Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Earth - Pennsylvania, Malto Farm

"So let me get this straight," Dot Malto said, not even blinking. "The “alien” signals that we just picked up weren’t just anomalies. They were actual aliens entering the atmosphere" 

Lennox nodded grimly with a hand gripping his nose bridge. "The Government is scrambling to keep the cover. Theyʻre doing their best but sightings are starting to pop up; mentions of some UFOs in the sky. There’s footage already being pulled off social media—blurry vids, low-res clips, but people are talking" 

"Do they know about the Terrans?" she asked, voice lower now, tight and sharp. 

"No. But if we don’t act fast, someone might connect the dots. Energy readings are going haywire in this sector. One ping too many and they’ll send a response team without asking"

Alex looked out the window. Twitch was trying to teach Thrash how to somersault. "They’re just kids" 

"The world won’t see them that way"

Dot sighed. "Then let’s make sure the world never gets the chance"

It started as a ripple—an unnatural shimmer that stretched across the early evening clouds like someone had peeled back the edge of the atmosphere. Twitch froze mid-hover. Thrash spun in place. Hashtag’s optics widened as her recording lens refocused.

A single streak of burning fire cut across the sky, trailing silver-blue sparks behind it.

“Whoa,” Robby breathed. “That’s not a plane"

Another followed, then two more. Tiny meteoric shapes split the clouds like arrows flung from heaven, arching toward the horizon with staggering speed. The rumble came a second later—low and thunderous, a bass-heavy growl from the heavens themselves.

"Is that—?" Mo started, pointing upward.

"A shooting star!" Twitch gasped, optics brightening with awe. "Or maybe a comet!"

Nightshade’s wings buzzed to life. "That trajectory—no, that’s atmospheric reentry. Something’s crashing"

More streaks ignited the sky, some dimming as they hit the atmosphere, others flaring brighter. One broke off course, spiraling down toward the tree line just past the hills.

"It’s headed toward the old quarry!" Thrash shouted.

Alex stood up abruptly. "Dot?"

Dot was already moving, grabbing a field scanner and rifle from the hallway closet. "Stay with the kids. Keep them out of sight"

"But Mom—" Mo protested.

"No arguments!" she barked. Then, softer, “Please. Just—stay here. I’ll call when I know more"

She was out the door in a breath, Lennox hot on her heels, barking something into his comm about mobilizing a field perimeter.

Outside, the first of the ‘meteor’ fragments struck the Earth with a distant, ground-shivering boom. Twitch’s wings fluttered.

- ⟡ - 

Cybertron - Iacon, Command Deck

Optimus could not feel his bonded.

He reached inward—once, twice, again—stretching for that familiar spark-signal. The one that had anchored him through centuries. The one that burned so brightly it could steady the galaxy.

But the bond between them, the living tether that pulsed like a second heartbeat in his chest, had gone still.

Empty.

He let his field slip, just for a second.

— panic-fear-despair- pain —

A violent burst of raw emotion cracked through his carefully measured presence, rippling across the command deck like a shockwave. Monitors flickered. Subconscious systems retracted. It was unintentional, uncontrollable. Prime or not, leader or not, he was just Orion in that moment—alone and terrified . 

Jazz and Prowl turned immediately.

Jazz stepped forward, gently, like approaching a wounded animal. "Prime—?"

Optimus didn’t answer at first. He reeled his field back in sharply, the sudden suppression like a door slamming shut. Control reasserted itself with a physical force—shoulders squaring, optics narrowing. That was not the behavior of a Prime. The air settled, but the damage had been felt. 

Prowl studied him in silence, face unreadable but body tense.

“We’ve lost them,” Optimus said, voice low, rough. 

“Not confirmed,” Prowl said quickly. “Wheeljack is still working on signal triangulation. They slipped through a space-fold—not vaporized” 

“I would feel him,” Optimus said tightly. His fists clenched at his sides. “Even if he were on the other side of the galaxy, I would feel him”

“Unless the anomaly scrambled the spark-bond signal,” Jazz offered, trying for steadiness. “It’s happened before. Short-term interference. Just—radio silence, not the end of the line” 

Optimus said nothing. His optics were fixed ahead, but not seeing the room. Not seeing the stars. Only seeing the last image in his mind—Megatron bracing at the command console, sparks flying around him, voice cut off in a storm of static. 

“Stabilize the engines!”

Then silence.

Behind him, the deck had gone nearly still. Even the hum of machinery seemed to hold its breath. Bots let their fields slip with panic for their friends. The loss hadn’t been confirmed, but it hung like smoke in the air, heavy and suffocating. 

The Lost Light was more than a ship. It carried a crew of veterans and dreamers, explorers and healers—many of them war-forged, all of them family. And now—nothing. Just static and fear.

Optimus didn’t just feel the ache of a missing bond. He felt the weight of every life aboard. Every spark entrusted to him as their ruler. Rodimus. Bumblebee. Ratchet. Arcee. Rodimus. Bulkhead. Cyclonus. Tailgate. Perceptor. Red Alert. Mega–  

“Got it! Their last position was in the Sol Galaxy!” Wheeljack chimed from across the deck. 

Optimus forced himself to focus. 

He turned from the main display with slow, deliberate precision, walking to the central console as if the ground beneath him hadn’t already crumbled in every way that mattered. His voice, when it came again, was level—but made of tempered steel.

“Expand the orbital scan net. Patch in every deep-space relay on the outer rim. I want a sweep of the Sol system, full gravity-field mapping, real-time”

Prowl nodded curtly, already turning to carry out the order.

Jazz hesitated, then said quietly, uncharacteristically, “We’ll find them”

Optimus didn’t reply.

But deep in his chest, where the pain of absence throbbed like an old scar reopening, something else flickered.

Resolve.

If the stars had swallowed his people, then he would break the sky open to bring them home.

- ⟡ - 

T̸̗̟͕̠͊ę̸̤̲̗͖̬͈̻̲̻͚̾ͅr̸̥̮̼̖̭̙̝̈́̆͊̀̊̇͋͝͝r̵̨͎̫͔͔̤̮͖̝̹̭̙̀̈́ͅå̶͓̻͐̕̚ (Earth) – Unknown Region 

The forest was quiet—eerily so. A branch snapped.

Rodimus groaned as he dragged himself upright, half his frame blackened with scorch marks, his cape hanging in tatters. “Okay… not my best landing"

He looked up at the night sky—full of stars, unfamiliar constellations. No Lost Light above him. No signal. No comms.

“...Definitely not Cybertron,” he muttered.

His internal systems ran a quick diagnostic. Hull breaches, power drain, no long-range communication. But he was alive.

And then he froze.

A faint presence brushed against his spark.

Weak. Flickering. But there.

“Guys?” he breathed, almost disbelieving.

No response.

But the signal wasn’t gone.

Everyone else was still alive.

Rodimus stood slowly, optics narrowing. “Okay. We’re scattered. Fine. But you can’t get rid of Roddy that easy”

He staggered toward the trees, dragging a damaged leg behind him.

“I’m coming, guys. Hang tight”

- ⟡ - 

Earth – Brooklyn, New York

Bee’s systems sparked back online with a shriek of feedback and a flicker of emergency stabilizers.

He was flat on his back. His doorwings twitched. One was bent at a bad angle. He winced, sitting up and swatting away loose rubble.

The last thing he remembered was Arcee yelling brace , then Prowl shouting over the static of  a failing nav system, and the whole sky tilting sideways.

He staggered to his pedes. Wind blew through broken fencing and empty concrete blocks. An old, overgrown quarry stretched out around him. Cracks spiderwebbed through the terrain. The blast from his descent had scorched a shallow crater near the treeline.

“Hello?” he called, voice rasping through his damaged vocalizer.

Silence.

Then: a clang.

His optics snapped left—blasters raised.

“...Mirage?” Bee exhaled.

The mech stumbled out from behind an overturned loader, smoke trailing from a ripped panel in his hip.

“Hey,” Mirage said with a smirk. 

He swayed slightly on his pedes, plating scorched and paint scraped raw from impact. His optics dimmed and brightened in quick flickers, trying to focus. “Atmosphere’s rich with nitrogen and oxygen. Gravity’s lighter. Trees are too green. And unless I’m glitching, we just got fragging sent through a foldspace rupture and crash-landed on an organic planet with zero warning”

Bee blinked. “You’re... handling this better than I expected”

“I’m in shock,” Mirage said cheerfully, then winced. “Also, I think I broke my sense of sarcasm”

Bee snorted, reaching out to steady him. “You break anything else?”

“Only my dignity" The Towers mech coughed—static-laced and painful. “And maybe a few struts”

Bee jogged over and caught his arm before he could slump. “You good?”

“‘Good’ is relative. But hey,” Mirage forced a grin, “you’re still a cute minibot, so the universe hasn’t completely collapsed”

Bee laughed in relief, even as he supported him. “Come on. We’ve got to find cover. Signal’s dead. The others might be close” 

He glanced at the worried look the other mech had on his faceplate, “...And I bet your conjunx is fine”

Mirage scoffed and turned his helm away, “Hound is a strong mech. He can handle himself, so i'm not worried”

They walked in silence for a bit 

“You think Megatron’s okay?” Bee asked quietly.

Bee didn’t answer right away.

“I think,” he said slowly, “he’ll crawl out of the planet’s core if he has to. No way he goes down easy. Not when Prime’s waiting”

Bee nodded.

Together, they vanished into the quarry’s shadowed edge, walking toward what they hoped was a beacon—or a friend.

- ⟡ - 

Earth – Unknown Desert Region

The Lost Light had crashed. 

It had shattered—fractured in atmospheric descent like a meteor cluster, its pieces torn across continents, continents that were not Cybertron.

The ship’s fail-safes had triggered partial escape shielding—scatter deployment to minimize loss of life. It had saved them. But it had also stranded them, and worse: separated them.

Ratchet’s optics blinked online first.

Static filled his HUD. A dozen emergency protocols scrolled past, red-highlighted. One leg wouldn’t move. His left arm had a torn cable that sparked every time he tried to flex it. But he was conscious.

He groaned. “If I find out Rodimus rerouted that shielding system last-minute again, I swear —”

“Technically,” came a too-bright voice nearby, “he delegated it to Percy. Which is honestly a lot better!”

Ratchet jerked upright with a wince. “ Swerve? ”

“Hey!” 

A few meters away, Swerve was half-buried in a crater of soft earth and broken pine, one arm flailing as he tried to dig himself out. Nearby, Perceptor crouched behind a boulder, Brainstorm right next to him, adjusting the focus on a cracked lens and examining the local terrain.

“It’s an interesting environment,” Perceptor said absently, “Well. For organics ”

“We’re lucky we’re not a smear across the mountainside,” Ratchet muttered, staggering to his pedes.

“Correction,” Brainstorm murmured, “we are a smear. Just one still ambulatory”

“I hate you both”

“Fair”

Swerve managed to finally yank himself out with a pained yelp. “I think my leg’s in the tree. Which—good news! That means I still have that leg"

Ratchet limped forward, sweeping his field in a radius. “Anyone else nearby?”

“Tailgate,” Perceptor said, pointing. “He came down through the canopy about twenty meters north. Cyclonus dove after him"

“Idiots,” Ratchet muttered, though his voice was gentler now. “Anyone else?”

Perceptor shook his helm. “No signals. Comm array’s fried"

Ratchet looked to the sky. It was unfamiliar and vast, stars pinwheeling above like strangers. Too quiet . He couldn’t feel Drift. Not yet.

But the ember of their bond was still warm— distant , yes, but intact .

That would have to be enough for now.

He exhaled. “Alright. First order of business—triage and regroup. Everyone still functioning meets me here. Then we start scanning for the others"

Swerve raised a servo weakly. “Do I count as functioning if I’m mostly just trauma and a great personality?”

“No"

Swerve groaned, dragging himself toward the others anyway.

- ⟡ -

Cyclonus had known worse crashes. This wasn’t one of them.

He rose from the wreckage, wings sparking and frame battered. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what hurt more—his processor or his spark.

“Tailgate?” he called, voice already rising in panic. “Tailgate!”

A muffled groan came from beneath a pile of tree branches. “Uugh. I think I swallowed dirt"

Cyclonus bolted.

He tore through the debris, panic crackling through his limbs like a power surge. When he unearthed Tailgate—mud-caked, slightly smoking, and optics flickering blearily—he didn’t hesitate. He hauled him out, holding him close.

“You’re alive "

Tailgate blinked, then grinned. “Well, yeah. You think a little atmosphere reentry’s gonna scrap me ?”

Cyclonus made a low, broken sound. “I was afraid—”

“You always are,” Tailgate said gently, patting his faceplate. “It’s okay. I’m here"

Cyclonus exhaled a dry, quiet laugh. “The others are in the forest over there"

“Then lets join them”

- ⟡ -

Earth – Jasper, Nevada

She hit the ground hard enough to dent the earth.

Arcee’s systems flared with red warnings—fractured shoulder, damaged back struts, energon leaking at the knee. But she moved. She always moved.

Dirt and smoke clung to her armor as she staggered out of the shallow crater she'd left behind, one servo pressed to her side. Her optics narrowed as she scanned the treeline, audio sensors filtering in the low hiss of burning metal and a distant thunder of impact.

No comms.

No signal.

No one.

She turned slowly, trying to orient herself. The stars above were unfamiliar, but the gravity and air makeup told her enough. It was an organic world. 

Her fingers twitched.

“Bulkhead?” she called out, voice too loud in the stillness. “Ultra Magnus? Anyone?”

Silence.

She ground her denta, then started moving toward the rising column of smoke in the distance. If she’d survived the crash, so had others. She just had to find them.

Even if it meant ripping through half a forest to do it. 

- ⟡ -

“...Ow"

Bulkhead rolled over with a groan, metal scraping rock. His plating was scraped raw and one of his treads had blown clean off during descent. But he was intact.

Mostly.

“Okay,” he grunted, staggering upright. “We’re gonna file that under: Not my favorite way to land"

His sensors pinged wildly—local wildlife, dense forest, a high-energy impact trail stretching for miles. He spotted streaks of scorched earth, then a massive pine tree he had apparently flattened on arrival.

"Sorry, tree," he muttered.

Then his spark jolted.

Arcee.

He’d heard her voice. Dim. Far away.

“HEY!” Bulkhead shouted, cupping his servos around his intake, “ARCEE?! I’M HERE!”

A pause. Then—barely audible—her voice through the trees.

“Bulk?!”

His faceplate broke into a grin. “Hold on, partner! I’m on my way!”

And then he promptly fell into a bush.

- ⟡ -

Earth – Rocky Outcrop, Texas

“Okay,” Crosshairs grunted, yanking his shoulder out of a boulder. “This is officially the worst vacation I've ever been on"

“ What vacation?” Hound muttered, face-first in a mud pit. “This was work , remember?”

Crosshairs kicked some dirt at him. “Not anymore"

The two mechs hauled themselves up from where they'd crashed along a steep embankment, steam hissing from vents and energon dripping from their joints. Both looked a mess—grime, soot, and broken plating—but neither seemed seriously injured.

“Where are we?” Hound asked, scanning the terrain.

Crosshairs peered around at the lush forest, jagged cliffs, and the flickering auroras of energy in the sky. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Gonna kill Rodimus"

Hound chuckled. “You always say that"

“Yeah, well, this time he actually threw us into a dimensional anomaly"

“You do that, Crosshairs,” Hound muttered, already moving toward the slope, voice quieter now. “I’m gonna find Mirage"

Crosshairs paused, glancing at him sidelong.

Hound’s optics were fixed ahead, jaw tight. “He was right next to me before the rupture hit. I lost his signal on reentry. It’s been dead silence since"

Crosshairs didn’t say anything for a beat. Then: “Mirage is scrappy. Fragging sneaky, too. He’s probably fine. Or invisible. Or both"

A low rumble rolled across the valley.

They turned.

In the far distance, smoke curled into the sky.

“Think that’s one of ours?” Hound asked.

Crosshairs lifted his sniper scope. After a beat, he nodded. “I see movement. Could be Drift. Maybe Magnus"

“Then let’s get moving"

“Fine,” Crosshairs muttered. “But if Rodimus survived, I get first punch"

- ⟡ -

Earth – Mountain Plateau, Near Texas Border 

Drift landed sword-first.

Which was dramatic, and cinematic, and would’ve been very cool if it hadn’t been followed immediately by the rest of him slamming into the dirt like a meteorite wearing a trench coat.

“—frag,” he hissed, his voice strained as he pulled himself out of the small crater he'd carved into the slope. His scabbard had snapped in half. His right hip actuator was blown. But his blades were intact. That counted for something.

Smoke curled from a dozen small fires scattered across the plateau, setting the ruined grass aglow in flickering orange. Drift’s systems flickered erratically as he rose to one knee, optics adjusting.

“Report,” he murmured to himself out of habit. “Location: unknown. Atmosphere: breathable. Status: barely functional, too pretty to die" 

He winced slightly, sounded too much like Roddy. 

A loud crash echoed from the ridge above.

Drift’s head snapped up—one blade unsheathed automatically—only to pause at the sight of a massive, blue-and-red armored figure slamming into the earth.

Ultra Magnus hit the ground hard. It shook under the weight of impact. Smoke billowed. Trees snapped. One unfortunate boulder shattered.

Drift sighed in relief and started limping toward him. “Magnus!”

The larger mech groaned and pushed himself up on one arm, visibly rattled but intact. “Drift. Report"

“Alive. Mostly intact. Minor damage. Attitude still present"

Magnus exhaled slowly and stood with difficulty. “Ship status?”

“Gone. Or scattered. Either way, we’re stuck"

“Others?”

“Some landed nearby. I saw smoke earlier—Crosshairs and Hound, I think. The rest.." Drift hesitated. His servo curled slightly at his side. “I haven’t seen Ratchet. No signal. No spark ping"

Magnus glanced over.

Drift didn’t flinch. “I’d feel it if something was wrong , I think. He’s alive. Just... far"

“We will find him,” Magnus said without hesitation.

Drift nodded, though tension still sat low in his frame. “Yeah. Yeah, we will"

The wind stirred embers across the plateau, and in the distance, a faint signature pulse flickered—someone else was moving.

“We're not alone out here,” Drift muttered.

“No,” Ultra Magnus said, his gaze firm, “but neither are they"

They moved toward the smoke.

- ⟡ -

Earth – Pennsylvania, Edge of Witwicky

The crater wasn’t there the day before.

It tore through the edge of a pine grove like a scar, its impact radius blackened and smoking, with chunks of superheated metal embedded in rock and ash. No fire—just steam and a low, vibrating hum that hadn’t stopped since it landed.

Inside the crater, at its still center, something moved.

A groan—low, guttural, ancient. Metal scraped stone. Dust shifted.

Then: a servo.

Massive, clawed, trembling with residual heat, it grasped the edge of the pit and hauled a frame from the smoke.

Megatron rose.

Barely.

He dragged himself from the earth like something reborn—his frame scorched and battered, silver plating darkened by impact, one optic flickering badly. Energon leaked in thin rivulets down his side. But he stood. Slowly. Stubbornly.

He looked up. The sky was alien. The stars unfamiliar.

The last thing he remembered was the warp core flaring out of control, the ship breaking apart beneath his servos, and—

“Optimus"

The name came out as a whisper. A prayer. A curse. A plea.

But there was no answer.

His comms were dead. The spark-bond had gone silent.

For a long time, Megatron stood still in the crater, surrounded by the eerie hum of unfamiliar nature and the electric bite of foreign atmosphere.

Then he moved.

And he didn’t get far. 

He staggered forward—two, three paces—then dropped to one knee, servos digging into the dirt. He growled low in his throat.

“No signal,” he muttered, vocalizer crackling. “No coordinates. No bond —”

He cut himself off.

His field flared out instinctively—desperate, seeking, pleading . Nothing. Not even a spark-echo.

His optics dimmed. For a moment, he looked not like a leader nor the lord high protector—but a mech torn free of his axis, abandoned in orbit.

Then—footsteps.

Small.

Megatron froze.

Crunching leaves. A low voice. Then:

“Drop the weapon,” said Dot Malto, voice sharp and steady as she raised her rifle.

Megatron turned his helm slowly.

She stood at the edge of the crater, boots planted on scorched soil, her stance tight but fearless. Her scanner glowed in one hand, flickering wildly.

“I said drop it,” she repeated. “Hands where I can see them"

Megatron straightened to full height, towering.

Dot flinched—but didn’t lower her gun.

He tilted his head. “You are... organic "

“And you’re... not ,” she said tightly, eyes scanning his damaged armor, the smoking crater, the faint glow at his core. 

A beat.

They stared at one another across a divide of species, history, and conflict neither knew the other carried.

Megatron’s gaze narrowed. Slowly, with deliberate calm, he powered down his broken cannon and raised his hands. Palms open. Peaceful.

“I am not your enemy,” he said, voice deep, rough, but quiet.

Dot’s jaw tightened.

“Prove it"