I just reread Angel of The Highway 49 and can your Optimus hug me and tell me he’s proud of me??
Oh my god, I hope you don't mind, I took your ask and it ran away with me.
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The Trolley Problem.
Optimus has noticed, within the modest stretch of time that Jack, Miko and Rafael have been under the careful watch of he and his team, that human children share remarkable parallels with cybertronian younglings, not the least of which being their inclination to seek out comfort and affection from their respective protectors.
Such similarities equally warm the spark in Optimus's chamber and squeeze it until the ache is borderline painful.
To remember all the younglings they lost in the War...
If there is solace to be had, Optimus has to take it in the form of appreciation that fate has led them to Earth, and subsequently, the three, young humans who more or less live in their midst. Four, of course, counting his latest addition...
Time and again, the Autobot leader has seen Bumblebee scooping the littlest member of the troupe, Rafael, into his servos, buzzing a string of eager but gentle sentiments at the boy who seems just as keen to return the Scout's affection.
Miko and Bulkhead are nigh inseparable, both as ferociously loyal as the other. It's not a rare occurrence to find the girl physically pressing as close to her guardian as possible, scrawny arms wrapped like a pair of clamps around the wires of Bulkhead's neck. The wrecker's EM field always bleeds Endearment. Camaraderie. Care.
And Arcee, older than Bumblebee and not so doting as Bulkhead, still isn't exempt from her charge's displays of affection. A small, pale hand on hers from time to time will always send her own field fluctuating with activity.
Primus, even Ratchet seems to have earned some of the children's favour, and it isn't an infrequent occurrence to find the old Medic leaning over his work station with Rafael perched on his broad shoulder, observed from the corner of a careful optic as the CMO goes about his duties.
But it's rare for one of the children to seek Optimus out for such comfort, perhaps mistaking the Leader's taciturn nature for unwavering austerity. Or perhaps, just as likely, they worry that he's too busy to concern himself with their troubles and woes. An unfortunate prospect, to be sure.
He only hopes they'll come to learn that he's always ready to lend an audial, should they need it...
Alas, he's long contented himself to be the bystander in this little facet of Earthen culture, at peace that he can stand as witness to the affection shared between the Autobots and their charges.
So he was taken aback, to say the least, when you came to him on the evening that followed the 'train incident,' looking for all the world like you were choking back tears.
Optimus and his team had been tasked by the US Government to convoy a nuclear device to their military base upstate, and as events unfolded, it happened that Jack, Miko, and you yourself were aboard the train that was on a collision course with blown tracks, courtesy of M.E.C.H.
"Optimus?"
Your small, reticent voice draws the Prime's optics down to the floor of the silo, zeroing in on the spot you've taken up a 'safe' distance from his pedes, always more cautious around him than the children are...
Pleasantly surprised nonetheless, Optimus makes a point of lowering his data-pad to the Coms table and turning to face you, offering you his full attention. It's rare that you'll approach the Autobot leader, even on a good day. Usually, he's the one tracking you down to ask if he can speak with you, anything to acclimate you to his presence.
"Y/n," he rumbles with an encouraging tilt of his dermas, trying to conceal the whir of his apertures as they zoom in closer to your face, searching for any hint of pain or discomfort, "What can I do for you?"
You'd been hurt on that train. Nothing life-threatening, Ratchet assures him, but you'd taken a punch meant for Jack, tore a muscle clambering onto the roof of the charging locomotive, and nearly gave yourself whiplash when you rammed the emergency brake into place and slowed the train enough for Optimus to catch up and bring it to a halt entirely.
And yet, when you saw the tumble that Miko had taken onto her wrist, when you were all told by Ratchet that there was a hairline fracture in the bone, it seemed to be all you could focus on.
Optimus's gentle insistences that you rest were duly ignored, and even a threat from Ratchet hadn't kept you from trying to solemnly leave the base, citing that Terry needed you back at the ranch.
That was only yesterday, and Optimus would be lying if he said he wasn't relieved that you returned to base today with Miko and Bulkhead, the latter of whom was apparently adamant in offering you a lift, much to his charge's amusement.
Optimus reminds himself to ask you what Terry said about the unignorable bruise purpling your chin and lower lip. But that can come later. Right now, you're slowly tilting your head back to stare - not at his faceplate, you still find it hard to meet his optics - but at the windscreen forming the Prime's chest.
"I just -" Your voice breaks on a croak, and you have to pause, swallowing audibly before you straighten your back and try again. "Just wanted to say, I'm sorry."
The spark in Optimus's chamber sinks.
You still blame yourself...
"Bulkhead won't let me say it, keeps telling me I saved Miko," you croak thinly, cradling your elbows and casting a glance over your shoulder at the empty silo behind you, "Miko doesn't even want to hear it - but she's young. She doesn't understand how badly things could have turned out if I'd pulled that brake at the wrong moment! I... I wasn't even thinking."
"Y/n," Optimus utters again, bending his knees at the pace of a glacier. He muses on the abruptness of this, of your approach and self-acclaimed confession.
Before he can ask you why you're bearing the weight of a guilt that doesn't belong to you, you seem to notice the Prime's mouth is easing open to speak, and you hurry to talk over him.
"None of the others will let me get a word in edgeways," you blurt, prompting him to seal his dermas together again in a thin, troubled line, "Even Ratchet said I was being stupid-"
At this, Optimus's brow ridge furrows deeply, reproachful of the medic's less than fair assessment. The pair of them will have to have words about that later....
"But you-!" Pausing, you aim your forefinger up at the Prime's face, and at long, long last, you bring your eyes up to follow the same path, meeting his optics in a rare, treasured moment of courage. Optimus finds his own gaze softening immeasurably.
"You listen," you add, "Y-you always listen, you're a better listener than you are a talker."
... Not an unfair assessment.
"And right now, I need someone to listen to me, because nobody else seems to want to hear what I'm trying to tell them!"
Patient as ever, Optimus simply asks, "Which is?"
"I could have killed Miko!" you exclaim, throwing your arm up and peering at him as though he's being particularly dense, "And Jack! Hell, everyone on that train!"
Moisture is building behind your eyes, a sight that sends another pang straight to the old Prime's spark.
Lowering your gaze, you stare quietly at the toes of your shoes for several moments before uttering a soft, ashamed, "I could have killed you."
A set of bright blue optics blink as the leader's knee finally touches the ground, bringing him as close to your level as he can get whilst he privately commends you for only taking a single step in retreat this time.
His immediate response is to gently rebuke the claim, guide you to holes in your logic and remind you that you might well have been the person who saved not just the children, but the entire train, the ecosystem of Nevada, and likely Optimus himself. Not even a Prime could withstand the full devastation of a nuclear explosion at ground-zero.
But... you said you need someone to listen to you, not to reiterate the very things he's sure the rest of the team have already said.
So, if that's what you want, then listen he shall.
You almost look surprised when he merely tilts his helm at you indicatively, a prompt for you to say your piece, but, recovering quickly, you forge on.
"I wasn't thinking..." you tell him solemnly, "I wasn't thinking of what might happen when I pulled that brake... I didn't think of what would happen to the others, I didn't even consider that the sudden, like..." Pausing, you jolt in place, apparently mimicking the sudden lurch the train took when the brakes engaged. "That - could have set off the bomb. I had no idea how volatile that thing was!"
"I'm afraid I don't understand. You are sorry for... something you didn't do?"
"I'm sorry for taking that risk! I'm sorry for getting Miko hurt, and I'm sorry for not thinking, I never think things through!"
The Prime has to sit back on his heel for a second, puzzling over whatever point you're trying to make. This... isn't making much sense. You're unusually fixated on this completely fabricated potential for calamity, and you're shouldering an awful lot of blame for a split-second decision you made at a time when the clock was not on your side.
Why are you so intent on punishing-...?
... Hmm.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Optimus begins to reach out, straining his actuators to move at the pace of an Earthen gastropod. Inch by inch, his fingers close the gap between you, and he doesn't miss how you seem to stiffen like a board when you see his appendages coming.
"You know," he begins evenly, "You bear the weight of guilt for events that have not come to pass, you are apologising for causing harm that never came to be, you seem to regret the risk your actions might have posed to everyone else..."
Finally, with the ghost of his enormous fingertips lighting on your spine, Optimus stops moving, restraining himself from gathering you into his palm entirely. You're not ready for that. Not yet.
"However..." he adds, giving you a serious look, "I have yet to hear you apologise for putting yourself in danger."
"Oh to Hell with that," you snap waspishly, leaning away from the forefinger that's pressing against your shirt, but notably keeping your feet rooted to the floor, "Obviously I didn't want to die either."
Knitting his metal brows together, Optimus softly asks, "Then why have you not afforded yourself the same remorse you afford everyone else?"
"Don't.'"
His engine rumbles at your hard response.
Nostrils flaring, you glower darkly at the Autobot and add, "I didn't come here to be psychoanalysed. I came here because I thought at least you'd recognise how badly I screwed up."
"But... you didn't," he prods.
Letting out a strangled sound, you throw an arm sideways as if gesturing to someone who isn't even here, "Miko's wrist is fractured!"
"Miko is alive," he presses.
Staring up at him with your jaw slack in disbelief, you blurt out a scoff and shake your head.
"This is ridiculous," you huff out in an incredulous laugh, "What is wrong with you all!? If I was at home, I'd have been raked over the coals by now."
...
'........ Oh,' Optimus realises sadly, his suspicions confirmed.
That... would explain a few things.
You didn't come to him just to confess your own guilt. You came to him because he's the last person left to give you what you've been waiting for.
A reprimand. A punishment.
You expected to have been rebuked for your actions by now, and you can't seem to understand why it hasn't happened yet, nor why the other shoe is taking so long to drop.
You've failed to realise that there was never a shoe to drop in the first place.
Optimus's frame groans as he leans over you, making sure you're looking at him before he begins to speak. "If I thought for a second that you had recklessly endangered your life and the lives of others," he says gravely, allowing a moment for the words to sink in, "We would be having an entirely different conversation."
Shamefaced, you glance away from him to scowl at the ground near your feet.
But he isn't finished.
"And while I do not necessarily approve of you jumping between the carriages to reach the engine..." he says sternly, easing his expression just moments later to something far more tender, "I do not believe you were being reckless."
That gets your attention. Raising your head once more, you look at him with your forehead puckered by deep lines that convey your incredulity.
"You were frightened," he tells you, "And desperate, and you wanted to help in the only way you could think of at the time. By slowing down the train... Fundamentally, your intentions were only ever to protect the others."
He watches as your jaw clamps shut and your throat bobs, unable to refute him. You can try and twist this narrative into whatever direction you think will earn you admonishment, but he's not about to let you do that. You know as well as he does that when you take away the what-ifs and the could-have-been's, you made the right choice.
"Even when your own life hung in the balance," he continues, bringing his thumb up and pushing at your stomach, guiding you backwards into the fingers behind you, "You still tried to do the right thing, whether you put much thought into it or not is a moot point. Whether you stopped to consider the consequences is irrelevant. Your first response was to help and to protect."
He supposes you must be too fixated on what he's saying to really put up much of a fight when he bends his servo until you're sitting in the palm of it, your shoes still brushing the ground. This, he thinks, is as far as he dares push things today. Your fingernails are almost white with the pressure of digging them into his metal digit.
It may not be the comfort he sees Rafael seek from Bumblebee, or Miko from Bulkhead, or even Jack from Arcee, but if this is all you'll accept from him, if this is the level you'll let him give you, then he can live with this.
Gazing down at you, perched so warily in the Prime's servo, he raises his lips into a gentle smile and murmurs, "How could I be anything but proud of you for that?"
For several spark-beats, you seem unable to do much save for gaping up at him, spine like a solid rock against his fingers. And then, without warning, you balk, recoiling as though you're trying to shrink away from his optics and shoving roughly at the mech's thumb, the flesh on your cheeks turning several shades lighter.
"I... I have to go," you say quaveringly, and Optimus, understanding that he's just inadvertently stepped over an invisible boundary, releases you at once, setting you on your feet and nudging you upright when you nearly teeter backwards into his palm again.
Stiffly, you turn on your heel and make an awkward retreat across the silo. "I'll be back tomorrow, Optimus."
"Y/n," he starts, rising to his pedes, "Forgive me, I was not-"
To the mech's surprise, you abruptly stop in your tracks and turn your head over a shoulder to send him a strange look. "I know," you sigh, running a hand over the back of your neck, "So I'll be back tomorrow."
He wants to offer you a lift. It'll take you a couple of hours to get to the Dairy but... Ah, perhaps he'll let you walk for a time by yourself, then he'll catch up to you.
Was it the touch, he wonders, optics tracking you glumly across the silo. Or was it his words.
Regardless, something struck at a place inside you that clearly hurt.
But, he hopes, maybe some of what he said got through to you.
Maybe one day, you'll realise it wasn't your fault after all.
