Chapter Text
It started when Optimus went to retrieve a datapad.
His bright and cerulean optics scanned the very few but also informational datapads horizontally placed on a makeshift shelf. Once he found what he needed, he reached out and tilted the tablet with a single digit, allowing it to sit at the palm of his servo.
He studied the thin pad and nodded in satisfaction.
Many millennia of being a data clerk had taught him how to precisely find what he needed and extract tablets from the bountiful shelves in the Iacon Hall. It was one of the few moments where the Prime felt the comfort of memories course through his processor, where he led a simple life.
And yet, somehow, at the end of every good memory would be replaced with anguish and sorrow, wishing the life he lived now was reverted back to when Cybertron was bustling with life and balance.
It was a conscience that was so far yet so close, just barely in Optimus's reach. He didn’t just owe it to himself but to everyone else who was deeply affected by the war. All he wanted to do was restore their home planet and rest it into a peaceful era.
The Prime shook his head quietly, returning to the task at hand. Only when he began walking back to the common room did the corner of his vision catch something fall.
Drifting only a few feet away from his large frame, a white piece of paper landed directly in front of him. Confusion spun around his mind as he glanced at the datapad and then at the paper. A single blink led him to notice something scribbled on the sheet.
A note?
He couldn’t remember the time when he or the other Autobots ever used humankind’s way of writing. Nor use their paper.
Optimus knelt down, using two of his digits to pluck the extremely small piece of paper into his servo. Using gravity, he turned it to the other side without crumbling it, and there, he saw English words.
You got this!
The Autobot leader squinted, making sure he read that correctly. Once he confirmed its terms, he regarded the surrounding area, pondering who left this note. As far as he knew, no one was around.
It couldn’t have been any of his comrades, knowing for a fact that no Autobot would be able to write that small. It had to be one of the children, but who? And how did they lose it so far into the base?
Miko would be the most probable cause, considering she enjoys wandering around the base. However, she is often joined by either Raf or Jack, so it could have been either one. And truthfully, he didn’t think they would go this far into the base.
Optimus studied the note more firmly, noticing how neat one of the children’s handwriting was. Small loops and the smoothness of the words fell together skillfully, unlike Cybertronian writing, which, to humankind, looked like hen scratches…as what Miko had described it.
In all honesty, he could have said the same thing back to them upon arriving on Earth and forming an alliance with the human government, but now he kind of understood what the young girl meant when she showed him a picture of the description she was explaining.
Still, their language and writing were beyond what Cybertronians could comprehend, just as humans feel the same way about theirs.
Releasing a quiet vent, Optimus opened his subspace from his chassis and tilted his servo just a bit to let the paper gently float into the open space. He tilted his helm down, unblinking and optics immovable, rereading the words again.
You got this!
He hummed softly and then let the compartment close while those words gently echoed within his processor. It was odd to feel comforted by those words, but it was exactly what he needed to hear for some reason.
And he hoped whoever lost the note in the first place would share the same sentiments when he returned it.
In all honesty, Optimus had forgotten about the paper until he spotted another white sheet of paper taped to the entrance of his quarters.
It was a few days after he had found the first one on the floor, and unceremoniously, he recognized that his second finding was almost right next to the one he had spotted the first.
Initially, there was a moment of guilt, having completely disregarded finding the owner of the note, which wouldn’t have been too hard considering it had to be one of three children.
However, Decepticons were always on his radar, and it was hard not to focus on anything else when it came to any activity involving them, especially if they were about to try and invade Earth.
Megatron might be predictable in what he wants, but he is unpredictable when he strikes, one of the reasons why he won’t allow any human soldiers to fight alongside them. Not because he’s underestimating them but because they don’t deserve to fight a war that was not on them. There should be no explanation of why humankind should fight a battle on their behalf. But despite the warnings and urgency to avoid the Autobots’ enemy, humans stood firm in whatever was necessary to protect their home world. Optimus understood that and commended them greatly; however, he could not forgive himself should casualties of their kind begin due to their actions.
It was too devastating, having already lost millions upon millions of their own species to the war. Earth did not need this, and the Prime didn’t need any more innocence lost.
The Autobot cautiously approached the new sheet of paper, optics glancing at it with suspicion. Yet, he stopped in his tracks when he realized that the paper he had found a while back was the exact same one.
The gears in his processor clicked and whirred quietly, thinking of any idea why they were leaving their stuff in certain places, specifically near his chamber. Surely, it was just a coincidence; they most likely forgot to retrieve their belongings when they had set it down…
Right?
However, the children rarely go far into the base; if they do, they are with their guardians, either helping them with chores or passing by to get to the main room.
Optimus frowned slightly, bending down to read the second note left behind. Almost immediately, he could tell that the handwriting was a lot more different than the previous writing. It was smaller, etched a bit too roughly on the thin sheet, but it was still eligible.
Don’t give up!
Upon reading the words, a small hydraulic hissing sound escaped between the gaps of his frame, slowly settling his body from its stiff structure and allowing every cog and gear to depressurize.
He ex-vented softly, face softening and spark thrumming at those simple, human words. Warmth began to spread throughout his body, a tiny smile barely ghosting over his lipplates.
Before his occupation, he wondered why any dialogue he read made him feel, whether it was exhilaration, excitement, curiosity, or even sadness. But now, as a former data clerk, he understood the power of words. Terms and scripts melded into a context to explain what they were to be used for, unspoken from voices that were quick and unceremonious between conversations but rather through the sharpened eyes and minds alike that required time . And to say the least, Optimus can feel endearment in his very life form.
The Prime reached out to the note, tugging it ever so gently to ensure that it wouldn’t tear. The force of the pull loosened the tape and eventually freed Optimus to take the paper into the palm of his hand.
Bright, electric blue orbs surveyed the note before he curled his digits around it. Optimus had to admit that he and the children were not as close, having too much responsibility on his shoulders ever to join the group. He expected those repercussions and knew the majority of his time would be spent detached from them.
It was a sore choice. Optimus wanted to learn more about Earth- about them . But his priority was to protect their allies and friends from the Decepticons while also trying to find a way to restore Cybertron. He needed to be alert. And he knew the children knew that was his reason, and they never seemed upset about it.
Since then, all three had given Optimus the space to focus, hardly disturbing him. There were some instances that they conversed together, though it was all too brief, most commonly discussing Decepticon activity and the dangers Earth may be forewarned of, as well as answering some questions they had.
Not to mention, the old mech severely lacked knowledge of some human terminology and trends. All he really could do was nod and mobilize with whatever Agent Fowler or the kids would say. Thankfully, his comrades understood it more than him, even Ratchet quite surprisingly, who was much older than him.
But, despite what Optimus held with his stern and self-controlled nature and the solitary sentient he was, the children still considered him. And he didn’t think it was solely because of his status. Despite their sparse interactions, there had to be some sort of influence he displayed besides leadership and righteousness.
With the note in his servo, the Prime stepped into his quarters, all while he searched through his memory banks, curious about what he had done or said to them. Instead of finding anything regarding him, his processor recalled the youngest teenager, Raf, looking at him seriously, his voice reiterating : “Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten!”
Family…
He replayed it again, processing the words, before another recollection abruptly popped up, this time showing Jack: “We may have our differences, but nothing is more important than family.”
Not a moment later, Miko’s enthusiastic tone resonated straight after: “Friends are family we choose for ourselves!”
Optimus shook his helm, the term family echoing.
That may be why. The children thought of the Autobots as…family.
The thoughtful actions they delivered presented the way, as what he observed from the human teenagers, were so family-like. As much as It was so simple just to leave notes in random places for him to find, it made Optimus’s spark soar with fondness.
Who would have thought a drop of ink would make him think in such a way.
And if it permanently positively impacted him, it would indeed be cherished by him.
Optimus decided not to mention the notes, deducing that Jack, Miko, and Raf seemed to do this in secret and wanted to keep it that way.
The Prime didn’t know if the children knew he was aware of them leaving notes for him, but perhaps that was why they never specified their deeds.
He finally decided to answer his own question when he found the third note taped quite literally on the main screen, albeit a little too high for humans to reach and plaster something. In conclusion, they must’ve gotten help from somewhere.
Optimus didn’t say anything walking into the common room, instantly noticing the note and then Ratchet, who was at his own station and most likely fixing something mechanical.
His audio receptors heard tools clattering together and metal scraping against each other, all while he could decipher quiet-spoken voices from the human’s corner of the base. There was a brief moment where he took a glimpse, seeing all three humans looking down at their schoolbooks.
Well, mostly Jack and Raf. Miko was sitting on the floor, pencil in hand, yet her face was planted in the textbook in front of her. And the boys heeded no attention to her.
Was…she asleep or avoiding schoolwork? Knowing the young girl, it was probably both.
His optics flickered away from the children and to the screen ahead. He regarded the note slowly, but his digits entered the mainframe. And from behind him, he overheard Miko snorting awake, then a “Wha-?” before an abrupt silence fell before them.
It was no puzzle to know that they were watching him now, how he would react or do after finding their little note.
Optimus was subtle about it. There was a methodical way he did to notice the paper. He observed the main screen for a few kliks, reading a few ending lines before going to the next screen and gradually tilting his helm.
And there, his optics sized on the tiny piece of paper, and his optic ridges furrowed curiously. It had more color and little details added within the message, not just the words. That was new. Just like what he did the previous times, he leisurely plucked the note and read it carefully.
We believe in you!
The writing was slanted, loud, and bold, with different varieties of colors in each alphabet. And below the paper was a drawing…of him. It was a rough sketch of his faceplate, but it was skilled and attentively drawn.
Optimus felt his demeanor falter in wonder, intake releasing all air from him. His spark seized to beat, taking in the intricate details and drawing from this tiny, tiny paper.
He didn’t even realize how the corners of his mouth lifted slightly, and his hardened expression softened until a loud thud returned his attention to the unexpected noise.
The look vanished immediately, and he veered towards where the sound was, followed by another pair of optics.
“Ah...oops,” Miko mumbled, crouching to pick up her textbook. Behind her were Raf and Jack, with their hands smacked to their foreheads and their own books sitting beside them. She straightened and hugged the book to her chest, smiling sheepishly. “My bad!”
He heard the CMO groan before pivoting to face his station again, quietly muttering, “There is never any peace and quiet around here anymore.” Though, there wasn’t any malice in his tone.
Optimus continued to stare at the children, an optic ridge arching slightly.
Miko coughed and opened her book…upside down.
“Just catching up on studying,” she exclaimed as if she read his thoughts.
Jack sighed loudly while the youngest addressed Miko by flipping her book to the correct side, patting her back with a pitiful expression.
She whistled awkwardly and turned around, joining Jack and Raf on the couch.
The Autobot leader merely nodded toward them and returned his sight to the main screen while his chassis parted, revealing his subspace. A soft gaze, brief and quick but catchable by human eyes, was on his face, all too hard to contain when he peered at the note again.
No doubt, they were still watching him.
He gently tucked the note along with the other two, brushing it with the tip of his digit. Contentment bloomed inside his chassis, touched and wholly endeared by the notion.
Optimus closed his subspace, chassis linking back together. With that, he continued with his task, but not without remarking silently on the scotch tape on the edge of Ratchet’s table.
Amidst silent tandem, Optimus and Ratchet met each other’s gazes. The two pairs of blue orbs were unyielding and mostly unreadable until the CMO glanced quickly at his chassis where the treasured notes were and then looked straight ahead.
The medic could deny all he wanted that he had formed a friendship with the kids, but by all means, no one would dare say a word unless anyone wanted to meet the wrath of Ratchet’s wrench.
And Optimus liked to have his processor intact.
The small notes and encouragement continued to appear every few days. Whenever Optimus saw them, he stopped in his tracks to read them and delicately put them in his subspace, where the rest of them resided.
He looked forward to them, always wondering what they had written next. There was also a pattern, a rotation of who wrote it. It always went to neat, rough, and then colorful, each with a different style.
It was interesting to see the personality of the handwriting, and he had yet to solve which was which. As of right now, he considered that the most colorful notes were either Miko or Rafael, and the smooth and uneven ones were Jack or Raf.
But every time he found a piece of paper somewhere with a newly looking design and print, it brought the Prime to another dead end of figuring it out. He could have asked the human children who wrote who, but maybe that’s what made it entertaining and enjoyable compared to planning war strategies and fighting the Decepticons.
It was a lovely change of pace.
By the time Optimus managed to find space to put all the paper in a small-sized container Ratchet had provided, it was halfway full of their tiny notes. He considered upgrading to a more spacious receptacle to hold all these precious messages he never dared to throw out.
And for the most part, the Prime was correct. Soon enough, not only did the children’s little endeavors of writing encouraging words to him begin to pile up, but small homemade trinkets and gifts started showing up, along with the notes.
Granted, the presents were obviously too diminutive to be useful, but Primus, he adored them. Each novelty was different, holding so much creativity and uniqueness. They were special to the mech, cherishing the homemade endowments with his spark, and it amused him to no end that Ratchet also began to notice it.
“You’re going to become, as humans had described, a hoarder,” Ratchet groused out, eyeing Optimus with a quirk of his metal brow.
The Prime cast a glance toward the medic and promptly set the toy truck that oddly resembled his alt-mode into his subspace. He blinked owlishly. “I do not compute what you’re saying, old friend.”
“Oh, Primus, you’ve gone in the deep end with those three.”
Optimus only looked at him, neither confirming nor denying it, but Ratchet knew the answer anyway. For as long as their friendship has been, the Autobot has always had a soft side for younglings and sparklings. Apparently, that goes for different species as well.
He was gentle, patient, and understanding with all beings, and the image of the Prime being a sire would be a sight to behold, not only because it would suit him so well, but it was also a distant dream nowadays.
Although he may not have had his own, maybe that didn’t change any factor regarding his stature.
While every gift and note he had received was beyond beloved and valued, the most recent was doubtlessly one of the most incredible things he acquired.
Nighttime had fallen over Jasper, Nevada, and the children had been long gone with their respective guardians. Optimus had taken the liberty to take the time to observe the stars on the roof of their Autobot base.
Stars twinkled brightly, with not a cloud in sight to hide them away. The moon glowed brightly, the only illumination that night would provide. While it wasn’t like Cybertron’s evening, viewing Earth's majestic wonders was no less beautiful.
There was a sense of calmness and solace gazing up at the sky, knowing that each planet shared space, It just proved that no matter how far or close they were, the universe still connected them.
The blue and red mech closed his optics and inhaled deeply as fresh, cool air filled his intakes. He slowly released, his frame decompressing in a lax posture. Times were stressful, and it was hard to find any moment to himself without his or his team being bombarded by their enemy.
It was no better when both factions were trying to harvest the relics that had inhabited Earth for centuries. Megatron was getting desperate, deciding that humanity was an obstacle for him to destroy.
Preventing the Decepticon leader from harming them while recovering the artifacts was an even more complex task. They have only gotten a few so far, but what made up their findings didn’t compete with Megatron’s.
There was only so much that Optimus could assign his teammates, and he didn’t want to burden them more than the war had done. But it was only a question of time before things would get really messy.
His optics shuddered open, ex-venting quietly as he turned around to head back into the silo until something reflected the surface of his plating. He inspected it inquisitively, shifting one pede to the other and noticing it did not move as he moved.
Looking up, he scanned the area with suspicion, unsure what to make out of this odd, bright beam shining on him.
Then, Optimus stopped short, eyesight locating what was emitting the speckle of light. Behind a a few rocks was a minuscule-looking box, blue and red colors adorning the object. He inclined his head, blinking as if he was imagining it.
How on Primus did the children know he went up here?
Shaking away his thoughts, Optimus kneeled and scooped the little box into his servo. He brought it to his face, facial expression narrowing as he used his digits to pull the silky fabric, enabling it to unfold.
One by one, the walls of the box fell, revealing what made Optimus’s spark skip a beat. “Oh, my.”
Inside exposed a small plush of him. Its silver face had simple features: black dots to make up the eyes and a line curving up as a mouth. The blue helm had his three antennas, the middle being the longest while the other two were shorter and tilted back a bit on the sides.
The stuffed toy’s body came with multiple patches of his color, carefully stitched and elaborated in all the right places: silver legs with blue plating, red chassis, and arms and servos being little nubs of grey. The only thing that was out of sorts was his optics, but he understood it as more evident to see.
And the smile… Primus.
The work and effort put into the designed soft toy were certainly handcrafted, with a few lopsided seams and a wonky stance, but nonetheless highly admirable.
Optimus couldn’t help but let out a hushed, wet chuckle, unaware that his eyes were brimming with fluid threatening to fall. He reached out with his digit to stroke the top of its little head, feeling the pliable and soft material. An atmosphere of solemnity hovered over him, his face morphing with the change of ambiance.
Orion Pax might have been emotive and fervently expressive, but Optimus Prime was not. Hardened by war, hurt by his closest friend and brother, and damaged by burden, the chosen Prime could never allow his feelings to shade over others, hence his innate manner.
He was an example of victory and leadership, and victories couldn’t fail. However, moments like these made him realize that he was also an individual who bore many mentally and physically draining responsibilities.
It was a curse, yet an unimaginable honor.
Remaining to look crestfallen, he trailed the tip of his finger down, stopping short when he saw a piece of paper being held in the arms of the plush. Maneuvering the arms, he grabbed ahold of the note and let the children’s voices reverberate in his processor.
Never lose hope, Optimus.
At that moment, Optimus hunched over and felt his body tremble. Eons and eons of bottled-up emotions wanted to crack and spill, all because of what three humans simply did for him.
The straightforward and short message shouldn’t have felt as much impact since it was his mantra to share with others, but to hear it inside, to see those words for him , the chosen Prime, and the face of hope to his people, the phrase never felt so welcoming.
It gave the leader renewed hope- a sense of determination run by aspiration. For once, the flickering ashes in his spark ignited a fresh, burning desire.
Things would finally come to an end, and when it did- when it happened, the Prime would anticipate taking a step back to enjoy being with his…family.
His kids.
Cycles stretched slowly, helping Optimus regain his composure as he held the plush close to his chassis- near his spark. He went to walk back into the base, but he was not in a hurry, taking his time to savor the sight of his kids' gift to him.
An unspoken promise was sealed within his spark; Optimus didn’t know it, but he could feel enough to understand it.