He hated him before he even knew his last name.
Sam Witwicky. They spat it out like some vile curse. He spat it out like they were the most disgusting words his mouth had ever tasted because they truly were.
They were devoted to opposite causes: Autobot, Decepticon, Sam, Dylan, hero, villain.
He was a hero in his own right. "One day they'll realize," he whispers into the unmoving wind.
"I love you, Dad," he says, walking around like he owns the world even though he's only two feet tall. He recognizes a pair of gleaming red eyes looking in through the window.
"Don't ever forget who we are," his dad tells him, grabbing his son's shoulders as if they were the most important words he had ever spoken.
It wasn't; it was just one of many warnings.
He had always loved comic books. Bat Man used to be his favorite comic; the Joker was always his favorite character.
He gets into a fight at school one day. He and his only friend in the whole fourth grade were discussing the books. "Bat-Man is way cooler," the other little boy disagrees, righteous, rambunctious, and all too reasonable. "The Joker is such a loser." He punches him in the jaw then, not hard but painful enough to let the kid know who the real loser was.
"You just don't understand us," he says, and spits at his only friend.
Why did Sam Witwicky remind him of that boy so much?
He overhears them talking about Sam one day. They are words of pure loathing, yet they drip with respect.
It was then he decided there was nothing he hated more than Sam, that little kid. He'd show them all who the true hero was, and then maybe they would respect him too.
His dad knows he's going to die. "It's cancer," he tells his only child, honest as he always had been. "I won't live the week." Dylan just stares at him, utterly heartbroken, the only thing that mattered ripped from him and flown into death like a wet rag doll.
"Listen, son," he nods his head towards the window, where a metal bird was perched, intently watching the conversation. "You know my friends? The big ones? They are your friends now, do you understand? Yours. You've got to listen to them, Dyl."
He starts to see the upside to all this- those metal creatures were his now. His dad had told him so.
"Hello boy," the bird hisses at him. "You are ours now."
Dylan just nods, processing the information, because for the first time in his life, Dylan Gourd has more than three friends at a time.
They catch him reading his comic books one year later. They rip them up in front of his face.
"How old are you, fleshing?" Starscream sneers at him. "We can't have our associates participating in such demeaning activities."
"No!" he yells, watching him tear up his beloved books with his sharp, sharp claws. "Please, give it back!"
Starscream just glares at him while he watches the last shards of his book float to the ground. "Take him, Laserbeak, before I lose my patience."
Laserbeak leads him into another room, a small sitting room full of uppity furniture and fine china.
"Appearances are everything," Laserbeak sneers at him, curling his long neck around Dylan's head. "You would do best to look more presentable, boy." They still called him a boy even though he was a legal adult.
He wondered if they would ever bother to use his real name.
He gets a girlfriend for the first time in tenth grade. She's not the most beautiful, but she was so sweet and charming, everything he's not. "You're my hero," she tells him, giggly and soft, after he defends her from a few boys who were picking on her.
She never finds out that those same boys corner him on a deserted street on his walk home from school that day. They start beating him, relentless and in control. He cries out with every fist, every foot they rain down upon him with. He sees something in the sky, a bird-like shape, and then the boys are thrown off him, one by one.
"I'm so sorry," the biggest boy whispers, after Laserbeak descends upon him, claws shiny in the sunlight. "So sorry, please forgive me." Laserbeak moves closer, and the boy screams, "Please!" one last time before he kills him.
The other three boys start to run but Laserbeak is fast- way too fast- and they all die too.
Dylan doesn't look at their mauled bodies, having blocked out their screams with a scary ease. "Thanks," he breathes, because he would get beaten up every single day if it meant Laserbeak would be his savior.
His savior growls at him. "I like the feel of your pathetic flesh under my claws."
Dylan steps towards him.
"Besides, you are better to us alive than dead- for now, anyway."
Laserbeak finds out about his little girlfriend a week later. He takes one look at her and looks away in disgust. "Find a better human," he orders. Dylan's eyes widen. "I really like her!" He protests, because he really doesn't want to give her up. She's so refreshing, like a watermelon on a sweltering summer day. He envisions her to be just what he needs- a breath of fresh air, an escape away to his own paradise.
Laserbeak pushes him and he falls down hard on the wet cement. Dylan crawls away, but his best friend just gets closer and closer. "What did I tell you-" he pauses, giving Dylan a swift kick that comes really close to breaking one of his ribs, "about appearances?"
He breaks up with her via text message two minutes later, which was such a shame- she was what he really wanted.
But he knows his best friend, his savior knows best, so he convinces himself it's for the best, like an atheist convincing himself to believe in God.
His dad leaves the land of the living on August 21st. He doesn't cry because he tells himself it's for the best.
Besides, Dylan tells himself. It's just a trade- one person who will look out for him for quite a few.
"I always thought," his dad rasps, his last words coming out in heavy breaths as if the air were jagged pieces of glass. "That the Joker was pretty cool, too."
Dylan tells himself that day that it would be pretty cool if he was more like the Joker than his father ever was.
He still remembers that one day where he felt like he had a family. He was sitting in a grassy field with Laserbeak, Soundwave, Rumble, and Frenzy.
They occupy the time by mocking human culture. He joins in eagerly, making fun of the so-called advancements in health care. He can't help thinking that if humans were a quarter smart as the mechs were they would have solved cancer a thousand years ago.
"You needn't worry about that," Frenzy tells him. "I have a very large knowledge of human anatomy. I can do better than all the doctors in your pathetic state."
He gets all warm and fuzzy inside from what was meant to be bragging and can't keep a stupid grin from forming on his face.
"Yeah, and what about comic books?" He says, with a short laugh. "Stupid, or what?"
He doesn't need the books now. He could be his own hero, or villain, whatever he wanted to be.
"An unrealistic portrayal of shallow creatures created by a so-called artist with no talent to speak of," Soundwave agrees, while Laserbeak stares at Dylan with a calculating gaze.
He nods and nods, shaking his head like a bobble-head. He didn't need the books anymore. Whatever he was going to be, he was going to become it on his own- and maybe with the help of his best friends.
He likes to think of himself as the anti-Sam.
But he sometimes got this feeling that he was more like the wannabee-Sam.
That thought makes him want to cut himself and watch the red drip down, like he'd seen people do in movies. Maybe it would fill the hole inside of him, mend the sloppy stitch work of his fragile ego. He grabs the razor, eager for any solution, but then he recalls what his best friend had told him about appearances.
He puts the razor back in it's proper place and goes to get a new haircut, like the loyal friend and good little boy he was.
He sees Sam Witwicky with a gun pointing at him. "You've got some balls," he says, and is disgusted with himself because he almost admires his bravery. He laughs at him, though, because his best friend is in the next room and just maybe if he was really lucky, his best friend would kill him like he had killed those boys who were ganging up on him all those years ago. He doesn't know what it is about Sam Witwicky, but he seemed to be able to gang up on him all by himself. He never lets him know, because he had to keep up his appearances. He sees Sam fall out the window, and feels like this huge weight is off his shoulders that he hadn't even realized was there. The world is ending around him and it's partly his fault, but he can't help being just so happy.
There was no way he'd survive the fall.
He sees him resurface a moment later, on what appeared to be a 'Con ship but couldn't be. He feels many things at once. Firstly, disappointment, because that goddamn kid was still alive. Secondly, he feels shocked, because the Autobots must be back. Thirdly, a sense of duty because he knows he needs to warn his friends. He feels utter pride as his best friend goes after Sam, that arrogant asshole.
None of these things match what he feels when he runs to the balcony, hoping to see a glimpse of Sam's dead body so he can finally fill the hole in his chest. Instead, he watches Sam hold Laserbeak's head still while the Autobot in the ship shoots it completely off, severing it from his body.
He doesn't feel grief. Just anger and a vengeful promise.
"I'll make it worthwhile," he whispers as he watches his best friends fall to the ground like a… like a… lifeless piece of metal.
He has two missions. The first, most important, is to fix the pillar, because it's what his friends want and friends help each other. His second mission is to kill Sam Witwicky. He feels pride as he kicks Sam, his blows laced with revenge. He feels pain as Sam punches him, his hits filled with righteousness and maybe a little bit of anger. He finally gets Witwicky down and activates the pillar once again. He stares up into the sky as Cybertron starts to advance. He winces as he feels the blow from behind and starts to ease into his second mission. He fights Sam with all he has, matching him blow for blow for nearly ten seconds.
Then Sam pushes him into the control pillar.
His body is filled with shock and agony as he starts convulsing. He feels scarred and burned. He feels utter despair, because, like Sam, he is loyal to his cause, and hatred, because Sam Witwicky had managed to make him fail both his missions with just one move.
"I'll kill you," Sam had said. "You have my word."
His word was good, of course- would you expect a hero's to be any less?
Dylan knows he's failed his friends, his family, and is almost glad to die, because if he would survive they would disown him. He only wishes Sam would die with him. Perfect, perfect Sam, such a hero. Maybe everyone wouldn't think of him as such a hero if they saw the raw satisfaction in his eyes as he shoved Dylan into his death.
Dylan had never killed a man firsthand before. Sam had. Dylan hoped with all of his heart it made him less of a hero, though he knew the opposite was true.
In his last minute he could have sworn he heard Laserbeak's voice: "I never really liked you, you know. I wish I know what I did to give you such a foolish idea. It makes no difference. You've failed, as usual. You have made no difference."
The bird is right- his words don't sting like they should, though, because he's about to die anyway.
All he had ever been was loyal to his cause. How was he so different from Sam, who was treated so kindly? His last ten seconds are filled with his hatred with Sam. "Die," he thought. "Die and let them see you as what you truly are."
A dying wish.
He swears as he shuts his eyes to give into the black he sees the Joker, laughing at him.
He doesn't end up being the perfect villain like he always wanted to be. It makes no difference; in the end, it's enough to know that he had tainted the hero.
AN: Some insight into the blob of misplaced faith that is Dylan. For some reason I think his last name is Gourd, I could be wrong though. I'm pretty fond of this piece and hopefully it explains why Dylan is so buddy-buddy with those Decepticons. I wrote this after watching TF3 for the third time a few weeks ago. :D Reviews would reallyyyy be appreciated, so yaknow, if you want. :-)
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or there would be much more human-mech interaction in the films. Much more meaning. Take that, Michael Bay.