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: