Chapter Text
⊶⍒⊷
With coding uncorrupted from the line of Primus and the first of Primus’ creations, the Divine Prime is the hallowed and absolute authority for the ruling of all Cybertron.
The word of the Divine Prime is governed by the wisdom of the ancients and is law. None may supersede judgment handed down by the Divine Prime.
⊶⍒⊷
It was…warm.
He unshuttered his optics slowly, the mechanisms whirring to life for the first time. Visual input flooded his processor as the rest of his senses unfurled. He gazed up and up, into an infinite sky cast in rosy dark hues, streaked through with lines of gray. At the farthest reaches of his perception, celestial bodies winked bright through space and time.
In small increments came the inescapable awareness of touch. Electricity and power burst outward from his chest, sinking into his limbs, imparting feeling and impressions of heat and weight and gravity. There was a dampness in the air that he could feel on his armor, something misty and strange. He followed the wakening sensations down to his extremities, and then realized that the planes of his body were folded around something so perfectly he knew at once it was a part of him.
No, not something. Someone.
He dragged his contemplation down from the marvel of distant stars to meet a brilliant red gaze, a mirror reflecting deeper light than all the skies above. That first recognition was almost a shock, striking to the very core of him.
He had no name for the fathomless shift in his whole universe, for the way a second consciousness suddenly tugged at his mind like a crucial piece he hadn’t noticed was missing until it was there. His soul expanded and filled, just as he knew he filled the other, and for this perfect mystical being at least, he had a name imprinted on his spark.
“Megatron,” he murmured, and something tremulous and ecstatic wrapped him up and flung him fully into existence.
He was reaching out before he knew it, his fingers sliding gently on smooth silver faceplates, urging the other to look back at him, to see him.
“Optimus,” came the whisper in return, and he glowed at the sound of his own name from that beautiful mouth, in that hypnotic voice.
There were other sensations now. Unfamiliar hands on him, delicately pulling him up and out of the warm cradle of the Seed. A mech larger than the rest came forward, smiling slightly at him.
“My Prime Successor,” Sentinel announced with a flourish, before leading him away.
***
There was a darkness in the farthest reaches of Megatron’s newly-minted consciousness. It dribbled down in a cold trail to the very center of his being, a crawling sensation that slowly dug its hooks into his spark.
Why, he did not quite understand. He watched as Sentinel took Optimus’ hands, cooing over the freshly-forged Prime and murmuring pleased words of blessing without a single glance in his direction. Even as Optimus immediately twisted around to look for him, Sentinel continued to lead Optimus away.
The guards flowed around both Primes like water, disregarding Megatron’s existence like an unsightly rock as he stood alone, unmoving, disoriented and left behind.
Just before they could round the corner, Optimus stopped dead, planting his pedes down. Sentinel’s expression soured. And Megatron realized he could feel Optimus’ uncertainty, as surely as Optimus must have been able to feel the odd strangling sensation that rooted Megatron to the ground.
“Megatron,” Optimus called beseechingly, freeing one hand from Sentinel’s clutches and holding it out to him. Things they had not yet learned to say passed freely within their newly-established bond, which was almost uncomfortably strong from one spark only just split in two: We must not be apart / be beside me always / come.
He didn’t feel himself moving until his own hand reached up and his fingers tangled with his other half’s. Optimus smiled at him, soft and brilliant, and tugged him into the circle of guards.
They continued onwards, and Megatron’s hand was not relinquished. It was a small but blazing point of warmth against the chill of Sentinel’s gaze and the guards’ sideways glances.
They were brought into large and lavish quarters. As they were ushered in, a guard bowed and gestured Megatron back towards the doorway.
“No,” Optimus said firmly. His grip tightened as he pulled Megatron behind him and looked around the expansive room pointedly.
“It is not customary, Optimus,” Sentinel said, a stiff smile pulling at his lip-plates. “The High Protector has his own wing. It is on the opposite side of the compound.”
Optimus frowned. For both him and Megatron, their thoughts were even now aligning with the language and behavioral protocols that had activated when their systems came online. Comprehension of the words spoken to them had come quicker than forming the proper sentences to convey what churned through their processors, but only just.
“No,” Optimus repeated, though he seemed more unsure as he glanced back over his shoulder towards Megatron. Megatron didn’t know what his own faceplates were doing, but he couldn’t conceal the sudden flash of terror in his spark at the thought of being pulled away alone.
Optimus’ optics brightened. He turned to face Sentinel and the guards again, stance broad and stubborn.
Sentinel passed a critical gaze over them, then relented with a displeased and heavy ventilation. “As you are so newly-unfurled, an orn before separation will probably do no harm. But you are Prime Successor, Optimus. More of this immature clinging would not be appropriate.” His hand paused on the edge of the access panel as he moved away, as if reluctant to leave them alone. But with one last hard look at Megatron over Optimus’ shoulder, Sentinel was gone.
The door slid shut, cocooning them off in a world of their own.
Megatron wasn’t sure when Optimus’ hands found his again. Their fingers intertwined slowly. Blue optics were luminous as they gazed upon Megatron. Wordlessly, they stepped closer to each other until they were hip to hip, chest to chest. All but one again.
I dreamed of you, Optimus’ thoughts, floating softly through their bond, though Megatron could scarcely tell where his own thoughts ended or began. When I woke up, I saw the dream was real. Thank you for coming to life with me.
It ached, this weight of feeling. So much in him wanting to spill over in answer to Optimus’ devotion. More than light, more than air…
But that frigid splinter of darkness remained and dug into his spark. The memory of Sentinel’s cold glare lingered, as did the sensation of the guards’ frames brushing past him. He remembered Optimus being ushered away, the physical and metaphorical distance between them widening.
In this place where they had awoken fitted around each other, Optimus was seen as precious. Megatron, somehow, was not.
Warm vents gusted over his cables, drawing him back to the present. When had he shuttered his optics and bowed his head? Optimus must have sensed the wretched direction Megatron’s thoughts were going in; worry and comfort flooded their bond, attempting to reassure.
Spark of my spark. We are one, to be together always. I am nothing without you. All I am is yours.
“Optimus,” he whispered at last, yielding. All I am is yours as well.