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Ratchet cursed Optimus every single day. Every hour, at times. In the end, he always knew that Cybertron would come before him in the Prime’s spark. It had been between them from the beginning of their romance, a wall between their sparks, what stopped them from tying the knot, so to speak. A millenia of yearning to merge had torn down Ratchet’s security and trust in what Optimus promised was the truest of loves. The damned Prime never let him in, never claimed him as his conjunx. He could never belong to Ratchet, and because of that, he deemed it unfair to permanently intertwine their matter and energies. He left Ratchet doubting, hanging, abandoned.
It was terribly conflicting to miss the war. Ratchet had what he had wanted for far too much of his lifetime- a living, breathing Cybertron, an end to the war, and Megatron’s influence. But the intimacy he and Optimus had shared on tired nights, under the stars, in moments of peace. Leaning on one another, making empty promises, loving each other with death and destruction towering over them from every angle, one wrong move away from losing everything. Ratchet wanted to be held again, to touch Optimus’ face, watch the stars with him, but as Optimus had always predicted, Cybertron took him in the end. Optimus had broken his spark like he had promised to in the beginning. Ratchet hated himself for falling in love with a Prime in the first place. For loving that Optimus loved him back.
He was abandoned with one last piece of Optimus. Ratchet had only discovered his condition hours before he was called to repair Ultra Magnus, the day that Optimus swan dove into the Well of Allsparks, and crushed what was meant to be a blessed future. He navigated his gestation period alone, gave birth alone, held their sparkling alone. Having never merged, the odds of Optimus sparking him had been astronomically low, and here he was with another one of the Prime’s miracles.
Spanner Pax was all Ratchet had left, and damn Optimus to the pits for making him care for their bitlet by himself. After a nightly fight to get their creation to sleep, Ratchet would collapse and weep for everything they could have had. He almost could not stand to see Spanner’s optics- on a hard day, all he saw was the eyes of the partner that had left them behind. On those choked up, resentful days, when they tugged on his leg and implored him to play, he refused. He could not bring himself to play games, or pretend, or try to make them laugh. The worst of it was wishing Spanner had been born at a time with resources and wanting families that would take them in, and relieve Ratchet of the grief. That was always followed by soul crushing guilt that he could ever wish to be rid of what he had created. He truly loved Spanner, even if they were deprived of a supporting environment, and the resources Cybertron had yet to rebuild.
He did what he could to keep Spanner connected with their sire. He talked them to recharge every night with stories and pictures, and the effect was powerful. Many a late night, he would hear the sneaky pitter patter in Spanner’s room, and he would catch them hoarding pictures under their covers, staring at their late sire for hours if left uncaught.
When Spanner was old enough to speak, they would sit outside and work with the limited vocabulary they possessed at their early developmental stage. Much of it was toddler babble. Every word, syllable and sound was said to the stars. Talking to sire, Spanner called it. Ratchet had never taught them that, and had no clue where they had adopted it from, but he stood and listened when he could. Often, his sparkling would shoo him away for privacy. Ratchet could not deprive his little bitlet of this connection with their sire, even if they had made it up. It healed and hurt him at the same time.
The tantrums started out of nowhere. Wailing and screeching had Ratchet sprinting outside. He scooped Spanner off of the ground, scanning them, trying to find what was wrong while the sparkling thrashed and sobbed.
“Tell me what happened,” he begged, trapping the squirming sparkling against his chest. “Spanner, what’s wrong? Please, I’m here, Carrier’s here.”
It was difficult to understand what Spanner was blubbering through the tears. A stubby servo pointed up at the sky, and Optimus’ optics were full of tears, searching the stars with desperation. It broke something in Ratchet when he finally caught what Spanner was telling him. “Can’t see Sire ‘em-nymore.” Ratchet followed their gaze. No clouds were obscuring the view of the stars, he had no idea what the problem was.
“Sweetspark, he is still up there, I promise. He will always be there.”
“NO, NO-NO-NO! No Sire ‘em-nymore!” Spanner sobbed. They finally quit struggling and nestled into their carrier’s chest, shaking with the violent weeping. “Why? WHY?”
Ratchet took them inside, whispering to them, pressing kisses to their little helm. “Sire is there. He will always be there. Optimus loves you very much.” He promised over and over. You must need feeding. There was no way he was going to get a bottle or a sippy cup in Spanner, they were too choked up to settle down and fuel. They were in the transition stage to low-grade formula energon; in infancy, sparklings fed directly off of parental energies, through spark feeding. The process was similar to a merge between partners, except the sparkling was absorbing converted nutrients and resources, instead of exchanging thoughts, emotions, and triggering of biological protocols that typically involved reproduction.
He opened his sparkchamber, bathing Spanner in the cyan glow of his heart. He carefully nudged Spanner’s chestplates open- sparklings developed the ability to utilize their T-cogs farther down the road, and it happened in stages- and held them close. Ratchet could feel hesitation and rebellion, the toddler ferocity to follow their own agenda, but hunger and the need to connect drew Spanner against his chest. Tendrils of light intertwined with each other, glowing orbs drifting pointedly from Ratchet’s end towards Spanner’s pounding spark. Their EM fields pulsed, expanding, drifting free in the space. Spanner’s sought out Ratchet’s comfort, and clumsily tangled, as if trying to be absorbed. Ratchet focused on feeling their systems cool down, the overdrive lowering, the little beating spark sucking in the fresh sparkmatter to put the overworking internal functions to rest. The crying grew quieter and quieter, until Spanner slumped against Ratchet, full and riding out the aftermath of a meltdown. Their optics had a healthy brightness to them despite looking exhausted.
“No Sire.” They mumbled. “No Sire.”
No Sire indeed. Ratchet silently agreed. He could use a good therapeutic tantrum as well. Since Spanner had their downward crash, it would be a good time to settle them into their bed. But the moment Ratchet made it to the hall, the thrashing and screaming switched back on. No words, only a toddler expressing their pent up frustrations in the only way they knew how. Entering the berthroom would fuel the flame, they would fight going down, knowing their carrier’s intent, and once they were worked up, there was no power down happening.
Ratchet paced the main hangar, touring through the medbay, dimming the lights everywhere as he went. Spanner kicked and screamed. It was an effort to keep from dropping them. “Shh, Spanner, please,” he murmured, trying to keep his frustration out of his voice. He hummed as they walked laps, up and down the hall, keeping up the movement. When it became too much, he would set Spanner down to take a moment to breathe and rub his face, but his sparkling would just cling to his legs and jump up and down, screeching to be held again, even though they would thrash in his arms. “Please, enough,” Ratchet begged. “I know you are tired, please take a break.”
Hours of this had Spanner hoarse and shaking with exhaustion. They were powered down like a switch had been flipped, in a twitchy, tense recharge. Ratchet laid them down, tucked them in, and threw himself into his own berth, shouting into his pillow and then throwing it at the wall. “Damn you Optimus, and what you have put me through, and the life you left for me,” he furiously cursed at what had been the Prime’s side of the berth. “I loathe you and what you called selflessness. Really, it was your easy way out, so I could clean up all of your messes. And now Spanner thinks you have abandoned them too. Well fragging done, Prime.”
Weeks of sleep deprivation and being screamed at every night had taken the life out of him. It was searching the stars and being unable to see their sire, for some reason, that set Spanner off on their nightly torture session. Ratchet tried to ward it off by not letting them outside in the first place, but it had the same result. The routine was draining both of them.
Ratchet tucked them in and dragged himself out to the medbay after a significant battle. This one had brought them both to tears. He sank down onto a crate, helm in his hands, hot, angry, exhausted coolant escaping from behind them. They could not go on like this, but he was lost on what to do. Out of ideas, out of willpower, out of energy to give. All that was left was weeping and cursing.
When there was a ground shaking crash outside, he assumed he had hallucinated it. His exhaustion had taken his reaction time and reflexes right out of him, and when the thunder of sprinting footsteps and the coarse shrieks of an engine on the verge of collapse were closing in on him, he had barely raised his helm.
Servos were on him, his pedes off the ground, dents in his armor from the impact. He managed a shout of surprise, struggling, trying to push off from the heavy frame that he was suddenly clutched against.
“Ratchet.”
The medic froze, processor catching up with him, recognizing the color scheme and build and voice. “Optimus,” he gaped. “Optimus?!”
The Prime was tremoring, armor rattling, vents puffing out frigid air and spitting out frost. His extremities were marred by ice crystals, his windshields frozen over in swirling winter patterns. One of his jet wings was snapped in half. Tears were frozen in place on his cheeks, icicles off of his chin. His optics were dim enough he could be dead. His deathly cold servos were clutching at Ratchet, fingertips pressing into the armor of his chassis, searching for the seams of his chestplates. “Need… need… Ratchet, please, I need-” his vocalizer spat out static, managing a word or two at a time. “Ripped apart, between- between- Allspark, dead- help-!”
“You flew here? From Cybertron?!” Ratchet exclaimed. Was this happening, was Optimus actually here? Was the old medic finally losing his processor?
A cry of shock was stolen out of him when Optimus found the seams to his sparkchamber and forced them open, denting the armor. Frost and crystals went flying when the Prime bared his own sparkchamber, and Ratchet’s alarm hit its peak when he saw how faded it had become, a dull gray poisoning what was meant to be a bright blue.
“Ratchet…” Optimus gritted out, optics flickering.
It was Ratchet that initiated the bond, pressing closer, ceasing the fight to gain footing and clinging to the Prime’s heavy build. When their matter touched, both of them shrieked in pain. Optimus was in agony, and Ratchet cowered against him having felt it within his own chest. It was being ripped between two worlds, not meant to be alive, but unable to make it to death. The Allspark tethering him to the living while his frame and mind had passed. Ratchet could feel that tether pulling him back, bringing him to life piece by piece, tormenting him by stringing him through his death in reverse. But underneath the pain, Optimus was there, driven by blind desperation. The mantra in his mind and spark was overwhelming the both of them, drowning out their thoughts- find Ratchet find Ratchet find Ratchet find Ratchet need Ratchet need Ratchet need Ratchet need-
It was this lifeline hanging in front of Optimus that he was scrabbling for, nothing else mattering, more and more pain surrounding him, and the only way out was inside Ratchet’s sparkchamber.
I’m here, Ratchet promised. His field and matter circled them, encasing them, chasing away the shadows of what was left of death. It felt like Optimus’ spark was clenching his, tendrils and beams of light gripping him as if they could be torn apart.
With a staticky groan, the Prime crumbled, arms falling to his sides. Ratchet hefted him towards the medical berth and let him crash down onto it, melting ice leaving puddles along the way. His energon levels were fatally low, his internal systems frozen. Ratchet worked fast to infuse him with energon, hooking him up wherever he could, and overriding defrost protocol to use his own emergency equipment to expedite the process.
“The Allspark, when you put it into the Matrix, did not let you fully pass.” He pondered aloud as he worked. He manually opened Optimus’ vents to let warm air in, and pressed gauze into places susceptible to rust. He used a heat gun on his digits, audials, and pedes. “It held on while, it… regenerated you?”
Optimus was struggling to keep his optics open. “‘Mn not meant to be living,” he hissed through a creak voicebox. “‘Mn sorry. Forced you…” The fresh bond pulsed, their energies still exploring each other. “-hurt you.”
“No, Optimus, you came back to me, you…” Ratchet let his voicebox reset after choking up. “You came back to life, and the first thing you did was bond to me.” He smiled through the stress lines weighing his face down. As much of a shock this was, there was a new rush of pride and affection breathing into their connection. Optimus had come out of his partial rest confused, panicking, and his instinct was to seek out his medic and connect with him, to find security in him. “You came back to me.” Ratchet said again. The dents and paint peelings on his armor meant nothing.
“Love-kghrrrr- you.”
“Rest. Your systems are recovering. You will be alright.”
“Please-... Do not…” Optimus’ features sharpened as he fought with his voice to cooperate. “Leave.”
“I won’t.” Ratchet bent and pressed a kiss to his crest. “I love you.”
With Optimus in a heavy powerdown, recovering, Ratchet was left with his hands empty and his spark pounding. It was like a fever dream. The sire to his sparkling was there, they were bonded, Optimus had flown from the Well of Allsparks all the way to Earth and had nearly offlined a second time doing so.
The Prime’s functions were rapidly defrosting, fuel making its way through lines and breathing life back into him. His engines had cooled, no longer sputtering.
After dragging a cot over to line up beside the medical slab, extending it,Ratchet retreated down the hall to bring Spanner to the medbay. They stirred fitfully in his arms, whining as he got them comfortable against his chest. “Your Sire came home to us, Little One,” he whispered, kissing their helm. The cot was not nearly as comfortable as his berth, but he needed to be close to his mate. He settled tucked against him, Spanner hugged to his chest. They were in the early hours of the morning, it would not be long until the sun crept out and chased off the cozy dark. But they were all resting together for the first time. Ratchet could not care less about how limited it was, what mattered to him is that they could have this.
The baritone hum of Optimus’ engine was a familiar song that Ratchet missed waking up to. It was a safe, kind sound. Ratchet spent many nights and mornings burying his face into the source of the song, revelling in the way it swept away his hurts and stresses for only a moment. For only a moment, he could just be beside Optimus, at peace.
Without truly waking or opening his optics, Ratchet rolled over and tucked against sturdy armor. There was shifting, he had to lift his helm for a moment, and then an arm was around him and his helm was against a shoulder pauldron. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted. The warmth, the powerful frame holding him close. His muscle memory brought his hand to rest directly on Optimus’ windshield, not having to look.
What pulled his processor out of the dozy half sleep was low whispering, a voice like rolling thunder, riding the peaceful air of a desert morning, before the heat of the day set in. Gentle, sweet murmurs that always tugged at Ratchet’s strings, always melting his resolve. When Optimus used that soft voice, his knees would grow weak. It was always for him, when they were tucked away, having a sparse moment of privacy. It came with kisses, embraces, and affirmations.
Ratchet opened his optics, blinking the drowsiness away.
Spanner was lying on Optimus’ chest, chin on one arm, staring at their sire with round, curious optics. They reached for his face, and he lifted his helm to let them touch. They patted his audial fins, and then their own. Optimus smiled. “Yes, just like mine.” He murmured. His optics were next, Spanner scooted up and planted their stubby hands on his face and pressed their forehelms together, optics inches from his. “Yes, your optics too .” The sire used the servo that was not holding Ratchet to cradle Spanner’s helm, only using a couple digits, as his massive hand could envelop them. He shifted to press a kiss to their face. “And your Carrier’s chevron.”
Ratchet’s spark melted. He propped one elbow up and leaned over to kiss Spanner’s helm, and then Optimus’.
“Ratchet,” Optimus breathed. “Ratchet.” The bond gushed, the rivers that fed a sea overflowing and flooding with more adoration than his chest could hold. He seemed to struggle with what he ought to say.
“I know.” His mate said softly. “What do you think of your little bitlet?”
“Primus, look at what you have created. They are beautiful. Only my Old Friend could have made such a perfect little being.” And you did it alone. Recognition and sympathy in the bond told Ratchet how heard and acknowledged he was, without him having to curse Optimus out for abandoning him. Optimus knew.
“Spanner Pax.” Ratchet told him.
“Hello, Spanner,” the Prime rumbled. “You have much of your carrier in you.”
Spanner did have many physical characteristics that resembled their carrier. Ratchet had never put too much thought into it, he had been so caught up on how his sparkling looked like Optimus, and what that did to his spark.
“They spoke to you. Every night.” Ratchet sought to connect them more, to promise Optimus that his sparkling knew of him. “Under the stars. Spanner was always looking for you.”
“I am here now. You will never have to look for me again. I am right here.”
Tears snuck into Ratchet’s optics, and he fully rolled over, propping himself up on Optimus’ chest beside their sparkling. Optimus met him for a kiss as he leaned down. Spanner watched, blinking, processing what they were seeing. They had never seen their sire and carrier together. It was a new dynamic and atmosphere to soak in.
The soft, happy love was calling them. Spanner clambered over and smooshed their mouth against Ratchet’s face for a big toddler kiss. Their sire and carrier shared a smile and covered their cheeks with pecks from both sides.
“I am here now.”