First World War AU, Megatron/Ratchet

decepticonsensual:

When the Great War is consigned to history, Medic Ratchet thinks to himself, they had better tell the story of this night, too – of a night of stillness and frost, gaggles of boys barely more than children playing football in their contrasting uniforms in No Man’s Land, of the night when we all remembered we were human before we went back to turning each other into sausage meat.

He starts a little as the big, grey-haired sergeant in enemy colours settles in next to him, then relaxes and accepts a cigarette, and offers a swig of brandy in return; there’s a little schoolboy French on one side and some scraps of workaday German on the other, enough to bridge the barrier, enough that Ratchet understands when the sergeant sighs and reflects, “The charade seems cruel, does it not – if you would try to kill us, then do it, do not taunt us by playing at friendship.”

Ratchet bristles, but the sergeant’s voice is so unutterably weary that he finds himself softening, and only replies, “Perhaps the rest is the charade, and this is real.”