Stranger Things Have Happened
Chapter Title: Why You Don't Judge a Book by it's Cover
Author: velvet_infinity
Verse: G1 Au
Rating: Nc-17
Chapter Rating: PG
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Omega Supreme. The only Cybertronian that isn't a gestalt and is just THAT HUGE! But... what there was something more to it? OCcentric, but not overly so. Omega needed more love. Eventual sticky.
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Optimus Prime had encountered many strange things in his lifecycle. And he had certainly been surprised by quite a few of them. However, he had never been so openly stunned and unprepared as he was now. He had expected yesterday to have been mostly normal. Post battle thanks to Omega Supreme for saving all of their lives, as well as dragging Sideswipe into a hefty apology for quite a few comments that were unnecessary. What he had not planned for was a very excited Chief Mechanical Engineer to come bursting into his office and practically haul him with un-thought of strength into the medbay private room, where Ratchet was working on five mechs he didn’t recognize. He had been quite surprised to find that Jazz and Prowl were already there, one looking absolutely thrilled, the other as neutral as he always was.
“What is going on?” Prime remembered asking that.
“Prime, meet Omega Supreme!” Jazz had cackled joyfully.
Prowl had helpfully clarified in light of his leader’s air of confusion and to keep the Prime from staring at his mate as if the saboteur had lost what was left of his CPU. “He means Omega Supreme’s Gestalt Mechs.”
As if that hadn't been surprising enough, almost all occupants nearly jumped when one of the unknown mechs sat up with a groan, the wings… yes, those were wings… on his back flexing as if stiff.
There had been a lot of coaxing and explaining for the startled flier before he had hesitantly laid himself back down and allowed Ratchet to check him over. Optimus had politely refrained from asking any questions, seeing as the jet seemed overwhelmed enough what with the way he was staring blankly at the ceiling and seemingly unaware of most of their presences. That strained peace had lasted all of five breems before another of the mechs (a grounder) had startled everyone in the room when he had rolled off his berth with a yell, bolted to his feet… and had shown the five mechs who were obviously not his gestalt that he had once been a racer by launching himself full speed right into the unopened door.
The impact had knocked him unconscious again and there was silence broken by a few snickers from the conscious flier. And then Ratchet launched himself into the biggest rant Optimus and his other officers had ever seen since before they had left Cybertron.
“Dear fragging Primus on a pogo stick! As if having two sets of glitched-afted younglings weren’t enough! Now I have to deal with five more grown ones! Son of a fragging glitch! Why!? WHY!? I swear, if I get one word out of any of you about how you’re treated in MY medbay, you remember what it is I have to put up with! Pit-scrapped, triple defunct, slagging ASSMONKEYS! I swear -”
Optimus had tuned out the CMO by this point and had instructed Wheeljack to tell Ratchet after he calmed down to retrieve him when all five mechs were up. And with one last glance at the flier, who was staring fearfully at his wing where the still ranting Ratchet was working on burnt out circuitry and one more at the visored mech on the floor, the CO of the Autobot army left to deal with the building processor ache in the back of his helm.
Ratchet’s rant could be heard behind him as he walked down the hall.
-------------
Now he sat in his office, having escorted the five gestalt members along with Prowl and Jazz there after introductions. And it was not lost on him how odd it felt to be introduced to mechs who had been Autobots longer than he had been Prime, but almost painfully obvious still young mechs. Ratchet had explained that while Omega Supreme was as old as he was, being stuck so long without the freedom to live on their own had placed Powerflash and his team in a type of suspended animation. Omega had grown, but his component pieces had not. At least, not by much.
Each mech now stood at attention in front of Optimus Prime’s desk, their varying degree of nerves speaking volumes of their personalities.
Optimus’ gaze flicked over the one claiming to be the gestalt’s leader. Nobody had corrected him, so it was probably true. Designation, Powerflash. His chassis was the deep red-maroon of Omega’s torso, accented by the silver of his upper arms and thighs. His faceplates were light silver, his helm black with side vents that were most likely put in place to protect the mech’s audios. His forearms were pale yellow along with his shoulder armor, his shin armor a well balanced mix of the darker silver with the maroon-red. He stood rigid, but attentive, his almost indigo blue optics shining with wisdom that spoke of his memories inherited through Omega Supreme. A good soldier, one who followed orders, but was also confident enough to make his own. Someone who had needed to learn how to be a leader and was not born one.
Optimus’ gaze turned to Powerflash’s immediate right, following the small fidget of the mech standing beside him. Powerflash had introduced him as Sidevex, a former racer. This mech was mostly silver and grey with pale yellow accents, his own upper arms and thighs white. His chassis was where most of the silver was located, his actual chesplates the same pale yellow as his leader’s shoulder armor. His shins were a dark grey with the yellow accents along the sides and the side vents on his legs were black. His helm was white with some of the maroon-red located on the stream lined shape. The mech wore a visor that was a golden color, but unlike Jazz’s, one could vaguely see the outline of his optics which were absolutely expressive to his moods. Such as now, he stood with a vibrating tenseness that mirrored the impatience in his optics. A mech who wanted to run and have fun, but was respectful enough to at least try to hold still when asked. From what Optimus had gathered of the mech’s speech, he had an accent that actually spoke of where he had come from before the war. Which was quite fortunate because when he became overly excited, he tended to talk at such a rate it was almost impossible to understand him and Optimus had been completely lost when the mech had attempted to tell him this information earlier.
His gaze followed to Sidevex’s right, alighting on one of the two fliers. He held himself regally, yellow forearms crossed over his dark grey chassis, pectoral chest vents pale yellow as well his pelvic plates. The streamlined waist was white, following into the silver of his thighs and down to the returning dark grey of his shins. His silver upper arms led into the red of his shoulder armor which in turn led into the pale silver and red lined wings where a proud Autobot symbol was displayed. His rounded helm was black and it outlined exotically sculpted pale yellow faceplates with ice blue optics that matched the color of the unobstructed cockpit his arms were crossed over. The mech screamed of a noble upbringing. And Optimus found himself hoping he wouldn’t be stuck with another Mirage, Tracks, or Sunstreaker… He wasn’t sure the he could handle it. Wasn’t even sure if the Ark could handle it. His designation was Revolution.
And Revolution’s actual brother… Optimus found his attention drawn to Powerflash’s far left, where the second flier, Designation: Maverick, stood neither at attention nor in a slouch. Optimus would go so far as to say that he looked… relaxed. He was smaller than his brother, though not by much and they certainly were the tallest of the group. His colors were almost the opposite of his brother, aside from a few changes. His helm was not black but a striking yellow, surprisingly not the pale of the others and blocky rather that rounded. His wings were black with the pale yellow lining. His chassis was just as elegant as his fellow flier’s but his forearms were orange along with a stripe down his chassis. That split around his dark blue glass cockpit. His optics matched. The lazy smile on his face had Optimus slightly on edge. It reminded him vaguely of…
……
Forget having a second Sunstreaker. The Ark couldn’t survive a second Sideswipe!
With an internal sigh, he turned his attention to Maverick’s right, bringing to focus the last member of the odd gestalt. The poor mech seemed to shrink in on himself under the semi’s gaze, doing his best to stand at attention, but most obviously wanting to duck behind the much taller flier beside him. Maelstrom, if Optimus remembered correctly, was mostly the pale yellow, his thighs and upper arms a silvery-grey while his forearms were black with dark grey and yellow accents. His shin armor was black as well, with yellow accents there. One antenna protruded from his angled helm, not unlike Optimus’ own, and a silvery battle mask was situated just underneath his powder blue optics. The way he seemed to straighten further when Optimus looked him in the optics suggested this was a mech who had very little confidence in himself. Or he was socially awkward. Either one. The mech relaxed as Optimus turned to address Powerflash.
“I understand that you had no control over your transformation from Omega into your separate identities?” He queried.
Powerflash hesitated only slightly before he spoke. “Ratchet told us there was a transformation cog that had become misaligned. All we really knew was that one moment we could switch back and forth, and the next we’re stuck.”
“’Vex totally panicked.” Maverick snickered quietly.
“Ahdidnot!” Was the instant reply.
“Quiet!” both mechs fell immediately silent after the barked order from their leader. ::Not the place guys.::
He received apologies over the bond.
Optimus was a little surprised. Neither Silverbolt nor Hot Spot could get the gestalt mates to listen so quickly and without any argument. It looked like there was more to this team than he had originally thought. The other Gestalts may be able to learn something from this group.
And suddenly he was feeling much better about the entire situation.
“It wasn’t a pleasant revelation.” Powerflash continued.
“What I would like to know,” Prowl cut in, “Is why Omega Supreme never felt the need to tell us of your situation.”
“Omega’s loyal.” Powerflash said immediately, his voice brooking no argument, his arms coming to cross in front of him.
“I did not say he wasn’t.” Prowl assured. They all knew the sacrifices Omega had gone through for the Autobots and nobot here would question his loyalty. It was also not missed that they referred to Omega Supreme as a separate being, much as the Aerial and Protectobots did with their own gestalt forms. “And you?”
“As loyal as any other.” Revolution said stiffly as if he were insulted that they would dare question their loyalty.
A brief flick of doorwings had the jet’s brow ridges up, before his own wings flicked back and he looked away. The other flier just looked amused. Optimus decided he didn’t want to know.
“Still, allegiances aside, it would perhaps help us to know why Omega Supreme said nothing of his predicament.” He intoned, steering the conversation back on track.
Powerflash cleared his intakes. “Well, as it stands, the war wasn’t even in full swing when we were stuck as Big O - sorry - Omega Supreme. It happened shortly after Crystal City fell.” There was a flash of sorrow in his optics and his voice wavered on the last word, but he quickly reigned in his emotion. “We had combined to protect the city, and we already know that Omega told you the circumstances of it.” Optimus Prime nodded. He did recall having the conversation with Omega about the Constructicons and Devestator and the fall of Crystal City. “Well, Omega Supreme was hurt pretty badly and we just knew that instead of gaining our individual frames as we were prone to do upon unconsciousness, we awoke still in the form of Omega.”
“That long?” There was surprise in Prime’s voice. A nod from Powerflash confirmed what he had said. Primus, that had been millennia ago!
“I guess, we became so used to being ‘one’ rather than ‘all’ that Omega saw no reason to bring it up.”
“We were of the opinion that we would never be separate again… sir.” The quiet voice had come from Maelstrom, the mech moving slightly closer to his gestalt leader when he saw he had gained the Prime’s attention.
Optimus considered it and he felt… not pity, exactly, but an overwhelming sadness that these mechs had missed out on so much of their lives because of something that was fundamentally so simple to rectify. Regardless, they now knew the truth and these mechs were no less welcomed than they had been as Omega Supreme. The Prime nodded and stood, making his way around his desk to stand in front of the group who were surprisingly smaller than himself. Although, looking on the other Gestalts, he supposed it shouldn’t have been such a shock. He felt himself smile under his mask, as he stretched out his hand to Powerflash.
The Gestalt leader looked at it in confusion for a moment before memories of Omega’s surfaced and he recognized the human custom of shaking hands. He reached out his own pale yellow servo and allowed the Prime to clasp it in his mighty blue one.
“I would say welcome but I believe Welcome Back suits the situation far more aptly.” He said with good humor, earning a grin from the smaller mech.
“It is good to be back, Sir.”
Author: velvet_infinity
Verse: G1 Au
Rating: Nc-17
Chapter Rating: PG
Warnings: None for this chapter
Summary: Omega Supreme. The only Cybertronian that isn't a gestalt and is just THAT HUGE! But... what there was something more to it? OCcentric, but not overly so. Omega needed more love. Eventual sticky.
-------------
Optimus Prime had encountered many strange things in his lifecycle. And he had certainly been surprised by quite a few of them. However, he had never been so openly stunned and unprepared as he was now. He had expected yesterday to have been mostly normal. Post battle thanks to Omega Supreme for saving all of their lives, as well as dragging Sideswipe into a hefty apology for quite a few comments that were unnecessary. What he had not planned for was a very excited Chief Mechanical Engineer to come bursting into his office and practically haul him with un-thought of strength into the medbay private room, where Ratchet was working on five mechs he didn’t recognize. He had been quite surprised to find that Jazz and Prowl were already there, one looking absolutely thrilled, the other as neutral as he always was.
“What is going on?” Prime remembered asking that.
“Prime, meet Omega Supreme!” Jazz had cackled joyfully.
Prowl had helpfully clarified in light of his leader’s air of confusion and to keep the Prime from staring at his mate as if the saboteur had lost what was left of his CPU. “He means Omega Supreme’s Gestalt Mechs.”
As if that hadn't been surprising enough, almost all occupants nearly jumped when one of the unknown mechs sat up with a groan, the wings… yes, those were wings… on his back flexing as if stiff.
There had been a lot of coaxing and explaining for the startled flier before he had hesitantly laid himself back down and allowed Ratchet to check him over. Optimus had politely refrained from asking any questions, seeing as the jet seemed overwhelmed enough what with the way he was staring blankly at the ceiling and seemingly unaware of most of their presences. That strained peace had lasted all of five breems before another of the mechs (a grounder) had startled everyone in the room when he had rolled off his berth with a yell, bolted to his feet… and had shown the five mechs who were obviously not his gestalt that he had once been a racer by launching himself full speed right into the unopened door.
The impact had knocked him unconscious again and there was silence broken by a few snickers from the conscious flier. And then Ratchet launched himself into the biggest rant Optimus and his other officers had ever seen since before they had left Cybertron.
“Dear fragging Primus on a pogo stick! As if having two sets of glitched-afted younglings weren’t enough! Now I have to deal with five more grown ones! Son of a fragging glitch! Why!? WHY!? I swear, if I get one word out of any of you about how you’re treated in MY medbay, you remember what it is I have to put up with! Pit-scrapped, triple defunct, slagging ASSMONKEYS! I swear -”
Optimus had tuned out the CMO by this point and had instructed Wheeljack to tell Ratchet after he calmed down to retrieve him when all five mechs were up. And with one last glance at the flier, who was staring fearfully at his wing where the still ranting Ratchet was working on burnt out circuitry and one more at the visored mech on the floor, the CO of the Autobot army left to deal with the building processor ache in the back of his helm.
Ratchet’s rant could be heard behind him as he walked down the hall.
-------------
Now he sat in his office, having escorted the five gestalt members along with Prowl and Jazz there after introductions. And it was not lost on him how odd it felt to be introduced to mechs who had been Autobots longer than he had been Prime, but almost painfully obvious still young mechs. Ratchet had explained that while Omega Supreme was as old as he was, being stuck so long without the freedom to live on their own had placed Powerflash and his team in a type of suspended animation. Omega had grown, but his component pieces had not. At least, not by much.
Each mech now stood at attention in front of Optimus Prime’s desk, their varying degree of nerves speaking volumes of their personalities.
Optimus’ gaze flicked over the one claiming to be the gestalt’s leader. Nobody had corrected him, so it was probably true. Designation, Powerflash. His chassis was the deep red-maroon of Omega’s torso, accented by the silver of his upper arms and thighs. His faceplates were light silver, his helm black with side vents that were most likely put in place to protect the mech’s audios. His forearms were pale yellow along with his shoulder armor, his shin armor a well balanced mix of the darker silver with the maroon-red. He stood rigid, but attentive, his almost indigo blue optics shining with wisdom that spoke of his memories inherited through Omega Supreme. A good soldier, one who followed orders, but was also confident enough to make his own. Someone who had needed to learn how to be a leader and was not born one.
Optimus’ gaze turned to Powerflash’s immediate right, following the small fidget of the mech standing beside him. Powerflash had introduced him as Sidevex, a former racer. This mech was mostly silver and grey with pale yellow accents, his own upper arms and thighs white. His chassis was where most of the silver was located, his actual chesplates the same pale yellow as his leader’s shoulder armor. His shins were a dark grey with the yellow accents along the sides and the side vents on his legs were black. His helm was white with some of the maroon-red located on the stream lined shape. The mech wore a visor that was a golden color, but unlike Jazz’s, one could vaguely see the outline of his optics which were absolutely expressive to his moods. Such as now, he stood with a vibrating tenseness that mirrored the impatience in his optics. A mech who wanted to run and have fun, but was respectful enough to at least try to hold still when asked. From what Optimus had gathered of the mech’s speech, he had an accent that actually spoke of where he had come from before the war. Which was quite fortunate because when he became overly excited, he tended to talk at such a rate it was almost impossible to understand him and Optimus had been completely lost when the mech had attempted to tell him this information earlier.
His gaze followed to Sidevex’s right, alighting on one of the two fliers. He held himself regally, yellow forearms crossed over his dark grey chassis, pectoral chest vents pale yellow as well his pelvic plates. The streamlined waist was white, following into the silver of his thighs and down to the returning dark grey of his shins. His silver upper arms led into the red of his shoulder armor which in turn led into the pale silver and red lined wings where a proud Autobot symbol was displayed. His rounded helm was black and it outlined exotically sculpted pale yellow faceplates with ice blue optics that matched the color of the unobstructed cockpit his arms were crossed over. The mech screamed of a noble upbringing. And Optimus found himself hoping he wouldn’t be stuck with another Mirage, Tracks, or Sunstreaker… He wasn’t sure the he could handle it. Wasn’t even sure if the Ark could handle it. His designation was Revolution.
And Revolution’s actual brother… Optimus found his attention drawn to Powerflash’s far left, where the second flier, Designation: Maverick, stood neither at attention nor in a slouch. Optimus would go so far as to say that he looked… relaxed. He was smaller than his brother, though not by much and they certainly were the tallest of the group. His colors were almost the opposite of his brother, aside from a few changes. His helm was not black but a striking yellow, surprisingly not the pale of the others and blocky rather that rounded. His wings were black with the pale yellow lining. His chassis was just as elegant as his fellow flier’s but his forearms were orange along with a stripe down his chassis. That split around his dark blue glass cockpit. His optics matched. The lazy smile on his face had Optimus slightly on edge. It reminded him vaguely of…
……
Forget having a second Sunstreaker. The Ark couldn’t survive a second Sideswipe!
With an internal sigh, he turned his attention to Maverick’s right, bringing to focus the last member of the odd gestalt. The poor mech seemed to shrink in on himself under the semi’s gaze, doing his best to stand at attention, but most obviously wanting to duck behind the much taller flier beside him. Maelstrom, if Optimus remembered correctly, was mostly the pale yellow, his thighs and upper arms a silvery-grey while his forearms were black with dark grey and yellow accents. His shin armor was black as well, with yellow accents there. One antenna protruded from his angled helm, not unlike Optimus’ own, and a silvery battle mask was situated just underneath his powder blue optics. The way he seemed to straighten further when Optimus looked him in the optics suggested this was a mech who had very little confidence in himself. Or he was socially awkward. Either one. The mech relaxed as Optimus turned to address Powerflash.
“I understand that you had no control over your transformation from Omega into your separate identities?” He queried.
Powerflash hesitated only slightly before he spoke. “Ratchet told us there was a transformation cog that had become misaligned. All we really knew was that one moment we could switch back and forth, and the next we’re stuck.”
“’Vex totally panicked.” Maverick snickered quietly.
“Ahdidnot!” Was the instant reply.
“Quiet!” both mechs fell immediately silent after the barked order from their leader. ::Not the place guys.::
He received apologies over the bond.
Optimus was a little surprised. Neither Silverbolt nor Hot Spot could get the gestalt mates to listen so quickly and without any argument. It looked like there was more to this team than he had originally thought. The other Gestalts may be able to learn something from this group.
And suddenly he was feeling much better about the entire situation.
“It wasn’t a pleasant revelation.” Powerflash continued.
“What I would like to know,” Prowl cut in, “Is why Omega Supreme never felt the need to tell us of your situation.”
“Omega’s loyal.” Powerflash said immediately, his voice brooking no argument, his arms coming to cross in front of him.
“I did not say he wasn’t.” Prowl assured. They all knew the sacrifices Omega had gone through for the Autobots and nobot here would question his loyalty. It was also not missed that they referred to Omega Supreme as a separate being, much as the Aerial and Protectobots did with their own gestalt forms. “And you?”
“As loyal as any other.” Revolution said stiffly as if he were insulted that they would dare question their loyalty.
A brief flick of doorwings had the jet’s brow ridges up, before his own wings flicked back and he looked away. The other flier just looked amused. Optimus decided he didn’t want to know.
“Still, allegiances aside, it would perhaps help us to know why Omega Supreme said nothing of his predicament.” He intoned, steering the conversation back on track.
Powerflash cleared his intakes. “Well, as it stands, the war wasn’t even in full swing when we were stuck as Big O - sorry - Omega Supreme. It happened shortly after Crystal City fell.” There was a flash of sorrow in his optics and his voice wavered on the last word, but he quickly reigned in his emotion. “We had combined to protect the city, and we already know that Omega told you the circumstances of it.” Optimus Prime nodded. He did recall having the conversation with Omega about the Constructicons and Devestator and the fall of Crystal City. “Well, Omega Supreme was hurt pretty badly and we just knew that instead of gaining our individual frames as we were prone to do upon unconsciousness, we awoke still in the form of Omega.”
“That long?” There was surprise in Prime’s voice. A nod from Powerflash confirmed what he had said. Primus, that had been millennia ago!
“I guess, we became so used to being ‘one’ rather than ‘all’ that Omega saw no reason to bring it up.”
“We were of the opinion that we would never be separate again… sir.” The quiet voice had come from Maelstrom, the mech moving slightly closer to his gestalt leader when he saw he had gained the Prime’s attention.
Optimus considered it and he felt… not pity, exactly, but an overwhelming sadness that these mechs had missed out on so much of their lives because of something that was fundamentally so simple to rectify. Regardless, they now knew the truth and these mechs were no less welcomed than they had been as Omega Supreme. The Prime nodded and stood, making his way around his desk to stand in front of the group who were surprisingly smaller than himself. Although, looking on the other Gestalts, he supposed it shouldn’t have been such a shock. He felt himself smile under his mask, as he stretched out his hand to Powerflash.
The Gestalt leader looked at it in confusion for a moment before memories of Omega’s surfaced and he recognized the human custom of shaking hands. He reached out his own pale yellow servo and allowed the Prime to clasp it in his mighty blue one.
“I would say welcome but I believe Welcome Back suits the situation far more aptly.” He said with good humor, earning a grin from the smaller mech.
“It is good to be back, Sir.”