[FIC] Succession

[heliopauseentertainments]

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationships: Megatron/Ratchet

Characters: Ratchet

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Major Character Death, Mourning/Grieving, Established Relationships, Serious Injuries

Summary: In which, years after a peace treaty, Megatron’s death puts Ratchet in an unexpected situation.

Part of TFMegaRatch's "Endings" prompt

Crossposting: AO3 | Tumblr | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

“How bad is it this time?”

Ratchet didn’t answer.

He knew what Starscream wanted to know, but he didn’t want to say it. Instead he stared forward, his energon-coated hand still on the closed door to the surgical suite behind him. Flatline remained inside with… the patient.

Soundwave stood silently nearby, watching with his endless patience.

Starscream had probably expected the usual answer, that Megatron was severely injured but that he would pull through. He always did.

Always had .

The silence seemed to be clue enough for Starscream to figure it out. His optics went wide, his face visibly struggling with whatever cascade of emotions were rampaging through his spark at the moment.

Ratchet, however, was just numb. His spark seemed as though it had been put on pause. The detached focus of medical training tried to come to the fore to keep him operating, but it only worked so well.

This had not been any ordinary patient.

The inanimate husk of his conjunx was laid supine on the table while Flatline finished with his notes. The shattered spark chamber inside had gone dark shortly after they had begun operating…

…Shortly after Megatron had whispered his wishes against the side of Ratchet’s head.

Megatron had known that he would not be leaving the operating table, not with his spark chamber being held together solely by gumption and Ratchet’s hands.

The hand not on the door clutched a shard of the green crystal that had once housed his lover’s being to his windshield. The high-pitched screech of glass scratching was easy enough to ignore.

Starscream grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Tell me,” he hissed, “is it true?”

Ratchet opened his mouth.

Nothing came out, much to his own surprise.

Starscream shook him.

Finally, sluggishly, his vocalizer cooperated.

“… Yes.”

Returning to himself, Ratchet slapped Starscream’s hands away, leaving smears of Megatron’s fuel in his wake.

 

---

 

Ratchet sat down in Megatron’s throne, his limbs not quite fitting correctly.

Starscream, prone with a broken wing, was splayed out on the ground in front of him. Energon, glowing bright, coated Ratchet’s hands.

His conjunx had been offline for two decacycles. The infighting had begun almost immediately.

The Black Block Consortia had decided to strike their fledgling settlement. As a warning. They had only put down stakes on this uninhabited world a few decades ago… after searching for a place of their own for far longer.

And now Megatron was dead.

Anger had begun to simmer in his chest, bubbling up through the icy numbness and banishing it when he saw Starscream in the throne room fending off the Decepticons who had tried to challenge his seemingly obvious place as next in line.

The anger hadn’t been at Starscream, no, but… a much bigger target.

And he wouldn’t let anyone else take up the chase.

He may have been a medic, a trained healer, but that didn’t erase his combat training as a soldier. When in the field, one had to defend one’s patients, after all. And being a medic, he knew exactly how to make a blow hurt .

“Now, are there any questions?”

There was no answer from the shocked faces that crowded the throne room. Many stared at him. Many stared at Starscream or the others that Starscream already dueled into submission.

Starscream pushed himself up on his elbows, but only scowled at the throne that he had expected would be his.

“No? Good.”

Ratchet paused, letting the reality of the new order sink in. He could hardly believe it himself.

“Today, we’ll clean up and lick our wounds. Tomorrow, we hunt the Black Block Consortia.”

 

---

 

“Blaster, please put the call through,” Optimus said, straightening his posture on reflex.

It had been a long time since they had received a communication from the Decepticons.

Several centuries at least, since they had been banished from Cybertron. The communication lines had remained officially open, in case they wanted to trade or anything really. Reconciliation had been too much to hope for, but a small part of Optimus had always nurtured a hope for even the possibility .

Optimus hadn’t wanted to truly cut ties from his wayward brothers, but it had been for the best.

The frequency bore Megatron’s personal signature. Could this be the call he had been hoping all of these years for? Would they want to open lines of exchange? Or… did he dare even pray…. Would they finally want to come home?

The large screen on Optimus’s wall crackled to life.

A familiar face filled the screen, but not… the one that he had expected.

“Ratchet?”

Ratchet had been sent with Megatron—a political marriage—as part of the peace treaty, just like Barricade had been left with the Autobots—with Prowl—in Iacon’s ruins.

His old friend’s face was dour with new and deeper scratches. His shoulders tensely raised as he sat in… Megatron’s throne. His plating looked more heavily armored—and battered—than Optimus had remembered and the badge on his chest was…. Well, perhaps that was not surprising, given that he had spent hundreds of years among Decepticons. Perhaps he was simply acclimatized to his new home. Even the glass of his windshield had been swapped out with solid plating, which appeared to be long weathered.

“Prime.”

“It’s good to hear from you,” he said, hoping to start this rare conversation off on a positive note. “It’s been a very long time and—”

Ratchet leaned forward in the throne, looking a little like he didn’t quite fit. Megatron was quite a bit larger than Ratchet, after all.

Something green and glassy swung on a chain around Ratchet’s neck, but Optimus couldn’t quite see it in any detail.

“Megatron is dead.”

“What are you talking about?” That just couldn’t true… but why would Ratchet lie? Optimus’s spark sunk in his chest.

“What happened?”

“The Black Block Consortia is also dead.”

“Ratchet, please….”

“I am the Supreme Commander of the Decepticons.”

The call cut abruptly, leaving Optimus with more questions than answers.