Chapter summary: Dead End keeps watch for Soundwave and his cassettes, but Trevor does his best to distract him.

– anon_decepticon and QoS/mdperera

Thanks also to Kookaburra 1701 for her support and input, and to all our readers!

This chapter is a bit short, because technically it's the second half of the last one, which A_D couldn't finish on time due to health issues. Thankfully the next one will be longer. Hope you enjoy it anyway.

Chapter 36 – Changing Lanes

Trevor's hand was on his thigh, warm, but not harsh or gripping. Dead End glanced out the window, then back at the human. He had the sneaking suspicion that Trevor's "demonstration" would involve more than kissing, but he agreed nonetheless. "Show me."

Trevor smiled and leaned in close, proving him right.

Dead End permitted him to continue, keeping his gaze on the window even as he allowed Trevor's tongue coax his lips apart. From the moment the human had first tried to kiss him tonight, he'd suspected Trevor's hospitality came at a price.

The thought didn't exactly thrill him, but he'd endured worse. And after everything Trevor had done – given him a cab ride home, offered him shelter from the rain, kept silent about who they were – Dead End supposed he owed the human something. If this was what Trevor wanted in return, Dead End was willing to oblige him.

Especially if the alternative was going back out into the rain.

He didn't think Trevor intended to hurt him. His lips were warm against Dead End's throat, his breath hot against his ear. One of his hands was cradling Dead End's head, his fingers entwined in his hair. None of it was remotely threatening, and he could still see out the window well enough…

It was even pleasant, the way the human's tongue moved against his, the faint spicy scent of his skin. Trevor's touch was gentle, not greedy, and he seemed to have an innate knowledge of all Dead End's hot spots. Is this what it's like to be with a human?

Trevor's mouth progressed from his neck to his shoulder, his other hand reaching up to tug Dead End's shirt aside, baring more of his chest. Dead End's stomach gave an odd little lurch as Trevor's tongue found one of the tiny sensitive knobs there, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Have you thought about that? You could be stuck like this.

Seemingly encouraged by the sound, Trevor leaned into him, pressing him back onto the bed. Dead End allowed himself to be borne down onto the mattress, quashing the faint flicker of unease that shot through him as he lost sight of the window. It'll only be a minute, he thought. He'll be done soon.

The truth was, he had thought about it. He'd spent the better part of a day thinking of nothing else, seated in that chair next to Motormaster's hospital bed, wondering what their leader's death might mean for the rest of them.

In some ways they'd be better off – Breakdown would be less paranoid, Wildrider less insane – but Motormaster was the linchpin that held them all together. Without him, the team would fall apart.

That had been….a difficult thing to admit, even to himself, alone in that hospital room, that he couldn't keep the team together. It had cut to the core of everything Dead End feared, but he didn't doubt for a moment that it was true. In his mind, one by one they'd left him. Drag Strip ran off to Hollywood seeking fame and adoration. Wildrider went with him, because where Drag Strip went, Wildrider was sure to follow. And Breakdown…

In his fantasy, Breakdown stayed. But as much as the thought elated him, Dead End knew it was a lie. The real Breakdown would have dreams of his own, just like the others. Why would he want Dead End hovering around, complaining and correcting him every time he misspoke? Like a little black cloud with a large vocabulary.

And then there would be nothing left for him, except loneliness and a slow decline into rust. No, dust.

A tugging sensation brought him back to the here-and-now, and Dead End realized that while he'd been lost in his thoughts, Trevor had continued to work his way steadily down his chest, and had just pulled his shirt free of his waistband.

So much for hoping it would be over soon. He wondered what the time was, but from his prone position he couldn't see Trevor's clock. The room was a little darker now though, to match his mood.

Trevor shifted above him, moving to straddle his hips, and slipped a hand beneath his shirt, eyes widening as his fingers encountered the ridges of Dead End's stomach. "Oh, wow," he breathed.

His awestruck tone made Dead End feel a little better, a little less like the situation had slipped out of his control. You agreed to this, remember? Trevor had offered to demonstrate that he found him attractive, and now he was doing just that, exactly as promised.

Leaning forward, Trevor bent down to kiss him again, but then he paused, glancing down in surprise. He shifted his hips and looked at Dead End, his eyebrows lifted halfway to his hairline, and his face abruptly split into a grin. "Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just really happy to see me?"

"It's a gun."

Trevor stared at him, the smile freezing. "You're kidding, right?"

"No, I'm not." Dead End shifted enough to get a hand between their bodies, pulled out the gun and showed it to him.

"Holy shit!" Trevor squeaked, scrambling backwards on the bed. "Is that thing loaded?"

"Of course it is." He checked the safety catch before setting the weapon aside. "It wouldn't be nearly as effective if it wasn't."

"Jeez," Trevor said, running a hand over his face. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "Where did you even…never mind, I don't wanna know." He clapped his hands briskly. "Okay! I'm good."

Dead End arched a brow. "Perhaps now isn't the best time."

Trevor's gaze swept him up and down, taking in his half-buttoned shirt and rumpled hair. "Oh, no way. I've been dreaming about this ever since I met you."

"Ah." Well, it had been worth a shot. Propping himself up on his elbows, he glanced out the window again, but there were no helpful signs of activity outside the science building. "All right."

Trevor grinned, pulling his own shirt over his head. "Got any other weapons I should know about?"

"Just the one."

Trevor smiled and leaned over him, this time focusing his attention on Dead End's stomach ridges, and once again Dead End found himself struggling to suppress a peculiar feeling of unease.

He shivered, his skin suddenly awash with tiny bumps. There wasn't any reason for him to be reacting this way. Trevor wasn't hurting him, or doing anything Dead End hadn't done before. Granted, he'd never 'faced with anyone outside the gestalt before, but he was fairly certain at least some of the others had – Wildrider had 'faced one of the Reflectors once, and now Motormaster was fragging that woman from the deli…

But in spite of that, there was a cold spot lodged in the pit of his stomach like a lump of ice, and when his breath quickened to match Trevor's, it was more out of fear than lust.

"Stop." The word was spoken so quietly it took him a moment to realize he was the one who'd voiced it.

Trevor halted in mid-kiss, lifting his head to look him in the eye. "What's wrong?"

Dead End stared back at him blankly, too baffled by his own reaction to respond. Why had he done that? Why had he told him to stop?

"Is it because of that Tom guy?" Trevor asked. "Are you scared he'll find out?"

Dead End shook his head. Even if they regained their true forms and merged into Menasor, he doubted the others would learn about this. Necessity had made him adept at keeping certain thoughts to himself.

"Are you afraid it will hurt?" Trevor asked. "I'll be gentle, I promise. I'll make you feel really, really good."

Dead End frowned, his brows knitting. "It's not that."

Trevor settled into a more comfortable position, reclining at his side. "Then what is it?"

Dead End looked at him, meeting the human's sincere gaze. "I don't know," he said. "It feels…wrong."

"Was it something I did?" Trevor asked. "Do…do I remind you of him?"

The frozen spot in the pit of his stomach suddenly bloomed outward, turning the fuel in his lines to ice. Suddenly it all made sense – why he felt inexplicably drawn to this human, against all common sense and in spite of his efforts to push him away. And why Trevor's offers of "freedom" were both a temptation…and a torment.

His stomach churning in self-disgust, Dead End pushed the human away and sat up. "I don't want this."

Trevor stared at him, his expression both hurt and bewildered. "Why not?"

"Because it would be a lie," he snapped. He turned away, bending down to retrieve his gun, and began re-buttoning his shirt.

Trevor was silent for a moment, watching him. "Because I'm not a robot?"

Dead End sighed, looking out the window. Because you're not him. "Because you're not one of us."

"What does that even mean?" Trevor demanded. "Who is us? Decepticons? Transformers? What?"

"Stunticons," he replied. "My team, my gestalt. They're the ones I frag."

Trevor blinked. "Wait, you mean you – with all of them?"

"Them and only them, yes."

"Wow. The papers didn't say anything about that."

"Well, it's not as if we considerately interface in front of reporters and cameras." He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to smooth it back from his forehead. "Especially not cameras."

"Wait, how exactly do robots–?" But before Trevor could finish the question, an earsplitting crash echoed outside. He flinched at the sound, looking up at the ceiling. "That – that wasn't thunder."

"No." It had been too close, too much like an explosion. Dead End moved back to the window and looked outside again, at the science building.

It had been early evening when Trevor had seen him, but now it was dark. Dead End squinted, trying to see through the night and the fog, which curled thickly around the buildings across the square… fog that looked a lot like clouds of smoke and dust.

"They're here, aren't they?" Trevor whispered.

An alarm was shrieking in the science building, and as Dead End's barely-adequate human eyes adapted to the gloom he made out two large shapes moving through the smoke. Too large to be Soundwave's cassettes, which wasn't good. Ignoring the gaping rent in the side of the science building, as well as the people shouting and running for cover, he strained to see more details.

"You're not going out there, are you?" Trevor's voice was hushed, as though he was afraid he would be heard all the way across the square. He didn't seem to be as excited about a Decepticon invasion of his campus now. "What if they think you're just another human?"

"We're prepared for that possibility." Dead End tore his attention away from the scene for a moment, glancing at Trevor instead. Whatever happened in the next few minutes, he knew it was unlikely he would ever see Trevor again, and especially not under such circumstances. But the human had been friendly and accommodating, and that counted for something. "Whoever they are, don't go near them."

"Wasn't planning on it," Trevor said, shaking his head. "But what about you?"

A screech of brakes made Dead End turn back to the window. A car had come to an abrupt halt near the science building, and Dead End could read what was painted on the car's side. Security; not good either. But its headlights flashed through the smoke and reflected off the mechs who stood beside the science building. He caught only a single glimpse before one mech turned and fired at the car, but that was all he needed. The paintjobs revealed by the headlights were a bright lime-green.

He grabbed the phone, punching in their number and kept watching as it rang – though only twice before it was picked up. "Yeah?" Motormaster's voice said.

"The Constructicons," Dead End said. "They're here."