attacks against space bridges and Autobot colonies alike. And it hadn’t been long after that when Ultra Magnus declared that the war against the Decepticons was back on. The draft was reinstated and Optimus had used what little sway he still had with Ultra Magnus to ask for his team to be kept under his command.

In all honesty, he’d expected to have to fight for it. For Ratchet, who was the best medic Optimus had ever had the pleasure of knowing. For Bulkhead, who was possibly the best space bridge technician around. For Omega Supreme, who would surely be put back to work as a weapon of mass destruction. Yes, even for Bumblebee who would likely have been sent out as little more than a foot soldier rather than reporting directly to a Prime.

But Ultra Magnus had simply nodded and granted his request. To this day, Optimus still doesn’t know why. Whether his returning of the Allspark merited enough good faith to allow this or if Ultra Magnus possibly did believe him and his team would do better together—for good or ill.

How long has it been since that fateful day? How many quartexes? Has it been a stellar cycle already? It’s still so fresh in Optimus’s mind for all that it feels as if it’s already been vorns.

Optimus steps through a door that opens even before he approaches it. The bridge is full of bots—maybe a bit too full in all honesty—and all of them perk up at the sight of him.

“Bossbot, that was insane!” Bumblebee shouts, practically flinging himself at Optimus and giving him a firm slap on the back. “You had those Decepti-creeps scattering like they were a bunch a’ pigeons instead of seekers!”

“You’d think they’d have figured out how to fight against a flying Autobot by now,” Bulkhead says with a chortle from where he hovers over what had been the battlemap.

“Hey, Op, how do you think I’d look with wings like yours?” Jazz asks, not even looking up from his station as data flies by on the screen. He’d been a surprise that Optimus hadn’t expected when his team had first shipped out. But when they’d all been boarding Omega Supreme, Jazz had followed them up. To this day, Optimus isn’t sure whether Jazz was ordered to do so, if he requested to do so, or if he just… went.

Also newer to the team, Optimus glances over to find Arcee checking her munitions. Optimus was sure of her intentions, because Arcee had been very upfront about the fact that she had given the Magnus an ultimatum—either she would be allowed to stay with Omega Supreme or she would not fight in the war at all.

Optimus hadn’t been sure what to expect of her—Arcee was someone Ratchet knew, not him—but Arcee had turned out to be quite the brawler and an incredibly slippery opponent. She was fast on her wheels and had a cunning mind that had given their crew the edge in multiple skirmishes now.

Optimus continues looking around the room, Bumblebee’s words filtering into his audials. The only people missing are—

Optimus flinches as a servo tugs down one of his wings. He turns his head to the side and finds Ratchet giving the limb a long glare.

“It’s a miracle you haven’t dislocated these yet, the way you throw yourself around in the air,” Ratchet muses, letting the wing go. Optimus flicks it back up into a resting position and resists the urge to repeat the action several times over. He’d undergone surgery to integrate his old jetpack into his frame some quartexes ago now, but the novelty of having wings that he could feel and move still hadn’t worn off.

“How is everyone, Ratchet?” Optimus asks, shifting so he can face his medic. Ratchet gives him a surly look.

“Well, I would have said everyone came out unscathed, but it looks like you’ve got a few dents in you.” Ratchet’s optics rove over Optimus’s frame, probably categorizing his various scrapes and dings. They’re all from nothing more than glancing blows, but with Decepticons, even a glancing blow can prove fatal.

Optimus stands a little straighter and tries to pretend not to be as fatigued as he feels. He’s not even that tired from the fight, he’s just… well.

He casts a final look around the room before asking, “Where’s Ironhide?”

Another new addition to their crew, albeit much more recent than Arcee or Jazz. Ratchet scoffs. “Sentinel’s mech is still down in the cargo hold, going through inventory.”

Ratchet says it with a sneer, but Optimus is deeply thankful that Ironhide apparently doesn’t mind being the one to take inventory. If anything, he seems to live for what Optimus’s team had always thought of as monotonous work. The work had always reminded Optimus of his days in the archives, but he was aware that most bots probably didn’t find much joy in counting boxes and their contents.

“How’s Omega doing?” Optimus asks, half to the ceiling. He’s never quite sure when Omega Supreme’s attention is turned inwards or when he’s focusing on navigating asteroid fields.

“All systems functional,” Omega’s voice booms from all around them. “Fuel levels… adequate.”

“What he said,” Ratchet mutters, walking over to sit in one of the piloting seats. “We’re going to need to make a stop somewhere soon to get Omega back up to optimal fuel levels or he isn’t going to be able to make anymore warps.”

A lingering effect from Omega Supreme absorbing all that transwarp energy is that he’s retained his ability to jump around across the universe. It takes a toll on him and his fuel tanks, but it’s gotten them out of several sticky situations. Like this latest one where they snuck under a Decepticon freighter, took out all of its weapons—literally—and then transwarped out just as they were discovered.

Bulkhead and Ratchet are collaborating on a way for Omega Supreme’s jumps to be more cost-effective with regards to energon consumption, but for now, they do have to be somewhat careful with how many jumps they make in quick succession.

“Jazz,” Optimus calls out to the slight tilt of the cyber-ninja’s head, “are there any Autobot colonies nearby?”

“Real colonies? Nah,” Jazz says before he pulls up a hologram of a planet, replacing the battle map, “but Amalgam-84 has an old mining operation on it. It’s been abandoned for vorns, and it’s technically in neutral territory now, but it should have enough supplies for us to make the trip back to Autobot space proper.”

Optimus nods. “Then chart a course.”

“On it, bossbot,” Jazz says with a quick salute. Ratchet settles fully into the pilot’s chair, murmuring to Omega Supreme who begins to change direction. Optimus gives one last look around the bridge before he turns and leaves the room. He resists the urge to sag against the wall again because not only is Omega Supreme definitely watching him, but his exhaustion isn’t even physical, so he’s not even really tired.

He travels down to the cargo hold and finds Ironhide rifling through a crate of pilfered Decepticon weapons, jotting things down on a datapad set off to the side.

“Anything good?” Optimus asks, leaning over the large crate. Ironhide glances up at him before reaching in and removing a large rifle.

“Lotta these weapons could never be used by most Autobots. They’re made for bigger servos than ours.” Indeed, even though Ironhide is probably one of the bigger Autobots out there, the rifle is almost comically large in his grasp. Optimus thinks that Bulkhead is probably the only one of them who could actually use it, and he hesitates to put any kind of projectile weapon in Bulkhead’s servos.

“But even if we can’t use the guns, the ammo can be repurposed for Autobot weapons.” Ironhide grins at Optimus. “I’m pretty sure some of these rounds aren’t even legal in Autobot space.”

“For good reason, I’m sure,” Optimus says, and Ironhide’s expression turns sheepish. “Still. I want to thank you again for doing all this, even if you maybe didn’t want to.” And he’s talking about more than inventory when he says it.

“Nah,” Ironhide sets the rifle back into the crate, rubbing the back of his neck as he pulls away. “To be perfectly honest, I like this work a lot more than what I was doin’ back with Sentinel.”

Ironhide had joined their crew fairly recently in the grand scheme of things, only having been here for a quartex or so. Before that, he’d been working closely with Sentinel Prime.

Optimus and Sentinel had both been sent to aid in relief efforts for an Autobot colony being sieged by Decepticons. Sentinel’s team was to protect the civilians and aid in evacuation. Optimus’s team was to divert the Decepticons’ attention away from the ground. Optimus knows that Sentinel wasn’t happy with his orders, evidenced mostly by the fact that he’d disregarded them almost immediately upon arrival and instead made his own push against the Decepticon forces on the ground.

The two pronged attack was an effective one, to be sure, but it left the little colony almost completely defenseless. Optimus had taken one look at what was happening down below and ordered Ratchet and Omega Supreme to keep up their bombardment while the rest of the crew went planetside to help evacuation.

They were joined by a meager group under Sentinel’s command. Most of his Autobots were facing down Decepticons, but a paltry few were actually doing the task assigned to them. Ironhide had been one of those few, though he seemed deeply dissatisfied with his role. At least, he was until gunfire sounded in the distance and it became obvious that Sentinel was being forced to retreat.

Optimus remembered cursing his luck and Sentinel’s terrible sense for battle tactics. He remembered flying out to the front lines to help cover the Autobot retreat only to be met with him.

Megatron.

Cold panic had set in and Optimus could barely remember most of that battle. Fighting Megatron—something he’s done more times now than he could’ve ever dreamed of doing—always took up most of his concentration, but he remembered the warlord’s savage grin. The way his fangs had glinted in the light of the system’s red sun. The way he’d been bathed in the crimson of sunset and the fuchsia of spilled energon.

Megatron had always seemed unreal to Optimus. Surely all those depictions of him were propagandized versions of the leader of the Decepticons. Whether to make him look like the scourge of the known galaxy or the divine second coming of Unicron or perhaps the legendary warrior built as if by Primus himself to be the perfect living weapon.

And then Optimus had seen Megatron with his own two optics all those stellar cycles ago, and he’d been even greater, even worse, even more than everything Optimus had seen of him. And when he was returned to life in a new frame like something out of the legends of the Thirteen… he’d been more magnificent, more terrifying, more, more more.

He was always so much. Too much, really—too much for Optimus to handle all on his own as he so often was forced to.

And Megatron knew that. If anything, he reveled in it, in being something that Optimus could only ever scrape by against, never truly defeat. Optimus had come to recognize that look in Megatron’s optics whenever they found Optimus on the battlefield. Where once had been nothing more than annoyance—or, at worst, hate—there now was what could only be excitement.

Optimus was nothing more than a toy to Megatron. A novel thing that could fight back in a way he evidently hadn’t experienced in a long time. Optimus could still vividly remember the first time he’d tucked his wings in to divebomb the warlord and he’d been treated to the mech’s expression of pure shock as he realized in real time that Optimus’s wings were now an actual part of his frame. He’d been so blindsided that Optimus had actually been able to land a sizable hit directly to the Decepticon’s helm.

Megatron still had a barely-there nick in his faceplate above his left optic. If Optimus had aimed a little lower, he might’ve been able to take out the warlord’s eye.

Optimus’s gaze often caught on that little scar during their battles—that tiny bit of proof that Megatron was mortal and not a living legend walking straight out of an ancient story—and he often found himself wondering why Megatron hadn’t simply welded the entire wound shut. Optimus had certainly had worse wounds in this war that left no trace on his frame after Ratchet finished with him.

He often wondered why it was that Megatron seemed so… proud of that scar.

Back on the Autobot colony, Optimus hadn’t fought alone against Megatron that day. Sentinel had been right there by his side, matching Optimus’s pace like no time at all had elapsed since their days in the Autobot Academy. For all the things that had happened between then and now, it could never be denied that Optimus and Sentinel made a damn good team. Even if there was a gaping hole in their routine.

Megatron had paid Sentinel little mind at first, which would ultimately prove to be his downfall in this fight—if you could really call it a downfall. Sentinel had managed to get the jump on Megatron and it was while the warlord was preoccupied with literally throwing Sentinel off of his frame that Optimus was able to duck down and use his axe to cut right through Megatron’s heelstrut, sending the Decepticon to his knee with a roar.

Sentinel had moved to capitalize on Megatron’s perceived weakness, but Optimus had caught him around the middle, flying them both out of the way out of a blast from Megatron’s fusion cannon. Optimus had been prepared to execute some fancy flying in his retreat from the Decepticon warlord, but Megatron had made no move to follow, simply calling up to them, “You would make a fine Decepticon, Optimus Prime.”

And then he’d called off the attack. The Decepticons had simply… left. Sure, they’d left after looting a good portion of the colony’s capital, but they didn’t keep trying to conquer the planet, even though they surely could’ve under Megatron’s steady guidance.

Optimus remembered how, after Megatron’s words, Sentinel’s servos had tightened where they clung to his frame. He hadn’t known then just how much Sentinel’s presence would spell doom for Optimus.

His team and Sentinel’s had helped the colony recover from the attack, but Sentinel and his mechs pulled out soon after it became clear that the Decepticons would not be returning. He in fact made the decision so abruptly that Ironhide, who’d been caught up in helping remove mechs from the rubble, had been left behind.

Optimus had sent word to Sentinel, but he’d received no answer. In the end, he’d offered Ironhide a place on Omega Supreme until he could be returned to his post on Sentinel’s ship.

Which should’ve happened sooner rather than later, but Optimus’s team kept being sent out to some new battle or another, and through a series of near misses with Sentinel Prime, Ironhide was still on the ship a quartex later. It hadn’t been easy at first—Ironhide apparently had some… complicated history with Bumblebee and Bulkhead. But sometime between then and now, things had begun to smooth over. Optimus had even once caught Bumblebee coaching Ironhide in one of the video games he’d brought from earth.

Ironhide was perhaps an odder fit to their group, but his edges were being worn away by their loud personalities and Optimus wasn’t sure if he’d want to part with the weapons specialist whenever they finally returned to Cybertron.

Or when…

Optimus takes in the sight of Amalgam-84. The planet’s a veritable dustbowl, nothing but cracked earth and the occasional rock formation as far as the optic can see. The Autobot outpost here is certainly abandoned, though it’s clear that it had kept running automated processes until even those parts of it broke down as well.

When Optimus first laid optics on the outpost, he’d expected to find little more than rust and dirt, but there is in fact an energon stash deeper into the defunct mine. Not enough to warrant an expedition sanctioned by the Autobot government—certainly not as much as had been on Archa Seven—but perhaps enough that Omega Supreme will be able to make the longer transwarp back to Autobot space.

And then, as he’s contemplating venturing deeper into the mine to see what else might lay in wait, Optimus gets an urgent comm from Jazz.

::Optimus, we need to get out of here now.::

There’s no warmth or humor in Jazz’s tone, just cold efficiency. Optimus loudly orders Arcee and Bulkhead to work on transporting the energon back to the ship before he turns on his thrusters and rockets out of the mine. The moment he can see the sky above him, he sees the problem.

Descending slowly through dust-choked skies is the repaired Decepticon flagship—the Nemesis.

Earlier into the new war, the Decepticons had no true flagship. Any of their larger warships could be the one heralding Megatron’s imminent arrival. But evidently, that was only while the Nemesis was undergoing her repairs. It only took a few quartexes before the dreaded ship began to be spotted in the skies of certain battles. And, without fail, where the Nemesis went, so did Megatron.

::Ratchet, what’s our status on getting the hell out of here?:: Optimus frantically comms.

::We have enough energon to make one more jump before things get dangerous, but that won’t matter because Omega needs time to charge up to a transwarp and the Nemesis is right fragging there!::

Optimus vents harshly, wings twitching at his back. He’d thought—he’d hoped—

He supposes it doesn’t matter now.

::Ratchet,:: he says into his comms, voice steady and slow, ::get everyone on board. Tell Omega Supreme to begin charging a transwarp.::

::What pits-damned idea do you have now?::

::I’m going to buy you some time.::

Optimus doesn’t mute Ratchet, because going dark on comms is never a good idea, but he does make an effort to ignore the slew of curses coming his way as he activates his thrusters once more and heads straight to where the Nemesis is landing.

By the time he arrives, Megatron is already there. Seekers streak through the sky above them towards the sitting duck that is Omega Supreme, but Megatron is the only one on the ground. Optimus can see the way the warlord’s optics narrow as he flies in, the way his derma twitch into the slightest of smiles.

Optimus skids to a halt in front of the leader of the Decepticons, a mech that has to be at least three times Optimus’s size. He holds his axe in one hand, though his grip on the weapon is loose. This isn’t going to work, Optimus thinks to himself. Because of course this isn’t going to work, Optimus has never been anyone of any importance. This isn’t going to work and Sentinel will be proved wrong and Ultra Magnus will be proved wrong and Optimus will just be dead—

“Megatron,” he calls out, trying to sound braver than he feels. Megatron tilts his helm slightly, making no move to leap into battle. This isn’t going to work, Optimus repeats to himself, but he has no other option so he’ll do it. He’ll ask. What does he have to lose? Only everything.

“If I surrender,” Optimus begins, “will you swear to let my crew leave in peace?”

Optimus is once more treated to Megatron’s expression of shock. It’s not as extreme as the last time, his smile flattening, his optics widening ever so slightly. But it is noticeable. It’s all the more noticeable when shock gives way to interest.

This can’t actually be working, Optimus thinks a little hysterically.

“You really think one Prime is worth that of an Omega Sentinel?” Megatron asks, tilting his head slightly. Optimus’s servo tightens around his axe before he sighs and drops his weapon entirely. He takes a single shaky step forward before kneeling down, his hands in the dry dirt of Amalgam-84’s surface.

“Please,” Optimus says, not daring to look up. “They’re just six Autobots. That’s—that’s nothing. Take me instead. I’ll go quietly, I won’t fight. You can—you can do whatever you want to me, please, just let them go.”

For a moment, nothing happens. Optimus is sure that Megatron will simply take his sword and lop off his head. Then suddenly, a single massive servo is wrapping around one of Optimus’s arms and bending it behind his back, forcing Optimus further into the dirt.

“Very well, little Prime,” Megatron says—purrs, practically into Optimus’s audial. “I accept your terms.”

It… worked?

Optimus is barely aware of himself as his hands are cuffed behind his back, as he’s forced to his pedes, as the seekers peel away from Omega Supreme back towards the Nemesis.

He’s back on Cybertron, being ushered into Ultra Magnus’s office.

It was a room he’d never been in before. Optimus had never been important enough to warrant a summons from the Magnus himself. He still boggled at the fact that he now was important enough for this. He didn’t really feel all that special most days.

Ultra Magnus had given him a long look before shooing away the Guard that had brought Optimus with a simple, “Leave us.”

For several minutes, Ultra Magnus had stood in front of his desk, in front of Optimus, saying nothing at all. Nerves killing him, Optimus had spoken into the silence, asking, “Sir? You… wanted to see me?”

“After his last mission with you, Sentinel Prime related something of interest to me,” Ultra Magnus had said, giving Optimus an appraising glance. “He informed me that Megatron seems to be under the impression that he can recruit you.”

Optimus’s optics cycled wide, and without almost any actual thought, he blurted out, “I would never betray the autobots!”

Ultra Magnus’s face did not change, but his optics glinted. “I am aware, Optimus Prime. That is exactly why I am asking you to do just that.”

A pause.

“What?”

“You are aware that the Autobots have a traitor in our midst?” Ultra Magnus asked instead of answering. Of course Optimus knew, it had been his team that saw Shockwave sending a message from Cybertron. The only thing no one had been able to figure out was who Shockwave was posing as. He’d given no indicator, and the transmission that Optimus’s team had caught had been in grayscale, giving no hints at what Shockwave’s true colors might’ve been.

“While I have my… suspicions on who our traitor might be,” and Ultra Magnus gave a deep frown as he said that part, “I do not know for sure. And even if we know that an Autobot is feeding information back to the Decepticons, there is little we can do to prevent that without crippling our own information network. But, if we had our own mech behind enemy lines, it might be enough to level the playing field.”

Optimus had vented sharply at his Magnus’s words. It… made sense, sure, but…

“So you want… me. To be that mech?” He asked.

“Megatron has shown interest in you, that cannot be denied,” Ultra Magnus stated plainly. “I have been using this knowledge to maneuver him where I can, but if what Sentinel says is true, then I may have more use for you elsewhere.”

Still reeling over Ultra Magnus apparently using Optimus to lure Megatron around, Optimus focused instead on the latter part of the statement. “Sentinel’s exaggerating, Megatron wants to kill me, not—not recruit me.”

“Truly?” Ultra Magnus asked, tilting his head slightly and giving Optimus an… indulgent look.

Optimus tried to think about it. To imagine it. Sure, Megatron gave him ‘special treatment’, but that wasn’t a positive thing. More likely, if Optimus tried to defect, Megatron would just call him a coward or something and stab him right through his spark.

… He entertained the fantasy for a moment—because that was what it was, for the record, a fantasy, and not something that could ever actually happen—and pictured a world where Megatron didn’t kill him on the spot, but instead… welcomed him. Pictured a Decepticon brand in place of an Autobot decal. Pictured Megatron parading him before his army, one huge servo resting on his shoulders, perhaps brushing ever so slightly against his wings—

Optimus reset his optics harshly, ranks roiling. That was never going to happen. This would never work.

“I will not order you to do this, Optimus Prime,” Ultra Magnus continued. “If you truly believe you have no chance of making it as a double agent, I will look elsewhere. I only ask because you are one of the few mechs whose loyalty I have utter faith in.”

And that had been flattering. Optimus hadn’t said anything immediately, had simply stood there and contemplated in silence. The worst part was that he could see it. He could see how Megatron’s interest might make him open to the idea of Optimus’s defection. It wouldn’t be easy, because Optimus would have to somehow make his heel turn into Decepticon sympathy somehow believable, but if he did…

Optimus could see how he might be something of… a blindspot in Megatron’s awareness. How the Decepticon warlord might be willing to look past a slightly flimsy reason for defecting if it meant having Optimus working for him. Or at least, having Optimus defect from the Autobots.

This wouldn’t work. This couldn’t work.

“If… if you think that it will work…” Optimus had finally said, halting in every word, “Then… I’ll do it.”

And that had been that.

::Optimus…::

Ratchet’s voice rings in his audials, sounding somewhere between furious and resigned.

::The Decepticons won’t attack you,:: Optimus whispers into his comms. ::Go.::

Ignoring the multiple, much more panicked comms he receives in the following moments, Optimus turns to watch as Omega Supreme begins to glow before vanishing in a flash of pale blue light. He turns back to Megatron and feels his spark stutter at the sight of the Decepticon warlord’s optics trained on him. This isn’t going to work, Optimus thinks to himself as he’s marched onto the Nemesis.

#fic:cross

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