#yes.. Mimi is a master with poisons... he just thinks they’re neato

[minminambus]

81 with minimegs! (Sg or normal, whichever u want!)

I chose to do SG Minimegs! This is a little bit of a different storyline than my SG Lost Light AU, but it’s still got the angst. >:3c

Megatron’s habsuite was a jail cell. His berth was just a bench that he could easily fall off of if he sat the wrong way. Heavy stasis cuffs were fit on his wrists. Their weight was nearly overwhelming for the mech. He should have been able to handle it — he would have been! — but it sent him slouching forward. He couldn’t find the energy in himself to lift his servos for a long period of time, so they, along with the cuffs, simply rested on his knees. It was much easier. He couldn’t tell where he was. His internal navigation systems were disabled when he was put in this disaster of a new frame. There was no way around it, this frame was damned. It was the work of Perceptor and Ratchet, why wouldn’t it be damned? Megatron could fully list all the things that bothered him about it, but one thing stood out the most; the fact that his wings were stripped away and replaced with much smaller appendages. They were simply dull pieces of metal, like the rest of his frame. The Autobots didn’t even given him the mercy of having paint on him. The absence of his glowing, blue wings bothered him so much, it itched at his sensors more than the poisons forced into his energon lines. Before he could go into the spiral of despair about that, Megatron heard a sound. In the silence of the surrounding jail cells, it was difficult to miss any sort of noise.

His helm snapped up, turning to the source of the sound. Doors sliding open. A familiar sound. Little footsteps followed, echoing through the halls. Whoever it was wasn’t in a hurry, that was for sure. Megatron straightened his posture, not ready to look weak in front of an Autobot. He’d already been beaten, taken as a prisoner, and branded with purple. He didn’t need to add any more insult to injury by looking all dejected and miserable as he really was inside.

Once the other mech came into view, Megatron’s ember dropped. The bot was busy jotting things down on a datapad and didn’t catch sight of Megatron yet. Megatron didn’t want to know what his reaction would be. He just wanted to sink into the wall at this point. He usually wasn’t a mech to avoid confrontation… but this was a special case. A dreadfully special case.

Despite his apprehension, Megatron could not look away from the little bot. He was barely a third of Megatron’s height, and that seemed to be where the grand amount of familiarity ended. The bot was pink. Megatron wouldn’t have expected anything less from him, but this was a lighter pink than what Megatron had seen on him a millennia ago. It was a tad bit muted. He had swirling biolights on his frame, each of them casting a faint fuchsia glow. Instead of an optic-catching black as a secondary color, he chose a deep grey. At least, it seemed that way in the dim lighting of the jail cell. The insignia on his faceplates allowed no room for error in assuming who he was. This minibot in front of Megatron, only separated from him by the glowing purple bars of the cell, was none other than Minimus Ambus.

And that was what made Megatron’s ember lurch. It was painful to even look at him. The minibot opened his mouth to speak, not taking his eyes off his datapad. He looked so tired. Perhaps Megatron shouldn’t have cared after what Minimus had done to him so long ago, but he couldn’t help it. It was painful to even look at him.

“Alright, so you must be the new arrival here on th—” The minibot had chosen to look up mid-sentence and seemed to have lost his words. Wide golden optics met dim red, almost like they were trapped there. Minimus nearly had flinched back at the sight of Megatron. “Oh by Unicron’s goodness, it’s you,” he finally said, breathless.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Megatron murmured, his tone far harsher than he meant it to be. His vocalizer felt heavy in his throat.

“Ah, well, maybe some other high profile Decepticon, but not exactly you, hon. It’s a real surprise! Would’ve thought that Optimus would have kept you for himself. Anyway, I’ve got to write up something to tell Rodimus, because some mech decided not to tell us that we were getting the Decepticon leader on board.”

Minimus’ tone was cheery, and most likely falsely so. Megatron had known the mech for a long enough time to know when his joy was real or fake. Megatron hadn’t seen him for a millennia, so he was stunned. Minimus tapped away at his datapad, glancing up and asking the occasional question. Megatron numbly answered, because there was really nothing left to hide anymore. The Decepticon brand was quite literally ripped from his chest. He had no allies, no friends. Nothing. It was all gone.

He finally roused himself from the icy numbness though, to look Minimus in the optics for a second time. It was time for a question of his own. He felt icy and cold, and if he was interrupting Minimus’ chatter, he wouldn’t even have known. It was so unlike him, but there was too much fog in his processor for him to care.

“Do you…” he considered the wording for a moment. “...Remember the moment you left me alone and broke every promise you ever made?”

“Darling—” Such an empty word now— “I’d thought you had known that I’m not a mech of many promises. I couldn’t have made any promises anyway, if you remember the situation.”

Megatron did. Quite vividly. He and Minimus had started dating shortly before the war really began — after Megatron’s exile, before the Autobots took the Senate. They had fallen for each other fast, it was like an object pulled by gravity, falling fast and hard. Perhaps it was far too fast to have been true. The end of what they had was fast, and if the previous comparison serves as anything, it landed like gravity had pulled it all the way down from a balcony.

They were having a simple drink together, when Minimus, in a hushed voice, told Megatron that his whole family wanted him dead. Not much of a surprise, considering they were from the depths of Iacon. The minibot had passed Megatron a drink — he took it and sipped it as Minimus explained. It was far too sweet for Megatron’s liking, but that’s how Minimus made most of his drinks. Megatron didn’t complain, especially with the solemn look in Minimus’ optics. Then came the question. If it came down to it, would Megatron want to be killed by Minimus’s family or by the minibot himself. He was dumbfounded that Minimus would even suggest something of that sort! Minimus had insisted that he hated the Autobot ideology so why—?

Then Megatron had blacked out before he could even answer him. There was something in his energon, oh god. Minimus had— Had he—? Did Minimus poison him?! Megatron couldn’t believe it when he had woken up in an alley with his ember racing at a pace too fast to be natural, and with a gang of Autobots running towards him. Luckily he escaped with his life. He couldn’t bring himself to comm Minimus after that.

Back to the present, away from the memories — away from the sweet taste of engex, away from the gentle, lingering touches, away from the love they once had — Megatron simply nodded at Minimus.

Bouncing his stylus between his digits, Minimus stared at Megatron.

“So you’d remember the little thing about… oh… how you aren’t dead?” he asked, “That would be a hard thing to forget, I bet.”

A tone that used to bring a smile to Megatron’s face angered him instead. He knew something was wrong with his systems and coding to make him go to coldness and anger first, but that knowledge didn’t give him any reign over the feelings. With a sudden, shuddering burst of strength, Megatron stood, towering over the minibot. Only the glowing bars of the cell stood between them.

“You. Tried. To kill me!” he growled.

Minimus merely took once step back, the movement being the only show of fear. Minimus tutted him, giving a few clicks of the glossa. “If I wanted you dead, there would have been no ‘tried!’ You would be! Since the one upside about this ship is the fact that my family isn’t obsessing over every rule I break, let me tell you something. Come closer. Down.”

He pointed to the ground, waiting with the tapping of a pede. Megatron was helpless to disobey him. Not because of the chemicals or modifications of his frame. Not because of his past fondness for the minibot. It was because of the deep contradiction between the minibot’s commanding tone and the softness in his optics. On his knees, the cuffs lightly scraping the floor, he wasn’t even eye-level with Minimus. He still had to lean down. A small pink servo reached between the bars. Purple electricity hopped along Minimus’ wrist cabling, but he didn’t seem affected at all. He touched Megatron’s cheek with surprising gentleness, and the larger mech couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

“If I didn’t do that, then what do you think Dominus would have done, dear? Think about that, for a little while. I just know you’re going to have that kind of time here. I’ve got to tell Rodimus about our new arrival — I bet he’ll be delighted to have you here.”

And just like that, the hand on his face was gone, and Minimus was walking away. So abrupt. So sudden. And yet it was like the servo on his cheek left an imprint, like it burned — no, branded — him — with a new sort of symbol. He watched Minimus until he disappeared from view, and listened to his footsteps like it was a symphony. Megatron stayed kneeling, his processor and ember racing and… and…

He heard the door open once more, and Minimus called out to him before he was completely gone, “Ta-ta!”

Damn it. Megatron been wrong all these years.