"To the humans of Earth, we have not been entirely forthright with who and what we are as Cybertronians." The noble and majestic façade of the mech slipped away with the most sincere smile he'd dared yet show to the human public. Optimus Prime looked ahead at a bright dot directly ahead of them. It was Cybertron. It was home. "It's time to end the secrecy."

Samuel Witwicky looked over his shoulder at Megatron, who was calculating various flight paths on a datapad. Megatron grunted a noise of vague discontent before implementing the best one for the next hour and turned to look at his brothers. Optimus was continuing wanting to find a way to eloquently say 'we lied out of necessity' without stepping on human toes. "Due to factors that were once outside of our control, we as Cybertronians have spoken about how different we are from humanity. It was necessary at the time to create that schism between us and them for everyone involved. We, I, sincerely did not wish to involve you in any of this."

"Agreed," Megatron cut in. "One of the factors that stayed Optimus' hand was that the war itself was not simply one of 'differing ideals', control of so-called 'limited resources', or a personal vendetta between us as individuals." He tapped his own helm. "It was a war based off of one singular mech's ability to hack others and brainwash them. His goal, was to turn individuals into his pawns to create a 'more efficient' Cybertron that lacked all the finer points found in individualism that an advanced civilization requires for continued growth." He sighed and spread his hands wide to either side. "I was hacked in the early days of Shockwave's rise to power: he realized long before there were actual battles that he required a figurehead that he could control. It has only been several Earth years just to begin to address what Shockwave has done to me."

And here, Megatron revealed his greatest weakness. "I have eons more to heal myself and those I've damaged in turn. I have to lead many mechs who are currently in stasis to face these scars in their psyches as well, I am not yet strong enough to know how to help them face the demons of another mech's making. To be hacked and controlled against our will is one of the highest crimes of many Cybertronian societies prior to the Great War."

"Megatron's behaviors weren't an overnight change either," Flamewar added, walking up and placing her hand on her lover's elbow before coming to stand before him. Her smile was warm, but firm. "I am Flamewar, former general and deep mole, and, like Soundwave, had been part of Megatron's circles for eons before unrest boiled over into actual conflict. The Megatron that had been shoved into the archetype of 'egomaniacal leader looking for power and a monarchy' doesn't at all match the ideals that he had stood upon with Optimus at his side. His politics took a left turn and it confused many, many of our people both in political and laymech realms."

"Our story," Sam walked closer to sit down on the top stair of the catwalk, "Takes a long time to tell. The shortest part to relay is that there have been more events that tie both peoples together than anyone could have anticipated. My great-grandfather found Megatron in the ice, and something got passed along my genetic line as a result. Dad got amazing mechanical engineering skills. Me?"

Sam grinned and straightened. This was no longer the screaming teenager from Mission City, the terrified but determined college student, or the grief-enraged young Prime in hiding. "I inherited very specific cultural and societal duties; I'm known as a Prime, a peer among my mechanical brothers and sisters. I'm considered to be as Cybertronian as I am human. The Cybertronian people look to Primes and their Protectorates for guidance, and we in our leadership positions look to each other as a web of checks and counterbalances."

Taking a moment to compose his next thoughts, Sam continued, "This model of leadership is the complete antithesis of the scenario that had given powerful, rich mechs the ability to fuel a civil war that further separated mech from mech eons ago. It is the complete antithesis to Shockwave's desired destiny for Cybertron, where there is simple efficiency without art, without culture, without diversity." Resting his hands on his hips in a pose eerily reminiscent of Optimus, Sam's crooked grin and wrinkled nose was an indication of what he was about to say. "Personally, I'm doing a lot of things out of sheer spite for what the universe has thrown at me by this point, including making sure that the big guys don't step on us squishy Cybertronians either literally or figuratively."

A hum of amusement from Optimus gained him the floor. "As you have already seen, Sam has shown how we have begun to introduce ourselves a little differently. The governments, most of which have voluntarily voided our treaties over the last three months, had strongly suggested that we maintain our silence and separation from human culture." Optimus sat back in the pilot's cradle, crossing arms as best as possible over his chest. "I am not the type of leader to detach myself from the public and that was an image I quickly had to adopt; your leaders do not mingle among you. To be as blunt as I am with my own people, I find this stiff aloofness to be complete bullshit."

Sam didn't bother hiding his splutter, just covered his mouth with his hand and looked away from Optimus to compose himself again.

"We were always close to the Sparkpulse of our people before I was what you humans call brainwashed into servitude, committing war crimes that I will pay for despite not being in my full faculties at the time." Megatron sighed heavily and looked down at Sam, then away. "I daily ask forgiveness for and attempt to find ways to personally set my hand to reparations."

"This all starts with returning home," Sam concluded, standing again and pulling on every last minute of his public-speaking classes to lift this into a different note, though still maintaining the sober tone. "As I was among the first humans granted full Cybertronian citizenship, I will be the Earth-Cybertron Liaison for the foreseeable future. As we're broadcasting this, we are on our way to see what state Cybertron is in. We have word that our sun, doing as it's done for billions of years, has been slowly waking our new sister-planet up. And before anyone panics; yes, provided that Cybertron is able to obtain enough passive solar energy within the next fifty years, we will be able to move her to another system utilizing the same technology that brought her to our solar system."

"Over the last month," Bumblebee spoke as he stepped up to stand beside the catwalk, "I have been facilitating the conversations between human and Cybertronian scientists of all arts and modalities pertaining to physics, astronomy, and the interaction of planets and stars. Their findings and continued studies will be published on our embassy website in the seven most used languages." He nodded his head back towards the viewport. "All agree that it will take longer than the one-hundred-fifty year maximum timeline for relocating Cybertron for the presence of our planet to cause significant and irreversible changes to Earth's orbit."

"That is why we speak to you now, as we begin the journey to Cybertron," Optimus concluded, his voice warm and his optic keen. "By the end of this mission, we will have assessed Cybertron's state and update those Earthside with a realistic timeline that will restore our planet and remove it from your system to a suitable one that can support our planet. It is our hope that we can create and maintain a treaty of peace, trade, and prosperity between our worlds."

Soundwave stopped recording at the digital nod from Optimus and tipped his head to one side in amusement, not afraid to show it on his face. Sam, still unused to how close his and Soundwave's thoughts operated in the Cloud, blinked and asked, "Okay, realistically, how much of that slag was literally from your eons of learning how to speak political?"

"Most of it," Megatron rumbled in amusement, turning back to the instrumentation to visually scan the readings. "I've known this dockworker most of my life by now."

Sam nodded, more to himself than anyone else. "Uh-huh."

"What gave it away?"

"Soundwave's laughing at you."

The former Decepticon tyrant gave the Kinmech an unimpressed look, clearly pointing a thought at the telepath.

Optimus huffed at their interaction and shook his head, letting his armor relax slightly as he slouched in the "captain's chair." There was nobody to judge him for being tired, especially not in this room. "Realistically, I believe the concept behind the words, but I am most frustrated by the necessity to attempt to appeal to the humans in order to gain our own independence from their surface."

"Humans are young," Sam replied simply, prompting Optimus in a way that Megatron swiftly recognized as one of his own tactics when attempting to goad Optimus into being honest with himself as well as everyone else around him.

"Incredibly! And yet accomplished. I'm in a place where I feel most out of my depth, but I shouldn't."

"No should or shouldn't in this situation, mechling," Terratron murmured, walking up from the back of the bridge, resting a hand on the shoulders of his once-students as he passed them to lean over the captain's chair and stare at Optimus upside-down. "When was the last time that you had a planet of allies that had attempted to wipe you out, then regain our home world, and begin to formulate the plans to restore our shining beauty? Hm? Oh. And if my talks with the boy have borne any fruit, it's that I discovered he felt entirely out of his depth with several of the situations where you called upon him for assistance. Perhaps you may understand this from a new angle, Orion?"

Optimus huffed irritably, thoroughly chastised and gaining a new empathy and appreciation for Sam and the boy's innate resilience.

Said boy-Prime grinned and started walking down the catwalk stairs again. "Huh. Sounds like someone got a dose of what I got. I'm going to check on the rest of everyone else; let me know if anything interesting happens."

"Outside of testing the soundproofing of berthrooms?" Megatron asked. "It's not going to be that long of a trip for us, but I'm certain that I have time off with my new Mates—"

"Can I have the nanites not pick up on those frequencies? Unlikely? 'Kay. Thanks."

.o.

Bumblebee crept into his shared room, certain that Sam was asleep by now. When he heard Faustus' speakers playing LoFi, the mech knew that this was going to be a rough night. So he closed the door after himself without creeping, and greeted First Aid, who had also chosen to room with them. It was strange to be on a mission without Ratchet or Jazz, and if he felt that way, he knew that the rest felt that way.

Sam looked up from where he was staring into the middle distance, and then checked the time with a wince. "Fuck."

"Dissociated?" Bee asked, sitting on the same berth that Faustus was laying transformed upon, reading from a datapad. The young Adult reached up with his free hand to tuck it around Bumblebee's forearm absently, and the large frame relaxed with the hiss of hydraulics releasing pressure. "Ah. Dissociated and stressing your Protectorate out because he's still too young to have seen you like this and doesn't know what to do."

"He's been like this before?" Faustus hissed, then looked at Sam for forgiveness, which the human waved off.

Sam wasn't mad at the reaction, but he was starting to realize that there was a lot that they had rushed through. And not just to get out to Cybertron, but they had to rush Faustus not only into Adulthood by necessity, but he was also called to one day fulfill all of his Protectorate duties. "I'm like this a lot, actually. I don't brood like Optimus does, but I absolutely zone out. I . . . well, when you were still in your Sparkling frame, remember how there was the situation where Optimus died, then came back?"

"Yeah. You didn't come back to the Ranch until November, but Optimus was there almost immediately. He . . . he was in bad shape. Ratchet wasn't even yelling." Faustus set the datapad down and leaned up on that elbow to look down at his human. "You were at school."

"And every authority figure I had at the time was telling me to 'not talk about it' and 'deny anything happened' and 'don't think about it'." Sam drew in a deep breath and then released it. "They were wrong to tell me that, I've found out through talking with some of the psychs and shit that worked with NEST and would do sessions with me at the Ranch."

"That's why you were suddenly there every vacation!" Faust exclaimed, then he settled back and grinned. "So that's really why, it wasn't because you were told to."

"Nobody told me where I couldn't go between school semesters, honestly," Sam admitted, moving to climb up onto the berth and sit between his first Guardian and his young Protectorate. "But they told me what I couldn't do. Lennox and Bee saw me go through a massive meltdown once and they had me doing intensives with Rhys. You know that I've got anxiety, but now it shows up in that dissociated half-shutdown stage."

"So . . ." First Aid prompted gently from his bunk, pulling out his evening ration of energon. "What were you anxious about?"

"This time? If we'll have enough oxygen or ability to create an oxygen environment on Cybertron. And I'm not a scientist. And the Old Primes are being chatty about there being more than enough oxygen on the Cybertron-that-was, which doesn't account for the current situation." Tossing his hands up, Sam looked up at First Aid. "Anything you can reassure me with, doc?"

Holding a finger up with a grin, the medic replied, "Your Protectorate has onboard systems that can create a Nitrogen-Oxygen environment for you in his cargo holds, and he's stocked with enough supplies to fly you from Cybertron to our Mars Base and back twice."

"And Oreos."

"You did not smuggle Oreos!" Sam gasped in glee turning to face his young friend.

"I did! I was stressing over packing and couldn't figure out why I was technically finished, but something in my programming was saying that I wasn't." With a sigh, Faustus admitted, "First Aid told me that there's a difference in packing for survival between human and Cybertronian standards, and I was reacting like a human."

"We pack goodies," Bumblebee blurted, doorwings twitching in glee. He pulled out a container from under the double-berth to show Sam carefully-packaged Energon treats both in gel and crystallized format. "Oil cakes won't travel well, but Ratchet and Wheeljack are known for stress-baking goodies after shift. So, when Faustus followed that programming line, which isn't even a Protectorate programming line, he realized that once he added some of your favorite treats and Wheeljack made him his own care-package of treats, his anxiety settled."

The young man thought about this for a brief moment, then nodded and sighed. "Makes sense, I guess? Treats keep morale up?"

"Comfort, Sam," First Aid replied softly. "It's about comfort. Not having a source of comfort when we are stressed on a mission has shown lower success rates, and so Prowl was the mech who finally put his pede down. He liked that two-to-five percent boost in potential success rates."

"Speaking of comfort," Sam replied, pointing at the alcove above Faustus' helm. "I think I should at least try to lay down."

"Good idea," First Aid replied instead of the young Protectorate. "For both of you. Faustus, I'm going to have Barricade come in here to keep watch—"

"No need," Bumblebee interrupted, "Barricade is recharging and I already commed Dinobot." Helping his charge up to his own small bunk, the scout-turned-Prime rested his fingertips on his brother's back and shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere." Moving his hand to the pauldron of the young mech at his side he added, "I'll stay up until you're both out and Dinobot is fully settled in, okay?"

Within moments, the young creatures fell into a deep sleep and recharge, the tension of excitement and physical strain of takeoff finally draining from their bodies.

Bumblebee felt incredibly old in this moment, watching the human snore softly and the mechling click in his recharge. :They're so young, Aid.:

:You were, once. Many felt that you were too young. Some still think you and I don't have responsible caretakers or mentors because we were taught how to fight and heal on the front lines.: But the white and red mech sat straighter and watched the sleeping youngsters as well. :Faustus was pushed too quickly into an adult frame, too quickly named as Protectorate.:

:I have had words with Optimus about this, and he does feel chastised that he ran with his excitement. That's why I'm still guarding Sam; Faustus is nowhere near ready and may never be a martial Protectorate beyond defensive methods. Barricade is technically officially pulling double-duty with Megatron to guard Sam as well.: Bumblebee nodded to the small mech who walked in, grateful that Dinobot held some Guard training that had overlapped well into becoming a scout in the primordial wilderness. :But that's for another cycle. At least we have Terra here to help raise the mechling, and I'm grateful they get along. Dinobot, good timing.:

:Oh? Tired already?: the warrior sassed, hands on hips and a glint in his red optics.

:Oh, incredibly after sitting on my aft and listening to Optimus, Megatron, Elita, and Soundwave all argue about the details of how to record, edit, and release the announcement video to Earth. They're so formulaic about it that I'm bored to recharge.: Grinning with his optics Bumblebee was gratified at the amused snort he got from Dinobot but sat back and leaned his bulk against the sleeping hulk of one of the subjects of his anxiety. :But, I am also a gossip-whore, and you hinted that Airazor and Tigatron are actually considering Bonding, not just saying they're Sparkmates?!:

Settling on a stool to watch the door and keep optics on their charges, Dinobot leaned closer. :But neither are willing to tell the other! Worse than humans, those two.:

First Aid cackled silently, and the long first night of travel passed slowly.

.o.

Author's Note: Welcome back! I know that my side projects have been taking center stage, but we have, officially, reached the second half of the story that I've wanted to tell about Sam Witwicky, about Megatron, about Soundwave, about Starscream . . . about the evils that were glossed over when we couldn't bear to look . . . about healing . . . about rebuilding.

I'll be trying to bounce between several stories as I try to get myself back up into writing shape after several family members passing away suddenly, hitting Autistic burnout, burying a service dog prematurely, a divorce, and moving across the country all within the last seven years. I have too many stories to tell, and I want to share as many of them as I can with you for many, many long years. I'm not fully back, but I'm closer to getting there than I was two years ago.

FFnet-specific Author's Note: I started on this website, but I simply don't have the energy to update both FFnet and AO3. That said, there are three full chapters ready and waiting for you for "Who We Are" on AO3, along with many other life updates hidden among the various author's notes found along not only the Transformers fandom, but also Star Trek and Voltron: Legendary Defender.

I greatly appreciate every review here, and I am hopeful that all of my longtime readers (and possibly new readers) will join me in the AO3 version . . . There's been a LOT of edits from this version, many of which long overdue. Additionally, I am in the process for a true final edit of TWDTH with the intent of turning the whole thing into a podfic when I'm a little more stable. I want to be able to make the fic more accessible to those who may struggle with a screenreader, or who want a human voice instead of an AI-generated one.

Thank you, again, for continuing to favorite, review, and reread this monster child of mine. Be well, and I look forward to seeing you at future Transformers Conventions!

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