Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Megatron gripped the tree next to his helm as the overwhelming influx of notifications began to thin from his display. Their frequent buzz soon became nothing more than the occasional flash at the top of his internal HUD. This would have allowed Megatron what could be considered a moment of peace, had it not been for the turning thoughts in his processor. What was that?

Megatron focused hard to reach the answers that somehow felt so far out of reach. At this point in his functioning, there weren’t many firsts in the ex-warlord’s lengthy life. However, Rodimus had certainly shaken up the status quo and introduced more than his fair share of spontaneity back into Megatron’s routine, despite only knowing the mech for a short amount of time.

A period had passed since Rodimus closed the comm-link from the other end. Despite this, Megatron was left no less confused by the small one-sided interaction. The event had left his reality matrixes stalled as they churned at full capacity, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened in a ripple of uncertainty. 

Somehow, Rodimus had managed to call his private communication line, that much was certain. How he’d achieved this was still a mystery and required further inquest. 

Rapid questions swirled around Megatron’s helm in quick succession, each one remaining unsaid as he stored them away for later– for now those queries could wait. 

From the corner of his vision, still unopened data-packages continued to taunt Megatron in amber hues. This swiftly drew his attention back to the clutter consuming the already limited space on his display. Grouping the files together allowed Megatron to see at a glance that he’d received no less than 358 files, continuously. What they contained was still unknown to him. 

Megatron’s mind began to wander, a single concern rising to the forefront of his processor– Had Rodimus sent him a virus?

A brief security scan had established otherwise. As far as his systems were concerned, the data-packages were safe. This was further confirmed when said scan flagged each packet by their own individual file type; some were video files, others voice messages. As far as Megatron could tell, all were harmless.

Had Rodimus meant to send them?  

Most were only labelled with a series of numbers, making it near impossible to ascertain their intended purpose. Megatron scrolled through his internal HUD, searching for any one file that stood out. When he failed to spot an outlier he switched tactics; instead, attempting to decipher a common denominator, some thread that could connect each packet without needing to open every file individually. 

His optics scrubbed tirelessly across a wall of numbers to no avail. In the end, Megatron had to accept the one true solution to his inquiry that he’d been avoiding; he needed to open a file. 

With this observation, came doubt. If Rodimus hadn’t meant to send the files, was it right for Megatron to pry? Although the files had been sent his way, had they been meant for him and if so, what was the right course of action? 

With each growing question his keen curiosity grew, interest bubbling in the back of his helm with a strange itch the tiltrotor couldn’t help but scratch. 

Bracing himself, Megatron selected a video file at random and opened its source. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it was far from what faced him on the other end of the recording. 

Megatron was left in awe when soon after loading the file, a black screen gave way to a colorful scene. 

Rodimus’ plating sparkled as it reflected the starlight; its source, likely to be the control room window just beyond the console he was using to record himself. In full view, the speedster’s spoiler was held high against his backplates, its enthusiasm matched by the animated grin he held high against each cheek. 

Megatron’s attention caught in those gentle blue optics, their hue subtly betraying the speedster’s otherwise bright facade with hints of something somber. A melancholic gleam in the dim light that surrounded the cabin of the ship he inhabited. Had it not been for Megatron’s previous few interactions with the mech and his own life experience, he might have missed its presence altogether. 

Megatron still had yet to play the video as it spanned his entire view screen. Rodimus’ cheesy smirk taunting him as uncertainty bubbled one final time.

This was undoubtedly a version of Rodimus from the past; his form familiar yet distinctly unique from the mech Megatron had met mere days ago. There was a shiny luster to Rodimus’ finish, its existence acting as clear evidence that he’d possessed a keen eye for detail and an even greater optic for presentation. Somehow, this realization didn’t surprise Megatron. Despite Rodimus’ appearance upon meeting the flighty mech, vanity did appear to suit his personality. 

To distract himself from further speculation on the mech’s character through appearances alone, Megatron pressed play.

After a brief pause and plenty of fidgeting from the eager speedster, Megatron heard a voice spring to life from the other end of the recording. “Captain’s log– uhhh… Oh– seven!” Rodimus’ tone was upbeat, the accent recognizably his own. 

Captain’s log seven?... Megatron turned the phrase and its meaning over in his helm. So that’s what the numbers had meant, they were timecodes. If that were the case, that would have to mean–

Megatron's train of thought was cut short when the recording of Rodimus continued, his demeanor light and carefree. “Uhh, what to report?” Rodimus tapped a servo to his chin as he spoke, “Well, I’ve been living it up here in space. It's honestly pretty peaceful, there’s no one here to bother me and I’m my own captain of one! Who needs adventure to come to you when you can go wherever you want and make your own–” 

With a deep exhale, Megatron exited the recording, instead focusing his attention back to the wider list of files. The distance between the first file and the recently opened file’s timecode appeared to be roughly 7 earth weeks. As far as Megatron could tell, Rodimus appeared to be using the human calendrical system. This would surely mean each recording was taken weekly but– ah.

After only a few months, the timecodes appeared to skip between larger intervals. At first, the delay shifted from weekly to fortnightly. A few months more and Megatron could see a bimonthly pattern begin to form. By the time he’d scanned over the timecode of the 50th recording, it was apparent that more than 3 earth years had passed since Rodimus’ first entry. 

Had he remained alone for all that time? Something about that question tugged deep at Megatron’s spark. Despite how little he knew of the mech, Rodimus and alone didn’t seem to add up. He seemed to thrive off socialization, attempting to talk his way out of any uncomfortable pause that filled a conversation. That much would have been easy for anyone to pick up, surely. Would it not?

Curious for more answers, Megatron selected a later log at random and initiated it with fewer reservations. 

This file opened to a slightly dimmer scene; the overhead lights of Rodimus’ ship were muted as they flickered above their captain's helm. His slouched form was front and center, draped over his chair at the center of the room and framed by the soft beams of warm light raining from above. Rodimus’ helm tilted slightly to one side as he swayed back and forth in the lonesome captain's chair. Its movement drew Megatron’s attention downward towards the main console’s blinking keypad, low fuel warning lights on full display.

He scrutinized Rodimus’ plating, its luster duller than Megatron remembered it being compared to the recording he’d just viewed moments ago. His vibrant finish and careful polish was now worn into chipped panels and peeling paint. In fact, his frame didn’t appear much different from the state they’d found him in once he’d arrived here in Witwicky. 

Rodimus’ optics mirrored the rest of his form. They were tired, their once bright light subdued. 

Something about the way Rodimus stared out past the camera recording his thoughts unsettled Megatron. It was as if those optics extended far beyond the past to reach him here in the present, their glow pleading for something. What that something was exactly, Megatron wasn’t sure. Though that melancholic hunger felt all too real as he was left frozen in the wake of the other mech’s distant gaze.

With a restless sigh, Rodimus quickly leapt into recording his thoughts without any hesitation. This time, he left behind the introduction in favor of zeroing in on his wandering thoughts. 

“Hey Megs,” the greeting startled Megatron enough to elicit a sudden jolt through his plating as he jumped in place. Rodimus’ voice was loud as it played through Megatron’s helm; despite how low his tone was on the other end of the recording, the greeting boomed. “It’s been a while.” 

Attention now more fixated on the log than ever, Megatron watched entranced as Rodimus reached a servo into his subspace. The simple action felt abnormally intimate given the voyeuristic nature of Megatron’s current position in the present, watching logs that were clearly not meant for him. Well, not meant for this version of himself anyways.

After a quick rummage; Rodimus pulled out a glowing pink vial-like object. Its radiance danced between his digits in swirls of stray light as he held it up closer to the main console’s camera. Turning it over once in his servos, the recorded mech slowly inched the item forward, gripping it between his thumb and fore-digit. 

Despite the graininess of the footage, Megatron had no trouble making out the familiarly cherished liquid inside that thin tube of glass; the glow of innermost energon was unmistakable . 

Some time had passed since Megatron had last laid optics on a cybertronian's core reserve of power. The energon around a transformer’s spark casing was precious and only displayed when gifting it to others. In most cases, the receiving party’s form had long since grayed; in such instances the offering was given as a show of respect. 

Of course, gifting another cybertronian with innermost energon held further, different implications if the receiving mech was still strong of spark. Somehow that line of thought mixed with the presence of Rodimus’ innermost energon, stirred strangely through the tiltrotor’s lines, tugging at something deep in his core. 

It was as if there were a string connecting Megatron to this ghost of the past. His own previously long forgotten vulnerabilities bleeding into his thoughts as he processed what he saw on his HUD before him. 

Shaking it off, Megatron reasoned with himself and boiled the feeling down to pity, nothing more. He did his best to ignore the unexpected and foreign sensation as Rodimus continued to throw him off kilter for some unknown reason. 

“With this…” Past Rodimus shrugged at his own words; despite this, the motion felt half-hearted. “I’m almost all dried up.”

Dried up…? but that would have to mean. 

Thoughts of Rodimus’ open chest plating crossed Megatron’s processor as his mind wandered once more. The image of a bared spark chamber rose to the surface of his mind as the tiltrotor’s memory settled on the marred and dry outer casing of Rodimus’ frame– How had he not noticed at the time?

Rodimus’ former self paid no mind to Megatron’s inner dialogue, continuing to cut off his train of thought. “Regardless of how much time has passed, this little tube still feels like a block of lead weighing me down every time I store it in my subspace.” Rodimus sagged in his chair, the spoiler behind his back was held low, almost out of sight.  

As Megatron watched the other mechs' downturned spoiler shift, he felt a strong need to reach out to Rodimus through time itself in order to provide some comfort. Why? Surely it was guilt. Guilt for his inability to protect a mech he’d been put in charge of for only a short time. His own psyche was surely just projecting his own need for closure after one too many past regrets, most of which he couldn’t take back. 

Perhaps Rodimus reminded him of someone. Perhaps that someone was Megatron himself. 

“For a long time I couldn’t let it go… but I’ve finally decided what to do with it.” Rodimus peered down towards the vial, pausing as he took in a vent before slowly exhaling. Creasing his brow plate, he glanced up towards the camera once more, bold determination now clear on his faceplates.

Megatron clenched his fists as his plating tensed against his frame in anticipation.

“Earth. to. Megatron! ” A distant voice drowned out Rodimus’ next sentence. Despite his lips moving, Megatron couldn’t make out what the speedster had said. The words were paired with the distinct sound of snapping digits, each one drawing closer to Megatron’s faceplates than the last before one particularly loud snap rang out close to his audials. 

With a scoff, Megatron cleared his HUD as fast as his processor would allow. The action freed up enough space to let the mech’s field of view soak in the presence of the world around him once more; reality quickly showing itself in the form of a round pair of glowing blue optics.

Megatron silently peered down at his newfound company, still too stunned to address him. 

“Knock, knock!” Bumblebee tapped his knuckles against the tree to Megatron's side as he questioned, “Anyone home?” 

The display was enough to jostle Megatron out of his daze; he sighed and pinched his nasal ridge. How long had Bumblebee been standing there trying to get the tiltrotor’s attention, and had any of Megatron’s swirling inner thoughts bled through his mind? Had his confusion manipulated his faceplates involuntarily against his control in a way that would lead to an uncomfortable line of questioning?

“Haven’t been here long if that’s what you’re wondering.” Bumblebee rubbed at the back of his neck cables, and shrugged with the other servo. “Figured I’d find you loitering around here somewhere. Are you doing okay, big guy?”

“Did Optimus send you to come check on me?” Megatron deflected, successfully steering the conversation away from his current state of mind.

Bumblebee straightened slightly, puzzled. “Optimus? No… He doesn’t know I’ve been looking for you, and I figured you’d still be hovering somewhere close by.” Bee shrugged as he continued, “Rodimus is safe, y’know? You don’t have to hang around here at the dead of night searching for incoming threats like someone’s watchdog…” 

Megatron scoffed at the mental image that statement beamed into his processor. But before he could argue against that gross misrepresentation of himself, Bumblebee carried on, ignoring the way Megatron’s intake parted to speak in favor of chasing his own inquest. “Anyway, I’m glad I caught you! There’s something I needed to bring up with you as soon as I got the chance.”

Megatron peered off in the direction of the Malto’s residence, studying the roof tiles with a little too much interest. He searched for anything to help him avoid paying full attention to the incoming question that was undoubtedly going to be about Rodimus. As of late, everything seemed to circle around that mech in particular, and as of right now his brain module could do with a small reprieve. “It couldn’t wait until morning?”

“It could…” Bumblebee screwed his servos together in an anxious fidget as he pressed on, “But I couldn’t recharge thinking about it.”

Megatron carried his attention back to the mech in front of him, perturbed. After a moment he nodded for Bumblebee to proceed. 

“I’m a scout, Megatron.” As he began, Bumblebee took to pacing back and forth, hands circling the air in an animated fashion. “During the war, I intercepted and read a lot of Shockwave’s reports…”

Megatron raised an optic ridge, perplexed. He hadn’t been expecting the conversation to veer in this direction, nor the mention of Shockwave’s designation. 

Bumblebee continued, “I know he’d been messing around with internal coding and frame types but this— what’s happened— what is happening to Rodimus is something new.” Bumblebee’s pacing ceased only for him to peer up at Megatron with a furrowed brow plate. “As far as I know, Shockwave wasn’t successful, and dropped his research.”

“That’s right,” Megatron confirmed without any room for doubt. Though Bee’s statement was exactly that, Megatron easily picked up on the underlying question left floating between them.

He clarified, “When I found out what he was up to, I cut that particular branch off before it could grow. Uprooting it from the source to prevent it from festering past the processor of a disturbed mech.” 

Shifting on his pedes, Megatron adjusted his stance, redistributing his weight and crossing his servos over his chassis as he finally voiced his confusion. “While I understand your concern in relation to Shockwave and his experiments. I can’t quite understand how this is relevant to Rodimus’ situation. Shockwave is currently in stasis.”

“Right, yeah. I get that but– Look, I’ll cut to the chase then.” Bumblebee gripped the bridge of his nasal ridge between two digits with a sigh. “This is something we haven’t seen before. If it was something relating to Shockwave’s research, we could prepare for it. But this is different , there’s no telling how this could affect a mech and none of us— well, we aren’t seekers .”

Megatron’s plating bristled slightly, something about the mention of seekers put him on edge especially considering the subject at hand.

“This goes far beyond his frametype… it’s pretty easy to tell just by looking at him that his code has been messed with.” Bumblebee now held his servos out in front of him, exasperation clear on his faceplates as he locked optics with the ex-warlord. “Megatron, we don’t even know what or who Mandroid copied the code from.” 

Megatron rotated his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. “I can handle training him. I’ve done so before with… similar mechs.”

“It’s gonna take more than that and you know it,” Bumblebee huffed. “Seeker culture is something autobots know very little about. But we at least know enough to recognize that seekers have certain needs.”

“I’ll admit,” Megatron didn’t like where this was going. “Seekers have been a mystery to me as well.” 

“Look, just putting it out there…” The minibot’s doorwings perked up behind him; whether the movement was brought on by frustration, tension or determination, Megatron wasn’t sure. “ If the time comes, we might need his help. I can slip right into G.H.O.S.T HQ without anyone–”

“I doubt we’ll get to that point.” Megatron quickly shut the suggestion down, “Besides we can’t trust him, leave it with me for now.”

Bumblebee sighed, “Fine. But I’m going to have to raise my concerns with Optimus. Just thought I’d bring it up with you first considering— well, y’know.”

Megatron nodded his affirmative. Bumblebee was being intentionally vague, it was a small courtesy that Megatron appreciated more than he probably should have. 

After a moment, he leaned forward and cupped the speedster’s shoulder once in a non-verbal farewell before breezing past. From his perspective, for the time being, this matter was resolved. Other matters, however, still left him with a plethora of questions. Questions that he’d rather get answers to sooner rather than later. 

“Where are you going?” Bumblebee’s voice bounced against the trees around them, following behind the taller mech. 

Megatron replied without delay, he had no reason to hide his intentions from Bumblebee. “To check on Rodimus and… talk. There are some things I need to discuss with him.”

It was then that Megatron turned back to face Bumblebee, regarding the other mech one last time. “If this situation gets too out of hand, I’ll take you up on that offer. I’ve heard from Optimus one too many times that your reconnaissance is unmatched, and I was once on the receiving end one too many times.” Megatron continued with a grin, “I must admit, I derive some pleasure from your proposal to give G.H.O.S.T’s security a run for their money.”

Bumblebee preened, doorwings high and proud. 

Rodimus could hear his energon rushing past his audials. 

A dense shadow loomed over the jet’s shaking frame as he shrunk in on himself. He was left feeling small under the powerful glower of those scarlet optics; their intensity bore down on his smaller frame with a cold but distant gaze.

From behind his backplates, Rodimus could feel his wing tips brush the ground below, projecting his fear and disturbing the soil as it settled into its new home between his seams. In the boiling heat of this tense moment, nothing else outside of Rodimus’ field of view seemed to matter. Concerns in the shape of swirling thoughts were discarded in the face of this all-encompassing threat. 

Frozen and unable to move, all Rodimus could manage was a shuddering vent. The feeling of cold air past his raw intake was almost stifling enough to chip away at his focus. Regardless, Rodimus’ concentration continued to zero in on nothing but the sight before him. 

Standing just a few feet from him was a ghost, its chipped gray paint an echo of the distant memories Rodimus continuously failed to evade. 

“Scrap…” Rodimus finally cursed under his breath, the sound escaping him amongst shaky static. As soon as the words left his intake, the form before him shifted. Powerful pedes shuffled in preparation before prowling forward with ease. 

Rodimus startled. In a hurry, he placed two quivering servos against the ground in front of him, using each to brace himself as he stumbled upright into a standing position. “Woah, pause!” Rodimus called past his tightening intake. The jet took a single step back, servos raising to an open palmed defensive position in front of his chassis. “I said pau–... Timeout…? Freeze!?”

The hologram continued to stalk forward towards Rodimus, its beams of light solid and clear in their form as if to taunt the mech with his own stubbornly selective memory. With each passing moment, the hulking figure drew near, finally sounding the alarm in Rodimus’ helm to collect his resolve.

It was then that Rodimus finally moved. With no small amount of effort, he leapt out of the way just in time to avoid a grab from those sizable servos. For now, getting lost in his own thoughts was a luxury Rodimus couldn’t afford. He needed to act .

Megatron’s double surged forward. He clutched at the empty air surrounding Rodimus as the jet narrowly dodged another attempt to grip his throat cables. The action brought with it a powerful gust of wind that had Rodimus shivering as he stumbled to the side. Only for his pedes to scrape against the coarse ground below, catching on the grass and forcing him to slip backwards into an awkward crouch.

Panic surged through Rodimus’ lines once more when he felt a heel connect with his lower abdominal plating, delivering a forceful kick. Rodimus coughed as he was propelled into the air; he could feel his wings catching as he tumbled back to solid ground in an unsteady heap. 

Rodimus’ actuators screamed in protest when he quickly scrambled upright, his helm snapping to those icy optics as the hulking figure trudged in his direction. The prowl was slow but measured, those pedes carrying a weight that Rodimus could now say he’d felt first hand in the form of a punt straight to his tanks. 

Slow was good, slow meant—

The jet launched himself in the direction of the keypad once more, throwing all his weight forward towards his target as he swung past his opponent, narrowly avoiding another punch from those colossal knuckles.

Skidding on to the flat of his shin plates, Rodimus slid to a halt in front of the metal panel, digits at the ready as they gripped each side of the metal disc. Now he just had to figure out how to—

Pain seared through Rodimus’ sensor net when pressure dug into seams and dragged down the surface of his newly formed wings. He could feel a sob welling up in his intake as he surged forward, attempting to get away from the tight grip now grasping deep into his sensitive protometal. The feeling was maddeningly overpowering.

Rodimus cried out in frustration, using every last bit of his resolve to rip himself out of his opponent's hold and whip around to face his foe. He lunged forward with a snarl, entangling himself with the form of his co-captain’s shadow in an attempt to best this tech with pure force of will alone. 

The jet bared his fangs in the direction of his adversary, only to be met with an unsettlingly vacant and frosty look on those unmoving faceplates. The expression carried with it a fervent feeling of wrongness that churned strangely in Rodimus’ tanks.

Realistically, he knew this wasn’t the real Megatron. But something about that glare held a crushing grip over his long suppressed insecurities, strangling his resolve and forcing it to waver.

Before long, their tumble had rewarded him with no more than scratched plating and his face planted firmly in the dirt as his overtaxed frame protested against the strain of both its own exhaustion and a powerful hold. Rodimus could feel the pressure of a knee as it sunk into his lower backplates. 

Through a haze, he gasped when he perceived dynamic digits snaking their way around the back of his neck cables and squeezing as they pushed his face further into the dirt. Bitter exasperation coiled in his systems, hot and heavy. The brunt of it directed at himself for getting locked into this situation in the first place. 

Somehow what was meant to be a fun distraction had turned into a borderline traumatic experience. Nice going Hot Rod … Rodimus chastised internally with a venomous bite.

Above him the weight of another form, one fake but absurdly sturdy, continued to flatten him with oppressive force. As those digits squeezed, Rodimus saw the corners of his vision turn hazy. 

“Rodimus?” His name hit him like a ton of bricks, startling him out of his daze. Ah, now he was hallucinating, great. Either that or Nightshade’s tech was able to converse with him, which was somehow an even scarier thought than its ability to cause lasting damage. 

“Rodimus, I need to speak with you.” The voice’s tone was calm and patient; it was a stark departure from the tightening grip around the jet’s constricted fuel line.

That accent… 

Rodimus peered to the side as best he could, fighting with his visual feed to clear the fog from his optics. Before long, he’d succeeded just enough to focus on a distant form, one that stood just beyond the boundary of the dome’s exterior. 

“M-Megs…” Rodimus croaked out the designation as best he could between fizzing static. The form didn’t move. That’s right… The dome was soundproof. 

Above him, the faux Megatron shifted, pressing all of its bulk into Rodimus as delicate plating protested. He couldn’t do this on his own, he was exhausted. He needed…

“If you’re not up to it, I can come back in the morning,” Megatron stated in a gentle tone. 

Don’t go.

Fear and alarm spilled into the current of Rodimus’ EM field as it billowed out with a potent ferocity in a feeble attempt to latch on to anything past the form above him. Between the pulsing beat of thrumming energon in his helm, Rodimus could distantly hear the sound of keys being pressed. Soft digital cues sounding out in the otherwise empty paddock. 

Rodimus’ focus was hard to keep on anything but his opponent, especially when those formidable digits were back to digging into the delicate surface of his wings and pulling. As it turned out, his processor’s manifestations liked to play dirty. This was made even more apparent when Rodimus heard the distinct whir of a fusion cannon charging up within the vicinity of his helm.

Squeezing his optics shut, Rodimus tried to brace himself for the inevitable. Clamping the armour of his frame down as best he could in a small transformation sequence in preparation for the blow. 

The TCHWOOM! of fusion cannon fire was unmistakable as it whizzed past Rodimus’ audial. Its heat felt against his plating long after the brief moment it had zipped past to reach its intended target. That target, however, hadn't been the jet’s helm like he had expected. 

Rodimus cracked open his optics just enough to catch a glimpse of the smoldering keypad before his optic lenses widened to their largest setting. Smoke billowed from the hole marred into the center of the metal panel before the device clattered unceremoniously towards the soil below. Above him, a stifling weight dissipated all at once and Rodimus felt his struts give out as relief washed over him. 

With the little energy he had left, Rodimus craned his neck in the opposite direction in an attempt to further gauge what had just happened. Before him, Megatron postured motionless, cannon still drawn and smoking at the tip of its barrel. 

Narrowing his optics to focus his visual feed and zoom in, Rodimus could soon make out Megatron’s faceplates, their surface screwed into a frenzied confusion as he vented out a deep puff of air.

“What am I going to do with you?”