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Dead End’s fingers slowly traced over the cracks and grooves in the glass. This one won’t be in use much longer, he thought offhandedly. One little mistake and it wouldn’t be able to hold a drink anymore.
One little misstep, and Dead End thought he would shatter into a thousand pieces like the glass he held in his hand.
It had been a long time, he found himself thinking. A long time since what? He lost the train of barely coherent processes in the depths of his mind. He reached out for it only halfheartedly, letting the string of thought slip through his fingers as he found himself hunched over the counter in a daze.
“Hello, Dead End,” said Perceptor from behind the counter. His unseeing optics seemed to deepen as Dead End raised his gaze. Dead End could almost imagine that those optics saw right through him and into his spark, despite their disrepair. It was only under that prying line of sight that Dead End realized what an odd sight he must have made, just half-conscious and practically slumped over the edge of the bar.
“… Hello,” said Dead End, only then realizing that Perceptor likely expected him to respond.
“Would you like another drink?”
Dead End turned left to face a faded menu printed on a board next to the counter, though he knew which drink he would order already. Actually, he was sure that Perceptor knew, too. Still, he made a show of choosing one — the one he ordered every time — and swept his attention back to Perceptor, who was waiting patiently for him to say something. “Uh, seventeen? The Polyhex,” he muttered more abrasively than he intended. Perceptor didn’t appear to care.
As Dead End waited for the drink, he drifted back to staring at the glass. There was something odd about it — maybe not the glass itself, but when he looked at it, it felt as if it were shifting in his hands. They couldn’t be, though, because he didn’t feel any physical change. Maybe he was melting into the glass, and that was why he felt nothing.
“A Polyhex,” announced Perceptor quietly, just loud enough to be heard over the background music and chatter. He carefully slid a glass of muted blue energon over to Dead End, who automatically reached for it as it slowed its glide along the scarred surface of the bar.
“Thanks,” said Dead End. He liked the Polyhex for its color — the muted blue was close to the color of spilled energon from a fresh wound, which always brought him a strange sort of comfort. It was nice, in a twisted way.
“Are you … alright?” asked Perceptor, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
“You’re the one with the blown out optics and formerly ripped out arm, and you’re asking me if I’m alright?” Dead End said dryly. He absently clinked his two glasses together on the table, then ventured as far as to take a sip of his newly acquired beverage. The Polyhex was a bit acidic for his tastes, but he couldn’t win at everything, he said inside his head. He stared down firmly at the cracks in the empty glass once more, and the world might have been spinning around him.
Perceptor dipped his head slightly. “Yes. How are you, Dead End?” It sounded as if there was a smile in his voice, though Dead End had no idea how he knew that at all.
“I’m doing fine,” said Dead End, more out of politeness than honesty. After a pause, he added, “Are you okay?”
“I’m doing acceptably,” replied Perceptor. Now Dead End was sure he was smiling.
Dead End wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch Perceptor or himself. Then, he wondered why he was thinking that in the first place. Bolthead, he thought without knowing whom he was talking about. He continued to keep his vision fixed on the way the partially broken glass reflected the pink pulse of his biolights. He took another sip of his drink, and his reflection changed.
The optics looking back at him widened and glowed a brighter white, bewilderment filling them. The other Dead End drew back from the glass, staring at him. He seemed to realize something, then moved his mouth in an attempt to talk. When he realized Dead End couldn’t hear him, he shook his head and gestured to his right — Dead End’s left. Dead End looked to the left, only seeing the menu, and bemusedly turned back to the glass. The reflection shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose briefly, and pointed then to his left, which was Dead End’s right. Dead End followed the gesture until he came face-to-face with Perceptor.
“Dead End?” said Perceptor, concern clear in his expression despite the lack of optics.
“Uh, sorry. What?” responded Dead End numbly, gaze locked on Perceptor’s face.
“Are you sure you aren’t low on energon? You’re exhibiting signs of deficiency.” Perceptor activated the light on his scope, powering it on fully instead of keeping it on standby. He began to scan Dead End.
Dead End ducked away from the beam. “I’m fine. I’ll just have this for now.” He gestured to the glass, then felt like an idiot only a second after, realizing Perceptor probably couldn’t see him. “The drink you gave me, I mean.”
“Okay,” Perceptor said, and that was all.
Dead End was alone with his thoughts again, and now that he was relatively distraction-free, the sensation of being alone felt like shards of glass lodged in his spark. He checked the glasses for the warped reflection just to find that everything was normal again. Well, as normal as could be, anyway.
He sighed and finished his drink.
Dead End had almost forgotten he was even at a bar until he saw movement out of the corner of his optics. A familiar frame seated itself next to him, the sweet scent of some unknown drink wafting over.
“Hi,” Hot Rod greeted simply. His tone was melancholic rather than peppery like usual. A stretch of silence filled the air between them, before Hot Rod interrupted it again. “Isn’t this strange?”
“What?” said Dead End, peering up and to the right at him while keeping his head angled slightly downward.
Hot Rod gestured slowly to their surroundings. “Everything,” he murmured. “Is this peacetime now? That’s weird to think about, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” responded Dead End, just to show he was listening.
“I feel like it came a little too late, you know?” continued Hot Rod. “The chaos is over, finally, but we’ve lost a lot. More of that could still happen, but you wouldn’t know that until it’s happened already.”
Dead End didn’t know what to say.
“You should tell him,” whispered Hot Rod.
“Tell him what?” Dead End said, just a bit too loudly. He blinked and fully straightened. Hot Rod was already leaving.
Dead End scowled.
Bolthead.