Wrong Side of the Altar

He closed his optics, dimming the room until he didn't have to see the empty spot on the wall where a picture used to be. It was better that way, and he didn't feel so guilty then.

He wondered what the others would think as he rolled over on his bed, facing away from the blank wall when it wasn't enough to simply block out the sight. He wondered, and it made him feel even guiltier. Would they understand? Of course. Silverbolt would give him that meltingly sympathetic look he seemed to have perfected. Rattrap would cuff him on the shoulder and make some offhanded comment that would start a snarking match and distract them both. Rhinox would offer another poster or give him something to work on. Optimus...Optimus would just understand. Offer to talk with him, or just find him late at night to tell him it was alright, and somehow, listening to his commander say it, it would be. They'd all understand.

And they wouldn't get it if he told them that just made it worse.

They were all so perfect, even Rattrap, in his own round-about way. They'd understand where he'd be confused, and he couldn't take it anymore. He was one imperfect piece, out of place in the team puzzle fitted together in the Axalon, screwing up the entire picture by being the flawed member. Everyone else had something to make them special, make them more than ordinary: Rhinox was a tech-wizard and had succeeded in bringing someone back to life! Rattrap had pulled off the impossible in infiltration and demolitions alike! Silverbolt was the pristine white knight everyone admired! Dinobot had held his honor so highly he'd died to save the future! Airazor and Tigatron had loved and gone to their deaths holding tight to one another! Optimus Primal had died for his duty--and come back to life! How wonderful! How marvelous! They were the heroes legends were made of!

Then there was Cheetor. Cheetor was fast, and young, and managed to mess everything up. There was no dramatic moment for Cheetor, no day to save, no limelight to fill. He was just there, a cheerleader on the sidelines or someone to save, not one of the others. He wasn't anything.

Heroes were great to look up to when he was hearing the stories from the perspective of somewhere it might make a difference. Back on Cybertron, hero worship inspired him to go on an exploration mission, inspired him to look for role models like Optimus Primal and join his crew. But what's a 'bot to do when he lives among the supernatural? He could only be cheerful for so long, try so hard, fail so many times to fit in. Even optimism has an ending point when the last photons of light scatter into the darkness of the void. He was no hero. He was only an ordinary rule reaching for an unattainable goal, and it hurt him every time he inevitably fell from the heights and had to be saved by one of the perfect exceptions he'd tried to be like.

He'd looked up to them for so long that he couldn't remember what it was like to not look over at the wall and see his role models looking back, smiling (Dinobot grimaced) out of the picture at him.

But the picture was gone, facedown under his bed, and he wasn't going to look at it or think about it anymore. If he was lucky, nobody would notice that there was something missing in his room. It would only make it worse if they found out, because they'd only prove how perfect they really were if they could listen to him and understand that he couldn't strive to attain their idealized lives for one minute longer without going insane. He'd spent too long trying to be someone he couldn't possibly be, and it was time he lowered his standards. It really was the only way.

It didn't make him feel any less guilty for being a Maximal instead of a superhero.

.

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I don't particularly like Cheetor, but I feel bad for him. It never seems to show during the show, but it's got to be depressing, always being the one who needs to be saved or the one who screws up. So here's to the mediocre who just can't be good enough when forced to be around the truly excellent...