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Scattered debris from the conflict surrounds Perceptor as he stumbles through the wreckage. His optics are dim with disbelief, his processor numb, every thought came back to the same impossible conclusion: Dead End— he had shot Dead End.
Dead End’s head tilts back against the wall, optics dimming and unfocused. He gives a rasping, breathless chuckle, bitter and distant. His voice is barely a whisper, but Perceptor hears it.
“You never… loved me, did you?” Dead End was slurring, as if he couldn’t quite figure out how to make his intake work.
Perceptor freezes in place. The battlefield fades, leaving only the sound of Dead End’s ragged ventilations. He looks down at his servos, still shaking from the recoil of the shot that wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Dead End..” Perceptor says softly, as if speaking any louder might break him.
He steps closer, optics searching Dead End’s for some sign of understanding, but the Stunticon’s gaze is half-lidded, clouded with pain. His body convulses slightly, energon continuing to spill from the wound in his chest. Perceptor’s usually precise mind struggles to find the right words—a rare occurrence.
Dead End laughs hoarsely, energon dripping from his chin. “It’s funny, y’know… The universe always hated me. Just took its time to finally snuff me out.” His optics flicker, dimming further with each word. “Guess it figured… you'd finish the job.”
Perceptor’s spark clenches, the weight of the words hitting harder than any physical blow. He drops to one knee beside Dead End, reaching out but hesitating just before making contact.
Dead End’s optics shift, barely focusing on Perceptor. His voice is strained, barely more than a whisper, but the bitterness seeps through. “I was just another stat to you, wasn’t I? Just a number... in your head.”
Perceptor shakes his head, his voice trembling, unsteady in a way it never has been. “No. It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it?” Dead End’s tone is fading, slurring more now, like he’s drifting in and out of coherence. “I’ve seen how you look at us… like we’re parts… just moving pieces on the board.”
Perceptor tries to find the right words, something that will make this better, something logical, but all he can manage is a hollow, “I’m sorry.”
Dead End laughs again, though this time it’s quieter, a bitter, rattling sound. “Sorry…” he echoes, his voice weak, his optics growing duller. “That’s... nice. Makes it… so much better.”
Perceptor’s optics widen, and for a brief moment, the cold logic that usually guides him falters. He leans in, desperation creeping into his voice. “You’re not just a number. You’re—"
Dead End cuts him off with a ragged breath, his voice distant now. “Don’t. Doesn’t matter... now.”
Perceptor’s fingers hover near Dead End’s chest, over the wound. But he knows it’s too late. The energon is flowing too fast, the light in Dead End’s optics too dim. His servos fall uselessly to his sides.
Perceptor can’t bear the weight of Dead End’s accusation. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, desperation creeping into his tone. “Please, just hold on. We can get you to medics—”
“It’s too late for that,” Dead End wheezes, but the defiance in his voice is fading. His optics begin to dim, the pain evident as he struggles to keep them open. “Just... just let me go.”
“No!” Perceptor’s voice rises, and he leans in closer, fighting to keep Dead End conscious. “You have to stay with me. Focus, Dead End. Please.”
Dead End’s head lolls back against the wreckage, a faint, disoriented smile flickering across his face. “You really think... I’m going anywhere?” He lets out a breath, and it sounds more like a sigh than anything else. “Just... tired...”
“Don’t close your optics,” Perceptor urges, panic edging into his voice. “You can’t—”
But the light in Dead End’s optics begins to flicker. The familiar sarcasm is replaced with something softer, more vulnerable. “I always knew it’d end like this… alone,” he mutters, drifting in and out of coherence.
“No,” Perceptor insists, leaning in closer, his voice low and urgent. “You’re not alone. Just... stay with me, please.”
“Perceptor...” Dead End’s voice trails off, fading into a whisper. His optics flutter, and finally, they close, his body going limp against the debris.
“Dead End!” Perceptor exclaims, his voice cracking. He shakes Dead End gently, desperation flooding his circuits. “Please, stay with me!”
For a moment, fear grips him, but then he notices the faint whirring of Dead End’s frame, his processors still humming with life. A wave of relief washes over him as he realizes Dead End hasn’t slipped away entirely; he’s just passed out, overwhelmed by the loss of energon.
Perceptor’s servos hover over Dead End’s wound, panic subsiding into a deep resolve. He quickly scans the area for any sign of other Autobots or supplies. “Hang on, I’ll get you help,” he murmurs, his voice steadier now.