Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being confined to medbay with a dangerously sick Starscream had given Megatron time to reflect.  He had been thinking about the war (how and why it had began in the first place) and why it still raged on.

Then he had started to become unwell, himself.  He had permitted Hook to check him over, expecting to be told that he had contracted the seeker's flu in a much less serious form.  He was not entirely wrong, but the medic had found something else, as well.

Something far more sinister.

In his younger days, when he had had no future to concern himself about, Megatron had taken a substance to enable him to take down an enemy of Cybertron – a pretender; a traitor.

He had not needed a warning to know what it could do – he had seen it in action.  He had taken it, expecting a quick death – spark failure – after a brief blaze of fury and strength, just long enough to destroy Sentinel Prime.

Death had not claimed him and he had believed that he had been too strong for the substance.

However, it had never left his systems.

Now, it had caught up with him.  There were signs that could not be ignored.

He had all but forgotten those days and it came as a shock to find out that his actions of so long ago had finally bitten him in the aft.

It had given him more to think about.  If he was unfit to lead or showed any weakness, he would likely be removed and replaced.  It was only a matter of time, then, before his own faction turned upon him.

He had realised that his own enemies would likely grant him protection, were he to give Prime the request.

Why, then, were they still at war? If the Autobots had changed so dramatically under the leadership of Optimus Prime, why did he still want to make them pay for the greed, corruption and stupidity of the leaders of the past? Wouldn't that make him just as bad as they?

He had started to describe his reasons for starting the war in the first place in a series of speeches which Soundwave assured him were as passionate and moving as his speeches of old. 

Then he had given his final speech, in which he had pointed out that Optimus Prime was a leader in stark contrast with those who had come before and that, he believed, it would be short-sighted indeed to continue to fight. 

He had spoken of working with the Autobots to rebuild Cybertron to its previous glory and beyond.  He had spoken of peace.  Of building families.  Finding new ways to generate energy.  He used his passion to speak of hope.

Then he had put it to the vote.  Should the highest-ranking Decepticons create and sign a peace treaty?

The votes were in now.

The results were much more favourable than Megatron would have dared to hope.  Apparently, his speeches had done a lot of good. 

He suspected that the small matter of both his Third and Second in Command standing by his decision had played a part, too.  Starscream had never stood by him without protest of some sort, up until now.

Starscream was still unwell. Megatron still remained at his side, securely shut away in medbay. 

Soundwave had been allowed to kit himself out in protective equipment and visit them occasionally.  He was currently sitting beside Megatron, sharing highgrade that he had smuggled in.

The SIC was curled on his berth, having refused to so much as taste the intoxicating substance.  The last thing he needed was to upset his tanks, after all.

Megatron shouldn't have been drinking it either, but Soundwave had not brought enough to do any harm.  What was a quarter measure? Barely sufficient to give the glossa a tingle on the way down.

The leader of the Decepticons shuttered his optics and set aside the contraband drink with a shaky intake.

Soundwave instantly had a servo on his arm.  "Megatron?"

He waved him off and turned away to give one of his explosive sneezes, which made his fuel tanks lurch in turn.

He shook his helm with a groan.  "I think I should stick to medgrade."

His TIC chuckled. "Megatron: allergic to intoxicating substances?"

"No! It isn't that.  I don't want to purge and I will if I'm not careful."

He felt as if the highgrade was going to react with the coolant and medgrade he had recently been given.  He grimaced and gave a shudder.

Soundwave patted his arm sympathetically.  Then he quickly drained the remainder of his drink and stood to pour what was left of Megatron's away in the washrack, removing all the evidence.

"I have written the treaty," Megatron stated, getting to his pedes slowly with a servo on his fuel tank.  "Starscream helped me in its drafting and now I want you to read it.  What are your thoughts?"

Soundwave read and then reread it carefully.  He turned to the former warlord.

"Very thorough."

"It has to be.  I'm not concerned about our future beside an Autobot faction with Optimus at the helm.  I'm worried about future leaders.  I don't want to be remembered as the fool that put his trust in his enemies because one single leader showed compassion.  We need insurance.  Future-proof insurance."

"You won't be remembered as a fool," Starscream's voice assured him.  "I won't let that happen, Megatron."

"Neither will I," he retorted, trying not to let on how moved he was by the sentiment.

It couldn't happen and that was all there was to it.  His spark ached with the paranoid feeling that he was falling for trickery; that Optimus Prime was simply as good at hiding his true nature as Sentinel had been.

But the memory of Optimus's gentle servos as they helped him to transform, almost reverent as they moved over him while he was stunned...

Optimus could not have known that he was even partially aware – and they had been enemies! – he had had no reason at all to be so gentle or patient... so... kind...

That had not been the only time that he had treated him in that way, but it had been the most striking.

It had changed everything.

What if it was just a trick?

Chapter Text

Shockwave's blow came the following day.  Angry that Megatron had decided to disband the Decepticon faction without discussing the matter with himself first, he had decided to push for a vote of no-confidence in his previously esteemed leader.

It came as no surprise to the former warlord.  He was not naïve enough to expect the fiercest of his followers to shrug and accept his decision. 

When word got out that he was dying, he would soon be left in a precarious situation indeed.

"You should talk to Floptimus Prime," his son told him when he caught him rereading the message yet again.  "He said he wanted to help and we've all signed that peace treaty and sent it off to him, now."

Megatron narrowed his optics.  "Don't call him that, Starscream.  We are on the same side, now.  He and I will be joint leaders."

"Since when has status deterred me, Flopatron?"

He grumbled under his breath.  "I am glad to see that you feel a little better, Starscream."

The seeker smirked at him and then gave a cheeky wink.  "Admit it! You missed this."

"No, I have not.  But I have been worried about you."

They smirked at each other for a long moment.  And then Megatron turned back to the message, starting to read it yet again.

"Megatron, stop.  Stop.  You're going to give yourself a helmache.  Just call Prime and give him an update, why don't you?"

He sagged and tossed aside the tablet in his servo.  "You're right, Starscream.  I should call him.  I have no idea what he is going to do, however.  We are confined to the medbay in our under... w-water..." he tensed, shuttering his optics, while his intakes hitched and his vocaliser gave a burst of static.  "Kssssschoosch!"

Curse Cybertronian Flu! Why couldn't it just stay on Cybertron?

Because they were continuously journeying from Earth to Cybertron and back again, probably...

His vocaliser gave another burst of static. 

"Kssssssschooooooschh!"

The force and volume made his helm spin and he spread his arms to regain his balance.

"You OK?"

"Merely irritated.  Flu is an inconvenience."

Starscream snorted and wiped at his nose.  "That's one word for it."

"Apologies.  You have been feeling unwell longer than I and I am already complaining more than you have been.  It is the inactivity... and being left powerless..."

"So? Call Optimus Prime.  See what you can come up with together.  Eeeesh! Anyone'd think you've never had help from him before..."

He had a point.  With a grimace, Megatron contacted his old (former) enemy.

"How are you feeling?"

Not exactly the greeting he had expected, though, in hindsight, he realised that it should undoubtedly have been.  Optimus had always been a soft-sparked mech.

"I've been better, but I have also been worse."

"You surprise me, Megatron.  You have been closer to death before?"

"Less than a year away? Assuredly.  Haven't you? Oh, don't bother answering that.  I have an update for you.  Shockwave has done precisely what I would have done: a vote of no-confidence.  Holed up in medbay, as I am..."

"Say no more.  We'll get you out."

"Optimus.  How? We are in an underwater base.  Starscream is here with me and he has infected intakes.  You are not going to be able to drag him through miles of seawater without running the risk of drowning him.  And I am not leaving him or Soundwave (or his little family) behind.  They are loyal to me and have signed that treaty alongside me.  I do not fancy Starscream's survival chances, in his current state – nor Soundwave's cassettes."

Prime groaned.  "Right.  That means you're gonna have to get everyone together, somehow, and get to an airlock.  When is the base quietest?"

"At night of course, you dolt.  We do have to recharge."

"Is there a particular hour that should be aimed for? If I were to have reason to sneak out of Autobot Headquarters, I'd probably plump for 2 A.M.  Some bots go to berth at 1 A.M. and some are early risers and get up before dawn."

"Soundwave stays up through the night, often.  Nobody else does."

"A benefit of being under the sea," Optimus remarked.  "Considerably harder to attack."

Megatron snorted and then coughed into his servo.

"Sounds unpleasant..."

"I hope, Optimus, that you are not going to spend all your time fussing.  I have had Cybertronian Flu before."

"I'm sure you have, but..."

"But nothing! I neither need nor want your pity.  Now, if you would kindly keep your processors on the plan... I believe we were going to let ourselves out of one of the airlocks in the middle of the night, under the cover of darkness? Starscream will need to be kept warm, so..."

"As will you."

"Oh, do be quiet! How do you plan to retrieve us?"

"Skyfire.  Naturally.  We'll bring blankets and warmed medgrade.  I'll be there to see that you both accept it."

He shook his helm impatiently.  "If it will make you happy, Optimus.  Play nursemaid to your spark's content, you ridiculous..."

Prime laughed.  "Sorry to disappoint you, but I won't let you neglect yourself on my watch.  Let me know when you're ready.  See you tonight.  2 A.M."

"Until tomorrow morning, then," he returned, pedantic as ever.

He ended the call.

Starscream smirked at him.  "I bet he regrets his offer to help already!"

He smirked back and then threw his helm back laughing.  "I almost pity him."

They sobered quickly, the grins and chuckles fading away.

"So..." Starscream muttered, rubbing at his helm.  "What's the plan?"

"We recharge as much as we can and prepare ourselves.  Aside from Soundwave, we tell no-one.  I shall call Hook and... explain and... and thank him, once we are in the clear."

His son nodded and curled up with a shiver. 

"OK."

Megatron curled up too.  Every part of him ached and he felt as if he had been incased with ice.

The thought of attempting to fly – even for a matter of seconds – in his current condition filled him with dread.

Chapter Text

It seemed to take forever for two A.M. to come.

Megatron had sprawled, wide awake and restless, on his berth in medbay ever since ending the call.  He was twitchy and nervous.  He had loudly blamed it on the amount of coolant that Hook insisted on giving him, but he wouldn't have been able to shutter an optic even if he had not had to visit the washrack once or twice an hour.

Now, the base was dark and quiet.  He carried Starscream through the corridors in the direction of the nearest airlock, his own energon whooshing in his audials.

Supposing they were seen and challenged?

What if Starscream were to cough and draw unwanted attention?

But then they were safely inside the airlock and Soundwave was ensuring for the last time that nothing had been forgotten.

He and Starscream still had IVs in them, which his son was holding awkwardly in his servos.  They were not working, of course.  They needed to be suspended above them in order to function.

Soundwave cleared his vocaliser.  "Megatron: ready?"

He nodded.

"Starscream: ready?"

"Ye-yeah.  Ready."

The airlock opened.  Starscream gasped as the cold night air assaulted them and Megatron shivered, immediately feeling the need to sneeze coming upon him.  He resisted the urge to sniffle, knowing that inhaling more of the chilled air would only make matters worse, and gave Soundwave a nod.

Soundwave wrapped an arm around him and the two took off.  Immediately, the airlock closed behind them and was swallowed up by the restless water.  If they had to turn back, they were done for.

Where were Skyfire and Optimus? There was no sound but the waves all around them.

Already, Megatron was beginning to tire.  Starscream was far from heavy, but he felt like a lead weight in his arms.  The nausea and pain that the IV had been countering were returning, as well, not helped by the urge to sneeze that was threatening to subdue him.

Soundwave seemed to know that he was already weakening.  He moved behind him and gripped him under the arms.  They remained suspended as they were, with the former tyrant shivering against the supportive mech at his back.

Megatron tried watching his internal chronometer but quickly realised that he could not trust it to work correctly.  Flu had a way of getting into everything and causing problems.

He felt the seeker in his arms shift and looked down at him.  He could barely see his dimmed optics, let alone his face.  "Megatron... I'll have to fly soon.  It's too cold.  I'm too cold."

He grimaced.  "Try not to think about it.  I'm sure Optimus will be here soon.  Perhaps we were a little early."

He was quite sure that they were not, however.

Just as he was beginning to think that he was about to drop the ill seeker into the water beneath them, he heard engines.

Skyfire swooped upon them and Optimus Prime hastily snatched them out of the air and pulled them inside.

"Sorry, Megatron.  We were delayed by an emergency.  Are you all OK?"

Starscream had taken to the nearest seat, dragging his leader by the IV lines that tugged painfully at his wrist.  He sat down quickly, tightly crossing his pedes.

Seeing the seeker's posture, the former warlord grimaced sympathetically and went to his side, taking his servo as he claimed the seat beside him.

"Oh...! Honestly, Megatron, couldn't you at least make sure you'd all be able to manage the journey in some semblance of comfort?"

He glared at Prime.  "I did! The problem is that you kept us waiting.  This is not his fault – nor is it mine."

He crossed his own pedes and leant back, trying to still his racing mind.  They had escaped from whatever scheme Shockwave was cooking up.  Why, then, was he still all nerves?

"I didn't say goodbye to Warp or Thundercracker," the seeker beside him mumbled, wings drooping slightly.

"We could not tell them of our plans," he replied, giving the blue servo in his grasp a reassuring squeeze.  "Once you are feeling well enough, you can explain everything through your trine link.  Then they will be able to decide what they want to do for themselves."

He squirmed slightly.  "Ye-es.  They can work it out for themselves in their own time.  If we told them what we were planning, they would've wanted to come with us just to be with me."

"They obviously care about you."

"Ha! Right.  Then how come there were times they'd deliberately make a mission fail, just to watch you beat me to a pulp? They don't care! They just don't want to be part of a broken trine."

Megatron frowned at the thought.  "I hope that is untrue."

"Never thought of you as an optimist..."

"I am not.  But I have seen them try to comfort you, on occasion.  Perhaps you should ask yourself why they would get so angry with you that they would want to see you hurt."

"So, it's my fault?"

He shuttered his optics and shook his helm.  "Starscream.  I want you to make friends with your trine, so that I will not have to spend the remainder of my existence wondering if you are going to be all right."

He shrugged and looked away.

Megatron smiled to himself.  The discussion seemed to have provided a perfect distraction from the seeker's discomfort.  Good! One battle won, perhaps.

Optimus crouched in front of them, blue optics filled with concern and his arms equally laden.  He was carrying a bundle of fabric.  "I brought blankets and you both look cold.  Here."

Prime was a gentle giant.  His huge servos pulled the blankets around them and then tugged them up to form a hood. 

"We'll be landing in moments.  Try to relax.  We'll get you straight to Ratchet for medical attention.  Just as soon as we land."

Behind his turned back, Megatron felt Soundwave narrow his optics.  He had to agree with his former TIC.

'Relax' was a lot to ask, all things considered.

All the same, he tried to calm his racing thoughts.  They had escaped – that was the first hurdle down.

Ratchet was going to take a look at him – and likely confirm that nothing could be done and that he had a decade remaining to live if he was lucky.

He could not share his formal rival's optimism – he knew that he was already living on borrowed time. 

Besides, why should Ratchet heal him, even if he could? To ask so much of him would be unfair and Megatron could not bring himself to do so. 

No.  He knew that he deserved to die and a slow, agonising end as his body and spark slowly failed was fitting. 

He would not beg for mercy.

Chapter Text

Walking into Autobot Headquarters as... guests... felt odd, to say the least.

Some of the bots watched them pass suspiciously, as if expecting them to suddenly turn their weapons on them all.

Could they really believe that this was a trick? Surely they could see how dim Starscream's optics were and the way he staggered and shuffled with exhaustion? His intakes still had drains on them and they still wheezed at every cycle of air.

The former warlord was not faring much better.  His fuel tanks were churning with nausea, his helm was pounding, his intakes hitching and whooshing with a desire to sneeze.  There was moisture leaking from his optics.

Megatron could act, yes, but a performance such as this would have taken years of study to perfect! Besides, he was better at showing strength and bravado, not weakness and fatigue.  This was one performance far beyond his capabilities.

He gripped his IV in nervous servos, concealed beneath the weighted blankets that remained draped about his trembling shoulders, and tried to ignore the hostility around him.  He told himself that it was nothing that was undeserved and kept his optics on the Autobot Leader's back as he led him and his subordinates in the direction of their medbay.

He could hear Starscream clicking behind him.  The young seeker still needed to be shown to a washrack and was obviously beginning to worry about reaching one in time.

The former warlord touched their guide's shoulder and quietly told him as much.

"He hasn't said anything.  How can you tell?"

"I shall explain later.  Well, Optimus?"

He changed direction slightly, showing them to a set of washracks that were almost in the very centre of the base.

Starscream thanked him quietly and hurriedly entered with Soundwave behind him. 

Megatron leant on the wall, arms folded and legs crossed.  The chill in the night air had made him uncomfortable too, but he was worried that the sight of the facilities might make his fuel tanks decide that now was a good time to purge.  He would wait until the IV drip was controlling his building nausea again.

"Seekers click when they are in distress," he told his former enemy.  "The sounds that Starscream had started to make told me that he was beginning to worry.  He is seriously unwell, Optimus.  He cannot be expected to wait for very long."

"I'll tell Ratchet as much.  We'll see that you are given easy access to facilities."

"Thank you."

Prime gazed at him for a long moment.  Then he cleared his vocaliser and started to speak awkwardly: "You're sick, too.  If you need to... um... I am hardly going to think less of you..."

He kept his legs firmly crossed until he had finally vented the sneeze that had been nagging at him since he had left Nemesis.  Then he straightened, pushing away from the wall.

"I am fine."

"What I meant to say is that you have nothing to prove here, Megatron."

He twisted his dermas.  "I don't think that's true, do you? I am sure I have everything to prove."

"I'm not talking about our ability to trust you."

He shrugged and rubbed at his nose.  One sneeze had apparently not been enough, though it had had a positive effect on the nausea, for some reason.

Prime shrugged.  "Can lead a horse to water..."

"What?"

"It's a human expression: you can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink.  I think it means... you can give all the help and advice you like, but that doesn't mean it'll be accepted."

Megatron huffed a quiet laugh.  "Why don't humans just say what they mean? I could read every book they ever published and still be left with more questions than answers about them."

"You read human books? Which ones?"

He shifted slightly.  "Classics, mostly.  I like Dickens.  And I am fond of Romeo and Juliet."

"I am not as surprised as I would've expected to be."

"About my enjoyment of human literature? Or classic fiction?"

"That your favourite Shakespeare is a romantic tragedy."

He shrugged and turned his helm away.

Optimus started to say something more, but was interrupted by the return of Soundwave and Starscream.  He placed a hesitant servo on Megatron's arm.

"Sure you're OK?"

"Positive.  I am not going to make a mess on your clean, shiny floor."

He chuckled quietly and shook his helm.  "It isn't the floor I'm worried about.  OK.  Let's go."

It turned out that the medbay wasn't much further on from their diversion.

Ratchet watched them suspiciously as Starscream and Megatron each took a berth, while Soundwave took to a chair with his servos in his lap.

"I'll want to give you a check-up, too," the medic told the former Third in Command of the Decepticons.

"Query: Soundwave is not sick.  Why is an examination necessary?"

"Because I want to make sure you're OK.  Once you've been given a full bill of health, I'll release you into the custody of any bot you choose.  How's that sound?"

Soundwave folded his arms and stared at the Autobot medic.  "Soundwave: feeling unwell.  Would benefit from staying here."

Megatron gave a quiet snort of laughter and sniffed.

"That was sudden, Soundwave," the medic retorted.  "Best get on the berth I prepared for you and relax, don't you think? I'm going to start with your leader.  Megatron: I'm going to put the screens up.  They're soundproof, OK? Just for your privacy and dignity.  Nothing untoward."

He felt Soundwave reach out to him through their old bond.  Dear old Soundwave... it was reassuring to know that he was nearby.

"This exam is going to be intrusive," Ratchet quietly told him, once the screens were in place.  "Samples, uncomfortable questions, scans of things we prefer to hide under our armour.  If it wasn't necessary, I wouldn't do it.  I'm not cruel."

"Before we begin, do you think you could reinstall my IV drips? And Starscream's? It would be in your best interest to do so, unless you want to watch us purge..."

Ratchet grumbled and acquiesced.  "Could just ask properly, you know.  I'm a medic! No medic I've ever met enjoyed watching a patient suffer."

He started to feel calmer once the drip started to do its job and chase the nausea away again.  That was better!

"OK, now to begin..."

He tensed and bit his derma.  Medical exams on his own base had always been bad enough.  Here, amongst strangers, in an unfamiliar location...

He realised that he was shaking, his denta chattering slightly in his helm.  He crossed his legs at the ankles, suddenly wishing that he had permitted Optimus to talk him into paying a visit when he had had the chance to do so.

Ratchet stared down at him and frowned, optics sweeping over him in a way that felt... intrusive.

"What's wrong, Megatron? Scared of me? OK, don't snarl.  I already told you I'm not here to hurt you or watch you suffer.  Try to relax, if you can.  Now... do you think you could start by filling this for me? I'll let you alone while you try."

A large container was thrust into his servos.

He shuttered his optics with a moan.  Could his situation become any more humiliating?

Chapter Text

Voices. There were voices whispering nearby.

Megatron kept his optics shuttered and remained still.  He was good at feigning recharge or unconsciousness.

"So... there's hope," the leader of the Autobots said quietly, with an audible sigh.

"You know me, Prime," his best medic retorted.  "Where there's life, there's always hope."

"I do indeed, Ratchet."

Prime sounded exhausted.  What had been going on?

"I'm certain there's a way to reverse this," Ratchet's voice said softly.  "I'm sure I've seen this before.  But I'll need to run further tests on the energon and metal samples I've taken, to find the answer.  I'll also need to contact some old study buddies of mine from the old days."

"Whatever you need, old friend.  But that's assuming that his flu will not speed his end along."

There was a snide chuckle.

"Prime, come on, now! Megatron is too stubborn to allow that to happen and we both know it."

"He's as mortal as the rest of us and you know that better than anyone."

Ratchet chuckled again.  "He's encountered this strain before.  More than once, I'd say.  It'll hit him harder than it would have and I'll have to watch him for complications, but he should come through it OK.  I've started both him and Starscream on a course of antiviral medgrade.  Both were already out for the count, so I'm giving it to them by IV, along with more anti-sickness and coolant.  Speaking of, the coolant they were being given on their base was substandard and wouldn't have much effect.  It can also disagree with many systems – particularly in flight frames, failing to cool as much as it should and more or less going straight through said system.  They should feel a lot better, with the stuff I've replaced it with."

"And Starscream?"

There was a long sigh.

"I've found out a lot of stuff about Starscream."

"Such as...?"

"He's a kid.  He must've signed up when he was underage – he's about the same age as Bumblebee.  Of course, he wouldn't have aged while we were all crashed here, awaiting repairs, so..."

"Say again?"

"He's young.  Too young. That's all I'm gonna say. This isn't to go any further, OK? Building new, adult creations during wartime is one thing.  Taking on younglings is a different matter entirely.  It's a very serious crime, as it should be."

"You just mentioned Bumblebee-"

"Bumblebee is different.  He had nowhere else to go, when we took him in."

"We haven't kept him off of the battlefield."

"Not for a want of trying!"

"Nor have we kept Spike out of harm's way.  He is a human youngling – it could be argued that we are no better than Megatron in this."

"I can't believe I'm standing here, listening to you defend the Decepticons! They've done terrible things!"

"Ratchet.  I am not so much defending them as I am comparing their actions with ours.  What I see is not favourable to either faction."

The medic huffed.

"Now, what of Starscream's condition?"

"Infected intakes, as Megatron already told us.  The drains on them were full, so I've replaced them.  I don't need to test the discharge to know that it's bacterial."

"How do you know without tests?"

"The colour and odour.  Viral discharge is grey, bacterial discharge is blue.  Bluer it is, the worse it is.  This flu must've smashed through his defences and left everything open for a secondary, bacterial infection.  It's spread to his helm and vocaliser, too.  It's even in his optics."

"Poor kid," sighed Optimus.  "Ratchet, I know your first concern is getting them back on their feet, but... they're going to get pretty restless, once your ministrations start to kick in.  Maybe we could give them a TV or radio? Megatron mentioned that he likes Shakespeare..."

"Interesting.  I didn't think he'd care much for human scribblings."

"They're not so very different from us, old friend.  Maybe you should read the letter that Megatron sent along with his peace treaty.  It's in my office."

"I take it he claimed that this was all our fault and that they're just victims of circumstance."

"Not exactly and everything he's said is supported by historical fact."

Ratchet snorted.

"All I'm asking is that you treat them as neutrals unless they give you reason to do otherwise.  Now.  What of Soundwave?"

"Soundwave is fine.  If he picked the virus up at all, his immune system has already seen it off.  He can leave, but I get the feeling he'd sooner stay here."

"If I was in the headquarters of my old enemies with sick friends, I'd want to stay close, too."

Ratchet snorted at that.

"I've given him a vaccine to be on the safe side and I also dosed him with something to make him recharge.  He looked to me as though he hasn't rested in days."

"Megatron's diagnosis would have shaken them.  Don't look at me like that, Ratchet.  I've seen Megatron comfort Starscream and show him genuine compassion.  Perhaps he has never been so harsh, when he was out of our sight."

"Nonsense! You're talking about the jet he's frequently left alone on the battlefield.  The warrior he's called expendable.  More than once."

"I know.  I can only tell you what I have witnessed."

"He's just trying to gain your trust, Optimus.  The scary thing is that it looks like it's working.  Open your optics!"

"They are open, Ratchet.  Don't worry, I'm not about to be blinded.  But I know Megatron.  I'm seeing things I've never seen before and I'm doing my best to make sense of it."

Megatron shivered.  Yes... he had abandoned Starscream on many occasions.  He had frequently hurt him, both physically and mentally.  Often with the Autobots present to bear witness.

If Optimus and Ratchet thought that he didn't care a hot for his son, then what must Starscream think?

How could he ever repair the damage he had done?

Chapter Text

Megatron tried to sit up, only to fall back against the pillows at his helm.  The voices were still quietly discussing him and he was growing increasingly nervous. It didn't help that his fusion cannon had been removed from his arm while he had been recharging.  

It should have made it feel lighter, but both arms felt weak and heavy.  

Everything felt weak and heavy.

"Great! You're awake," Ratchet grinned at the former warlord as he approached his berth.  "How are you feeling?"

Megatron raised an optic ridge at him and then turned his face away, servo rising towards his helm as his intakes hitched and his optics half-shuttered.

He was handed a rag and helped into a sitting position.

"Here.  I always find sneezing uncomfortable when I'm reclining."

It was unpleasant either way.

"Ksssschhhh! Ksshhh-kshoooooooooooschhh! Ksssschhh! Kssshoooooooooooschh!"

He groaned when the sneezes – which could have been mistaken for detonations – subsided and scrubbed first at his nose and then his optics with the rag.

"You shouldn't do that, Megatron.  That's how you get infected optics.  Here.  One rag for the nose and one for the optics.  And bless you, by the way."

He sniffled and blew his nose.  "Bless...?"

"It's a thing humans say.  I think it just means: 'I hope you soon feel better' or 'I hope you're not getting sick'.  A lot of humans seem to say it after a sneeze."

He shrugged and leant back against his pillows.  "Why copy them, if you don't even know what it means?"

"Because we share a base with them.  We share their world, too.  Learning their ways is just good manners."

He shrugged again and shivered.  Why did moving his shoulders make him feel as if he were freezing to death?

"I s- sup- p- pose so."

Ratchet frowned.  "Cold? Here..."

A warm blanket was draped about his shoulders and he pulled it close with shaking servos.

"You didn't answer my question: 'how are you feeling?'"

He sniffled and gave his nose another blow.  He considered the action rude but didn't care under the circumstances.  Ratchet was being far too cheerful and he was irritable.

"You want a list of complaints? Very well... sore vocaliser, helmache, itchy... sore... uncomfortable nose, optics won't remain in focus..."

That was just the symptoms above his shoulders!

"... Would you like me to continue?"

Ratchet nodded.  He had taken a data pad from somewhere and was busy writing on it.

"I feel as though I've been doused with icy water.  I'm freezing! My pedes ache.  My arms ache.  I feel as though I have been testing my endurance for days, if not weeks... and I am utterly miserable.  I am not accustomed to sickness.  I can count on one servo the number of occasions I have been forced to take a day or two off of work in the past few billion–"

"Well, you're sick now," the irritating medic interrupted.  "You need to rest.  I'll give you something for the pain and we'll see how you respond to a hot pede soak.  It might help you to feel warmer and should help the aches.  It's a human remedy, but it seems to work.  Sparkplug recommended it."

A human remedy? For bots? Surely, it would never work! And who was this 'Sparkplug'? A new medic? Why would Ratchet even listen to him?

Megatron glanced about them.  Soundwave and Starscream still appeared to be in recharge, in spite of his violent sneezing.

Well... at least that meant he could let down his guard.  Somewhat.

"I have another complaint: I have no idea where the washrack is and I was told that we would have easy access."

"You need it again already? I only just gave you something to use before you went into recharge."

He twisted his dermas at the memory.  "Yes... that was very kind of you."

"You were in obvious discomfort and it was a sample I had on my list.  I was being neither 'kind' nor 'unkind'.  I was doing my job.  Stop making such a fuss! Come on, I'll show you where it is," Ratchet helped the larger mech to his pedes, took charge of his IV stand and started to act as guide.  "I guess it isn't surprising that you want to go again so soon," he mused.  "That sample I took was mostly unprocessed coolant."

He stared at the medic at his elbow.  "It was what?"

"The stuff your medbay was equipped with is of a poor standard.  I imagine it takes a lot of it to even make a dent in a bot's heightened temperature and it looks as though it doesn't agree with your systems, so you've been rejecting it straight to the jettison tank.  If you weren't taking anti-sickness, it's highly probable that you'd have attempted to purge it, even though you were getting it straight into your coolant line instead of ingesting it."

Well... that explained the nausea and urgent washrack visits – for both himself and Starscream, most likely. 

He grimaced.  "And you could tell all of that from one measly test."

"It's why we do them.  I already told you: I'm not cruel.  I do what I have to do.  Here we are.  I'll wait out here and then escort you back.  Take your time."

Megatron quietly thanked him and did as directed. 

He was grateful for this small mercy – easy access to facilities.  This was new to him – even when unwell previously, his will had been more than sufficient to keep his jettison systems in check.  Now, they were most assuredly in charge and he hated it.

"So... want to tell me what all this is really about?" Ratchet asked when he emerged back into the corridor. 

"All what?"

"Coming here.  Claiming to want protection.  Claiming to want peace.  What's really going on?"

"You are too prejudiced to understand it."

"I'm not prejudiced!"

He raised an optic ridge at him.  "You don't even see it, do you? Too set in your ways.  As I was."

"I tell you I'm not prejudiced.  And I don't appreciate your comparing yourself with me like that."

"No," he said in a bored tone.  "You wouldn't."

Ratchet grumbled.  "Fine.  Antagonise me.  Just keep in mind who it is that's in charge of your treatment."

"I thought you said you are not cruel."

He growled under his breath.  "Let's just get you back in berth.  I'd love to know what Optimus is thinking, because I don't see how your staying here is going to work."

"It might work very well, once I am feeling more myself," Megatron retorted.  "I can't help being irritable.  I am unused to being unwell."

Ratchet snorted and shook his helm. 

"I've seen what you're like when you're 'more yourself', Megatron.  Excuse me if I don't hold out much hope."

"How nice.  It's nice to see that you're not prejudiced."

"Megatron.  Shut up."

He mimed zipping his dermas and tossing away the key.

Then he smirked to himself. 

Irritating Autobots had yet to lose its charm.

All the same, a hot pede soak did sound good.

Which bot was Sparkplug? Would he be expected to thank him, if the treatment proved helpful?

They fell into step, Ratchet easily matching his slow, shuffling plod as he again took charge of the IV stand.

"Who is Sparkleplug?" Megatron asked after a long moment.

"Sparkplug.  It's a car component – he's a human mechanic and that was his nickname.  Probably because he's good with cars."

Megatron stopped walking.  "You take medical advice from a human? How are you all still functional?"

"Actually, humans are pretty good with machines.  Even living ones, like you and me.  Got some funny ideas about our anatomy, maybe, but once they get to know us..."

"What 'funny ideas'?"

Ratchet chuckled.  "Well... a lot of them think we should just take on fuel directly into our lines and that we shouldn't care about stuff like flavours... then there's the old 'bots don't sleep or need to relieve themselves'..."

"Pfft!"

"Sparkplug and his son were never like that.  They settled in with us pretty well and always enjoyed looking after us – Sparkplug knows about water proofing metals with waxes, for example.  Speaking of, I should probably treat your metal before I give you that pede soak."

Megatron was guided to a chair in his room.  Then Ratchet applied a rub of sorts to his plating.  It felt... well, it was not unpleasant.

Neither was the soak that followed.  It was strange, but soothing.  Megatron found himself blinking wearily as he attempted to remain alert.

"You asked me what was going on," Megatron said quietly.  "I realised, Ratchet, that I cannot go on forever.  I also have come to see that Optimus is not his predecessors; if we are to achieve peace, he is our best bet.  I... I am fearful of who may come after him, but I trust him.  I hope the treaty will safeguard the future, when he and I are but names."

The medic stared at him.  "So... what was all the fighting about? Why have you tried to kill us all in the past?"

"Anger... revenge..." he shrugged and shook his head.  "I regret much, but I cannot undo it."

"You... regret...?"

He frowned at Ratchet, dim optics narrowing.  "Don't you? Don't we all?"

He nodded slowly, taking a step back.

"I've got another call to make.  I'll get Sparkplug to look after you for a minute."

He what? A human! How was a human going to 'look after him', exactly?

Megatron frowned at Ratchet's retreating back.  Why was he running away? Was he scared of him?

Chapter Text

The hot pede bath was not as bad as it could have been.  It seemed to make the shivers worse, however, even though he was most definitely feeling warmer.

Sparkplug explained that humans had learnt that warming the extremities drew the heat of a fever away from the internals, helping the body to regulate its temperature.  It worked in a similar way amongst transformers, if the armour of the pedes were warmed, apparently.  Cooling the helm also worked, but Ratchet didn't like to apply ice to a robot that was already shivering.  It seemed cruel to him, beneficial or not.

The new coolant was also working.  The air coming from his intakes no longer felt hot and parched.  His nose had lost its hot, dry feeling too. 

Admittedly, it was now feeling cold and drippy instead, which wasn't exactly worse but couldn't really be called an improvement either.

Starscream had awakened to find Megatron in the middle of his treatment and complained that he wanted his sire. 

Sparkplug had called Ratchet back.

The good doctor (if he could be called that... Megatron was still not convinced) had, with rather more patience than he had shown the warlord, escorted the youngling to the washracks and back, given him some energon treats – which apparently were usually used to bribe certain (unnamed) Autobots into co-operating – and had generally gone out of his way to ensure that the seeker was comfortable.

"How much do I need to irritate you, to earn one of those energon sweets?"

The medic narrowed his optics at him.  "Starscream isn't being irritating.  I've not had a peep out of him since he woke up.  Maybe, if you were to try behaving yourself, I might feel like giving you a few of these."

He snorted and folded his arms with a slight shiver.

"All right, I know you need a distraction.  If you'll rest up, I might let you watch TV for a while.  Anything you want to watch?"

"Television is bad for our processors."

"No, it isn't.  We've all been watching TV since–"

He smirked.  "Ha! I rest my case."

"Next, you'll be saying sport is bad."

He tilted his helm to one side and narrowed his optics.  He could do exactly that, just for the sake of being irritating, but there was no point in doing so.

"No.  Sport I can understand.  I see no point in watching it, but taking part... it hones skills: teamwork, attack, defence, strategy... then there are the basic skills, such as aim, coordination and so on."

"So you don't value fun?"

"Fun can be dangerous.  It can become addictive.  It is better to remain disciplined and focused."

Ratchet shook his helm.  "I feel sorry for you Decepticons.  Imagine thinking you should avoid enjoying yourselves! Fun is important!"

"No, it is not.  You cannot sustain an army with fun.  You can't even sustain yourself with it.  It is pointless.  A waste of resources and energy."

"Megatron.  Fun is good for morale.  It might not keep anyone fed, but it still helps keep you and yours healthy.  There's more to life than fighting and working."

He snorted rudely.  Then he started to cough.

"You'll see," the medic told him, grinning.  "A bit of recreation will do you some good.  Occupy your mind, give you something to do to keep you from boredom..."

"If you say so."

He didn't want to admit it, but he was bored and uncomfortable.  A distraction – any distraction – would be welcome.  But he was fatigued, too.  Exhausted.  Just the thought of trying to play some sort of game made him want to curl himself into a tight ball, crying and begging the world to go away.

The television was installed without his blessing an hour later.  He tried to ignore the thing, but it had a way of drawing his attention.  He would realise that he was watching it when his optics started to sting.

A plethora of various things, from black and white to psychedelic, was eagerly consumed by the young seeker in the berth beside him.  It seemed there was nothing he disliked.

Starscream seemed to be particularly drawn to bright colours.  Ratchet had cheerfully introduced him to musicals, too, which he also took to with relish.  The young seeker was currently enjoying a film called the 'Yellow Submarine'.

Megatron viewed music as unnecessary noise.  He might have found more of a taste for it, however, if his helm wasn't hurting him so much.  The bright colours and flashes on the screen hurt his optics and made him flinch.

His young son was currently laughing at a joke of some kind.

He raised his helm with a weary sniffle.  "Are you enjoying that?"

Starscream nodded.  "I like the music.  And the jokes! It's full of jokes.  Visual ones, dialogue ones... it's good! Watch it with me."

"Perhaps next time.  I'm not feeling well."

"Neither am I.  The TV helps me forget about it."

"This is a bit too bright for my optics."

"Oh.  Want another black and white, next?"

He grimaced and rubbed at his helm.  "I think I want to recharge."

"Oh."

He vented, relenting a little.  "I might watch something with you later.  When my helm and optics stop hurting."

"OK! What would you like to watch?"

"I have no idea."

"Ratchet says we can watch pretty much anything we like.  Is there a book you'd like to see acted out?"

"Starscream.  Just relax and enjoy your... entertainment, for now.  You're missing it."

He had no idea what he'd want to watch.  He had never watched television before.

"Ratchet says he could find Shakespeare, if you want."

"Perhaps later.  When I feel a bit better."

"OK.  Want me to turn this down, so you can recharge?"

"No, it's all right.  I'll just listen to it."

He settled down and shuttered his optics.  The music wasn't too bad, all things considered.  A bit soppy, perhaps... All you need is love, indeed! Pah! Truly, humanity was pathetic!

Optimus came to visit as the film was ending.  He hummed along with the stupid song that it ended with. 

"Ah, the Beatles," he enthused, when it was finally over.  "They're one of the best bands of all time.  At least on Earth."

Megatron snorted.  "Sparkling stuff! 'We all live in a yellow submarine'..."

"Not all of it is, you know.  The interesting thing about human music is that it often has layers.  The stuff on the surface might be lighthearted and fun, but it often hides very serious messages and lessons underneath.  No, I'm not talking about 'Yellow Submarine' specifically."

"I'm willing to bet you didn't come here to talk about Earth entertainment."

He shook his helm.  "I have signed your peace treaty.  What now?"

"What do you mean, 'what now'? Now, we can move forward!"

He raised an optic ridge.  "You are in hiding from your own faction.  You're also very sick."

"No, I am 'in hiding', if you can really call it that, from Shockwave.  My faction is about to cease to exist, Optimus.  That is what is stated in the peace treaty.  62% of the faction agreed to it.  62%! I hadn't dared to hope that I would convince half of them.  Most of the resistance is on Cybertron... if we could somehow..."

"You expected more backlash," Optimus noted, folding his arms, "and yet you still tried."

He sniffed and dabbed at his nose with one of the rags that Ratchet had provided.  "Of course I did.  I had to try.  I'm glad I did.  Now, we can move forward."

"Megatron, will you still want this if I tell you we might be able to reverse the terminal illness?"

He growled.  Then he coughed.  Stupid thing to do with a sore vocaliser!

"Yes.  I will still want peace.  I have realised things recently that I would not be able to ignore or forget.  And I know that I must be right, or else Starscream and Soundwave would be opposing me.  They are not."

He nodded and scrunched his optics in what was clearly a warm smile, hidden by his blast mask.  He had crow's feet.  Laugh lines.

"What's wrong? You're staring.  Are you feeling worse?"

He shuttered his optics in a slow blink and raised a servo to his helm.  "Tired, I think."

"Yes, of course.  I'll allow you to rest.  I hope you start to feel better soon.  Ratchet's ministrations should start to do some good before too long."

He didn't leave.  Megatron couldn't understand that.  He and Starscream had the flu! A strain which had clearly not cycled for quite some time, if the seeker's inability to fight it off was any indication.  Why would he put himself at risk like that?

The former warlord tried to make himself comfortable, but he was at that awkward stage of illness where he was too weary to remain conscious but too uncomfortable to slip into recharge.

Then there was a cool, gentle servo holding his hot, aching one.

"I'm watching over you.  Rest now."

Why that was so reassuring, he had no idea.  Somehow, however, knowing that Optimus Prime was there made him feel safe.

His optics slowly shuttered and he became less aware of his discomforts.