raisedbymoogles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
raisedbymoogles) wrote2010-08-26 12:38 am
raisedbymoogles) wrote2010-08-26 12:38 am
Entry tags:
Just to relieve the pressure.
There are several "Decepticons win, Autobots are slaves" stories on the kink meme on LJ that I follow. They're excellent stories, but the utter hopelessness of the Autobots' situation starts to weigh on me after a while. So I wrote this to give myself a kind of safety valve.
*
With his collar chafing his throat and weighing him down, Hot Rod found it difficult to ascend the rocks that his guide surmounted so easily, but the memory of what he'd left behind him gave him energy that his depleted tanks couldn't match. He scrabbled up the cliff and slid down the other side, ignoring the fresh dents and scrapes from the rough ground - just the latest in an extensive collection. He came to land in a crouch and scanned the ground ahead for his guide.
Roller peeked coyly at him from behind a rock, chirping in its own language. Hot Rod scrambled to his feet and chased after it again, tireless as only hope could be.
Roller led him across broken, unused roads, silent wasteland, and down a crooked canyon into a crater that still smelled faintly of ozone and smoke. Hot Rod shied back, already knowing what he would find there. "I don't want to see," he whispered to Roller, crouching down to hide his head. "Please, I don't want to see."
Roller trilled insistently and nudged his ankle. With a stifled sob, Hot Rod picked up the little scout and held it close. Roller crooned, its little treads clinging to Hot Rod's chest. "Okay," he murmured, broken-voiced.
Still holding Roller, he walked down into the crater, and gazed down at what was left of his fallen leader.
Optimus Prime's colorless body sprawled at the bottom of the crater, half his plating stripped away to reveal bare struts and melted servos. His head, almost separated from his body, gazed sightlessly up into Earth's pale sky. The site was untouched since the moment of the Prime's death - they'd just left him here, like he was trash...
Hot Rod sank to the ground, sobbing. Roller slipped from his arms and Hot Rod barely noticed. The young Autobot crumpled in a miserable heap, mourning for the lost Prime, for the lost future of the Autobots, for Earth and Cybertron bound in the inescapable chains of their enemies' rule. Black ash smeared over his arms and legs and face as he clung to Optimus Prime's remains and wept.
Roller nudged Optimus's shoulder hard. The broken body twitched, one side of the shattered chest falling open. A pale blue glow fell over Hot Rod's startled face.
"Could it be?" he whispered.
It was almost a disappointment to find the Matrix within the dead Prime's chest, instead of his own bright spark. Nonetheless, Hot Rod lifted the artifact out reverently. It too was covered in black ash, but as Hot Rod touched it, the black seemed to fall away, leaving it pristine and whole. The center opened: for a moment, Hot Rod could see eternity, and the twining of timelines within it that had formed the Autobots' and Decepticons' destinies as well as his own.
Arise, Rodimus Prime, Optimus's voice called him. Rodimus Prime rose to his feet, his collar falling uselessly away.
With the Matrix stowed away safely in his chest, Rodimus looked around for his little guide. "Roller?" he called. "Roller, it's time to go." He took a step; something nudged his foot.
Treads stripped, plating ripped away, the dead form of Roller rested against Rodimus Prime's leg. From the looks of things, it had been here as long as Optimus Prime himself. Rodimus stared down at it for a long moment, then shook his head and knelt to caress the blocky little form.
"Thank you, my friend," he murmured. "I'll keep your trust."
Rodimus stood and began the trek back to camp, into his own destiny.
*
With his collar chafing his throat and weighing him down, Hot Rod found it difficult to ascend the rocks that his guide surmounted so easily, but the memory of what he'd left behind him gave him energy that his depleted tanks couldn't match. He scrabbled up the cliff and slid down the other side, ignoring the fresh dents and scrapes from the rough ground - just the latest in an extensive collection. He came to land in a crouch and scanned the ground ahead for his guide.
Roller peeked coyly at him from behind a rock, chirping in its own language. Hot Rod scrambled to his feet and chased after it again, tireless as only hope could be.
Roller led him across broken, unused roads, silent wasteland, and down a crooked canyon into a crater that still smelled faintly of ozone and smoke. Hot Rod shied back, already knowing what he would find there. "I don't want to see," he whispered to Roller, crouching down to hide his head. "Please, I don't want to see."
Roller trilled insistently and nudged his ankle. With a stifled sob, Hot Rod picked up the little scout and held it close. Roller crooned, its little treads clinging to Hot Rod's chest. "Okay," he murmured, broken-voiced.
Still holding Roller, he walked down into the crater, and gazed down at what was left of his fallen leader.
Optimus Prime's colorless body sprawled at the bottom of the crater, half his plating stripped away to reveal bare struts and melted servos. His head, almost separated from his body, gazed sightlessly up into Earth's pale sky. The site was untouched since the moment of the Prime's death - they'd just left him here, like he was trash...
Hot Rod sank to the ground, sobbing. Roller slipped from his arms and Hot Rod barely noticed. The young Autobot crumpled in a miserable heap, mourning for the lost Prime, for the lost future of the Autobots, for Earth and Cybertron bound in the inescapable chains of their enemies' rule. Black ash smeared over his arms and legs and face as he clung to Optimus Prime's remains and wept.
Roller nudged Optimus's shoulder hard. The broken body twitched, one side of the shattered chest falling open. A pale blue glow fell over Hot Rod's startled face.
"Could it be?" he whispered.
It was almost a disappointment to find the Matrix within the dead Prime's chest, instead of his own bright spark. Nonetheless, Hot Rod lifted the artifact out reverently. It too was covered in black ash, but as Hot Rod touched it, the black seemed to fall away, leaving it pristine and whole. The center opened: for a moment, Hot Rod could see eternity, and the twining of timelines within it that had formed the Autobots' and Decepticons' destinies as well as his own.
Arise, Rodimus Prime, Optimus's voice called him. Rodimus Prime rose to his feet, his collar falling uselessly away.
With the Matrix stowed away safely in his chest, Rodimus looked around for his little guide. "Roller?" he called. "Roller, it's time to go." He took a step; something nudged his foot.
Treads stripped, plating ripped away, the dead form of Roller rested against Rodimus Prime's leg. From the looks of things, it had been here as long as Optimus Prime himself. Rodimus stared down at it for a long moment, then shook his head and knelt to caress the blocky little form.
"Thank you, my friend," he murmured. "I'll keep your trust."
Rodimus stood and began the trek back to camp, into his own destiny.
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