Chapter Text
The parade of the captured and subdued Megatron through the streets of Iacon, and the days that followed, had been something of a blur. Celebrations rang out citywide, lasting well into the solar cycle, with Optimus and his team hailed as heroes not seen in an age. The repaired AllSpark had been secured once more within Fortress Maximus, locked away under heavy guard, while Megatron himself was transported to Trypticon, the former Decepticon citadel turned holding facility, to await trial.
Even Acting Magnus Sentinel had been forced to give a speech on their 'accomplishments.' It was a thinly veiled, tepid welcome home, but that hadn’t stopped the media from running wild with it. Some outlets even speculated on Optimus as a potential successor to Ultra Magnus, should the old commander finally succumb to his injuries.
Sentinel would not stand for it.
The Council might have the final say in who would become the next Magnus, but it was not going to be Optimus Prime.
The summons came far too early. Optimus hadn’t even fully powered up for the solar cycle before the message pinged in his hub. He was to report to Sentinel’s office immediately. No time to gather his thoughts and no chance to prepare. But Sentinel was his superior now, commander of the entire Autobot military. Who was he to refuse?
Still, he couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in his tank since the battle with Megatron. If anyone really knew him, they’d understand: he shouldn’t have been able to win that fight. Megatron was a force of nature, a fury wrapped in titanium alloy plating. The fact that Optimus stood here now, with his crew alive and victory claimed... it still didn’t sit right. Sheer, unadulterated luck had sealed Megatron’s fate and seen Optimus victorious. He was grateful, yes. But all the praise? It felt misplaced.
And now, with Sentinel calling him in, Optimus couldn’t help the quiet, nervous ex-vent that hissed from his vents. Things never went well when they spoke. Honestly, things never went well when they were in the same room.
But orders were orders.
Dragging himself out of his quarters and into the polished halls of Fortress Maximus, Optimus made his way toward Sentinel’s office, each pedestep echoing louder than the last in his audial receptors. He knew full well Sentinel was going to use his position to punish him, out of spite, if nothing else. The only question was, how bad would it be this time?
He stopped before the door, squared his shoulders, and knocked twice. Then, as it slid open, he stepped inside and stood tall, spinal strut straight and vox steady.
“...You summoned me, sir?”
Sentinel made a deliberate show of appearing busy, shuffling datapads around his desk with all the urgency of one not eagerly awaiting something they very much were. In truth, he’d gone over this moment countless times in his processor, replaying the imagined conversation again and again until he was sure he’d come out on top. Still, it was hard to hide the smug curl of his derma when Optimus finally arrived.
"Ah, Optimus! Come in," he said, standing with a grin that didn't quite reach his optics.
The overly cheerful tone he used to greet the title of ‘sir’ was pointed, carefully chosen, and just irritating enough to grind at Optimus’s sense of fairness.
"I'm glad you were able to find time to meet with me, given how busy you've been with interviews and celebrating your ‘great victory’." He gave a brittle, performative laugh. "We have quite a bit to discuss! So come in and sit down, and we'll get started." He gestured to one of the chairs opposite the desk before circling back around and taking his own seat, servos folded across the desk surface like a judge preparing for a verdict.
"Look, Optimus," Sentinel began, his voice now more solemn, "I'm not going to run in neutral and kick up dust with you. You deserve that much. There's been a lot of chatter around here about your position. This whole thing is… well, ‘unprecedented’ doesn’t even begin to describe it. So why don't you tell me your thoughts on the matter? And what you think the next step should be for you."
Optimus clenched his denta, forcing himself not to flinch at the exaggerated civility. He moved stiffly toward the chair and sat down, his every motion measured. It took a considerable effort to keep his finials from twitching, as they were want to do when he was in situations he didn’t want to be in. Any sign of irritation would only fuel Sentinel’s fire.
Great. He’s worried about me as a threat to his position.
"It's not my place to speculate on the subject of promotions; when, if, or to what rank," Optimus replied calmly. "I know a vocal part of the populace is wondering about me being promoted to Magnus, but that’s just them projecting. I'm just doing my job. If the Council decides I'm the right fit to lead, then I'll accept. If not, it doesn't really affect me."
He let the words settle, knowing full well how they might land. And, quietly, he wondered if his words and the attitude behind them burned Sentinel more than anything; the idea that even if Optimus were named Magnus, it wouldn’t matter to him. It wouldn't be a prize, or a triumph. Just an updated protocol, a shift in duty and title.
Sentinel nodded slowly, a smile creeping over his derma. One that bore too many denta and none of the warmth. A Sharkticon’s grin if Optimus ever saw one. He made a show of shifting in his seat, pretending at discomfort, as if the next part were somehow difficult to say. But he couldn’t quite hide the glint of delight in his optics.
"Well… about that…" he began, dragging the words out, savoring them. "That’s the really funny thing about this whole mess, isn’t it? You aren’t ‘just doing your job’." He leaned forward slightly, voice dripping with false concern. "As a matter of fact, what you did on Earth is about as far outside your job description as you can get. Your ‘job’ is leading a crew of washouts from asteroid to asteroid, patching up relic spacebridges and staying out of the way. You and I both know you didn’t earn that Prime title. Ultra Magnus gave it to you out of pity. But you-" He paused for emphasis, his tone turning sharp as he pointed at Optimus across the desk. "-can’t be a Prime. You’re not even a member of the Elite Guard. Are you?"
A long, steady vent escaped from Optimus as he forced himself not to rise to the tempting bait. "Sometimes the best thing to do isn’t to act to the letter of the codes, but to the spirit of them," he replied, quietly but firmly. "Regardless of how it happened, and whether it should’ve been me and my crew, we’re here now. Megatron was captured. The Allspark was repaired. Earth and Cybertron are both safe."
His gaze was calm, his tone level, but the words carried weight. "Duty goes beyond mere titles, Sentinel. Ultra Magnus understood that. Do you?"
He closed his optics for a moment. "Clearly, you wish to see me demoted. Fine. But it won’t change what’s already happened. Hiding me away isn’t going to bring you more glory." There was something in his voice. Something subtle, buried beneath his careful civility. Pity, maybe.
Sentinel shook his helm slightly and leaned back, surprise flashing across his faceplate as he stared at Optimus. “Demoted?” He burst out laughing, the sound sharp, genuine, and far too loud for the setting. He even threw his helm back, as though Optimus had just delivered the punchline of the millennium. The laughter went on, and on, teetering into unprofessional territory before finally tapering off.
“AllSpark, Optimus. I’m not talking about demoting you.” He gave a dismissive wave, still chuckling. “No matter our… personal history, and no matter how dubious your promotion to Prime may have been before, I can’t exactly say you don’t deserve the rank now. Besides, you’re Cybertron’s darling! Trying to demote you would be political suicide.”
He leaned back in his chair, smirking as though he were doing Optimus a favor. “No, no. Demotion isn’t at all what I had in mind. What I’m offering you, is a chance to go back. To where you were before all this started. I want to repeal your expulsion. You’d attend the Academy again and finish your training properly this time. Graduate, earn your promotion through the appropriate channels, then take your place in the Elite Guard as a real, and very well-decorated, Prime.”
He spread his servos slightly, voice softening. “Isn’t that what you always wanted, Optimus? To join the Elite Guard?”
Optimus didn’t answer immediately. He sat there, soaking in Sentinel’s words, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be petty. Then he replied, his voice dry and even. “Your language… you’re speaking like you mean to undermine your superior’s decision to promote me.” He watched Sentinel closely, his tone sharpening. “Regardless of how ‘dubious’ it may be, Ultra Magnus did promote me. His word is final. And until he dies or somebot else is officially appointed, he’s still your superior.”
He took a slow invent, optics slightly narrowing. “Now, obviously, you wouldn’t be foolish enough to openly challenge the Council. But if they were to hear you, speaking the way you are, implying Ultra Magnus’s decision wasn’t legitimate… Well. You’d be in a pretty nasty situation, wouldn’t you?” He let the thought hang in the air like the threat it was.
Optimus leaned back in turn, optics narrowing. “That being said… if my appointment as Prime is legitimate, why would I need to go back to the Academy?”
Sentinel gritted his denta, forcing his smile to stay firmly in place. "Hmh. Well. I never said your rank was in danger. I wouldn’t dream of trying to revoke it, or go against Ultra Magnus’s decision… even if it is dubious and goes against standard procedure. You’re right. Ultra Magnus’s word is final."
He paused, letting the tension build before continuing, his tone growing more insistent.
"But it was also Ultra Magnus who signed your expulsion order. The rules of the Elite Guard predate him, and they still stand. Only graduates of the Academy can enter the Elite Guard. So no matter what rank you hold on the record, you’ve also been marked as an Elite Guard Academy trainee failure by none other than Ultra Magnus himself." He leaned forward slightly, voice heavy with the weight of the next words. "Even the Council can’t change that."
"Which is why," Sentinel continued as he leaned back with a smug tilt of his helm, "I’m offering you the chance to go back. Earn your position properly, finish your training, and graduate. Then you can join the Guard, no questions asked. Done and dusted."
Optimus pursed his derma, narrowing his optics. “Fine. I’ll bite. For now. Let’s say I agree. I go back to the academy. Sure. What’s the catch?”
Sentinel leaned back in his chair, his tone shifting to something almost too casual. "No catch. Believe it or not, I think this is the best course of action for both you and Cybertron. You make a good Elite Guard. There’s no denying that. Going back to the Academy will just make you a legitimate one." Sentinel spread his servos wide, presenting the offer like a prize. "So take up my offer and rejoin the Academy. You’ll even retain your rank as Prime outside of training.”
He shifted and slid a datapad across the desk toward Optimus. Even from here, Optimus recognized it: an official Autobot Academy offer acceptance letter. Very similar to the one he’d received years ago… the one that had once sent a jolt of joy through his system unlike anything else.
Optimus shifted in his seat, scrolling through the datapad with a digit and tapping his pede idly before setting the pad down and crossing his arms in faint annoyance. But there was a glimmer of something else in his optics as he listened.
"Well, forgive me for being skeptical," he muttered, his voice laced with the weight of their past. "After everything that’s happened between us, I’m not exactly brimming with trust." A soft huff escaped his vents, and his faceplate shifted with a lingering sadness, an echo of memories between them that still stung, heavy and unresolved. "But this could be the beginning of something different for us. If not as friends again, then at least without the constant tension. Especially if the Council names you Magnus."
He paused, considering the words. Then, with a nod, he offered a reluctant but firm answer. "Alright. I’ll take your offer… sir."
Despite the resolve in his voice, though, there was a quiet nagging feeling beneath it all. A sense, somewhere deep down, that he was setting himself up for disappointment. But it was his nature, wasn’t it? To be hopeful. To give others the benefit of the doubt. Even when the weight of past betrayals pressed down on him. Fool me twice, he thought grimly. But it was Optimus. Wasn’t it always expected of him to be optimistic?
Sentinel smiled and nodded. "Good. I'll see to it that you're enrolled as soon as possible, so you can begin next semester. With your original scholarship intact, of course. We'll get you set up with an apartment in the meantime.”
He paused, almost theatrically. “Now, just one more thing... your internship.”
He looked up again, face carefully neutral. "As you might remember, to graduate from the Academy, you need to perform an act of service as an intern within the Guard. Usually, it can take several stellar cycles of work to complete to a satisfactory level. I myself shadowed one of the top precincts in Iacon for five stellar cycles as my internship.” His voice dropped slightly, almost conspiratorial. “But I've arranged something special and fitting for you, and you'll be done within a few chords, at most. Are you interested?"
Optimus raised an optic ridge, already suspecting something was off. "Right... special and fitting. Can I know what it is before I agree to it? Because it's hard to gauge interest otherwise." He already didn’t like where this was going. His instincts screamed not to trust Sentinel. Again. Though he couldn’t quite tell which part of him was screaming loudest. It had become harder lately to sort through those inner voices, each one trying to keep him standing while carrying a different piece of what broke on Archa Seven.
"Of course," Sentinel said with a tsk of his glossa, still smiling. "Weren’t we just talking about this being a turning point? Have a little faith! If not in me personally, then in me as somebot well aware of your reputation. And as somebot still vying for a permanent position as Magnus."
He leaned back, tapping a button on his desk. A hologram flickered to life above it, displaying the looming fortress of Trypticon. "The Autobots of Cybertron are scared, Optimus. They’re terrified the remaining Decepticons will try to break Megatron out, or that the Slagmaker will break out himself and cause chaos. For better or for worse, you are the only mech to ever bring Megatron to heel. The people would feel safer with you personally assuring that doesn’t happen."
He gestured to the glowing image. "I want you to be Megatron’s personal prison guard. Your only duty will be to stay welded to his side. Escort him to court, to his cell, to examinations. Wherever he needs to go, you go. Stay with him until his execution is carried out. Once he’s gone for good, I’ll consider your internship complete."
Optimus stared at him, stunned for a moment. Then he shook his helm, disbelief creeping into his voice. "Are you crazy? The only reason I even managed to beat Megatron was because I had the Magnus Hammer, sheer luck, and because Prowl gave up his life! If Megatron broke out again, I don’t think I’d exactly have the resources to take him down a second time." He groaned, pressing a servo to his helm. "That’s not a refusal, mind you! It’s just…"
He took a deep, slow vent, in and out, trying to keep the parts of himself aligned. The part still grieving, the part that wanted to scream, the part that was just so, so tired. Fragmentation or not, he couldn’t let anything show. "It took more than just skill to stop him. It was sacrifice, luck, and timing. How can we really be certain that I alone will make the difference now?"
Sentinel, surprisingly, genuinely laughed. "Optimus, come on! You don’t think you’re alone here, do you? Every optic on Trypticon is on Megatron, and every other optic on Cybertron is on Trypticon. The whole place is on maximum security lockdown. Round-the-clock surveillance in every room he’ll ever have access to. We’ve got the Steelhaven itself on standby to defend against any would-be intruders and any break-outs. The entire Elite Guard is on orders to be on call in case of any emergency."
He shook his helm, still grinning, a slight chuckle escaping. "Every precaution is being taken, every possible scenario calculated and prepared for. You being there is much more for optics than to actually count on you to take care of a potential situation yourself. All you have to do is stand there at attention for the cameras. Nothing’s going to happen! And if it does? The whole of the Elite Guard will be ready."
Optimus paused, the weight of it all pressing down. Then he spoke, his voice flat but resigned. "Fine. I’ll take it. I’ll make sure Megatron behaves… somehow. You have my word." Even as the words left his mouth, he wasn’t sure whether they were a vow or a mistake.
Sentinel nodded and stood, gesturing for Optimus to do the same. "Good. Be at Trypticon at 0600 tomorrow to begin. In the meantime today, we’ve got datapads to sign to get everything finalized." He waved toward the door. "Shall we?"
"Trypticon, 0600. Got it."
Optimus sighed as he stood. He wasn’t exactly excited to see Megatron. But how hard could it be? Just a few chords, a quiet cell, and Megatron on the other side of the bars. What could go wrong? He just really hoped everything went well. "There’s never enough precaution with Megatron," he muttered under his vents. It didn’t change the fact that if things went wrong, all optics would be on him. He’d be the first line of defense, and first to be blamed.
"True enough. Never enough. And you know that better than anyone, I’d say. You can probably help by pointing out things the guards might have missed," Sentinel said. But as he stepped from the office, it was clear he wasn’t really listening anymore. Maybe that was for the best. Optimus wasn’t even sure which version of himself had spoken that last line. Just that it had sounded right, steady and present. For now, that was enough.