Chapter Text
Iacon City
Peace had changed him.
Gone were the days of bristling silence and clenched jawlines, of battle plans scrawled in energon and grief. Now Megatron stood in a sunlit command spire, surrounded by blooming data-screens and a gentle hum of colony transmissions, one servo folded politely behind his back and the other cradling a datapad. His expression, once tight as steel, had softened with the years. And behind that careful veneer of control sat a spark pulsing with something almost foreign.
Hope.
Footsteps—heavy, certain—approached behind him.
"We should have added another support strut to the ventral core," said Megatron mildly.
“The engineers triple-checked it” A warm voice spoke behind him.
Megatron lightly reached out his EM field sending waves of -warmth-calm-love - . “Mm. But I did not.”
Optimus sighed, sending out his own field in response –reassurance-love-fondness- walking up next to his conjunx, “You do remember this isn’t your ship?”
Megatron’s optics gleamed with fondness. “Of course, my spark.” He dipped his helm with exaggerated reverence.
And still, he was already messing with with a datapad, making structural adjustments.
Optimus turned his helm to Megatron. “You’re taking over the ship again, aren’t you.”
"I am simply providing...guidance."
“You’re the Lord High Protector of an entire planet. You do not need to micromanage Rodimus.”
“I absolutely need to micromanage Rodimus,” Megatron muttered.
Optimus stared. “We talked about this.”
"Yes," Megatron said solemnly, moving to wrap his arms around Optimus, "and I agreed, didn’t I?"
Optimus, unimpressed, turned his helm back to the stars.
Megatron leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to the side of Optimus’s helm. “You know I can’t help myself.”
“I’m aware.” But his voice was softer now, a smile hidden in it.
“...Of course, I’ll only observe,” Megatron said, voice smooth, reverent. “I wouldn't dare interfere with the launch, love”
Optimus raised a single optic ridge turning around. The Prime—his conjunx, his heart, his maddening opposite—looked every inch the Prime he was—regal, calm, and mildly exasperated. The light pouring in from the skylights caught along the blue of his plating, casting sharp reflections onto the floor like falling stars.
“You’re going to take control of the entire ship before it’s even left the platform,” Optimus said dryly, though his tone carried warmth. Long-suffering warmth, the kind one offered to a partner whose quirks were as familiar as their scent.
Megatron had the audacity to smile.
“Perish the thought.”
He leaned down without warning, Optimus tilted his helm only slightly, bracing. They kissed, lightly, reverently—one hand cupping the edge of his helm as Megatron pressed their forehelms together.
“You promised last time,” Optimus muttered, not quite fighting the small tug at the corners of his mouth.
“And I meant it,” Megatron said smoothly. “But then Rodimus rerouted the entire propulsion subgrid while chewing on a welding cable.”
“That was one time.”
“He did it again this morning.”
A pause.
Optimus sighed, leaned into the contact for just a moment longer, and murmured, “If I find out you’ve rearranged the Lost Light’s deck plan again —”
“Only slightly,” Megatron said.
A beat.
Optimus drew back, optics narrowing.
- ⟡ -
Launch Bay - Four Breems Later
The Lost Light shimmered—sleek, massive, and resplendent in fresh white-and-grey plating, its hull newly polished for ceremony. From the observation walkway, personnel bustled below like a tide of purpose and excitement. It was a good day.
Across the launch deck, the chaos of departure unfolded like a well-choreographed dance.
Ratchet was going down the departure checklist with grim efficiency, muttering under his breath. Drift hovered close by, watching with sharp optics as Ratchet moved between medical crates and diagnostic gear like a grumpy whirlwind.
“Drift,” Ratchet barked without looking up, “if you’re going to stand that close, you may as well hand me the energon scanner.”
Drift smiled and passed it over. “You’re cute when you’re stressed.”
Ratchet rolled his optics but didn’t move away.
Mirage sauntered past, throwing a wink over his shoulder at Hound. “Tell me I don’t look stunning in deep space blue.”
“You always look good, babe,” Hound said fondly, brushing a servo along the tower mech’s back as he passed.
“Ugh,” said Crosshairs, walking by with a crate. “Get a vacuum chamber, you two.”
Nearby, Swerve was cramming half his portable bar into a storage crate. “I’m telling you, we’re gonna need this! Deep space is boring without good drinks!”
Ultra Magnus was trying valiantly to ignore everyone. “Checklist item 447: all emergency hatches sealed.”
“I already sealed them!” Tailgate beamed from the ceiling where he’d been helping Cyclonus. The latter offered a quiet smile, watching Tailgate zip around with all the energy of a comet.
“Got twenty creds that says Rodimus tries to name a star system after himself on day one,” Perceptor offered casually to the crew.
“Fifty says he names it Rodimus Maximus ,” Bee quipped.
“He already tried that,” Hound added. “Ultra Magnus shot it down.”
Crosshairs snorted, putting down his crate, “He’ll try again”
As if summoned by ego alone, Rodimus swept into view—velvet cape trailing, face beaming, voice already three decibels too loud.
“Oh Primus,” Arcee groaned.
“Friends! Comrades! Explorers of the great unknown!” he boomed, stepping up onto a utility crate as though it were a podium. He struck a heroic pose. “Today, we don’t just leave Cybertron. We leave behind doubt. We leave behind gravity. We leave behind the mundane, the dull, the—”
Prowl, standing near the launch pad, was calculating fuel ratios and barely restraining a sigh.
Jazz leaned close, whispering, “He’s got passion. Gotta respect that.”
“He’s wasting time,” Prowl muttered, optics narrowing at the countdown for launch. But he didn’t pull away when Jazz's hand settled lightly on his arm.
“Mmhm,” Jazz hummed. “And you’re wasting fuel stressin’ like that. We both got our vices.”
Prowl gave him a sidelong glance. “Mine is tolerating you.”
Jazz grinned. “Now that’s romantic.”
They leaned together, quiet, familiar.
“And then,” Rodimus continued grandly, “the fire of our collective spirit will light the stars!”
Tailgate clapped. Cyclonus stopped him.
Ratchet threw a wrench.
“Ow!”
- ⟡ -
Platform Steps - Moments Before Launch
Arcee gave Bulkhead a nod as they checked the final ground locks. “Looks good.”
“Yeah,” Bulkhead said softly. “Feels like we’re dreamin’, huh?”
“Sure does,” Arcee replied, casting a glance up at the gleaming hull of the Lost Light. The launchpad buzzed with activity, but around them, there was a brief, quiet pocket—just long enough to feel like a moment suspended in time.
Bulkhead leaned his weight against a railing, helm tilted. “Y’ever think about it? What if things hadn’t gone this way?”
Arcee raised an optic ridge. “You mean if the Council hadn’t backed the unity plan? If Megatron and Optimus hadn’t made it work?”
He shrugged. “I mean… yeah. But bigger than that, too. Like—imagine a version of this where things don’t line up. Where peace never comes. Where everything just... falls apart.”
Arcee was quiet a moment, mouth tightening. “I’ve imagined it. Sometimes in the quiet cycles, I used to wonder what it’d take for everything to collapse. How close we came, back when the colonies drifted, when the Senate played gods.”
Bulkhead exhaled, slow and low. “Scary how easy it could’ve gone wrong.”
“It still could,” she admitted. “Peace isn’t just something you get once. It’s something you keep choosing. Over and over.”
“Yeah,” he said, and then paused. “But I think... I think if there is a place like that—where it didn’t work out—I’m glad we’re not living in it.”
Arcee smiled faintly. “Then let’s earn this one. Every astrosecond.”
Bulkhead gave a soft laugh and bumped her shoulder with his. “You always say things better than I do.”
“I just say what you’re already thinking.”
They stood together for a beat longer, watching the crew bustle around them—Ratchet and Drift arguing about medkits, Rodimus gesturing wildly with his cape, Swerve trying to sneak a whole crate of Energon mixers aboard.
Then Arcee turned back to her checklist. “Let’s finish this up. We’ve got a launch to make.”
“And a universe to protect,” Bulkhead added with a grin.
“Exactly.”
A few steps away, Optimus, Jazz, and Prowl stood with Megatron at the foot of the ramp, watching the last of the crew board.
Megatron turned to Jazz and Prowl. “Take care of the home front while I’m gone.”
“We will,” Jazz replied, saluting with a casual grin. Prowl nodded.
As the crew began boarding, Megatron turned one last time to his conjunx.
“Come back to me,” Optimus repeated, voice soft.
Megatron’s optics brightened. He reached out and clasped his conjunx’s hands, large servos gentle around them.
“Always,” he promised.
- ⟡ -
Earth - Witwicky, Pennsylvannia
The Terrans were supposed to be laying low.
This, like many things in the Maltos’ life, was more of a guideline than a rule.
“Thrash, give it back!”
“I found it! That means it’s mine now!”
“That’s not how family works! Sharing is caring!”
The backyard had become a blur of wings, wheels, limbs, and yelling. Mo stood on the porch with her arms crossed and the most patient expression a kid could manage. Robby, next to her, held the family’s only remaining garden gnome like it was a football.
Dot Malto exited the house in her uniform, rubbing her temples.
“Government again?” Alex asked, passing her coffee, watching the children.
“They’re sending another round of survey teams. Elena and Noah are trying to help smooth things over with their team and Lennox’s crew is trying to handle things on their side, but the Pentagon’s nervous. Too many unexplained signals, and now the Terrans are showing readings we can’t hide.”
“We are anomalies,” Jawbreaker muttered.
“You are not anomalies. You’re my kids,” Dot corrected. “That’s all that matters.”
Their cozy farmhouse buzzed with energy. The Emberstone’s core still pulsed faintly under the barn where it had been hidden ever since Twitch and Thrash had first risen from the earth. They didn’t know what it truly was—only that it was theirs.
The Government had come knocking six months ago. They still had yet to discover the existence of the Terrans.
They hadn’t made a move yet. But she felt the tension tightening.
“Something’s coming,” she’d said to Alex.
She hadn’t known how right she was.
- ⟡ -
Space - Location: Unknown
The launch had been smooth, the Lost Light slicing through the starry void like a silver arrow on a destined path. Inside the ship, the crew was already beginning to fall into rhythm—checklists completed, personal quarters staked out, jokes swapped across decks. The hum of the engines blended into the background like a gentle heartbeat.
Drift’s footsteps echoed quietly down the corridor as he passed a pair of lounging mechs arguing over the best energon brew. Swerve was already trying to convert a storage bay into his personal lounge. Perceptor and Brainstorm were still fighting over how best to calibrate the long-range sensors because they were “breaking the laws of physics just for fun.”
But in the command deck, it was different.
“We’re getting a flicker,” Red Alert said, his voice taut with concentration as glowing data scrolled across his field of vision. His optics flickered rapidly, tracking signal fluctuations most bots wouldn’t even notice. “Low-level resonance... fusion of organic and technological components. It’s old. Like Golden Age-old.”
“Show me.” Megatron’s voice was calm, yet something in it vibrated with quiet tension. He stepped forward, massive frame filling the space behind Rewind’s station. His optics narrowed as a pale blue signature pulsed on the display.
Ultra Magnus was already nearby, arms clasped behind his back, posture rigid as ever. “The pattern is fragmented. It’s pulsing in intervals. Almost... a heartbeat.”
Rodimus leaned in beside them, for once without commentary, lips pressed into a thin line.
“We’re matching the signal’s core pattern to the signature of the Emberstone,” Red Alert continued, tapping through layered spectrographic analysis. “But—it’s been used. Recently. Not relic-static. It’s active. And somewhere deep in a planetary gravity well.”
Megatron’s optics flashed. “Set a course.”
Rodimus blinked. “Just like that?”
“If the Emberstone is awake, then something ancient has already been disturbed. I’m not waiting until it spreads.”
“I’ll inform the crew,” Ultra Magnus said, already turning.
Rodimus nodded his head, already muttering something about a cape and adventure.
- ⟡ -
Earth - Maltos' Backyard
“Uh, Mom?” Mo called from the porch.
“Hmm?”
Robby looked behind her. “Is that General Lennox’s car?”
A black SUV pulled up just as Dot groaned again and turned around. .
Of course it was. Government reps had been hovering ever since that weird rock created the Terrans. And ever since Dot called in favors to hide them from official documentation.
Lennox stepped out, looking just as tired as she felt.
“Dorothy,” he said, stepping forward. His tone was neutral. Professional.
Dot didn’t flinch. She planted herself at the edge of the porch and met his gaze head-on.
“They’re mine,” she said, voice low and even.
Lennox raised an eyebrow. “Dot—”
“They’re mine,” she repeated, sharper now. “They’re kids. They’re my kids. I don’t care what your sensors picked up or what off-world readings are setting off red flags. They want to come in here with protocols and containment teams? They can try."
He looked at her for a long moment. Not combative—just tired. Measured.
“I’m not here to take them,” Lennox said finally, tone friendlier, still tense. “But others might be. And soon.”
Dot’s arms stayed folded, but something in her stance shifted. “Then you and I better still be on the same side.”
Lennox gave a small nod. “I’m trying to be.”
“Try harder.”
Lennox exhaled slowly. “You’re still a piece of work, Dorothy.”
He glanced around again, and this time, something flickered behind his tired expression—maybe respect. Maybe worry.
Maybe both.
“Alright,” he said. “Then let’s talk.”
- ⟡ -
Space - Milky Way Galaxy
It began as a ripple.
Then a rupture.
Rodimus was in the middle of his third speech.
“...and so, we boldly go—”
“Something’s wrong,” Arcee cut in, tapping her panel. “Readings are spiking. We’re—”
“—caught in a spatial anomaly,” Drift finished, eyes narrowing.
“Brace for impact!” Bee shouted.
The ship shuddered. Systems flared. Gravity flipped sideways.
“Magnetic field destabilizing,” Ratchet snapped. “We’re being pulled in.”
“Where?!” Mirage shouted.
“Coordinates unknown,” Prowl's voice crackled through static. Then silence.
Megatron grabbed the controls. “Stabilize the engines!”
Optimus’s staticky voice echoed through the comm. “Megatron—? What’s happening—?!”
Then darkness.
The ship shattered the atmosphere.
The sky over Earth lit with falling stars.
Rodimus was shouting something about heroic last words when the lights blinked out.