Chapter Text
Technically, Cybertronians didn't need recharge, or sleep, in human terms.
At least, they didn't need it in the way most species did — which was to say that where other species required rest to function from day to day, Cybertronians didn't. While maintaining regular recharge and defrag cycles greatly improved how the majority of their systems ran, it wasn't a necessity in order to keep their basic ones online. There were several documented benefits of getting daily recharge and several similarly documented side effects of not getting recharge, but it still wasn't something that Cybertronians had to have to keep their frame in operating condition.
There was also the not-so-small fact that getting recharge during a several million-year-long war wasn't exactly easy. There were more than a few stressors and outside forces that were always intent on keeping bots from attempting to enforce a semi-regular resting schedule. Most of those stressors had been in the form of enemy patrols, seeker bombings, distant gunfire, even more distant screams, and so on. There was also the overwhelming feeling of being unsafe everywhere that made it particularly difficult to even think about recharging. The only times any Cybertronian really got any rest through it all was if they got knocked unconscious or put into medical stasis.
But then the war ended, so — obviously — it was easier to start recharging on the daily.
Except it wasn't.
There was still the aftermath of it all that needed to be dealt with. The horrors of four million years of violence and ruin and pain weren't so easily forgotten, and, truthfully, it was no easier to get a proper cycle of recharge than before. Not to mention that there had been a lot of cleanup and Autobots and Decepticons everywhere were still figuring out what to do next.
There had been a few declarations of neutrality and peace from certain Decepticons who had likely just been trying to evade imprisonment rather than actually make up for the things they had done. There was more running and hiding than defection. There was even more fighting back.
Truthfully, none of it had felt particularly real.
A lifetime of war and it was suddenly over. No one — on any side of the conflict — was really prepared for it because how could they have been? War was all some bots had ever known.
All he had ever known.
It didn't help that after the destruction of the space bridge and his ‘death,’ he was sent immediately into hiding. Having to deal with it all while he was more or less alone had sucked — for lack of a better word. Alone was the last thing he had wanted to be after everything, but Optimus had seemed far more concerned about his safety — for a reason he wasn’t even sure of.
“It is a precaution. Just in case.”
That was the only answer Optimus ever gave when asked about it. He hadn't even thought about questioning it until he was a year in and still not recharging regularly. Or at all, from time to time — for weeks at a time.
Not that he needed to, though.
He could function perfectly fine without getting any recharge. In fact, he was used to it. Breaking that habit of just… not getting any rest had been one of the harder habits he had to learn how to break, which was saying a lot, since 'the urge to shoot Megatron on sight' was one of those harder habits.
That particular one had definitely taken a good chunk of time to fix, and even though he didn’t shoot Megatron anymore, his weapons systems still came online when in Megatron’s vicinity on occasion. Regardless of what Optimus had said about ‘trust’ and what his HUD said about Megatron being flagged with ‘ALLY,’ it had been difficult to face Megatron without thinking about certain massacres and brutal tortures and the sheer terror of a vocalizer getting crushed between energon soaked servos and then the panic when it was followed by the triumphant laugh of—
…
In short, Megatron’s face and general presence hadn’t exactly brought back good memories.
But even now, with 15 years of peace gone by — and less traumatic memory-induced panic attacks — he wasn’t recharging any better.
It wasn’t even because of the Megatron thing. He was doing better with the Megatron thing. Much better. He didn't even flinch anymore when Megatron moved just a little too fast or raised his voice just a decible too loud. It was progress.
He had found, though, that the collection of Terrans in his care and the newfound restlessness that came with his speed-based alt-mode was to blame for his recent lack of recharge instead of the horrors of war.
Throughout the past few months, he had been kept from recharging by curious sparklings with burning questions that could not wait until morning more than he had been kept up by anything else.
It was, comparably, an improvement, but the Terrans were still so young and their frames were powered by weird cave water, so recharge was even less of a necessity to them. This meant that he often had to postpone his own plans of rest in favor of making sure they didn’t do anything that would get them in trouble. Even when they did recharge, they didn’t seem to understand the concept of 'sleeping in' like he wished they would. To add to the Terrans' restlessness, his own frame offered its own and refused to understand that the middle of the night was not the perfect time to go racing.
The Terrans brought a lot of mystery and intrigue into his life, but they also left him dealing with an entirely new list of concerns regarding their safety. Those concerns paired with his excess energy had often left him patrolling the farm rather than getting the rest he probably should.
Truth be told, he wanted to rest. He wanted to take a break. He wanted to finally — finally — recharge.
Cybertronians didn’t need it, but after so long of not being able to recharge and so long of not wanting to recharge, for one reason or another, his lack of it felt like it had finally started to catch up with him. He could function efficiently without recharge, but did he want to? Did he really want to keep himself from rest when he had no reason to? Did he really want to keep himself awake when he felt so tired?
The answer was no. He did not.
The first issue was that his overactive frame didn’t seem to agree with that sentiment.
Case in point — he was pacing the perimeter of the farm and had been doing so for the past two hours now. Realistically, he knew that patrolling this late at night was unnecessary. Especially after the night they just had.
G.H.O.S.T. was all but dissolved and given some more time, it would cease to exist entirely. Mandroid was finally dead and only a few stray Arachnamechs remained to be dealt with. The Sharkticons were quick to scamper off after rushing out an apology, and then they returned to whatever planet they called home. Starscream and the other Decepticons had — reluctantly — agreed to a temporary ceasefire and even offered to stick around long enough to assist in the cleanup.
There was still the issue of Agent Croft being unaccounted for. Not that she counted as much of a threat on her own. She was only able to do any damage with that controller of hers, but with everyone's G.H.O.S.T. badges removed, it would be useless. There was the possibility that she had another trick or two up her sleeve, but it was unlikely that she would be bothering them tonight. She hadn't looked particularly… well when Bumblebee saw her last.
In other words, all potential threats were practically non-existent, which, in other, other words, meant that there was no reason for him to be out on patrol.
Except his weapon systems were still online, ready and waiting, just itching for a fight. Except his processor was still reeling, working at a million miles a minute to try and catch up. Except the idea that everyone was safe — that he was safe — hadn't registered yet.
It was, needless to say, a problem.
He hoped that even if there was no real reason for it, the patrol would make him feel better — make him feel safer. He hoped that it would help him clear his head and chase off all his feelings of unease and restlessness. He had planned on it helping to drain a bit of his energy and leave him tired enough to fall straight into recharge as soon as he decided to return. The patrol was supposed to give him a chance to admire and truly appreciate all the organic life around him while he sorted out all his thoughts.
The second issue was that the patrol wasn't doing any of those things.
He was still on edge, processor racing through the events of the past 24 hours, trying to make sense of it all. Between the fight with G.H.O.S.T. and dealing with Mandroid and his mind-control technology again, it was rough, to say the least. It was also a fair amount of overwhelming, stressful, and exhausting. Then there had been the whole cleanup and a debriefing for the big bots and the humans that had missed the last half of the fight due to either mind control or kidnapping. Everyone was more than tired by the end of it and after a quick meal cooked by Alex and the building of a massive pillow fort by the Terrans, everyone had fallen into a much need and sleep.
Unfortunately, his frame and processor had decided that he was still too wound up to join the others.
At least it meant no one was going to be coming out to lecture him about going off in the middle of the night alone. He understood the concern, especially after the day they all had, but he was a grown bot who could take care of himself. Besides, the worst he could encounter out here was a few G.H.O.S.T. droids that hadn't shut down yet, and he could handle those with his eyes closed. OK, maybe they weren't the worst, but the odds that anything truly worse than that showed while he was outside were slim.
Everything was quiet and calm, and while it was normally a concern for such silence to engulf the Malto property, it made sense tonight. Even the nocturnal animals that took to filling the night with at least some noise seemed to be taking a break. Dot mentioned once that some animals could 'sense' natural disasters through low-frequency sounds, electromagnetic fields, and vibrations that humans couldn't feel. Maybe they knew something happened and ended up going quiet.
A twig snapped behind him and he froze, processor screeching to a halt with him. New thoughts formed now. A list — a long list — of every potential enemy that could have just made that sound appeared on his HUD, scrolling by faster than he was even able to read.
One of the many rogue Decepticons that were unaccounted for. One of the Decepticons with Starscream that was going against the truce. One of those G.H.O.S.T. droids that hadn't shut down yet. Maybe the Sharkticons didn't go home, after all. Maybe Mandroid still had some Arachnamechs running around. Maybe-
Odds were that it was an animal. A raccoon or a deer or a fox or something small and harmless and innocent. He was probably just being too jumpy and making a big deal out of nothing. It was nothing. It was a raccoon. It was 100%-totally a raccoon.
Two glowing eyes appeared from between the trees and he threw his hands into a defensive position. There was the distinct sound of an engine — a powerful engine — rumbling ever so gently. It was as if they were trying to be quiet. Then was the sound of deceptively light footsteps. Regardless of how careful they were, he could hear the weight those steps carried.
Not a raccoon. Definitely not a raccoon.
A frame emerged from the trees. A hulking frame of silver and black with red accents. A powerful frame with sleek lines and sharp angles. An intimidating frame with scratched metal and marred plating. A warframe, without a doubt.
An EM field pushed against him.
It was staggering. It was suffocating. It was overarching and powerful. It pulled him in and pushed him away. It wanted him near but kept him far. It was a blanket and a wall and a building collapsing on top of him.
It felt like drowning.
Or, at least, what he imagined drowning was like. He didn't exactly have any experience with the matter. He'd never drowned before. Cybertronians didn't breathe, after all. They didn't have lungs as humans did. While Cybertronians did vent, it wasn't for their survival. It was a method for allowing air to flow through their frames to help dissipate and release the heat generated by their systems. It was a method for allowing built-up moisture to escape from their frames. It was even a method for pushing out unwanted dust or liquids.
Venting was only a necessity if a Cybertronian found themself in danger of imminent overheating or at risk of trapping debris or dirt in their lines and clogging them up. Neither of those things were particularly life-threatening, either, so Cybertronians really had no reason to worry about how often they 'breathed' as much as humans had to worry. They hardly even felt the effects of it.
Yet his sudden inability to vent made him dizzy.
He’d never felt an EM field used like this before. It was brutal, dangerous, and fortified. It was a weapon — a cannon — thrust against his chassis and keeping him still, keeping him stuck. A cannon that thrummed and pulsed with power, shaking him to his very core. The trigger of it was stayed, but he could feel the tension of it. He could feel it waiting for him to make the first move — for him to slip up, for him to panic. He could feel just how much it itched to fire deep into his spark.
A tingling sensation washed over him and caused his plating to rattle and flare. His spark pounded against its casing, threatening to leap out at a moment's notice. His optics refused to focus, his mouth refused to open. He couldn’t think, couldn’t vent, couldn’t move, pinned in place by that all-encompassing field.
It was terrifying.
Every micrometer of his coding screamed at him to run, to flee, to get away. Had he not found himself so suddenly frozen in place, he would have.
A set of red optics met his blue ones.
In an instant, it all vanished. The EM field lifted and dispersed, lifting its crushing weight away just as quickly as it had settled. His next vent was more like gasp, a desperate attempt to pull in as much air as he could in as little time as he could. The EM field was no longer suffocating, but he could still feel it dancing around the edge of his own field. The danger was not gone. Not yet. Not when his thoughts hadn't sorted themselves out and his vision hadn't cleared. Not when his throat had tightened to warn him of a soon-to-fail voice box.
"Ah, just you."
He definitely — definitely — did not squeak.
Megatron, at the very least, did not laugh at the noise, yet the amused sort of rumble that came from his engine could almost be considered one. He took a step closer, then grinned. “Apologies for that, I thought you might have been Starscream snooping around.”
And that definitely explained why Megatron had approached with such astounding presence. That EM field felt like getting shot. He was still reeling from it.
"Although, I must say that I'm surprised you didn't notice me approaching sooner," Megatron continued with a certain shine in his optics. "I would have expected Optimus' best scout to be more aware of his surroundings. It was terribly easy to sneak up on you. I was hardly trying."
His processor was doing loop-de-loops to try and sort itself out. One part of it was trying to focus on the conversation and figure out how to reply to that jab at his skills. Another was trying to figure out if it was a jab at his skills because Megatron's tone hadn't seemed particularly snide. A third was honed in on Megatron, trying to read his expressions and body language and put clues together to figure out the several questions of 'why, what, when, and how.' The last part was stuck trying to figure out how Megatron had snuck up on him because yes, he was Optimus' best scout so that shouldn't happen.
He was equipped with a short-range radar system designed to provide him with the positions and trajectories of all objects within a 50-meter radius. It provided him with constant and consistent updates to the area data around him and alerted him of any approaching entities. It worked under all weather conditions and could track objects from behind other objects. It was even made to notify him with an audible ping if it logged any Cybertronian signals that were determined to be a threat.
It observed information in one-thousandth of a second.
So — again — that shouldn't happened.
"Oh-" His voice box at least had the decency to work. "I, uh... I'm a little tired, so my systems aren't operating at full efficiency." His systems were operating just fine. A sweep through his sensory logs even confirmed it. It also provided the answer to how Megatron had snuck up on him. The good news was that his radar had indeed registered Megatron's signature minutes ago. The bad news was that despite registering the signature, his systems hadn't flagged Megatron as a threat. It had a lot of implications that he was entirely certain he did not want to deal with. "Yeah, just tired."
It was a lie — an obvious lie — and he knew it.
Megatron clearly knew it too.
He expected to be called out on it; to be reprimanded and made a fool for trying to deceive the former leader of the Decepticons. 'Deceptive' was literally in their name. There had been so many sayings throughout the war about 'conning a con,' and, really, he should have known better than to try and get away with lying straight to Megatrons face. It wasn't even one of his good lies. He could have done so much better.
But instead of the predicted beratement, Megatron's optics shuttered, focusing on his face before raising an optical ridge. The grin on his face widened, lip plates drawing up just enough to show off a set of pointed fangs. The rumble of his engine shifted into a growl. An almost teasing growl.
"Indeed?"
Apparently, Megatron wanted to play along.
The question now was whether or not he did.
There was no scolding or shaming for his lie, so the conversation had, without a doubt, turned into a game. A game with rules he wasn't aware of. It could also be a test, though. A test with rules he also wasn't aware of. He wasn't sure what kind of test it even was. Maybe Megatron was trying to test his courage. Maybe Megatron was seeing if he would own up to his lie. Maybe Megatron wanted to figure out how far their 'ally' relationship actually went.
He could turn this into the perfect opportunity to come up with and spin out a new fib about why Megatron was able to slip past his senses; to come up with something that would keep their game of pretend going. He wasn't sure if it was a game though. He could use the 'I'm tired' excuse again, but he'd have to repeat it with renewed vigor if he wanted to really stand his ground. Then there was the option of telling the truth which would give him bonus points in both honesty and comradery.
He, unfortunately, did none of those things.
"Yup. Totally."
It was bad.
Megatron's engine rumbled in that 'not a laugh, but basically, a laugh' way again, making his amusement regarding the whole situation known. At least one of them found this all entertaining and not incredibly tense and awkward.
"Lying doesn't befit you, scout."
The words were dangerous.
Or they would be dangerous, had the war not ended. Such a phrase was typically spoken during interrogation — read torture — and meant that whatever lie he had just spit out was seen through in an instant. Such a phrase meant that Megatron was not in the least bit pleased by his answers and might end up putting his servo just a little too close to an all too-fresh wound. He would have tried to kick Megatron in the knee strut and then made his escape had he been told the very same thing before Megatron switched sides.
But there was no ulterior motive behind those words aimed directly at him. There was no wicked glint in those optics that hadn't broken their stare once. There was no predatory flare in the EM field that ever so gently bordered his own. The way Megatron had spoken the glyphs and rumbled his engine meant that there was no bite behind the bark. It was teasing. It was joking. It was friendly.
That was an odd thought.
His conversations with Megatron tended to fall into the 'stiff and uncomfortable' category. The only ‘normal’ conversations he had with Megatron tended to have Optimus there to act as a buffer between them. Optimus being there had mostly been for his sake, seeing as he had expressed that he still felt unsafe around Megatron.
Yet here he was all alone in front of Megatron and he felt relatively at ease.
‘Relatively’ was the key word there, because there was always danger when of came to all things Megatron. He was a powerful warframe with several million years of fighting beneath his plating. He was strong and dangerous, and due to certain events in history, that warning of danger was hardwired into the processors of just about every Autobot in existence.
But he had also proved himself trustworthy on several occasions. He had Optimus vouching for him constantly. He had Elita-1 insisting that there was nothing to fear from him. Ratchet had admitted that Megatron’s change of heart was genuine.
Even he had to admit that, after his combat systems learned not to power on at the mere sight of Megatron, he wasn’t so bad to work with. It was actually kind of nice to be able to watch Megatron in action without the fear of the next blow getting thrown at his head.
He wouldn’t go as far as saying that he was friends with Megatron, or even that he liked him, but… he could say that Megatron wasn’t so bad to be around.
What could he say? Progress.
“OK, OK, fine. You caught me.” He held up his hands in a show of his metaphorical defeat. “My sensors didn’t log you as a threat, so they didn’t notify me of your approaching signal.”
Megatron mulled over the answer for a moment before he bared his denta in a sharp grin. “Well, I don’t know whether I should be flattered or insulted.”
"Yeah, yeah, take it however you want," and the conversation felt so immediately easier now that he wasn't trying to lie his way out of an embarrassing lapse in his awareness. "What are you doing out here, anyway? I thought you and Optimus went back to G.H.O.S.T. to start going through all their locked servers and stuff.
”We did.” Megatron stepped closer, now, bringing the heat of his frame and the weight of that EM field with him. It wasn’t as heavy or overwhelming as before, but it still had power. “While going through the servers, we found that there were still a few G.H.O.S.T. droids remaining in the area. I came out here to take care of them.”
“Oh, well, good luck with that. I haven’t seen any, but… I could keep an optic open while I’m out here.”
“That would be appreciated. Although it begs the question of why you’re out here to begin with.”
A heavy puff of rough and heated air filled the space between them. It was hot — physically hot. With it came the realization of just how close Megatron had gotten to him. With it came the realization of just how far he had to crane his neck in order to hold Megatron’s gaze. It made him feel dizzy.
“Just patrolling. I, uh… couldn’t really sleep.”
"Hm, bad flux?"
“No, not that, it's just… it’s weird.”
Megatron's engines hummed, and then his EM field spread out, projecting curiosity and safety. That was a strange feeling.
"Try me."
He briefly wondered if Megatron would actually understand the issue. He knew that his problem stemmed from the excess energy he had from having a racer frame, so it was highly unlikely that Megatron knew what the problem was.
"It's like I'm tired, but also full of energy. I want to recharge, but I feel all jittery and anxious. It's like the feeling I get when I really need to go out racing."
Megatron raised an optical ridge at that. He probably didn't understand it then.
"OK, you probably can't relate to that, but it's like... having this itch under your plating and not being able to relax until you scratch it. Do you know what I'm talking about?"
The laugh that fell from Megatron's lips was a teasing one, but it didn't feel like he was making fun of anything. "Believe it or not, I do know what you're talking about. I admit, I don't feel the same 'itch' you do, but I've seen it before. It’s something seekers and speedsters have in common. Have you talked to someone with a similar alt-mode about it? I'm sure they'd be able to offer some better input.”
"No, I haven't really had a chance to with, you know, the whole 'in hiding' thing."
He hadn't had the chance to talk to basically anyone due to it. Not even a medic. It wasn't a life-ending issue, of course, but it was a problem that was going to continue for as long as he kept on choosing fast alt modes.
"I see.” Megatron paused for a moment, then he shifted. “Having a speed-based alt-mode is still new to you, correct?”
”I mean, kind of? I’ve had a racer frame for 15 years, so not really. But I also changed alt modes three times over the same amount of time. My current alt-mode is definitely the fastest I’ve had, though, and… You know what, I’m starting to see why I’ve only had this much trouble with it recently.”
”Yes, that would be it. There are perks to such an increase in speed, but it does leave you feeling that 'itch' more often."
”The only issue though is that I can’t go out racing. I mean, with G.H.O.S.T. gone, I guess I don’t have to worry about them, but Dot’s been kind of intense about it since the whole Breakdown thing.”
”Fortunately,“ and Megatron leaned closer, allowing the heat generated by his frame to become much more obvious. “I may have a solution to your problem.”
The thought of Megatron having a solution for a speedster — and apparently seeker — problem was strange. Megatron had more power than speed and had even said he didn’t relate to the problem, but he had seen it before, so maybe there was something he knew worked.
”What, does the G.H.O.S.T. headquarters have a secret race track or something?”
Megatron laughed again. “No, nothing of the sort. It’s a different kind of solution, but one I’ve found to be much more efficient and enjoyable than racing.”
Part of him was curious about how Megatron knew such a solution if he didn’t suffer from the issue himself, but the answer probably lay in the same explanation of how Megatron knew so much about his problem. He’d seen it before.
”Really? What’s this magical solution then, and why haven’t I heard of it?”
”Oh, you’ve heard of it, I assure you. It’s the type of solution that requires a partner.”
”Partner as in…”
The steady rumble of Megatron’s engine turned into something else. A purr. It was deep and smooth and alluring.
”You’re a smart mech, I’m sure you can figure it out.”
And he could. He’d already gone through a list of physical activities and then narrowed it down to all the partner-required ones. Given the context clues of the situation and the way Megatron’s voice had dipped so suddenly, he had narrowed that list down even further. There were two things that Megatron could be referring to.
The first was fighting, and it was tempting. A spar would probably be good for him in more ways than one. He was a bit... out of practice when it came to taking down bots like he had during the war, so having a sparring partner would do wonders for his technique. It also solved his energy issue by giving him a productive and mostly healthy outlet for that energy.
The second was fragging, and it was certainly an idea, that was for sure. It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea of fragging, but rather that he was kind of, well, inexperienced in that field. It wasn't that he was clueless about interfacing either, but rather that nearly all of his exposure to it hadn't been entirely great — or even good. It would solve his energy issue just the same as a spar would, though. He could give it a shot though. Maybe it would be better than the last time.
He couldn't deny that Megatron had a certain appeal, either. There was something about his incredible strength and his sturdy frame that was intriguing. There was something about his sharp features and his heavy stare that was attractive.
But Megatron could also crush him like a cheap tin can. But Megatron was also twice his size. But Megatron had also tried to kill him several times before.
“I…”
And really, how else was he supposed to reply to that? Regardless of whether Megatron meant to spar or to frag, there would be a risk to it just because of their differences in strength and size alone.
Yet there was some part of him that was fascinated with that inherent danger.
“It’s up to you, of course, but know that I would certainly be willing to volunteer as your, ah, partner for the evening. Would you be interested, scout?”
"I... you?"
Here — like this — with Megatron leaned so far into his personal space, optics bright with what could only be described as pure hunger, engine purring so loud that it shook the air around them, and lips curled up in a dangerous grin to expose even more dangerous teeth, there was only one thing that Megatron could be proposing.
And spoiler alert: it definitely wasn’t a spar.
Megatron was offering to interface.
With him.
“You’re allowed to refuse. If you do, then nothing will come of tonight and we’ll simply carry on with our lives without me asking again.”
He highly doubted that. Maybe Megatron would carry on, but after tonight, he probably wouldn’t be able to look at Megatron the same. Not entirely in a bad way, but more in an ‘I can’t believe you wanted to interface with me’ sort of way. He still couldn’t believe it.
”Accept, though, and I promise you’ll have a pleasurable night followed by the best cycle of recharge you’ve ever had.”
It was a tempting offer, that was for sure, but it was Megatron.
”And if we both enjoy the evening, then I might even be willing to, well, continue solving this little problem of yours.”
He would have pinched himself had he thought it would bring him back to reality. The only issue was that this was reality. Megatron was very real in front of him and the offer he had just received was also very real. A very real offer that he would have to give a very real answer to.
He only had two options.
NO — Megatron would leave and the night would end. There would be no second offer and Megatron would leave him alone.
YES — Megatron would frag all of his excess energy out of him and leave him to get a full cycle of recharge for the first time in a long time. There might even be a repeat of it.
But it was MEGATRON.
They had so much history — bad history — and 15 years of good wasn’t nearly long enough to be able to make up for that. Megatron had been a warlord and a tyrant and had killed so many people. He’d destroyed and destroyed and only when their home planet fell apart did he realize just how much damage had been done. Megatron was dangerous. Plain and simple.
The question now wasn’t whether or not he wanted to interface with Megatron. Technically it was, but there was a second question hidden behind that one now. A different one that might completely alter the way they interacted with each other. It all depended on how he answered.
Did he trust Megatron?
There would only be one definitive answer allowed here.
Yes or no?
”Well, Bumblebee?”