Between Brothers

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. I should think that rather obvious with my college-induced poverty and all.

Warnings: Spoilers

AN: Some liberal amounts of artistic license were used here, and I'm very vague with canon in a lot of parts.

His office is his only true refugee. No one dares enter save himself, and even the humans are tentative when approaching his door. A part of Optimus is saddened by this, but another part is relieved. It's the only place he can ever have time to himself. Time to relax. Time to reflect. Time to mourn.

His hand rests over his chassis as it has for the last several hours, and his optics are distant. Not even seeing the work strewn across his massive desk. He's too focused inward. Too focused on the spark that pulses inside his chest. Reaching. Searching.

"Where are you, Megatron?" he murmurs once again.

But there's no one there to answer.


The twins are fighting again. It really shouldn't surprise him. That's what the twins do. They argue and yell and threaten each other most days. Multiple times a day. Multiple times an hour. Every hour. Possibly the entire hour.

Bee's on the proverbial edge. Is at his wit's end as Mudflap jabs a finger in Skids' face and gets a shove for his efforts. But it isn't until Mudflap responds with a punch back and Skids makes a lunge that sends Sam running that Bee's finally had it.

He catches them both easily, one in each hand. Balancing and weighing and holding tight as they scramble to get free. But he holds them tighter still the more they struggle. Tighter and tighter until his hands strain from the effort.

Then, he bashes them together.

He'll be punished later; he knows he will. But it's worth it as he drops them with twin thuds. They groan together and in perfect time.

Bee just chuckles as he transforms and opens his doors. Sam and Mikaela both laugh as they jump inside and ride towards the sunset.


"Hey," Graham says softly. Almost solemnly. Like he's scared to raise his voice above a certain level.

But that's silly really. Graham's one of the bravest humans he knows. Among the bravest period. But something about Sideswipe's mood, something about the way he's here in the dark, sets Graham on edge. Nonetheless, he walks over and sits down next to the mech's right hand. Like he's never seen it morph into a sword and cut a 'Con clean through.

Sideswipe just gives a nod as he watches Graham out of the corner of his optic, and there's silence between them for a moment. Silence that's so loud without any words being said. Silence that screams in the void to Sides' left. The empty space that should be filled but isn't.

"What are you doing out here?"

The question surprises him enough that Sideswipe stiffens, but he relaxes just as quickly and lets out something resembling a sigh. He glances at his human friend before turning back to look at the sky again.

"I'm waiting."


There's nothing like sharing a cold beer on a hot day. And even better than that's a cold beer on a hot day while their wives gossip at the picnic table behind them and their kids run through the water from the hose. Hide is parked beneath a shady tree just to his left, but Will's been around him long enough to recognize easy posture and signs of recharge.

It's too hot to do anything but relax anyway. They've all earned it. They all need it.

His lawn chair creaks beneath him as he shifts his weight to prop up his feet on Hide's bummer, but the Autobot barely even stirs. Will hears Annabelle let out an excited shriek in the background as Fred catches her with a water balloon, and Sarah gives a laugh as their daughter retaliates in full force. Will finishes his beer with a grin that only widens as Bobby reaches into the cooler and hands him another one. They glance at each other for a second before looking back to their families.

Life is good.


Death comes as a surprise. He's fighting. He's winning. And then, he's at his end.

He onlines his optics with a shudder and rockets to his feet before his processor can even catch up. He's surrounded on all sides, and he's already starting to react. To lash out. To let loose a preemptive strike.

But he falters as a voice reaches him. A voice from beyond the other side that reaches straight through to his spark in the cleanest and truest manner.

"Prima," the Fallen murmurs before he can stop himself, and he begins to jerk back.

But the hand that finds his shoulder is firm. Firm and gentle. So soft. So familiar. And the bot who looks at him is so forgiving.

"Welcome homeā€¦ Brother."

Ever Hopeful,