#I know Optimus was a transmetal in Code of Hero

[sucharandomwolf]

“How do I apologize? And put the tears back in your eyes?”

[ckret2]

Nom De Guerre

Prompt: In exchange for some art at TFCon, I promised @xraybeeb some DinoTrap! They’re still at the awkward pretending-they-don’t-like-each-other stage because, it turns out, I just wanted to write banter. Continuity: Beast Wars, some vague point post-transmetal and pre-Code of Hero. Pairing: Rattrap/Dinobot, but only faintly Wordcount: 2000 Summary: Dinobot wants to know what Rattrap’s name was back on Cybertron. Somehow that segues into Rattrap learning about Dinobot’s surprise Autobot idols.

Rattrap was almost back to base, at the end of his patrol, when he saw someone standing on top of the Axalon, silhouetted against the night sky. "Hey! What—?!" He skidded to a stop, transforming and looking up at the mysterious bot. "Who—? Oh. HEY, CHOPPERFACE!"

Dinobot's gaze lowered from the stars to Rattrap.

"Stop melodramatically stargazin'! It's so dark out, I thought you were a Predacon!" He paused. "... A different Predacon!"

Faintly, Dinobot yelled back, "Come and make me stop!"

"I'm n—"

"Unless you're a coward!"

Rattrap let out a long sigh that he hoped was loud enough for Dinobot to hear from the top of the ship. And then commed Optimus. "Hey, boss bot—I'm back from patrol, buuut I'm not comin' in just yet. Dinobot's on top of the ship and I've gotta go wittily banter him to death. If I start screamin', send backup."

It took a couple of minutes for Rattrap to find a route to scale the Axalon and reach Dinobot's position. Dinobot wasn't even waiting for him—he was sitting cross-legged on the far side of the ship, facing away. "Okay, reptile. Challenge accepted and defeated. Now get off the stupid—"

"What did you go by," Dinobot said, "back on Cybertron?"

Rattrap stopped, staring at Dinobot's back. "... Did you call me all the way up here just t'ask me my real name?!"

"No. I started wondering while waiting for you to laboriously scale the ship."

"Ooh, you condescendin'..." Rattrap muttered invectives as he stomped up behind Dinobot. "I oughta kick you off the side."

"I would be delighted to see you try."

Of course, he didn't. Instead, he stopped beside Dinobot, surveying the view. Eh. It wasn't bad, he supposed.

"Rattletrap."

Dinobot looked at him, clearly waiting for him to elaborate; but Rattrap didn't know what elaboration he wanted, so he said what anyone would say after introducing their name: "Nice t'meet you."

Dinobot snorted, shoulders jerking.

Rattrap sat down beside Dinobot, legs stretched out in front of him. "I know, it's just one syllable off from what I got now." Rattrap had no idea what Dinobot's basis of comparison was—he didn't know what any of the Darksyde’s crew had gone by, aside from the fact that their illustrious and big-headed leader had been alias "Megatron" for decades—but out of the original Axalon crew, Rattrap had stayed closer to his original name than any of the other Maximals. "But, eh—I'm attached to my name, y'know? Rattletrap suits me. It's..." He trailed off. He'd never had to describe his name before; it was like trying to describe his own transformation sequence.

"Unreliable? Rickety? In poor health?"

"Unassumin'," Rattrap snapped. "You can get a whole lot done while people are busy underestimatin' you because you've got a name that makes you sound like a jalopy."

"Your very name is an act of subterfuge." Dinobot sniffed disdainfully and looked away from Rattrap at last, surveying the quiet night. "Dishonorable. But, I suppose, effective. For someone like you."

"Tch, you flatterer." Rattrap leaned back, settling himself on his elbows. Oh yeah, this was gonna be a long banter. He could feel it. "How 'bout you? Who were you on Cybertron?"

"Dinobot."

Rattrap gave him a surprised look. "No kiddin'? Before you were a 'raptor?"

"Yes. My organic beast mode was fortuitous. In fact I named myself Dinobot long ago."

Named himself. Huh. "I figure you're named after...?"

"The Dinobots who fought at the end of the Great War, yes. I consider them my role models."

"Really!" Rattrap scooted over so he could roll onto one side, giving Dinobot his full attention. "You don't say! Oh, I want to hear all about how the Dinobots are role models."

"You mock me."

"Nooo. Me? Never," Rattrap said mockingly.

Dinobot snarled at him. "The Dinobots are consummate warriors! They are aggressive, direct, indefatigable—"

"Probably don't know what 'indefatigable' means."

Dinobot swiped threateningly at Rattrap. "Honest. Fearless. Loyal to their own, and they make no pretenses of loyalty to those they don't consider their own. And they carried those ideals with them everywhere—no matter in whose company they found themselves, and no matter how little others understood their ideals."

And something about the way Dinobot said that made Rattrap uncomfortably aware of how much he was one of those people who didn't get Dinobot's ideals. Not, he reminded himself, that he wanted to get them—they were, after all, Predacon ideals—but, still... Still. Still.

Had to be lonely, Rattrap supposed.

"They embody a nobility of character which I can only aspire to match," Dinobot concluded.

Rattrap nodded slowly, taking in that analysis. "... They're also dumber than a bag of rocks."

He expected another swipe for that. Instead, Dinobot said, wryly, "You'll notice that, in listing their virtues, I did not include intelligence."

Rattrap laughed. "Okay! Okay, fair," he said. "You uh—you do know that your heroes were also Autobots, right?"

Dinobot gave Rattrap an exasperated look. And then sat up straighter. "What are you—? Stop posing like that! You look ridiculous!"

"Wha—?" At some point, as Rattrap listened to Dinobot wax poetic about Dinobots, he had ended up laying on his side with one hand propping up his cheek and the other arm draped across his waist. He did look ridiculous. Flustered, he sat straight up again. "I— W— Don't change the topic! What kinda role models are a pack of Autobots for a big bad Pred, huh?"

"You insult them by calling them Autobots." Dinobot was back to staring at the horizon, refusing to look at Rattrap. "Perhaps they wore the Autobot badge—but they were never given Autobot coding. In behavior—in spirit—although they fought for the Autobots, in their sparks they were Decepticon."

"They tell you that themselves, or are you just projectin'?"

"Have you nothing else to contribute but critical snark?!"

"Well I can't contribute saucy poses anymore, can I?" But all right, maybe he should tone it down. This was... actually an intriguing side to Dinobot. The Predacon that venerates Autobots.

Dinobot gave him a dark look. "They were detested by their teammates. Loathed. That's not projecting."

Rattrap swallowed a half dozen snappy replies. "Yeah? I heard they were hard to get on with, but..."

"It's the truth. The Autobots who fought alongside them distrusted them. They saw them as burdens—mere berserkers to be unleashed on the enemy, and then tolerated and contained until the next battle. They were utilized for their innate combat capabilities without being respected for them. In many ways... the Autobots' treatment of the Dinobots was a model for the Maximals' later treatment of Predacons."

Once again, Rattrap felt far more conscious than he wanted to be of how little he knew about what went on in Dinobot's head—in Dinobot's life—or any other Predacon's, for that matter. True, he still didn't want to know the first thing about what regularly passed through, say, Megatron's mind, or Waspinator's, or—eesh—Tarantulas's—but... times like this, when Rattrap was being honest with himself, he kinda felt like he was missing out on something, not being able to guess what Dinobot was thinking.

... He didn't want to linger on that for too long. "So. Who's your fave?"

"Grimlock!" Dinobot said it instantly, as though he'd been just waiting to be asked. "The greatest fighter! Before I permanently adopted the nom de guerre 'Dinobot,' for years I went by 'Grim' in his honor."

"It suits ya." Maybe it didn't suit him right then, though—he was gushing like a newbuild talking about their favorite pop star.

"He should h—thank you." Dinobot actually sounded like he meant it. (He probably hadn’t heard that before, had he? What kind of nerve did he have to have to be a Predacon among Predacons going by an Autobot’s name? Rattrap was beginning to suspect that Dinobot had been lonely long before he’d surrounded himself by Maximals.) "He should have assumed the mantle of Autobot leadership. There was an opportunity, when Optimus Prime fell in combat to Megatron. The Autobots should have recognized that, with the Decepticons in full control of Cybertron and the Autobots only holding back a few off-world garrisons, they were in desperate need of a new style of leadership. The Matrix of Leadership should have been offered to Grimlock—he would have ruled the Autobots as a warrior-king!"

"And... this woulda been a good thing or a bad thing for your Decepticon ancestors?"

"Ah—well..." Dinobot shrugged, an uncharacteristically casual gesture, and quickly moved on. "Whoever won, he would at least have shown the Decepticons more respect than the likes of Rodimus Prime. Which is the same reason he wasn't selected. The Autobots could no more appreciate Grimlock's virtues than they could a Decepticon—for they, unlike he, were not born warriors. For all their combat training, they were mere..." he let out a lizardy snarl of derision, "cccivil ssservants."

"Aaand..." Oh, Rattrap was having too much fun with this. "Assumin' he did get the Matrix, what was his name gonna be?"

Without hesitation, Dinobot replied, "Tyrannimus Prime." He raised his voice over Rattrap's peals of laughter. "Stop that! I didn't come up with it!"

"Wh-who did?!" Rattrap was flat on his back laughing. "Oh—oh, man—don't tell me you Preds have worked out all the details of a whole alternate history where Grimlock lead the Autobots!"

Dinobot was silent for an embarrassingly long time. And then mumbled, "It's not just Predacons—"

Rattrap cracked up again.

The stars in his peripheral vision were blocked; Dinobot was walking away. Rattrap immediately stopped laughing. "H-hey!" He rolled over, got to his feet, and trotted after Dinobot. "Hey, come back, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laughed. It's—it's just surprising to me—and I mean, maybe I don't get it, but—hey, everyone's got hobbies."

Dinobot didn't stop.

Rattrap sighed. Oh, boy, he'd messed that up. How was he gonna fix this? "... I learned to fight from Arcee."

Dinobot stopped walking.

"Dunno how much you know 'bout Maximals, but we still get mandatory military training. In case..." Even though Dinobot wasn't looking, Rattrap gestured vaguely in the direction of the Darksyde. "In case. I was under... pfft, I don't remember his name now. One of the Protectobots. But I wanted to learn from Arcee. I fought tooth 'n' claw to get that transfer."

"Arcee," Dinobot said slowly, "is one of the finest warriors the Autobots ever produced."

"And unassumin'," Rattrap said. "The kinda person you underestimate until it's too late."

Finally, Dinobot turned back to Rattrap. "I have heard tales of her kindness, gentleness, and civility—right up until she eliminates her enemy. Are they true?"

"All true," Rattrap nodded. "She was the sweetest 'bot you'd ever meet—'til she wasn't."

"Hmmm." Dinobot surveyed Rattrap critically. "She taught you so little."

"'Ey!" He elbowed Dinobot. Good, they were back to normal. "Siddown and look at the stars again, reptile breath, I'm already sick of lookin' up at you."

Dinobot bent over and snorted in Rattrap's face—Rattrap made exaggerated gagging sounds—but he did march back to his original spot and sit again. "I don't relish the idea of you looking down at me, either. Sit."

Rattrap flopped back down. "As you command, Tyrannimus."

Dinobot shoved him over as Rattrap laughed. But it was, for Dinobot, a gentle shove. Rattrap should call him Tyrannimus more often. Maybe not around the others; that'd take a little too much explaining. "Either be quiet or tell me more about Arcee."

"Fine, fine! Whaddaya wanna know?"

"Is it true that she paints herself with energon?"

"You know—I was always a little too scared to ask."

"Well, what did she smell like?"

"Excuse me?"

"You can tell if paint is energon-based from how it smells when it's warm, and Cybertronian bodies are almost always warm enough to activate the—"

"Why do you know this?"

It was another half hour before they were interrupted by Silverbolt, who had, apparently, been sent outside to ensure that Dinobot and Rattrap hadn't been kidnapped by Predacons and/or quietly murdered each other. By the time they were back inside, Dinobot was already radiating a surly "don't touch me, speak to me, or acknowledge that I possess a corporeal form on this mortal plane" aura; nobody spoke until he'd disappeared down the hall to his quarters.

Once he was well out of audial shot, Optimus asked Rattrap what in the world had kept them outside so long.

Rattrap shrugged. What had they talked about, really? Dinobots and alternate history and basic training? "He wanted to know my real name."

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[crimehat]

No One Lives Forever

Fandom: Beast Wars Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Rattrap, Cheetor; mentions Dinobot, Optimus Primal A/N: knocked this sucker off my to do list finally. It’s only been sitting there collecting dust for, oh, I don’t know... 7 years? Prompt: while the rain falls, we talk of living and dying. And life goes on. Summary: Set after Code of Hero. Rattrap and Cheetor have a moment.  “That’s the thing about mournin'. It don’t come with an instruction manual.”

——————————————————————————

“An’ here I thought cats knew t’come in outta the rain.”

Rattrap can tell he’s caught Cheetor off guard by the way the transmetal cat jerks at his voice, twisting around to face him with wide optics.

“Oh. RT. Hey. I was - I was just getting ready to head back - ”

Rattrap’s brow raises, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he approaches. Cheetor doesn’t make any moves to get up, even when Rattrap’s just a few inches away, staring down at him disbelievingly. The stance he’s taking is only a mockery of something stern, and soon enough, his arms fall away to his sides and his shoulders shrug.

“You been gone for a few mega-cycles, y’know,” Rattrap reminds. “The Boss Monkey started t’worry when it started rainin’.” He’s moving to sit next to Cheetor now, and he’s very much aware of those green optics watching every move he makes. The dirt gives and the mud squelches under his weight as he sits. “Now, I told him you’s were a big bot an’ could take care of yourself, but, eh, I guess he’s afraid you’ll rust or somethin’.”

Cheetor must catch on that he’s at least half joking, because the smallest laugh leaves him, and he shakes his head as he looks down their legs dangling over the cliff’s ledge.

“I guess I lost track of time,” Cheetor says, and his own shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug.

“It happens. So, what’s on your processor, huh?” Rattrap asks, leaning back onto his hands. His fingers idly sift through the mud and grass under his palms, head turned just enough to be able to see the younger bot at his side.

And in that moment, Cheetor looks every bit the kid he is, slouching forward and waving the question off. “Ah, it’s nothing. We should probably head back before - ” Any attempt he tries to make to get up is intercepted by one smaller silver hand around his wrist. Rattrap’s grip is loose, but it still somehow makes him stay.

“Talk t’me, kid.”

Cheetor vents deeply, freckled chestplate rising and falling as he sighs. He waits until Rattrap lets go of his wrist before he speaks.

“Things have been different. You know, with… With Dinobot gone.”

Rattrap lets out a quiet, breathy ghost of a laugh. He turns his head away from Cheetor, faces the sky. “You’re tellin’ me,” he agrees.

He’d had a feeling when he found Cheetor out here on his own that this may have been what was bothering him. Cheetor is young - too young to be a part of this war - and Dinobot’s death is the first he’s really experienced. Even if it’s been a few weeks, something like that isn’t easily forgotten.

“I never thought…”

“That a tough slagger like ‘im would get taken out?” Rattrap asks, and he’s grinning despite the heavy feeling in his spark. He catches sight of Cheetor nodding from the corner of his optic. “At least he went out on his own terms.”

“I guess so,” Cheetor mumbles quietly. “But still…”

“I know. It’s gonna hurt, and you’re gonna miss him - even if he was a pain in the aft.”

Jokes aside, not even Rattrap can find it in himself to grin. Regardless of all of the trouble they gave each other, something is missing now that Dinobot is gone. Rattrap doesn’t like to think too hard about what that something is, not when he doesn’t have any fluid to numb the feelings, to blur the memories.

“Does it ever - I mean...”

Cheetor’s struggling with this question, Rattrap can hear it in his voice even if he isn’t looking at him. It only takes a few kliks before the rat offers a sad half smile.

“If you’re lucky, kid, it’ll never get easier,” he tells him, and Cheetor’s brow wrinkles as he stares at him. “Some of us, we been in this game too long. Others, they take their jobs too serious, y’know? Ya go numb t’all the losses.”

Cheetor’s expression shifts, and he has to look away. For a long moment, there’s no sound between them except the tinkling of the rain falling on them. It’s a soft but crisp metallic sound, so out of place in this primitive world.

“...are you numb to it all, RT?”

That grin is back, and Rattrap just shakes his head and sighs. “You’d think so, huh?”

Even though the question isn’t answered directly, Cheetor still finds himself smiling just a little at the inadvertent reassurance.

“What’re we supposed to do?”

“That’s the thing about mournin’, Freckles. It don’t come with an instruction manual.”

Childishly, brows furrow again. “Well… what do you do?”

“Keep on livin’.”

“Oh,” Cheetor all but breathes the word, as though struck by some sort of epiphany. And maybe he has been, and maybe Rattrap’s spared him mega-cycles more of grieving. Rattrap can’t be sure, and  he’ll never ask for any certainties.

“Anyway,” Rattrap says suddenly, and he’s standing himself up, brushing himself off. “Let’s getcha back to base before Optimus goes bananas.”

Cheetor catches the grin, even laughs at the bad joke as he, too, stands again.

“Thanks, Ratbreath.”

“Don’t mention it,” Rattrap shrugs before transforming. “I mean that literally, by the way. Word gets out that we had some kinda moment ‘bout all this an’ I’ll be ruined.”

Cheetor laughs again, transforms, and the two of them head back to the Axalon.