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Characters: Dreadwing and Optimus Prime Location: Southern China Content Warnings: N/A Plot Summary: Having just narrowly escaped the Nemesis with his life, a traitorous Dreadwing comes to terms with what he has done, and make a choice that will define his path going forward.
He was flying. He did not know where he was going; any place seemed ideal to him, and he did not have a care what that place was as long as he got away safely. There could be a squadron on his tail, and he could not afford to slow until he was certain he had escaped completely.
‘Traitorous thieving wretch!’ a part of him screeched, ‘Return to face punishment for your crime!’
‘Keep flying. Get as far away as you can. You must make things right,’ Whispered another part of him. And so he did. He flew and he flew, as fast and as far as he could, and dared not look back.
Never before had Dreadwing experienced such confusion, such lack of direction. His life had always been defined by his love for his brother and his service to the Cause, and now… now, he had neither. SKyquake had mysteriously disappeared and no one but Dreadwing even had memory of his presence, and Megatron’s crusade had become morally corrupt and degenerate. The Cause did not resemble any longer the revolution he had so proudly joined, and Dreadwing had finally come to realize that the very mech he’d sworn to serve with sword and spark had forsaken ideals of honor and integrity to the point of driving one of his most loyal to the brink.
Yet - even if he did not know what to do next, he knew within his spark that he must begin to repent for the crimes he had committed under Megatron’s rule. His honor and integrity had been an integral part of his identity since the day he had beenbrought online, and the knowledge that he’d never really had it deeply unsettled him. Who was Dreadwing, really, without Skyquake? Who was Dreadwing, who had his faith so thoroughly shattered? He did not know.
No matter - it wasn’t the first time he’d been on his own. He’d spent countless vorns wandering the galaxy, and he could do it again.
He flew and flew and flew, until his engines whined in exertion and his fuel reserves began to dip dangerously low, and he was forced to land. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was, but it was a region of many cliffs and rocky outcroppings covered in green vegetation, the mist of morning clinging to the mountainsides. His transformation into his root mode was painful (the injuries Megatron inflicted, it seemed, were more extensive than he’d thought) and his landing was sloppy and rough, sending him and the Forge stumbling to the ground in an ungraceful pile. He laid there for several moments, his chest plates heaving. The claw marks across his face bled freely, reopened by the jarring. Energon dripped down his front, and Dreadwing supposed he looked to be in rather poor shape.
‘Make things right,’ The voice - his conscience, he supposed - whispered to him. For the first time since it had begun speaking to him, he knew how he would begin to earn back his honor. He hauled himself to his knees, gazing at the grand hammer which lay before him. Make things right… with renewed determination, he opened up a comm link he’d sworn he’d never touch.
<<“Prime. Meet me at these coordinates,”>> Dreadwing spoke into his comm, his voice strained as he transmitted them. <<“We... We must speak.”>>
He cut the link, and waited, his hands upon his knees.
A quiet evening and patrols had been set out for his fellow Autobots. This had left him alone to attend to the base at hand. Something of which he had hardly a time to do. Monitors and screens, results and tallies, reports and documents he scoured over in his free time here. Each of which was cataloged until his studious hands found nary a file to process.
The humans here had granted him a library of sorts and seeing as he had finished his routine protocols he decided to explore a bit of human culture. The war had taken such a toll, stripping away any pleasures of casual reading. It was surreal to read a few novels, books, and many other things conjured up by the human mind! Some of which that enraptured the Prime were of fantasy.
Heroism, magic, sword play. Quite a bit of stories within these tomes of entertainment. He had found that there were a few symbolic gestures within the pages and PDF files. A sword being something of nobility. He took wielded a sword by his side when things drew to a close. Yet it possessed a high heat capacity. Something of which was a danger to humans yet it brought about warmth and creation. Another tool of the trade was a hammer. Big, strong, constructive. It was used to forge a path through war, hammer in the details, create swathes of pain when needed. Such a simple weapon he thought to himself. A weight on the end of a stick.
Responsibilities of tending to the base and other happenings had the data logger receiving a message. The computers went to work on locating the source of it and the message it held within!
"Dreadwing? I was not expecting a call at all from..." Before he could even finish his statement the comms went out.
Most intriguing to have Dreadwing call up and sound so... different. What was happening on the Decepticons? Sabotage? Betrayal? The books of fantasy getting to his own mind and painting elaborate tales already? He cast those thoughts aside as he was a Prime for a reason. Be grounded in reality with a mind that is open to many ideas around. Not be aloft in the clouds and reading many entries of text.
Sword, blaster, armor all in check. The Prime soon informed his human companions of his current mission before setting forth through the portal to the coordinates. A sudden elevation change, lushness, and moisture came to him once through. A shocker for sure and one that put him on edge.
A small amount of time had passed as Optimus opted to be dropped off in an area away from the exact coordinates of Dreadwing. Blaster at the ready and yet not at the same time. Something told him it was not needed ever around Dreadwing. At least initially. Upon discover of Dreadwing, the blaster was no longer needed and stashed away for safe keeping.
Foregoing the Forge of Solus Prime, his optics stayed stuck upon Dreadwing. What had happened? Did his ideas of betrayal come true and the situation forced a call like this to take place? The red and blue mech stepped forth into view with a sickening drop in his tanks. Who could have done this? He could only guess Dreadwing's honor got the better of him this time around.
No, he didn’t suppose Optimus would expect a call from him. The last time they had crossed paths had been a tense one to say the least; they had gone head to head to retrieve a relic which had turned out to be false, and had both nearly been blown to bits for their efforts. He had saved the Prime’s life that day, and, in turn, The Prime had saved his. By all accounts, they were even, but Dreadwing still felt... an obligation.
For much of the time since that fateful day, that sense of obligation had gnawed at him and put him at odds with his devotion to The Cause, but now that he had forsaken it, he could finally address the debt he felt he owed to The Prime. Optimus Prime was a mech of honor. Dreadwing could trust that he, at least, would use The Forge of Solus Prime for good. Delivering such a venerable weapon to such worthy hands would be his first step towards redemption.
He waited there for some time, content to sit upon his knees. Patience was one of his virtues, and he appreciated the chance to rest after his desperate flight had burnt through most of his energon reserves. And then - the sound of approaching footsteps, heavy and confident, and Dreadwing turned to see The Prime approach - and the widening of optics and the flash of shock that came across his face. Optimus did not even glance at the Forge.
Well. He supposed that sort of reaction was to be expected when one looked like they’d been mauled by a pneuma-lion. “It is not as bad as it looks, I assure you,” Dreadwing said wryly, “It will heal with time.” At least, that was his hope; right now the claw marks across his face bled freely still, as head wounds were won’t to do.
“I did not ask you to come to gawk at my visage, Prime,” He teased. He found it was hard not to tease when Optimus looked so gobsmacked - and then marveled at himself, for teasing was not something he did. He gestured with on hand to the Forge that lay between them. “I have brought you this, in hopes that you will put it to good use.”
Their previous encounter had been interesting. A little bit of a failed find but one that wasn't so dull in the slightest. What with explosions and running and dodging. Optimus had saved Dreadwing and he the same to the Prime that day. In his eyes, he was even. No more favors to owe, yet at the same time something tugged at his being. There was more to it than just favors.
Having such unseen entity tug at strings within him. He could hardly expect that a repayment would help sever these strings. Optimus felt like there was more to it than someone like Dreadwing giving intelligence or... No, Dreadwing was too honorable to divulge such secrets to the Autobots. This was something he knew, something that began to plague his time alone.
The time alone was dropped when he got the call from Dreadwing, those pedes of his leading him naturally and instinctively. Something that felt peculiar in a way. He didn't want the alone time anymore when he so much as hears about Dreadwing. This honor bound mech might have etched a sense of belonging somewhere within the Prime. Nonsense! He had a whole team of Autobots at base and whom looked up to him. He was the leader of the Autobots, a Prime! Accolades that said he belonged. Though somehow titles like that said he did, but what did he say?
Simple... He said, "You say that with confidence when a Seeker like you is upon their knees on the ground... Do not fool yourself into believing everything is alright." Those broadened shoulders slugged downwards while his weaponry was slowly stashed away into their subcontainers. Genuine concern was beginning to etch it's way across his being. "Dreadwing... If you say time heals all wounds, then a helping hand can help lessen the passage of time." No weapons in hand, and one palm turned upwards moving towards the Seeker.
The mentioning of the hammer did break the moment of concern for Dreadwing, causing those digits upon the Prime's hands to curl up smoothly. Still to have Dreadwing here helped the Autobot out a bit in more ways than one. "Your visage can hold many stories... as does the Forge being used as a crutch if needed." Optimus may need to be shown how useful the Seeker's legs were by using a foot, and his skidplate. Still if the hammer can deal many heavy blows then it surely could be used as a temporary crutch... The Forge of Solus Prime, disregarded and used not as it was intentionally designed for. Instead to help Dreadwing who risked life and limb to get it! If only Optimus knew.
His first instinct should have been to sneer at Optimus’s concern,to bristle at the pity surely being directed his way, but instead Dreadwing was… touched. Optimus did not need to show any concern for an enemy, and yet it seemed kindness was in his nature. There was a strange tightness in his chest as he looked upon the Prime’s furrowed browplates and slight frown, and as the tension drained from Optimus’s shoulders so too did it from Dreadwing’s. The urge to take that outstretched hand rose suddenly within him, bringing with it feelings he had long spent trying to quash. It would be so easy to reach out and simply accept that hand and all that it implied - but Dreadwing tamped down on that urge.
“I do not think your medic would willingly treat my injuries,” He replied dryly, “I doubt my presence would be tolerated long, considering all that I have done in this war. Besides, it was through my own actions that I earned these wounds, and I daresay after all the death and destruction I have sown I deserve them.” The offer of help and medical attention did not go unappreciated, though. “... Thank you for the offer.”
The uncharacteristically soft feelings he felt quickly evaporated at Optimus’s next words, and Dreadwing stared at him incredulously. “I did not risk life and limb to steal such a priceless artifact to use it as a crutch…!” And yet, Optimus had hardly spared the thing a second look, passing it over with such callous inattention! Annoyance prickled along his EM field, though he kept it tight and controlled against his frame to avoid projecting. Did Optimus not realize what he had risked to bring this to him? “Do not be absurd. The Forge can only be wielded by a Prime, and I am hardly worthy to lay hands on it. Take it, and use it wisely.”
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altria : please dont be dead?
Jun 14, 2023 22:40:34 GMT
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