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The Error of Your Ways	By : Chaosdreamer Category: Transformers > Transformers: Animated > Slash - M/M Views: 3081 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Transformers and all recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I am making no profit writing these stories.

Chapter List
- 1-Title: The Error of Your Ways
- 1
Title: The Error of Your Ways
Author: dreamerchaos
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are owned by Hasbro. I'm only playing with them.
Universe: Transformers Animated
Pairing and Rating: Mature. Two of these drabbles will be MegatronxOptimus Prime. The last drabble will allude to Shockwave/Optimus Prime.
Summary: Following the episode ‘Human Error’. I’ve been needing to write an response to nova_myth, as a thank you for finding one of my entries on my own livejournal since I’m silly and still can’t learn to organize my stupid tags! And also to murr-miay on deviantart, who always has a nice word to say for my TFA fics, especially my MegOp pieces.

MegatronxOptimus Prime
First Contact

Much has changed since he was jettisoned through the Space Bridge and into the dark, coldest bowels of space.

He had noticed orns before flying into range of the system’s third planet that those miserable Earth-bound Autobots’ transmissions have suddenly fallen dead silent. Instead of pondering this irregularity, the Decepticon warlord seized his opportunity.

Fate has been kind. First when he was floating in deep space with Starscream’s cursing, whining head as company.

And then Omega Supreme appeared above them like an avenging god from heathen fables.

All it takes is a bit of cunning and honeyed lies to lure Omega Supreme to ‘capture’ the silver tyrant, Megatron supplicating the guardian to return his prisoner to Cybertron for a fair trial.

The fool’s cerebral circuits pondered the request, until the digitized code of conduct for prisoners of war overruled the massive mech’s small doubts, instinctual mistrust overlooked by his programming.

Megatron’s long curve denta flash with a grin, savoring the memory of the guardian’s folly. He would never forget the agonized roar of the guardian when Megatron ¯ and that deceitful, backstabbing Starscream ¯ downloaded a virus that crippled Omega Supreme’s firewalls, leaving him no more than a puppet bound by its strings to follow the Decepticon Lord’s whims.

Megatron’s first act of business as proprietor of his newest vessel and warrior was to toss Starscream’s screeching, severed head into the abyss of space and order Omega Supreme to aim his cannon and fire until not a scrap or molecule remained of the traitorous worm.

Megatron commands the guardian to turn about and head towards the Sol System. Not only must he collect his wayward soldiers, but his circuit boards churn with the potent desire for revenge, payment for his imprisonment and subsequent banishment into space after only a brief period of solar rotations of freedom.

He had many plans for those repairbots. Soon…

Very soon.

Few things have ever left him taken aback.

One of the few moments, this very newest occurrence, is when Omega Supreme drops through the Earth’s atmosphere, the ship swooping to a low hover above the blackened, battle torn city. The few skyscrapers have all of their windows missing, small fires litter various office floors, setting the nighttime sky alight with an eerie umber and bronze glow.

Not the sort of welcome or assembly he had foreseen. But he is nowhere near disappointed.

He would merely need to search out his Decepticon brethren, and then onward into the city for those young, daring Autobots who insisted upon interfering with his designs to return to and dominate Cybertron once more.

He is standing amidst a city block, charred skeletons of motorized vehicles tossed about like toys, when he senses danger. Megatron pauses for a split second before he drops onto one knee, avoiding the sharp spinning blade and handle of the thrown battle axe.

The tyrant grins and spins around, shoving his shoulder into the soft abdominal plates when the smaller fire truck dashes forward to try and take him out from behind.

A gusty ‘whoof’ of atmosphere is extinguished from the Prime’s chassis as he is thrown head over pedes of the Decepticon’s shoulders.

To his surprise, yet again, a conundrum lays in front of him. The Prime hits the pavement but is quick to flip over onto his hands and knees, snarling at the Decepticon like a wild thing.

Only then does the tyrant notice the slanted, ravenous ruby optics that bore into his. The wheezing of the fire truck’s vents and the sudden stumble forward onto his elbows further confirms the Decepticon’s theory of a desperate attack, the smaller Prime clearly starved from lack of fuel.

“You certainly are an unusual sight.” Megatron smiles darkly.

The Prime keens, valiantly pushing up onto his hands and knees once more. A long tremble wracks his taut frame, Optimus shudders with grit effort to try and remain upright.

Megatron admires his fortitude. Though weakened, the Prime persists in trying to regain his pedes and stand tall and proud before the larger Decepticon.

He considers whether to simply offline this creature that has frequently frustrated him and his efforts to regain the AllSpark.

But a small quicksilver of hesitation, nursed by his innate curiosity at this new quandary, prevents him from dealing the fatal blow.

Rather, the Decepticon curls his sharp talons into the thin seams of his right wrist. With a cruel tug and a low hiss of annoyance, he rips the plates apart to bare the inner circuitry.

The Prime’s head bobs up abruptly when his olfactory sensors note the spice of warm energon, the rich lilac fluid pulsing from the Decepticon’s self-inflicted wound.

“Come here, then.” Megatron coaxes, fist squeezed, the tension in his forearm drags more beads of energon to the surface of his torn plates.

Optimus Prime immediately dares to crawl closer, bent over the offered wrist. A greedy whimper escapes as his lips curl around the open wound, the mech’s clenched, wary optics relax as the steady suction drags the fluid across his glossa and down into his aching, starved fuel tank.

Megatron snarls in warning when the Prime’s fangs tangle within the tight crevices of bare, taut wires, but to his pleasure the fire truck heeds his growl without contest or a snap of denta. The Prime keens again when the Decepticon wraps his palm and the curl of his long fingers around the back of the smaller mech’s helm, rewarding the mech for his good behavior.

“Well…this planet is just full of surprises.” Megatron tugs once on Optimus’ helm, and reluctantly the Prime rears back, a bright streak of lilac down his chin, a warm mist of atmosphere dewing swollen lips. The Decepticon bends forward, a low growl of a sated purr joined with the soft whine of the Prime when Megatron drags his sharp denta down the tilted, submissive line of the mech’s throat, “One wonders what you and your little friends have gotten yourselves into while I was away from this insufferable mud ball world.”

MegatronxOptimus Prime
Your Humble Servant

“The new Magnus humbles me with his presence.” A pair of ruby optics glares from the oily depths of the prisoner’s containment unit. Megatron disdainfully tearing apart and crushing the stasis cuffs beneath one pede a fortnight ago, and not one of the guards is brave or foolish enough to dare the Decepticon to submit to another pair slapped upon his wrists.

Optimus’ optics squint, his bright blue optics pained by the proximal glare of the energon bars, his flight-ready winged mods disengaged and left inside his private quarters, much to Sentinel Prime’s great annoyance.

“Are you really so surprised that I am here?” Optimus asks.

Megatron sneers, “You will not be the first, or the last, to gloat over this minor victory.”

Optimus chuffs with skewed laughter, “Victory?” He whispers, “Is that what this is?”

“Spare me your theatrics. It bores me, especially from the babe lips of one who has barely outgrown his protoform.”

Optimus dares a step closer to the energon bars. He swallows his dread when Megatron growls in ill warning.

The young Autobot slides his hand scant inches up and down the hot, humming surface of the containment bars, optics lost in contemplation. “I never foresaw the likelihood of this…Cybertron…she is a stranger to me. The citizens forget our war, the sacrifices of both Decepticon and Autobot. They continue to wear blinders over their optics. I suppose if they cannot see it, then it is of no consequence.”

“You’ll survive the disappointment.”

Optimus’ chin lowers as he stares at the cold iron floor between his pedes. “Will I?” He wonders out loud.

Megatron’s slanted eyes flicker to the side, locked onto the small blaster on Optimus’ left hip.

“Magnus?” The guard beseeches his superior to step back away from the bars.

Optimus shudders once, violently. He raises his helm, and turns in the confused, worried guard’s direction.

A regretful smile, “Sequence Seven Two Four Eight Override,” The Magnus’ encrypted code and voice recognition stirs an affirmative from the security system. The entire ward’s prison cell doors switch offline in unison.

“SIR?!!” The guard wails in horror.

Megatron strikes, coiled anticipation snaps his hand forward around the Magnus’ weapon. He jerks the smaller Autobot against his chassis as a shield, whipping the blaster around and aims at the guard’s stunned facial plating.

Optimus flinches when Megatron pulls the trigger, optics turned away when the shell splits open the guard’s helm like a small melon, wet clusters of circuits and thick clotted blue energon spray the walls and ceiling.

He cries out sharply in pain when the Decepticon warlord squeezes his other hand around Optimus’ throat, “What game do you dare to play with me?” Megatron demands, giving the smaller mech a cruel shake, “You dare to mock me with this treachery. I am not easily stirred by false premises.”

“GGgg--” Optimus scratches at the thick wrist, “aaadddaappptt…” He coughs wetly around the tight vise.

Megatron slams the Magnus against the opposite wall, growling when the mech refuses to raise his face and look him in the optic, “One chance.” He relaxes his grip, “Make your words count.”

Optimus slumps against the wall, fingers curled around the soft, dented plates of his throat, “You…” he wheezes, regaining his composure, “You…heard rumors about t-the incident with Soundwave…”

“Yes, yes,” Megatron cuts in, “The failed reprogramming. I’m sure you and your lot made excellent Decepticons.”

The Magnus’ gasp trickled in a series of short, hysterical laughter, “No…d-didn’t fail. Viruses…adapt…we…adapted...my lord…”

Megatron hisses, and cups the mech’s chin, forcing his face upward.

Feverish red optics gaze up into his, Optimus’ face twisted into a grimace of pain and misery, “Didn’t lose our cerebral processors. Soundwave’s upgrades set us free. Erased our blind devotion or our incapability to question the corrupt leadership and prejudiced treatment of Autobot drones or repair bots. Treated like slag because we are viewed as too outspoken or too dissatisfied with our predestined functions.”

“You infiltrated your superiors’ ranks, still feigning Autobot idealism all the while you were disgusted with the ugly face of your order’s dogma.”

“We are all in place. Prowl…used his Circuit-Su training and a forbidden, temporary shutdown initiation code to feign deactivation. The others have already rigged the security network and will release the rest of your soldiers. We…are yours to command.”

“And why should I believe your words or intent?” Megatron pulls him closer, lifting the mech off his pedes, daring the supposed Decepticon to speak, “Why should I believe that you are any different than the rest of those Autobot lambs led by the lull of lies from the lips of the wolves of their very own Council?”

“Because we will prove our faith not based upon our words, but with our physical might. But only with you can you guide us to glory. Please, Lord Megatron…lead us,” He pleads, “command your humble servants.”

Optimus willingly falls upon his knees before his leader, baring himself for Megatron’s mercy should the warlord choose to release him to the Well of the AllSpark, or deign Optimus to rise to his pedes.

Megatron’s gaze narrows, the large mech ignores the rumble of explosions and gunfire which signals the onset of the staged uprising. He only reacts when foreign voices begin to escalate, running towards him and Magnus ¯ ‘No,’ his processor whispers, ‘the line of Magnus is dead, dead like a dark star,’ ¯ and Megatron stretches out a hand to his Prime.

“Get up.” He grins as the ragtag group of Autobots spill into the hallway, Megatron coiled beside the smaller Decepticon at his side, “Survive this fight, and I will show you the universe, Optimus.”

Shockwave/Optimus Prime
Ward

“Let. Me. Out!!”

‘Forty nine,’ Shockwave keeps count of how many times the newest, red eyed Prime hurls his weight against the bars of the cage.

“Do try to remain calm.” Shockwave insists, not wishing for his charge to cause further undue harm to himself due to his incensed state, “You have already snapped your left wrist. Please do not have me waste the remaining solar cycle with repairs simply because you do not wish to control your temper.”

Optimus Prime folds his injured limb against his chassis, knees tucked underneath his chin. He glares hatefully at his keeper, defiant and outraged, the imprisoned, dangerous, beautiful leader of the youngest Decepticon squad found by happenstance within the city known as Detroit.

Shockwave shivers in recollection of the furious battle and many injured shock troopers. What a glorious battle. The grace. The passion. The sheer…violence. Exquisite, the entire lot of them. But the Prime, ohhh, the Prime…What a Decepticon he made. It had taken a combined assault and eight warrior class models to bind the young leader of the five member team. Megatron personally dragged the kicking, curse slinging mech aboard the Goliath, Shockwave’s leader a vision of mirth and pride, the Decepticon lord not having witnessed such a impressive fight since the old Wars.

Megatron places a high bounty for Soundwave, requiring that the tape deck be delivered intact because of his exclusive programs and processor upgrades, their Decepticon lord wishing to apply the invaluable data upon future Autobot prisoners. With the small team assigned to Earth as an example of Soundwave’s success, then the Decepticon lord was willing to pay whatever number of credits to obtain those data files.

The double agent sighs, his back turned to the cage, but the soft grunt and loud thump as Prime falls upon his posterior indicates that the young mech isn’t willing to listen to reason. ‘Fifty. Fifty one.’

Shockwave hits a switch to flip on the magnetic rings built into the floor beneath the medium-sized cage. The Prime gasps as his knees give out, and crumbles onto the floor, the magnetic field acting as his cuffs and chains, literally pinning him flat upon his belly and tangled limbs.

“Calm, calm, calm,” Shockwave hushes the low growls as he keys another switch, the cage lifted up by the thick oiled chain, allowing him to safely observe and attend to the Prime without having his face ripped open, “You are the pride of the Decepticon army. We must make sure that you are fit in frame and processor before you stand before our illustrious leader and accept your Decepticon badge.”

The paralyzed Prime groans, feebly tries to crawl out from underneath the Decepticon’s long talons, Shockwave persistence paying off when he carefully flips open the small metal panel on Optimus’ lower back. Shockwave rattles around within the tight space until he finds the thick cord of cables, and kinks one red and blue line.

“Your primary Autobot based schematics makes you shockingly fragile.” Shockwave notes, the Prime’s entire frame immediately collapsed entirely at the severed electrical relay, panicked ruby optics flick about wildly, horrified betrayal glaring up into Shockwave’s singular optic, “I cannot devise why your designers would not outfit sturdier material or insulate your internal networks. Imagine…one kinked wire, and you are completely paralyzed from the collar struts down.”

“Now, stop that.” He brushes away the angry glittering pearls of lubricant that trickles unwanted from the Prime’s scrunched optics, “I am not a barbarian. I will remedy your disability. Each and every one of them. Physical inferiority is easily cured.” He gently pats Optimus’ downturned head, “But encoding…that will take more time.”

“Only after I have purged the latent Autobot programming from your subsystems,” He again assures the Prime while he putters around the long table displayed with a butcher’s fantasy of blades and loops of wires and scattered memory data chips, “Then, and only then, will you stand proud and magnificent, and you will join your brothers and sisters. My Nemesis Prime.”
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The Error of Your Ways