[One.]
[Two.]
Megatron feels a… shift, but nothing changes as far as he can see.
He knows another vision is coming, but cannot imagine the form it will take. He resumes his duties, trying his best to put the feeling from his mind.
[One.]
He couldn’t recall collapsing into recharge, but the onslaught of forced memory was still fresh in his helm, the audio as clear as if it had happened yesterday. He’d never seen that particular day from an outside perspective before, and now the exchange roiled in his tanks. The pain was fresh too, but dull compared to when he’d crashed, writhing, to the floor.
At some point after his fit, Rex had come and lain his massive head on Megatron’s chest and the warlord lacked the energy to scold him for it. He scratched the old hound’s neck as he sat up, frame protesting from last night’s activity… No. If his chronometer was right, three days- cycles had passed since the dream. He should be much more sore, but moving almost seems easier now. Admittedly, he had been neglecting his rest. Rex rose with him and chuffed at the door’s keypad, asking to be let out.
With what he thought was a parting pat on the head, the warlord unlocked the door, but Rex merely plodded through and stopped, turning to stare at Megatron. He barked, the boom echoing through the halls. He barked again, taking a step down the hallway before barking a third time.
“Stop that racket!” he barked back at Rex, making to grab at the canine’s haunch. Surprisingly quick, Rex dodged his master’s grip and barked again after running down the hallway. Megatron growled at the animal, infuriated by his sudden disobedience. Before he could disrupt work on the entire ship, the warlord ran after him.
He chased the enormous hound through room after room and only after the third did he notice something stranger than Rex’s behavior. None of his soldiers were paying him any mind. Either of them: the barking beast or their mighty leader stomping after it. No one was even looking up. Finally he commanded their attention, pointing toward his unruly pet and shouting “Seal the doors, catch him!”
Nothing. The vehicons kept running their calculations, sipping energon or talking among themselves, unconcerned with the presence of their Lord. He unsheathed his sword, glaring as it drew no reaction from the vehicon he pointed it towards. Now suspicious, Megatron pointed it instead at Rex. “What have you done to me?”
Rex panted happily as he looked back up at Megatron, no different than he had ever appeared. He received no answer apart from another bark as the hound made his way through another door. Seeing no point to an alternative, Megatron followed, calmly this time.
The door he came out of was not the one he’d gone through. They were outside now, on the fringes of New Iacon, where Rex plodded through the sparsely populated streets. Every so often, he would pause and look into a window, and so Megatron felt this meant he should do the same. Each building out here was newly occupied, the residents of all factions taking time to make the meager apartments feel more like home. Posters and religious statues, foreign treasures collected on their time off-world.
Rex sat before the sixth house on the street, staring in on the first solitary mech they’d come across. “Datastream… why have you brought me here? She was the desperate Autobot who played at being my assassin. Is she not adjusting well?” His question dripped with obligatory interest. Of course she hated her situation, she had attempted violence to change it merely a year ago. The yellow Praxian had crudely removed her false Decepticon brands, but hadn’t replaced them with Autobot ones either. She sat in the bare room, weary optics closed, her servo resting on the old nameplate off of her ship.
Megatron sneered, unsurprised. “Am I supposed to pity her for being alone, for regretting her mistakes? She undermined my cause, attempted to-” A vehicon walked through him, unaffected by the presence of his invisible Lord. A golden mech accompanied him, and the warlord then recognized them as the medics that had traveled on the Black Halo with their former captain. Datastream leaped up when they knocked, obviously expecting them… and Megatron watched, dumbfounded, as they laughed together and helped her hang the nameplate from her ceiling. A visored helomech, still wearing his badges emerged from further within the home and wrapped his arms around her.
Despite her treachery, despite her betrayal to not only the Decepticons but to her crew, they had accepted her back with open arms. They had moved on. Rex was staring at him, and Megatron did not need to guess why. Holding onto the pain of his hatred for so long had done nothing but cause more of it. Megatron glared down at his dog. “What is the point of this lesson? I cannot reconcile with my past as they have, not when the Autobots are scattered to the winds, not when Optimus is rusting in his grave! Thank you, for showing me what I could have had!”
The warlord turned to leave, but once again found himself somewhere he hadn’t been a moment ago. He was atop a recently reconstructed tower, where Starscream stood, looking, for the first time in Megatron’s memory, peaceful. Megatron turned away and found himself facing a hallway on familiar ship, where a young femme, stripped of his paint, stomped in the opposite direction. With a frustrated growl, he exited to find a dim room where Soundwave stood at a console, though going by his many symbiotes, this one was not his own. In another whirl, he stood in a cavernous room, where a warm, blue light flickered at the center of a massive sphere that Megatron had to shield his optics from. When he looked back up, he was at an Earth roadstop, standing beside a familiar parked semi, looking as if it had been sitting there for quite some time.
Rex sat in front of him, tilting his helm. “… I understand.” There were still those he had wronged, those who had wronged him that could benefit from the release of the toxic hold of past grudges. He didn’t have to make the same mistake again.
At his words, Rex stood on his hind legs, bracing himself on Megatron’s frame to lick at his face, much to the warlord’s chagrin. When he was finally able to push the beast away, they were back in his quarters, and his hound circled the berth for recharge. Megatron himself leaned heavily on his desk, feeling like he had when he’d set down his mining equipment for the last time:
Leaving a familiar world behind in favor of one much larger.
Megatron stood in the corner of a dark room, unsure of how he’d gotten there. He looked around, struck with a vague sense of familiarity; he’d been before, surely, but the edges of his vision were blurred. Had he been drugged perhaps? Reaching for the light, the sound of voices approaching made him freeze. “No…”
The door opened, his own frame silhouetted in the light of the hallway. A much younger Megatron stormed inside, throwing himself at the nearest table to cling to the edge with his optics squeezed shut. Orion Pax was not far behind him, but wisely kept his distance. “I don’t want to see this,” the present Megatron admitted to whatever had brought him here.
‘Megatronus, the threat of force-’
‘My name is Megatron,’ snarled his younger self, ‘and that is the only thing that will make the high castes listen to us! You’re playing into their hand, Orion! If you think compromise and politics-’
‘You have to see things from their side as well! They will work with us if we stand together and work for change, but a revolution will only be met with more violence. They will not work with-’
‘With me. That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it?’
‘Megatron, please…’ Orion backed away as the gladiator threw a chair against the opposite wall, but his expression was stern, measured, and all to familiar. The silent observer found he couldn’t turn away. “Stop this…”
‘I am the symbol of all that’s about to come crashing down around them, I will not compromise to spare them the pain of what they’ve done to us for millenia! I will not yield simply because the reality of the situation is ugly to them! They will be held accountable!’ His old self bellowed and slammed his fist down onto the table, leaving a sizable dent.
‘You can’t be serious… there are innocent mechs who will empathize if we show them the truth. What you’re calling for is war! We cannot-!’
‘We?! You made your true alliance all too clear today, when you stole my audience with the council, when you made them disregard us as a threat to their standing! I will not be denied!’ Megatron’s younger self drew his blade, a crazed anger flooding his wide optics. Only now did Orion seem to realize he was trapped in a room with a mech who had killed so many others. He took another step back, this time out of fear.
“No more!!” The old warlord cried out but no one could hear him, the ancient scene playing out as it had so many times in his disturbed dreams.
‘Don’t… Brother, please…’ The ghost of Megatron’s past swung back and drove his blade deep into the wall beside Orion’s helm.
‘Leave me. If you will not stand by my side, then GET OUT!! I WILL HAVE MY REVOLUTION WITH OR WITHOUT YOU!’ Orion’s optics were wide with hurt. Neither of them moved while Megatron’s vision began to fill with static, his lines pumping liquid lead. Everything burned, he couldn’t move, couldn’t hear, his vents clicked uselessly as his core temperature climbed. When they were little more than silhouettes, the smaller mech reached up to him, said something unintelligible, and left.
When Megatron awoke, he tried to get off the berth, but doubled over in pain and clattered onto the floor. He grimaced and thrashed, sucking in as much cooling air as he could, core still much too hot from the unnatural writhing of his spark. Rex whined from his place on the floor, hesitant to approach until his master finally began to still, exhausted and finally at an easily regulated temperature.
His helm fell back against the floor with a light ‘tnk’, optics shutting out the light as if they could shut out the overplayed memory files.
“No more…”
Spirits do not exist.
“…Bumblebee.”
He seems uncertain for a moment, but there are only so many mechs that spontaneously sing to him.
((Extension! This week was nuts and this AU is fun. I’m still gonna accept regular asks and stuff with grown up megs, but this little bitlet’s gonna be around for a little longer!))
((I assume you mean these amazing designs by cosmicdanger? I hadn’t seen these until I got this ask, they are absolutely beautiful!!))
Something had been causing a stir in one of the smaller mining shafts, something that even had the few remaining Insecticons in fits. Megatron had read the reports, and he knew for a fact that scraplets couldn’t growl. The Decepticon warlord had fought more than his fair share of Primus-forsaken monsters in his day, and headed into the tunnel, sure that his formative underground held nothing more surprising. He’d been wrong.
A snarl from the darkness echoed in the rough corridor. Drawing the Dark Star Saber from his back- he’d stopped calling it Kuketsu ever since it had become silent once more- Megatron willed the blade to glow brightly with charge. Its light glinted off the hulking form and face of a creature he had thought long-extinct.
“…Heel,” he commanded in old Tarnish. The creature’s audials perked up instantly, and it took a few halted steps towards him, standing dutifully at his side. It cocked its massive helm, recognizing its master. Megatron gave the filthy animal an affectionate rub along its jaw. “Good. Come.” It chuffed eagerly, limping after Megatron, who slowed his pace just enough that it could keep up with him to the surface.
… Well then.
The sharp-dentae’d smile sent a pang of fury lancing through his chassis as the broadcast display flashed through his memory again; Agonizingly clear and raw as the day he’d seen it.
“And if I had stayed? What satisfaction would our mutual off-lining bring?
"You are mad.”
"It would not be MUTUAL!!” he spat, snapping his helm back to boring holes in the Prime’s helm with his optics.This proved to be a bad move, as more still enraged battle protocols were forcibly deactivated. Several tons of metal plating refused to sit tight against his protoform.
“I will not fall to you… and if you think I’m mad, heh. You made me this way.” Vision started to blur. Sitting down suddenly became a necessity rather than an attempt to save face. He took the stool and gripped the edge of the bar, trying to count the strange striations in the grain of the wood and ignore the writhing throb. Do not show weakness.
At that, the Prime’s stare shifts from cold indifference to something more pointed and harsh. There was something off about his nemesis, he was angry, but there was an underlying, new strain emotion that left Megatron’s frame shifting minutely.
“Due to circumstances that fell into place after my original intent had been fulfilled,” he replied coolly. “However I would vehemently argue that my reality is far from perfect.” When the shudder wracked the other’s frame, Optimus’ brows knit into a deeper frown.
"Have you found your defeating of my alternate to be less satisfying than you had hoped?”
He had to force his vents shut to keep the volume down, which only drove his temperature higher. Megatron wouldn’t be able to keep this up. He wasn’t able to do anything to satisfy his rage, the rapid building of which only served to exacerbate his spark. The dent he’d just made in the bar became the focus of his glare, since looking at the Prime wasn’t helping.
“Would it make you any happier if I said yes? That I felt nothing killing your replacement?” The warlord smiled cruelly despite the force with which his dentae ground together. Why was it getting worse, now of all times…