Chapter Text
Cybertron was a wreck.
Rodimus could see most of the cityscape from Shockwave’s tower, laid out before him, glistening darkly in the starlight for hundreds of meters in every direction. Here and there were pockets of darkness, giant craters caused by war, by the Decepticon invasion, or by natural disasters occurring in the four million years since the Autobots had left Cybertron. Chunks of Unicron were still plummeting through the thin atmosphere, leaving fiery streaks across the sky over the Autobot’s new encampments.
Occasionally, his optics passed over areas where Shockwave had started to rebuild. Towering construction equipment blocked the streets, left silent as energon supplies had dwindled down to naught, abandoned next to piles of non-functioning drones.
There were dead drones everywhere, troops remaining from Shockwave’s last stand.
There were living ones, too, mindlessly roaming around the old Decepticon’s lair, performing repairs and polishing surfaces. Sometimes they stared at him.
Sometimes he stared back.
He couldn’t tell if they realized their master had been decommissioned. He didn’t know if they’d even care.
He certainly didn’t.
The part of him that admired Shockwave’s contribution to the defense of Cybertron was still drowned out by the part of him that scoffed at Decepticons. It was their fault, after all, that this was the half-dead planet he’d inherited. It was their fault that there were only a few hundred surviving Cybertronians. It was their fault he now sprouted a trailer every time he transformed.
Mostly that was their fault. If he wanted to be more technical, he’d been the one to unlock the Matrix, and that had needed to occur because of Unicron, not because of the Decepticons. But if they hadn’t killed Optimus, then he wouldn’t be standing here. Now.
Rodimus Prime.
It sounded too pretentious for him. Sure, he deserved it, but at the same time it felt wrong. Not like him.
Too much like someone else whose name should end in ‘Prime.’
He kept wondering if this was meant to be his destiny, at all, or if he’d just been the only one handy. He kept wondering if it would pick somebody else, now that all the war-hardy Autobots were coming to gather on Cyberton. He kept wondering if maybe Optimus shouldn‘t have died, and if maybe he wouldn’t be able to live up to that crazy kind of precedent.
Those feelings, more than any others, clued him into the fact that something was wrong.
Before, he’d known exactly what he was doing.
Now, he was second-guessing himself.
He felt uncomfortable in his own body, and uncomfortable on this barely recognizable world, and uncomfortable with the looks his friends were giving him.
He was uncomfortable with being Prime.
However, for right now, he didn’t have to be.
Venting a sigh that was mostly relief, Rodimus signaled his torso panels to open, waiting through the process of metal armor sliding unfamiliarly over inner plating, sending a shiver up his spinal struts. The Matrix nestled within, all too close to his spark chamber, warmed through contact with his engine and remaining more-than-comfortably familiar as he carefully slid his hands inside to grip the edges.
For a moment an echo of memories flickered though his processor, trailing emotions like tendrils over his tense shoulders. Instantly he felt himself relax, letting the feeling blanket him, recalling with unexpected arousal the sounds of soft moans, the touch of cool fingers probing his inner circuitry, the images of sleek, shining metal curves that he could not quite put a face to.
His memories?
Probably not.
Slightly horrified by the idea of where the images might have come from if they weren‘t his, he steeled himself, and pulled the Matrix free.
It glowed, brightly, shining out to him for an instant, glimmering like it held some amusing secret that he wasn’t going to be told. Then, it faded, dimming into darkness like a pleasant dream.
Thank Primus for that.
He’d had strange enough dreams himself the last few nights to be recalling someone else’s while standing here, awake.
“Y’know, its probably not a good idea to be doing that.” A wry voice spoke, behind him.
“Oh yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder, catching some of his panels smoothing back down out of the corner of his optic. Conscious of his open torso, he sent the command to shut that, too.
All better.
Much better, in fact: He was Hot Rod again.
“Yeah.” The voice responded, coming out of an ancient green bot leaning on one of Shockwave’s consoles. “It’s gotta get used to being in you, or some such thing. Trust me, kid, I’ve been around enough Matrix transfers to know.”
Hot Rod managed to grin. “Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me that you’ve been through more than one of them, Kup. But Unicron is gone. Cybertron is ours. And having this thing inside me is very….new. Is there really any reason why I have to always house it?”
“’Course there is!” Kup frowned, standing straight up off the console and waving an arm toward the mass of Cybertron beneath them. “It’s what makes you a Prime!”
He stared at Kup for a moment, feeling like he’d been answered again with ‘you have to do this because it’s how it’s always been done,’ instead of being answered with something that made sense. “We don’t need a Prime. We just need a good leader, and I can do that fine like this.”
Kup stared right back at him, uncomprehending. “No, you can’t.”
“Kup…,” he started, exasperated already.
He was cut off when the old bot put a hand up in the air. “Might as well show you, then, since you’re too young to get it on your own. ‘We don’t need a Prime,’ my aft.” Kup grumbled, cocking his head toward the elevator leading down from Shockwave’s towering dome. “Why do you think we’d have a Matrix if we don’t need a Prime?”
“Probably because there was a giant floating planet-sized Transformer that decided to come and try to eat us,” Hot Rod answered, unimpressed.
“And how do you know there aren’t two giant floating planet-sized Transformers wandering around out there?” Kup countered, narrowing the plating around one optic. “We’ve got to be ready, at all times! We’ve got to have a Matrix, and the Matrix chose you.”
The doors to the elevator closed around the two of them, and Hot Rod felt his gyros steadying him as the floor started to drop. In his hands, the Matrix still felt warm.
He looked down at it.
Then, he looked at Kup. “If another giant planet intent on eating us showed up, I think I’d have enough time to put this thing back in me before it got here.”
“But are you confident that you could use it at a moment’s notice?” Kup questioned, crossing his arms. “Are you confident that you’d still have a connection with it, after a decacycle goes by? A stellar cycle? A vorn? Do you really want to take that chance?”
Hot Rod looked up as the doors opened, and stepped out into the lobby of the makeshift Autobot Headquarters. There wasn’t an opportunity to answer Kup, even if he’d wanted to try answering a question that he couldn’t think of a snappy comeback to.
Down here, things were too bustling.
Arcee was the first one to catch his optics as he exited the elevator, tossing him the kind of brief knowing smile that still made him melt. She’d been working with Springer, taking head-counts and scouting out living quarters to house the multitude of warriors that were suddenly filling up the streets. She’d even gotten the Protectobots a makeshift clinic in the building next door, where they were operating as best they could after Ratchet’s untimely demise. It had helped.
It had helped a lot.
Ultra Magnus had taken the most burdens from him, though, as the huge mech was already familiar enough with command to organize everyone into task groups that could begin occupying Cybertron immediately. Hot Rod could see him in the corner, pointing as he gave directions to Jazz and his team. A larger group surrounded them, filled with many Autobots that Hot Rod recognized and some that he did not. Perceptor was handing out equipment nearby, small, quickly-rigged devices to help the Autobots navigate the maze-like streets to find any survivors or pick up energon. Springer was still tallying new arrivals. Since the meeting that morning, they’d already gotten so much work done.
All of them were looking towards him, now.
He noticed Arcee’s smile fade.
“Is…everything alright, Hot Rod?” she asked, softly.
She still called him Hot Rod.
That felt good.
“Of course it is. I came back down here to help out.”
“But the Matrix…” Arcee began, and Kup chuckled behind him.
“See,” the old mech said, “Everyone knows we’ve got to have a Matrix.”
“I still have the Matrix.” Hot Rod grumbled, holding it up. “It’s right here.”
“But doesn’t it have to stay inside of you?” Arcee asked, glancing sideways towards Springer as if to confirm her theory.
“For protection,” Springer nodded, as if it were an answer that was obvious.
“Oh, come on. I can protect it perfectly fine when I’m holding onto it. I’ve driven Daniel around hundreds of times, and he’s significantly more fragile than this.”
Springer didn’t seem to have a reply to that, but Ultra Magnus did.
“Hot Rod,” he spoke, quietly, calmly, and in that way that could command the attention of the entire room, if the entire room weren‘t suddenly busy minding their own business. “It is what Optimus would do.”
Ultra Magnus had called him Hot Rod, too.
He’d also made an infuriating point, and one that Hot Rod couldn’t easily counter. He knew--he knew that just because Optimus had done things one way didn’t make that way right. He knew that.
He also knew that specifically ignoring the way Optimus had done things would be betraying everything the old Autobot leader had done, and everything he’d sacrificed to end the war. Optimus probably had some reason for keeping the Matrix inside his own shell.
Ultra Magnus was trying to remind him of that.
“Technically, Optimus gave this to you,” Hot Rod replied, venting his frustrations in a sigh but finally relenting, crossing toward Ultra Magnus. “It’s never fit me quite right.”
“It needs time to adjust, same as you,” the large hauler said, glancing around the room as if willing the other Autobots to get back to work. Already, they were doing so, slowly, still glancing at Hot Rod and the Matrix from time to time. “Optimus said the same thing that you’re saying now, once.” Handing a data-pad to Jazz, Ultra Magnus made room against the wall for Hot Rod to join him.
“He sure did,” Jazz added with the slightest grin. “And you saw the kind of leader that he made. Cheer up, kid. The war is over. We’ve got a future to look forward to, again. Knowing that the Matrix chose a good successor, who can lead us into peace?” The small mech tapped his data-pad, and then hung it in a slot on his side. “That’s a hope most of us didn’t think we’d see. You’ll be fine.” He blinked out one optic, and turned to go. “I guarantee it.”
Hot Rod watched him leaving, trying to ignore the new throngs of bots that moved up in line to take his place.
“I wish I could be that optimistic.” He frowned, looking back down at the Matrix.
“I recall you being overly optimistic, not too long ago,” Ultra Magnus said, simply, pulling out a new data-pad to take care of the next mech in line.
“No, I was overly confident. There’s a difference.” Turning away from the crowds, Hot Rod let his torso plates slide open once more, grudgingly relenting to the fact that everyone seemed to feel strongly about this. He couldn’t really argue with hope…especially not with Jazz.
“Kup is still right, though.” Ultra Magnus frowned, serious as always, mostly keeping Hot Rod‘s privacy in the corner through his sheer bulk. “This isn’t actually about what is good for you, or what you want. It is about what’s good for Cybertron, and what Cybertron wants.”
“I know.” Hot Rod, unwillingly becoming Rodimus again, sighed. “I know.” The Matrix fit snugly back within him, both aching and satisfying at once. The ghostly trails washed over his vision once more, lighting Ultra Magnus with a faint haze of intoxicating crimson and the scent of clean lubricant. It was altogether much too painfully alluring, and Rodimus quickly looked away. “I just can’t even begin to explain what it is doing to me.”
He focused, instead, on Kup heading toward him.
The haze blessedly vanished.
“You’re worried that it’s changing you,” Ultra Magnus guessed, handing out another data pad and shuffling the next set of bots toward their new assignments.
“Yeah,” Rodimus nodded, watching Kup approach, stopping here and there to talk with some unfamiliar face in the crowd. Kup seemed to know everybody. “That, and more. I had this…dream. Last night.” And the night before. And the night before that.
“Do I want to know about this?” the blue and white mech asked, not even pausing in his routine.
“No, probably not, but I won’t go into details.” Rodimus felt bigger already, even if he was still dwarfed by Ultra Magnus. Carefully, he let his chest-plates close, and finally turned back around. Kup had arrived.
“Why not?” The old mech grinned. “It’d probably do that workaholic good to hear some tips on how to find a good position.”
Unable to imagine Ultra Magnus in any ‘good positions,’ Rodimus finally cracked a grin. “He probably thinks the best position is the high ground, Kup. We shouldn’t waste his time.”
“That is the best position,” Ultra Magnus said, his face unchanging.
This time, Rodimus tried not to laugh.
However, when he looked back to Kup, he realized the old mech was acting strangely serious. “If you’re already having dreams, kid, we need to get you started on the rituals before we are too late.”
Of all the things Kup could have said, this was probably the least expected. “I don’t think we can really afford to take time out of searching for bodies and fixing half-dead people to do any kind of rituals, Kup,” Rodimus said, feeling that it was something Optimus would have agreed with. “There’s too much to do right now.”
Ultra Magnus was still processing mechs, one at a time, handing out duty after duty to the able-bodied and those who could transform. He seemed completely absorbed in his work, in that way that meant he was paying absolute attention to everything Kup said.
“This ritual isn’t the kind that is for show, kid,” Kup grumbled, shaking his head. “This is one of those things that needs to be done, if the Matrix is going to work right.”
“Why didn’t this come up before?” Rodimus asked, looking out across the crowd to catch Perceptor’s and Arcee’s optics, cocking his head to indicate he wanted to talk to them. Whatever ritual this was, it would be best to get it over with…and it was about time for a mid-day meeting, anyway. “How come no one else has talked about it?”
“Because there aren’t too many around here who have participated in a Matrix passing,” Kup replied, simply, his own optics falling on Arcee and Perceptor as they finished the conversations they were in and started to head over. “You’ll probably want to grab a few more folk for this: they ought to hear about it, too.”
“These were probably things we should have heard about before we were all in the middle of fixing a planet, Kup,” Rodimus sighed, even if he knew there wasn’t going to ever be a good time to approach him about this sort of thing. Probably ever again.
“Well how was I to know you’d start having the dreams right away! Tell me you didn’t wait more than a night…”
He considered this, and briefly counted. “Three nights. It’s been three nights, so far.”
It wasn’t easy to understand what came out of Kup’s vocalizer, then, but he caught enough to know that it was swearing.
Well, then. This was more serious than he had thought.
Glancing around the room, he looked for anyone else he trusted that was present. Blurr. Wheelie. Springer, too, but he was already coming with Arcee.
Adding that to Ultra Magnus, there were seven present. It would have to do.
“You’ve missed a night, then. The other two were meant to be your warning.” Kup finally managed, and gestured toward a room off of the lobby. “But that means you’ve got six still, which I guess is not so bad. Just don’t take that Matrix out again, and be ready. Just…be ready.”
“Be ready for what, old-timer?” Rodimus asked, a hint of worry starting to creep into his darkest thoughts.
Those dreams hadn’t been for the pure at spark.
“Be ready to give up yourself, your body, and your friends, for Cyberton.” Kup answered, cryptic and much too serious.
“Because it’s what Optimus would do?”
Kup laughed, and he could sense Ultra Magnus shifting, uneasily, still listening with his back turned.
“Optimus already did it, kid.”
And Rodimus had seen what Optimus had become.
“Just one final question, then, Kup.”
“Go for it.”
“Is it too late to give this thing to Ultra Magnus?”
He’d probably deserved being hit for that remark, he decided.
It was a good thing that he’d already thought to duck.