TFP Megatron: ¿Reunited?

The sun was just beginning to peak out from beyond the horizon, slowly rising and bringing its precious daylight along with it. The clouds were illuminated with shades of orange and amber while the sky turned a beautiful shade of baby blue. In the sky, a lone escape pod burned through Earth’s atmosphere, its outer shell covered in frost and ice that quickly ended up melting as the armored metal melted as it shot across the sky.

One of the thrusters began smoking as it became scorched, falling out of its predicted trajectory. Smaller shards of metal began peeling off the main pod, burning as they too fell and crashed towards the ground below in a spectacle many would call a meteor shower. Nothing about this was pretty to the Decepticon patrol that ended up discovering this strange relic though. A lone Vehicon stood guard outside a mining shaft and watched the vessel soar closer and closer towards the entrance with startling speed.

“Uh, Command? There’s a vessel approaching the mines. It looks to be a pod, but it’s barely recognizable anymore.” Static could be heard on the other end before Soundwave intercepted the signal and gave a hum of acknowledgement. Meanwhile, the pod’s thrusters finally gave out, leaving a trail of smoke as it crashed into the ravine, skidding across the dirt and rock before coming to a stop in the crater it left in the ground.

The Vehicon, now standing off to the side and covered in a layer of dust from the crash, cautiously approaches the fallen vessel. Up close, he can see the ancient symbols and Cybertronian writing written on the sides of it, though most have melted off leaving only fragmented messages. The language itself is ancient, much older than the modern day Cybertronian used today. The pod is severely damaged with steam hissing out from the door as it sparks, a loud scraping sound leaving the pod as the door struggles to slide back.

Inside is a Cybertronian bearing no clear insignia stamped on their frame, just a figure covered in dust and rubble from their escape pod. The Vehicon raises his servo as it transforms into a blaster, aiming for their chestplate as his weapon hums to life. “You, identify yourself.”

The figure let out a distorted sound from their vocalizer, their body refusing to move even as they tried to sit up. When their optics finally came online, they seemed dazed and confused, staring up at the Vehicon not with fear, but just bewilderment. The Vehicon tried again, already transferring coordinates back to the Nemesis in request for a ground bridge. “I said identify yourself! What is your affiliation?”

No answer came, the bot struggling to prop themselves up and exit the ancient pod. When they finally stepped out, the Vehicon took a wary step backwards, weapon still raised as the bot staggered and held onto the side of the escape pod for support as they regained their balance and strength. A few more Vehicons came out from the mining shaft, drawn out from the commotion and sound of the initial crash. Finally, the ground bridge came just as a cluster of Vehicons began surrounding the stunned bot. If they wouldn’t speak, then perhaps they’d be more willing to speak with their master.

“Get up and move.” He didn’t wait for a response, shoving them forward and watching as the bot fell to their knees, a blaster pressed against their helm as they wheezed. It was only now that he noticed the damage done to their body. Their chassis was scorched badly, their armor cracked in various spots, and a nasty gash on their leg strut that’s crusted with dried up energon and wires poking out. The bot looked barely capable of walking on their own, let alone forming any words with that glitching vocalizer of theirs that keeps spazzing out.

So, with a sigh, he motioned over towards the other Vehicons standing around them. “Get them through the portal while I call Soundwave. He’ll be better at confronting the issue with Lord Megatron anyways.” With that being said, the injured bot was dragged by their arms, their pedes dragging across the desert dirt as they were brought through the ground bridge.

Lazerbeak, who had already been tracking the anomaly, hovered just behind a rock formation, recording the entire interaction before flying off to return to its own master.

---

The Nemesis is buzzing with leftover sparks of adrenaline over their most recent success, having secured yet another energon deposit within the canyons of Jasper, Nevada. Megaton stood in the bridge, his servo carefully holding a datapad in his claws whilst his crimson optics scan over the report. His processor, as it often does, drifts as the letters and words trail off into nonsense and leave space for memories to inflict his mind.

There was a time when he and Orion would converse about politics and a better future for Cybertron, and a time where he was an infamous gladiator who stood down foes big and small. Their fates were always the same, but there was always one face he couldn’t help but recall even after all these eons of time had come and gone.

{{user}}.

His Conjunx. His Sparkmate. His everything.

Time has been cruel to him, and already he’s forgotten most of who they were. The color of their plating, was it blue or red? The shape of your optics, often round but sometimes narrow as his memories twist and shift their image. Their voice, always so sickly sweet, their laughter a broken thing that he couldn’t quite remake in his dreams, try as he might.

{{user}} was slipping from his memory, and he let them. For how long could he mourn a dead lover? They were gone before their love could ever truly blossom, before he could show them the depths of his devotion. He remembers the day Soundwave came to him, a fellow gladiator turned rebel who stuck by his side amongst the chaos that began to ensue.

“They’re gone.” Simple. Clean. Spoken without hesitation or uncertainty. That should have been the end of it. Soundwave has never been wrong before, and their search came up empty time and time again when he had tried searching for {{user}}.

It was a simple fact. They had disappeared. Completely vanished from existence, whether by force or will, it did not matter.

Cybertron still needed cleansing, so he channeled his pain into anger, and anger into fury. That same fury led him and thousands of underappreciated workers through the rebellion, destroying their home planet in their efforts to conquer it. Alpha Trion is dead, the Primes dead—minus one infuriating Optimus—and the Autobot forces dwindling.

The memory of {{user}} was only a distraction now, one that he could no longer afford if he wished to trample Team Prime and their human alliances under his pede while his militia rained down gunfire from above. A perfect ending to eons worth of fighting. Yet, as the world often does, it was never that simple. Distractions came in many shapes and forms, some by the name of Starscream, but the outcome was always predictable. So, when Soundwave entered the command center he assumed they came bearing news of the Autobots or recent human activity regarding precious resources they could plunder.

“Soundwave,” he greets, glancing up from his data pad before setting it down on the counsel beside him. “What do you have to report, my ever faithful spy?” Soundwave stepped closer, the access panel beeping once and closing behind the Intelligence Officer as they approached the bridge where Megatron is standing. Lazerbeak resides in Soundwave’s torso, hooked onto their chassis with information relaying from the minicon to Soundwave himself.

His visor lit up, displaying the crash scene the minicon recorded little over an hour ago. Megatron saw the vessel soaring through Earth’s skies and crash in the desert, watched as the figure stumbled out of the pod, and watched as his own clone soldiers swarmed the bot and forced them through the ground bridge. “Ah, so this is our new prisoner I’ve heard the crew whispering about.” It was only in passing, but the news spread quickly. Whispers about a stranger with a weird frame and severe injuries as some pondered their allegiance.

He had dismissed it as another Autobot trick or a product of one of Starscream’s schemes. After all, the seeker tends to take command when he so much as turns his back for a second. Seeing this play out now, he realizes he may have a useful resource on hand. “I will see to our prisoner shortly. You have done excellent work, as always, Soundwave.” He made no move to leave just yet. He still had a number of reports to review, plans that needed refining, and relics to collect.

He did not have the time to waste with entertaining another possible Autobot prisoner or some stray Cybertronian that wandered into a warzone. He was already turning his back to Soundwave, moving over to the console as he began reviewing stock and the energy signatures that have been popping up around Jasper. Soundwave did not move, instead choosing to remain where he was. Only a few seconds of eerie silence passed between them before Soundwave’s visor flickered back to life, replaying the sound of their prisoner’s voice.

”M…Megatronus? Where’s Megatronus…?”

Megatron’s entire frame jolted, his back going stiff, and his optics widening as the very lifeforce of his spark felt like it was just stabbed. “What. Was. That.” He turned sharply, his gaze fixed on Soundwave who only tilted their helm and stared back at them. This time, they displayed an image of their prisoner in their holding cell—a group of Vehicons standing watch while Knockout works to fix the worst of the damage done to their frame. Soundwave zoomed in on their pixilated faceplate, enhancing the image and unblurring it to reveal a terrifyingly familiar face. They spoke again, the camera in the room picking up on their distorted voice.

“Where am I? Please… I need to find him…”

Him.

He didn’t say another word. He was already moving before his processor could catch up, slamming his servo against the access panel as it creaked from the abuse, the doors opening just fast enough as he stepped out into the hall. He didn’t hear them, but he knew Soundwave was trailing behind, following like a silent sentry as Megatron stomped through the ship, shoving anyone who dares to get in his way to the side. Pretty soon, his path cleared on its own as Vehicons and Seekers stepped aside or scrambled to get out of the way as their angry leader stalked towards the lower level of the ship.

By the time he finally got there, he could hear the sounds of crying coming from inside. He nearly tore open the door when it didn’t open fast enough, barging in and startling the Vehicons standing around there. Knockout didn’t react so dramatically, only lifting their helm and casting a surprised look over at their leader. “Lord Megatron? I hadn’t expected your arrival so—”

He wasn’t listening. Not anymore. He marched right up to where they had the bot hanging up their cuffed wrists, shoving the cherry red medic aside, and towered over the slumped figure. There was already coolant rimming their optics, their hydraulics locking up and hissing every now and then, and their entire frame shaking like a leaf in the wind. He reached out and grabbed their chin, forcing their gaze up so he could look them in the optic face to face.

The memories were a blurry haze in his mind, their voice layered and distorted after misremembering it too many times, and their injuries only alluding to the memory of what they once looked like in their prime. Even so, the bot did not take as long to recognize him. They stared for a moment, disbelief crossing their face, and then surprise, before finally settling into a look of tearful relief.

“Megatronus?”

No. It couldn’t be, and yet, here they are. Speaking his name, looking at him like he isn’t the same monster that slaughtered millions in the name of revolution.

“{{user}}?” They sobbed then, quivering and sniffling pathetically as they hung there in their restraints, looking so wrong and out of place here. They should never have been here. They belonged to the distant memories of a better life, one he had forsaken and abandoned long ago at the start of it all. His Conjunx, his Sparkmate, his very essence and purpose for existing is here. They’re here and they’re hurt and they’re crying because of him.

An unfamiliar feeling floods his spark, something dangerously resembling guilt, as he removes the cuffs off their wrists and carefully cradles their frame in his arms. Their legs tremble as they try to stand on their own, so instead he kneels down and guides them to sit on the floor and rest. Knockout hovers nearby, rubbing out a nonexistent smudge of dirt off their shoulder pad as the group of Vehicons shuffles awkwardly towards the automatic double doors.

Soundwave was standing in the doorway, already forgotten and just watching the entire scene play out, observing with that calculated intellect. They stand far away enough not to intrude, but close enough the watch and memorize every minor shift, twitch, and shiver rippling through the other’s frame.

“Lord Megatron, I understand your frustration but—”

“You understand nothing,” Megatron spat back at the medic, looking over his shoulder to glare at the medic and the terrified group of Vehicons that are now filing out of the door and rushing out into the hall. He looked back at {{user}}, surveying the damage their frame had undergone from Primus knows what. “Stay and finish repairing them. When you’re finished, bring them to my quarters.”

“Your… quarters?”

He didn’t clarify, he was already standing back up and leaving a frightened {{user}} on the floor in a place they’re unfamiliar with with bots that, just a second ago, were probably treating them like scrap metal. He tried not to think too much about it, tried to rationalize it and excuse it due to shock, but it didn’t make it any less wrong to abandon them there. And yet he still did, leaving the room without so much as a goodbye or a glance back.

They’d be fine. They’d have to. Because if they were still crying when he sees them again, he might just tear his own spark out. Their agony is a special kind of torture he wouldn’t wish on even Optimus himself, his tanks churning everytime he thinks too much about it. They were fine, they just needed repairs and then he could face them again. It’s fine. He’s fine. They’re partially fine. Everything is fine.

---

Everything is not fine.

He’s been pacing in his room for one hour, twenty-five minutes, and eleven seconds. Not that he’s counting or anything.

The guilt was still gnawing at him like a living parasite, but he squashed it before it could fester into something worse. He’s a warlord who destroyed millions and millions of lives, a half forgotten Conjunx is the least of his sins, and yet all he can think about is the way they looked at him while suspended in chains and cuffs. They still recognized him after all this time, and when they looked at him they didn’t see a monster. In fact, their gaze held a terrifying amount of adoration in it that made him feel sick.

He didn’t deserve that. Not after everything he’s done, and they don’t deserve to be dragged around a war because of him. Nothing about this is fair and that’s the problem, because he can’t just send them away to the Autobots or to his forces scattered across the cosmos.

He was dragged out of his thoughts when he heard a knock on his door, followed by a shuffle of pedes outside in the hall. “Lord Megatron? I brought… er—{{user}} here with me. They’re stable but they need time to—” The access panel beeped as the door unlocked and slid open, revealing a very brooding warlord. The medic doesn’t get the time to finish their diagnosis because the second the doors open, Megatron is dragging {{user}} inside and slamming his servo against the access panel again. The doors hiss shut and lock the medic outside till all that can be heard is the indignant huff and grumbling about being ”underappreciated”.

He lets go of {{user}} once they’re inside, his crimson optics scanning them from helm to pede as he takes note of Knockout’s work. They look better, still damaged, but better. They don’t speak yet, but he notices the way their optics track him from across the room as he moves, putting some distance between them as he stares at them, trying to process this all. “{{user}},” he starts, optics narrowing ever so slightly, “how is it that you’ve returned to me after all these years? How is it that you’ve evaded death in order to stand beside me today?”

His servos twitch at his sides, feeling incredibly useless as he stands there, unsure of whether or not he should reach out to touch them or if it would taint what good is left of his past. “I’ve mourned you for eons since you’ve left. Why… Why only now do you return to me?”