Work Text:
He was pinned to the ground as the Decepticon pulled at the Allspark, red optics flaring in frustration and purple wings flaring wide. If only he could use his axe but both hands were currently occupied. To loosen his grip would be to lose the Allspark. Optimus couldn’t let the Decepticon take it.
“Let go, Autobot!”
“Never!”
His voice shook, desperate and determined and held on even as sharp heels dug into his plating, “The Allspark is life!” Even if he died, anything would be better than a Decepticon getting their filthy servos on the Allspark. The Great War would be restarted and millions of Autobots would die.
He couldn’t let the Allspark go. He couldn’t.
Gritting his denta, he tightened his grip on the Allspark. To let go of the Allspark would be to kill thousands. He already killed one good bot.
“Then let it end yours!” Starscream snarled before pulling his arm back to aim a missile at Optimus.
Something must have shifted because the Allspark container gave way. For a second, Optimus worried they had somehow broken it before the Allspark container started glowing. Strange blue lines lit up on the orange container. There was a strange humming in his audials, unnoticeable at first until it started rising in pitch higher and higher until it was almost overwhelming. Optimus’s entire vision was washed blue as light radiated from the Allspark, glowing brighter and brighter until it was completely blinding.
He felt weightless for a moment. He couldn’t see anything but blue. He could feel the pulsing of energy from beneath his grip. It was reassuring, it was almost warm.
Slowly, the ambient energy started pulling at him. Gently coaxing memories forth.
White. Endless white spanning as far as the optic could see. Grey limbs of liquid metal. Blue optics of countless other protoforms.
He could remember the cycles spent learning about Cybertron and the great Autobot Machine.
The teacher-bot was an elderly old mech who looked as if he were as old as Cybertron itself. Impossible really but the mind of a young protoform has no real concept of time. But that mech was the one that instilled in Optimus a love of history with his many many stories of a Cybertron long past. Sometimes Optimus really wonders if some of those were really just stories.
The first time he had a job. A simple function; a simple dockworker in Iacon. Hard honest work but still he felt he was meant for so much more. Something greater.
The many sleepless nights he spent studying instead of recharging. Hoping, studying, working, for the possible chance that he might be able to pursue his dreams.
The exact moment he realized that he was accepted into the Academy.
He saw the time when he met Elita-1 and Sentinel, his two best friends. When did they stop being friends? All those little moments of pure joy. When the only things he had to worry about were tests and Sentinel getting in trouble. Why couldn't they have lasted forever? Being nothing but naive younglings who believed that now was forever and that time could never touch them.
He also saw the day they stupidly decided to adventure out to Archa Seven in search of ancient Energon and Decepticon warships. He had to choose that day, he chose between Elita-1 and Sentinel, making the choice which one lived and which one died.
Why couldn't have forever been forever? Why do all lovely dreams have to end?
He saw himself taking the blame (to protect Sentinel. Only one of them should be punished and it should be Optimus. Still, Optimus could not help but feel slightly bitter as Sentinel only glared at him) before Ultra Magnus expelled him from the Academy.
The countless lonely orns he spent wandering (lost, aimless, isolated and lonely, alone, so very alone) before being called back by Ultra Magnus.
Being told that he could have a second chance.
He saw everything almost as though it were a film. Distant and detached. It was his life, those were his memories, but the texture and emotion of each one was faded. Almost like looking through a glass window, you knew what it was like but it's not until you really experience it that it becomes real.
Blue light pulsed from a single orb of pure light. He could feel the sheer energy that radiated from it, he could feel it in his servos, taste it even, but it wasn’t terrifying. It was warm.
Then it shut. Satisfied.
Whatever that magic was, it was over. The blue light disappeared and suddenly he was falling. His vision glitzed as his optics adjusted. Instinct took over and he used his axe to anchor himself onto the nearest solid surface. Flimsy material ripped as his axe dug into it but eventually it held.
He hung there for a moment. The Allspark had settled heavily on his arm, cradled there like a sparkling. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Slowly he tried to pull himself up before freezing as his axe gave way.
He screamed.
He screamed as wind batted at his frame. Both his axe and the Allspark had slipped out of his grip.
Then just as suddenly, he hit the ground. He could feel metal plating twisting and crumpling, joints bending out of their sockets, and wires short-circuiting or outright snapping from the impact. It hurt.
Rubble dug into his joints and open seams. Dust crept its way into his internals, settling uncomfortably inside him. Beyond the dim haze of pain, Optimus couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like to be a hero.
A voice faded in and out as static glitzed across his vision. His chest rattled painfully with every wheezy in-vent. All he could see was blue.
Blue.
Blue sky.
Blue optics.
Optimus stared dully at the blurry figures that hovered above him. Distantly he knew that he needed to pull himself back up, to be a leader but he was content to just lie here.
"So, this...is what it feels like...to be a hero."