Chapter Text
Standing before the towering frame of Wheeljack’s latest invention, the air thrumming with unstable energy, Optimus couldn’t help but wonder if this was a good idea. Especially when Wheeljack eagerly threw him a thumbs-up from behind the control panel. Had he been his younger, more carefree self, he might’ve been willing to hurl himself straight through the swirling blue energy coalescing before him.
But Optimus didn’t have time for hesitation, not when they so desperately needed an advantage to turn the tides of this war. The Decepticons had all but razed the surface to the ground, burning away the last remnants of organic life left behind by the Quintessons’ previous occupation of Cybertron.
Optimus found himself saddened by the memories of seeing it first-hand. How the surface had changed so much from their first journey to find the Matrix of Leadership to now. There had been something inherently beautiful about the organic life that had once blossomed over the metal. And now that it was gone… well, it reminded him a little too much of his relationship with Megatron.
They’d only been friends for fifty cycles, but those fifty cycles remained the best of his life. Guiltily, he knew he shouldn’t hold that time so near and dear to his spark — not when it had been shattered by none other than D-16 himself. A shudder rippled down his plating, hands curling into fists. Now wasn’t the time to reminisce. What was done was done, and he needed to focus on the present.
“Are you sure this thing is stable?” Ratchet’s gruff tone cut through his thoughts, followed by a blur of red and white as the medic stalked past him to scrutinize the teleporter.
Wheeljack made a noise of protest, as though the very question had offended him. “I don’t come into your clinic and question your work, Doc.”
Ratchet fixed him with a pointed stare, one optic ridge raised. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Wheeljack rolled his optics. “Yes, it works.”
“How do you know that?” Elita demanded, hands on her hips as she eyed the portal with suspicion. “For all we know, we could be walking to our deaths.”
“Deaths? Did you just—I’m pretty sure that’s what you said.” Bee muttered with a shake of his head. “I don’t feel like dying today guys.”
Wheeljack stared at them for a long moment, as if weighing whether it was worth the headache to respond. When he finally spoke, his tone was resigned. “I know because I’ve tested it myself. Y’know, like all great scientists do.” He raised a hand before Ratchet could protest. “Ah, ah—no need for checkups, Doc. I’m fine. Took this bad boy for a test run this morning and came back in one piece, as you can see.”
Optimus frowned. The idea of Wheeljack running an experiment like this alone didn’t sit well with him. “While I’m glad the teleporter works, you should know better than to test something like this alone. What if something had happened to you?”
What if you had died?
He didn’t voice that last question. He couldn’t. The thought of losing another friend weighed heavy on his spark, threatening to fracture it in two. The war with the Decepticons had already taken too much. Not just resources, but lives. Countless sparks snuffed out, all for the promise of a better tomorrow. But what good was tomorrow when the body count only rose higher? When he could barely look his friends in the optics, knowing he might be sending them to their deaths?
He wished it didn’t have to be this way. Primus knew he’d face the entire Decepticon army alone if it meant keeping his friends safe. But even with the Matrix’s power flowing through him, he was still only one bot—and one bot couldn’t save a dying world. Fighting alone was suicidal. And if he died again… well Cybertron would be worse off than it had been under Sentinel’s rule.
“I didn’t do it alone. I’m not that stupid.” Wheeljack snorted while jerking a thumb behind him. “Can you stop being a creep and get out here, Roddy?”
A burst of laughter came from the shadows, before Hot Rod emerged with a wide grin. “Aw, I wanted to surprise them!” He gave Wheeljack a playful smack on the arm. “Way to ruin the fun, Jacky.”
“Hot Rod?” Optimus tilted his head, interrupting their banter before it could devolve into hysterics. “What are you doing here?”
The fiery speedster looked over to Optimus, grinning wider. “I didn't wanna miss out on this.” He gestured to the teleporter, optics gleaming with delight. “Count me in for kicking some Decepticon aft!”
Bee lit up, practically vibrating in excitement. “Hot Rod’s joining us? And the teleporter works? This day just keeps getting better!”
Hot Rod threw two thumbs-ups to Bee, and Optimus resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I mean, why aren’t you with Prowl and Jazz? I distinctly remember assigning you to investigate the source of the energon contamination.”
“That’s the surprise!” Hot Rod said, lowering his hands to pull up a hologram of the surface, finger dragging across it until it stopped. “The source leads right… here.” He pointed to a spot marked with a large X. “When I heard about Jacky’s little experiment, I figured it’d be the perfect place to test if the teleporter actually worked.”
“And what do you know—it did,” Wheeljack added, nudging Hot Rod with his elbow. “Though for a second there, I thought I’d have to walk home when it disappeared.”
“I told you, I pressed the button just like you asked me to, exactly when you told me to! I even counted out loud and everything!” Hot Rod huffed, nudging him back.
“So there is something wrong with the teleporter,” Ratchet grouched.
“No, there isn’t!” Wheeljack insisted, tapping rapidly at his console. “There was a delay in the connectors—that’s normal. They’re relaying particles from Iacon to the surface. The planet’s crust interferes with the signal, which can distort the wavelengths.”
Optimus heaved out a heavy sigh, resting a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder when the medic moved to argue. “We knew this wasn’t going to be perfect. But if Wheeljack and Hot Rod claim it works, then what do we have to lose?”
Ratchet glanced up at him, considering his words. “Well… nothing, I suppose. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about being used as a lab rat.”
“Same,” Elita agreed, still eyeing the portal. “But Optimus is right. We don’t have much else to lose—not with Iacon running on fumes.”
Hot Rod hummed. “Yeah, about that. Turns out the Decepticons have been poisoning the reservoirs on the surface. So when it trickles down to Iacon, well…” He trailed off, and silence fell. Everyone here knew what energon poisoning looked like.
Optimus turned his attention toward Hot Rod, whose expression had crumpled. He’d been one of the lucky ones to recover from the tainted energon burning through his fuel lines. “And Wheeljack confirmed this?”
“Sure did, Optimus.” Wheeljack tapped his temple. “Saw it with my own optics. Not much I can do until the refiner’s online again—but maybe the Matrix can work its fancy magic?”
Optimus considered that. The Matrix of Leadership was powerful—powerful enough to restore life to both him and Cybertron—but it was also unpredictable. He still hadn’t mastered its full potential. It was a gamble… but one worth taking. “It’s worth a try.”
“Great! Then let’s get this show on the road!” Hot Rod clasped his hands together, spoilers twitching in excitement.
“Hot Rod…” Optimus began, and Hot Rod’s shoulders slumped immediately.
“Oh, come on, Optimus. I got the intel you wanted. Let me tag along.” His blue optics peered up at him, pleading from under the sharp yellow crest of his helm. “Please?”
And Primus, was Optimus weak to that look. It was almost unfair how disarming Hot Rod could be—so like the way Orion Pax used to charm his superiors into leniency. Engaging his battle mask, Optimus managed to hide the grin that tugged at his lips before nodding. “Fine. But no wandering off. We’re going there to investigate and then we leave. No engaging the Decepticons. No racing.” He shot a pointed look at both Hot Rod and Bee, who shrank under his stare. “We can’t afford to draw attention to the fact that we know about the tainted energon.”
Noises of compliance rang out through the room, and Optimus focused his attention back to the portal looming ahead of them. “Wheeljack, are we ready?”
“Sure are,” Wheeljack said, fingers flying across the console. “All you gotta do, big guy, is step through.” He looked up and tossed a communicator to Optimus. “Ping me when you’re ready to come back. I’ll be here waiting.”
Optimus caught it and studied it briefly before subspacing it. Taking a deep vent in, he stepped forward. The portal’s blue light bathed his frame, painting him in ethereal hues. He cast one final look back at his team… his friends… before stepping through.
Wheeljack had been right — the Portal did work. What he’d failed to mention, however, was the absolute processor-breaking ordeal one had to endure to get to the other side.
Optimus found himself plummeting through a chaotic corridor of fractured dimensions. Colors and light smeared together, swirling past his optics as he tumbled through the void. Brief flashes of himself appeared along his descent, distorted reflections that felt fundamentally wrong. His colors were inverted, his insignia reversed… the proud red of his Autobot insignia twisted into Decepticon purple instead.
And those golden optics… they’d burned with so much hatred, so much resentment.
But it wasn’t the sight that unnerved him — it was the thoughts. Whispers crept into his processor, cold and nefarious, offering temptations he’d buried long ago. Every dark impulse, every violent fantasy, every cruel word he’d ever swallowed came surging forward, wrapping around his consciousness with titillating allure. And just before they could swallow him whole, he came face to face with Megatron.
Only the Megatron standing before him was nothing like the one he knew. This one’s optics were bright blue, wide with surprise, his white plating shining so brightly it nearly blinded him. And when he reached out towards him, that massive hand cupping the side of his face with such aching familiarity, Optimus forgot to breathe. Then they were pulled apart, and he was violently hurled out of the teleporter and onto the surface of Cybertron.
“What the frag was that?” Hot Rod gasped from behind him, on all fours, trembling as he fought the urge to purge his tanks.
Bee didn’t fight it and emptied the entirety of his tanks onto the ground with a wet choke. “I’m sorry—ugh—my head is killing me—”
Optimus didn’t dare move. His own tanks threatened to rebel, but he forced it down. His frame quaked with barely suppressed nausea, vents stuttering as he tried to focus on his team. He wanted to comfort Bee, but all that escaped him was a low, pained grunt — the best he could manage at the moment.
“I knew—” Ratchet gagged, chevron nearly pressed to the ground. “—this was a bad idea.”
“Wheeljack has some explaining to do,” Elita groaned, the only one who had managed to stay on her feet. Though she had a hand clamped around her mouth, optics watering as she fought to keep her energon down.
Optimus agreed, though the processor splitting migraine he was fighting through drowned out any coherent thought. He couldn’t reply even if he wanted to. It felt like his entire frame had been torn in half, the Matrix pulsing wildly in his chest, searing against his spark in a way he’d never felt before.
He clawed at his chest, fingers digging into the transformation seams as he manually pried his plating open.
The moment his chassis parted, cool air rushed in, kissing his overheated components with much-needed relief. Struggling to steady himself on one knee, he reached in and pulled the Matrix free.
And everything about it was wrong.
The crystal’s soft blue glow had curdled into an inky swirl of black veins. The gold edging flaked away, revealing dull, lifeless silver beneath. Even its hum, usually so warm, so constant, had turned low and distorted, like static over a dying signal.
“Oh, that’s not good,” Hot Rod said weakly, staring at it.
Optimus said nothing. He shoved the Matrix back into his chest, jaw clenched as he fought through the discomfort. Pulling the communicator out from his subspace, he rasped into it, “Wheeljack—” His voice crackled, heavy and strained. “We’re not taking the portal back.”
The mission for the contaminated energon source had been scrapped entirely. With the Matrix feeling the way it did inside him, Optimus didn’t trust it not to cause more problems. And beyond that, their whole group seemed to be glitching out. He could only speak for himself, but something in his processor felt… off. Like it had a mind of its own—fighting him, resisting his every command.
He stumbled over the barren terrain, barely managing to catch himself before he fell. Transforming had proven impossible; when they’d tried, every single one of them, Elita included, had purged their tanks. Ratchet had reassured them it was due to the portal disturbing their balance systems, throwing their gyros out of alignment. But Optimus had a suspicion that was only half true. Ratchet just didn’t want to admit how bad it really was.
So here they were, trudging back toward Iacon under the blazing heat of their twin suns, trying not to purge again. Optimus felt guilty for not being the pillar they needed, for failing to maintain his usual poise of command. But he could barely even lift one foot up after the other. Every step sent a throb of pain through his head, his spark, and the Matrix itself. It had been a long time since he’d felt this much like slag, and he prayed to Primus they’d make it home before running into any Decepticons.
“…Do you guys hear that?” Bee asked as he shaded his optics, squinting up at the sky. “Please tell me I’m just hallucinating and you don’t hear what I’m hearing.”
The group slowed to a halt, scanning their surroundings and, most importantly, dialing up their audial sensitivity. It was faint, but Optimus could pick up the unmistakable thrumming of engines in the distance. Engines that sounded very much like Seekers. And they were headed straight toward them.
“Great. Just great,” Elita hissed, forcing herself upright and immediately regretting it. She slapped a hand over her mouth, optics watering. “Just what we need.”
“Guys, I don’t think I can walk, much less fight,” Hot Rod groaned, plating slick with condensation.
Ratchet winced, rummaging through his subspace before pulling out a handful of slim vials. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to use these… but take them.” He held them out toward the group.
Hot Rod eyed them warily. “Is this some kind of new drug? Cause I’m so done with experiments for today.”
“Same,” Bee added, taking a cautious step back. “I really don’t wanna purge again, Ratchet.”
The medic rolled his optics, and nearly toppled over before Optimus steadied him. “It’s not experimental,” Ratchet muttered. “They’re circuit boosters.”
There was a long pause before Optimus asked, tone careful and faintly incredulous, “Ratchet… why do you have drugs on you?”
Ratchet glared up at him, shoving away. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m a medic, in case you’ve forgotten? It’s a narcotic—for emergencies. And I brought them in case one of you got injured.” He thrust the vials out again. “Laymen’s terms: they’re strong painkillers. And considering our processors feel like they’re about to melt, we’ll need them if we’re going to fight.”
Elita snatched one and downed it without hesitation, sighing in relief. “Anything to stop this… pain.”
Optimus almost laughed. It was so Elita to take something like that without question. But as the roar of seeker engines grew louder overhead, he followed suit, downing his own. They couldn’t risk a fight with the Decepticon’s in this state and if taking some circuit boosters helped them focus, well. Optimus was all for it.
The second it touched his glossa, he could feel the narcotic working its way through his frame. The sharp pain in his head dulled to a distant echo, his spark-ache numbing until he could finally think clearly again. But with the relief came something else: a floating, sluggish sensation, like gravity itself had stopped applying to him. He raised a hand, staring at it for what felt like an eternity. The air around his fingers shimmered, bending strangely as if reality were shifting at his touch. He flexed his hands, watching them move in a slow, disconnected, foreign feeling, like a sparkling controlling their frame for the first time.
Hot Rod and Bee followed his lead, each swallowing down their dose. Their frames immediately relaxed as the narcotic circulated through their systems.
“Oh, man…” Hot Rod mumbled, shaking his limbs. “You weren’t kidding, Doc. This stuff hits.”
“This… is so… cool,” Bee whispered, waving his hands slowly in front of him, optics wide and unfocused.
Ratchet sighed heavily, tilting his head back to down his own vial. “They’re medical-grade narcotics,” he muttered, voice already softening, “so they’ve got a… kick to them.” His words faded into a contented sigh.
If someone had told Optimus Prime that he’d one day find himself drugged out of his mind preparing to fight a squadron of Decepticon seekers after tumbling through a teleporter that scrambled his processor to the pits of Unicron… he would’ve laughed for a long, long time. Because this was the kind of mess Orion Pax would have gotten himself into. Optimus Prime? Not so much.
Yet the unsteady sway to his gait suggested otherwise.
The pain in his head had finally subsided to a faint ache just as a handful of seekers transformed and landed in front of them, weapons primed and aimed with deadly accuracy.
“Well, if this isn’t a treat.” Starscream’s voice filtered through Optimus’s audials like oil on water. “Optimus Prime himself, out in the open. Do tell me—was this little stroll for business or pleasure?”
Skywarp snorted. “I think it’s pretty obvious it’s not for pleasure, Screamer. I mean, look at them.” He lowered one blaster, gesturing toward the Autobots’ unsteady posture.
“They look… unwell.” Thundercracker added, transforming his weapons away.
“Oh please.” Starscream rolled his optics, null rays still aimed squarely at Optimus. “Since when do you two dolts care about the welfare of Autobots?”
“Since they’re obviously drugged,” Thundercracker hissed.
“We’re not drugged—” Hot Rod slurred, thrusting a finger in what he clearly thought was their direction but was, in reality, the sky.
“Yeah…” Optimus began, his voice hitching with a laugh. “We’re… super serious right now.”
Elita snickered, the sound escaping before she could stop it.
“Did she just…?” Skywarp asked, incredulous.
“Laugh?” Thundercracker finished. “Yeah. Yeah, she did.”
Optimus tried his best to summon his usual stoic composure, but the look on Starscream’s face had him devolving into a fit of laughter, dragging the rest of his team down with him in hysterics.
Starscream slowly lowered his weapons, wings twitching in disbelief at the chorus of laughter coming from the Autobots. “What in Primus’ name—?”
“Guys—please—we—gotta focus—” Optimus tried between gasps, bracing his hands on his knees as his vents hitched with laughter. “They’re Decepticons—”
“Look at his face!” Ratchet barked, throwing his head back with a howl. “His face!”
“Stop—Stop!” Hot Rod choked out, coolant prickling at his optics as he slapped Ratchet’s arm. “I can’t—!”
Bee couldn’t even form words, his entire vocabulary consisting of static-laced giggles and squeaks of air through his vents..
Starscream shot his trine a look of pure disbelief, but the sound of hydraulics grinding to a halt drew their attention to Megatron, who had just transformed and was storming their way.
“Oh, this is going to be great…” Skywarp muttered under his breath.
“Shut it,” Starscream snapped, throwing out his hands in a placating gesture as Megatron bore down on them. “Lord Megatron, I don’t think—” He didn’t get the chance to finish. Megatron all but barreled through him, sending the seeker stumbling into Thundercracker’s arms.
“Prime.” Megatron spat the designation like a curse, his fusion cannon already leveled at the Autobot leader. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Hot Rod completely crumpled to the ground, rocking back and forth in hysterics. “He said it too—Oh, Primus, I can’t—!”
Ratchet followed suit, hunched over with laughter wracking his frame. “‘Pleasure,’” he echoed mockingly between wheezes.
Optimus was barely holding it together, his composure cracking when even Elita covered her face with a trembling hand, shoulders shaking with laughter. He doubled over, arms around his abdomen, laughing with wild abandon all while completely ignoring the massive weapon pointed right at him.
Megatron stared, dumbfounded, before his anger returned tenfold. “What in the pits is so funny?”
“They’re on drugs,” Skywarp offered helpfully, dusting off Starscream, who promptly smacked his hands away.
“We found them wandering around like…” Starscream grimaced as Hot Rod slammed a fist to the floor, howling with laughter. “…this.”
Megatron’s optics narrowed as he turned his focus back to Optimus, who was swaying on his feet, knees threatening to give out. The circuit booster coursing through his systems made everything feel tingly and nice—the world warm and fuzzy around the edges. It was only when he was hauled upright, face-to-face with those familiar optics that his laughter spluttered out.
“Are you really on drugs?” Megatron asked, voice low, almost cautious. And if Optimus didn’t know any better, he’d have thought there was… concern in it.
“No—” Optimus blurted, then hesitated. “…Yes.”
He struggled to focus on Megatron’s face when it was so close to his own, optics crossing slightly as he tried to make sense of the words coming out of the warlord’s mouth.
“Dare I ask, why?”
Optimus blinked once. Twice. Then winced as a violent pain throbbed behind his optics. He spasmed in Megatron’s grip, his hands gripping the warlord’s shoulders as a small, broken sound escaped his intake.
“Prime?” Megatron’s voice had shifted—rougher, but undeniably concerned now.
Optimus couldn’t hold onto the sound of it through the rising static in his processor. The pain grew unbearable, drowning everything out. He squeezed his optics shut and when he opened them again, red optics had been replaced by blue.
“…Megatron?” He whispered, reaching up to brush his fingers across the elegant white plating framing the other’s face. For a sparkbeat, everything felt still, almost peaceful. But then Megatron’s mouth moved, and reality glitched. Those red optics back in place of blue.
“What the frag are you doing?!” Megatron snarled, gripping Optimus’ wrists tightly in his hands. Droplets of energon dripped down his fingers, matching perfectly with the deep gashes torn into Megatron’s neck.
“I…” Optimus faltered, optics wide with horror. He didn’t remember attacking him—didn’t remember anything after the flash of white plating and those tender touches.
Megatron’s expression hardened, and before Optimus could react his world was suddenly upside down.
“Starscream. Round up the others,” Megatron commanded, already moving.
Optimus blinked through the dizziness, struggling to make sense of the change in position, until it hit him: he was slung over Megatron’s shoulder like a sack of scrap, reminiscent of their time together back in the mines.
With a dazed, delirious laugh, he wheezed out, “He’s… he’s carrying me… that’s—hah—so weird…”
Megatron ignored him entirely, but the way his hand lingered, steady against Optimus’s back as he walked, betrayed an emotion neither of them dared name. “We’re heading back to the Nemesis.”