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He wasn’t supposed to be here.
He’d known that from the start. Bumblebee, especially, had been against it. Both Prowl and Red Alert had been unanimous in their objection to his presence as well, almost more than they had objected--loudly and long--to the exchange in the first place. Jazz had been inscrutable, Ratchet dismissive, and faced with the near-united disapproval of the entire Autobot senior staff, Sam had begun to second guess himself, to wonder if perhaps his determination to attend was nothing more than a lingering bit of vindictiveness, or morbid curiosity ….
… and then Optimus had looked at him. Looked at him, and given him a slow, grave nod. “As you wish, Sam,” he had said. And that had been the end of it.
So now he was here. Baking in the unrelenting desert sun, coughing as the wind kicked up swirls of sandy dust. Bumblebee hovered nearby, every inch of his frame guarded and tense, optics narrowed. Almost all the Autobot frontliners on Earth were also there, and just as tense: Jazz and Prowl, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, Dino, Bluestreak .... All warriors, all armed and wary, metal shifting against metal, oblivious to the heat and the glare. They stared across the desert, to the dark and waiting bulk of a Decepticon shuttle, and Sam could feel the prickle of energy, hear the subtle hum of weaponry--not live, but nonetheless ready.
Across that expanse waited the Decepticons, arrayed in ranks that echoed the Autobots' own. Massive and monstrous, their colors gleaming dully in the sun, they outnumbered the Autobots almost two to one. Red optics glittered above masks, fanged mouths and mandibles, taloned claws fingered cannons, and Sam could feel the force of their hate as if it were a vise, crushing in from both sides. For a moment, he found himself wishing they’d do something, *anything* to break that awful waiting tension.
Then his gaze fell upon Optimus. Optimus, who stood tall between the two sides, unflinching in the face of his enemies’ hatred. Placing himself in harm’s way, to protect their newfound and fragile peace. To protect them from Megatron--
--who himself stood sentinel opposite Optimus, a dark and forbidding pillar between the two sides. His frame was still corroded, damaged, his faceplates and helm ravaged by unhealed wounds. Yet he stood as if none of that mattered. As if he could annihilate them all in a heartbeat, if he chose to … and as he met that crimson, hating glare, Sam wasn’t at all sure that wasn’t the truth.
But Megatron never moved. He stood silent and still, and at Optimus’ nod, one by one the broken frames of fallen Decepticons rolled past. Escorted by Ratchet and the Wreckers to where Optimus stood, then taken up by the Decepticons, who carried them into the waiting darkness of the shuttle. Sam watched them go--stasis-locked prisoners that he had once thought corpses--and his hands tightened into fists at his sides. Most were unidentifiable. Decepticons that had fallen in Chicago, or in Egypt, faceless monsters bent only on destruction and death. But some he knew. A battered, twisted frame passed, armor still gleaming black beneath the scorch marks: a Dread. He saw Demolishor, the massive frame carried past in pieces; several Constructicons, including Scrapper and Long Haul; others too damaged to identify. He watched Shockwave’s silver frame, blown apart through the middle, be handed over, as if he were not responsible for the deaths of thousands of humans. Perhaps even more than that--even now, Chicago was still counting their dead.
Next he saw Soundwave. Helm blown apart, faceplates gone, his frame a crumpled, scorched ruin--and Sam was suddenly, savagely glad he’d come. Glad he could see the remains of the monster that had hurt and tormented Carly, that had executed Que, and tried to kill Bumblebee. His only regret was that somewhere in that wreckage something of that spark still lived. Sam watched, hands curled into fists at his sides, waiting for Ratchet to push out the wheeled trailer just as he had all the others, giving Megatron back his broken monster … only to have his vindictive satisfaction falter as Ratchet paused. The medic glanced back, and Red Alert moved forward.
The Autobot ranks shifted, frontliners glancing back and forth uneasily. Red Alert didn't seem to care. He moved to where Ratchet was, murmuring something too low for Sam to hear. The medic hesitated, frowning, and Red Alert went to the pile of offlined Decepticon frames, searched for a moment, then pulled something free. He brought it back to where Ratchet waiting ...and carefully laid his burden over Soundwave’s broken chassis.
It was Laserbeak, Sam belatedly realized, recognizing the twisted form of the birdlike Decepticon assassin. But why would Red--?
A flicker of silver caught his attention, and he glanced over to the Decepticon lines. Then stiffened, his breath hissing through his teeth as an unmistakable silver-armored form prowled forward, all blades and talons and teeth. “Shit,” he muttered, glancing nervously up at Bumblebee. “No way--there’s *two* of them?” This one seemed slightly smaller and leaner, at least, with less of the bulk and without the heavy, misshapen head of the other.
Bumblebee shook his head. “No, Sam,” he said quietly. “That is Ravage.”
“But--you killed him. Didn’t you?” Sam had a vivid sense-memory of that fight, the brutal way Bumblebee had literally torn their feline attacker in two. How could anything come back from that--and what the hell did you have to do to actually *kill* one of those things?
“No, Sam. Damaged him greatly, yes. It is possible he might have died without help. But we knew it was likely he would be retrieved before that would happen.”
“And you were okay with that? You were just going to let--” Sam started, then snapped his mouth shut as a flicker of movement caught his eye as Jazz shifted slightly, the sun winking off silver armor. Belated realization sent a shiver down his spine. Ripped in half, just like …
Perhaps it wasn’t necessarily always a bad thing that Cybertronians were so hard to kill.
Red stepped back, and Ratchet pushed the makeshift trailer forward, towards the transfer point. Optimus and Megatron watched silently, just as they had all the others. But Ravage didn’t stop at the Decepticon lines; he continued on, stalking forward. Ratchet paused again, warily watching the Decepticon advance, and Sam tensed.
Another form flickered out from the shuttle, spiralling up into the sky. Small, fast, it dived downwards, landing upon the flatbed. Armored in yellow and black, the mech could otherwise been Laserbeak’s twin; it perched upon the remains of one arm and spread bladed wings, hissing defiance at the medic. Ravage wasn’t far behind, and Sam watched in confusion as the felinoid Decepticon leaped upwards. It bowed its head, nosing briefly at the remains of the much larger mech. Then it laid down, pressing itself against Soundwave’s twisted frame, head held high, crimson optics turning to fix Bumblebee with a vengeful stare.
Megatron shifted, the tiniest movement as he glanced at the waiting Decepticon porters--and they jerked into action, moving forward to take Soundwave away, pulling the little group back towards the safety of their own line. Sam watched them go, feeling as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet. And suddenly, he thought he understood why Optimus had let him stay.
To him, Soundwave was a monster; one he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forgive. But to Optimus, to Ravage, maybe even to Red … maybe he was something else. Something more complicated. Sam looked at Bumblebee, and for the first time, wondered how many Decepticons his friend had killed--and how many of them had once been friends.
Autobots, Decepticons … in the end, they were still all Cybertronians. That was why Optimus had accepted Megatron’s offer of truce, Sam knew. Even now, after all of this, he was still their Prime too. Sam had just never thought about what that meant. That Decepticons might have … friends. Allies, or brothers in arms, waiting for them to come home.
Maybe ... even monsters had family too.