Chapter Text
Dinobot had been prepared to die.
He had already done it before, after all.
Free from the hold Megatron had had over him, he had been able to savor the look on that slag-eater’s face as Rhinox blasted into the Nemesis and right back out, satisfied with his part in giving the Predacon his dues.
(Rhinox had always been the strongest of them, he remembered. He deserved this).
Now the Nemesis was shuddering violently around him, the flames growing higher with every second the ship fell. It would soon crash into the sea—and Dinobot fully planned to go with it. Perhaps he wasn’t its captain, but, well.
In these long, slow moments, he felt memories crowding into his head, clouding his circuits and stretching out the seconds before oblivion. He remembered— little protohumans, hiding. From him? Yes. No. That one had wielded a stick with a sharp stone through it. He was proud of that one. They learned well.
How was Cheetor doing? The question came surprising, unbidden, he hadn’t seen Cheetor at all but yes he had on the night where there was lightning and coming into focus again for the first time. Cheetor has changed. Strange, but a mighty hunter. And there was- Rattrap, damn that vermin, sniveling and smelly and almost-to-being-friends but not yet, never, never. Perhaps he would stop complaining when he finally returned home. Without him.
Dinobot remembered- knew what he had done. He remembered the thrill of the hunt, the promise of energon on his fangs, the drive to follow Megatron’s every order. Megatron had fired on the protohuman’s settlement (they had advanced so far so quickly , he was so proud), and Dinobot had not stopped him. He had stood there, complacent, obedient, apologized to- to- to that rust-ridden glitch! His ragged, patchwork feathers bristled at the thought of it, though he didn’t much notice.
It was hard to notice anything when Optimus was looking at him like that. The bot was standing closer to the gaping hole in the Nemesis’s hull than he, clearly straining against the whipping gales that threatened to pull him out into the open air. Dinobot remembered a stare from red optics instead of green—a stare that was soft and restrained and quietly admiring, adoring, making Dinobot want to be good enough for it, primus he had to be-
There was despair in his optics instead of admiration, now—and Dinobot didn’t feel the stab of shame that came whenever he turned to see that look. They were beautiful optics, Dinobot let himself think. So different from his Optimus, the one he could pick up with one hand and forget to put down because part of him didn’t really want to. Still so lovely. For a few seconds as equipment around the room sparked and the metal groaned like a dying animal, Dinobot remembered Optimus.
Flowers is the first thing, and the thing that stays with them. He stared at the flower in Optimus’s room after he had died destroying the aliens’ weapon for a long, terrible hour. Optimus has kept it healthy and alive all this time, right next to his bed. Dinobot had wanted to kill it, then.
He remembers Optimus being busy, stumbling about in a new body and handling every kind of problem and fight and still, still he watered the flower every night. Dinobot had stopped checking in on it. It would be fine.
After was hazy, yet so much sharper. Leaves and petals cut themselves to pieces under his hands, he couldn’t be to blame. He waited near the entrance to the Ark once—unseen, silent, clicking his talons in the dirt—and seen Optimus emerge and almost step on it. He didn’t. He stopped, and looked, and bent down to so-gingerly pick up the mangled pink-and-green. He stared at it for a long time, and Dinobot had to leave, quickly.
Optimus was... intelligent, and kind, and honorable—more than Dinobot had ever been. He had trusted Dinobot. He had forgiven him more times than he ever should have. If there was one regret he had before this ship became his grave, it was to see Optimus with desperation in that stare instead of joy.
Optimus called out his name. “Dinobot, save yourself!”
Was it a command? Or a plea? The way in which Optimus’s voice crackled with anguish made something in Dinobot’s core waver, but he stood firm. There was no world for him beyond that day. He did not know what still kept him alive—or how long he would last. The Maximals would likely never accept him (he did not know if he would ever accept himself).
And besides—he couldn’t fly.
So as fire bloomed at the edges of his vision, Dinobot steadied himself and met that stare, mustering a small smirk. “Farewell, Optimus.”
Those beautiful optics widened.
Optimus shifted back to transform, and Dinobot relaxed his shoulders, relieved that Optimus would escape—
and then Optimus shot forward.
Dinobot choked on his shock, but did not have a moment more to think before a gigantic hand grabbed him. Heat licked through the slivers where he was not shielded and scorched his metal skin. The sound of the explosion was deafening, prompting a low, sharp ringing in his audials. Yet he could not dwell on any of this pain, only on the protective grip Optimus had on him.
With a jolt and a shuddering screech of metal, Optimus blasted through the hull of the Nemesis and out into the open air.
Dinobot felt the air knocked out of his vents by the impact. Though Optimus took the brunt of the steel, his frame creaked under the pressure. His vision flickered.
Some time passed. Whether it was hours or seconds, Dinobot could not be sure. His processor couldn’t even distinguish which way was up when they landed, though gravity at least seemed to exist.
Dinobot felt something wide, warm, solid (ground) press against his back. He hissed at the change—his optics were shorting and his equilibrium sensors had lost all calibration, but he knew the ground was not Optimus, where was Optimus if not holding him, what if he had left and Dinobot was blind (again) and-
There was the sound of a transformation, and Dinobot attempted to reboot his sensors. It worked on the third try, just in time to see Optimus hovering over him, hands open like he was just holding back from taking the smaller mech into his arms again. “Dinobot... are you alright? Can you hear me?”
Dinobot groaned quietly. Optimus lit up when he saw Dinobot’s optics come into focus, and started to reach out before pausing. Dinobot’s gaze flickered over him—energon dripped from a deep cut in his side, a few scorched cables on his neck were spitting sparks, and there wasn’t a single spot of armor untarnished over his entire frame.
“Hhh… You are…. undamaged?” Dinobot attempted to sit up as to examine Optimus further, but found that his body was rather violently opposed to the action. Optimus, optics flaring, caught him as he wobbled. Dinobot twitched as one sustaining mildly grievous injuries would when jolted, hissing at his sensitivity. Optimus’s brow furrowed in concern.
“I’m fine, Dinobot, but what about-” Optimus stopped. His optics unfocused for just a second—and when they refocused, their gaze was locked on Dinobot. He looked shocked, like he was seeing Dinobot for the first time.
Dinobot felt confusion rise rapidly in his chest. Was Optimus- had he just now realized what Dinobot had done? Was he realizing the mistake he had made, and any second now would make the decision to finish the job, or worse, simply turn away and leave him? Was he-
And then, Optimus picked him up and kissed him.
Dinobot felt all the air in his systems vacate his frame.
Perhaps he hadn’t been saved at all—the Allspark shouldn’t have been so kind to him.
Optimus pulled away after far too much and far too little time. Breathing a bit hard, he smiled at Dinobot, whose metal cheeks were hot enough Optimus could feel it from—not too far away, really. When Dinobot’s optics finally came back into focus again, they fixed on him with blatant awe, and disbelief, and- and- tentative, terrifying hope.
Optimus smiled. “It’s good to have you back.”