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It’s only a year late, Anon, but I hope you find and enjoy this, because I ✨LOVED 💖this request. I really hyperfixated on Optimus being appreciated for once (and being doted on, respectfully). Thank you for making it, you are so good and wonderful for this ask💕 (((I FORGOT TO HIT ANSWER WHEN I POSTED THIS EJWKWKKEKEME, OH MY LORD)))

As a PSA to all the readers, this got WAY out of hand and somehow ended up being monstrously long AGAIN, so-

⭕️ BEWARE THE READ MORE⭕️

(Go to my page and open it there so you aren’t stuck ruining your dashboard and can leave the fic easier)

Warnings in the tags💕

——————————————-

On a painfully uneventful evening such as this, stuck in a room with bots old and frail enough to evaporate into thin air from the weight of their air headed blather, Megatron was looking forward to doing some private reading later- someplace far away from this mockery of a court with all its prejudice.

This was how the Autobots did things? No wonder nothing ever got done- If Decepticons took this long talking in circles, talking at all, they would have been beaten back by their enemy faction by a sly, cunning leader, too, by now.

Megatron resisted sighing outwardly.

Reading would be such a sweet consolation for having to sit through these nearsighted windbags running their mouths all cycle. If only he could be certain he could survive this with half a processor in tact.

Besides Ultra Magnus’ obsession with flight tariffs in civil frame cities driving Megatron to a powerful processor ache, there was also the matter of this proud, little idiot stood here before him- so enveloped in his own heedless jargon it was threatening to dull Megatron’s logic center, if nobody put a stop to his rambling.

This one’s ego was much too big for him, continuously having to make himself known. He, Sentinel Prime, shouldn’t even be here.

And then the other mech so abysmally out of his depths here -Optimus Prime- was only here at all, because he’d been crowned a hero for having offered these council mechs Megatron’s head on a platter some months ago. Too bad he’d left it attached to the rest of him- Megatron would make sure the Prime would come to regret it by the end of these ‘negotiations’.

If he somehow hadn’t already, constantly being tortured by Megatron instigating his dear, precious Magnus from across the court.

Judging by the exasperated glare Prime sent Megatron’s way every few arguments, and Megatron purposely ignoring his very existence, it was only a matter of time before Optimus caved and would have to excuse himself to collect the necessary patience. And Megatron would watch him go with a smirk, thinking how it was all too bad the little firetruck couldn’t be helped to finally learn his place in this big mech world -far bigger than him- and spare himself this misery.

There was much to be ungrateful for during these sessions, and yet still, probably the most enraging offense on Megatron’s person of all -even keeping company like this, with council mechs considering his rights as casually as if they were discussing the weather- was that the very same bot who’d made a fool of him and delivered him in stasis cuffs to the Auotbot’s mercy kept injecting himself into matters too important for him… on Megatron’s behalf.

Defending a (capable) nefarious warlord in front of the masses like an absolute martyr.

At least so when something truly as appalling as treatment for ground sickness in civilian spaces was disregarded as a priority, and not considered a sanity-threatening emergency, was suggested. Proving that Optimus Prime might be the first Autobot to possess a modicum of honor.

Suggestions as flippant as that quickly became few and far between, as Optimus’ constant pestering was driving everyone up the wall- every Autobot quietly disgusted by the notion of rights for war mechs, anyway. Which appeared to be the entire panel in Megatron’s only slightly biased opinion, as he was sat here before them.

Optimus paid them no mind- had started out quiet and humble, so uncertain of his place here. Appropriately so, if you asked Megatron. But Primus had he found it when Sentinel had suggested ‘docked wings’ on Decepticons who broke the new laws…

“I wasn’t talking first time offenders!” The plow tried to correct, like that wouldn’t burn a hole through Optimus all the same from the sheer, righteous indignity of it.

Optimus, who was rarely ever sat with his aft properly in his podium seat and spent much of the deliberation bouncing around on his pedes, pointing fingers and making wild gestures the more his patience thinned, met his limit then.

“We will never modify their frames in any nonconsensual way, Sentinel! Primus, what is wrong with you!?”

Megatron could answer that question for the little firetruck. These out of touch bigots were terrified of him -despite their proud, ‘fearless Autobot’ front.

They were scared of Megatron and the other war machines, and they’d be wise to hold strong to those insecurities, lest they have anymore ideas of a faction wide extermination that would ascend into yet another eternal war.

It’d be the same subject matter, at least.

Sometimes, it became exhausting keeping up with of all the atrocities that’d transpired between them over the years, and he’d rather like to keep his thumb between the pages, holding his place for when this treaty inevitably fell through and he had to pick up right where he’d left off. Somewhere around escaping prison thanks to idiot, imposter Magnuses to come skewer the real one.

Even now that things had become slightly more progressive -given they Autobots had been forced to concede to him- there was still the odd daydream of his of striking Magnus from off of his throne. Most recently for making him sign documentation of all the war mech’s in his faction under an ominously familiar act to keep designations on close hand.

How…uncanny.

In fact, Megatron had signed it purely out of his own shock and amusement to see if Ultra Magnus would realize what it was he was resurrecting from the dark depths of their shared history by demanding such a thing.

‘To keep record of everyone entering into the new era of peace accounted for’.

Well, then. How convenient an excuse. Clearly, Megatron wasn’t the only one without a single hope for their unification.

In support of that depressing thought, Ultra Magnus had said little to protest or encourage what his council mechs were offering -pushing- other than when he was strictly needed to make great speeches to quiet Megatron’s kin of their outrage. Often just sat there staring listlessly out over the chaos of council members and Decepticon high command at Megatron’s back, ranting and raving over one another. Looking more and more forlorn, more and more distant.

He must have walked into this as sure as the Earth’s sun that this would be a lost cause. He’d only bothered placating any of this, because the other option was simply to concede and die…

Megatron, to be contrary -despite his own doubts in this movement- was becoming more irritated that Magnus expected him to be such a lost cause. These talks of merging their species a chore and an impossible one…

That Optimus was spurred on all the more by Ultra Magnus’ silence, trying to take the reigns in an effort to lead the others with his boundless, pitiful optimism towards the notion that there was any value to them fighting for this forsaken, ideological future was perhaps a tiny bit comforting. It was, after all, Megatron’s only real source of entertainment during these talks, as Strika had insisted on presenting herself seriously, unwilling to make small talk while Autobot bureaucrats were speaking.

Useless. This was all wasted time, Megatron was sure of it… As sure as Magnus…

Somehow still, he managed to weather an entire cycle more of this undignified dressing down of his rights and quickly stood, eager to push his way out of the chambers first before he could be tethered to another post council scourge where the Autobots fought amongst themselves to push their own opinions upon an absent Decepticon faction. Too self-indulged to realize the underhandedness of such a thing.

Perhaps he should reconsider killing them during another of Magnus’ speeches instead. For the sake of dramatics and some much needed entertainment.

On this particular exhausting cycle, though, Optimus Prime -absolutely fuming- seemed to have the same idea as him about being the first one out of the Council’s logic leeching vacuum. That he was the main cause of said scourging amongst his leaders and peers -and Sentinel, the instigator- allowed Megatron a moment of calm to slow his steps some ways behind him and enjoy the sight of one puffed up Prime getting exactly what he deserved for bringing Megatron onto this cursed planet with a functioning sparkbeat.

He looked ready to kick Sentinel’s podium on the way out, if he were the type of mech to lose his temper Lin such a way.

Megatron remembered the trip back to Cybertron being not at all how he’d imagined it. Beaten, torn to pieces, and struggling to vent, Megatron had seen a fair glimpse of the kind of mech Optimus Prime really was when battle and desperation weren’t marring his processor.

He couldn’t say he was impressed with a bot with such… he was just so… Optimus was so…

The only way Megatron could describe the humiliating -though enlightening- encounter without sacrificing his ego was to simply say that he hadn’t the opportunity to meet an Autobot Elite as unexpectedly humble and sincere as Optimus Prime before.

How embarrassing to have been beaten by such a bleeding spark…

The little mech cared about… everything. And he cared too much.

Unfortunately, the effort he put into it was quite misplaced. If he could only have the foresight to see who his genuine nature was being expended upon, who was taking advantage of it, he’d have turned to the Decepticon’s for guidance and a purpose.

Not that Megatron wanted him there.

Megatron gave a huff and removed himself from those thoughts, lest he provoke the unfortunate memories that’d came with them -stuck at the mercy of what he’d just discovered at the time to be a Primus forsaken maintenance bot, serving him back his own aft like he’d been doing it for centuries prior.

The discovery had been too humiliating too bare…

His little consolation for everything the Prime had put him through on Earth was that he was still a nobody here. He was spoken over, talked down to by Ultra Magnus on occasion, and largely ignored. Which is what Megatron intended to do himself for the rest of this pretend peace he was forced to serve under.

Pretend Optimus Prime was a bot without an ounce of worth behind his false title, something to be forgotten in the history of Megatron’s millions of years of fortitude and success.

And as he looked down at his retreating figure, hustling towards the doors to rid himself the indignity of todays events, Megatron knew in his spark that this would be the most he’d ever spare in acknowledging the Prime- only enough to delight in his suffering.

He could survive these sessions with that in mind, if it could only have stayed true.

“They don’t seem to know what’s good for them.” The Decepticon, a jet, said blithely. He was standing guard by the entrance on the Decepticon’s floor. That Optimus didn’t bother with his faction’s floor in a means to get out of there sooner was another odd consolation for Megatron against the withering glares from the council mech’s at the tiny fool’s backstrut.

Optimus didn’t seem to pay this mech any mind either.

“No, they don’t.” He snapped back at him, without a single glance at the jet. And yet, there was something there in his tone Megatron couldn’t quite place when he heard it -nor cared to- as he lazily followed behind him.

In the split second the jet had to respond before Optimus was good and gone, stomping and storming off as fearsomely as any ‘Con about triple his size, the guard tilted his helm his way to try and extend the last few moments they had.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Prime.”

To Megatron’s confusion, Optimus stopped. His shoulders losing some of their tension as his helm fell back on a sigh.

“Sorry… I’ll try... And Thanks.”

The jet smiled at him, and from this angle, Megatron could just make out the corner of Optimus’ lip plates tilting upward, returning it.

‘Familiarity’… That’s what it was.

———————————————-

Boredom was about Megatron’s only motivator to look into the odd spectacle he’d witnessed. Waiting for the council room to fill and the doors to close, preparing for another arduous cycle of negotiations, Megatron leant back in his chair, hardly built for his massive size as it was, and hissed nasally into Strika’s audial.

“Who is that?” He cut his optics over at the chipper looking jet.

How dare he not be sharing in Megatron’s crushing despair for having to be here.

“Jou know who jour mechs are.” Strika answered back.

Megatron considered the mech a moment. He was silver and rather tall for a jet. A sleek frame with black indentations up the underside of each wings- one of his more noticeable features. One a Decepticon might think attractive with its cutting edges and sharp angles.

Megatron certainly did know him, granted he’d gone through several reformations since joining the cause.

He tried to remember why.

This jet proved significantly more capable of handling injuries than most other winged mechs of his slender, shorter stature. He’d seen some extensive upgrades, and if Megatron was correct, had managed to deserve each and every one of them under his field commander’s favor.

Oh, right- and Starscream hated him. Pretty to look at, easy to grab, obedient and a good listener, as well as a good fighter. Of course Megatron would have agreed to special treatment like reformations for a mech like that, so long as he was sure Starscream would wind up jealous and bitter about it.

Considering his near civil mech size, this one was a powerhouse -and a good choice for their chamber room guard post then. Not that Megatron could believe a room full of even the most capable Autobot warriors could subdue him without the jet‘s aid.

But that image conjured up another one- the memory of this jet streaking across a scarlet sky with Energon dripping from his wingtips. A splash of it falling down and momentarily blinding Megatron’s opponent before he’d decapitated them.

Saberswipe, Megatron finally recalled. A winged mech who dissected enemies using a unique blend of speed and force. How fitting then.

Megatron didn’t like him…

“He vants to frag Prime.” Said Strika, then. Unnecessarily.

Megatron cuts his optics at her next.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be such an unbearable pain then.” He said rather stuffily.

“Optimus Prime has too much time on his servos to be as meddlesome as he is. He needs a hobby.”

“Like fragging a flighty, pint sized jet?”

“Like fragging himself, more like.” Megatron scoffed, then surveyed the platforms opposite him, looking for said nuisance to come and claim his seat soon, and the pestering to begin.

“Vatch your mouth.” Strika snarled into his audial, immediately drawing Megatron’s attention back.

He looked at her, slack jawed and optic ridge pinched. Completely offended by her outburst. She didn’t look the least bit repentant.

In fact, as war frames often did with one another, she stared him right back in the optics, challenging him. Her permanent frown somehow impressively deepening.

Megatron’s processor slowed to a tick.

“What was that, General?” He ground out, finally grasping that one of his subordinates had just had the gall to openly disrespect him in such a way.

The tank leaned into him, drawing a curious glance from the old and foolish Trion who frequently attempted to keep tabs on the Decepticon board from across the way. Looking terribly unsubtle about it, too.

“Vatch what jou say about Prime.” Strika rumbled.“He does not deserve jour ridicule, too.”

Nearly lost for words in one debilitating moment of insanity, Megatron needed time for his processor to climb back up to a functional rhythm.

Strika’s gaze did not waver, shockingly. Staring him down with all the confidence and reassertion she only ever expended defending the honor of her delusional mate, Lugnut.

Which this was….. odd…

“He deserves every ounce of it.” Megatron said slowly, gobsmacked. Because had Strika forgotten how they’d gotten themselves here?

Had she forgotten how her suddenly precious little Prime had gotten him here?

“He is the reason we are being forced to kneel to the Autobot’s.”

“He is za reason we may all have a chance at peace, finally. He is za reason zese negotiations have gone on for as long as zhey have vithout falling through.”

“Because he won’t stop inserting himself-“

“Which is the reason we’ve had a voice for ourselves on that half of the chamber.”

Megatron felt a very childish rebuttal coming up any second now.

“We are strong enough to be our own voices!”

They’d had to be for lifetimes now.

Where had it gotten them, though?

“They von’t listen to us.” Strika said simply. Obviously.

They both already knew, despite how much it pained Megatron to think he was worth so little respect from even Ultra Magnus these days as to be heard, when he had gone and conquered worlds. Had posed as the single most monstrous threat to Autobot society for generations.

“Prime is making zem listen.” Strika reinforced, a tad more gentler. Which was worse than her disrespect.

Megatron felt the tension in his shoulder joints loosen, defeated yet again by Strika’s superior logic unit. One reason she made such a brilliant general, and did just a good enough job to help him remember his own place in things.

Help him remember his undoubtable greatness and value as a warrior and intelligent mind still weren’t enough to sway the narrow minds and bigoted forces of the Autobot Commonwealth. She was just objective enough to understand her loyalty for her master wouldn’t translate for some- for many. And she was right -had probably saved these negotiations countless times without him even knowing- to help him see that for himself.

He’d be feeding her her spike for it later.

“It shouldn’t be that way…” He huffed, all but pouting like the 14 million year old warlord he was for anyone tracking the conversation in the room to see.

“I agree- and he doesn’t zink so, either.“ Strika said, turning back to face the finally full room with her optics settling over the little Prime, entranced in his own tireless note taking.

“How fortunate are we, zhen to have a such a find listener? Zhat isn’t a question, by ze way. Now shut up and vatch.”

The session began as it always did- with the little red Bumblebee lookalike announcing the designations of all parties present and then the article of debate. In today’s case, it was about the mythical Decepticon housing distribution problem.

Optimus’ finials pricked up in interest, readying himself to take a stand.

Megatron turned away.

“You hate peace, Strika.” He said mournfully. His servos crossed over his chest, as he stared over at Saberswipe diligently standing guard. His optics also settled heavily over the brightly colored Prime. But he was only safe place in the room at the moment for Megatron to rest his optics.

Megatron was always happiest with his processor busy plotting, and he had much to think about when he set his optics on the tall, agile jet.

—————————

Despite feeling like a part time prisoner still, which was somewhat true, Megatron was glad to spend a cycle outside of that court of self-aggrandizing windbags, and in the beautiful plated streets of the lovely Iacon City for a change. Standing in the place he’d once stood millennia ago, screaming at the top of his voice box until his synthesizer was stripped raw for the helm of the mech who’d signed the miner outpost off and left him and his kin an empty future.

He remembered his fellow war mech’s at his back, looking to him -the bravest of the lot- to get them answers. To take it from the first senator to get down off his high podium and face them all. Having finally reached a point in his life where he was willing to throw his life away, if that was what it would take to be heard.

Civil frames avoided him, splitting perfectly down the middle as they went, trying to avoid him. Dodging eye contact, apologizing for having to pass by him at all- those who didn’t cross the street entirely.

One such mech was not so cowed by his domineering, gravely presence on their clean, shiny streets.

“Hiya, Megatron. You’re needed in the chambers today.”

Megatron looked the large, green swat van over. Twice. Wondering when and where he had gotten the audacity.

“Are you an errand boy, now?” He jabbed, looking for a weak spot in Optimus’ most even tempered, well adjusted ex-crew mate.

“Nope. Just doin’ Prime a favor. He, uh, wanted to discuss the housing issue some more the other day, but Ultra Magnus said it’d need to be done in an official setting. You’re the other faction leader, sooo… y’know.”

So one of Optimus’ post meeting scourges had pushed enough frayed nerves to get itself a platform.

Megatron was not about to subject himself to Optimus -an Autobot- openly condemning Megatron’s -an actual Decepticon- insistence that Decepticons did not need the ‘frivolities’ that civil types did in their hypothetical habsuites, and that he was ‘thinking like a pampered little civil frame’ when he had insisted each Decepticon be given a balcony and sky view for easy take off.

Optimus did not know what Decepticons needed, Megatron -a Decepticon- obviously did. Why hadn’t he left it alone? Why did he always have to go behind his backstrut?

Because he knew having one less oppressive opinion of Optimus’ place there in the room would be enough to force himself to be heard?

And if he was as great as Strika (confusingly, peculiarly, horrifically) had said, then he would know they ‘needed’ an open, more communal space for their habitats. Once, when he’d cared to hear it, Megatron had recalled somebot saying that seekers didn’t do so well when separated, and seekers made up a large part of his flyers.

Which speaking of-

“That is why Starscream exists.” Megatron glowered at Bulkhead.

Yes, Starscream was here as his no good, useless second in command. It’d been torture having to reinstate that rank at the start of this jumbled negotiation mess.

Bulkhead only shrugged.

“She didn’t show up.”

Megatron sighed, palm coming up to cover his forehelm.

He did love his cycles away from the council room, as their newest instrument of torture -them opening their mouths- too much for his poor, weathered spark.

But today was not his day to indulge.

He turned away and left Bulkhead standing there, shrugging off the taller mech’s awful attitude -used to Prowl’s and Bumblebee’s- and marched himself away from the council chambers. He took flight in the middle of a crowded city of startled grounders and off towards the Nemesis’ docking bay, stationed in the vacant hollow of the once prosperous Kaon, where it was sat idly. His poor ship.

On a day like this, where Starscream had been summoned to preform and had unsurprisingly failed again to do so, the useless seeker would no doubt be hiding away in the command quarters, rather than out enjoying the city skylights from the shuttle ports. Lazing about precarious platforms and swinging a pede over an edge into the open air, enjoying herself.

She’d be smart enough to know with that alarming sixth sense of her that Megatron would be out looking for her today. Looking to tear off some wingstruts.

Decepticons cleared the way as their thunderous leader landed and stomped his way up the deck, much like the civil frames had in the Iacon Plaza.

Megatron was marginally saddened to find Starscream hadn’t taken the opportunity of his absence to claim ownership of his throne and do all her sulking there, as he always felt it was a bit instigative of him to shred the seeker to pieces when she hadn’t gone and stupidly earned it.

When he finally found her huddled in on herself in a bulkhead, he had to forced his claws to retract.

She stood there, facing away from the quiet commotion of the bridge with her servos crossed, staring at the floor with a scowl. Processor deep in conniving thought.

Some threatening on Megatron’s part was still in order, at least.

“Get… your scrap metal wings… your lazy skidplate… down to the council chambers!” Megatron roared, startling the seeker out of her trance, as she spun around to access the danger she was in.

Megatron stood before her, towering and menacing, impossible to make out the expression of in the lightless war ship. Though she did catch the distinct glint of fanged denta baring themselves from the glow of monitor stations.

“Now.” Megatron rasped, pointing for target enhanced optics to see at the vague location of the Autobot Council Chambers. Miles and miles away.

After a moment looking him over, frown stuck to her faceplates, Starscream immediately assumed her usual dramatics, ‘scrap metal wings’ challenging Megatron in a high arch.

“Never,” She hissed back, baring her own sharp denta. Already protesting against his authority and he’d only just gotten there.

Megatron, finally having been able to get some fresh air in his vents away from the horrid hell hole Prime was trying to shove him back into, was able to find the strength to summon his ire over his exhaustion.

His optics glowed dangerously as his plating ruffled. Making his already impressive frame seem somehow bigger.

“Starscream. Go. At. Once.”

Starscream still was not cowed. Curiously. Worryingly.

She brought her claws out to her sides, extending them, readying for the first strike.

“No…”

Megatron was only slightly surprised to see how affected his selfish, self-absorbed seeker was by attending the lengthy meetings of Autobot jargon that did little, if anything, to center themselves around her haughty presence there. Because of course she wouldn’t want to whittle her time away there, it was never about her.

It was always about Megatron and his great presence and incredible intellect. His ability to have every last one of the sniveling Autobots wiped clean as a species, should they cross him. Starscream could never stand being overshadowed by his-

“I’m not going back there!” She screeched at him.

Megatron reached for a sheathed sword he wore in purposeful protest of Magnus’ law forbidding war frame’s of dawning weapons in the presence of civil mechs, as it hadn’t yet been set into motion.

But then her words suddenly clicked.

“What do you mean, ‘go back there’? You’ve been excluded from sessions while in my company… Because I barred you.”

Lord, had he.

“I barred myself, when you wouldn’t stop gloating about ridiculous, ancient, irrelevant history!” Starscream countered, giving Megatron a sudden and strange feeling that reason was a fallacy.

“Nobody cares how you handled the pre-faction Destrons- or how ‘great you are’ at leading a washed out, embarrassment of an ex-faction! It doesn’t make you a good leader, it doesn’t mean you deserve anyone’s respect! Especially not mine!”

Megatron’s optic twitched.

AllSpark, give him strength.

“Your presence has not been requested or necessary for a decacycle, Starscream. I’ve been handling everything- this was my one cycle away from their pointless rambling-“

“That’s what you think!” Starscream said snidel. Igniting equal parts worry and confusion in Megatron’s fuel tank.

Because she had better not been stepping a single heeled thruster into that fucking joke of a council of theirs, or else he’d-

“You don’t care about the needs of streamlined frames, you know! I have to be there!”

Megatron blinked his confusion, but he made sense of things rather quickly.

“You mean you and your clones?”

“Yes!” Starscream instantly recognized which insufferable tone Megatron was using on her.

“Obviously, you old fool!”

“Starscream-!”

“I have a skeletal scaffold to pick with them, too, you know!” Starscream flittered her wings in agitation, ignoring whatever danger she was in and rambling over him.

“You may not have the spacial awareness to see it for yourself, but I’m in there plenty! You never think to address the feuling crisis for streamlined frames! The clone seekers have varying needs, we aren’t genetically identical, or have you somehow overlooked Skywarp’s built in warpdrive?! What about Thundercracker’s sonic boom?!”

Thundercracker’s what…?

Oh, Primus.

“They are seekers of my own making,” Starscream screeched so loud, the nearest star outside the viewport flickered, hearing her call.

“They’re not… not thoughtfulness productions and weapons!”

Megatron’s lip curled.

“Your missing spark is an enigma. Who would bother learning every special delicate need your radiated, mutated miscreants require in order to find their shoddy, miserable existence in this world like the rest of us?”

“Optimus Prime would.” Starscream muttered more to herself, rolling her optics.

Megatron’s look of disgust was quickly wiped from his faceplate. Confusion and -oddly- betrayal took its place, as he searched Starscream’s frowning face for answers he dared not ask for.

Starscream looked conflicted as well- beneath the prevalent, thick layer of spite, anyway- and conceded to an explanation.

“He’s working to reduce the classification the clone seekers are subjected to- the Auotbots think they function like workerbots…” Starscream’s derma twisted up at the thought of those nameless mechs, existing without identities, being compared to her wild, wayward clone brothers.

Megatron very consciously chose not to feel anything when he noticed those bots slinking around, doing typical maintenance work and looking unnervingly devoid of a processor.

“That little Earth Prime,” Starscream’s wing flicked.

“He’s taking note of my seekers, what they each need to survive here, how much they need. He isn’t just throwing them together and hoping the new laws and resources sort them all out- that’d be like throwing me and Bonecrusher into a blind conjunxing so you could be done with me.” She shivered violently at the thought.

“He knows the clones aren’t inherently compatible with one another… we’re… that we’re… different people. You know?”

Starscream pulled a face.

“Maybe you don’t know... It’s all a wasted effort anyway. Like you, no one seems to care long enough to learn even the most basic needs of our individual maintenance.”

Starscream shuttered her optics and balled her servos up.

“No one cares to know. Starscream will slip her way out of any mess, but what happens when the mess is about to become your only option to a better future? It’s this or live with nothing in a stockade underground somewhere…”

Starscream was sounding eerily alike she was trying to stave off a watery edge to her vocalizer. Looking away to hide her despair.

Megatron would admit he hadn’t been aware of the existence of this issue -stood there dumbstruck into silence- but it made some molecule of sense to him.

Shockwave had said something about environments and Energon sources as being large factors in issues with accurate cloning. The crazed and unethical servos of their scientist inventors didn’t help with that either, Megatron imagined.

….As they had seen all of such with Toxitron and Nemesis.

Despite Optimus’ stilted, but eventually genuine welcome of the two newest Decepticons into his existentially horrified life, they were both problems for another day. And thankfully, too, ones Optimus was willing to tackle. Seemingly feeling responsible for their creation in some nonsensical way.

Which was also good for him, as Megatron did not want to have to deal with another argument about his inexcusable, abhorrent lack of ethics from Ultra Magnus after what he himself had approved to have happen to the young, susceptible jet twins.

But for now, he was far too tired to deal with anymore insufferable self-doubt, and waved a single servo towards the exit while his other clutched at his aching helm.

“Just go, Starscream. You are needed- do your one and only job.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” She shrieked, energy boundless.

“I’m not going back!”

Megatron tried to ignore the terrified mechs typing away at their monitor stations, fields all buzzing with nerves at their two temperamental commanders’ increasingly passionate spat.

Then the sharp edge of Starscream’s wings spreading out wide at her back brought his attention to the suddenly conflicted looking faceplate of his dear SIC once more.

“They want to silence him!” She continued, failing suddenly to mask the indifference in her voice.

“That idiot with the hammer told him to stop pressing the matter!”

Starscream’s attempt at dressing down the Magnus was a frail one. Desperation was muddling her clever tongue and making her optics blur (to Megatron’s mounting horror).

“Then that, that… useless garbage plow told him it ‘didn’t matter’! He said it wasn’t important! Can you- you believe that?!”

Megatron stood in frozen terror as her vocalizer caught. Watching helplessly as she waved about, fighting back a very real danger to cry.

Blitzwing, formerly a seeker, appeared to be the only bot left in the room not glued faceplate first into his monitor. Wings pricking in interest.

He seemed oddly invested in the whole thing, in Megatron’s opinion. Megatron, who tried not to believe in such things as dwelling on one’s former self. He’d thought Blitzwing wouldn’t worry about something like that either, but… maybe there was something more there he wasn’t seeing.

“And that stupid, little fool…” Starscream hadn’t enough sheer willpower to keep her opinions to herself and avoid the threat of finally crying her optics out in the most un-Decepticon like fashion, in front of a room full of them…

“He told Prime to ‘be quiet’.”

Like Optimus asking for these powerful mechs to hear the voices of others was some ‘annoying inconvenience’.

Or more like Optimus was some annoying inconvenience to them.

They’d certainly done nothing to welcome him there since these negotiations had began, trying to talk over him. Trying to silence him. Trying to bully him.

He’d done more than any of them had in reuniting their peoples with next to nothing to do it with.

And that may only be because he was the only one who wanted to so badly…

The coolant evaporated from the corners of Starscream’s optics in an instant -a god delivered blessing. Instead, it was outrage taking it’s hold and possessing her.

Megatron’s self-perseveration protocols surged to life.

“I’m going to gut them for talking like that,” Megatron’s sparkbeat began to pulse rapidly, knowing that look in her optic then.

“I’m going to pull out his glossa and feed it to Skullcruncher- I’m going to do it right now, in fact! I’m going to the council-“

It was that fearless look where vengeance blinded her and became more important to Starscream than basic logic- of shabby promises of truces.

And Megatron of all mechs was about to be the one to save a board full of outdated models from the wrath of the pit itself, despite knowing they deserved it.

He reached out and caught her by her sensitive wings, unnerved by the way she didn’t so much as flinch in pain from it. This was that mad- mad, that ‘you’ve disrespected a self-appointed Decepticon Prince’ mad.

“No, Starscream. That will undo everything we’ve accomplished-“

“What have we accomplished?!”

“It will undo everything I’ve had to waste my time sitting through, then. Starscream- Starscream-!”

The seeker twisted out of his grasp and, before she could attempt to take flight and race over to the senate to claim herself a pretty, new neck piece, Megatron caught her about the waist and struggled against her sheer force of selfish will to keep her thrusters grounded. Possibly the first time the foolish creature had ever posed such a real and bothersome threat to him.

She attempted lift off again anyway, squashing Megatron’s face into her cockpit as she scratched and clawed and fought for freedom. Mechs typing away at their terminals, desperately trying to ignore the chaos behind them, were inches away from breaking their far less bendable struts than the average civil mech’s by crouching so far down into their stations, some of the mechs with kibble were scraping against raw protoform.

Hiding from emotional conflict like true Decepticons.

Megatron hadn’t been met with this level of danger from the seeker in years. He was afraid he was about to meet his match when, finally, another pair of servos circled her about the waist from the other side, and she was brought back down between Megatron and her other captor.

She didn’t struggle, preserving some ounce of dignity after that extremely unbecoming display.

But the mournful look in her optic was back, and the hitch in her vocalizer was fresh, as she hiccuped an aborted sniff. Muted only by the grind of her denta in a valiant effort to compose herself.

“He was jus- t… trying to help me… No one’s…” She steadied herself.

“No one’s ever done that before…”

Megatron stared, unable to think of a single thing to say to break the uncomfortable spell cast over them, as he looked at his normally carefully distant Second. So careful not to be vulnerable- and never in front of Megatron, for Primus’ sake.

What had these negotiations done to them?

His fearless warriors…

Perhaps he could say to her that Optimus Prime was just one mech, and a young, inexperienced one. No more a crucial factor in her getting the representation Megatron was hard pressed to say her obedient clones didn’t actually deserve, even if she herself did not. But then, Optimus was apparently also the only one pushing this issue that Megatron hadn’t even been made aware of- because the admittedly accurate assumption of Starscream’s was that he hadn’t cared to be.

What he was mortifyingly close to understanding now, though, was that Optimus Prime was important to Starscream’s cause, and far from worthy of the routine mistreatment he received from of his own people.

Unless, of course, Megatron thought that his people secretly deserved such mistreatment themselves- the kind Optimus was tirelessly fighting against, though somehow failing to establish for himself. Like, if Megatron didn’t explicitly know better, Optimus was attempting to put the needs of a few Decepticons, the deserving ones, before his own… Like their proper treatment was at least worth fighting for…

He could say instead that Starscream was letting her behavior consume her and was looking a pitiful mess for it, and as vain as she was, that’d be devastating enough to hear that she might drop the issue. She had only recently established a change in the designation of her pronouns without receiving a reformation with it, garnering plenty of odd looks and outright rejection from the sleek and well-defined frames of civil types and those identifying similarly. The way they’d rejected Strika and Blackarachnia for not fitting certain standards.

It’d left Starscream feeling more fragile about her appearance and reputation lately, and such a thing would be shattering to have to acknowledge when her anger finally subsided and the weight of it all settled upon her.

But goading Starscream for something Megatron himself was constantly struggling against felt undeservedly hateful- the fight to be accepted and respected as well, as a Cybertronian with rights.

Though he couldn’t believe that Starscream didn’t seem deserving of a perfectly effective punishment he could inflict upon her.

“Thundercracker helps jou all ze time.” Said Blitziwng then, finally breaking the overwhelming tension of the moment. His grip still carefully settling her in her place.

Megatron blinked himself out of his stupor, out of his embarrassing lull of feeling guilt and concern for the seeker, and loosened his grip on her then.

Starscream took the opportunity to push both their arms from off her frame and sulk away with her wings indeed held pitifully low. They watched her go, and cords unwinding and struts re-straightening could be heard across the bridge in unison.

“Seekers are moody.” Blitzwing suggested, after a look over his unusually beaten master.

As evidenced by said former seeker’s split personalities, Megatron would agree with that assessment, and spun around in a hasty retreat from anymore emotional confrontations.

————————————

He didn’t allow himself to miss any deliberations after that, lest Starscream subject him to anymore of that guilt still weighing heavy in his spark with another pent up tirade about discrimination in her own faction some ways down the line.

This, watching Motormaster -a recent addition to high command and a poor one- barter for ‘derby rights’, however, wasn’t much better…

“Street racing is illegal.” Optimus said simply- something he’d picked up from Fanzone that had interestingly never been applicable to a race of sentiment, self-driving vehicles before.

Motormaster and his Stunticons were a… different breed, however. One which demanded a new definition for what qualified as ‘safe and legal driving’.

“You mean it’s illegal for war types ta’do it.” Motormaster growled back at him.

Plenty of other Decepticons here today would agree with that false assumption, simply for the sake of being contradictory. Flight frames included.

These talks hadn’t really done a thing to change the relationships between their peoples. They were all still viewing one another as an enemy threat, which, while true, would do nothing to help their goal of changing that viewpoint later on for their futures together.

Megatron wasn’t sure he wanted that to happen, though.

“Why in spark is this bolt head here?” Sentinel said loudly then, turning to Optimus. The only other mech there brave enough to speak over the terrifying Stunticon leader.

Interestingly enough, Sentimel Prime wasn’t particularly frightened to speak his mind at the insubordinate bastard either.

Megatron made a note of it for future blackmailings. He couldn’t send someone the airheaded Prime wasn’t afraid of to do his manipulating.

“Motormaster is Polyhex's defence garrison.” Optimus sighed, having a rare moment of sharing in Sentinel’s distress during one of these meetings.

“Uh-huh. Which you should be the one voicing all the complaints of.” Sentinel said, pointing at the Polyhexian governor, Straxus. Who Megatron had been embarrassingly forced to welcome into the senate, as his mostly made up position also came with lots of mostly made up authorities and responsibilities.

Then Starxus had the audacity -in front of Megatron- to speak.

“Well, yes… I suppose so. Would you… like me, too?”

Strika whipped her helm back to send Megatron a withering look of disgust- which he could share the sentiment of.

Straxus, never soft spoken and never one to acknowledge when he was speaking out of turn and not worth the hot air he was blowing out of his pincered mouth, had been using that tone in regards to Sentinel every time he spoke to the other mech for several weeks now.

Alpha Trion had, again, not so subtlety raised curious optics towards the display. Making his own list of alarming mental notes that Megatron would rather him not be keeping on even his most useless of subordinates.

“Our needs are individual.” Straxus said simply to the court at large.

“Burning excess energy is not a staple of my function, as it is a Stunticons. I’m a big mech. I need to conserve Energon, you know. Might I say, a very big mech…”

Straxus finished by staring pointedly at Sentinel again. Optimus watched from the corner of his optic, extremely invested in his colleague’s reaction- which was only to shuffle his datapads in front of his obnoxious face to hide it, like his notes were more important than addressing the issue he himself had caused by challenging the High Governor himself.

It was a rare moment the plow had been effectively silence.

“Alright then…” Optimus began slowly, clearly disappointed there wasn’t anything more to that interaction.

“Motormaster, war frames are obviously built with fewer limitations than civil frames. Releasing all your frustrations out on the public will result in injuries… To say the least.”

“So we’re just s’posed to fly over to Polyhex anytime we want to spin our wheels!? Get our exercise in?! It’s our right, y’know!”

“No, there are city destinations specifically designed for war frame inhabitants.” Optimus countered, much too calm in Megatron’s foul-tempered opinion. He’d like to see Motormaster verbally whipped to pieces in one of Optimus’ scathing sass-attacks from having lost his patience.

“Where are they?” Motormaster asked smugly, knowing the little Prime had just set himself up for another bout of endless bickering over the inadequacies of care the prejudiced Autobots were bleeding them of.

Which, true, but-

“They haven’t been built yet,” Shockwave -the biggest slight on the company of the proceeding council of any Decepticon mech here- answered on Optimus’ behalf. Though his presence had been won through the stipulation of Megatron agreeing to sign Magnus’ Decepticon Registration Act Part ll, he regretted nothing for the sake of the joy his place on the council had brought him.

“They are scheduled to be completed in less than another decacycle.” Shockwave leant over to stare at Motormaster.

“You can wait a little longer to run your tires to bare threads, can’t you?”

There was an air of irritation about the secular mech. Megatron eyed him several seat podiums down. Sitting as far away from the Magnus as Shockwave could be put.

Shockwave didn’t wait for the other mech’s answer, of course.

“Optimus Prime has personally seen to the construction and collection of the resources needed to make it so. He’s single-handedly enlisted the help of the specialists needed to build these destinations, no less. Much of whom, surprisingly, are volunteers.”

Megatron tried…… VERY HARD…… not to think about the lowly Prime’s status as a former maintenance bot at that.

And yet, the searing reminder kept persisting -as it always did- because Megatron could only imagine with a reputation of such casual dislike amongst a good many of his peers these negotiations had garnered Optimus, there were only so many ‘specialist builders’ he could think of who were going to volunteer the first hand construction of Decepticon resources. And one of them had been severely -possibly permanently- hospitalized because of him in the heat of their final Earth battle before his capture…

“Optimus Prime this, Optimus Prime that.” Said Hook suddenly from a seat behind Megatron.

Hook, the studious, current chief Decepticon medic -after Scalpel had proved both morally unstable (Megatron’s favorite thing about him) and unwilling to subject himself to negotiating with Autobots. He was happy preforming horrible medical services inside his medbay in or out of an everlasting war either way, so it was up to the newly integrated member of Scrapper and Mixmaster’s gestalt to appear before them all today.

Megatron turned his helm to see the insufferable mech speaking his mind -also out of turn, as was his mech’s habit- and caught a worrying glimpse of Strika at his side, looking murderous and ready to stand and punch a new hole in the Constructicon’s head.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

“When exactly is Optimus Prime going to get a seat in the center of the court, so he can delegate all these matters for you?” Hook said, speaking as a whole to the Autobot chairmen across the room. Likely just upset still that he’d been denied special medical privileges to Autobot hospitals.

Probably for questionable access to the resources and records.

But the offhanded comment struck a devastating chord with the audience it’d been addressed to. Megatron watched curiously as facial plates twisted in disbelief and some in outrage.

“Preferably where jou are sitting, Magnus.” Said Strika then, and hardly in jest. Significantly adding to the problem.

Megatron’s field flared beside her in quiet despair for her to silence her vocalizer. His processor spinning with the implications that he had just become the sole protector of the Autobot High Command by trying to keep his mechs civil long enough to give this peace an honest try.

Optimus, constantly challenging the council mechs himself, certainly wasn’t there to do it.

What were these negotiations doing to them?

“I second that.” Said a voice from out of the blue.

It drifted in over the polished floor from afar. Indeed, far, far beneath the deliberators’ notice.

All the way to where Saberswipe was stood guarding his respective door at full attention.

He was relatively young for a war machine and stupidly charismatic, thinking both were enough to buy him some leeway in to injecting his opinion on matters 30 sectors above his ranking. Megatron bit back an almighty need to show him which level he was on with his fusion canon then.

“You are not to speak!” Said Sentinel Prime, having recovered from Straxus’ unwavering optic-ogling assault across the way.

“Agreed,” said Alpha Trion. Not one to allow nonsense of even this caliber. Though Megatron suspected he enjoyed a lower form of it in these drawn out meetings when the mood allowed for it.

“Leave at once, guardsmen. There is no a place for you here.”

“I’ll see him out!” Said Optimus suddenly. Standing and, without anyone’s permission, making his way down the platforms and over the length of the cavernous room to greet a happily surprised looking Saberswipe.

Megatron watched with furrowed optical ridge as the taller jet’s charming smile convinced a timid smile out of the shorter mech, before they awkwardly shuffled towards the door.

“This conference will proceed without you, Optimus Prime.” Came Ultra Magnus’ first articulate sentence of the exhausting cycle, as he watched the little truck with tired optics.

“Are you sure you wish to conclude for the remainder of it?”

Optimus had stopped walking with a far too close Saberswipe at his side to address his leader then.

“I’m causing you all too much trouble.” He said as way of shoddy explanation, barely suppressing an amused smile at the Decepticon portion of the room.

“Pheh. That’s everyday.” Senator Botanica seemed to say rather warmly as the little firetruck went on his way. She was possibly one of the few who were steadily becoming too fond of the brash little mech to think badly of his efforts.

Megatron sat, watchful optics taking it all in as the two retreating mechs came even closer together as they exited the door to the chambers, centimeters apart. And feeling somewhat… disappointed all at once.

While this wasn’t an issue Optimus needed to be present for or press anymore, as hopefully the council wouldn’t deign to change subjects of debate and infringe on anybot’s rights while he wasn’t around, his presence was still…. Necessary.

To Megatron’s gargantuan surprise, Optimus Prime, creating a steady pace of good deeds and commendable civil works for even some of Megatron’s more undeserving of mechs, was, in fact, necessary.

Of all the things Megatron expected to hear during the proceeding conversation in Optimus’ absence, Shockwave leaning forward to jab a talon at Motormaster and hissing, “You just ran him off! The only sensible Autobot here!” Was not one of them.

A Decepticon as unfeeling as a slab of dead durasteel tissue, and thinking favorably about a nobody little Autobot?

Not at all…

Apparently that irritation he was sensing off Shockwave from earlier was on behalf of the little Prime’s shockingly genuine efforts for the Decepticon Cause, and not because Prime kept inserting himself into issues.

It was worrying to think the ‘Decepticon Cause’, though, had somehow shifted to a cause centered on finding themselves a place on this planet. A semi-peaceful one. One that didn’t speak of domination and death.

But even that was not more worrying than thinking his arguably lost monstrously devoid mechs would be so supportive of one little Autobot’s attempts to make that so.

————————————

It was only a matter of time until someone was going to snap. Tensions between their two peoples were too high, and Prime just had to keeping shoving his olfactory into places it didn’t belong.

Megatron was contacted almost immediately after a team of medics were by a suspiciously blocked frequency. Meaning whoever they were, they may have been involved- which didn’t narrow down who that could possibly be with so many bots on both sides making questionable choices all throughout this merging.

What he was certain of, was that Rippersnapper had seemed to have wandered too far from the other Terrorcons and was doing his damnedest to make a mess for everyone.

Which meant Megatron was now looking for a mecha sized shark-former with a thousand tonnes too many to be laying his hands on a little, overly assertive Prime- most likely having been there ordering him to leave the civilian gallery for his foul, reckless behavior. Stepping on the crystalline garden dividers and biting at the air below where terrified civilians scurried out of range to keep their helms in tact.

Megatron was beyond furious to be reduced to playing dog catcher, but with peace as precarious as it was, this was too severe an offense to go beneath him. Being their faction wide leader, Megatron was already out of his berth from a restless recharge and bounding out the docking bay to put a stop to it.

Knowing his Terrorcons (about to be the newly dubbed ‘Torn-to-pieces-Cons’ once he got ahold of him) Rippersnapper would have steadily become more and more deranged in the time Megatron had taken to fly there. Which would have been sooner, if he’d just agreed to temporary housing in the city limit already.

And Prime for his part would have surely been an overwhelming nuisance who’d deserved what Rippersnapper had served to him, no doubt. Standing up to an entire war machine and telling him that he should literally watch his mouth and learn to act like a decent mech- even if he wouldn’t have been in the wrong for it…

Megatron’s men knew what was expected of them now- what was expected of them even more so at the moment, while they hoped to outlast the final phase of these negotiations until citizenships were finally trusted to be granted to them.

And while he couldn’t fault any of them for feeling disrespected and belittled by a mech from a faction that’d had them all disgraced from their own home planet in the first place, Megatron had had to do the unthinkable to make this union work and set aside all personal grudges for the sake of his people. He’d had to let go.

At least, he had to look like he had, and so they did, too.

And now he was going to be forced to make an example out of one of them… just to prove how seriously he was going to take his massive warriors acting out in public. Just to assure the Civilian Council that he could be trusted to conduct himself professionally enough for them to take a gamble on attempting a trial of peace with him.

Beyond the fury he felt at realizing now how desperate he actually was to see this union succeed, Megatron was carefully calculating all the ways to tortuously take out his frustrations on the Terrorcon for having forced him essentially to defend the Prime who he hated most in the infinite universe.

Megatron reached the city limit and prepared to land soon.

He was going to grab Rippersnapper by the sensitive dorsal fin and pull his mechanical gills out- make him choke around Megatron’s strangling servo stuffing itself down his intake. Help him to understand, and any present to witness it, that this was intolerable, and that their master would be eating the sparks of any wretch foolish enough to do such a thing in the future.

Jeopardizing all the humiliating work Megatron had put into sitting through those brain numbing Council calls at heinous hours of the cycle in an increasingly more unordered fashion (which was somewhat bound to be the case, since they had Decepticons keeping chairs in the chambers)….

And he was in danger of losing l all of that, because one shark shifter had the split second insanity to put their hands on one of Primus’ precious chosen ones. Even a disgraced nobody Prime who was only important in title.

When Megatron arrived at the open gallery with the anonymous coordinates he’d been sent, he soon realized that none of his fantasies about brutalizing Rippersnapper would even be necessary.

To his amazement, the commended portion of Optimus Prime’s reputation as a burgeoning enthusiast for cross-faction equality had reached far and wide in the Decepticon’s ranks, and while Megatron wasn’t sure what he’d done to elicit the favor of the brilliant Combaticon leader, Onslaught, Megatron now suddenly found himself rather desperate to know.

Just how far out of the loop was he? How lost had he been to all the mountainous changes in his mechs while he was allowing his mind to focus on Magnus and the stale moving parts of the senate that’s he’d missed this?

The wondrous world he was only catching the tail-end glimpses of that Optimus Prime was hand building?

At this point, Megatron had to wonder if in the event this all did fall through, if whether it would even be a real loss, now that they had such a widely liked, capable mech like Optimus Prime so openly advocating for them.

What it would matter, though, purely beyond sentiment, amounted to very little, and their people were not attached to ideas such as that.

Megatron blinked himself back to the present so that he could assess the damage, as crowds of traumatized civil bots, watching with their backs flat to the surrounding buildings as Brawl beat a hole into the opposite side of Rippersnapper’s sternum. Missing his spark by an inch, blessedly preferring his victims to live long enough to remember the lessons he enforced. Megatron would rather not have his mechs be publicly broadcasting an infighting casualty.

Vortex was cheering Brawl on from over his shoulder, hovering too close again, about to receive another accidental, friendly-fire medbay visit.

Megatron was starting to see the necessity in Sentinel pushing for divided recreational sects in the cities, despite Optimus’ best intentions to see everyone coexist and treat one another with the proper respect.

The average civil mech didn’t possess a quarter of the foul tempered, carnal aggression a Decepticon gestalt did. Feeding off one another and causing a ruckus, encouraged further by the other supportive members of the group, aiding in some way to the destruction.

Megatron debated which position to take then.

Whether to do damage control and hoist the heavy mechs up and away from the near lifeless body, Energon puddling up beneath its cold frame, or to focus on calling for someone of Autobot authority to come separate and treat the horrified civilians present for the mental strain of what they’d just witnessed. Were still witnessing.

He’d finally had the processor to deduce that the mechs on the scene at the time that somebot had called for the ‘authorities’ must have been of Decepticon descent themselves- and they had naturally missed the point of calling for authorities entirely by calling upon a mech they assumed would allow them to finish the job first. And while he was certain now whoever they were they’d had some kind of part in all this, Megatron would admit that their assessment that he would rejoice in his warrior’s hardy bloodbath first would have been an accurate assumption in any other setting. In one where he was not currently issuing for the position of a willing protector of Cybertron.

As the Decepticon medics that’d been alerted were being painfully slow to respond to the anonymous caller -and would not have had the understanding to do so themselves- someone was going to have to tell Ultra Magnus about this…

Out of time since one breem ago, however; Megatron would have to deal with this before anyone actually useful to Prime could arrive.

His optics tracked back over to the incredibly damning sight he’d been subconsciously avoiding since he’d glanced optics over it.

Optimus was there being cradled like a broken doll against Onslaughts’ massive chestplate. Being held higher than any horrified Autobot’s brave enough to collect their mess of a Prime could reach.

There were evidently no takers around at the moment, though, which caused something odd to shift in Megatron’s core beliefs, as he considered for himself the notion that acts of blind bravery would predominantly be their jobs soon- war machines. As it had been once before the divide of their peoples.

It was the only exchange he could offer the Auotbots for the new age of peace- to protect. To fulfill once more their shackling roles as the guardians of weak, ungrateful, prejudiced little civil mechs, and face the atrocities lurking in the cosmos in lieu of the pampered, privileged, sheltered little things doing it themselves.

Oh, how these things had a way of repeating themselves. It’d left a bitter taste in his mouth… at first.

But now… seeing how easily Onslaught had resumed control of the situation so abysmally out of the little ones’ depths, undoubtedly the one to thank for saving the Prime’s life as he had…

Civilians weren’t entirely useless to their species by any means, but a Decepticon easily outweighing them in strength size and ferocity were only the start of their problems in a galaxy much, much bigger than them.

As bad as it was, this could have been far worse.

Megatron looked twice and noticed that Swindle had materialized out of thin air at some point, possibly having been there the whole time, expertly sneaking about his brother with his shorter stature. Busy trying to talk Onslaught into purchasing a cushion to elevate Prime’s dripping helm, as Onslaught wasn’t capable of much in the way of a delicate touch.

Pink dribbled down the Combaticon’s torso as he shifted the body in his servos.

Megatron did a quick sweep next to locate the only brother missing, Blast Off, and decided whatever his involvement, it was not detrimental to him securing the crisis finally.

Megatron chose action over dissertation, leaving the innocent bystanders to console themselves -thankfully a rather hardier lot than Megatron had come to realize he’d given them credit for. Some of them shaking themselves from their stupor at the sight of him and doing what the others present had neglected in their shock by calling the Autobot forces.

There, now Magnus knew…

With that decided, Megatron marched over to the supervising Combaticon leader to work towards fixing the most pressing problem at the moment.

Fixing Prime.

Onslaught’s visor dipped in his direction, as Swindle used the magic of monkey business to all but disappear again.

“Let me have this.” Megatron said as he took the Prime away.

There was no quarrel as he was unceremoniously dumped into Megatron’s single servo, as Onslaught watched their leader whisk him away to someplace unknown.

Despite having had his servos around Prime’s waist once before, hefting him up as weightlessly as a cube of Energon, he felt even lighter now.

Worried he’d lost his grip on him, Megatron stole a look down at a peek of white denta behind full lips. The badly bruised Prime slack jawed and unmoving, beyond his helm as it was lifted and supported by Megatron’s servo.

He thankfully didn’t get very far toting a battered Prime off before a pair of civilian medics arrived well ahead of his disgracefully arrogant ones.

Protocols hadn’t been set in the event of something like this. And he was considering forgiving everyone who’d done well enough to become involved for treating the situation as casually and non-life threateningly as it actually was. Few would have the foresight and understanding that walking away from a mauling like this wasn’t nearly as common a shift-end activity as it was for Decepticons.

He could have Shockwave conduct a thorough lecture on the matter later and instill in them the severity of situations like this.

He allowed the civilian medics to carry the unconscious trucker away, decidedly too awake now to attempt sleep again.

He wandered a bit, deep in thought about the behavior he’d witnessed from the fearsome, calculative, rather far removed from even the appeal to sentiment itself, Onslaught. Holding the husk of a Prime, shielding him carefully from any potential threats- essentially anybot that wasn’t himself or a mech of higher rank than him.

And he considered how easily Onslaught could protect him- any civilian. How easily they could protect these hapless, idiot things that went well out of their jurisdiction as maintenance bots to tip the world upon its head and demand it show them respect.

How fitting their new role on Cybertron felt all at once.

How wasteful it felt to think that their natural abilities would have easily been provided and cherished and appreciated by all if they had had a mech like Optimus around to fight ruthlessly for their chance to be. They’d been missing respect and loyalty, not a proper calling.

That thought struck him to the core, and he quickly dismissed it. The Cause he’d given the Decepticons was founded in spark-deep, honest conviction. They had thrived and conquered for millennia, even from the shadows, by standing proudly in their beliefs that they had been onlined with the natural born rights to.

He couldn’t… let himself… forget that. Be manipulated so carelessly astray.

Megatron noticed yet another Decepticon gestalt in the form of the ever expanding, newly banded Constructicons, moseying their way down the street to go put Rippersnapper back together again.

At their heights, it was easy for them to spot one another and salute him. And then he noticed some of their optics catching on his chest plates.

Once they had moved on to finally fulfill their roles here -leaving Megatron to wonder when Constructicons had been given the title of ‘acting medics’, beyond the carefully appointed Hook- he looked down to where they’d been staring at the single, Energon soaked palm print one little Autobot had left there.

———————-

END PART ONE, YOU’RE SAFE NOW. I split this thing up cuz HOO damn, I am just unstable when I made this. Even now there’s like two other parts, I can’t stop talking about thiiiis

For all of you that read this far, you deserved a better proofread then what you got. I know there are lots of mistakes, but if I had proofread this even twice after indulging myself as deeply as I had with all this fluff, I would have died.

Appreciation AU will be the connecting tag I use to the other parts

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