And then Optimus died and Sideswipe could only stare in horror as his future collapsed, chassis smoking and optics dark.
Late. He was too late.
Ironhide was yelling and Bee was gone, taking the twins with him.
Ratchet couldn’t fix him. He scanned and he tried and he shouted for Ironhide to help him, but there was nothing a miracle-worker could do to fix death. He’d already tried that with Jazz and look where it had gotten them.
Sideswipe had to hold himself together because no one was supposed to know. Especially not Jolt who was looking at him like he should have answers and Arcee who just wanted a target and permission.
Sideswipe didn’t think he could hate any sentient creature more than Jhiaxus until the humans dropped Optimus like trash. He waited, weapons primed to fire, for Ironhide to give the okay. He almost fired anyway when Ironhide told them all to stand down because it wasn’t right, what their so-called allies had done, and it wasn’t fair either.
He’d never wanted to kill an organic so much.
This wasn’t how his world was supposed to end.
Ironhide and Ratchet argued over what they were supposed to do next. Ratchet wanted to leave; Sideswipe agreed with him. Ironhide wanted to stay because that was what Optimus would have wanted, and a part of Sideswipe wanted to agree with that, too.
Bee was still missing along with the twins.
Arcee was fighting with herself.
Jolt pretended to be in recharge.
Optimus still lay on the tarmac where they’d discarded him.
Sideswipe circled him, hands clenching in and out of fists. His optics blazed, and his field was rattled and uneasy.
The emptiness threatened to consume him all over again. He wanted to claw at his chassis, go through his chestplate, and tear out his spark chamber. Nothing less could ease his pain.
His ventilations hitched.
Optimus had not made any promises. Sideswipe wished he had demanded one.
A keen rose in his vocalizer and Sideswipe locked it down.
No one could know. Not even now, with Optimus gone, could anyone know.
He circled slower, swords rattling, threatening to emerge. If anyone asked, he was guarding Optimus.
This was the humans’ fault.
Frag Optimus for wanting to protect them.
Frag Sideswipe for being too late.
Frag Megatron and Starscream and Grindor.
Three to one and Megatron put a fusion blast through Optimus’ spark without hesitation. None. Even Sideswipe had hesitated when it came time to taking down his twin. And Optimus hadn’t been able to land the final blow back in Tranquility.
Not Megatron.
Sideswipe screeched to a halt, his plating rippling before it clamped down tight. He tilted his helm back, toward the sky, offlining his optics.
He had already killed one twin. Megatron would pay for taking the other.
o0o0o
He stayed. He guarded Optimus all night.
Lennox came out once, offering to spell him for a bit, but Sideswipe shook his helm. Not interested.
He offered a covering for Optimus, to protect him from the elements, but all they had was a tarp and that didn’t strike Sideswipe as right either.
Ironhide came by, tried to convince him to recharge, but Sideswipe didn’t need any. He felt fine.
“You aren’t foolin’ no one, kid,” Ironhide said with a hot ventilation. “But I’ll leave ya alone for now.”
Ratchet came next, of course he would. He scanned Sideswipe, quick and perfunctory, grunting an acknowledgment and then he knelt by Optimus. He laid a hand on their leader’s shoulder as though convincing himself Optimus was well and truly offline.
“What’re we going to do?” Sideswipe asked, because Ironhide would spew battle tactics and aggression at him, but Ratchet would say it like it is.
“We fight,” Ratchet said, helm bowed. “We fight because we can’t leave, and I’ll be fragged if we let Megatron win.”
“The humans won’t let us.”
Ratchet lifted his helm, optics burning a white-hot fire. “They can’t stop us.”
That was what Sideswipe wanted to hear. His systems hummed with charge, fingers sliding in and out of fists. His spark ached to cause damage.
And then his comm unit beeped.
Sideswipe tilted his helm, noticing that Ratchet did as well, both of them receiving the same message. It was vague, stilted, but it contained several vital clues.
Egypt. The boy.
Hope.
o0o0o
Optimus found Sideswipe on the tarmac in the middle of the night. He sat on the ground, his knees drawn to his chestplate, his arms braced across them. His helm was bowed, his optics offline. Moonlight glinted off his armor, still pitted and scored from the battle. How he’d eluded Ratchet’s attention, Optimus did not know.
A human would mistake Sideswipe’s stillness for recharge.
Only a Cybertronian would be able to detect the maelstrom of conflict in Sideswipe’s energy field. With his spark in such disarray, Optimus wasn’t sure how Sideswipe could stand to remain so still.
He stood behind Sideswipe, casting a long shadow, struggling to find the right words.
No one could know. Here, out in the open, they had no privacy. But most of the base was packing up, licking their wounds, and maybe this once–
“I’ve been sitting here, asking myself the same question over and over,” Sideswipe said before Optimus could form the words. “And I realized it’s never going to end.”
Optimus tilted his helm. “What do you mean?”
Sideswipe made a vague gesture to the distance. “The Allspark is gone. Megatron was dead; now, he’s not. And you…” He trailed off, fingers closing into a fist as he drew his hand back. “This war is never going to end. No matter who lands the final blow, neither of us can win.”
Optimus lowered himself to one knee, wincing as the matrix shifted within him, moving his internals around to make room. It repeatedly nudged against his spark chamber, causing flashes of static and discomfort with each twitch. “I apologize.”
“For what?” Sideswipe huffed a ventilation. “Failing to keep a promise you never made?”
Optimus flinched again, relieved that his partner couldn’t see it. He reached for the mech, to lay a chaste arm on his shoulder, surely an action that couldn’t be misconstrued by prying optics or eyes. “Sideswipe–”
A burst of motion, Sideswipe moving so fast that it had to hurt, avoiding Optimus’ hand and lurching to his pedes. It put them optic to optic at least, especially when Sideswipe whirled around, just out of arms reach. His optics were bright, but guarded, his field withdrawn entirely.
“I watched you die,” Sideswipe said, static crackling on the last syllables. “And I kept my silence. Don’t test my restraint.”
“It was not a test. It was an offer.” Optimus waited, patient, for Sideswipe to bridge the gap.
The matrix squirmed, restless, as though trying to soothe his aching spark. Optimus knew, viscerally, that Megatron was alive, but Optimus could not and would not go back down that route. No matter what the ancient relic in his chassis demanded.
Sideswipe stared at him. “Have you lost your processor?” His optics skittered to the left and right as though searching for an answer, his frame rocking back and forth on his pedes.
Optimus pushed himself to his pedes and reached for Sideswipe again, relief flooding through him when the frontliner didn’t evade him this time. He lay his hands on Sideswipe’s shoulders, thumbs brushing inward, over Sideswipe’s chestplate. He could feel the thrum of the frontliner’s spark, an off-rhythm hum that echoed Optimus’ own.
“Death,” Optimus said, “puts certain matters into perspective.”
Sideswipe’s plating rattled beneath his hands. “We can’t.”
“Right now? Of course not.” It would be selfish and foolish to make such commitments with Megatron yet out there. “But after the end, there will be nothing to stop us.”
“Megatron–”
“–has died once,” Optimus interrupted, his vocals harsh and flat, unable to hide the fury he felt with his brother. “I will not fail a second time.”
The Matrix lurched within him, angry and argumentative, but Optimus pushed it down. He would no longer be led by the shackles of same ancient artifact. Such was what caused the war in the first place, and he was through living by the commands of a relic.
He would be Prime, but it would be on his own terms from now on. Because following the rules had helped no one, least of all himself and his Autobots.
Shock buzzed in Sideswipe’s energy field before he drew it back under his control. He dipped his helm, cycling a ventilation.
“We aren’t supposed to make promises,” he said, but there was an echo of want in his tone, a repressed desire now daring to hope.
“I am changing the rules,” Optimus said, and he ran his finger down Sideswipe’s chestplate, making his intentions clear.
A shiver rippled through Sideswipe, his field radiating outward, open and inviting. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “After.”
Warmth flushed through Optimus and finally, the Matrix went still. Whether because it was satisfied, or wanted to save the effort of protest for another day, Optimus did not know. Nor did it matter.
“After,” he said, and this time, it was a promise.
One he intended to keep.
Pandora's Box 