Because I'm apparently addicted to writing about Transformer kids. And I'm not even sorry.

This idea locked its jaws onto me and has refused to let go, so you get this exploration of how two young mechs, one the son of Cybertron's greatest hero and one the son of its most notorious war criminal, deal with their respective fathers' legacies and what Cybertron expects of them as a result of their heritage. That, and I just like the idea of giving kids to some of our favorite G1 characters and seeing how they handle things.

Characters from my Thundercracker's Glory series of stories will be showing up in this fic - mainly Glory, Piston, Windblade (not the IDW one, but an OC that predates her), Stormrunner, and Wavebreaker. This being a different universe, however, some of those characters will suffer different fates than they did in Glory's story. And I'm going to do my best to write this story so that it isn't necessary to read Thundercracker's Glory or its sequels to understand what's going on (though I'd be flattered if you did, hehe...).

Thanks to ParadiseParrot for beta-reading and helping me brainstorm!

The howl of the gunship's engines echoed off the jagged rock formations that jutted from the planet's surface like the spines of some prehistoric creature. It rocketed over the drab gray-tan earth, kicking up a swath of dust like smoke in its wake, sending the insects and tiny reptilian creatures that were the planet's only natives scurrying for cover. The red-tinged rays of the world's sun gleamed from the craft's plating in a pink sheen, as if it had been spattered with energon in a recent battle, and the same pink-tinged light flashed from the armor of the ship's occupants, mechs who peered from the craft's open sides with optics alight with both anticipation and secret dread.

Optimus Prime gripped the safety handle in one hand as he leaned out the side of the ship, readying his rifle with the other. His optics narrowed as he focused on a distant smudge on the horizon – a low rectangular building, an anomaly against the ragged natural rock of the landscape. This was it. This was their destination… and with any luck, the site of the final battle that would seal the fate of Cybertron once and for all.

"Target acquired," Ultra Magnus reported from the pilot's seat, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard over the scream of the engine. "Ready to fire on your order, Prime."

"Hold your fire," Prime commanded. "We land and approach on foot. We want our target apprehended alive if at all possible."

Ironhide twisted around to give him an incredulous glare. "We gotta chance to blast Megatron to th' Pit an' you ain't takin' it? Have ya slipped a cog, Prime?!"

Prime shook his head. "The Autobot Council wants Megatron to stand trial for his crimes. If we destroy him, we deny all the victims of his cruelty justice. We take him alive if we can."

Ironhide scowled, then nodded and turned back to the rapidly approaching building. Prime knew his answer hadn't mollified him entirely, but it would at least ensure he didn't charge in with guns blazing. Which was fine by him – he had no desire to see his old friend felled in battle so close to victory, especially given the circumstances.

His grip tightened on the safety handle as he pulled himself back into the gunship. This mission was very real, yet an air of unreality hung over every aspect of it. His CPU still couldn't quite grasp the fact that the war was nearly over… and that the Autobots had emerged victorious. After what seemed to be an eternity of violence and death and destruction, the Decepticon's iron grip on Cybertron and its colony worlds had finally been shattered. Their forces were scattered, some fleeing into the far reaches of space, others defecting to the Autobots in hopes of saving their own necks, still others captured and awaiting a final decision on their fates.

The war was drawing to a close, and they had all but won. It was the dream Prime had clung to for vorns, yet it seemed so hard to believe that it was nearly within reach.

Perhaps this mission will finally help it sink in, he thought, bracing himself as the ship heaved upward to clear a rock formation. Once Megatron is captured, it will be over for good. And Cybertron can finally begin to heal, and prepare for a brighter future.

The Autobots Prime had handpicked for this final mission – Ultra Magnus, Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Mirage, and Bumblebee – had focused their gazes on the horizon. Once he was sure their attention was directed away from him, he lifted his weapon-arm and allowed a panel to raise, bringing a small holo-photo to life… a holo-photo of a regal-looking pink femme, smiling gently at the camera while cradling a little form in her arms.

Orion. Their creation… their son.

This is our future, he thought, a burst of pride and love cutting through the tension in his spark. Our hope for a better Cybertron. Not to mention his incentive for completing this mission and getting back to Iacon in one piece – not just for the sake of his Autobots, but for the sake of Elita-1… and of the sparkling who waited anxiously for his father to come home safe from every battle.

Perhaps it had been overly optimistic for Prime and Elita to create a child together during a time of war. But somehow – perhaps prompted by the Matrix, perhaps just coincidence – he had felt that the emergence of a new life on his part would be a sign of hope to his troops. It had been far too long since any mechs, Autobot or Decepticon, had the courage to reproduce; perhaps the son of a Prime would be the assurance the Autobots needed to create new life, and to ensure there would be a Cybertron worth saving for the rising generation.

"We're within range!" Jazz shouted, breaking into Prime's reverie.

"Bring us down," he ordered, snapping the panel shut. "Surround the building and keep a sharp optic out for traps or guards. According to our intel Megatron should be here alone, but we're not taking any chances."

"Roger-dodger!" Jazz replied, saluting and grinning wildly. "Let's catch us a Slagmaker!"

Prime glanced to the side… and saw Ironhide staring at him. The old Nissan glanced down at his arm where the holo-photo had been moments ago, then flashed him a grin.

"Eager to get back to 'em?"

"Always," Prime replied. "Though I'll hazard a guess that you're eager to get back to Chromia and Zinc, too."

Ironhide chuckled. "Least we'll go back with a story for the lil' ones, won't we?"

It was hard to argue with that. And at least Prime hadn't been the only mech foolhardy enough to sire offspring in the midst of a war. He only hoped he could arrange for both of them to get home in one piece, for the sake of the sparklings.

Ultra Magnus guided the gunship down for a landing about two hundred meters from the building, dust billowing out from under the vehicle as it touched down. It was difficult to make out what this structure's original purpose had been – it was so old and weather-beaten that it seemed as if the only things holding it together were rust and encrusted dirt. The relentless sun had bleached its paint to a nondescript dun color, and the few windows had been shattered long ago and replaced with sheets of opaque plastic. A low wall of jagged rocks, topped with rods sharpened to deadly points, made a token, if pathetic, effort at defense.

It was shocking to imagine that Megatron, Commander of the Decepticons and would-be Emperor of Cybertron, had sunk so low that he would resort to hiding in such a decrepit shelter on a desolate Fringe world. But somehow, Prime wasn't entirely surprised. In the past few months the Autobots had captured stronghold after stronghold, scattering Megatron's forces and driving him further and further to the edges of the galaxy. All his closest officers were dead or imprisoned, the vast majority of his troops deserted or destroyed… and now, he had finally run out of places to hide. Here he would make his final stand – though whether said stand ended in his capture or his destruction Prime could only speculate.

"You sure he's here?" asked Sunstreaker, features screwed up in a doubtful grimace. "Usually Megatron's hideouts are a lot more flamboyant than this."

"According to our information source, this is the place," Prowl replied.

"Yeah, but that information source was Starscream," Sideswipe pointed out. "You know how reliable THAT guy is."

"Enough," Prowl snapped. "Starscream may not be the most reliable source of intelligence, but our other information sources back up his claims."

"All the same, we must be cautious," Prime told his squad. "Spread out and surround the building. Keep a sharp optic out for traps. And remember – shoot to stun first, to kill only if you have no other option."

Sideswipe had just opened his mouth to offer a retort… but at that moment Prime's radio went off. He raised a hand to cut the red mech off as he listened.

If it was your intention to take me by surprise, Optimus Prime, you failed miserably. Megatron's voice was heavy and weary even over the comm, but he still managed to squeeze a vestige of his usual mockery into his tone. As always, you Autobots fail to know how to be stealthy.

Prime gestured sharply for the Autobots to keep moving, and answered the message as they rushed to encircle the building. It's over, Megatron. We have you surrounded. Surrender peacefully and we will take you back to Cybertron unharmed.

A bitter chuckle in response. I'm no fool, Optimus. Your troops are doubtless thirsty for oil after all this time. And I've long sworn to my own troops that I would sooner die in combat than turn myself over to the enemy.

Perhaps you have, Prime acknowledged. But it's not too late to change your mind. Come out with your hands up. We can resolve this without oilshed.

Silence, lengthy and fraught with tension. Safeties clicked off and power cells whirred to life as every Autobot present trained their weapons on the run-down structure, awaiting an order or any sign of hostilities to open fire. Prime thumbed the safety on his own rifle, dreading what was to come. They would have to fight him into exhaustion or kill him to end this – even at the very end, with no army or subordinates to back him up, Megatron's pride would not allow him to surrender…

The next words over the radio nearly stopped Prime's spark in its chamber. I accept your terms under one condition.

It took Prime a moment to gather his thoughts enough to reply. I thought you swore to die before surrendering.

Do you want to continue the carnage, Optimus? That's highly unlike you. Megatron's words wavered despite his anger, and it struck Prime just how very tired he sounded. We're both sick of this war, admit it… and there comes a point when continuing to fight the inevitable is futile. And I have long since passed it.

To his surprise, he found he could spare a burst of sympathy for the Decepticon leader – he had been fleeing nonstop for months, fighting for every day of continued freedom, watching as his most loyal followers fell in battle or abandoned him to save their own plating. Even the most stalwart of mechs couldn't pass through that trial unscathed.

He had not expected Megatron to take him up on his offer… but if it meant a little less oil spilled to end the war, so much the better. And if it came with some sort of condition attached, so be it… provided it was a condition he could reasonably fulfill.

Name your terms, Prime told him.

Megatron's next words stunned him all over again: You may do what you will with me… all I ask is that you take care of my son.

The inside of the building that served as Megatron's last stand was just as run-down and derelict as the outside – the walls patched with rust, the stone floor so crazed with cracks that it caught at the soles of one's pedes, every surface dingy with grime. The two rooms that made up the interior were startlingly bare, with only a few empty crates occupying the first room Prime and his escort entered. A single energon cube sat atop one crate, empty save for the faintest sliver of glimmering violet at the bottom.

"Small wonder he surrendered," Ratchet noted. "He's at the slaggin'-aft end of his fuel supply. How's he surviving in these conditions, let alone with a…" He couldn't seem to bring himself to finish that sentence.

Prime couldn't exactly blame him for his reluctance to complete that thought. He was having a hard time processing it himself. Megatron had reproduced. Megatron, the most notorious tyrant and murderer in Cybertron's history, had created a sparkling. That was just as unbelievable, if not more so, as the thought of him surrendering without a fight... but then, the day's events seemed bound and determined to throw the impossible at the Prime's team.

"Orders, sir?" asked Bumblebee, looking up at the Autobot commander.

"Cover me," he replied. "I'm going in the next room. Be prepared for traps or an ambush… but don't go in shooting unless you have to. If there truly is a sparkling in there, I won't risk them being injured."

Ratchet and Bumblebee nodded solemnly and moved to flank him on either side. Ultra Magnus had balked at his choice of troops to take into the building, urging him to take a more experienced soldier instead, but Prime wanted Autobots who would not only fight if necessary but be gentle if they encountered a child. Son of Megatron or not, he had no desire to traumatize the sparkling any more than necessary.

Prime braced himself, then reached for the door and eased it open, adjusting his optics to the darkness of the next room.

In stark contrast to the first room, this chamber was fairly clean, though rust still mottled the walls. A few more supply crates were piled in the corners, and some effort had been made to arrange them to look more like furniture than just stacks of boxes. A thin sleeping pad lay at the far side of the room, close to the wall, and a small form lay curled atop it, only his head poking out from beneath a ragged thermal blanket.

"Primus," Bumblebee murmured. "He was telling the truth."

"Indeed," Prime replied softly, unable to take his optics off the little form. Megatron's sparkling was almost the same size as Orion, and while size was hardly an indication of development he wondered if perhaps the child wasn't the same age as his own son. And that, in turn, made a whole slew of questions pour through his CPU – how old was this child, was Megatron the sire or carrier, who was his other parent, how much trauma had the child already witnessed as he'd fled the Autobot forces along with his father...

"Permission to be the first to examine him, Prime," Ratchet requested, cutting into his leader's thoughts. "If he's in the same shape as Megatron, I'm going to need to stabilize him before we can move him."

Prime winced at the thought, but nodded to indicate Ratchet could proceed. When Megatron had emerged from his shelter, arms raised in surrender, he had been such a changed mechanism from the proud tyrant Prime had faced so many times on the battlefield that he'd hardly recognized him. He'd been dirty, dented, his armor scorched and cracked from countless skirmishes, a ragged wound in his side so caked with rust infection it was a wonder he was still walking. And he had borne the signs of a mech close to shutdown from energy deprivation – dim optics, shaking limbs, systems that rattled and whined with every movement.

It had made Prime's spark lurch in its chamber to see an adult mech, even Megatron, suffering so terribly… and the thought of a sparkling in similar shape made his tanks churn with horror. At least in Ratchet's hands the child had a chance, and he silently thanked Elita for insisting he bring the medic on this mission.

Ratchet crouched beside the sleeping pad, and he reached out with one crimson hand to pull the blanket away. It slid off the sparkling's chassis to reveal chunky armor, Megatron's distinctive silver but with vivid royal purple at the wrists, shins, hips, and shoulders. The violet helm bore the distinctive "bucket" shape unique to Megatron's design, but the addition of pricked headfins gave him a curiously elfin look. And to Prime's relief, the sparkling was clean and healthy-looking, and slept calmly and without the tremors typical of an energon-starvation victim.

"I'm going to give him a scan to be sure," Ratchet said, voice soft with relief as well as the desire to not wake the child. "But he seems healthy. In much better shape than his guardian, at any rate."

Prime felt the tension in his spark ease at that… though he had to wonder just how the sparkling could be so healthy when his creator was in such dire straits. Was Megatron faking his injuries and weakness to get the Autobots to lower their guard? Impossible – he might have been able to fool soldiers, but not Ratchet and his scans. And he had a hard time believing Megatron's pride would allow him to play the "wounded gamma-gazelle gambit" for very long.

The alternative was almost unbelievable… but Prime had to acknowledge it as truth. Megatron had neglected his own well-being for the sake of the child, even sacrificing his own fuel rations to keep him alive and healthy. Perhaps there was some measure of mercy in that iron spark after all – or perhaps he was just that desperate to ensure his heir survived. Most likely some of both.

The sparkling shifted in his sleep, and Ratchet drew back for fear of waking him. But the little mech simply curled back up, hugging the stuffed purple griffon toy in his arms closer to his chest, and drifted back into recharge.

"Prime… what are we going to do with him?" Bumblebee asked.

Prime leveled an even gaze at the yellow spy. "What we promised Megatron we would do. Take him back to Cybertron and raise him. Do you honestly think we'd leave him behind?"

"Of course not!" Bumblebee protested. "But… sir… this is Megatron's kid. And I know he's just a kid and can't control who created him, but… how are the Autobots gonna react?"

That was a question even Prime didn't know the answer to. But it did not change the fact that he had made a deal with Megatron… or that for all the Great Slagmaker's crimes, this child was an innocent, a sparkling who had no control over his heritage. And he did not deserve to suffer for the sins of his father.

Ratchet finally completed his scan and gathered the sparkling up in his arms, griffon toy and all. "Should we take anything else, sir?"

Prime shook his head. There was little in this building worth anything, let alone vital to taking care of the sparkling. The only exception might be records of the child's creation, but doubtless Megatron had archived them somewhere in the databanks in Kaon. Once they had full control over that city, they could do a more thorough search there.

The sparkling slept calmly until they left the building and approached the gunship. Mirage and Ultra Magnus stood on either side of a kneeling Megatron, guns held to their chests, optics fixed on him as if daring him to so much as twitch without warning. Megatron, for his part, kept his gaze on the rocky ground, refusing to give his captors the satisfaction of optic contact.

Ironhide was the first to spot the little form in Ratchet's arms, and he was not shy about expressing his shock. "Fraggin' Primus on a stick! Ol' Buckethead wasn't kiddin'!"

That set off a round of excited chatter from the Autobots. Ratchet fixed his most ferocious glower at them, but it was too late – the spike in the noise level woke the sparkling in his arms. He stared up at the unfamiliar mech carrying him for a few seconds before uttering a terrified wail, writhing in his arms.

"Frag it all to the Pit," Ratchet snarled, struggling to keep ahold of the squirming sparkling.

"Don't drop him!" Bumblebee shouted, optics wide with horror.

"What the slag do you think I'm trying to do?!" demanded Ratchet as the sparkling bucked in his arms, struggling to break free.

A voice cut through the sparkling's screams and the general noise, one that drew everyone's attention: "Caliber!"

The sparkling froze, and his optics – not red, but a blazing amber – fixed on Megatron's kneeling form. "Daddy!"

Megatron was no longer staring at the ground – his optics, dim with exhaustion, were now locked on the child in the medic's arms. Mirage and Ultra Magnus both had their weapons drawn and aimed at him, but he seemed heedless of their threat. All his attention was fixed on his son.

"Caliber… go with them," Megatron ordered. "Go with Optimus Prime."

The sparkling – Caliber – shook his head. "I don't wanna leave you!"

"We talked about this," Megatron replied, voice soft but firm. "Go with the Autobots. They will ensure you are taken care of."

"But Daddy…" Caliber's voice was plaintive, tears of optic cleanser streaking down his face, but already his struggles against Ratchet's grip eased.

"No buts." Megatron wobbled, nearly toppling face-first in the dirt, but caught himself in time. "Go… my son. Live. Fulfill… fulfill your destiny."

"Enough of that," Ultra Magnus barked, and he grabbed Megatron by the arm and hoisted him to his feet. "Get him aboard."

Megatron locked optics with Prime as he was hauled aboard the gunship. Neither mech spoke, but Prime gave his old foe a slight nod that said everything he needed to – that he would take care of Caliber, no matter the cost. Megatron nodded back in acknowledgement, and Prime thought he could see something in the warlord's frame relax, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Once their captive was aboard, Prime turned to Ratchet. "How is he?"

Ratchet held the sparkling close, rubbing his back in an effort to soothe his quiet sobbing. "Overheated, but given how emotional THAT had to be for him, I don't blame him. Fraggit, and here we were trying not to traumatize him further."

"Caliber," Bumblebee repeated, testing the name out with a funny expression. "Guess it fits that he'd get a gun name… are we gonna change it at all?"

Prime shook his head, and opened his arms to take Caliber from Ratchet. "I think this little one has gone through enough change at the moment. For now… for now he needs a stable environment. A place that will give him the security he needs until a more permanent solution can be found."

"And what sort of stable environment do you propose?" asked Ratchet, though his expression indicated that he knew exactly what Prime had in mind already.

Despite the turbulent events of the day, Prime couldn't suppress a slight smile beneath his mask. "I think I know just the place."