Some of you may have read "The Miner's Song" and might remember the one I called "The Maccadams Drinking Song". Well, in Maccadam's Old Oil House, what generation/tv show/comic incarnation you are doesn't matter. The interior kinda exists outside of time and space, so you can have G1 characters interacting with Transformers: Animated characters and suchlike. Therefore, this sprang to mind.
In which an Autobot goes somewhere everybot knows his name.
Dead tired, bent-shouldered, cursing at the fog, the two soldiers struggled to the lighted windows of the inn, each supporting the other on his arm. As the weary pair pushed open the doors, a thunderous shout welcomed them.
"Heyyy! There they are!" an old Ironhide bellowed, waving a tankard of oil, "Get in here, ya little punks!" Similar greetings and declarations followed from every corner of the warm, smoky room.
Embarrassed, the Prime and the Warlord stepped inside and faced the crowd. Transformers of every description and generation filled the establishment, and there was an atmosphere of celebration throughout.
The noisy roustabouts and well-wishers parted and another Prime and Warlord approached. Their designs were simple and uncomplicated: they were the First.
"Congratulations! You've survived your first season!" the Warlord crowed, slapping Megatron heartily on the back. He raised his arm and at least three others of his kind shouted, "I still function!" as some sort of bizarre toast. (a/n: a common enough replacement for "I'm okay!" in my house).
The First Optimus shook his helm in mock disapproval, then placed a hand on the younger Prime's shoulder. "Well done," he said simply.
"Thank you, Eldest," the addressed murmured humbly. He was working up the nerve to ask the Eldest Optimus whether he'd followed his example well when Megatron, who'd already lost any inhibitions he'd brought with him, threw an arm around his neck.
"Come, Orion! Let us find some kindred spirits!" Then, as an afterthought, "Or perhaps just some spirits." He kept a firm grip and began to drag the sputtering Prime away. "But-but-but-but-" he tried to protest as he was pulled to a table full of Insecticons.
"Come on, Cap'n! Live a little!" called Wheeljack from a table with Airachnid, Breakdown, and a solemn sort of fellow who called himself Book.
Megatron laughed and pushed a tankard into Optimus's servos. "Listen to the mech! Yesterday we battled, tomorrow we will battle, but tonight? Tonight, Little Brother, life is good!"
The Autobot cast a suspicious glance from the tankard to the Decepticon. "What happens in Maccadam's, stays in Maccadam's." "Agreed."
Several tables past them, Bulkhead sat with an older Bulkhead and Optimus, complaining. "I don't know how she managed it, but the whole base was covered in this sticky stuff she called silly string! I swear I only left the room for two minutes!"
The Optimus nodded sympathetically. "Sounds like our little girl. You can't take your optics off of them for even a minute! If she's not running into battle, she's going to be messing with the machinery."
The older Bulkhead elbowed the younger playfully. "Just you wait until she's old enough to bring boys - or Bots! - home! You think it's bad now? Hoo boy, you ain't seen nothin' yet!"
The younger Wrecker groaned and sank his helm to the table in defeat.
In the far corner, half shrouded by darkness, the Eldest Prime watched the proceedings with a benevolent gleam in his optics. Even with his battle-mask in place, it seemed as though he smiled when the newest Megatron somehow coaxed the youngest Optimus into singing an old war ballad with him.
"I think they will do well, don't you?" the old Optimus whispered to his brother.
The Eldest Warlord nodded, grinning. "I give them, oh...three seasons at least."
"Four."
"No, Brother. No more than three." Megatron said flatly.
"Three and a film," Optimus countered.
"Done." They shook hands and drained their tankards, then turned back to watch the humorous proceedings of the evening.
But did you not know that that is how all the spans of the war documentaries are decided?
This is Shattered Glass, where Megatron was a school teacher. I imagined him being sent to teach "at risk" younglings from lower castes, and I thought he'd like that. Perfect chance to make little revolutionaries. EDIT: 2016 - this later became part of the backstory of the fic "Suddenly"
The Dead Scraplets Convention
A school cannot expect its students to rise above its own character
—Milt Uecker, 2003
"You're kidding me, right?" Megatron stared in disgust at the compound. "You actually teach younglings in that death trap?"
Director Perceptor shrugged impassively. "They're low-caste. Foot soldiers, scouts, drudge work."
The new teacher leaned away from the director and motioned to the rust-eaten walls and dank hallways. "It looks like a prison!"
Perceptor nodded. "And I suppose it probably feels like a prison to the dumb ones."
"The dumb ones." Megatron repeated dully. Oh PIT no. He did not just say that.
He couldn't be hearing this, this had to be a nightmare of some kind. His hopes were dashed when the director nodded again.
"Yes, I'm afraid some of these "students" won't learn anything but how to respect those in higher ranks. That's about all we expect you to teach them anyway." He led the younger mech down the dirty corridor to a dimly-lit room barely tall enough to fit him and left him there with a stack of datapads that were meant to pass for curriculum.
Megatron held one up between two servos. "Beginning Cybertronian." he read. These were supposed to be mid-level younglings! Surely they were beyond early phonics and spelling? He froze when he heard a scuttling noise.
"Please not vermin, please not vermin," he muttered under his breath as he turned around. Luck was not with Megatron that day, for it was a Scraplet. "Fantastic!" he growled.
The Scraplet tilted its head, opened its saw-like mouth and launched itself at Megatron's hand. With a cry of disgust, the large mech crushed his servos down around its face, leaving it with an odd horned appearance. He let it fall, and it staggered out the open window with a dazed squeal.
"And stay out!" Megatron shouted, slamming the window shut. "Ugh!" His first job teaching was not off to a good start.
Things didn't get much better when his five students shuffled in. The ones that weren't shy and intimidated were sullen and belligerent, openly backtalking. He started the lesson, but they weren't paying much attention. In fact, they didn't seem to be trying at all.
Partway through Cybertronian Phonics, Director Perceptor opened the door and shoved three young mechs in. They were dented and dirty, a Trine of Seekerlets barely old enough to fly.
"Watch out for these three," Perceptor remarked loudly, "Street urchins. They'll steal anything you don't have bolted down." With that, he left.
Megatron raised an eyebrow and leaned against the holo-board. "Names?"
The smallest one shut his optics, pretending he was elsewhere. The middle one glared defiantly at Megatron, and the oldest crossed his arms and coolly replied, "Thundercracker, Starscream and Skywarp."
Megatron nodded. "Alright, pick a spot and sit down. We're in the middle of a lesson."
The Trine shared a smirk and sat down in the middle of the floor. The teacher's optics narrowed. "You know full well that's not what I meant. Pick a desk and sit at it."
Little Starscream shook his helm triumphantly. "Nuh-uh, Teacher. You said pick a spot, so we did!"
Megatron set his jaw. "How about no. We're not having this on the first day. Move to a desk, or I'll move you myself."
This only seemed to make the Trine more determined not to move. They settled themselves and grinned, calling his bluff. The teacher shrugged.
"Mind you, this was your choice." He walked over and grabbed Skywarp and Starscream by the scruff of the neck with one hand, and Thundercracker with the other, and deposited them at desks in the middle of the room. The other students gulped and shrunk a little in their seats. Teacher wasn't fooling around!
None of the students ever wanted to volunteer answers, Megatron found. It was frustrating at times, and he had suspicions that most of them didn't even know basic Cybertronian history. The day passed agonizingly slowly until mid-afternoon when something interesting finally happened.
One of the few ground-bound younglings suddenly shrieked and pointed to the window. In a flash, all the younglings were back against the wall in varying states of panic. Megatron glanced out the window and groaned when he saw an angry little vermin trying to gnaw through the transparisteel.
"Ah, Primus. He's back."
Quickly, the teacher attempted to calm the young ones. "Look, everyone! It's...ah...it's our class pet: Bucky the demonic Scraplet!" Opening a compartment in the teacher's kiosk, Megatron pulled out a small device and aimed it at the window. Suddenly, "Bucky" found himself floating helplessly in a void of gravity.
The one who had screamed, a little blue fellow called BR3D_N peeked out from between his servos. "What's that?" he asked cautiously.
"It's a polarizing ray," Megatron answered calmly, "I stole it from the medic's office." He was met with several exclamations of disbelief.
"Nuh-uh, you never!"
"Why ya lyin', Teacher?"
The huge mech pretended to take offense. "I am most certainly not lying! Ratchet's back was turned and I nicked it out of the drawer."
There was a stunned silence among the students before Thundercracker quietly exclaimed, "Scraaaap! Teacher's got nerve!"
Said Teacher grinned and pulled the immobilized Scraplet through the window, shutting it behind him. "Who wants to get a good look at Bucky the Demonic Scraplet?" he asked, "We can count it as science class."
Surprisingly, only Starscream and BR3D_N were interested.
"What's wrong with his head?" Starscream asked, peering over Megatron's arm, "He don't look like any Scraplet I've ever seen!"
"Well, that's because he tried to eat me," Megatron answered.
"What'd you do?"
Megatron held up the helpless Scraplet and examined it. "I rearranged his faceplate. Kind of looks like the old Kaonian tribal tattoos, doesn't he?" The students looked confused. "Right," the teacher sighed, "History lesson comes next."
Starscream pulled his hand back down to look at "Bucky". "Cool how all his teeth line up," he remarked, "What happens if one of them falls off?"
The silver mech crouched next to the small Seeker. "Well, see how he has several rows of teeth, Starscream? If one falls out, another one will move up to take its place."
"Like good soldiers?" BR3D_N asked.
Megatron frowned. He slipped the furious Scraplet into a containment cube and turned to face his students. "Soldiers...right. About that. Listen, I know some of you think you're here so you can learn to be good soldiers, or farmers, or whatever you think mechs and femmes of your castes are "supposed" to be. Well, you're going to be disappointed."
The Trine crossed their arms in front of their spark chambers and the belligerent ones scowled suspiciously.
Megatron locked his hands behind his back and stalked forward, meeting their optics. "You're all like Scraplets, aren't you?" He motioned to one of the shy ones, a higher caste mechling named Knock Out. "You all look harmless, and you're being conditioned to be harmless, but your processors-" he leaned down to tap the red youngling's helm, "Are as sharp as Scraplet teeth. Don't pretend they aren't!"
The little ones shifted uncomfortably. This was not what they had been expecting to hear! "Teacher, I think you're confused," BR3D_N whispered, "We're not smart, we're in here because we're the dumb ones!"
Megatron scowled. "No, you're here because the others are too scared to use this building. We're here because we're the tough ones!" He stopped, thinking, then said, "New rule, kids. "Dumb" is now a swear word. Anyone who says it in my classroom does my paperwork for the evening."
This caught the Trine's interest. "Even the Director?"
"Even the Director," Megatron promised. He slapped his hands together and leaned forward. "I hope you brats are ready," he said in a vaguely threatening voice, "Because I am going to educate the scrap out of you. Come the end of the semester, I promise that each of you will know as much as—if not more than—the members of the Council!"
He made good on his word. Every day he observed the younglings as they interacted and learned. As it turned out, BR3D_N had a good processor for paradoxes and logical problems, more so than the rest of the class. It got to the point where he would try to explain a concept, see the blank looks in their optics, and turn to the blue youngling.
"Omega's Conundrum: Break it down!" he'd say. After the fifth or sixth occurrence, the students christened their classmate Breakdown—a name he kept the rest of his life.
Every so often, Director Perceptor would look into the classroom and shake his helm. "You're wasting your time, Megatron," he'd say, "This lot simply cannot be taught!"
How can they learn if you keep pushing them down? Megatron would always think, rebelliously.
Perceptor had been right about one thing, though. The Trine had a habit of stealing things that were lying around. One day, just as a short term break was beginning, Megatron had had enough and followed them through the maze of alleys to find out what they were doing with all his styluses.
He found them in a shabby lean-to at the back of a public house, with old crates for berths. They were trading his office supplies for scraps of energon.
All three jumped guiltily when he stepped out of the shadows, but Thundercracker soon bristled and stepped in front of his younger brothers protectively. "What do you want, Teacher?" he growled.
Megatron had been going to scold them for abusing his trust, but he looked down and saw the sad optics of Skywarp and the way Starscream couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze.
What came out of his mouth was, "You're not sleeping here tonight." He reached down and took their hands in his own and determinedly strode away from the grungy shelter.
All three younglings openly gawped at his apartment when he opened the door. "Look at all this space!" Skywarp squealed as he danced around the suite's single bedroom.
Starscream scuffed his pedes and his wings hung low. "Why would you let a bunch of thieves in your house?" he asked bitterly.
"You're not thieves. Not anymore," Megatron said meaningfully. "This is your home now. If you need something, you tell me, understand?"
Thundercracker cocked his helm curiously. "You actually care, don't you, Teacher?"
The silver mech ruffled the neon Seeker's helm. "What, you think I teach you brats because the pay is good?"
Skywarp wandered over and picked up an old datapad from the table. "Hey! It's Bucky!" he cried, delighted.
Megatron laughed. "No, Skywarp. That's the old Kaon crest, remember from history class?"
The little black Seeker pouted. "I liked it better when it was Bucky," he sighed.
The "class pet" had met an unfortunate end a few weeks prior when Director Perceptor had found it in its cage and shot it to pieces with a panicked yell. Of course, Megatron had used it as a biology lesson for the semi-traumatized students, but they'd held an impromptu funeral for "Bucky" all the same. They'd seemed to handle it fairly well...except for the part where they reassembled Bucky's husk and put it back in its case. That was a little weird.
When Megatron and the Trine arrived in the nasty old school building for the next class session, they were surprised to see little Knock Out and Breakdown and the three other students wearing makeshift badges in the likeness of the Kaonian crest.
"What's going on?" their teacher asked. "We're the Dead Scraplets Convention!" Breakdown announced proudly.
Megatron was dumbfounded until it struck him: he'd told his class the story of the "secret society" that he, Orion Pax, Dion, and Ariel had formed in their own school when history and higher math fell out of style among teachers.
"Oh you are, are you?" Megatron laughed, "Very well, Breakdown: who led the Quintessons against the Planet Eater in the Dark Years?"
The solid little mech answered quickly. "Grand Chamberlain Scorponok!"
The teacher nodded. "Excellent!" He turned to the only femme in the class, a scrawny little Arachnacon named Airachnid.
"And you now, my Sire, there on the sad height,/ Curse me, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.*" He waited expectantly and the student did not disappoint.
"Do not go gentle into that good night./ Rage, rage against the dying of the light.*"
Megatron's smile widened. He turned to the Trine, who were staring enviously at Knock Out and Breakdown's badges. "Starscream, what are the components that make up Hypergon?"
The scientifically-minded youngling squinched up his faceplates in concentration. "Umm...blue energon refined for a decacycle, electrify and add to red energon to stabilize." (a/n: lol, totally made that up.)
Well, they had a good grasp of history, the arts, and science. Megatron had one last question for the tiny class.
"Why doesn't the caste system work?"
A hush fell over them. Had Teacher Megatron really just asked that? Didn't he know that questioning the Council was treasonous?
"Inequality?" Knock Out ventured timidly.
"Good, can you expand that a little?" Megatron crouched to be closer to the height of the younglings.
"Um...I could grow up to be a politician because my Sire and Carrier are from a higher merchant caste, but I can't ever join the army or work in the Archives," the red youngling said slowly, "And Breakdown can't even go into most of the fancy buildings in the city because he's from a working caste."
"Is that fair?" It was a rhetorical question, but the students answered all the same.
"No!" they chorused angrily.
"Well, who's going to change it?" he feigned ignorance.
Skywarp clenched a tiny fist and thrust it high into the air. "The Dead Scraplets Convention!" Only, he said it so quickly that what everyone heard was, "The Descrappercon!"
"What's a Descrappercon?" Airachnid asked.
Breakdown patted her arm knowingly. "You heard wrong, 'Rachnid. He said Decepticon."
One of the other students scratched his helm. "What's a Decepticon?"
Skywarp, pleased with the new word, nodded importantly. "It's a member of the Dead Scraplets Convention who fights stuff like the caste system!" he announced.
"I wanna be a Decepticon!" the child announced, quickly echoed by his peers.
Megatron could only stare in astonishment as it dawned on him that he was witnessing something very, very important.
Thundercracker turned pleading optics to him. "Can we be Decepticons, Teacher? You started the Convention, right?"
A thousand thoughts ran through the teacher's processor all at once. I could lose my job for this. Pit, I could be executed for this! Still..."Decepticons" does have a nice ring to it. On the other hand, it is treason...
He looked down at his students, formerly thought of as the dull-witted, the unteachable. Isn't it time someone fought for them? his spark whispered.
"All right," he murmured, casting a furtive look at the door, "Come here, all of you." The seven younglings gathered around their teacher solemnly.
"I, Megatron of Kaon, swear unto the day I join the Allspark to fight tyranny wherever it surfaces. To uphold honor, to protect the weak, to free the slave, to mend the broken, to defend the freedom of all sentient beings, no matter their species. So mote it be."
He tipped his helm down. "Now, you."
Seven little hands clasped his large one, and seven quiet voices repeated the oath in hushed tones. Megatron smiled gently at them. "I have a feeling that each one of you is going to make history," he said.
"My Decepticons."
* quotes taken from "Do not go gentle into that good night" by Dylan Thomas
Also, I think Bucky the Demonic Scraplet is my new favorite oc. I want one now.