Author's Note: Enjoy. There's something you've all been waiting to read in this chapter.

.o.

Nelite growled at the invoice between his hands. "You call this 'acceptable losses'?!" He threw his hands up and tossed the datapad onto the desk of his superior. "I am not simply a tool to be used! I am a living creature, the same as you, with the same origins as you, the same metals as you, and you feel that you can simply tell me that my function is no longer available in this company?! I'm a slagging fire and explosion safety model, and this is a weapons and energy experimentation plant! We have fires every slagging day!"

The door slammed open, a security guard having been summoned to remove Nelite from the premises. Before he could even reach a hand out, a voice was heard shouting from down the hallway. "Sir! Sir, you are not allowed down this hallway!"

"Oh?"

The single growled syllable was enough to cause the three mechs in the office to scramble out the door and stare.

The hero of the final major battle of the Quintesson war continued walking forward, preparing to walk through the fussing intern who finally moved out of the way. He locked gazes the Security mech with his strange purple optics, who nodded his helm and took a step back in respect. Nelite was about to do the same when a hand reached out and tapped a closed fist against his shoulder, the greeting between equals on a battlefield. "No, you don't bow to me."

"But—"

"Nelite, I would meet with you. Privately."

The CEO of the weapons plant half-bowed and indicated the open door behind them. "My office is available to you, General Tetra."

Snorting, amused, the battlescarred frontliner grinned. "No, I don't think so. I will send another fire safety mech along to you within the week. We have need of Nelite's talents at the Primal Citadel."

"What fires could possibly happen there?"

"I'm sure you've already heard about the rising star of a young engineer named Wheeljack. He personally handles my upgrades when he's not regularly blowing his lab up." He smiled to Nelite. "Do you need to clean an office out?"

"I . . . Yes. I do. I was recently let go from my function here."

"Oh, good. Then I'll help you. Since they don't need another fire safety mech, I rescind that offer to have someone replace you." The smile he leveled at the company's owner was neither genuine nor polite. "Have a good orn."

As soon as they had turned the corner, Nelite turned his helm just enough to watch the war hero beside him. "You're a commoner like me. Working caste. Your accent can't be hidden."

"Funny how the Nobles always leave that out, isn't it? I don't want to leave behind the fact that I've had to quite literally fight my way into the place I am now at. Had a little help," and he tapped the armor over his Spark, "but the choices were all mine to make." Tetra changed the subject. "Do you have a Mate or Sparklings? You're going to be given quarters on-premises, and they're invited to join you."

"My Sparkmate, Beta-Two. She's a rehabilitation medic . . . I don't think that she will want to leave her job. No Sparklings at this time."

"Well, she doesn't have to, especially since we're still going to be in Iacon."

"But on the other side of Iacon."

"You can keep your current residence for her on-shift cycles." Tetra turned to rest his hand upon the broad shoulder. "Listen, Nelite, we're going to work with you, not against you. I'm on your side."

The mech looked down at his pedes. "It's . . . been a long time since anyone besides my Beta has been on my side."

"Get used to it, then. Because the only one who can push me away from your side . . . is you. Let's not let it get to that point."

Nelite, uncomfortable at the sudden intimacy, turned away from Tetra and opened the next door on their left. "This is my office. Only personal effects are on that shelf."

"No datapads?"

"Company-issue."

"Mmkay." Pulling out a folding box from subspace that would easily hold all the holographic projectors or other little kitch items, Tetra began packing them carefully, pausing to pad the box and the items from rattling around. He could feel this mech's Spark against his own . . . he could feel the old wounds pressing against the cage that Nelite had built to keep himself safe within. Both Falimus and Mozatron were honest in their opinion that this mech had to mature out of his fractures before he could be given Zeta's Matrix. There were no other candidates for the Primacy, outside of Sparks not yet released (or rereleased) from the AllSpark. While they were at a stable point in Cybertron's history, there was no knowing if they would be able to stay at peace. An infant or a mech with a fractured or unbalanced Spark would serve Cybertron and His people quite poorly.

After the silence settled into a comfortable lull, Tetra found himself finishing packing earlier than he had anticipated. Or was it that Nelite had never brought many items into his office? Either way, he smiled to the mech. "Ready?"

"More than. The mate is at home . . . she knows that I was fired, but not this new development."

"Ah. You'd prefer that I handle that situation?"

"Well, you are going to be my next employer."

"Not necessarily. I'm the messenger."

Nelite almost dropped his boxes. "They sent a war hero to do a courier's work?"

Laughing openly, Tetra shook his head. "Every hero has their duties. And it's good for me to get out from the Citadel every so often. Very few mechs understand how trapped a commoner can feel by the walls, both physical and ritual in nature. I can be the brash merchant's mechling when I'm out here; in there, I have to adhere to several layers of formalities. It bores me. And the Lords Prime and Protectorate as well."

"They're nobles."

"Not necessarily. Both were 'spare heir' Primal Guards when they were chosen. They were at least the fourth in line for their Houses, and weren't expected to know everything that their elder sibs knew." Finally out and under Cybertron's sky, Tetra grinned lopsidedly to Nelite. "They're not nearly as stiff and formal as the media portrays them to be. Hell, the customary Prime-Protectorate Brawl was downplayed as simple training since it wasn't as public as it could have been."

"Didn't Falimus Prime tear off Lord Mozatron's leg?"

"At the hip? Yes."

"But he—"

"Then proceeded to beat the fewmets out of Mozatron with it like the primitives we all are when at war? Also yes. It was a good damn brawl. Cleared the air between them. I saw the footage. It was glorious. They got over their spat."

"Holy slag. I may be in love."

"I won't tell your Sparkmate."

"No, no; you can tell her. She's been in love with the Lords Prime and Protectorate for vorns."

"Oh good. Then we'll invite you both to the Primal orgies."

"The what?!" Nelite stared in shock at Tetra, who gave into his giggles at finally getting the slightly-younger mech to crack. "No. No, they don't. I'm calling your bluff."

"You'd be right."

"Oh. Good."

"It's Mozatron that holds the orgies."

"I . . . oh, what the frag. Fine. We'll join in."

Tetra burst into laughter, tapping his knuckles against Nelite's shoulder armor. "You'll fit in with our crazy bunch perfectly, Nel. And don't mind anyone who says otherwise. C'mon. Let's collect your lovely mate so you can meet your new employers."

.o.

It was to nobody's shock that Mozatron had been killed before Falimus. The renewed war between the Quintessons and Cybertron raged on mercilessly. In a moment that could not have been predicted, the Quints had scored a victory that could turn the tide in their favor.

Mozatron had perished with almost the entire strategic staff, including Detrius, a mech with the Spark-trait towards battlefield strategy and tactics.

Falimus sat curled into Tetra's side, alternating between spark-rending keening and raging at Primus for the loss of his beloved brother-lover. They huddled in the shadows beneath the AllSpark. It was where Nelite found them, pedes dragging in exhaustion from his time spent on the front lines. Behind him followed the CMO, who often insisted to be assigned to the front lines. He knelt before the Prime, hands taking the battered knuckles and bringing them up over his Spark. "Fal. Fal, look at me."

Tired, blown-out optics dragged wearily up to meet the medic's. "Ratchet . . . what . . . ?"

"I brought their bodies back, Falimus. Repaired for the mourning rituals. But . . . we're going to lose."

Wordlessly, Falimus tugged on Ratchet's hands, vocalizer spitting static before he could form words. "I . . . cannot . . . fail . . . Cybertron."

"You're mortal, Fal! You're mortal and falliable! It wasn't your fault that they died!" Ratchet roared into his friend's face. He couldn't restrain his own keen before he crumbled to his knees, safe in the AllSpark's Sanctum. "We're mortal and we're . . . we can't just ask Primus to return Detrius and Moza to us."

Nelite stilled. "Why not?"

"What?"

"Why not petition to Primus to return them to us?"

"It wouldn't be fair to them," Tetra whispered, every line of his frame screaming his weariness. He felt Nelite crumbling in a controlled fall to curl against his side and sigh with exhaustion. He couldn't blame the mech that he had hoped would become his Prime, his brother. "Nel, it wouldn't be fair. They've done their work."

"We can ask. They don't have to return. That's not the point. We could just ask." Falimus trembled, hands carefully clutching Zeta's Matrix, his own Matrix humming and spinning through his chest. He could feel Primus.

"Asking won't mean that they'll naturally come back," Nelite reinforced, hand reaching over to rest on Falimus' own. It was only bureaucracy that was stalled out with the renewed war that kept his Matrix from his chest.

Ratchet sighed. He knew that madness often happened when a Prime or Protectorate lost their Bond-Brother in tragic circumstances. He wasn't sure if he believed that Primus was all that He was cracked up to be, but it wouldn't hurt to attempt a connection with their God. "All right, Fal. All right. But we're not leaving you."

Before Falimus turned inwards, he upended his hands over Nelite's own, the Matrix shining at the contact. "I trust Cybertron into your hands, Sentinel Prime." A fey look hovered around golden optics. "And I trust the unknown world beyond within your own, Terratron." Optics faded and the mech turned towards Primus.

Sentinel stared at the grains of sand that swept up his armor and into his chest. With a shudder, he felt Falimus' journey into the Other Side, and with a grunt, followed.

He erupted into being beside Garrilius and Mozatron, Detrius standing between the two Lord Protectors. They didn't seem surprised to see him before them. "Where's Falimus?"

"Returned and stabilized," Mozatron replied, voice soft and warm. "He will be needed by you for some time before his Spark is ready to return to Primus. We gave our answer; he is prepared."

Sentinel didn't know what he said next, or how the next five kliks had passed, but when he was thrown back into his frame with a Spark dancing between his fingers, he stared dumbly down at it.

A containment unit snapped into place around the Spark from the red and white medic's hands, keeping it safe until it could be returned to a frame. "Primus and Unmaker!" Ratchet whispered, voice trembling.

"Sentinel . . . what did you do?" Falimus whispered harshly.

"Saved Cybertron. Get Detrius back to his shell; we'll need his mind to finish this war."

Terratron felt his plating bristle. "You. Did. What?!"

.o.

Sentinel scrabbled out of the AllSpark's Sanctum, panicked at the lumbering roar of Terratron's fury. He had hoped to get all the way out into the street to get some distance, but when his gyros and pumps stuttered, he realized that he had been tackled and swept out into an intersection. He grabbed the first thing that came to hand (a street sign), and swung it in a wide arc at Terratron's helm.

It was easily deflected . . . as was he.

Flying through the air was an interesting sensation.

Getting stuck upside-down in a building was less so.

Rolling out of the debris, he looked up just in time to see something coming right at his helm, and he couldn't dodge it. When he groaned, optics onlining to a blinking yellow light, he realized that Terratron had hummed a streetlight at his head.

Oh, that was it. "I have given us the means to win the war!" He rolled out of the building, narrowly avoiding a kick.

"One!" Terratron swung his fist in a wide arc to distract Sentinel. "Does! Not!" He jabbed in a low blow at Sentinel's dorsal vents, stuttering them. "Play! At! Being!" He blocked three or four of Sentinel's strikes. "Primus!"

The red mech only had a half-Sparkpulse of realization that he had lost this fight as a shadow fell over his helm.

Standing, huffing, Terratron stared at the stunned young Prime, feeling far too old for his frame. He sighed and sat beside the headstrong mech as he began to reboot his systems. The silver mech had known that he could lift and throw a troop transport, but he hadn't expected Sentinel to freeze in shock. When the blue optics lit, they stared at each other long and hard before the young Prime sighed and looked away.

"Sentinel Prime, your duty is to all of Cybertron and to safeguarding His people. It is not to win wars!"

"Without winning the war, we would lose everyone and everything!"

"We might still lose the war, Unmaker take it! And then what the slag is the point of trying to bring back the dead?! What use would you have of a mech whose very reignition is due to your actions that is no longer directing our Militia?!"

"But he will—"

"He wanted to rest, Sentinel Prime! He wanted to be done with the senseless deaths of every mech he sent into battle!" Terratron roared down at his Prime. "Why would you take the very peace he sought and found away from the one mech who deserved it?!"

Silence. Silence for a long moment where each mech measured the other. And then Sentinel finally spoke. "I . . . believe you are right, brother."

"Detrius is on your helm. His continued existence is on your Spark. He is your responsibility from this point onwards. Do not fail him."

"I will not fail him, Lord Protector."

.o.

"He failed Detrius far more than any of us realized. He had not kept close to him after the war finished, claiming that his duties as Prime took up much more of his time than he had anticipated. He did not follow through with many of his promises to other mechs, myself included." Terratron sighed as he looked around the mechs and humans that were gathered in the hangar. It had been a long day of bureaucracy and cleanup, and Samuel Prime had requested a tale of Cybertron's past. The mechling Prime had known that it would soothe and assist those around them to hear more about what the oldest among them had experienced.

"So this is a warning tale," Epps murmured in the following silence.

Terratron nodded once, reaching over to pull his protégé against his side. Megatron seemed to settle with the motion, field evening out and Sparkpulse slowing. The mech was unsure of himself in a way that he had never been before. He didn't want to harm the peace-making process, and held himself so tightly as a result. "He was power-hungry because so much of his young life, he had been powerless."

"But, so were you," one of the civilian demolition supervisors pointed out.

"I saw my limitations and saw the problems in the system that held me back from getting a frame or upgrade that would have benefited my Spark. I did not blame the system, or my creators, or Falimus Prime for pulling my Spark. Nelite, before he was Sentinel, blamed many of those around him for the faults in the system and the faults that caused him pain. He wanted to control the system, to control the outcomes, and blamed anyone who stood in his way for 'personal attacks' against his rhetoric."

"It's something we see a lot of here on Earth," Faustus replied. "We're more like our human siblings than we care to think about."

Terratron cracked a grin, patting Megatron's shoulder and letting the mech sit straight again, now relaxed and more at ease. "Well, for that, I have to say that I fully blame the AllSpark."

Sam felt a "snort" from his connection with the mystical device, and he grinned right back at Terratron. "Well, the AllSpark says, 'frag you, too.' Slagger." He tugged the blanket around himself and Carly a little closer as many of the mechs laughed, exhaustion evident in everyone's gaze and mannerisms. "And this human Prime is saying that it's time for recharge and sleep. Tomorrow isn't going to be easier than today. Mearing is coming."

"Oh, good! I like her," Terratron said with a grin. "I'm looking forward to winning her over, and Megatron, you're helping me."

The silver Protectorate groaned, letting his helm fall back to stare at the ceiling. "Fuck."

The easy laughter at his use of human vernacular was worth tolerating the orders from his mentor.

Will shook his head with a sigh, standing and stretching, preparing to get himself to a bunk and pass out for more than four hours. "Wait." Turning, he looked up at Terratron. "You said that you had a kid and were really proud of him for being a foul-mouthed tagalong. Did he survive the war?"

"Barely, but yes. I have it on the best authority that my mechling is on the path to recovery."

"I really want to meet him. Any kid of yours has to be quality material." Will saw many smiles being hidden behind hands. Megatron and Optimus were openly grinning at each other. "What?"

Terratron huffed a laugh. "Will, my son is Ironhide."

". . . shutthefuckup."

.o.

Closing Note: This started with a Tumblr ask anonymous individual who turned out to be

"therehastobetexthere."

"You know what I'm endlessly curious about? Terratron's background, and Sentinel too for that matter, although I had always envisioned Sentinel as a noble (the aft is too self-absorbed to be anything else), what are Terratron's beginnings? I have this image in my head of Terratron as a young laborer, build heavy so that he can lift, but I also see him as a young soldier, battle-scared even before he became Lord Protector. Still build like a brick shithouse though.

And it was followed by toothlessloveshiccup's ask:

Ok but now I'm just imagining Tetra and Nelite duking it out in the streets, and it's not even them using martial arts, it's them using low caste wrestling moves, like clawing at optics and biting at energon lines and hitting each other with signs.

Song is: My Enemy by CHVRCHES