“Yes,” Sukuna interrupts, hands starting to shake. Sukuna’s only listed as the emergency contact for two people: you, and the brat sitting on his couch. “I’m her emergency contact. Is—is she—what happened?” 

But he knows, he already fucking knows.

“She was in a car accident.”

Sukuna’s world blurs at the edges.

Car accident. He’s been here before.

He knows what happens next. Soon the police will come knocking at his door and Wasuke will sit his fourteen year old grandson down and tell Sukuna that his parents, that Mom and Dad are—

“Sukuna? Hello?”

 “I’m here.” No, he isn’t. Not really. 

He forces himself to get it together.

If you were—it would be the police, he reminds himself with gritted teeth. Not police on the phone, hospital.

“She has a broken arm and a concussion, she’s unconscious now.”

 He is fourteen, and gripped with fear. “But she—she’s gonna wake up?”

“We expect her to. Visiting hours end at nine pm, if you want to come see her.”

“Okay.” The woman on the other end of the line disconnects.

Sukuna puts his phone down, grips the edges countertop. A panic, a sheer terror he’d buried years ago claws its way out of the dirt.

It overwhelms him. There is nothing but the fear, the urge to hide, despite knowing he has nowhere to go, that the knowledge of what happened to you will reach him everywhere. Sukuna is powerless.

Vomit reaches up his throat.

He is fourteen, and all of a sudden, he is alone.

“Ryo?” A hand shakes him. “Ryo are you okay?” Yuuji asks.

Sukuna inhales sharply. He looks at Yuuji with something on his face, he doesn’t know what. 

Yuuji’s expression hardens. Wordlessly, he hands Sukuna a bottle cap that was lying on the counter. Sukuna takes it, immediately drags his thumb over the sharp edge.

Yuuji gives him a few moments.

“What happened?”

Sukuna bites his tongue, tastes blood.

Yuuji looks at him carefully. “I heard…is it—”

“Yeah,” Sukuna interrupts. “Yeah. She…car accident.”

Yuuji gasps, eyes flying wide. Sukuna’s still looking at him with something on his face.

“Hospital?” Yuuji clarifies.

“Yeah.”

Yuuji nods, determined. “Okay, let’s go.” He goes to put his shoes on. 

Sukuna stays where he is, rigid, motionless.

Yuuji comes over, shoes on, jacket on, hat on against the cold. “Ryo, let’s go.”

He stares blankly at Yuuji. He—he can’t face it.

“I…”

His little cousin looks at him gently. Only not so little, anymore: Yuuji’s eyes are almost level with his own. “What’d they say? On the phone?”

“Broken arm,” Sukuna mumbles. “Concussion, she’s…unconscious.”

Yuuji’s eyes narrow. “Gonna wake up?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Yuuji nods forcefully. “Let’s be there when she wakes up, c’mon.”

C’mon.

“Okay,” Sukuna grunts, putting on his shoes and coat.

Outside, Yuuji raises an eyebrow. “Want me to drive?”

That snaps Sukuna back to full capacity. “No.” He shoots Yuuji a withering glare.

“There he is,” Yuuji laughs under his breath.

Sukuna gets them on the road, and then there are three horrible minutes of silence. He white-knuckles the steering wheel and desperately tries to keep his thoughts from sliding away.

What the fuck are you going to look like, tucked into a hospital bed?

Then Yuuji grabs the aux cord and connects his phone. Soon, the most god-awful sugarpop music is blasting through his speakers.

He glares at Yuuji, who grins innocently.

“This is garbage,” Sukuna says flatly.

Yuuji shrugs. “Well, everyone at my school says it’s the future of music.”

“Then you go to school with fucking morons,” Sukuna mutters. “Why’re we paying so much money to send you there if everyone’s stone dumb?”

“Because it’s going to be pivotal to my success, actually,” Yuuji informs him. “Didn’t you know?”

“Ha!” Sukuna barks. “You just like it ‘cause you can get laid.”

He’s expecting Yuuji to scoff, mumbling under his breath. Instead, the kid squeaks, cheeks turning bright red.

Oh-ho. Sukuna raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Got something you wanna share, little man?”

“No.”

“Relax, brat, I’m not fucking Wasuke, remember?” Sukuna rolls out his shoulders.

He gives Yuuji a few moments. Then—

“You gettin’ pussy? Dick?”

“When we get out of this car I will kill you,” Yuuji mutters.

“Some of each?” Sukuna continues gleefully.

“I am going to dislocate your shoulder, I swear.”

Sukuna howls like a hyena. “S’good,” he says when his laughter dies down. “That you’re—”he waves a hand in his direction. “One of the best things about college.”

“Really,” Yuuji deadpans.

He shrugs, turning serious. “Yeah. Gives you a chance to start figuring all that out.” He smiles crookedly. “Part of leaving home, brat.”

Yuuji scoffs, turning to look out the window.

Sukuna lets a few minutes slide by. The brat’s clammed up tight, won’t let anything slip.

Huh. He’s never really talked with Yuuji about this stuff; girls or guys or any of it. It just…never came up.

He considers that for a moment.

“You using protection?”

Yuuji hesitates, then nods.

“Good.” Sukuna thinks for a moment. “If you need to buy condoms, put it on the credit card.”

Yuuji shoots Sukuna a look. He shrugs again. Sukuna can shell out so the brat doesn’t end up with HIV. Or an unplanned pregnancy.

“Anything happens, you call immediately,” he says, suddenly serious. 

“Uh…” Yuuji looks around furtively.

“I mean it,” Sukuna continues. “I’m not gonna fucking care, okay? Call, we’ll figure it out.” He thinks for a moment. “She can probably tell you more about birth contr—”

Reality hits like a truck.

Sukuna realizes they’re at the hospital.

Yuuji kept him distracted all the way to the hospital. Kid’s a genius.

“S’alright, Ryo. Park the car.”

Sukuna nods. 

He parks the car.

Forces himself through those sliding glass doors. Presents his ID. Gets a sticker with his name on it.

Moves sluggishly through the ICU until they find your bed.

And there you are. Scratchy, shitty blanket pulled up to your shoulders, bandaged head lolling to the side. 

Arm in a cast, eyes closed.

It hits like a bullet, right between his eyes. He almost stumbles.

He’s fourteen again, and so small.

“Ryo.” Yuuji bumps his shoulder against Sukuna’s. “Ryo, nurse is trying to talk to you.”

He tries to clear his head. “What?”

“Hello,” the nurse watches him carefully. “Are you Sukuna Ryomen, the emergency contact?”

“I…yeah.”

“Okay, great! I’m Crystal, I’m her nurse for the evening. Are you her…”

“Boyfriend.” Sukuna grits out.

“Great, thank you. I’m going to tell you about her condition, okay?”

Sukuna nods.

The nurse speaks slowly and clearly as she explains what happened. You were T-boned on the passenger side, car totaled.

Sukuna has to stop for a moment there, because he’s a mechanic. He’s seen what cars look like after getting T-boned, seen how the interior is warped and crushed, and so is the person in the driver’s seat.

The nurse must sense his panic rising, because she adds: “The car and the airbag did their jobs. Her arm took the brunt of the impact, and it was a clean break. No need for surgery.”

Sukuna breathes out slowly. He gestures to you in the hospital bed; knocked out.

The nurse—Crystal—takes it in stride. “Right. Also a concussion. Moderate swelling, no bleeding, which is a good sign.”

Sure it is. “When will she wake up?”

“We can’t know for certain.” Crystal checks her watch. “She received the injury an hour and a half ago. With the kind of injury she sustained, she may wake up in the next four and a half hours.”

It’s six. So that’s—ten thirty.

Visiting hours end at nine. He swallows uneasily. 

Sukuna really, really needs to see you wake up.

“Of course, that’s no guarantee,” Crystal says apologetically. “It could take longer.”

Even better.

“Is there—anything?” Sukuna asks lamely.

Crystal smiles gently, shaking her head. “Not really anything else I can tell you right now. If there’s a change in her condition, we’ll go from there.”

If there’s a change. Sukuna realizes they’re dancing around the possibility that you might not wake up.

He bites his tongue, tastes blood. 

Fear, again. Nowhere to hide.

Yuuji speaks up next to him. “Thank you,” he says earnestly.

Then he lightly pushes Sukuna into the chair by your bed. 

“Of course! There’s the call button, let me know if you need anything.” With that, Crystal makes her exit.

Yuuji immediately parks himself on the floor at Sukuna’s feet, leaning against your bed. He puts one of the drawstrings of his hoodie into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“They’re not saying it, but she might not wake up,” Sukuna growls, wanting to—to prepare Yuuji, or something.

The kid glances at him. “Yeah, I got that, too.”

Confirmation. The pit of fear grows. Sukuna could puke.

“But I think she’ll wake up,” he says decisively.

Sukuna lets out a dry, strangled laugh. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Yuuji shrugs. “Nurse said moderate swelling. A guy on my floor got a concussion last month; he got drunk and ran into a wall. He said he had moderate swelling, too, and he woke up that day.” Yuuji thinks for a moment. “And he probably had alcohol poisoning, so Miss Teacher will be in much better shape.”

A kid ran into a wall, huh? “How’d that happen?”

“Oh man, Ryo, it was so funny.” Yuuji shakes his head, laughing. “Someone dared him to run into a wall.”

School full of morons. And Yuuji, king moron himself.

The pit of fear spreads. “Brat, if you get yourself a concussion doing stupid shit like that, I will kill you,” Sukuna snarls. “I will pull you out of that moron school and ‘Miss Teacher’ will homeschool you for the rest of your life.”

Yuuji cocks an eye at him. “Chill, Ryo. I’m not that stupid.”

Chill, Ryo. Sukuna wants to break a finger.

After a few minutes, Yuuji pipes up again. “That kid had amnesia for a bit, it was so weird.”

Sukuna’s stomach pitches. “What?”

Yuuji immediately realizes his mistake. “Yeah, he just couldn’t remember the week before the accident. But, like, only for a few days,” he says, trying to placate Sukuna. “Then he remembered everything, it was fine.”

Holy shit. Amnesia?

“Plus, alcohol poisoning,” Yuuji reminds him, now sounding slightly nervous. “She’ll probably be fine.”

Sukuna’s face is doing that something again. He digs his forearms into his thighs and hangs his head in hands, pressing his palms into his eyes.

The black pit of fear widens its maw.

Sukuna grits his teeth. “Guess we’ll just have to wait for her to wake up.”

Which you do, thank god.

An hour and a half later.

Sukuna’s staring at nothing when you let a groan. Yuuji darts to his feet, and Sukuna’s fingers slam the call button.

Crystal appears a moment later, assessing you in the bed. “Ma’am?” she says softly.

You open your eyes and immediately squeeze them shut, grimacing. “Ow, fuck.”

There you are. Sukuna’s stomach loosens.

“You don’t have to open your eyes,” Crystal reassures you. “The light might be painful. We’re all just glad you’re awake.”

Sukuna’s so relieved he might cry. Yuuji sniffles bravely at the foot of your bed.

“Is this…” you trail off.

“You’re in the hospital,” Crystal confirms.

“Why am I in the hospital?” you croak.

Sukuna’s hands clench into fists. You sound so fucking scared.

“You were in a car accident,” Crystal says gently.

You suck in a sharp breath. The heart rate monitor beside Sukuna ticks up.

“But you’re awake now,” Crystal soothes. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“Okay,” you say thickly.

“You have some visitors,” she continues. “Can you tell me who they are?”

Your eyes open a crack, alighting on Yuuji. “That’s Itadori Yuuji, he’s in my class.”

What?

Sukuna narrows his eyes, and Yuuji looks to him, confused.

Crystal clocks it and stretches up to whisper in Sukuna’s ear. 

“Was that wrong?”

“Yuuji was in her class three years ago,” he rumbles quietly. 

Crystal’s expression hardens. “How old is Yuuji?” she asks you.

“He’ll be fifteen in a few months.” You’ve closed your eyes by now. Yuuji shakes his head at Crystal.

Sukuna feels the noose start to tighten.

Crystal opens her mouth, but you beat her to it. “Yuuji, what are you doing here? Why are you at the hospital, does Wasuke know you’re here?”

Yuuji gasps. Sukuna’s heart calcifies.

Crystal stretches up again. “Died three years ago,” Sukuna mutters, like his world isn’t coming apart at the seams.

Sukuna only met you after Wasuke bit it. Which means—

“Do you know this man?” Crystal asks.

You open your eyes again, turning towards him. 

His head’s on the block, and you’re holding the axe. Sukuna tenses, tries to ready himself for the blow.

Your stare is blank. He can tell already. 

You don’t recognize him.

Axe in your hand, and you don’t falter. “No.”

Quick and clean. Severed Sukuna at the shoulders, severed his head from his feet planted in the only reality he wants to live in, the one where you know his name.

He hears Yuuji’s teeth clack. He feels like he’s been dropped from a cliff.

The black pit of fear is there to catch him, swallowing him greedily.

He is fourteen, and he is alone.

“Who is that?” you ask carefully.

Sukuna can’t do this.

“That’s Ry—Sukuna,” Yuuji pipes up. “My older cousin.”

“Oh. Nice to meet you,” you say with a grimace of pain, closing your eyes.

Holy fuck.

Sukuna clears his throat. “We’ve met before,” he rasps.

Crystal eyes him. 

You’re caught off guard. “Wh—what?” 

“You have a concussion,” Crystal says slowly, softly. “Sometimes, that can cause memory loss.”

“Memory loss?” your voice quivers.

The heart rate monitor beeps even faster.

Crystal eyes it warily. “Yes,” she confirms. “It’s often temporary.”

“Oh—okay,” you say weakly. “Um, do you know how—” your voice breaks. “How much I can’t remember?” You’re on the verge of tears 

Crystal looks to Sukuna.

“Three years.”

Your eyes fly open. “Three years?” You look at him with such fear and confusion that he instinctively reaches for your hand, lying on the bed.

You flinch away.

The punch rattles from his head to his toes. Sukuna feels like he’s dying.

Your heart rate monitor jacks up. Crystal watches it closely.

“Who—” you’re still looking at Sukuna. “Who are you?”

He knows what you mean. 

“I’m your boyfriend,” he says through clenched teeth.

Your heart rate spikes.

“What?” you whisper, terrified. “I—I can’t remember.” Tears roll down your cheeks, and your breath comes thick and fast. You start to tremble.

Crystal’s at his ear again. “She’s too agitated,” she mutters. “If she keeps shaking, the pressure in her brain could increase; that’s life threatening. She needs to calm down.”

Sukuna looks at her blankly. He can’t exactly help with that right fucking now.

Crystal nods. “I know. We can sedate her, but we need her consent.”

They both turn to look at you. You’re sobbing, shaking like a leaf.

She turns back to him. “If we can’t get her consent, we have to attempt to contact her health care proxy.”

Sukuna blanches. 

Shit. That’s definitely your mom.

They can’t contact your fucking mom right now. That’s the last thing you need.

He quickly reaches across the bed and grabs your hand, holding tight. You look up at him in terror.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs. “They want to put you back under.”

“What?” you say, aghast. You’re still trembling.

“Just for a few hours,” Crystal says encouragingly. “We want to give your brain time to heal. But we need you to consent.”

“But—” you take a shuddering breath. “I can’t, I don’t know!”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says soothingly. You stare at him, lip wobbling. “But if you can’t make a decision,” he pulls in a deep breath, looks at you seriously. “They’re gonna call your mom.”

That stops you dead, as he knew it would. Doesn’t matter if your brain is stuck three years in the past or ten in the future. In this life and the next, you never want your mother involved.

“Oh—okay.” You nod, still shaking. “Uh, you—you think I need to…be sedated?” You look at Crystal.

“I do. I think it’s what’s best to protect your brain at this time,” she explains gently.

“Okay.” You sniffle, glancing at Sukuna fearfully. “Oh—okay. I give consent.”

Crystal pulls a clipboard of nowhere. “Sign here, love.” You pull your hand from Sukuna’s to scrawl your name, then quickly grab it again. Something burns bright, just for a moment.

Placing the form on a table, Crystal busies herself with your IV drip. You stare at the line taped to your hand.

He rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “It’ll be okay, sweets,” he rumbles, low in his chest. “You’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” Your eyes are already starting to close.

“See you when you wake up.”

And then you’re out.

Sukuna stares at your hand in his. The world tips off its axis.

You don’t know him. You don’t remember the three—three years. With him.

You don’t remember—anything.

This is a waking nightmare.

“Sukuna?”

He chokes down a swell of vomit, raising his eyes to Crystal. Sukuna tries to wipe the something off his face, but she must catch it, because her face softens.

“This kind of amnesia is extremely common,” she says in the soft, reassuring voice she used on you. “People often regain their memories within weeks, maybe even days.”

Weeks.

“With head injuries, everything is one day at a time,” she continues, looking at him seriously. “Things may change tomorrow. I’m not saying they will, but, remember, it’s day to day.” She glances at the IV bag hanging above you. “She’ll be out until morning, let’s see what happens then.”

Let’s see what happens.

Let’s see if you remember the man who coaxed you into falling in love with him, because as soon as Sukuna realized he was in love with you, he knew he couldn’t eat that overwhelming, impossible feeling alone.

Let’s see if you remember the time he’s spent changing and pushing himself to become the sort of person who belongs in your life, just how you’ve changed to become the sort of person who belongs in his.

Let’s see if you remember why Sukuna’s your emergency contact—only for you and Yuuji—and you’re his.

If you don’t, Sukuna’s life will shatter like it’s been dropped from a great height.

Dead on impact.

Crystal’s still looking at him. He swallows uneasily. 

“Okay.” His voice is unrecognizable. “Thanks.”

Sukuna looks to Yuuji. The kid nods, looking determined through red-rimmed eyes. 

Silently, the two of them walk through the ICU and out of the hospital.

Yuuji coughs. “Want me to drive?”

Sukuna hands him the keys.

He gets in the passenger seat, clicks his seatbelt, and then there’s nothing to do but let despair take him.

Nowhere to run.

It slops onto his head and trickles down his back; pours into his socks and stuffs itself up his nose until he feels like he’s suffocating.

Reaches up to cover his eyes and then that’s it.

Sukuna’s completely covered. Blind. Can’t see a way out, can’t imagine the possibility of you waking up and remembering who he is, what he’s made himself to you.

All he has is the bitingly cold, rigid certainty that he is alone.

He bites his tongue, tastes blood.

The fear envelops him from head to toe. And the only person he wants to talk to about it doesn’t know who the fuck he is.

“Ryo,” Yuuji says quietly.

His eyes only make it as far as the steering wheel.

“Hold out until tomorrow.”

Sukuna manages a nod.

Anguish holds him by the hair until they get home.

Inside, Yuuji taps him on the shoulder. “You going to bed?”

The something’s back on his face.

“Wanna play video games?”

Sukuna exhales slowly. “Yeah, brat. I guess I do.”

They play Smash until Sukuna passes out, already dreading the next morning.

•••

Abruptly, you’re awake.

That’s the thing with sedatives, you reason, gritting your teeth. Unnatural sleep. Slamming you from one moment to the next.

Ugh. You feel like shit. Your head hurts like a motherfucker.

Like you’d slammed it into the window of your car or something, you think grimly.

Shifting lightly under the blanket, you crack your eyes open, just enough to see two shocks of pink hair above anxious faces. 

The light fucking burns. You close your eyes with a hiss.

“Hey, Ryo,” you mutter.

Sukuna gives an inhumane, choked-off howl. His body shifts next to you, and then his head is on your chest, face buried in your neck. He’s shaking like a leaf, and you feel hot tears slide onto your skin.

Wha—oh.

That’s right. You’d forgotten.

Eyes still closed, you turn and rub your face into his hair. “‘M so sorry, honey,” you whisper into his ear. 

Sukuna grunts, hand finding yours on the bed and squeezing tightly.

Your head pounds. God, what fucking nightmare.

“Ma’am?” Peeling your eyes open, you see the nurse from yesterday, Crystal.

“Hi,” you croak.

“Hi, love. Glad you’re awake.” She smiles at you. “What can you tell me about yesterday?”

Your eyes slide closed. “Car accident. Couldn’t remember. You put me back to sleep.”

And almost called your fucking mom. Thank god Sukuna had kept that from happening.

“You bet I did.” Crystal sounds extremely satisfied. “Now, who are these visitors?”

You push a tiny smile into Sukuna’s hair. “It’s Sukuna Ryomen and Mister College Kid himself.”

“That’s me,” Yuuji speaks up happily. “Hey, Miss Teacher.”

“Hey, kiddo.” You try to grin at where you think Yuuji is, but end up wincing. “Ouch, fuck.”

“How do you know it’s them?” Crystal asks.

Your lips twitch in annoyance. You know she’s just doing her job, but come on.

“They have pink hair. Its process of elimination at this point.”

Sukuna snorts.

“Fair enough,” Crystal says easily. “How old is Yuuji?”

Right. The hit set you back three years. “He’s eighteen.”

“Where does he study?”

“Jujutsu Tech.”

“What subject does he study?”

You laugh. “Fryin’ eggs and fuckin’ around, it’s his first semester.” Opening your eyes, you smile at her so she knows she’s in on the joke. 

Her lips tick up in a grin while Yuuji cackles. “Glad you’re back, love.”

“Yeah.” Your head falls back against Sukuna’s. “Me too.”

There are a battery of tests, including an x-ray and an MRI, and then it’s just the three of you, screened off from the rest of the ICU by the thick, hanging curtain.

Sukuna’s sitting in the chair next to you, hand still gripping yours. Yuuji’s standing at the foot of the bed, fidgeting as he looks at his phone.

Your eyes are still closed, but you clear your throat to get Sukuna’s attention.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself not to dig your nails into his hand. It’s nerve-wracking, but. But you have to ask.

You don’t remember—

The. The accident. Not really.

But you could. If you thought about it hard enough. Memories are fuzzy, on the edge of your consciousness.

But they’re there. You could find them, if you looked.

But you don’t want to.

But, you need to know more.

Sukuna must know something. Something that you can handle.

The details of your accident have been plaguing you, but for some reason, this is the question that’s been driving you insane.

“My car?” you ask Sukuna hesitantly.

“Totaled,” he grunts.

“What?” you open your eyes to look at him wildly.

He raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “You got T-boned, sweets. That’s not a fucking fender bender.”

“I had shit in there!” you cry. “My work laptop, my good pair of pants, that one phone charger that went really fast!” All of these seem tremendously important. 

You try to raise your arm to gesture at him, but can’t. It’s in a cast.

Oh, god. 

You need the shit in your car. 

You look at Sukuna imploringly. “Can you try to get any of it?” He’s a mechanic, he knows where junk cars end up.

“Sweetheart. I couldn’t give a fuck about any of that,” he says flatly.

The light is too much, you have to close your eyes. Which is good, because you’re fighting back tears.

“Ryo, please,” you beg, anxiety building in your chest. “Please, please, I need to get that stuff.”

“It’s probably crushed,” he says dismissively.

Your breathing ratchets up. “Please. I need it. Please.”

You practically hear him roll his eyes. “Fine,” he rumbles. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

You exhale shakily. “Okay.”

There’s silence for a few minutes. You feel better knowing that Sukuna’s going after your things, but it’s not enough. Your pulse jumps uncomfortably.

“Never should’ve let you drive that thing,” Sukuna mutters.

You wince. “Ryo…”

“It was used, sweets, and the last owner rode the brakes like they were his fucking boyfriend,” he snarls.

Your breathing jacks up, your grip on his hand tightens. You can’t—you can’t hear this right now.

“I told you to let me check the power steering,” he continues angrily, “I knew the fluid needed replacing, why didn’t you let me me fucking check?”

You shudder, breath hitching. Sukuna ignores it.

“Ryo—”

“What even fucking happened?” he demands, accusatorially. “Did they run a red light, I thought I taught you what to do when that happens. Why didn’t you—”

“Sukuna, for fuck’s sake,” you manage to say sharply. You turn to him, opening your eyes. His face is twisted in anger.

“I know why you’re—you’re freaking out,” you begin, sniffling. “But my—my head hurts so fucking bad.” And you lost all your shit, and your car is totaled, and your arm’s in a cast, and, and—

You look at him pleadingly, tears starting to spill over.

His expression flattens, but he nods once.

The tears are coming thick and fast now as you start to cry. Everything, everything that happened hits you hard. You reach for him. “Can—can you?”

In a second his arms are around you, holding you to his chest as you sob into his neck.

“I was in a car accident,” you say desperately.

And saying it makes it true. The memories aren’t pushed to the side anymore; they’re there, square in the middle of your brain; the one that took the hit.

You remember; you remember driving home after work, and everything was fine. And you had needed to stop at the grocery store, to pick up more coffee. And eggs for Sukuna, because Yuuji was home and burning through his food like a house fire through wood.

And everything was fine. And you were listening to the radio. And some idiot flew down the road perpendicular, the one you had just started to drive past. Barreling toward you fast as anything, ignoring the stop sign and—

And before you could move, before you could speed up or brake to avoid him, the nose of his car drove into the passenger side of yours with a sick crunch.

You shudder violently, and feel Sukuna’s lips at your temple, just below the bandage.

You remember the airbag inflating, the way your body jumped, bounced off it, thrown harshly into the wall of the car.

Nothing after that.

You twitch in Sukuna’s arms. You were in a car accident.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rumbles.

“I broke my arm.” You’d be in a cast for weeks.

“I know.”

“I—I had fucking amnesia,” you whisper thickly.

Sukuna’s arms tighten around you. 

“I woke up,” you continue, choking on your words. “And everyone told me I was—was wrong.”

That fear, that sheer panic of learning you were missing time, that you were three years out of date—

You flinch away from it, pressing yourself further into Sukuna’s neck.

And you knew it was true, you believed them when they said you were wrong, because Yuuji looked different. Older than fifteen.

And the man—Sukuna—was looking at you like he loved you. Loved you so much that he fell apart when, suddenly, he meant nothing to you.

Remembering Sukuna’s face makes you want to die.

“I didn’t know you,” you gasp, reaching your hand up to claw at the hair on the back of his head. Thinking back on it is terrifying.

You feel him start to shake. He crushes you into his chest, holding as tightly as he can, while a gentle hand comes up to cradle your head.

“I’m sorry,” you insist desperately, raining tears and snot onto his skin. “Ryo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Not you, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice shaking.

But you can’t stop. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I didn’t mean to get in an accident—”

Because you know what that means for him. You went through hell, but you also put him through hell, and it feels like your fault.

You feel him freeze, and you let out a sob.

“I’m so sorry, Ryo, I—”

“Stop it,” he grunts. His hand comes up to grip your chin, fingers gentle. “Stop.”

He’s still shaking, hand on your jaw trembling slightly. “Don’t worry about me.”

You nod, biting your lip to keep it closed. Anxiety dies down as he strokes along your cheek. “Can’t—can’t help it,” you say, voice wobbling.

He sighs, loosening the hold on you. “Save it for later,” Sukuna mumbles.

You sniffle, tears beginning to slow. “Okay.”

Sukuna holds you until your shoulders settle and you pull in a deep breath, relaxing slightly in his arms.

“You want me to call the nurse, get you some water?” he rumbles.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” He picks his head up. “Brat. Go get some water.”

You burst into surprised laughter and hear Yuuji gasp, affronted. Opening your eyes, you see Yuuji turning around from where he’d taken several careful steps away from you.

“Call the nurse!” he insists.

“She’s probably busy,” Sukuna says dismissively. “You’ve got legs.”

“So do you!” He blanches as you raise your eyebrows and Sukuna growls.

“Don’t poke the bear, Yuuji,” you say reproachfully.

“‘M not a bear.”

“You’re literally growling,” Yuuji points out.

“Don’t poke the bear, Yuuji.”

“I’m not a fuckin’ bear!”

“You’re right, Miss Teacher.” Yuuji nods forcefully. “I don’t what I’d do if you weren’t here, I’d probably get mauled.” He turns on his heel as Sukuna hisses at him. “I’ll get you your water!” he calls, diving around the curtain.

You snicker, tucking your head back under Sukuna’s chin.

“Don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here,” he says, voice low in his throat.

You know what he means, what he’s thinking about. “I’m here,” you say simply. You can’t say anything else, not now.

“Mmh.”

You chew on your lip. “Thanks for coming,” you whisper.

He scoffs. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Okay.” You lean your head down to bite lightly into the forearm laying on your chest. “Love you.”

His breath hitches. “Love you, sweets.”

•••

They discharge you a few days later. Sukuna drives you right to your apartment, packs you a bag while you wait in the car, and takes you back to his place.

You take a week off work. Yuuji budges up on the couch so you can listen to audio books while he plays video games. Sukuna stays home from the shop for the first day, watching you like some kind of predator. Then he goes back to work, comes home at five with groceries.

Yuuji cooks, Sukuna cleans up. You watch something mindless together. Sukuna holds you at night.

It’s—nice. Needed.

The day before you have to go back to work, Yuuji pays Megumi a visit, and you and Sukuna take advantage of the empty couch. He stretches his long, long legs over the coffee table and you sit perched on his lap; back leaning against the armrest, head on his shoulder, knees drawn into his chest.

His eyes are closed, head tipped back against the cushions. One arm over your shoulders, the other snaked underneath your thighs. You’ve stretched your good arm up and are carding your fingers through his hair.

Your teeth worry into your lip. Sukuna’s relaxed, but you’ve got something on your mind.

Now’s as good at time as any.

You tug at his hair. “Hey.”

He grunts.

“Look at me, just for a second.”

He obliges, raising an eyebrow, taking in your even, resolved expression. 

“Was it bad?” you ask quietly. “When you got the call?”

His face freezes, arm going rigid against your neck. Then Sukuna lets out a weary sigh, digging his face into your hair.

“Why’d you bring it up?” he mutters.

“Had to,” you whisper, pulling back to knock your head against his.

He glares at you. You look back, eyes unblinking.

Sukuna cracks. “Yeah.”

Instantly, your hand is in his hair again, fingers scratching light patterns across his scalp. You press yourself even closer, curling around him as much as you can, nose at his ear.

“Wanna tell me about it?”

“Tch.” He leans his head against yours.

You wait patiently.

“S’like I was there again,” he says finally, voice rough. “Like I was fourteen, and—”

Sukuna growls, even as his shoulders hitch, just once. “And everyone was gone. You were already gone.”

Your throat tightens painfully. Shivering, you press your lips to his cheek and stay there. His hand grips your shoulder.

“At the hospital,” he continues, “you—fuck.” You taste salt on your lips. You’ve got your arm around his head now, holding him fiercely against you.

“Nurse didn’t say, but, you might not have—”

He cuts himself off.

Might not have woken up. The thought eats through your stomach.

“Woke up,” you whisper desperately. “Right here.”

“Yeah.” He steadies for a moment. “Yeah. But then—”

You shudder. You’ve been dreading this.

“You didn’t…fucking hell.” Sukuna’s voice is thick, weak.

You start to cry, too, breath hitching as his stutters.

“Didn’t remember,” he grits out.

There’s the bite, sharp and deep as you’d feared.

Sukuna pulls in a ragged breath. “You looked at me like I was nobody.”

Oh, god. You let out a choked sob.

“Gone, again,” he mutters. “Snatched away.”

He pauses. “Like the universe kicked me in the balls.”

Shocked, you laugh, shaky and wet. You feel Sukuna’s lips tick upward, just for a moment.

“I’d feel like the universe kicked me in the balls, too,” you say quietly.

Probably feel a hell of a lot worse, actually. To have Sukuna severed from you like that? Your whole life with him ripped away, like you never meant anything to him?

You’re not sure you would recover.

You take a shuddering breath, then pull back so you can look him in the face, cradling his cheek with your one good hand.

Sukuna looks low and lost, eyes red and swollen.

“I love you,” you say simply, looking him dead in the eye. “You will always mean everything to me.”

His expression wavers, and that’s all you see before he crushes you to him, shoulders shaking beneath your cheek.

You wriggle yourself up so your lips are at his ear. “I will never leave you alone.”

You feel Sukuna’s mouth open in a silent howl, ragged breath punching through it.

Shifting in his lap, you pull his head to your chest, so you’re holding him more than he is you. You lean against the arm rest and gently tug him down, taking the weight of his upper body as he snakes his arms around your waist, mindful of your bad arm hanging off to the side.

Arm tight around his shoulders, you thread your fingers gently through his hair, murmur sweet nothings in his ear, and let snot and tears soak your shirt.

Eventually, Sukuna’s body stops trembling in your arms. He clears his throat.

“Thanks,” he mutters

“Tch,” you chide him. “Don’t be stupid.” He huffs a laugh into your chest.

You swallow, laughing weakly. He’s settled, but his grip on you is steel-strong, and his breathing’s thick and fast. Your own breaths are stuttered, halting; your arm rigid around him, clawing him to you desperately.

You’re both tensed, waiting. It’s not a surprise Sukuna makes the jump, sliding a hand down to skim at the edge of your cotton shorts.

“Sweets.” He picks his head up, eyes frantic and longing. “Sweets, can I?”

“Yeah,” you nod breathlessly, rising up on your elbow to kiss him as he slips his hand into your underwear, fingers starting to touch you gently. 

You shudder, and he groans into your mouth. He goes slowly, so slowly, putting a hand on the back of your head so he can keep his mouth on yours. Sukuna is careful, delicate; pads of his fingers brushing against you lightly, like he’s worried you’ll break. Or disappear.

Soon, he has you gasping against his lips, hips jerking up lightly. Sukuna moves his hand away, and you part your legs for him so he can softly put a finger inside you, then another.

You moan as he starts to open you up for him, fingers driving your walls apart. He moves to your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin. Sukuna’s hand is big and his fingers are long, and he can push them deep inside you while keeping the heel of his hand on your clit, brushing against it every time he shifts his fingers. 

He’s got you on the edge, touching you soft and perfect because he knows you so well. You tell him so.

“You know me, Ryo,” you gasp, hips lifting into his hand. “You have me coming already.”

“Fuck.” He bites your collarbone, and you come with a jolt.

Sukuna moves his hand off your clit but keeps sliding his fingers in and out of you as you roll through your orgasm. You hang your head off the couch, panting as he soothes his tongue across the bite and licks over your neck. 

His fingers are slow and deliberate, working you open until too much becomes not enough and you’re driving your hips into his hand. 

The hard length of him presses into your thighs. You tweak his hair. “Ryo,” you beg, “please.”

Sukuna pushes himself up, gently moving you aside so he kick off his sweats and boxers. He helps you slide off your shorts and panties and then settles you as you climb onto his lap. 

You put a hand on his shoulder, lifting yourself up, only to give him a pointed look. 

“Gonna need some more help,” you mutter, glancing at his cock.

Sukuna laughs, taking his cock in his hand and positioning it so it’s lined up with your pussy. You grin, and start to roll yourself down.

Only to groan as soon as you push past his tip. “Never gets any easier,” you mutter, forcing your body to swallow his length.

“You’d think that pussy would be used to me by now,” he smirks down at you.

You roll your eyes. “You have a big dick. Don’t let it get to your head.” You grind your hips slowly, taking him in even more.

“Too late,” he hisses.

“Yeah, I know.” He grins. You roll your hips one last time and he bottoms out, your hips sitting pretty against his. He groans, and you smile, steadying yourself with the hand on his shoulder and grinding slow and wide on his pelvis, because you know he likes it.

He moans again, and you rock yourself back and forth, his cock still fully inside you. Then you push yourself up, drawing his cock out of you slowly before sinking back down. 

One of his hands sits at your hip, keeping you in place, while the other squeezes your ass. You find a low, languid rhythm, fucking his cock as slowly and deliberately as his hand fucked your pussy. You wish you had a free hand, but content yourself with kissing and biting at his shoulder.

“Fuck, sweets,” Sukuna mutters, hips kicking up into yours. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I know,” you grit out, pulling back with a smile. “I know you.” You twist your hips because you know it’ll make him crazy.

He looks at you wide-eyed for a moment, before smirking happily. “Damn right.” You pick up the pace, and he helps you along, both hands at your hips bringing you up and down along his cock. You’re moving together, now; Sukuna bucking his hips up when you roll yours down, meeting in the middle, slick and perfect. The stretch of his cock is familiar and incredible.

You crane your neck to kiss him. “Your cock always feels so good,” you murmur against his lips. “Want you to fuck me like this forever.”

You slide a hand into his hair so he’ll growl, and he gets a hand on your clit so you’ll swear yourself blind. 

God, how could you have forgotten this?

Sukuna’s hips stutter beneath you, knees spasming. You rock yourself even faster and soon he’s biting sharp on your shoulder and groaning, spilling his cum inside you. You don’t stop moving, grinding up and down until a hand grips your ass and holds you in place. The other hand works at your clit, thumb brushing back and forth until you curl yourself around him, orgasm cresting through you.

You stay there for a while, panting, Sukuna licking absently at the skin of your shoulder while you trace the tattoos on his abdomen.

Eventually, you pinch him lightly. “I have to piss,” you mutter.

He raises a lazy eyebrow at you. “So go piss.” But he’s already lifting you gently off his lap, making sure you’re steady on the floor.

Later, after he’s helped you cover your cast in plastic wrap and followed you into the shower, Sukuna tugs you into his bed. He holds you to his chest, tracing lazy patterns across the bones of your elbow.

“Talked to Yuuji earlier.”

“Yeah?” you hum.

“About sex, and stuff. If he was messin’ around at college.”

“Okay.” You wait for him to get at what’s bothering him.

When he doesn’t answer, you rap your knuckles against his chest. “What’s wrong?”

He sighs. “Kid didn’t tell me anything, didn’t even want to talk to me about it,” he admits roughly. “I never went over any of that shit with him, just…didn’t think to. And now—” he rubs a hand over his face. “What if he gets someone knocked up or something? And he doesn’t want to tell me?”

You hesitate, then shift so you can look Sukuna in the face. “Okay, uh. Don’t get mad.”

Sukuna immediately narrows his eyes. 

“Yuuji…kind of called me about something,” you admit. “A couple of weeks ago.”

“What happened?” Sukuna demands.

“Condom broke.” You grimace. “He was freaking out.”

“What’d you do?”

“Took him through it,” you say simply. “Stayed on the phone while he went for plan b, made sure the girl was under 165 lbs. so it would work. Explained what the next steps would be if it didn’t.” You shrug. “Told him to call me back when she got her period, which she did. All ended up fine.”

Sukuna’s eyes flit back and forth across your face. You know what he’s going to say next.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yeah. You bite your bottom lip. “Yuuji asked me not to,” you say quietly.

Sukuna sits with that, body tense beneath yours.

“I’m sorry.” You hang your head. “I know I should’ve told you, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

He doesn’t seem to hear you, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. “Why the fuck didn’t he call me first?” Sukuna breathes.

You chew on your lip, silent until Sukuna looks down at you.

“I don’t know.” Semi-true.

“Guess,” Sukuna pushes.

“I think…I think he was afraid you’d be mad at him,” you say carefully. “Because he’d made a mistake.”

“Shit.” He pushes air through his nose. “Am I really that hard on the brat?”

“No,” you’re quick to reassure him. “No, he showed you his grades, remember, and they weren’t all that great. He knew you wouldn’t make a huge deal. It’s more…” 

You smile despite yourself, shift so he can see it. “You have a very low tolerance for everyday stupidity.”

Narrowed eyes, again. “Remember when you were teaching him to parallel park?” you offer.

“Kid fucking jumped out of a moving car,” he mutters. “Couldn’t stand practicing with me. But everyone knows how to parallel park.”

“No, Ryo.” You push his hair back, still smiling. “They don’t. You raced cars in high school, you’re better at parallel parking than most of us dorks.”

“Hn.” He’s scowling.

There’s silence for a few minutes. You lay your head back down on his chest.

“Damn it.” You look up to see him grimacing. “What the fuck do I do?”

“What’d you say? When you talked to him?”

“Told him to call me if anything happened,” Sukuna mutters. “That I wouldn’t get mad.”

“Well, there you go,” you say easily. “Good start right there.”

Except—

“You said you wouldn’t get mad?” you clarify hesitantly.

“Yeah. Why? You think I’ll get mad?” Sukuna asks accusatorially.

You chew the inside of your cheek. “Probably.”

Sukuna growls, clicks his tongue in protest. You flatten your nose into his chest.

“So what should I fucking say?” You glance up to see him looking at you helplessly.

You look back, equally lost. “I dunno.” This is the edge of your expertise.

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

You think about it for a moment. “Well, what do you want him to know?”

“That I won’t get mad,” Sukuna says immediately.

You wrinkle your nose. “Yeah, you will.”

He opens his mouth indignantly, but you look at him, gaze steady.

Another thing that’s been weighing on your mind—

“You got mad at me,” you say softly. “At the hospital.”

He goes rigid beneath you. You pull your eyes from his, digging your nails into your palm.

“That was fucked up,” you say quietly. “I was really scared, and you made it worse.”

You let him hold that in his mouth, let the ugliness seep onto his tongue.

“You made me feel like it was my fault,” you mumble.

His arms wrap around you instantly, grip almost too tight. “‘M sorry, sweetheart,” he rumbles into your hair. “I was…”

“Yeah,” you say after he trails off. “I know.” 

Your tone is unforgiving, and he clocks it; tugging at your hair and lifting your chin to look at him.

Sukuna’s eyes search yours. You look back, not giving an inch.

Eventually, he sighs, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, you know,” he mutters. “Doesn’t make a difference. Shouldn’t’ve made you feel like that.”

You hum. “Thanks.”

‘Thanks,’ not ‘its okay;’ you’re not over it.

He looks at you, startled, but you shake your head. Not now.

Sukuna blows a stream of air through his teeth, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling.

You hesitate, then press your lips to his chest, then again. He loosens his hold on you. Taps your shoulder lightly, slides his fingers into your hair.

You clear your throat. “You’re gonna get mad at Yuuji when he pulls stupid shit.”

“Yeah, I will,” he mutters.

“So don’t say you won’t.”

“Yeah.”

Silence for a moment. “But even if you do…” you prompt.

“I’m still gonna help him,” Sukuna says immediately. “I’m never gonna leave him in the fucking dust. Never. Kid needs to know that.”

You consider that. “I think that’s pretty good.”

He looks at you hesitantly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. Go with that.”

Sukuna stares at you intently, then brings a hand up to frame your face, palm cupping your cheek.

“Can’t pull that shit again,” he mutters, voice rough, gesturing to your bruised forehead. “Can’t leave me now, sweets. Me and the brat need you too bad.”

You turn and bite the meat of his thumb. “‘M not going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” He leaves his hand where it is. You sink your teeth in for a moment longer, then meet his eyes.

“Yeah. I’m here forever.” Sukuna nods, satisfied, then pulls you gently to his chest.

He strokes your back for a while, both of you starting to drift off. You watch his eyes fall closed, listen to his breathing even out as sleep takes him.

The steady rise and fall of his chest is soothing, and his arms are tight around you, holding you against him even as he’s unconscious.

memory is like a puzzlebox.

you can see a picture of what its supposed to look like on it. but when you open it...

There's barely any pieces.

certainly not enough to create a full picture.

you start doubting. you start looking for the pieces

but everything is dark

when you return to your puzzle

even more of it is gone.

we keep the puzzlebox closed.

“Tech, when you mentioned that this was an island world, I thought it meant we would get to soak up the surf and sun, not be trekking through the jungle like always.” Wrecker announces his annoyance while swatting vines out of his way.

“I merely stated the climate and environment to be expected upon arrival to Kothlis.” Tech discloses, continuing through the trail while guiding the group. You walk closely behind him, chuckling at the banter while exchanging entertained glances with Hunter, Echo and Crosshair. “I never made any such suggestion.”

“Yeah, well…” Wrecker cannot deny his claims, realizing he made the assumptions himself. “Just promise we get to have some time at the beach before we leave, okay?”

“What’s so special about a beach on this planet as opposed to any others?” Crosshair argues while adjusting the hold on his rifle. “This place smells like moldy cheese.”

“Lighten up, Crosshair.” Echo joins the conversation. “I’m pretty sure that’s just the inside of your helmet.”

Everyone erupts into laughter, including you, but it is quickly suppressed when Tech holds his right fist in the air, signaling the group to stop in their tracks and fall silent. “Activity on my scanner. Just ahead.”

Hunter listens closely, recognizing the slithered stomps of a viscous myntor. That venomous hiss announces its presence, letting your group know it is aware of your collective location. Its long snout creates a menacing silhouette around its face, the rest of its body hidden in a bush. “Tech, I see one.”

“I know.” Tech confirms, trading his scanner for one of his blaster pistols. “I spot it too.”

“What’s the plan?” Wrecker asks, needing instruction to handle what follows. “We charge at it?”

“Not if you want to get your limbs ripped off and die from cauterizing acidic saliva.” Tech sets his sights on the massive reptilian, aiming the blaster right at its head to avoid the chance of deflection. The intent is to bring one of these organisms back alive to delve into the biological properties that make its kind impervious to combustion as well as piercing projectiles. The components within its natural armor could one day be used to create synthetic trooper kits, enhancing the protective measures for all clones everywhere. You just need to catch one first. “I’m going to stun it from afar.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Echo cautions while eyeing up the distance away from this quadruped predator.

“Let me do it.” Crosshair volunteers with an antagonizing nudge of Tech’s pauldron, disrupting his vision. “My aim is better.”

“There’s a chance the blast won’t even touch it.” Hunter speculates, worried the foliage might get in the way, or worse, its back plating will serve the very purpose they’re here to investigate.

“If we can’t risk brawling with it, what are you waiting for?” Wrecker implores, wondering why Tech hasn’t executed action yet.

“I have to be precise…” Despite his efforts, he takes a few milliseconds too long, and it begins to rear back with the intent to lunge.

“Shoot it, Tech!” You cry out as the beast springs for him. You loyally shove Tech aside when it becomes clear his stun round completely missed its target, bearing the brunt of the impact as this weighty animal throws itself in your direction. Everyone takes a tumble, but you end up slamming your head against the broad trunk of a tree while the myntor scrambles to gain its footing. Its long and toothy maw hangs open as it growls loudly, droplets of its aforementioned acidic spittle falling onto your forehead and sizzling around your left eye.

Wrecker crawls towards it on all fours, pinning it in a headlock of sorts to give the rest of the boys enough time to fire as many stun rounds it takes right at the myntor’s soft underbelly. It falls limp in Wrecker’s arms, slumping when he drops his hold on him. Its scaly exterior is rough and as hard as steel, but it no longer poses a threat for now.

“Ah! Ooh! Ouch!” Wrecker hollers to himself, slapping the smoking sections of his under suit on his arm to stop it melting away from the residual venom spilled from the beast’s mouth.

“I regret putting the animal in distress.” Tech declares, his flawed focus being on the wrong thing right now.

“That’s not all you put in distress.” Crosshair announces, crouching over your motionless body still resting at the base of the large tree.

Tech practically leaps forward to reach you, mirroring the urgent motions of the myntor just now. He takes note of your absent condition, blood seeping from the back of your head with a sizzling scar spreading through your left eye. He breathes heavily, gasping when he pulls his hand away and sees his entire palm drenched and stained with crimson. He sits there in shock, simultaneously cursing himself for not acting sooner, the grave cost being your safety.

As he tends to you, Echo lets his next efforts be known. “I’m calling HQ for extraction! We have what we came for. We need to get out of here now.” 

You have been placed in a medically induced comatose stasis to improve the chances of a full recovery. The fracture to your skull was substantial and for a while, there was talk of the possibility you might lose your eye. While it was saved, your vision suffered and might be lost permanently. No one will know until you wake up. It’s been nearly three weeks since the incident and you’ve been asleep through it all. The med bay on Kamino is so cold, but there is a warmth on your shoulder that relaxes you. What is it? Who is it?”

While your life has been spared, your sight remains foggy and corrupted. The splitting headache spreading through your brain makes it difficult to focus. Such bright light everywhere, you squint and blink rapidly, trying to make out any little thing to identify your surroundings. 

Your head has been wrapped densely with gauze, extending far past your injured eye and over the majority of your face. There is a blatant lack of awareness, but one thing you are certain about, you want this presence far away from you this instant.

That warmth on your left shoulder is weighing you down. Instead of serving as an unbidden comfort, it strikes you as an obstruction, impeding your movements. You groan uneasily, trying to shake it off, but it leans into you even harder. The persistent bother strikes you with annoyance and you eventually shove it away completely. “Get off of me!”

Gaining a proper look at him, you see that it is a drowsy man, having fallen over from sitting in a chair beside your recovery bed. His expression tells you he’s frozen in astonishment, visibly offended by your forceful removal when he was doing nothing but relaxing, albeit using you as his personal pillow. He blinks at you repeatedly, squeezing his eyes tightly between each one while you hop onto the floor. Your stance falters and you brace yourself on the flat edge of the bed, keeping this large object as a barrier between you. “Who let you in my room?”

“I-I let myself in.” The reasoning this strange man tells you is a far cry from being sufficient and you shut him down with further inquiry

“And that’s just allowed?” Your voice elevates in anger, supporting yourself by leaning on the bed. “No one stopped you?”

“Why would they?” He raises his hands to the ceiling, palms facing you in surrender.

“Get out!” You startle him with a shrill scream, but he remains in place much to your displeasure. “Get out! Get out!

“Allow me to explain-” He tries to get a word in, but you will have none of it. Your blood boils. Your patience has disappeared. Why can’t he just make this easy and do what you say?

“I said get out!” You shout even louder at him, making your own ears ring when your voice bounces off the walls.

Another man walks in with a distinctly different appearance from the first in the form of a skeletal tattoo on half of his face, partially obscured by long sections of hair, but a trooper all the same. “What’s all the commotion?”

“Please! Just take him away!” You beg, invaded and frightened while on the cusp of a cry.

“Tech, what did you do to her?” This investigative trooper asks, saying it almost as if something of this sort is out of character for the man found in your room.

“Nothing!” Tech claims. “I woke up after she displaced me to the floor!”

“Find somewhere else to sleep, bozo!” You wave your fist at him, gaining enough strength from the flames of rage ignited in your belly.

“Woah!” The largest one with a webbed scar across his head stops you from falling over and busting your face on the edge of the bed, acting as a neutral barrier between you and this spectacled stranger. “Easy there!”

“Tech, you should probably leave.” Another trooper with a scomp for an arm joins the fold and begins to show him out while the pair of troopers with tattoos on their features linger to comfort you. Though, you now have at least one name for these perplexing faces. “Give them some space.”

“Listen, no one is going to hurt you. You’re safe. We are only here to help.” The one with long hair approaches you tentatively, lending you an ear while his silver-haired associate keeps his distance. “Walk me though what happened.”

“Thank you, sir.” You nod respectfully at him, carrying on with a formal inflection once you’ve caught your breath. “First of all, I woke up with this excruciating headache, I can’t see out of my left eye because of these bandages, and to make matters worse, that sleazeball was drooling all over me!”

“Sir?” The one with the reticle tattoo over his right eye mutters under his breath in reference to your unfamiliarity, exchanging glances with his brother in arms.

“Sleazeball?” His partner adds in response. You clearly watch this exchange, but you assume it is nothing more than modest banter.

“I am going to ask you a very important question, but I don’t want you to be alarmed.” His tumbling locks and deep brown eyes captivate you, and you’re confused as to why he’s talking to you in such a way. Is there something you’re missing?

“I’m already alarmed…” You distance yourself from them, backing into the nearest wall.

“Just… hear me out.” He continues, guiding you onto the bed. Both men support you in climbing atop it, settling you in beneath the covers. “Do you recognize either of us?”

“I’ve never met you before today.” The words you speak feel truthful to you. They are. They have to be. “I don’t even know your names.”

“Erm- well, I’m Hunter. And that right there is Crosshair.” He sounds off the monikers of everyone you have interacted with. “The big guy you saw is Wrecker and he left with Echo.”

“And… the name of the one that was in my room when I woke up?” You pull the sheet up to your collar, hiding behind the thin covering.

“That’s Tech.” He tells you reluctantly.

“He scared me.” You add, wringing the sheet.

“I know.” The pair give each other nuanced glances once more before readying themselves to depart. “We’ll make sure that won’t happen again.”

“I’m sorry if I shouted too loud.” The apology races to escape your lips, sensing a window of acknowledgement closing fast.

“That’s okay.” Hunter nods and smiles at you while Crosshair remains chewing the toothpick in his mouth while submerged in thought. “Stay here and rest, alright? We’ll send someone to change your dressing.”

“What was that all about?” Crosshair dumbfoundingly asks Hunter once they’ve exited.

“I don’t know, but we need to let Tech know what’s happening.” Hunter and Crosshair fast-walk through the halls in search of their brothers.

They reconvene, having located Tech, Echo and Wrecker a few doors down the hall in a monitoring studio where they can view surveillance footage of you in the patient bed. Hunter leads the discussion, recounting his side of things when he spoke with you. “I’m telling you; they have no clue who we are.” 

“How is that possible?” Echo ponders aloud.

“That would explain the outburst.” Crosshair discloses, flicking his toothpick into the nearest waste bin. “I’d be pretty startled too if I found some strange man sitting next to me when I woke up from a coma.”

Tech despondently lowers his head, distressed by the painful reality he’s forced to face. “Of course… There’s no other explanation.”

“Do you know what’s happening, Tech?” Wrecker takes a step forward, intrigued by the cause of your frantic episode.

“The traumatic brain injury they sustained is no doubt a direct correlation to the amnesia.” He adjusts his goggles in thought, gripping his chin to roughly stroke as he continues. 

“Am-a-what-a?” Wrecker asks, butting in when he wishes for Tech to define the word he does not recognize.

“Amnesia.” Tech clarifies. “Memory loss.”

“You mean they lost all their memories!?” Wrecker cannot comprehend the thought, picturing a computer getting wiped of all its files. 

“Thankfully, that’s not the case.” Tech prevents Wrecker from worrying any further, adding onto his statement. “They have a strong sense of identity, and were not alarmed when they awoke here, so they must be aware that they belong on Kamino in some sense, but more recent events and relationships formed are more difficult to recall.”

“Like us?” Hunter suggests woefully.

“Yes…” Tech lets his head sink again. “Like us.”

“They’ve only been part of the squad for the past six months.” Echo folds his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “They’ve been dating Tech for barely two of those.”

“I’m not so sure that still applies as of now.” Tech mutters, staring at the floor.

“Ah, chin up, Tech.” Wrecker slaps him on the back a couple times before straightening his posture. “I’m sure they’ll fall in love with you all over again!”

“Yeah, why don’t we get a baseline of what they do know, then we can fill in the blanks with the rest?” Echo creates a game plan, one of which Tech was already considering.

“We must be careful not to impose expectations on them with how things were.” Tech announces the only caveat to this endeavor. “We must embrace how things are and how they want them to be.”

“You sure you’re gonna be able to practice what you preach?” Crosshair closes in, throwing an arm over Tech’s shoulder.

“I don’t believe I will have any issue in remaining professional.” Tech asserts irritably.

“Let’s go make a proper introduction then.” Hunter leads them out of the room and down the hall where you’re actively getting your head redressed by AZI. They stop and watch the process, eavesdropping slightly as you converse with him.

“Now, do let either me or any other officials know if the swelling persists or if your headaches worsen.” AZI hovers about, circling you closely as he secures the steel fasteners to your dressing. There lies a small pill cup and a canteen of water on the shelf space beside you, evidence of painkillers having been brought to you. “We’ll be changing this wrap every forty-eight hours.”

“Thanks a lot AZI.” They are surprised to hear you refer to him by name, beaming at him like he’s one of your closest friends. “You’re the best as always.”

“Nonsense.” He spins around once with a flair. “I’m only fulfilling my programmed directives.”

AZI directs his attention to the squad in the corner, all patiently waiting for him to be through with you. “It looks to me like you’ve got some company.”

“I’ll be okay, AZI.” You assure him with a smile and nod. “Send them in.”

“They are ready to see you now.” AZI announces, inviting the group closer while he makes for the door.

“Hey, uh… how ya feelin’?” Hunter breaks the ice, examining your fresh dressing while watching you fidget with it. “We all wanted to check on you. See how you’re holding up.”

“Better.” Your eyes dart from side to side when you spot those startling golden lenses looking you over from afar, timidly standing behind the rest. You don’t know what this group’s obsession is with you, curious to see them so concerned with your recovery. “What do you want from me?”

“Only to properly make your acquaintance.” Echo interjects, taking a step forward. “I can’t help but think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“It would have been the right one if he didn’t scare the living daylights out of me.” You begrudgingly point at Tech, crossing your arms and dishing him the biggest, most disapproving frown you can muster. He deflates and your heart softens at his visible culpability, but you’ll not let your guard down yet. 

“Well see, there is a valid reason he was in your room that day.” Hunter side steps, opening the view to allow Tech forward, but he takes a rough gulp in his dry throat, approaching with a shyness that’s almost charming. “Uhm… Tech? Care to explain?”

“Ahem, yes.” He navigates through the divide of his brothers, taking himself to the forefront as he pushes his goggles up the bridge of his nose. “It is standard protocol for members of the same squad to monitor the recovery of injured personnel. I meant no harm by it. I offer my sincerest apologies for frightening you so intensely.”

“Wait… so we’re in the same platoon?” You begin thinking, racking your mind for any hint of truth to his words, coming up short. “Why don’t I remember?”

“This injury.” Tech declares, pointing at your bandages with a soft movement of his hand. “Your skull was severely fractured and had to be fused back together. Would it be too strenuous for you to identify memories you can recall yourself?”

“Yeah, we can help you make sense of the rest!” Wrecker adds excitedly.

“I know my name. I know that I am on Kamino.” You rattle off like identifying items on a list and then it hits you; the list is awfully short. “I just got here, didn’t I? The last thing I remember is completing my training.”

“You’ve been with us for six months.” Echo shakes his head from side to side, sighing deeply when the reality of your condition finally sets in.

“Six months?!” It’s like a punch to the gut. How much of your life are you actually missing? How many days you’ve experienced are drawn completely blank? “That’s not true. You’re messing with me.”

As much as you don’t wish to believe it, their expressions tell you that their words are genuine. Why would they lie about something like this? There’s no point. It must be true. Tech rests one of his hands on the frame of your recovery bed, giving you a look like he’s struggling to formulate how he wants to proceed. 

“You were in an accident while on our latest mission. It happened about three weeks ago today.”

“Three weeks…” You gasp. “I’ve been sleeping for three weeks…”

“It went by a lot faster than you would think.” Tech offers you a placid smile, hoping to soothe your apprehension. “Your head was badly injured, but the surgery was a success, and you might even regain complete vision in your eye if not already lost.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Crosshair mutters, criticizing Tech’s bedside manner.

“What happened?” You ask, cowering at the thought of enduring a learning curve with only one functioning eye.

“It was my fault.” Tech is very adamant about this, and you’re wondering if there’s a correlation between his appearance in your room and this ambition being the root of all his guilt. “I take full responsibility.”

“It was no one’s fault.” Hunter cannot watch his brother martyr himself, taking the initiative to commandeer the lead on the conversation. “We were sent out to research a type of venomous reptile. It charged at us, but you happened to take the worst hit. Your head collided against the trunk of a tree and some of the reptile’s venom got on your face.”

Tech meekly shrinks at this passive scolding from Hunter but soon realizes that blaming himself is no use when you lack the context to understand his remorse. You touch the side of the bandages overlapping your eye. It’s numb. You can’t even feel yourself blink. Perhaps you’re not able to. “AZI neglected to provide that information for me.”

“He probably didn’t want to frighten you until he could see how it’s healing.” Echo reassures you. “Besides, we can always ask him about bionics for you later on if that’s a route you want to take.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” You aimlessly continue to stroke the gauze, the pads of your fingers tingling from the friction.

“Ah, don’t look so sad.” Wrecker reaches forward and gives you a gentle jab on your shoulder. “On the bright side, you’ll always have a cool scar, like me!”

“That’s a pretty good trade-off, isn’t it.” Your spirits are lifted at Wrecker’s idea, always wondering how cool it would be to have the precision of Crosshair’s sight coupled with advanced scanners at your disposal like Tech. “I like the way you think, Wrecker.”

You have been getting a tighter grip on your relationship with Clone Force 99, settling in almost like you were never in that accident. The streaks of humor have not been lost on you, and you are becoming more comfortable with them as each day passes. The time has arrived for your bandages to be removed so that the condition of your eye can be thoroughly assessed. Tech insists on taking you to the appointment himself, offering to be the one to remove them.

“Next, I am going to soak these last couple layers in a bit of saline solution to loosen their cling on your eye.” Tech squeezes a small dispenser and water flows over your face, soaking into the gauze with some excess droplets falling on your lap and soaking into your clothes. “If it starts to sting, do not hesitate to alert me.”

As Tech begins to lift the wrap from where it’s caked onto your face, you get the insatiable urge to startle him like he did to you back then. “OW!”

Tech jumps back at your loud vocalization, frightened that he caused you additional harm. When he sees you burst into laughter, gauze still dangling front your head, he dryly chuckles and resumes his operation. “Ha-ha. Humorous indeed. Now hold still so that I can finish this.”

“That was a good one and you know it.” You add, still snickering.

“Yes, it was.” Tech agrees with you, tugging on each section of the wrap as it is loosened from your eye. “You got me.”

Tech tosses the bundle of soiled gauze into the nearest bin, moving your head from side to side to inspect your sutures and scars. “It will take some time for your hair to grow back, but things look to be healing nicely.”

You keep both your eyes closed, nodding repeatedly to let Tech know you’re at least listening, but you’re unsure about how to move forward.

“Open your eyes.” Tech instructs you. “Slowly.”

“I know I just…” You squeeze your lids together, rolling your eyes around in your head to get used to the foreign absence in your left side. “Give me a sec.”

“Take all the time you need.” Tech rests his clean, warm, ungloved hand over your knee to let you know he’s not going anywhere. “I’m right here.”

Your right eye blinks open flawlessly, operating just as it was moments before. Though, there is a blatant fogginess in your left that is disorientating. No matter how many times you open and close it, it’s like something is stuck on your lens and you can’t clear it away. It’s dizzying. You place your hand over it to soothe it in darkness and Tech retracts his, giving you space to move.

“Anything?” He asks, having not gotten a glance before you placed your hand over it.

“Everything is blurry...” You explain, resisting the urge to rub your fist into it as hard as you can to alleviate the itch. “The scars around it are really itchy too.”

“Might I take a look?” Tech asks you politely and you don’t have it in you to deny him.

You lower your arm, allowing him to examine you. He leans in close, and the scent of his breath causes your stomach to sink. It’s minty as it wafts down your face, like he prepared to for this exchange. It is only at this moment you are made shamelessly aware of his proximity. His hands carry the temperature of his heart, a thundering pulse sending his life force through the very digits that cradle you now. 

As you obey Tech’s instruction, he uses his index finger and thumb to reveal a mesmerizing sight. Your eye has scarred over itself, fogged out with desaturated notes of its original color. His jaw hangs open, definitely astonished by your condition, but all this attention starts getting to you and you find yourself falling deep into the gravity well of his gaze.

“Fascinating…” He whispers. You’re helpless in his grasp, clutching the collar of your shirt to alleviate some of the nerve-wracked displacement. There is a familiarity in his motives. This doesn’t feel like it’s the first time you’ve been held by him; too intimate to be a coincidence. “Its motor functions are unaffected, but the retina has completely melted away. I can show you an assortment of cybernetics if you’re interested, but to alleviate the current strain, I can only offer this.”

Tech creates distance between you, plucking something from one of his many utility pockets. It is a leather eyepatch, crimson red with the titular skull insignia featured on each of the squad’s personal effects. You know it is all part of protocol, but he didn’t have to get this customized for you. A simple surgical eye patch would have sufficed, but perhaps he didn’t think that was enough for you.

Biting your tongue so hard you could chomp it off, you venture out of your comfort zone, posing a rather unconventional question for Tech to answer. “Have you ever dated anyone before?”

“I beg your pardon?” He is taken aback, puzzled by the inquiry.

“Don’t answer if you don’t want to. You just seem like that kind of guy.” You say, stretching the eyepatch over your head but struggling to adjust it comfortably over your eye. Tech assists you, pulling the strap down so that it rests right at the nape of your neck and not rolling up your cranium.

Tech stands in front of you and breathes in deep, wringing his hands in thought while you await his answer, sitting on the stiff medical bench. “There was one person actually.”

“Who?” 

“They were a prior member of our squad. They were strong and fierce in battle while reminding us to never take for granted the simple joys in life.” Tech describes this mystery member, and you drink up every word, intrigued by his perceived love life. “Everything just fell into place when they were here.”

“Where are they now?”

“They were called elsewhere and eventually we grew apart.” Tech discloses with a darkening of his expression. “It was not my place to get between their ambitions.”

“That’s silly.” You take his hand in yours, initiating the first steps of attraction towards him, hoping to the Maker you won’t get rejected. “If I were them, I wouldn’t move on from you.”

“You wouldn’t?” Tech cannot believe what he is hearing.

“Of course not.” You laugh at the notion of throwing him aside when he’s so… perfect. 

No words are spoken for a while. You sit there, Tech standing there with your hands in his. He circles his thumbs over your knuckles, vacillating between stoicism and acting on his urges. You’re magnetized to him, leaning forward hypnotizingly before tension directs him to a different path. 

“Shall we uhm-” Tech clears his throat, letting go of your hands to turn his back to you. “Shall we thumb through your cybernetic options?”

“Oh! Yeah, that uhh… that’s a good idea!” You accept, shoving the butterflies in your stomach down so that you can act with some sense of normalcy. “I was about to suggest that.”

Tech takes you through all the steps of deciding which implant would be best for you. Looking at countless models, only one amongst them catches your attention. It is completely encased in a sleek black plating, emitting a bright red glow from its iris that blinks and fades when going through stages of analysis. It is decorated with steel components that shine against the darkened frame. 

“This one.” You pluck it from the table of assorted options. “I choose this one.”

“A fine choice.” Tech commends you for your decision, taking the eye from your possession to hand off to AZI. The procedure is completed rather quickly. You even asked to keep your damaged eye preserved in a little jar of fluid once retrofitted with the replacement. It’s been difficult having to be in and out of the operating theatre for all these appointments and procedures but having Tech here with you through it all has made everything worth it. In fact, he knows when you’re annoyed, bored, angered and even happy. As of right now, you’re upset that you’re cooped up in the clinic still, dying to be cleared for active duty again. Though, Tech fortunately has a plan to cure you of your cabin fever.

Darkness falls on Kamino. You’re kept overnight once again so that the implant can be monitored in case your body starts to reject it. No such complications have occurred while you’re lying here in the dim silence praying for a reprieve.

“Pssst.” A noise makes itself known from the corner of the room where the doorway leads to the rest of the clinic halls. It’s Tech.

“What are you doing out of bed?” You whisper through giggles, excited to see him at this late hour. “You’re going to get in trouble!”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He passes the threshold, entering discreetly in his black undersuit, no loud armor to get himself noticed by clanking about. “I would venture to guess you’re caught in the same dilemma.”

“Please tell me you’re rescuing me before I die of boredom here.” You practically beg him, sitting up. 

“I have something in mind.” Tech alludes, helping you to your feet where you shuffle on your slippers. “I know just the place where we can test out your implant.”

Tech sneakily leads you down the sterile white halls of the facility, void of all life and light. He takes you to one of the only outlets in this area of the weaving map, opening the door to the nearest balcony overlooking the oceanic landscape. It looks like a thousand crystals scattered atop a rippling blanket of blue. There’s that spark of familiarity again, popping up in instances of his chivalry. As you step outside, the salty sea mist wafts into your face and you sense yourself recalling the first day you made it here. It was raining then, and the sky was far darker than this. The heavens did not hold the same beauty. As of now, it resembles a backlit canopy with millions of tiny holes punched throughout, allowing their shining rays to greet your longing sights. You stare in amazement, frozen in place when a slight nudge at the small of your back brings you back to reality. 

Tech leads you to the side of the balcony’s structure, stopping just short of the dome awning secured over the roof to protect the entrance from heavy downpours. He posts himself directly in front of you, his fingers interlocked like he wants to hoist you himself.

“What are you doing?” The message is unclear, and you demand some direction.

“I’ll help you up.” He shrugs, assuming you know just what he means.

“All the way up there?” You point at the large sloping crest that ascends up the structure from the awning. 

“How else are we going to get an unobstructed view of all three moons?” Tech’s deadpan delivery does more than energize you. It sparks you with a rapid haste that tosses all second-guessing to the briny wind. Tech gives you a nod and you ready yourself by putting both arms on his shoulders before taking a step on his interlocked hands with your dominant foot. He squeezes tightly, pushing you high over himself as he stands tall, assisting you in climbing atop the awning and waiting for him on the slope. Tech jumps once, clamping his hands on the awning’s rim before heaving his entire body weight over top of it. His dexterous abilities cause those once placid butterflies in your stomach to scatter, eyeing the muscles contoured by his undersuit. He scoots back to join you in a seated position, making it easier to ascend the crest and make it to the top. 

“This is much nicer than the clinic.” You spin your head around, taking it all in. “Do you come here a lot?”

“If I am completely honest, I only started coming here recently. I’d say the past couple months.”

“How did you think of climbing up?”

“It wasn’t my idea.” Tech refers to himself, tapping his chest a couple times. “I was shown by someone very special to me.”

“Oh, that’s right.” You grin at him, playfully shoving him with your fist to his shoulder. “The one that bailed on you.”

“They didn’t bail on me.” Tech corrects you, taking his eyes off the twinkling overhead for a second to study your new face. “They just… went away.”

“Do you think they’ll ever come back?” You scoot closer to him, intent on soaking up every bit of his warmth.

He does not push you away, instead registering the fact that you’re cold with a drape of his arm over your shoulder. “I hope so.”

You and Tech end up staying up conversing amongst yourselves until the wee hours of the morning. You watch the sky pan across in real time as each bracket of night passes, showing a different moon getting brighter and bigger no matter when you looked up. The roaring tides are a testament to the trifecta of tidal forces, giving you and Tech the perfect white noise to fall asleep to. You didn’t realize how comfortable steel plating could be until you slept on it, having gotten better rest than when you were in a coma. 

The brain is a fickle thing. It’s in this period of stasis that these deeply ingrained dreams come rushing back to play a poignant tune across your heartstrings the minute your sickness dissipates. Illusions take the stage as you watch through your mind’s eye, waking up with someone you feel you’ve gotten to know so closely. They’re yours and you are theirs. This belonging cannot be disputed.

 Your mind cannot clearly picture the person pulling you into his space, but the sunlight on their silhouette cuts through the hard shadows of him leaning into you. A soft press of his lips finds yours and it makes you believe it’s no fabrication. Is it really you conjuring these things? Or are they merely figments of your wanton imagination? You may never fully understand the visions you see after falling asleep.

You wake up to droplets sprinkling over you. The cloud cover is closing in fast, but there is still enough break in the sky to see the sun. You need to get inside. You don’t want anyone to come looking for you. “Tech? Get up. I think we overslept.”

Tech turns over and you notice something familiar in the way the glare from his goggles catches the rays of sun. It bears a striking resemblance to the silhouette you had just seen before you opened your eyes, except, it couldn’t be.

Tech blinks at you, rubbing each eye one at a time with a comfortable adjustment of his lenses. You fall stiff, trying to hide your nervous blushing. Why is your mind betraying you right now?

“Is something the matter?” Tech tilts his head at you and you spot it again, that glimmer of understanding. How does he know anything is wrong? Is it that obvious? You surmise it’s time to come clean.

“I feel strange.” You scratch the side of your head with the long and jagged scar where your sutures and staples once were.

“Strange how?” You are grateful for Tech’s patience, thinking on the spot for ways to word this.

“Like I’ve been here before.” You tap the roof of the dome structure, smoothing your fingers across the welded sections of steel. “I had this dream that we-”

Tech listens with a raise of his brow, waiting on every word but you sell yourself short by thinking he won’t understand. “Never mind. It’s too weird.”

“In your dream,” Tech takes in a sharp breath, realizing the mental bomb he’s about to drop on you. “We kissed, didn’t we?”

You scoff, violated like he took a gander right into your mind while you slept, but that would be impossible. “How the heck do you know that?” 

“It is my memory too.” Tech exhales a relieved sigh, rejoicing at the thought of your memories returning. You still have many blanks that need filling, but it’s all starting to become clear. He wasn’t lying when he explained the reasons he was resting on your shoulder that day. It made perfect sense that he was keeping a tally of time passed until you woke up. He’s been there since the beginning.

“So, the one that got away?” You start, referring to the person who “left” him when the puzzle pieces start to fit.

“It was you.” Tech discloses, caressing the webbed scar extending from your left eye, stroking it with his thumb. Your pupil shines, blinking its red light as a stream of tears gathers at your waterline. “I knew you’d come back to me.”

You fall deeper in love with each other, sealing your pact with a kiss. He throws himself at you, yanking you into his lap to coil his arms around your waist. His hands climb up your back, grasping the nape of your neck and threading into your hair, absorbing every bit of your essence that he has been craving. He is careful around your scars, petting them lovingly while you continue to mold your mouth to his. The sprinkling rain converts to a full-fledged downpour, but you couldn’t care less if you get soaked from head to toe. All you care about is catching up on all the love from Tech you’ve missed.

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Can TFA Optimus never catch one fucking break in his life? I mean, seriously!

It’s never “oh, TFA Optimus has a good day” or “TFA Optimus gets a vacation” or “TFA Optimus finally gets validated by his family, friends, and respected peers”. Instead, we get more along the lines of “TFA Optimus gets brainwashed” or “TFA Optimus and the rest of his family die horribly” or “TFA Optimus kills his dad ON CHRISTMAS-"

Now, we’re back on our bullshit!

The Quintessons in Aligned fascinate me a lot, not just because of… this bullshit!

But because of how their existence fundamentally affects the lore of the continuity, because they were so traumatic to Cybertronian society that there was a mass repression of memory.

Alpha Trion, you bearded bastard—I blame you and your fanfic-writing destiny Quill.

TFP’s Ultra Magnus alone becomes a thousand times more fascinating when you factor in what was written in The Covenant of Primus. He was the last leader of the original Wreckers, a band of warriors out in the wilderness—calling Orion Pax “civvie” and carrying him like a football. After the war to overthrow the occupation ended and there was that mass forgetting and coverup, he ends up serving the Council as a member of the Guard and then has to prove himself as leader of the wartime Wreckers? That’s compelling!

But it’s also terrifying.

That’s how traumatic the Quintessons’ actions were to the Cybertronians, even those who had the courage to stand up and fight back.

And now… as if TFA Optimus didn’t already have enough problems, we’re doing this.

TFA Optimus already has a “cockpit” due to his Earth-based vehicle mode—so body-horror is not on the menu for today, thank fuck.

But no name or identity, only an alphanumeric designation… stripped of who you are…

Wheeljack and Optimus actually had this talk.

Grim, right?

But… it led to this talk.

And… that was pretty neat.

TFA Optimus isn’t a demigod or “chosen one” wielding mystical might and divine wisdom for a righteous cause. He’s a kid who is learning, and realizing that the cause that raised him is flawed. Hearing about other Optimus Primes across the multiverse, it’s hard for him…

But unlike a majority of them, especially the real powerful ones that he has come to know… he has always been Optimus.

Now, if someone ever tried to take TFA Optimus’s name and identity from him?

Let’s just see what the rest of the family would think about that, shall we?

…

…

…

Unit OP-2007 waited for the next set of orders.

Ever since the Citadel went on lockdown, it had been on standby—but it was well aware that the masters would dispose of whatever the crisis was shortly. That, or they would call upon OP-2007 to handle the matter personally—so it remained alert for its instructions to come through the comms.

Instead, the Citadel continued to shake.

OP-2007 could hear Sharkticon soldiers howling and doing battle with something a few corridors down from the station it stood beside, its task of recording data on a potential colony planet called ‘Cybertron’ interrupted by impudent intruders.

It would all be over shortly, one way or another.

Then, OP-2007 could get back to work.

Then, the door between the station and the adjacent corridor was suddenly blasted off of its bearings and sent careening to the floor.

OP-2007 internally noted that it would have to make repairs, later; inconvenient, but necessary.

A Cybertronian stood there. OP-2007 noted for its records that it was far larger than average (colors: blue, silver, red), carried a melee weapon (war-hammer, colors: gold, silver, blue), and wore the emblem of the Autobot faction. Despite this, it seemed to be one who would be culturally-designated “war-frame; an anomaly, then.

That could be added to the data.

“Optimus!” The Cybertronian shouted, his blue optics wide as they locked on OP-2007.

OP-2007 did not recognize the term from its records of Cybertronian language. This would have to be rectified as soon as possible.

“Kid!” Another Cybertronian appeared in the doorway; this one was a large-average (colors: white, grey, silver, green, orange, red, black), carried blades (two, curved, colors: silver, red, grey, green), wore the Autobot emblem, and also appeared to be of the “war-frame category”.

Kid. noun. a casual term for a relative adolescent.

Was he referring to OP-2007? Peculiar.

“Optimus!” There was that expression again, as the white Cybertronian ran over and grabbed OP-2007 by its shoulders. “You scared the frag outta me, kid! We’ve been lookin’ for ya for weeks! What happened?!” His wide optics scanned over OP-2007’s frame. “Are ya hurt?!”

This Cybertronian was not one of the masters.

OP-2007 was not authorized for communication.

It could not acknowledge without instruction to.

“Kid?” The white Cybertronian tried again, strain in his voice. “Can you hear me, kid? Optimus.”

Was that agitation?

OP-2007 would have to note the possibility of aggression towards units not given authorization to speak, to be factored into resource and risk management.

“Optimus.” The larger Cybertronian walked over and got down on one knee, bracing his hammer against the floor while his free servo extended to rest on the white mech’s shoulder. “Son, it’s us—it’s Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus. We’ve come for you, to take you home—all of us. The others are distracting your captors, buying us time.”

They intended to remove OP-2007 from its designated station? That would certainly be a problem, as the unit had yet to record its findings to the masters’ database.

OP-2007 was meant to be on standby, not to resume work until cleared. However, that work was important to the masters and these two Cybertronians intended to ensure that it was never completed. The threat of punishment for disobeying orders had to be prioritized as lesser than the necessity for data recording.

OP-2007 silently stepped back from the intruders and turned to its station, resuming its work.

“Mags,” the unit could hear the white mech say, his voice low and stiff. “What’s he doin’?”

“Optimus.” A noise, then the blue Cybertronian was standing beside OP-2007 and gazing down at it with an odd expression. “We can go home, now. I don’t know if you don’t think we’re real, son—but we’re going to get you out of here.”

OP-2007 kept typing out its findings, as much as it could manage in the anticipation of being halted. It already recorded its own asset loss.

“… Wheeljack, we need to just take him,” the blue mech said softly. “I don’t know if he’ll fight.”

“Got it,” the white mech replied.

The blue Cybertronian slung its hammer onto its back, then. just. picked Unit OP-2007 up in his arms and turned to the damaged doorway.

Right.

OP-2007 was supposed to repair that.

Suddenly, three Sharkticons appeared in the doorway and snarled.

Perhaps OP-2007 would be able to resume its list of tasks, after all; that, or they were there to punish the unit for disobeying direct orders.

“By the authority of the Quintesson Empire-"

OP-2007 would never know what the Sharkticons intended to say and do, as the white mech suddenly lashed out and dispatched them all with his blades. A shame. Sharkticon soldiers were far more valuable commodities than laborers.

As the white mech turned back, OP-2007 found the large arms holding it tensing. Strange.

“Quintessons?” The blue mech asked, and OP-2007 noted for any possible future incident report that something in the mech’s wide optics changed. Those optics then narrowed, though the rest of the mech’s expression stayed neutral. “… Wheeljack, get our son out of here.”

“Mags?” The white Cybertronian blinked, quickly sheathing his blades so that OP-2007 could be passed into his arms—then he turned around to watch his companion go, that massive hammer back in his servos. “Hey, what are you doin’?! Mags!” The white mech shifted on his feet, uncertainty painted across his features. “Frag. Frag, frag, frag…” He closed his optics, then opened them and looked down at Unit OP-2007. “… I gotta get you outta here, kid.”

With that, the white Cybertronian exited the station room with OP-2007 and began swiftly navigating the corridors.

OP-2007 could hear a continuing, escalating chaos ensuing from… everywhere.

That blue mech could be an entire incident report in himself, it would seem.

…

The bombardment had been halted for about five minutes when Jazz heard approaching footsteps and looked up, his optics wide behind his visor.

“Wheeljack?! Is that-?”

“I’ve got him! He’s alive!” Wheeljack shouted, sliding to a stop with a familiar figure in his arms. The Prime’s paint was dull, scratched and dusty, and his optics were vacant—but he was alive. That was more hope than they’d had in weeks. “But Mags stayed back!”

“What?!” Smokescreen stepped forward, stunned. “Why would Magnus do that?!”

“I don’t know!” Wheeljack admitted, a mixture of frustrated and shaken. “We realized that it was Quintessons, a-and he just-" Wheeljack blinked, then he cast his gaze down as his brow furrowed. “… I’ve never seen him so angry.”

And TFP Optimus’s optics widened. “Oh, no.”

“Prime?” TFP Bulkhead looked up at his former leader, concerned, but the Matrix bearer just turned away and raised a servo to his comm.

TFA Ratchet had other priorities, as he stepped forward and gestured so that Wheeljack would kneel with the young Prime in his arms.

The field-tech got down on one knee and began his examination, and Sari flew over and perched on Wheeljack’s shoulder so that she could get a closer look. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know,” Wheeljack confessed. “He’s been unresponsive since we found him. Mags seemed to know somethin’, but-" The Wrecker looked back at the citadel. “Damn it, where is he?!”

“Ultra Magnus!” TFP Optimus was shouting into his comm. “Ultra Magnus, come in!”

BLAST!

The top of the citadel blasted apart, and TFA Ratchet had to stand and use his magnets to shield the family from the debris.

Wheeljack stared through the dome of magnetic fields as it flickered and vanished, watching the massive flames and billowing plumes of smoke.

“… Mags?”

“Pops?” TFA’s Bumblebee whispered, horrified.

“I’m still picking up his signal,” TFP’s Ratchet swiftly assured everyone, his optics on his wrist-implanted monitor. “It’s strong, almost as if-"

An engine roared, there was a shift of metal, and a familiar figure emerged from the smoke.

“Ultra Magnus!” TFP’s Arcee lit up.

“Commander!” And TFP Optimus stepped forward. “Ultra Magnus, what happened?”

“Where are my conjunx and my sparklings?” The blue and silver mech asked quietly, casting a strange gaze up at his mentor. The Prime tensed, then raised a servo and gestured. “… You and I will have words later, Pax.”

“… Agreed,” TFP’s Optimus said softly.

Ultra Magnus looked forward, that severe face dropping as he quickly ran over and kneeled before Wheeljack—looking down at the young mech in his arms worriedly.

“… Wheeljack.” He glanced up at his cojunx with a guilty expression. “Starburst, forgive me.”

“Yeah, fine! Just don’t do that again!” The smaller Wrecker scolded his spouse, then sighed. “Ugh.” He looked up as the field-tech kneeled to examine TFA Optimus once more. “Doc-‘bot?”

The field-tech stashed his examination mod and regarded Wheeljack gravely. “There’s one nasty virus uploaded in his processor, kid. Overrode the whole thing, tucked everything that makes ‘Optimus Prime’ himself into a corner. I don’t even think he knows who he is, right now—let alone the rest of us.”

“Okay, now: get it outta him,” Wheeljack urged, only to be met with silence. “… You can get it out.”

“Wheeljack, this thing is practically burned into his mind—branded—and I’m not sure what all is underneath,” TFA Ratchet explained. “If I make one wrong move while I try to remove it, I could cause more damage!”

“You have to try!”

“I will! Just let me think!”

“Slave coding,” Ultra Magnus said softly.

And TFA Ratchet’s gaze snapped to him. “What?”

“The Quintessons of our reality engaged in the same practice, eons ago. I’ve… seen this before,” Ultra Magnus murmured, then he looked over at Wheeljack. “Field-Tech Ratchet is correct. If he tries to remove it by force, it could kill Optimus.”

“Then, what do we do?” The white Wrecker asked, visibly distressed and desperate.

Ultra Magnus looked down, his brow furrowed in thought. “… The Quintessons could tamper with the physical matter, the processor—they even tried to tamper with the Well of Allsparks itself to see their ends met, to raise a planet of slaves from birth—but they were never able to conquer the spark. And… that is where we truly reside. Sometimes, we must simply be reminded.” He blinked, perking up a bit, then he looked at his conjunx. “… Wheeljack.” He held out his arms, his expression hard to read. “Trust me.”

And Wheeljack didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

Ultra Magnus took TFA Optimus into his arms, looking down at the relatively small frame sadly, then he took a deep vent. “… Optimus? Son, it’s me: Ultra Magnus…. What I am about to say would be difficult to hear under the very best of circumstances, and will likely come across as a bit blunt or… harsh—but I feel that I must say it now, to have any chance at getting my boy back.” He gave a small but true smile. “And I want you to know that I love you, that I apologize in advance, and that it’s all going to be alright.”

“Aw.” TFA’s Bumblebee crossed his arms, letting himself grin. “That was actually really sweet-"

That smile warped into a smirk, and Ultra Magnus raised an optic-brow. “But are you honestly letting those Pit-damned tri-faced squids turn you into a cog in another fraggin’ machine? Kid, c’mon: I thought that we were all done with this bullshit already. But alright, if you’re going to keep being a little glitch about it: more free mandatory psychoanalyses, just for you!”

As Ultra Magnus condescendingly pat the young Prime’s head, jaws actually dropped—and TFP Optimus put his face in a servo. “Oh, no…”

Prowl glanced over at him, obviously perturbed—and Jazz couldn’t help his internal agreement.

Just what did he know about all of this?

“Mags, seriously: what the fuck?!” Wheeljack asked, his optics wide.

“Hey, I get it.” Ultra Magnus shrugged. “Life sucks, then we die.” His optics narrowed. “When we get sick and tired of it, might as well let someone else call the shots! Right, kid?!”

“Oh, yeah—that’s the whole fraggin’ plan!” TFA’s Optimus snapped back, crossing his arms and huffing in his larger caregiver’s hold. “So glad someone finally got it!” He didn’t seem to notice the faces lighting up all around as he squirmed out of the commander’s grasp and stood up, his servos resting on his hips. “Magnus, you’re my father and I love you too—and I don’t know what crawled up your tailpipe and DIED, this morning—but you are being a complete and utter-!”

The young Prime was cut off as he was suddenly swept into a hug, a servo coming to rest on the back of his head. “… There you are, son.”

TFA Optimus blinked, bewildered, then his optics went wide. “M-..? Magnus?”

“Heh.” Ultra Magnus pulled away and cradled the younger mech’s face in his servos, grinning broadly. “There you are. There’s our boy.”

“H-How-?”

“Always worked, back then!” Ultra Magnus’s smile looked as though nothing could dampen it, and who would want to try? “Stubborn, good kid—you’re so hard to piss off!”

That really didn’t sound like the normal Magnus, Jazz realized. What exactly had happened, up in that citadel?

“You had to make me angry.” TFA Optimus stared at the commander, then he put on a trembling smile. “Oh, you’re the worst.” Ultra Magnus chuckled, resting his forehead against the young Prime’s, and TFA Optimus hugged him. “You’re the absolute worst.”

Ultra Magnus hugged the young mech in return. “For your sake? Gladly… Family is a promise, kid. And I’ll always be here for you.”

As the two pulled apart, Wheeljack finally snapped out of his stupor. “Kid!”

TFA Optimus grinned as Wheeljack hugged him, then actually laughed as the rest of his family closed in and nearly knocked him over with their shared embrace. And Ultra Magnus wrapped his arms around them all, comfort and shield…

TFA Optimus’s optics snapped open, and he looked up frantically. “The Quintessons-"

“They’re of no concern—for the moment, at least,” Ultra Magnus assured the young Prime, standing. “This outpost has been eradicated.”

The group-hug broke up, leaving TFA Optimus staring up at the citadel before looking back at Ultra Magnus. “You-? You did that, by yourself?”

“Hm.” Ultra Magnus turned to look up at the citadel, an odd look on his face. “As soon as I realized what we were up against, it was as if-…"

“Ultra Magnus, I-… I’m so sorry,” TFA Optimus said softly, stepping forward, and Magnus looked at him in surprise. “If I had never been caught, this never would have happened. You would’ve never had to go so far, to-"

“You have nothing to be sorry for, especially not for my sake,” Ultra Magnus insisted, then he sighed as the young Prime glanced away. “… Optimus. Look at me.” Hesitantly, TFA Optimus obeyed. “I know that this must frighten you, and make you feel guilty. But believe me when I say that it was necessary, and… the most ‘in-character’ I have been for a long, long time.” He looked up at the citadel again, his expression grave. “I remember everything, now.”

As he moved over to hover beside the unsteady TFA Optimus, Wheeljack raised an optic-brow at his conjunx’s words. “Remember?”

“The processor can be tampered with, but the spark is where we truly reside,” Ultra Magnus parroted his own words, voice soft. “Sometimes, we must simply be reminded… though I fear that this reminder is long overdue.” His optics narrowed, then turned on TFP Optimus. “… You knew.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Wheeljack tried as his conjunx turned to face his mentor. “Mags? Knew what?”

“It was not my doing, my friend,” TFP Optimus tried, looking absolutely crestfallen.

But Magnus’s shoulders raised, his fists clenching at his sides. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

“By the time the Matrix allowed me to recall the truth, I doubted you would believe me.”

That seemed to get a reaction out of Ultra Magnus, the Wrecker commander blinking as surprise overshadowed anger. “You forgot?”

“I did. It-… It hurt too much,” TFP Optimus told him quietly. “And then, I was… compelled… to remember.” He rested his servo over his spark chamber. “Even memories which do not belong to me, yet… still bring pain.”

“Alpha Trion,” Ultra Magnus realized. “He knew. He always knew.” That look of rage returned, and the Wrecker commander bared his dentas. “He let them keep me, take me from my family!”

“Mags, you hated your caregivers,” Wheeljack once more tried to intercede.

“Wheeljack.” TFP Optimus gave the white Wrecker a warning glance. “That is not the ‘family’ he means.“

“Then, what does he mean? What do either of you mean?” Sari cut in, flying up between TFP’s Optimus and Magnus and looking between them both with concern. “You’re talking about pain, and forgetting, and being- Being kept. What’s going on?”

“And what does it have to do with the-… the Quintessons?” TFA Optimus asked softly, and the Wrecker commander glanced at him with an odd expression. Jazz could see a storm in his optics, something wild and barely restrained: angry, scared… but also the same worried, kind, loving Magnus. “Ultra Magnus?”

“… They will never touch you, again,” the Wrecker commanded said, and Jazz felt an odd chill.

He believed Magnus.

Wheeljack was less-certain. “Mags, darlin’—you-… You can’t promise that.”

“Yes, I can.” Ultra Magnus turned away, and he cast another glare at his Prime. “And whatever he knew or didn’t know when, he knows that now.” A small smirk crossed his face. “Heh. It seems I had some coding of my own to break…” His optics then narrowed as Magnus stepped forward to face TFP Optimus again. “Placed there by the Quintessons, manipulated by the ruling class!”

“Not completely,” the elder mech tried. “You found your way back.”

“Unrecognizable!” Magnus snapped. “And you knew, the moment that papal parasite was lodged in your chest! You knew, ya Pit-damned civvie!” Jazz jumped a bit as Magnus’s voice changed, his accent losing its refinement and becoming closer to TFP’s Bulkhead’s or even Wheeljack’s. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me! I trusted you, defended you, and you didn’t help me! Why didn’t you help me?!” Jazz could hear the rage, but all he could see was devastation. “I NEVER GOT TO SAY ‘GOODBYE’!”

Magnus then raked the tips of his prosthetic servo across his chest, curled like claws.

“Mags!” Wheeljack was there immediately to assess the damage. “Hey, lemme see! Lemme-"

Wheeljack froze, his optics widening.

Ultra Magnus was shaking with fury, dentas bared, his optics closed and his face in his prosthetic servo… and his conjunx could not tear his optics away from the place where the Wrecker commander’s emblem sat.

Only…

Paint had been scratched away, revealing another symbol—similar, but still distinctly different.

Formerly-concealed biolights shone strong, showing a Cybertronian face with a hammer forming the forehead and ‘nose’.

TFA Ratchet saw it, and his own optics went wide in disbelief—and his TFP alternate gazed at the image like he had seen a ghost.

TFP Bulkhead’s jaw fell open.

TFP Optimus just gazed on forlornly.

“Magnus?” Jazz asked. “What’s that symbol?”

The Wrecker commander’s servo fell to his side and closed into a fist, and he opened his optics and let them narrow as they turned towards the sky. “… A promise.”

There was a thunderous roar of engines above, and an enormous ship emerged from the clouds to begin an ominous descent.

“We have to get outta here,” TFA Bumblebee decided, with Sari flitting over to perch on his shoulder as everyone stared up in horror.

Wheeljack went to reply, then he blinked as Ultra Magnus drew the Forge and stepped forward. “Mags? Mags, what’s goin’ on in there?”

Ultra Magnus glowered up at the ship as the force of its looming engines made the ground tremble and debris fly. “Protect the kids.”

“You can’t do this by yourself!” TFA Optimus protested, then he got winded.

Wheeljack stepped forward and caught the battered young mech before he could fall.

Ultra Magnus was looking back, his face stricken with worry, then his expression hardened. “Yes, I can.” He turned his gaze back to the ship. “I’ve done it before… and it’s best I get this out before the inevitable ‘jam session’.”

“This?” Wheeljack asked, watching as his conjunx adjusted his grip on the Forge. “Mags…”

TFP Optimus stepped forward, reaching out, his face a desperate plea. “Ultra Magnus-”

“You may not have stolen my life, but you didn’t return it either—so, I must take precautions,” Magnus said sharply, then he closed his optics. “… Never again. No more half-measures. This ends here, now, today. They never breach this Cybertron’s atmosphere. They never harm my family again, in this or any universe!” He opened his optics again. “That’s my vow.”

“Ultra Magnus,” TFA Optimus tried. {… Father.} The Wrecker commander looked back at the young Prime sadly. “Please.”

Wheeljack took the opportunity to make his own case. “Mags, please: talk to me. What’s gotten into you?”

“… I have,” Magnus replied, turning his gaze to his conjunx and giving a small smile. “Trust me?”

Wheeljack blinked, then he huffed before smiling in return. “… Always, ya stupid son of a glitch.”

Ultra Magnus chuckled, then he turned his gaze back towards the invading ship. “… Wreck n’ rule.”

Wheeljack’s optics widened.

TFP Bulkhead stepped forward and reached out.

TFP Ratchet looked ready to faint on the spot, and TFA Ratchet grimaced.

TFP Optimus just braced himself.

A the commander started running, Jazz found himself reacting too. “Ultra Magnus!”

But Magnus didn’t look back.

He reached the waiting Iron Will, boarded, raised the ramp, and took off.

“Wheeljack, what was that thing he just said?” TFA Bulkhead had turned to the remaining caregiver. “What was that mark on his chest?”

Where had Jazz heard and seen them before?

“I-… I only ever really heard about it in stories.” Wheeljack admitted, still stunned. “It was before my time, before the War for Cybertron, before the Council even—back when Cybertron was divided into tribes. It-… It was said that, as a united society rose under the false primacy and the caste system enacted, only one lasted up until-" He tensed, his shoulders raising, then he closed his optics. “Up until the Quintessons came.”

“And after,” TFP Ratchet noted, seemingly in shock.

“That tribe was said to protect travelers, take in those who had nowhere else to go, and never bend a knee to the rest of Cybertron,” Wheeljack went on. “They were independent, free—rebels. Heroes.”

“Our unit had some of the last survivin’ members of that tribe,” TFP Bulkhead added. “That’s how we got our name, and how we saw that symbol. Kup told us about them when he talked about the old days, the ancient Wrecker rallying call and the emblem of the tribe—but we didn’t really use either of them, outta respect.” He glanced at Wheeljack. “Did he tell Ultra Magnus the stories?”

“Kup was dead before Magnus got there,” the white Wrecker said softly.

TFP Bulkhead winced, then blinked in surprise. “Then… which one of the old geezers told him?”

“… I don’t think any of them did,” Wheeljack admitted, glancing up as the Iron Will darted overhead and passed over the Quintesson ship.

“What?” TFP Bulkhead was confused. “Jackie, what are you sayin’?”

BLAST!

An arc of explosions went off across the bridge of the ship, knocking it to the side. Its easy descent quickly went to barely-controlled freefall.

“Heh.” Wheeljack held TFA Optimus closer as he gazed up at the scene, an incredulous grin on his face. “It’s gonna be okay, kids. It’s gonna be okay. Don’t be scared. I’m here, and Mags?” Fighter ships began to pour out of the main craft, their formations focused upon a single target. “Yeah, he’s got this.”

Jazz looked at the engineer warily. “How do you know that?”

“… Like most of the Cybertronians from my reality, I don’t remember much of the occupation or the Quintesson War. But-…” Wheeljack took a deep vent. “But I think that Mags does, now.”

Sari blinked. “He fought them, in your universe?”

“Hm.” TFP Optimus gazed at the battle above forlornly. “… He was instrumental in overthrowing them, actually.”

TFP Ratchet, who had a servo to his head, looked at the Prime in alarm—and TFP’s Bumblebee and Arcee were similarly shocked.

“Optimus?” Smokescreen tried.

“I went looking for help. He wouldn’t let the rest of the group risk their lives, so he came on his own to make things right for all of Cybertron,” TFP Optimus said quietly, not taking his optics off of the Iron Will. “One lone Wrecker—the very last leader of that ancient, original warrior band… Ultra Magnus.” The ship wove through fighters, annihilating them left and right. “What he did last time was out of selfless kindness. But now, these Quintessons? They have made it personal. One of the greatest warriors in our Cybertron’s history…” The elder Prime’s expression darkened. “And they harmed his child.”

“We should help him!” Sari protested.

TFP Optimus cast her a wary side-eye. “We would only get in the way. Believe me… I used to.”

“Kid?” Wheeljack gave TFA Optimus a light shake, but he was dead to to the world—optics closed, limbs limp. “Doc-‘bot!”

Jazz didn’t watch the field-tech rush over.

He was too busy watching a fleet of enemy ships explode, and light up the sky of that barren world like stars.

…

…

…

When TFA Optimus woke up, he as in his room in the Plant.

Detroit.

He was home.

The young Prime grunted as he made himself sit up—and, to his surprise, he found that he wasn’t alone. Ultra Magnus was standing a short way’s away, seemingly appraising the Starscream wing Optimus had mounted on his wall after that first big battle.

Wheeljack and Ratchet had always joked that it was morbid.

“Ultra Magnus?”

The Wrecker commander was shaken out of his thoughts, then he glanced over and gave a relieved smile. “Hm. Hello, Optimus.” He walked over and sat in a chair beside the berth. “It’s alright. You were… quite overwhelmed, after everything. We got you back to Cybertron, stabilized you, and brought you home. You’re safe, now.”

“I-… I had the weirdest dream,” Optimus admitted, finding himself at a loss and grinning. “Heh. You were like a superhero, taking them all on by yourself just because-"

“They took my son, and they hurt him.” Magnus’s optics narrowed, then his expression softened. “… And that was inexcusable.”

“… So much so that… something that was buried, it came back?” Optimus asked softly, and Magnus folded his servos and closed his optics. “… You seem like you’re still you.”

Ultra Magnus opened his optics and looked up at the younger Autobot. “As do you.”

“But… after this… something’s still different,” the Prime said quietly, a massive and invisible weight settling on his shoulders and in his spark. “We’re still us, but-…”

“Not the same as we were, before,” Ultra Magnus agreed, nodding.

He seemed older, weary—and yet, his optics held a new shine. Or maybe… it was an old shine, at last polished from dull.

“I know what it’s like to be empty, now,” Optimus confessed. “And… I guess you do, too.”

Magnus shook his head. “It cannot be compared.”

“Deep down inside, we were both still us,” Optimus argued. He wasn’t diminishing his own pain—he needed a comparison, someone who could relate and understand… and sadly, Magnus always did. “You just… fought back harder.”

“… I had a very long time to learn,” Magnus said softly.

“But you had to do it by yourself,” Optimus said. “And you-…” When had he started to shake? “You found me.”

“… And you found me,” Magnus replied. “… Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not.” Optimus shook his head. “You’re my {father}, and you’re here. You’ll always be here.”

“Always, Optimus,” Magnus agreed, then he looked down as his shoulders raised. “When you went missing, I had never been so scared. And when I realized-" He was gripping his own servos so hard that they audibly creaked, and he closed his optics. “But that’s over, now.”

“… You got them?” Optimus asked.

Ultra Magnus nodded. “You’ve been asleep for some time, son, and… it took time, for me to… vent my frustrations.”

“Because no one came for you.” Optimus recalled snippets of the argument Magnus had with the Prime’s own alternate. “Just like with Wheeljack, you-… You were always the one saving, and never the one saved.”

“I did not know myself,” Magnus corrected him, opening his optics. “But I have been saved for some time, now. I’m a Wrecker, and I protect my family. That’s all I need.” The commander then winced. “I apologize again, for-"

“The funniest thing you’ve ever said?” Optimus asked, raising an optic-brow and grinning.

Ultra Magnus huffed and sat back, both relieved and exasperated. “I was out of line.”

“You knew it would help me,” Optimus reminded him, then snorted. “And you sounded-… It was actually pretty funny. I didn’t know you had quite a mouth like that on you.”

“Until about twenty minutes beforehand? Neither did I,” Ultra Magnus confessed. “… We have so much to talk about.”

“Guess we do.” Optimus shrugged his shoulders. “… The Quintessons?”

“They thought your Cybertron was vulnerable, that there were none who could defend it,” Ultra Magnus explained. “I simply corrected that false belief. The survivors have retreated back to their territories.”

“And… the Wrecker commander?” Optimus asked tentatively.

“I’m here, now—all of me.” There was a twinge of worry, even fear, in the elder mech’s optics. “… Don’t be scared.”

“Never,” Optimus assured the Wrecker leader again. “Wheeljack?”

“Heh.” There was a real smile. “We’re alright. I just don’t want to overwhelm him with too much, yet. We waited for you to have that ‘jam session’, but…” And there was the uncertainty. “Even with extra time, I still don’t know what to say.”

“Then, practice,” Optimus suggested. “I could… use a little help, assuring myself that I can feel again—that I’m me… I’m listening.”

“… When I finished my required education, my caregivers wanted me to continue my education with the intent to go into politics and law. After the Quintesson War, I was so lost and confused that they eventually got their way—though I still wound up disappointing them anyway by joining the Elite Guard,” Ultra Magnus began, his voice soft. “But… before all of that… I saw how the leadership of Cybertron bent the knee and allowed our people to be altered and enslaved, and I wanted no part in it. So, I… ran away—into the wilds… where the last free tribe of Cybertron took me in as one of their own, and… I eventually came to lead them.” He squeezed his own servos again. “Then, one day… I was visited by a young mech named Orion Pax, who presented a plan to overthrow the occupation. I would not risk my people, but… I also had to do what was right. So, I left… and it would be a very, very long time before I found my way again.“

“But you did.”

“Hm.” Magnus nodded, smiling sadly. “I did. And so will you, son.”

“I know.” Silence fell. “… I’m still listening.”

“… I know.”

…

…

…

TFP Ultra Magnus, to the Quintessons: