A/N: I can't even deal with Ironhide's death in DotM. It's more than I can handle. But this is a kind of catharsis. All the deaths of Ironhide, with buckets and buckets of wangst. Prime's POV.
IDW ongoing: Fault-lines
The wall gave with a sharp, accusatory crunch as his fist slammed into it. Undeterred, Optimus Prime drew back, snarled a choked-off, guttural howl of feral rage, and hit the wall again.
It was not the wall's fault.
It wasn't even Hot Rod's fault, although here in the doubtful privacy of the corrugated warehouse that served as his current command center, Optimus was roundly cursing the fiery red Autobot.
He knew that Ironhide would - if he'd come back from that Primus-forsaken rescue mission - have said that it was all his own damn fault, and that Prime ought to let it go.
But he couldn't.
Because ultimately, it was on his orders that Ironhide had been blown to scrap. Blown to scrap by humans, the very beings he felt compelled to protect. Optimus had told him to "keep an eye on the kid." He'd meant for Ironhide to serve as a deterrent against Hot Rod's spontaneous eruptions of what he was sure the young Autobot thought was bravery. He'd wanted Ironhide to make sure the kid didn't get himself killed.
So Ironhide had jumped in front of the blast meant for Hot Rod.
And now Prime was pounding new dents into the walls of his headquarters, trying to figure out how he was going to meet up with the kid without wanting to pulverize that cocky face of his.
He was trying to figure out how he would ever live with himself, after sending his best friend out with instructions that would get him killed.
And he was trying to figure out how he could be the Prime without that best friend by his side.
((Slagging comic book writers. I was SO. MAD. I can't even read this particular series; it was so blinking DEPRESSING.))