Chapter Text
G1
Optimus looked around at the blue and white void surrounding him. His servos on his hips, as he turned his helm side to side. Finding only an identical horizon in every direction he looked. Nodding to himself he looked down at the glassy floor beneath his pedes taking note of the singular difference in this endless void. A collection of textile pouches stuffed with something soft and almost bouncy resting on the floor. Optimus had seen Spike use something similar when the little human recharged during Earth's night cycle. Pillows he thought they were called, though Spike's were much much smaller compared to this fluffy pile.
Optimus huffed, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well, not the weirdest dream I've had."
Bayverse
Megatron was dead.
Some part of Optimus grieved his brother, but at the same time, the mech that Megatron had once been had truly died a long time ago. Frankly, he didn't have much time to grieve anyway. He had to deal with the human government, arranging sanctuary for his soldiers and any who would be following them to the little planet of Earth. Protoform based space travel was one way only, meaning that leaving earth wasn't plausible at the moment. Paperwork was not one of his strong suits, let's just say. By the end of it, his autobots were given temporary quarters in the half destroyed Sector 7 base until a more permanent option was allowed and they melted Jazz putting their comrade to rest.
A memorial couldn't be given to Megatron, one of the conditions the humans gave for sanctuary was that all remains of the fallen decepticons had to be handed over.
Everyone was exhausted by the time the sun went down. Their human allies had gathered all the soft materials they could find and basically curled up in a giant pile. Optimus wasn't sure if this was standard human recharge behavior, but he couldn't really judge since everyone was else had to recharge in vehicle mode due there being no berths around.
So Optimus was rather confused when he onlined on his back in root-mode, with someone gently poking at his faceplate. His first thought was Bumblebee needed his attention, because Ironhide or Ratchet wouldn't waste time gently rousing him from recharge. However, when shuttering his optics on, Optimus was immediately confused. Crouched over him, faceplate to faceplate, was the most bizarre looking cybertronain he'd every seen. If they were even a cybertronian. Their red and blue armor almost obnoxiously bright, and extremely simplistic in appearance, boxy they could almost be described. Their blue optics were very flat, almost empty glass with a very faint glow to them. A very bold autobot sigil painted onto their left shoulder.
Cybertronian suddenly leaned back, getting to their pedes, "Whew," They exclaimed, "Good you're up, I honestly thought you were dead for a moment there," they chuckled.
Optimus rubbed a servo into his faceplate as he sat up, Strangely his frame wasn't as sore as it should be after just coming back from a battle field. In fact it he wasn't in pain...at all? Blinking in confusion he took the unfamiliar surroundings. A seemingly endless realm of pale blue mist and white wispy clouds that gave off an oddly comforting sense of peace, stretched out before him.
"Where are we?" Optimus found himself asking.
The stranger only shrugged, "Considering I'm recharging right now, a dream flux is my best guess. Kind of nice that there's someone else this time. Not that this place isn't peaceful, but it can get really empty after a while."
Optimus felt his faceplate screw up in confusion, "Recharging? You're recharging?"
"Yep."
"That can't be because I was just recharging," Optimus stated getting to his pedes and apparently this cybertronian was also both a helm and shoulders shorter then him.
Rather then acting confused or fight Optimus' claim. The weird dream mech hummed, on servo on his hip and the other clutching his chin in thought, as if this was merely an everyday inconvenience that just needed to be thought through. They began to pace back and forth, their blue armor...wait what? Optimus blinked, no their armor was mostly red. Why did it look blue for a moment?
"We both claim to be recharging, dreaming most likely, so it would be safe to assume that what we are experiencing is that of a shared dream," The stranger stated, gently slamming one fist into an open upward facing palm as if he had solved everything.
"How exactly is that safe to assume? Or even the most likely option?" Optimus spoke as if this entire situation wasn't completely ludicrous already, "One of us could easily be lying."
"Well I didn't lie, did you lie?"
"...no."
"Then it must be shared dream!"
This mech's logic was getting harder and harder to follow. He sighed, "You said you've been here before?"
"Yes, I have. I wake up here once every few quartexs."
"And no one else has been here?"
The mech shook their helm, "Nope. Nothing really happens here. Mostly I just lie back in the pillows and wait until it's time to wake up. That's why I was so surprised to see you here."
"So, when you wake up it's back in the real world?"
"Back in my quarters on the ARK yes."
"You were on the ARK?!" Optimus whirled to stare at this strange mech.
"Why, yes, me and all the other autobots. We've been living out of it since we crashed landed on the planet earth," he stated placing his servos on his hips.
That didn't make any sense. Sentinel Prime had taken the ARK during his escape, and as far as Optimus knew there wasn't any crew on board. And what this mech mean by the rest of the autobots? The faction had been scattered to the stars since leaving Cybertron.
"Oh wait, where are my manners? I haven't even asked for your designation," The strange mech stated, holding out a servo to shake, "My name is Optimus Prime, it's a pleasure too meet you!"
Animated
Optimus laid on the berth of his new quarters. The Orion had only taken off mere mega-cycles ago, with no actual missions or assignments under their belts, but the young prime was still exhausted. Looking around at the modest, mostly empty, room he couldn't help but scold himself. Optimus should be grateful for any career in the Cybertron service at all. If Ultra Magnus hadn't taken interest in him while at the academy, likely he could have been recharging in a prison cell with pending mech-slaughter charges about now. He shivered at the thought, and immediately felt guilty of his fear. Prison would've been awful, and Optimus knew there were a lot of risks with taking the blame for what happened on Archa 7, but it would've been worse for Sentinel. His friend didn't have the clean behavioral record that Optimus had, no doubt the blue cadet wouldn't have been let off easy if he had been blamed for Elita's death.
Heh...Elita...Optimus should feel ashamed for even thinking that he and Sentinel were suffering when she...He swallowed back his grief, reminding himself one last time to be grateful, before rolling over and drifting off into a restless recharge.
"So, you're going to work hand an hand with human military?"
"It's appears we will have too. Our numbers are far smaller then that of your own crew. The human forces are one of the many reasons that we even won against the decepticon forces and reclaimed the cube. Besides I think their superiors want to keep a closer eye on us."
Optimus shifted in his recharge. Maybe it was his academy-botness showing, but couldn't these mechs wait until recharge cycle ended? Considering there were no alarms going off clearly the ship wasn't crashing or on fire. There was NO reason to wake him up!
"Whewooff, I don't envy you, we haven't had any officials down at the ARK just yet, but...Oh!"
"What are you looking at...Oh!"
Wait a minute...Optimus didn't know those voices. Who the frag was in his quarters?!
With this sudden realization, the young prime snapped out of any lingering recharge lag, whirling upward with axe in servo...only to see that this was decidedly not his quarters. He was in fact not on a berth, but rather a really glassy floor. Like so polished it had to be made of expensive crystals. An endless pale sky stretched overhelm, and he was almost distracted by the brightness of it - Cyberton almost never had clear bright skies - however any awe vanished when laid optics on the two mechs present.
The one whom was closest, sat lounging with his back turned to him, could only be described as...industrial? Like terrifyingly industrial. His plating was extremely intricate, hundreds of different individual pieces shifting as he turned to Optimus, only half of them painted in his red and blue color scheme. His pin-point optics were the dullest of blue, and glared straight through Optimus' spark. He felt more machine than mech, like there was no protoform underneath that armor, and immediately set Optimus on edge. The very calm glance the stranger gave his powered up axe was not comforting in the least.
The second mech, was sat further off, holding what looked like a puffed up textile to his chestplate. This mech was very...well boxey and rough on the edges is what Optimus could call him. Faceless too, given how his intake was covered with a mask, and flat blue optics that seemed to be missing their pupils. Unlike his soulless companion, this one actually looked startled at the sight of Optimus' axe, if the twitching finials were anything to go by.
However, it wasn't their odd appearances that worried Optimus the most. It was their mere size, the closer one especially, and the thickness of their battle etched platting. These mecha were warframes, blind killers.
"Decepticons!" Optimus screamed getting to his pedes, knowing he would likely offline here and now, but willing to perish like the soldier he was once trained to be.
The mecha proceeded to look baffled at his shout.
"What the frag...?" spoke the industrial-looking mech. While his companion was scrambling to his pedes, having dropped the puffed textile piece. Maybe it was a moment of wretched cowardness, but once the warframe was standing, Optimus hurled his axe at them and turned to flee in vehicle mode. Strangely though, the decepticons did not chase him.
Optimus soon found out why. It was like shuttering an optic, a blip in his instance of panic. As soon as the warframes were out of his rear-view, they reappeared in front of him. Optimus screamed, his treads loosing their grip as he tried to desperately stop, causing him to flip forward. The ensuing crash knocking him back into robot mode. Eventually landing him flat on his back, with the wind knocked out of his vents. He didn't even get the chance to pull in more air for his now overheating frame, as a heavy pede was placed on his chest plate, pinning him to the ground.
"Is that really necessary?"
"Please, he'll only make himself dizzy driving into the barrier over and over again."
Optimus shuttered his optics online, finding, to his horror both warframes looming over him. The taller of the two pressing down on him with the heavy weight of his pede. The shorter, more boxy mech leveled a slightly exasperated look with his companion.
"He is already energized with fear don't make it worse."
With the warframes now locked in a staring match, Optimus began to struggle. The heel pressed down harder, making him stop with a strangled cry.
With a stuttering voice box Optimus choked, "I'll never talk. Do what you want! I'll never talk!"
The industrial mech looked unmoved, but didn't crush him further. The boxy mech however titled his helm, a mannerism that Optimus didn't recognize, but the strangers optics flared with...well Optimus didn't want to call it sympathy. Decepticons didn't feel sympathy.
"Prime," the boxy mech spoke, his powerful voice strangely gentle, "Look at how young he is."
The industrial mech paused, his beady optics seemingly combing over Optimus. An unexpected look a of pity filling his face plate, as he let out a soft rush of air from his vents. Slowly the pressure pinning Optimus down lessened, a weighted gravity lifted off of his chasis, and he scrambled to his pedes the first chance at freedom he saw. He tripped over himself, because of course he did, and only the gentle yet firm grip of a large servo on his shoulder kept the young prime from falling face plate first into the gleaming ground.
"Woah there," the boxy mech spoke, still holding Optimus steady, "Vent young one, you're alright. Nothing is going to hurt you here."
Yeah like I'm going to believe that!
"I don't think he believes us," the taller stated.
"And why wouldn't he?"
"Because I didn't believe it the first time I woke up here..."
"Alright possible fair point, but who's the say he's not more like me...more accepting of the unusual as you put it?"
"I"M NOTHING LIKE YOU!" Optimus snapped jerking away and out of the smaller warframe's gentle grip.
His scream was a reflexive action, a total impulse and Optimus regretted it the moment it slipped out of his intake. It was an idiotic move that was probably going to cost him his life. It was just...to be compared to that of a decepticon. It opened fresh wounds and threw acid in them. At the trial for Elita's death Optimus saw the way that every official looked at him and Sentinel. The bitter disgust on their faceplates, like it didn't matter what the verdict of the trial would yield, like they were already guilty. The word traitor had been thrown around in whispers. After all what autobot broke protocol, not only by going to an off-limits world but by killing one of their own?
So, to be compared to these mecha, to be acknowledge by decepticons ad similar...it was too soon.
"I'm nothing like you. I'm not a decepticon," Optimus stated again, thought he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or the strangers in his colors.
"Decepticon?" The industrial mech's face plat screwed up in a complex expression of confusion. Like what Optimus has just said was the most ludicrous claim he had ever heard.
"Uhm, kid," The boxy one started, "We're not decepticons."
He finished by pointing at his shoulder...at the autobot brand, outlined in pure white stamped into his platting.
What?
Optimus shook his helm in confusion.
"No, That's not possible," he spoke in confused and near fragile voice, "No warframe is an autobot."
And as if they couldn't give a flying frag about Optimus' mental health both mechs had the fragging audacity to look confused at to what Optimus so clearly explained!
"Warframes?" The boxy one said, once more tilting his helm for some unknown reason.
"It's a common derogatory term for mecha with combat based alt-modes," The other said, "Tanks, fighter jets, etc."
"Ah...wait...why would that effect being an autobot? I don't discriminate my soldiers based on Alt-mode...do you?"
The industrial shook his helm, making the boxy mech turn to Optimus, "Do you?"
What? Did Optimus do what? Discriminate soldiers? For one it wasn't discrimination if it was true. Warframe's programming made them naturally violent and dangerous, it was the first lesson that the academy taught any student that was aiming for the Elite Guard. Or any student in general, really. Two...
"I don't have any soldiers..." Optimus said, only realizing afterwards that it was a really specific detail to focus on.
The mecha shuttered their optics in what could possibly be surprise, sharing a glance before looking back to Optimus. He tried not to shrink underneath the twin intense stares pointing at him. It was like when Ultra Magnus glared down at him at the trial.
"You are Optimus Prime, correct?" The boxy mech asked.
"How do you know my designation?" Opitmus took a step backwards, "W-who are you mecha?!"
Another glance was shared, "Oh small one, we're you."
G1
Optimus went over the datapad pile on his desk, his office surrounding him. It was a room pile high with slightly messy shelves and rundown furniture all painted in bright orange. A lot of it was rebuilt or repurposed from debris after the ARK crashed but he made it work. The autobot leader had eveyrhting he needed in order to take care of his mecha and all humans who tended to stop by. Though, it wasn't normal work that occupied his desk or processor this day. No, rather Optimus was taking this evening to dig deeper into a certain personal interest of his own. Ever since his counterpart appeared in the pillow dream as he had come to call it, some part of Optimus puzzled over the existence of other worlds. So, during the fleeting moments of free time for himself, he had taken to trying to learn more about the 'multiversal theory'.
Surprisingly he hadn't found much in his own records, or in teletran1's databases. Rather most of the theories and musing over this sort of topic came from human science...and media. Optimus couldn't help but marvel at the sheer creativity that little race had, even if they lacked in technological premise, humans certainly made up for it with their, as they called it, outside the box thinking.
So far Optimus hadn't found much of a cause as to how or why, he was able to reach out to his doppleganger (or was it the other way around?), but honestly he didn't mind talking to...himself? The first counterpart, or "Prime" as Optimus addressed him so they didn't get each other mixed up, was in a different place in his war, but it was oddly comforting throwing idea back and forth between someone who was sort of in the same position. Stuck in a role of leadership that neither of them were really striving for. There was this sense of companionship that was quietly shared. It didn't have a name or a title, but it was felt all the same.
Prime said he would look into theories on his end, but the human government of his world was far more involved then in Optimus' own. So it would be a moment before the taller mech could bring information to the table.
Speaking of information...Optimus' thought drifted to the most recent member of the dream club. Simply due to the fact that what they had managed to get out of their younger counter part was...disturbing. Optimus and Prime had taken to call him "Junior". It was a term of endearment that Sparkplug often used on Spike, and from Optimus' understanding it was common to refer to younger humans that resembled older members of their family line by the nickname. It seemed to work for the unique situation they had found themselves in, and well Junior didn't object to being call that. If anything the mechling was still trying convince himself that Optimus and Prime weren't going to kill him.
Though given what Junior spoke of his world, it was understandable. Prime's world seemed relatively similar to Optimus's own. Only being a little more hopeless with fewer troops, and humans taking a more active role. However, Junior's seemed to break all barriers when it came to similarity between the universes. For one, the war was over. Autobots having claimed victory, and restored Cybertron to it's former glory. There was a sense of relief in that fact, but at the same time a feeling of...unease. Because that world's "Optimus Prime" hadn't been apart of that. He hadn't even come online. Optimus wasn't sure if it was some unknown control issues he had, but the idea of an autobot faction with out an Optimus to lead it. It felt like something was missing.
And that feeling of unease didn't go way when Junior continued to describe his Cybertron. A Cybertron that was riddled with strict rules, paranoia, and xenophobia. At least that's what it sounded like to Optimus, granted his own Cybertron had it's flaws prior to the war, but this felt like this cybertron, these autobots, didn't know the meaning of "Freedom is the Right of all Sentient Beings". Then again how could they have known if the person who coined that phrase wasn't around to speak it. Still, Optimus knew something was wrong when Junior started freaking out after he revealed that the ARK was stranded on an organic planet.
That lead to a whole new conversation, about trauma and how it was okay to be sad his future conjunx being dead (Also an awkward reveal that Optimus did have a conjunx while his counterparts did not [oddly this made him rather disappointed in them]).
Then on top of all the disturbing things about this third new world, then came the weird facts. For one their time system was all fragged up, mega-cycles and vorns having totally different meanings from what they usually had. And Two! The title of Prime was not in fact for the barrer of the Matrix of Leadership (or profound descendant of the Primes/leader of cybertron, if he had to include Prime's world where he was born with the title) but rather it was measly military rank. Held by hundreds of bots at a time. That was just...a straight up baffling thought to have. The title of 'prime' was so engrained in cybetronian mythology and history that it almost felt wrong for it to just be handed out so flippantly.
(of course the resulting panic attack from Junior after hearing what the title meant in their worlds was a bucket of cyberworms that Optimus was going to keep to himself out of respect for the younger mech's privacy).
Optimus sighed, trying to remind himself that not all universes were going to be like his own. He really shouldn't judge. Since now that there were at least three Optimuses (Optimi?) in the multiverse, likely it meant there would be more. Who knows what their worlds would be like...