Disclaimer: I do not own the series Transformers (just the DVD box set), I do not own the movies based off of the Transformer's series (Burn in hell, Bay!), and I do not receive any monetary value from making this fic (I wish I could, but I have hope one day my talents will be paid for! And not THOSE talents either you perverts!).
Author's Note: This isn't as good as other fics in the past, but 9/11 was on the brain and this kind of popped out. I dedicate this fic to the lives lost that day on 9/11 and to the soldiers who fight for our freedom everywhere.
Transformers: The Anniversary
The pain grows with each passing solar cycle.
Megatron curses less, but demands more of his mechs. Most of his time is spent at the command center, keeping as active as possible. He refuses to think about it, not until he absolutely must. Until then, he forces his mechs to work overtime. It's a small mercy, in his own tyrannical way.
Keep them distracted. Don't let them remember!
Starscream fidgets more, and yells less. He turns inward, his optics dimming. Flashes from his CPU haunt his days and nights. If only he had moved a little faster, figured it out just seconds earlier, if he had just-! And then, Starscream abruptly runs to his lab, locks himself away, and is not seen or heard for the rest of the day.
The regrets keep piling up.
Soundwave begins to spoil his cassetteicons. He gets them whatever they like. Toys, prank equipment, whatever their little sparks desire. Rumble and Frenzy go on as if they don't notice, and pretend that the pain doesn't affect them either. They try not to remember why they're the only ones so little and so young on the Decepticon side.
The loss is shared by all, and ever so heavily.
Optimus Prime doesn't have the heart to force his mechs to perform anything but their required duties. He tries to keep moral high with outings to different human countries, and even a few flights for the scientists to earth's moon and Mars. However, he finds his own moral slipping downwards.
The will to fight steadily dies.
Ironhide persistently awaits for a Decepticon attack. He needs something to hit, something to destroy, someone to kill, someone to blame! It drives him mad. Logically, he knows that they're not going to come and fight. Just as logically, he knows that when the time comes to fight, he will choose to simply stay out of it. If he did fight, he would do something he would regret. He has enough regrets.
Time passes, but the memory stays fresh.
Ratchet sits in his med bay. He covers his optics with his servos. He tells himself there are no sounds of mechs dying around him, that it's simply his CPU glitching. And then, he could swear he hears giggling to his left. The medic shoots to his pedes, and whips around-.
But of course there's nothing there.
All that is left is a crater. Back on Cybertron, neither Autobot nor Decepticon quarrel there. Instead, various little trinkets are left, steadily filling up the very empty hole. Elita One finds herself there, and sighs in exhaustion. Shockwave's drones stay back. When she leaves the perimeter of the destruction, she will have to fight them. For now, she mourns.
Within the tragedy, a brotherhood forges all mechs and femmes in common grief.
When the anniversary arrives, everything ceases. Both sides simply cannot function. Megatron and Optimus call each other almost simultaneously. A truce is made, and the space bridge is activated by noon.
The Decepticon Elite and the Autobot High Command go to their home planet, unable to find the strength to muster joy. Starscream holds something in his hands. He's been working on it for weeks now. Ironhide has steel lilies made in a collaborative effort by Sunstreaker and Wheeljack.
The two enemies look at each other, and then quickly look away.
When Optimus walks up to the crater, he finds Elita One sitting there, staring blankly into the ashy depths. He rushes over to her side, and she embraces him tightly.
Megatron looks away. He can't imagine how they must feel.
Starscream can, to a degree. He gently rubs an imagined blemish off of his creation.
Ironhide subconsciously does the same. The weapons expert walks over to Starscream. They exchange a few words, and then they go to place their memorials.
At the edge of the crater, Starscream puts a thick, large, shining slab of metal. It's ornate at the edges, simple yet elegant curves mirroring each other in a humanistic inspired design. Ironhide places the dozen steel lilies in front of it, each lily for one sector of Cybertron.
They stand back, accidentally mingling with the other's army.
The slab's message is simple, but right for the occasion.
To the innocents we lost
we have not forgotten you.
Until we meet again,
be at peace with Primus.
Starscream offlines his optics. "Starbolt…" The little brother.
Ironhide clenches his fists, "Trackmaker." The nephew.
Elita One looks up at Optimus, "Firestorm." The son.
Megatron is last, "Centauri." His mate, "...and one un-named." The sparkling un-sparked.
All it took was one mech, with one terrible idea, and a bomb.