The pain is so intense he can't really feel it anymore, having turned into a buzz of sensation that overlaps to the point of numbness, something for which, regardless of the fact he'll never confess it, he's grateful.
It's been a long day, a long month, a long year, but it seems it is finally coming to an end.
His end.
He can't feel the servo clasped around one of his own, but he can still hold it back.
And listen.
"Well fought, my friend. You saved the valley. You saved the lives of those who live here, and of those who are still to come." Primal's voice is solemn and yet clearly saddened, and, taking a deep breath, he looks for the strength to answer.
"Then… there is nothing to regret…"
No, of course there is, and quite a lot at that, but that's not what they want to hear, that's not what they expect of him, least of all in his situation, so that's what he manages to get out.
For their sakes, because they have grown on him, despite theirs being only something temporary, a mere alliance to defeat Megatron and his rag-tag group of Predacons.
"Like I said… you're just a blasted slag-spouting saurian but… it's nice to know where you stand."
Agh, who is he trying to kid?
Regrets? Of course, many of them. Regretting becoming what he has to these Maximals?
Never.
"Upwind of you for preference, Vermin." And Rattrap smiles softly, that much his failing vision manages to catch, and he knows his apology has been received… and accepted. "Tell my tale to those who ask." He finds himself adding, world dimming around him as his sensors slowly fill with static. "Tell it truly, the ill deeds along with the good… and let me be judged accordingly." Because the Matrix knows there are far more of the former than of the latter, yet, maybe, perhaps, could this be the situation where a right can atone for many wrongs? "The rest… is silence."
He feels his body shut down just after the last word is voiced, and feels grateful he managed such a simple task, even as his senses vanish like mist in the wind, his spark feeling free for what seems like the first time in his whole function, weightless as he leaves pain and regrets and everything that bound him to both Maximals and Predacons behind along his frame—
"He lived a warrior… and died a hero." The voice is far away, and he doesn't really recognize it anymore, but those are nice words, a nice concept— "Let his spark join the Matrix, the greatest of Cybertron." —and wouldn't it be good if it was him it was talking about?
But the world blurs and fades away and concepts are a useless hope for a disembodied spark such as him, so why worry now?
Peaceful, though not at peace, the being once known as Dinobot surrenders.
"And where do you think you're going?"
Optics open and brighten, audio sensors tune the wildlife and categorize the noise, legs tense in preparation for a fight—
And his whole frame freezes when his pedes find no ground under them, yet there's no gravity tugging him down.
The mech in front of him turns his sneer into a smug grin, and Dinobot snarls.
"I am dead, let me go!"
Starscream's smirk only sharpens in response.
AN: Written in an attempt to fill some of the plot-holes in Beast Wars.
The quote in the summary is from Shakespeare's Richard II.
To those that read this story in Across Space and Time, I managed to get all chapters checked and thus will be posting them all now. The only new chapter is the last one.
