Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was nothing to be said about the utter agony and pain that came from no longer having a voice. Ratchet called them phantom pains; energy trying to spark through something that was no longer there, that could no longer feel anything. That could no longer operate.

The endings of B-127’s wires sparked, and that caused a feedback loop of itching, but not necessarily pain. It could just be that the afflicted spot was temporarily offline, that it had sustained damage so that the connections met nothing at all.

B-127 knew better.

If he needed physical proof, he needed to look no further than the counter of the infirmary, where his voice box sat on full display. It was nothing more than a mangled mess of scrap, bent wire and splintered metal leering out from all ends. It didn’t even resemble a voice box, though B-127 never would’ve known what a voice box looked like prior to this.

Ratchet had shown him diagrams. It all felt kind of pointless, like Ratchet was gesturing between perfection and what B-127 had let happen. Here is what it should be, and here is your folly. Your blunder. Where you fragged up everything.

It felt like its own degree of torture, which, again, was completely unnecessary. B-127 had already gone through that, personalized just for him and everything. He didn’t need Ratchet joining in, too.

Logically, he knew that wasn’t what Ratchet meant. Otherwise, the medic wouldn’t be half-bent over the countertop, balanced on a stool, as he tried to smolder B-127’s vocoder back together again. Everyone was trying to help, which was, theoretically, nice.

But the emptiness in his pipes was apparent. His inability to make a noise, no matter how far he opened his mouth, was crippling in its own right. Fluctuating terror rang through him, B-127 struggling for purchase as he waited.

It never got easier, no matter how many times Ratchet dug his voice box out of his neck to work on it. It reminded him too much of being pinned against the ground as cruel claws tore away at him. Ratchet was controlled as he pressed the panel to reveal B-127’s precious device, whereas Megatron had been almost frenzied from his anger.

Yet, it felt like he was reliving it again, sprouting terrified hisses into the air that disappeared the moment digits wrangled around the box and pulled it free.

B-127 was lucky, they said, to have survived the ordeal. He was even luckier that Sunstreaker had taken an extra second to locate his voice box from where it had been thrown carelessly to the side.

Lucky, lucky that Megatron hadn’t torn it to shreds until it wasn’t recognizable. Lucky, lucky that they hadn’t cannibalized his voice box like they usually did with sparklings and their precious parts.

B-127 was the most fortunate scout to ever walk the barren lands of Cybertron.

Why, even though his voice box was barely more than scrap at this point, at least he could still beep and chirp with it, as long as it remained in his throat! Lucky he was, again, that an ancient Cybertronian language made up of not even fifty words just happened to fix the bill for the sounds he could still make!

An old language from the Quintesson mines that the only bots left who even knew it existed was archivists in Iacon. That’s right; it had been Optimus himself who had taken the time to make B-127’s life a fraction easier. Even then, it had taken him four whole orbital-cycles to find it and download the files into B-127’s processor, but he could communicate again!

With select bots who chose to also download the files. The sad truth was, not many bots cared to.

But yes. B-127 knew to count his blessings. He had heard enough jeerings from the precious few other sparklings here to know he should consider himself very lucky to be able to communicate at all. To have the potential to make sounds.

If only he could just not panic whenever he was without his voice box, without the ability to even buzz, it would be perfect. He might start regaining the reputation he had made as Optimus’ personal scout. His stupid ward.

Primus. He felt pathetic.

Reduced to a mere ten stellar-cycles old by a simple removal of parts for a groon every once in a while. He was nearly three vorns old, and yet his frame trembled as he watched his voice box be nudged, played with, slowly fastened back together.

He wanted to pull Ratchet’s arm, beg him to put it back and never take it away again, but that wouldn’t come across well without his voice. Instead, he would look like a sparkling throwing a temper tantrum for no reason.

Not to mention, Ratchet was trying to help. He was wanting to fix what Megatron had done to him and present him back to Optimus, as good as new. It was an unexpected kindness from a medic who hadn’t even met him until that fateful solar-cycle after Tyger Pax, and B-127 couldn’t be more grateful.

Or, he could be. But it was hard to be more grateful, and B-127 felt bad about that. Ratchet deserved every inch of his praise, and all that B-127 could scrounge up was bitterness that he wasn’t already fully repaired.

“You know,” Ratchet said distractedly, fishing for tiny pliers without looking up from his work. “You don’t have to be here for this. You should be with your friends.”

B-127 didn’t have friends. None of the other sparklings liked him; thought he was pretentious and spoiled for being chosen as Optimus’ scout.

The few people he did get along with were his superiors, and B-127 was decently sure that they only tolerated him because he couldn’t speak. Before the incident, he was confident that they had been worried he’d rat them out to Optimus if they sent him away.

Besides, he’d much rather be here so that if something did happen to his voice box – if, Primus forbid, Ratchet screwed something up – he would be here to hear about it. To know immediately, so he wouldn’t have to face utter disappointment when he eventually came back to get it put back in.

Of course, it was impossible to say all of that without a voice. Perhaps he could write it down, but B-127 didn’t keep his datapad on him outside of debriefings and missions.

B-127 let his silence sit in the air and simmer. It was as heavy for him as it was for Ratchet, the awkwardness pungent.

“Fine,” Ratchet sighed at long last. His volume lowered a couple ticks, and he didn’t turn around to make up for it. “I’ll figure out how to fix this soon, B-127. You have my word. You’ll have your voice back soon.”

Ratchet had been saying that for stellar-cycles.

B-127 didn’t believe it anymore, but that was just how it was. Waiting endlessly for promise after promise. Being told the war would end soon, that everything was another step in the right direction.

But the planet was dying. The Allspark was gone. B-127’s voice had degraded into nearly nothing. There was nothing left anymore, aside from a lifetime of knowing his voice box would be pulled out and worked on as long as he and Ratchet’s sparks burned.

He did not dare complain about the kindness, even when his vocoder was working.

Ratchet could not possibly know how much the absence of his voice box hurt B-127. He had told the scout time and time again that if he was ever uncomfortable with the procedure, that he could come to Ratchet and just tell him. Yet B-127 never did.

Therefore, it was no weight off his back to push himself off the medical berth. He crossed the distance between them and tapped Ratchet’s shoulder, waiting patiently for Ratchet to put down his tools and turn around.

“What is it, B-127?” Ratchet asked, removing his welding visor from his face to give him a long look.

Ratchet was never prone to touch, especially for being a medic. His bedside manner was, admittedly, lacking. But B-127 would’ve been annoyed if he had been coddled at any point, especially during such an important, frightening time.

B-127 cast his arms around Ratchet’s neck and leaned in, widening his field to fully envelop the old medic. He might not have known Ratchet for as long as he knew his scout commander or Optimus, but the medic had his own special place in B-127’s spark chamber. Somewhere warm and safe.

If he were capable of such words, with or without his voice box, B-127 would tell Ratchet how much it meant to him that the medic was there at all. “I love you”s were few and far between among the Autobots, but if B-127 could, he’d use it now.

However, there was nothing he could say with his voice box’s current capabilities that translated nearly as well as a hug.

Ratchet’s servos were frozen in the air for only a moment before they hesitantly wrapped around B-127’s back. Another klik of silence, and then Ratchet dipped his helm against B-127’s shoulder and pulled him closer. “I am… so sorry, B-127. For everything.”

B-127 tapped his back, three times, trying to reassure him that it was okay.

Ratchet seemed to believe it as little as B-127 did, because he shook his head. “It’s not, B-127. Cycles ago, I promised a young sparkling that I would fix him, and I have failed. I am unsure how long I will continue to fail. And I apologize for that.”

I’m sorry, too, that it hurts you so much. B-127 thought, blinking his eyes open to stare at the offending voice box. The cause of so much annoyance and strife. If only he hadn’t mouthed off to Megatron so much, and just had kept his silence, maybe they could’ve avoided all of this.

Or maybe he’d be dead in a ditch somewhere. Either one was completely possible.

Maybe the problem was how deeply B-127 felt about his voice box. If he could just let it go, they could both be okay.

Yet, it was impossible to rewrite his processor to make up for that unless he either wanted to turn into some heartless scrapheap like Shockwave or was truly willing to turn on his scouting protocols and turn into an emotionless bundle of wires until this whole war was over.

So he guessed they were both stuck like this, with emotions and the crawl of failure too great to bear. How ridiculous, and what a pair they made.

“If I could scrap a Decepticon for a new one, I would do so in an instant.” Ratchet told B-127, withdrawing but keeping his servos fully clenched on his shoulders. “But you and I both know that it wouldn’t be the same.”

B-127 patted both hands over his chassis and puffed himself up. He let the pose of authority lie for a nano-klik before rolling his eyes.

Ratchet understood his poor attempt at charades for what it was, because Ratchet always made B-127 never went unheard whenever he could help it. “Yes, yes, and Optimus would never allow it. That too, I suppose, but let it never sound like I’m questioning the Prime’s orders!”

As if B-127 hadn’t heard Ratchet yell at Optimus over every little thing a dozen times over since he came to join them in Iacon. He vented and shoved Ratchet’s shoulder affectionately, and Ratchet finally let go.

“Alright, leave me be. I still have a few more things to try before it’s good to go back in, so sit down or go away.” Ratchet huffed, reverting back to his old grumpy self and turning away from B-127. His visor slid back down, and just like that, their moment never happened.

B-127’s pipes still felt hauntingly empty, aching for something that would never be there. But Ratchet was a very good friend. Somehow, that balanced the aching of it all out with something softer.

He could mourn for something that was no longer there, but B-127 could admit it; he felt happy and content.

Chapter Text

“Ow,” Bumblebee whispered, staring up at the dark night sky above.

In the middle of the city, there were no stars. He had never been bothered by it before, but Prowl’s voice whispered in his audial about how bothersome it was. Humans, with all their light pollution, would never know how beautiful space could be.

He didn’t want to die in this pit, surrounded by muck and garbage, without the stars above him. He had spent way too many stellar cycles in space, and yet he found himself wishing he could go back, if only for a few cycles.

If anyone was going to get him out of this, it’d be himself. Bumblebee got his elbows underneath himself, pushing off of his right one to roll himself over onto his side. His chassis twinged from the movement, pain cascading through his circuits.

“Slag,” he whined into the trash surrounding him, optics offlining for a nano-cycle before he blinked them open. Bumblebee couldn’t afford to waste time when he could be escaping.  

Bumblebee crawled onto his knees, and his pede ached as it scraped against the ground. He gasped, pressing his forehelm against the ground, heaving for breath.

Primus above and Unicron below, where was Sari when you needed her?!

Asleep across town, ideally. The Autobots were, after all, trying to keep her frail frame out of battle for the most part. They didn’t want her at risk at all, and were trying to encourage healthy organic habits. That was all well and good, but…

He hurt. He hurt so bad, and he could really use her right now.

Ha, he hadn’t thought that Blitzwing could actually hit that hard. Guy tended to switch too fast to realize he was in a fight most of the time. The fact that he could hold himself together long enough to deal this kind of damage…

Yet here Bumblebee was, at the bottom of a trash heap, shaking on all fours, because frag. He had underestimated the guy, and everything hurt.

He didn’t know where everyone else was. The impact had offlined him for just a moment or two, and he guessed that was enough. Maybe they had left him here in this ditch, thinking he was a liability or–

“No, no,” Bumblebee whispered to himself, cautiously pushing himself halfway upright so he was only resting on his knees, looking up at the sky again. “They just… didn’t see where I landed! Yeah, that sounds about right! Haha, they’ll come for me as soon as they start tracking me. They’re looking for Blitzwing first, because of course they are! Of course.”

Blitzwing, after all, was a threat who couldn’t be allowed to run free! And he knew where Megatron was hiding, so ideally they might be able to follow him back to the Decepticon base! Star player or not, finding Megatron was so much more important.

So Bumblebee was fine! Everything was fine.

“Don’t worry, guys,” Bumblebee said to nothing, leaning forward again to push himself upright. “I’ll find my own way– WOAH!”

He collapsed right backwards again, pedes slipping out from underneath him. Bumblebee gasped, staring back up at the sky. Pain flooded his circuits once again, and out of his peripheral he could see his chassis sparking.

He was going to offline down here. He couldn’t even stand up without losing his balance!

Something behind his optics twisted, and he could feel a leak beginning, lubricant starting to pool behind his optics. No! No, that wouldn’t do. Bumblebee was fine!

“I’m a strong and capable Autobot,” Bumblebee wheezed into the trash pit, pushing himself up to his skid plate once again. Everything hurt desperately, and Bumblebee found that talking did not help with the “refusing to leak” agenda.

“Slag you,” Bumblebee told himself, one last desperate attempt at nullifying himself. He was such a protoform sometimes.

Prowl was right whenever he got mad at Bumblebee for being immature, because he was. He couldn’t even handle a little pain. Bumblebee had seen Ratchet and Bulkhead walking around with even worse damage! Then here he was.

Pathetic.

Bumblebee slammed his injured pede firmly into the trash, forcing the garbage underneath to compact. His other pede found purchase easier, and he pushed himself upright again.

He windmilled his arms to keep upright, the aching in his chassis and the instability in his pedes threatening to knock him down all over again. If he could transform, he would, but Bumblebee knew he would get no traction like that. He was excitable, not stupid.

Bumblebee made sure his injured pede was carefully balanced before taking a step with his good one, and then switched sides. Every inch he took elicited another stab of pain. The lubricant was getting thicker and thicker behind his optics. His head felt full of it, too heavy to bear.

Like if he tilted it too far in the wrong direction, he’d unbalance completely.

Bumblebee finished crossing over the trash after what had to be at least six cycles of strenuous walking, dragging his injured pede behind him. He got to the wall, and stared up and up.

A wave of disappointment at himself crashed into him. It was perfectly smooth, all the way up. And from where he was standing, all the other walls of this trash pit were the same way. From what he could tell, they were easily six times Optimus’ size, not counting the garbage at the bottom of the pit.

He bet even Prime would’ve gotten stuck in this trash heap, which made him feel… moderately better. Except he knew that Optimus never would’ve let himself get hit, because he never did, and even if he was, at least then the other bots would’ve come back for him. Bumblebee would’ve come back for him, wouldn’t he have?

As it was, Bumblebee was stuck down here. And he didn’t know how to get out.

Bumblebee folded his face plate into his hands. The lubricant oozed out from between his plating, no matter how hard he tried to blink it back.

He was a bad Autobot. Why’d they put up with him, anyway?

All he was good for was trash and rusting up his own gears. How pathetic.

(:)

“Bumblebee!” The voice echoed through the air, and Bumblebee sat up straight, optics whirring back to life. He must’ve offlined at some point, a glimmer of light slipping into the pit.

He lifted his head up to see where the voice was coming from, and then felt the sticky residue of lubricant still on his face plate. He looked back down, wiping at his face with his servos. How much had he leaked?!  

“Bumblebee, where are you?” Bulkhead’s voice came, still from somewhere far above.

Scraplets, that would have to do. He was cleaned up enough, and he could just say he face-planted into a mound of wet garbage if they asked. That worked, right? He didn’t want them leaving him again, after all.

“I’m down here!” Bumblebee scouted, waving one of his servos in the air. He was able to see three faces vaguely at the top, past the blurriness in his optics. From the leaking, or had he actually hit his head? Huh. “Right here!”

“Bumblebee!” Prime shouted back, already skating down the edges of the pit without pause. “Are you hurt anywhere? Bolts all in the right places?”

Wait, scrap. “You shouldn’t come down here, it’s impossible to get out!”

Optimus shot him a funny look. “Right… Well, I do have a grappling hook which will prove handy. Show me where you’re injured, Bumblebee. Prowl’s going back to base to get Ratchet now.”

“Oh.” Bumblebee blinked at Prime’s arm, where his hook was on full display. “Right, I… Guess I forgot about that.” So Optimus wouldn’t have gotten stuck in this pit. Right. Ugh, how could he have been so stupid?

“Injuries!”

“Ah! Right, um. Pede’s pretty rotten right now,” Bumblebee gestured, lifting his leg up halfway, but a flare of pain made him drop it again. He guessed he wasn’t out of lubricant, because that was starting to well up again. “Ow– And my spark chamber’s fried, too.”

“I can see that,” Optimus hummed, smoothing one of his servos over Bumblebee’s shoulder. “Is this oil or trash? Or both…?” His touch moved from Bumblebee’s shoulder to his face, digit wiping at his cheek. “Did you spring a leak? You’re covered in this stuff!”

“Face planted on some trash, that’s all!” Bumblebee scrambled to explain, pushing away his servo until his chassis ground together in agony. He gasped, arms curling over to circle the injury, concealing it from view. “Ah–”

“Okay, take it slow, Bumblebee.” Optimus said, pushing Bumblebee’s back strut against the wall again. “If you hold on tight, Ratchet will be here soon.”

“Is the little guy okay?” Bulkhead shouted down, voice echoing through the pit.

Bumblebee winced at the volume, shoulders rising up to clumsily hide his audials. If he transformed, he wondered if it would mute the volume. It might make things worse for everyone else, though, or he might get plastic stuck in him! He stayed down.

“He’s fine, Bulkhead!” Optimus called back up. “Is Prowl already gone?”

“Left as soon as you scooted down there!” Bulkhead yelled. “Anything I can do from up here?”

“No!” Optimus gave Bumblebee a thoughtful look. “At least– I don’t think so? Unless you’ve got a towel or some kind of mesh, I think there’s nothing to be done!”

“I think I saw a clothes line nearby! I’ll go grab something.”

“Bulkhead, wait, don’t be a–!” Optimus deflated as Bulkhead disappeared, shrinking back into himself. “...thief.” He finished, lamely, burying his own face in his hands for a nano-cycle. “Primusss, what’d I do to deserve this…”

“It’ll be okay, Prime,” Bumblebee grinned at him, feeling his smile grow weak and wobbly. “They’ll understand that Bulkhead’s just helping a pal out! Probably…”

“Still, we’re in no position to get in trouble with law enforcement.” Optimus returned. “I don’t even know if it’s safe to move you without making you lose the rest of your oil or rattle some bolts loose. Well, looser than they already are.”

“Funny. And I thought I was the smartaft.”

“I learned from the best.” Optimus smiled, setting a hand on his shoulder. As he scanned Bumblebee over again, it waned quickly. “Are you… sure you’re okay? It looks like you took quite a few nasty hits. Blitzwing only hit your chassis, after all. But your pede and your helm…”

“Think I hit the pede while going overboard,” Bumblebee explained, his memories of the blow and subsequent fall coming up fuzzy and blurry, but at least he could remember when the warnings and danger reports crossed his HUD. “And broke my helm when I hit the ground.”

“Huh,” Optimus leaned over him, pulling Bumblebee’s head forward to check on his helm. His dermas pursed thoughtfully, checking him over. “You took a beating… We never should’ve kept going after Blitzwing. I should’ve called Ratchet over right away, or left someone back with you.”

“Did you at least catch the punk?”

Optimus gave Bumblebee the most tired look he had ever seen. Despite not being organic and having a capability for such things, Bumblebee swore Optimus had eyebags.  

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes, Bumblebee, “that bad”.” Optimus quipped right back. “But even if we had caught him, it wasn’t worth leaving you in danger. We should’ve come back right away.”

Who knew a Prime could be so nice? Bumblebee figured they were all as hardafts as Sentinel, back when he first met him. When he heard he’d be saddled with another one, he figured it would be the same situation. Optimus would always be blaming them for everything that went wrong, and running a tight ship.

He had quickly found out that he had been wrong. The meanest thing Optimus ever did was sigh and ask them why they weren’t doing the jobs he assigned them, and then remind them to do better. But he didn’t hit them, he didn’t yell.

Bumblebee wondered what his and Bulkhead’s names would’ve been if Optimus had been the one naming them at all. Not that he minded his name now, just that…

It would probably be something kinder. Maybe Optimus would’ve taken the time to know them first, instead of going with their worst qualities from the get go. But Bumblebee didn’t know. He was just glad his friend was nearby.

“I should’ve come back as soon as I realized you weren’t responding to your comm,” Optimus continued, and wasn’t that perfect? Bumblebee could hear the guilt in Prime’s voice, and felt it even more accurately whizz through the air. “Primus, why did I leave?”

Bumblebee didn’t know either. He didn’t know why lubricant was oozing up again behind his optics, but it was. He didn’t even know how! Hadn’t he cried it all out earlier, when he was being a stupid protoform? Apparently not.

“Wasn’t your fault, bossbot,” Bumblebee attempted, relieved when his voice box didn’t glitch even from the weight of his emotions. “Scrap happens.”

Optimus set a heavy hand on his shoulder. “That may be true, Bumblebee, but I…” He shook his head. “I still left you. I’m sorry.”

Bumblebee shook his head, but he couldn’t figure out anything more to say. Everything hurt. It hurt to move, it was a struggle to talk, and moving and talking were his two most defining qualities! He slipped his optics closed.

Optimus’ servo found its way to his face again, a thumb whipping at some of the grime and lubricant. “You really look worse for wear… When is Ratchet going to get back?!”

Funny how the guy who was always yelling at Bumblebee to be more patient was anything but. In fact, he seemed downright frantic, and Bumblebee could hear his joints moving and clicking as he kept looking up at the top of the pit and back down.

“Maybe I should’ve sent for Sari, instead,” Optimus said, quietly. “I mean, she’s back at base, so Prowl might grab both, but if she’s not awake… I should’ve ordered him to grab her, too. What was I thinking?”

Bumblebee shrugged, but ended up squeaking out a static cough of alarm as it pulled on his chassis. The lubricant was definitely thickening up now. Scrap, scrap.

“Woah, don’t move, I’ve got you. I’m here, Bumblebee. And I’m not going anywhere without you again.” Optimus promised, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder. That was also jarring, but it wasn’t as bad as moving himself. “Bulkhead will be back any second with–”

“Got it!” Bulkhead called, and there was a noticeable pause.

Bumblebee blinked his optics open to watch a bundle of fabric waft down towards them really, really, really slowly. Wind resistance. Something they never had to worry about on Cybertron, but Sari loved telling them stuff they never asked about whenever she could.

Bumblebee kind of loved her for it. Earth was super interesting, after all! And that was only partially because of how great Sari was.

After a while, Optimus was able to reach up and grab the fabric. It was a bed sheet or a blanket of some kind, definitely not supposed to be used for cleanup, but he pressed it against Bumblebee’s chassis anyway. It managed to absorb the oil, and after a moment Optimus took the end of the blanket to dab at his face.

It was so nice. Bumblebee felt awful that he wanted to cry immediately. Optimus was trying so hard, for absolutely nothing.

“You’ll be okay,” Optimus sympathized.

“Is Bee okay?!”

“He’s fine,” Optimus yelled back up. “But, Bulkhead, see if you can comm Prowl and get him to grab Sari as well! She’ll help repair this up a bit quicker.”

“Why even bother with Ratchet, then?” Bumblebee grumbled, but felt bad immediately when Optimus sagged.

“I– It’s a failsafe, Bumblebee.” He gently explained, squeezing Bumblebee’s knee. “We can’t get comfortable trusting the key, because what if one day it fails? It’s handy while it lasts, and it’s a powerful relic, but… I trust Ratchet. He’s been taking care of us before the key, and he’ll keep doing so, no matter what.”

“Right, of course.” Bumblebee muttered, feeling horrible about raising a complaint. “Sorry, Optimus.”

“It’s okay,” Optimus said gently. “It was an honest question.”

After a pause, he looked at Bumblebee. Really, truly, actually looked at Bumblebee. “Are you okay? Actually okay, and not just… Trying to put on a bold face?”

Bumblebee tacked a smile on. It was easy, how fluidly it fit onto his face. It was a lie, but it fit. “Of course I am, bossbot! Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Optimus’ face fell immediately. It was with clumsy servos, unused to affection, that Optimus reached out and pulled him into a hug. Bumblebee found, with great surprise, that his face slotted perfectly in between Optimus’ neck and shoulder.

“Bee,” Optimus implored. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m so sorry. This must’ve all been awful for you. But it’s okay now. I’m here. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

Bumblebee felt his resolve start to crumple like– What had Sari said? Dominos? “I’m– I’m okay, really, Bossbot. I am.”

“No, you’re not. And you can let it out. I won’t judge. I really, really won’t.”

Slowly, almost expecting a trick, Bumblebee wrapped his arms around Optimus. Optimus squeezed tighter, and that was apparently all he needed.

The thick beads of lubricant leaked out of Bumblebee’s eyes, dripping down his faceplate and onto Optimus’ shoulder. He held back the sobs, at very least, but Optimus didn’t seem to mind. He just continued to hold him.

As promised, there was no judgement forthcoming.

And Bumblebee cried all the more.

Chapter Text

The taste of fire and smoke were harsh against B-127’s intake. Everywhere he looked was lit up in a blaze, ash wafting through the air. The organic stuff burnt much more easily than the fire he smelted ever did.

It broke his spark to see.

He never minded being part of death and destruction. It was part of his code, he swore, and as long as it was to help friends, he’d never back down. But the weird nature stuff was beautiful, and he was helping destroy it.

Optimus would be mad. He was probably already mad right now; stewing over the carnage they had left behind. B-127 bet it was hilarious to watch, provided he wasn’t a Decepticon. Alas, they were on opposite sides of the battlefield, and B-127 had better things to do than watch Optimus blow his smokestack. 

Like grab one of Blitzwing’s wings and stab his knife hands clean through it, revealing a sparking mess of circuitry and messy wires. Blitzwing screeched, claws snapping backwards to find B-127, but the bot was already twirling away to come at Thundercracker instead.

B-127 rammed him with his battle mask, watching Thundercracker jolt backwards from the sudden impact, sending him away from a fist-fight with Jazz.

“Thanks, B!” Jazz shouted, aiming his gun right back at Thundercracker right away. “Have I ever told you how lucky we are to have you on our side?”

“You could mention it more,” B-127 yelled back, stabbing his knife hand straight up into a vehicon’s jaw. Sparks erupted, and a staticy screech poured out, but he’d live. Just maybe think twice before joining the next fight. “Or else I might consider switching sides!”

“We’d never allow you to join!” Blitzwing yelled, leaping at him.

B-127 ducked underneath his reaching servos, and fired a shot at him. “Why not? Then you might finally win!”

He looked over to see if Jazz found that funny, but his friend had already turned away to join another firefight. In battle, nobody had time to listen to all of B-127’s jokes, which he found rather rude. Mostly rude of the Decepticons for starting the fight in the first place, but still!

“Man,” B-127 sighed, leaping after Blitzing to stab his knife hands through his shoulders. “Have you ever thought how easy your life would be if you joined the Autobots? Like, there’s peace, plenty of energon, you could move back to Iacon–”

“Get off me!” Blitzwing thundered, servos trying desperately to reach far enough back to reach B-127 as he jerked to his pedes, swiveling around. B-127 stopped stabbing if only to keep his grip, feeling Blitzwing buckle beneath his grip. “You little– Insignificant bug! Get off!”

“And if you wanted to spar against me casually, we sure could! Without my totally-awesome-and-rad knife hands, you might actually have a chance! But, you know, of course, you still wouldn’t win, but… Hey, what’s with D and I having infinitely better weapons than you guys? Like, com’n, you’re part of the High Guard!” B-127 chattered, throwing his weight in the opposite direction of Blitzwing to get him to stumble back. “But we can still both kick your afts right over to Kaon! So, like, what’s up with–?”

“I’ve got him!” Servos locked around B-127, ripping him off of Blitzwing before he could react. Metal and wires ripped beneath his blades, and Blitzwing shrieked.

“Ow wow,” B-127 mused, even as he was slammed against the ground so hard his processor couldn’t keep up. “That must’ve hurt… Good job, ‘Con!” He yelled over his shoulder at Nova Storm.

Her dermas twisted into a snarl, annoyed. “Blitz, does he ever shut up?!”

“Never,” Blitzwing, scoffed, leaking energon everywhere, hunched in half as he trudged over. “I say we shut him up for good. Make him rethink using that pretty little voice so generously.”

Hey, what the frag? B-127 struggled underneath Nova Storm’s grip. He had always been told he was a “slippery li’l fella”, but apparently that didn’t amount to being caught.

“Ha! Maybe we should. It would feel so good to take down one of the Autobot pets–!”

“Decepticons! Retreat!” Megatron’s voice echoed through the air, somehow managing to be heard even through the cackling flames.

A nano-klik later, Optimus’ voice came, “Autobots, to me!”

“Ooh,” B-127 wheezed into the ground. Somehow, the air was clearer down here. His vents enjoyed the temporary relief. “Sounds like I have to go, nice catching up, but I–!”

“Oh, no,” Nova Storm giggled. She adjusted against him, her yellow plating clicking against his. “Megatron loves prisoners of war. He’s just never got one before. Always says how much he’d love to have his own pets! Don’t know if he wants to control ‘em or change ‘em, but…”

An Autobot – Tailgate, B-127 thought his name was – ran past at high speeds, not even noticing.

B-127 opened his intake to call out to him, but Nova Storm adjusted on his face plate, embedding him against the ground again.

B-127 hadn’t realized how far he had gotten into the Decepticon ranks. As long as he had seen other Autobots, he thought he was fine, but with how none of the Decepticons were moving, and the last straggling Autobots were running, B-127 finally noticed.

They must think Nova Storm was injured or something; they could not see him trapped underneath her. They didn’t even care to look as their only focus was on escaping.

“I guess,” Nova Storm whispered into his ear, “We’ve only killed Autobots before. He never got the chance to break one.”

B-127 writhed, fingers grasping at the ground unevenly, reaching out a servo to anyone who would notice. He didn’t know if any Autobots were left, but– Primus, Primus, what were they going to do to him, he couldn’t go back to a burning furnace, he didn’t want the heat anymore, he couldn't–

He never noticed how awful the fires were around them until now, and they were only getting worse–

“Decepticons!” Megatron yelled, and B-127 froze, letting his servo drop back against the ground. Play dead. “Count our numbers– Is anyone missing?”

“I haven’t seen Skywarp!” Thundercracker yelled, a lot further away than B-127 thought he’d be. “Has anyone seen him?”

“I’m over here!” Skywarp shouted back.

“My conjux– Starscream? Starscream?!”

“Ugh, don’t yell so loud!”

“Vortex?!”

“Present!”

“I haven’t been able to find–!”

The yells circled around him, and B-127 squeezed his optics shut. One of the data chips that had landed down in sublevel-50 had been information about the High Guard. Restricted files and the like. He recognized every name shouted and could list their achievements in his mind.

It hurt, to know every person he respected and looked so far up to were treasonous.

Grey pedes approached, stopping just before B-127’s extended servo. They adjusted, as if to give his arm room to writhe if he chose to again. Instead, he kept utterly still.

“Nova Storm,” Megatron’s monotone voice said. It made a shiver go down B-127’s back strut. “What do you have there?”

“Oh, nothing,” Nova Storm cackled. “Just a live Autobot toy. A gift for you. But if you don’t want him, I’m sure Blitzwing would be more than happy to–”

“Get off of him.” Megatron ordered.

Nova Storm’s weight was gone in an instant, shuffling off of him. B-127’s vents whirred, and he heaved, and did not look up. Hot lubricant was threatening to pour down his face plate and collide with the dirt below.

He had gotten caught. He was going to die here.

He was going to suffer for ever siding with the Autobots, and Megatron wasn’t even going to feel a scrap of guilt, and he had just been doing what he thought was right.

He had watched Megatron kill his best friend, and it had become the death of the other at the same moment. For a horrific five kliks, his only friend was Elita-1, and she looked a nano-klik away from jumping after Orion at any moment, and B-127 had felt so alone–

“Get up, Autobot.” Megatron ordered. “I can tell you’re not dead. You– B?!”

B-127 said nothing, he kept himself pressed against the ground. Maybe he could fade into it, be reclaimed by the Allspark and come out again as not such a coward. Maybe he’d get a sweet upgrade, just like Optimus had. Or maybe he’d come back as scrap metal.

“B-127, get up.” Megatron leaned down, servo taking B-127’s limp one, yanking him up to his pedes. “It’s… good to see you again. Been a while, huh–?”

“Yeah,” B-127 hissed, forced upright. He wondered if he could collapse again, and if Megatron would give up and leave. They were nowhere near the Decepticon base. They’d have to leave eventually. “Not since you killed Orion and tried to kill me and Elita.”

“Oh, please, Orion would’ve died a dozen times before then if it wasn’t for me. I just changed my mind at an awkward time.” Megatron argued. “He jumped in front of that shot. He killed himself. I had nothing to do with his blatant stupidity. He was fortunate I helped him as long as I did. His luck simply ran out.”

“You dropped him.” B-127 whispered. “That was a decision you made. That was a choice. You did it because you hate him.”

“He never listened to me. He never understood my side,” Megatron hissed. “I was doing what I had to, to ensure Sentinel could really, truly, never hurt anyone again.” He reached out an arm, wrapping it around B-127’s shoulders.

B-127 froze, and dared not move. He had seen how his plasma cannon could tear a hole straight through a bot. He had seen how those servos could tear a Prime in half.

“You and I,” Megatron hummed, ignoring how the Decepticons had formed a circle around them, staring. Their optics tore into B-127, observing every detail. He felt bare, exposed. About to be ripped to pieces at the drop of a data pad. “We’re of the same breed. Manipulated by Primes, but trying so hard to believe in them.”

B-127 stared at his pedes. His servos twitched. He wasn’t exactly sure when he sheathed his knife hands, but he was too terrified to do anything with them now. He felt the same way with Megatron as he had with Sentinel.

Petrified. Scared of things so much bigger than him.

“You understand what I mean,” Megatron continued. “Yet you follow him blindly. Do you not see that you can be safe with me? All you need is to say the word. You and I will take them down, together, and free the people of Cybertron.”

B-127 glared at his pedes, and willed them to take a step backward. He could take down a dozen Decepticons on the battlefield, but he couldn’t stand up to Megatron? When did he become such a coward?

Optimus would pretend to understand, but Elita-1 would be so blatantly disappointed.

B-127 lifted his helm, with that encouragement in mind, and took a firm step away from Megatorn. “No. You’re wrong about Optimus. He wants the best for all the people of Cybertron.”

“He does not.” Megatron snapped, lurching forward to seize his shoulders. He gave B-127 a mind-numbing shake. “You did not know him as long as I did! And he was selfish! He was always doing stupid, foolish things for his own benefit, and he would drag me along with him just to ensure he had a backup!”

“He’s– He’s different.” B-127 argued, because it was either that or Megatron had never paid attention to Optimus’ intentions in the first place. He wasn’t sure which was true, but his spark ached regardless.

He wanted to leave. He could fight his way out, but Nova Storm had trapped him by simply sitting on him. He was surrounded by every Decepticon now. They could do far worse than that. They could trample him, tease him, place him back into the mines, make him work as a maintenance bot, watch trash burn for cycles upon cycles upon cycles and he would be unable to do anything.

“He’s not, but please, by all means, explain what you mean.” Megatron ordered. “Tell me. Talk to me. For a bot who loves the sound of his own voice, you certainly are holding your tongue.”

“There’s nothing I want to say to you.” B-127 huffed. Spite and irritation welled up in his chest, and a bitter smile touched his dermas. “And you don’t deserve this golden tongue anyway.”

He wasn’t expecting Megatron to scream in his face, but a moment later a fist was connecting with his face. B-127 went spinning, his battle mask slipping on a moment later. He hit the ground hard, and Megatron was on top of him a moment later.

One leg went on either side of him, and Megatron’s servo slammed against the top of his helm, forcing it against the ground. The warlord’s digits dug into the sides of his mask, and B-127 felt it crack beneath the pressure of his grip.

“No,” B-127 begged, reaching up to try to grab Megatron’s arm. “No, no, don’t–”

“You’re just like Arachnid,” Megatron spat, “and all his guards. Listening to your precious Prime, knowing how he lies, and obeying him anyway. What a loyal flock.”

“D!”

“Don’t call me that!” Megatron ripped the battle mask fully away, and whatever protection B-127 had was gone in an instant. It went flying across the clearing, leaning right at Starscream’s feet.

“Kill him,” Blitzwing begged, red eyes tearing into B-127’s.

“Kill him!” Nova Storm agreed, much louder. “Do it!”

“I do not want to kill an old friend,” Megatron spat, grabbing each of B-127’s arms and forcing them beneath his knees, trapping him. “I want to do something worse. Something personal.”

B-127 tried a moment too late to unfurl his knife hands. They did nothing, now, pinned against the dirt, unable to find a target aside from the ground. He looked past Megatron, at the sky, and begged, “Don’t do this, Megatron, please, please don’t–!”

“Shut up.” Megatron hissed, and his servos were on B-127’s neck.

B-127 tried to buckle his legs, anything to alleviate the pressure on his chest that made it so unbelievably hard for his vents to work. He tried to speak around the pressing hands, but all that came out was a piercing screech.

Megatron did not look upset.

B-127 felt the metal giving way under his digits. Something cracked and wavered. Try as he might, he couldn’t turn off his voice, stuck on a note of terror.  

Megatron’s digits pressed harder and harder.

Tears rose to B-127’s optics, lubricant trailing down his face. Energon sputtered out of his neck. It painted Megatron’s cheeks and dentas blue. Megatron did not stop. He leaned more into it.

The metal was shrieking, too, at a frequency that matched his broken voice. Deceptions were cheering or screaming or–? B-127 couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell he couldn’t tell he couldn’t think–

And then everything, his screaming and the screeching, went silent.

The only thing that wasn’t gone was the chanting surrounding him. But he couldn’t say a thing.

Chapter Text

“One mind, a singular focus… This is how it should always have been!” Deseeus monologued, glowing red eyes snapping over to glare daggers at the Autobots.

“We are innocent, Deseeus.” Optimus implored, pausing on tugging at his restraints to meet Deseeus’ gaze as best he could.

Deseeus chuckled under their breath. “Perhaps a demonstration of how we deal with the “innocent”! Bring me the ugly one!” Deseeus demanded, twisting to glare daggers directly at Bumblebee.

Before he could react, two of her empty shells of Cybertronians grabbed Bumblebee by the arms, picking him clear off the ground, and started to march him towards Deseeus.

“Oh, come on!” Bumblebee complained, fighting back against the wave of panic. He buckled against their grips, narrowing his optics as his capturer glowered at him. “Uh– Optimus?”

“Wheeljack!” Optimus yelled, anger and desperation clashing together violently.

“Not there yet!” Wheeljack shouted back, digits digging into the blue bubble as his finials spam wildly on either side of his head. “Give me a klik!”

“Guards,” Deseeus said, somehow managing to sound both bored and enraged. “Stop the scientist from… whatever he thinks he’s doing.”

Bumblebee didn’t look when one of the guards smacked Wheeljack over the helm, temporarily offlining him in an instant. Instead, he focused on getting his pedes to the ground, barely managing to drag his heel struts across the metal surface. Despite his best attempts to impede their progress, the husks continued their monotonous trudge forward.

“No,” Bumblebee whispered, kicking and pulling. “No, no, nonono–!”

“Bumblebee!” Optimus shouted, getting halfway into his transformation before his t-cog stopped him. “Let him go, Deseeus! He is not even an Autobot!”

“I don’t care about statistics,” Deseeus dismissed. “Mercenaries, Autobots, Decepticons… they’re all Cybertronian, no matter the crest. Besides, he’s part of your crew, is he not? Don’t tell me you’re so stupid that the Cybertronians you surround yourself with have differences in opinion!”

“It is what makes us so unique.” Optimus growled. “Ability to hear one another out. To allow all expression of thought and freedom under one banner.”

Bumblebee reached Deseeus, and their tentacles immediately grabbed his neck and cuffs, yanking him straight out of the guards’ holds onto his knees. Deseeus’ tentacles circled his helm, and his struggles slowed, unbidden. A numbing agent, maybe, or a trick, but the energy was fading out of his frame before he could help it.

“Perhaps that may be true,” Deseeus cackled. “But I’ve had enough disagreements to last me. I am free of that strife. And in reward for your innocence, you can join me.”

The tentacle curled away from Bumblebee’s neck, and for a brief instant there was relief. And then the end of the tentacle stabbed into the back of his neck. There was a sharp, stabbing pain, and then–

Nothing. Bare and utter bliss.

A symphony of thoughts, echoing around him. So many presences, pushing against one another. The Cybertronians he had thought were husks were not, filled with the divine sensation of Deseeus.

Deseeus was a beautiful person. A Quintesson. A master.

Why did the Cybertronians ever rebel?

“Bumblebee!” Optimus’ voice echoed, trying to pierce the fog. He failed.

Deseeus’ servant rolled his helm back to face the insurgent, and found great joy from the expression on the bot’s face. Oh, Primus’ chosen champion, who could not even keep the Allspark safe. Who relied on an empty Matrix. Who surrounded himself with insufferable nonconformists.  He was truly a sad, pathetic bot.

“Oh,” Deseeus and their servant chattered as one. “Do not look so upset, Optimus! This is for the best. What is it that you always say?”

Deseeus asked their servant for a reminder, pressing against his processor.

Deseeus’ servant gave it willingly.

“Ah, yes. “Until all are one”!” Deseeus cackled, and their servant leaned forward, a grin plastering itself on his face. “Do not tell me that you didn’t mean it literally!”

“I– It’s supposed to be a metaphor–!”

There was a sudden stab of pain flooding through Deseeus and all of their servants, and one of their Cybertronian warriors crumpled. A connection snapped and was lost, and their new servant flinched from the sudden blaze of loss.

“Let them go,” Doubledealer, the traitor, shouted, one foot perched on the newly destroyed servant, and both blasters pointing directly at Deseeus and their servant. “Or you’re about to meet a very grim end.”

Deseeus’ servant stepped more firmly in front of them, blasters raised and optics narrowing. The challenge sat thick in the air. 

Deseeus needed to be protected. Their wellbeing was so much more important than anyone else’s. His servant would die if only to keep the fullness alive in his frame for a bit longer.

“Doubledealer, do not shoot!” Optimus begged as one of the mercenaries freed his cuffs. “That is Bumblebee– Our friend!”

“He’s no friend of mine.” Doubledealer snapped back. “He’s part of Deseeus now, and it won’t be much longer until he’s fully become one of their soldiers!”

“Then we’ll stop him before that happens.” Optimus growled, placing himself at Doubledealer’s side. His axe slid out, armed and ready.

“You’re too late,” Deseeus’ servant told them both, tossing his hands up dramatically. “I’ve perfected him. He gave in so easily. Your only choice now is to kill him! And we both know your foolish connection runs too deep to do that.”

“Let him go, Deseeus.”

“I think not.” Deseeus laughed, threading their way deeper into their servant, checking the cracks and crevices of his processor. Their servant let them. “Not an Autobot, you say? Then why not cut your losses and run?”

“Autobot he may not be,” Optimus snarled, “but he is my friend. And I will never abandon a friend.”

“Foolish, foolish Pri–AUGHGHHHH!”

The bliss was gone, suddenly shattered by the touch of reality. Bumblebee fell forward, servos turning into fists against the ground. He vented, trying to fill his pipes with air, the world spinning in and out of vertigo.

“What the frag,” Doubledealer cursed.

Arcee’s hand grabbed Bumblebee’s wrist, tugging him up to his pedes. “We’ve got to go! Mirage, take him!”

“I’ve got him,” Mirage grabbed Bumblebee’s other side as Arcee turned back around to continue fighting Deseeus, pulling him onward. Bumblebee stumbled, the port on the back of his neck aching, the feeling of loss in his spark too great to bear. He wheezed into the nothingness.

Optimus picked Bumblebee out of Mirage’s deathgrip an eternity later, settling him into his own arms with such speed that the part of Bumblebee’s processor that could understand anything was alarmed that his touch was still gentle.

“We owe you a debt of thanks, Doubledealer.”

“You don’t owe us anything,” Doubledealer spat. “Just tell me that you really can find the Allspark.”

“We can, and we will.”

Bumblebee managed to move his arms up and wrap them securely around Optimus’ neck as he began to run, barely holding on. His frame stung from the loss, remembering all the remaining processors and sparks he had felt against his own. He didn’t know what to say.

Chapter Text

It was hard to believe that B was actually out of sublevel-50 sometimes! Like, the artificial lighting of the city was a little too bright for his optics, just like the furnace, and he would start bumping into things. Usually that meant he should sit down, lest he faint, but instead Optimus just took his hand.

Which was also weird, because guess what? Optimus was his friend. He had actual friends who could take his hand! Sometimes Elita-1 was there, instead, but either way, B-127 was held. He was loved!

Or, he was treated with someone as close to love as anyone could give a bot like him. Trust, perhaps, but he knew it was conditional. It always had been before, and that was okay! That was just life. Given a job, and good luck not fragging it up! Because if you did…

Right back into the scrap heap! Watching trash burn!

That actually wasn’t that bad of a gig, if you thought about it. Sure, it sucked aft, but you couldn’t risk the room getting clogged up! Stuff always had to be melted and smelted.

B-127 made sure that everything kept moving, the conveyor belt never stopping in its dull trudge towards the furnace – unless he was sleeping, and then he purposefully broke the belt to sleep on it – and the trash never got stuck in the chute.

When he woke up, he shoveled everything back into the furnace and kept the work marching along! The melted scrap metal, theoretically, went to the smithers so they could construct newer, better equipment for bots to use!

B-127 never saw how it went back up, but he had watched the orientation for his job at least ten billion times, if only to keep his mind occupied somehow whenever the trash was burning smoothly.

It wasn’t his fault that it got boring.

It wasn’t even his fault that he had been fully kicked down there! B-127 knew that. When he had first landed in sublevel-50, he had found a rusted, partially melted frame down there. Guess his predecessor couldn’t stand the heat, haha!

The furnace had stopped burning hot enough for their means, and a couple things needed maintenance. So it was just natural that they needed someone down there again to keep things moving forward.

It had just all… sucked.

Like, B-127 was out now! He couldn’t even complain! He took great pride in his work regardless and regularly went down to visit sublevel-50 anyway, if only to double check and make sure things were running smoothly. Now, without needing to break down the conveyor to sleep, his workload was a lot easier.

Maybe he should talk to Optimus about making it a shifted schedule down there, to make sure the work still got done but never subjecting anyone to the same isolation B-127, himself, went through.

Ha, yeah, that would be a good idea, if Optimus didn’t grumble under his breath, whenever anyone brought it up, that nobody would ever return to sublevel-50 ever again. So nobody could know that B-127 snuck down there for maintenance!

And also for his friends. Nobody could forget that he went down there for his friends.

His fake friends! Who were notably not real in any matter of the word! Elita-1 had grabbed his shoulders and made sure he knew that. She had told him she’d rattle him senseless until he understood that, so B-127 had understood that right quick.

He…

He didn’t want to get in trouble.

Sure, Optimus had promised he’d never send B-127 back to sublevel-50 again, but there were worse jobs. Maybe even more sublevels underneath. B-127 just knew about the extra ten, but what if there was an extra eleven? An extra twelve? Twenty?! He didn’t know what he’d do with himself then.

And then there was the whole matter of… B never quite believing that he actually got out. Like, sure, the sun was bright, he was surrounded by people and glorious noise! But, then again, he could climb out through the chute at any point to head over to waste management.

They had been loud over there, too. It made sense that B-127 had simply… Created more noise to feel less alone. More people.

Maybe he was like that frame he had seen. Melted to a crisp, processor just barely hanging on, running through endless simulations of love and peace. Maybe Orion and D-16 were his replacements, and he had only gotten enough time to see them before everything spiraled out of control and he lost himself.

His whole adventure after getting out had felt an awful lot like an action projection so far. Too much excitement and epic hero journeys! It would make sense that it was made up.

It would make… So much sense.

Orion– Optimus squeezed his hand. “Hey, B. B, are you listening?”

B-127’s helm snapped up, and he flashed Optimus with his most dazzling smile. “Yeah, duh, of course. What’s going on?”

“I don’t think he was listening,” Elita-1 scoffed, stating the obvious.

B-127 couldn’t quite help the miniscule flinch he released at that, because he wasn’t really looking forward to being punished for letting his processor wander. He had simply been cataloging thoughts! And just because this had the potential to be a simulation didn’t mean that he was expecting himself to remain out of trouble forever.

If it wanted to keep him trapped, it had to keep things realistic, after all. And sometimes, realistic things were the scariest.

“Leave him alone, Elita-1.” Optimus huffed, adjusting his grip up to B-127’s shoulder. B-127’s servo followed it up, keeping Optimus close to him. “It wasn’t too terribly important, B. We were discussing where we were going to go for our next refuel.”

“Anywhere we go, you-know-who is going to get flocked.” Elita-1 continued, jerking a thumb towards Optimus. “And we’ll be trapped by proxy. It’s a loss either way.”

“Pick your poison, I guess.” Optimus sighed, looking around the stalls and buildings around them sadly. “I enjoy being Prime, I do, but sometimes I miss being able to go to Maccadam’s without people trying me to sign “autographs”.”

By autographs, he meant bills higher-standing bots would try to get him to sign to work around security regulations guarding against ridiculous bills. Elita-1 had barely stopped him from signing a deal with a greedy mining company that had wanted to remove their miners’ t-cogs all over again. Of course, they needed that legalized first, and…

Long story short, Optimus read everything he signed thoroughly, real autographs or not.

It would’ve been amusing if it hadn’t been terrifying. One simple slip-up, and t-cogs were legal tenders to remove and sell. Optimus was so scared, of all times, that he’d turn into Sentinel, and the knowledge that somebody would manipulate that…

It was terrifying.

It was something that, once again, just didn’t seem real. There had to be a reason behind their cruelty, didn’t there? Nobody was just that blatantly… awful.

B-127 squeezed Optimus’ servo. “Why don’t we just refuel back at the tower? Everyone’s already seen you a billion times over back there, so it shouldn’t be any scrap off their struts!”

“But I like the tower even less.” Optimus complained, but he was already turning to pull B-127 after him towards their home. Another point for things not really being real; nobody ever listened and did what B-127 wanted.

And yet they kept moving on, towards the Palace of Iacon, where it eclipsed everything else with its splendor and beauty. Optimus only moved in because he had been advised to.

Elita-1 said that if he had it his way, he would’ve moved into the archives and never left. Optimus hadn’t argued, only hid a smile behind his battle mask. He had been doing that a lot, lately. Like he was afraid to be their kind friend.

B-127 wondered if it was something he had done, or if Optimus was just like that now. Perhaps turning into a sour old rock was part of becoming a Prime, and Optimus hadn’t fallen into line yet. He didn’t know.

He wasn’t even sure he wanted to know. No use logicing himself out of a dream, right?

(:)

Less than a groon later, B-127 found all three of them crashed out in Optimus’ new office, surrounded by data pads and chips. Optimus’ calendar schedule dinged every once in a while as a new meeting was added or things were shuffled around. B-127 never could figure out why he didn’t mute the thing, but it wasn’t his business.

Maybe Optimus was just glad to have a secretary who was so on top of things.

B-127 could understand that. It was nice to have good help.

“I swear every time we come in, you have more work waiting for you,” Elita-1 said, kicking her legs out against the wall. “Is the secretary even helping at all?”

“He’s great, but the work never stops coming.” Optimus sighed, sitting down on the ground with his friends instead of at his desk. “I swear it just gets worse as time goes on. As more cities hear that I’ve taken over, they’ve been signing their allegiance to me, or trying to set up diplomatic meetings and squeeze us out of our supplies so they “won’t join the Decepticons”, and it’s just a mess. I need to set up a real council, but I don’t have the time for it, and there's very few people I trust.”

“I’d be part of the council, if you asked,” Elita-1 stated bluntly.

“And I will! It’s just… I can’t only hire miners, and they’re the only people I trust. And I won’t go with the votes of the majority, because nobody will elect the miners! It’s a messy situation.”

“Hmm, yeah.”

“Well!” Optimus clapped his hands together with too much force, and B-127 startled, almost knocking down his cubes in the process. “Enough about me! What’s on your guys’ processors?”

“Organizing a police force.” Elita-1 explained. “And an army. I’m not sure if they should be mutually exclusive, but somebody’s got to keep the crime under control while also defending us from the Quintessons.”

“Smart, and you’re right, that would be a good thing. I… also wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Too bad that ornament didn’t immediately grant you perfect leadership skills at all times.”

“Right?! You would think, with a name like the “Matrix of Leadership” that it would, but nooo. Primus, I love you, but couldn’t you have made this easier for me?” Optimus trailed his finger along the ground, drawing invisible patterns on the spotless floor. “I bet even Sentinel had help…”

“Or slaves.”

“Or slaves! Thank you, Elita.” Optimus’ gaze slid over to B-127. “What about you? You’ve been, er… quiet, lately. What’s going on in there, B?”

“Huh?” B-127 chirped, pretending like he hadn’t been listening. Half the time, they dropped it when they thought he wasn’t, and somehow he didn’t think asking what was on his mind constituted as an “emergency”.

Elita-1 surprised him by leaning over, rapping her knuckles against his knee. “What are you thinking about, B? Don’t bumble, now.”

“Oh! Well, it’s… it’s just a little stupid.” B-127 rubbed the back of his neck.

Why were they asking him now instead of any time else? Honestly, it was a little rude! Maybe he didn’t want to talk about anything! They hadn’t asked what he was thinking about… ever. Maybe that was his own fault, honestly. He never closed his intake.

“Honestly, it’s no big deal! I’d rather listen to whatever you guys are thinking about. Government trouble! How cool and fun!”

“Humor us,” Optimus practically begged, “If I have to think about enacting one more policy I’m going to overheat, and then I’ll be useless for the next month.”

“Oh,” B-127 said sullenly, wincing. “Then you’re definitely not going to want to hear what I’m thinking about.”

“...You cannot be…” Elita-1 stopped, furrowed her optic ridges, and tried again. “Why do you have politics on your mind? Now I’m interested.”

“...I’m thinking about sublevel-50.” B-127 admitted, softly, and winced when both Optimus and Elita-1 sat straight up and gave him the most angry expressions he had ever seen. “I don’t miss it! I don’t, I just–”

He was so thankful Optimus and Megatron – or Orion and D-16, whatever they wanted to be called when he retold the story – had saved him from the furnace. That they had met Elita-1 and brought him on the adventure of a lifetime. Even though it had ended kind of poorly, he was so utterly grateful.

“It’s just that there was a purpose there, you know? I don’t like that it’s still empty. We could put two or three guys down there, easy, and keep the work going! Then none of them will be lonely or go insane. We could do shifts!” B-127 explained, spreading his arms out wide. “I mean, someone has to make sure the furnace and belt don’t break down! Check the chute for clogs, make sure trash doesn’t go everywhere…”

Optimus and Elita-1 exchanged a look. It wasn’t a good look, so B-127 felt himself shrinking down again.

“Whatever,” he said mournfully. “I thought it was a good idea.”

“Well,” Optimus offered. “I know sublevel-50 was… important to you. But that doesn’t mean I like the idea of anyone else going down there. I’ve shut down all ten extra sublevels, B. Moved the people from down there, got them real t-cogs, set them up with some nice jobs and good homes…”

“Well, yeah, I know. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t important for smelting metal! Recycle and reuse, you know?”

“The mines aren’t active, B.” Elita-1 said, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest. “We don’t need them anymore. Everything’s been closed down. No trash should be going down those chutes anymore. Waste management handles everything.”

“That doesn’t sound right.” B-127 hummed helplessly, staring down at the floor between his pedes. His digits rubbed over one another, and he absorbed the sensation for what it was.

“Why doesn’t that sound right?” Elita-1 demanded, leaning towards him, optics narrowing. B-127 withdrew into himself, lifting a shoulder to half protect his face in case she tried to punch him or push him. “B-127, answer me.”

“It’s nothing! Nothing, no reason, like, com’n, Elita, it’s no big! Don’t have to make it a big deal, or–!”

Optimus frowned, reaching out to touch B-127’s other shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge. “B, we’re your friends. We’re not going to get you in trouble for speaking your mind. Just… talk to us about what’s going on. Why don’t you think the mines should be – or are – closed down?”

“Because– It just… It doesn’t seem possible!” B-127 tried to explain, gesturing vaguely. “Like– As long as all four– Three! All three of us have been alive, the mines have been active. Pumping energon, creating labor, and other stuff. It doesn’t feel right that they’re suddenly done.”

“But… it is right, Bee. Jobs like that–”

“I know! I know it’s right. I know it’s good, and if…” B-127 spread his digits over his chest. “If anyone who wasn’t Sentinel or Arachnid were put in charge, they’d know better. They would’ve ended the mining business, too. Megatron would’ve!”

Optimus flinched, and B-127 immediately felt guilty.

He shrunk into himself, staring at the ground dejectedly. There he was, messing stuff up all over again. That wasn’t what he meant, but that’s what kept happening, wasn't it? “Sorry…”

“It’s okay, B-127. I’ve got to get used to hearing that name, anyway.” Optimus sighed, and B-127 looked up just in time to see him drag his servos down his face plate, digging into his optics. He looked frustrated, maybe a bit tired, but not angry. “Why don’t you just… Keep talking to us. Tell us why you feel like this is… weird.”

“Right, right, okay.” B-127 tugged on his arm, and locked his optics back at the ground. “Well, it’s just that I… It’s not that it doesn’t feel right, it just doesn’t feel real!”

“Doesn’t feel real,” Elita-1 echoed mildly. She seemed to catch on quickly, to B-127’s growing distress. “How much “doesn’t feel real”? Because I’m willing to bet this isn’t a one-off thing.”

“A lot of things!” B-127 chirped right back, careful to keep the grin on his face even though he didn’t feel like there was much to smile about in general. “But that’s just normal, right? Everything’s getting better, and it’s weird how quickly it happened! Don’t you guys feel that way?”

“Sometimes it does feel surreal,” Optimus allowed, and there was a click of metal against the ground as he turned his helm away. “But I can’t tell if it’s a nightmare or a dream.”

“I know,” Elita-1 snapped, but there was no audio cue that she had looked away. B-127 could still feel her curiosity pulse against him. “But this isn't about that right now. Right now, I’m talking about B.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

“There’s always something to talk about with you! But this last deca-cycle, you’ve been quiet. So, spill the beans, B-127. Everything that you’re thinking about, right now.”

B-127 tugged at his arms anxiously. His chassis ached. “Well, it’s just that– I mean. You’re all probably real, right? You’re both– Super real. Super. And this isn’t just a… make-believe dream that my processor thought up because I’m melting to death, right?”

Neither of them so much as vented.

B-127 felt warm, like the furnace was heating up his helm.

He never should’ve spoken it into existence. He knew it wasn’t real, so why would he break the stupid illusion?

A touch on his shoulder startled him out of his sulking, and B-127 spurned back to life, helm snapping up.

Elita-1 withdrew, brows pinched. “B.” She stated, firmly.

Just his name, nothing else.

His gaze found their way back to his digits, lowering to intertwine with each other, thumbs nudging one another distantly. “Elita,” he said.

“This is real.” Optimus whispered, shuffling in close. His hip pressed against B-127’s thigh, and his servo squeezed against B-127’s knee. “Whatever your– Whatever you’re telling yourself, it’s not true. We’re here for you. We’re real. You’re sitting here, in the middle of my office, with a couple cubes of energon. Elita and I are being afts about politics, and–! And maybe we aren’t listening as well as we should. But this… You, me, her… We’re all real.”

“You’re not melting to death.” Elita-1 reassured. She placed her servo between B-127’s, and held on tight. “In fact, you’re boring me to death with how quiet you’re being. Maybe the quiet’s making you go crazy. That’s why you always talk so much, isn’t it? Keep yourself sane.”

B-127 squeezed her hand back. “Maybe. I dunno.”

Elita-1 huffed under her breath, looking over towards Optimus. Optimus stared back.

“I don’t know how long you were down in sublevel-50, but I know it was too much for you,” Optimus said. “Even with access to waste management… that kind of isolation is enough to make anyone go insane.”

“I know that,” B-127 snapped. “Of course there’s something messed up with me, or else I would know whether this is a dream or not. I wouldn’t be worried about it.”

Elita-1 grunted. “I mean, that’s true. You wouldn’t be worried about it if you were… all there. Unfortunately, we can’t be that lucky.”

B-127 shoved her, and she laughed.

“Yeah, yeah,” she continued, “but seriously. I’d be seriously irritated if this wasn’t real. Believe it or not, I like being your… friend. Sure, you’re both idiots, and you’re lacking something in the common sense department, and you’re in no way my equals, even Prime, here–”

“We get it, Elita,” Optimus grumbled.

“Ha, no,” Elita-1 pressed. “You don’t. You don’t get how much I enjoy this little group we have. I didn’t know I could have fun like this. I didn’t know life could be this great, with so much going on.”

“Even with the politics?” B-127 asked shyly.

“Even with the politics.” Elita-1 agreed. “It’s great. And if you can’t trust this isn’t real, then you’re not enjoying it as much as you could. And if I can’t get in your brain and convince you that this is real, well, then.”

“We’ll stay with you until you believe it.” Optimus finished, adjusting his free servo over B-127’s shoulder. “You have my word.”

B-127 leaned over, resting his helm against Optimus’ forearm. “I don’t want to be dying in sublevel-50.”

“You aren’t.” Optimus chimed. “I promise.”

B-127 really didn’t believe that. But he wanted to. He wanted to so badly.

Maybe one day he’d get there.

Chapter Text

“Okay, Terrans!” Bumblebee shouted. “Time for bed!”

He was met with a symphony of groans, all five dragging their pedes upsettingly as they made their way over to the dugout. Bumblebee chuckled, taking a step back and gesturing them after him. The sun was setting behind the trees, and the human Maltos were starting to trudge off to bed.

It wouldn’t do to have the Terrans still running about even after their human siblings were put to bed. Alex and Dot had entrusted their safety and wellbeing to Bumblebee, after all, and he would not let them down, no matter what.

He had let them down the first month or two that the Terrans were under his care. He had put his act together a few weeks before the youngest three were born. Making sure they ate properly, that they got to bed on time…

All the things that he had assumed Alex and Dot would encourage, but forgot they didn’t know how to supply for Cybertronians. He had a duty, now, and he would not fail.

“Can we have a bedtime story?” Nightshade inquired, already tilting slightly from the weight of their exhaustion.

Bumblebee chuckled to himself, wrapping his arm securely around the middle child’s shoulders. “I don’t think you’d stay awake for it, buddy. If you wake up later, maybe I’ll tell you one to settle you down, but don’t count on it.”

“Bumblebee’s a bad storyteller,” Thrash accused, not for the first time.

“You’ve never heard me tell one!”

“And for good reason!” Twitch boasted, but even flying was turning more into a sagging hover. “Because you’re really bad at it.”

“Look,” Bumblebee rolled his eyes. “Most of my stories have been peer reviewed, and they’re really not age-appropriate. I told one to Robby and Mo, and wow! That was a bad decision on my part.”

“Robby and Mo know one of your stories that we don’t?!” Hashtag cried, upset. “I want to hear it!”

“Maybe later,” Bumblebee prompted, herding them back towards the barn. “If your parents can vet it and are okay with it. But for now, let’s just get all of you to bed. Tomorrow’s a new day, and it’s just a bit closer to the weekend. And then you can be free from me, okay?”

Thrash let out a weak cheer, and Bumblebee chuckled under his breath.

He brought them back down to the dugout and herded them off to their respective rooms. The twins went in one room, and the triplets each had their own, being bigger and requiring more space.

One by one, he said his goodnights to each one.

Nightshade muttered sleepily the things they wanted to do the next day. Jawbreaker whispered that he loved Bumblebee and couldn’t wait for new adventures tomorrow. Hashtag complained tiredly about how she wanted to hear his stories and she’d never stop trying to hear one. She’d forget by tomorrow, he knew.

Twitch made grabby hands until he kissed her forehead, Thrash kept him trapped by leaning too far into him. Bumblebee waited until Thrash entered recharge to climb away from him and headed out into the main room.

He stood in the middle of the common room, looking around him with his servos on his hips. One by one, he flickered off every light until only the fairy lights remained. He activated the security system, to alert them if anyone that wasn’t the Maltos were wandering around updoors. And then he took his post by the door, sitting down beside it at the ready.

Bumblebee… frankly could not remember the last time he had gotten a good recharge in. He had done it, occasionally, in between moments when other Autobots were visiting or when Dot and Alex had the kids for the day.

But it was never longer than three groons, so he just drank plenty of energon to make up for it. It had taken him so long to get the kids to sleep for the full recommended amount of time, and if they ever learned he wasn’t abiding by his own rules, there’d be scrap to pay.

Yet, Bumblebee could not let harm befall them. He was fiercely overprotective, he knew, but if the systems failed, and something snuck in and got to the kids… That was on Bumblebee. That was his fault. And he couldn’t have that.

So he sat.

And he watched.

And watched.

And watched.

(:)

The door opened a crack, the screeching of metal on metal startling Bumblebee to full awareness. He hadn’t even realized he had been starting to drift. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He turned his head to face the intruder, blaster whirring at his side.

Dot’s head peeked in, and Bumblebee felt a flash of relief. He transformed his arm back into his servo, and resumed his vigil. “Hey, Dot.”

“Hey, Bumblebee.” She greeted softly, settling in beside him. She set a rifle against the wall and leaned against him, shoulder pressing on his armor. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing just fine.” Bumblebee said awkwardly. Nobody ever joined him while he was keeping watch. He didn’t want them to, either, so she was a very large surprise. Why was she even here? “How are you?”

“Good,” Dot said absently. She bundled her robe tighter around her. “Alex said he thought you weren’t sleeping. I didn’t know you were actively keeping watch.”

“Yeah, well. You’re not sleeping either.”

“PTSD makes it hard sometimes.” Dot told him. “Memories of the war are… pretty vivid. I lost a lot of people. I lost my leg. I get trapped in my own head on occasion. It gets rough.”

“I’m…” Bumblebee swallowed. They had brought their war here. They had gotten Dot hurt, and she wasn’t even the only one. So many humans suffered because of them.  He couldn’t let it happen again. “I’m sorry, Dot.”

“Don’t be,” Dot sighed. “It’s not your fault, Bumblebee. Besides, it’s been getting better. They say kids don’t fix things, but mine have made it easier to focus on the good. And the good’s just gotten that much bigger and brighter as I’ve gotten more. Seven kids, Bumblebee, and I didn’t even have to carry them around for nine months! My life has gotten a whole lot brighter.”

“But it doesn’t solve everything.”

“No, it hasn’t. And it doesn’t do away with the pain as much as I wish it did. So much life, but only after so much death. It’s rough.” Dot peered up at him curiously. “I’m sure you can relate.”

Bumblebee… could. He had watched far too many allies die. He even had killed his fair share of Decepticons way back in the day. It was partially his fault that everything was so bad. He knew that. He was too ruthless to really contribute much to the peace talks, he knew.

Megatron sometimes looked at him like Bumblebee was the monster and not Megatron at all. Bumblebee wondered, often as much, how many times Megatron truly cared about the people Bumblebee killed.

Maybe not recharging was a way to forget the war for Bumblebee, too. “I guess so.”

“I’m happy to spend one of the bad nights with my friend,” she told him loyally.

“Dot, I’m okay.” Bumblebee said. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“Bumblebee…” Dot murmured, and shifted against him again. It was kind of funny, how similar she could be to her children without really being their actual mother. “Why are you awake? You’re being awfully cagey about that.”

“It’s no big deal, Dot.” Bumblebee reassured, drawing his knees closer to his chest.

She stared at him. She didn’t look away. She didn’t relent, even for a moment.

Bumblebee sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “Dot, please, it’s just… You know how it is. G.H.O.S.T. is lurking around. Mandroid is still somewhere out there, and some of the Decepticons know where we are. It just… It doesn’t feel safe.”

“You don’t think the kids are safe?”

“They’re safe as long as I’m here,” Bumblebee said confidently, puffing himself up with pride that felt too fake for his own good. “I’m going to take care of them. That’s why I stay up. Nobody can sneak past as long as I’m here. Even if I do fall asleep.”

“That’s not healthy.” Dot murmured, worriedly. “When do you sleep?”

“Dot, come on, I’m fine.” Bumblebee reassured, quickly. “I don’t need to recharge as long as I stay stocked on energon. And that’s easy. The Terrans are young enough that it’s mandatory, and it’s even good for them to take a load off.”

“Hmm,” Dot muttered. “That’s not being a very good example, Bumblebee.”

“I know that,” Bumblebee returned. “But I haven’t exactly told them this is happening. As far as they know, I go to bed at the same time they do but I wake up first. I’m being careful, I swear.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am!”

Dot sighed. “I believe you, Bumblebee, I just… I’m worried about you, too. Staying awake for days on end can’t be healthy, no matter how much you eat. I know you’re fundamentally different from us, but some things are consistent.”

“Yeah, sure, Dot.”

Dot didn’t necessarily give up, but she stopped protesting. Instead, she crossed her arms, tucked her rifle over her knees, and looked up at him. “Fine, then. If you’re going to be stubborn, then I’ll keep watch. You deserve to sleep just as much as anyone, and I can take over for tonight.”

Bumblebee almost laughed, but he swallowed it down just in time. “No, I’ve… I’ve got it, Dot. I appreciate it, I do, but I’ve got this. I have to do this.”

Dot stared at him. “Nothing I can say will make you back down, will it?”

Bumblebee cracked a smile. “No, Dot, I’m afraid not. I can be just as stubborn as you if it comes down to it.”

“Fine, then.” Dot huffed. “I’m staying here anyway. We’ll keep watch together, unless you have a problem with that?”

Bumblebee blinked in surprise, though he guessed it wasn’t as shocking as it sounded. She had spent her whole time here getting more and more comfortable where she sat. Of course she wouldn’t go without a fight, or, at least, without a compromise.

“Okay, we’ll watch together.” Bumblebee finally allowed, rolling his eyes at the bright grin she cast his way. He placed his arm on the opposite side of her, creating a cozy alcove for her to rest.

Together, they waited through the night.

Chapter Text

This whole situation was just plain weird. Not the kind of thing Bumblebee could ever picture happening. And even if it did, he had half expected it to be due to being stuck in unspace, not from a random rift cracking open and grabbing him.

Furthermore, he was expecting the other versions of him to actually… look like him. So far, the only similarities he could find were that they were all yellow, but only he and Bee were both sports cars. B-127 still had his Cybertronian mode, the lucky cog.

But he and Bee were different enough in other ways; for example, Bee spoke primarily through vague gestures and urgent beeps. His Optimus had promised to download the files for everyone soon, so they could understand Bee’s beeps, but he had gotten distracted promptly by B-127’s Optimus, who was, apparently, not even a vorn old.

Bumblebee was losing his own mind over that, but as discreetly as possible. Because. Like. What.

Also, B-127 was a chatter bug. He talked enough for both Bee and Bumblebee, but that was only because Bumblebee was too shocked to say much of anything.

At least that wasn’t stopping B-127: “I can’t believe I’m here! I didn’t know this kind of thing could even happen! I mean, I guess Optimus did mention something like this happening with the old Primes, I think? But mostly it was just that they could sometimes combine memories with Primes in other– Actually, I don’t remember! This is cool! We’re actually here! With other us’es!”

Bumblebee glanced over in amusement at his Megatron, standing awkwardly in a corner while the Elitas and Bulkhead stood a little too close to him. Bumblebee was at least partially sure that their own Elita was talking down the other two from killing him, since he was, evidently, the only decent Megatron around.

“Honestly, it’s always so cool to meet you guys,” B-127 continued, excited. “Sometimes I dreamed of what it’d be like to meet myself, but older. Not me from other universes. I mean, what am I supposed to say to all that? Nice to meet you? Nice to meet you, by the way! I’ve got so many questions! A whole list, really, if you don’t mind!”

“A whole list?” Bumblebee repeated. He thought being a mentor could prepare him for anything. Apparently, it didn’t prepare him for a younger version of himself. He ought to get his Optimus a gift basket. “How long is a “whole list”? Five questions? Two hundred questions?”

“Hey, cut me some slack, I spent ten cycles alone next to a furnace, and the people in waste management were jerks. I had plenty of time to think! So much time!”

“Ten cycles–?”

Bee chirped in amusement, and Bumblebee twisted around to stare at him, flabbergasted. “Don’t encourage this! We should talk about– I don’t know! His trauma!”

Bee held up his servo and mockingly bobbed it along to mimic Bumblebee’s intake, beeping sarcastically.

“Don’t–! That’s–! Stop that!”

“First question!” B-127 began, summoning the attention back to him easily. It was a gift, Bumblebee swore. “This one is for our charming, silent and mysterious Bee! Why can’t you talk?”

Bee suddenly went very still.

“Dude,” Bumblebee cried, leaning over to tackle B-127 against the ground and smacking his servo over his mouth. “What was that?! What was–!” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply, turning back around to Bee with a frozen smile. “I am so sorry about my friend– He doesn’t get out much!” Apparently.

“Hey!” B-127 kicked, managed to wrangle his mouth out to be free. “Ever since Optimus hired me, I’ve been out plenty! I’ve met all sorts of interesting people, having fun, learning people skills as a diplomat…”

“Then use those people skills! You can’t just ask people for personal info like that!”

“Personal?” B-127 echoed in confusion. “But we can all tell he can’t speak. It’s not like it’s a secret! So how is that personal?”

“The specifics!” Bumblebee cried. “Sometimes the way something happened makes it hard to talk about, or people just have boundaries and you– You can’t just… ask!”

Bee waved a hand to attract both their attention. There was a kind light to his optics as he comfortingly beeped, making a “calm down” motion.

“See?!” B-127 victoriously cried. “He says it’s okay!”

“Neither of us can understand him,” Bumblebee grumbled. “You don’t know that’s what he said!” Towards Bumblebee, he added, “I hope you know you ruined a perfectly good lesson.”

Bee blinked owlishly at him, the picture of pure innocence. He held up his servos in mock surrender, beeping softly. Bumblebee might have fallen for it, if that wasn’t the exact kind of stunt the twins often tried to pull to get out of trouble.

“Don’t start with me,” Bumblebee scoffed. “I know you know better than that.”

Bee rolled his optics, but without the ability to articulate his optics quite so much, he ended up rolling his helm instead. He lifted up his servo to start mocking again, and Bumblebee snapped his intake shut.

“So,” B-127 said deviously, shifting out of Bumblebee’s hold. “How did you lose your voice?”

Bee shrugged, and then spread his arms out wide, letting out a series of beeps. Not for the first time, Bumblebee wished he could understand the bot. He sounded so… enthusiastic at all times.

He mimed an explosion, running, and then pointed over at Bumblebee’s Megatron. B-127’s intake opened, but before he got to utter a single word, Bee drew his servo back and mimicked ripping out his voice box, and then pretended to throw it on the ground.

And then he shrugged, good-naturedly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Slowly, Bumblebee buried his face in his servos. “Oh, scraplets, why are you both so traumatized? I’m on the brink of begging you both to tell me that you’re joking. I’m begging.”

Two sets of optics blinked up at him. Neither of them denied it, simply watching.

After a klik, B-127 bravely stated, “I bet you’re just as traumatized, you’re just too busy being a worrybot over us to admit it! I bet you’re not too much older than either of us!”

Bumblebee seriously begged to differ. But he wasn’t going to. He just sighed, and leaned back as far as he could without toppling over. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be upset about it! I mean, look! Isolated, mute, and–”

He pointed to each one in turn, but when it came to his turn, he couldn’t figure out a single thing that explained the vast emptiness he felt inside. He finally shrugged. “I honestly think I’m doing great in comparison.”

“Riiight,” B-127 drawled, slowly. “Well, anyway, Bee, have any advice on how to avoid that happening to me? Because, believe it or not, I’m pretty attached to my voice, and I hate the idea of losing it, so… any advice?”

Bee hummed thoughtfully, and then shook his head. He touched his throat, shrugging with a small pout.

“None that he can give without his voice,” Bumblebee guessed, and Bee enthusiastically pointed to him and nodded. He looked utterly enthralled, and Bumblebee wanted to laugh.

“Fine!” B-127 held up his servos. “I’ve got another question for you, then!”

Bee gave him a welcoming gesture, and Bumblebee rolled his optics somewhat affectionately. He didn’t fully know if he was ready for any more of B-127’s suspiciously prying questions, but if Bee was okay with it, especially after that original blunder, he could try to be as well.

“Sure,” Bumblebee invited, trying to mimic his counterpart’s laid back demeanor. “Well, then, B-127, what else do you have for us?”

B-127’s smile could light up a city block.

Chapter Text

“Optimus,” B-127 begged, cupping the Prime’s helm tightly between aching palms. Optimus’ helm nodded down, put off balance by his desperate grip, but it did nothing else. “Optimus, please, you’ve got to wake up!”

B-127 already knew he wouldn’t; surrounding them was Optimus’ energon, staining rocks, pooling across the ground. There was no salvation here. No magical cure, no freedom. It was just him and his mentor, his best friend, painting the landscape with his energon.

He couldn’t even say what exactly had happened. Optimus had been fighting alongside him one nano-klik, and the next time B-127 was aware of anything, they were both coated in blue. And blue, as everyone was aware, was not B-127’s colour.

“Please…” He whispered, shaking.

Optimus still did not stir. There was a steady drip drip drip coming from his inner mechanics, and the deep gouges across his plating didn’t look promising. If there was any hope of Optimus surviving until help arrived, B-127 would have to provide it.

One of his first big missions, and he was already in over his head. Sometimes, the world hated him.

B-127 shook his servos out, nervous anticipation flooding through him. He shivered, trying to get a hold of himself. If Optimus were awake right now, he’d hold his shoulders and tell B-127 to vent for a few kliks. He wasn’t, but B-127 tried anyway.

He squeezed his optics shut, so he didn’t have to look at Optimus’ still frame and spilled energon, and did his best to circulate his vents. “I’m okay,” he whispered to himself nervously. “I’m okay, I’ve just gotta… figure this out.”

There was no response. B-127 wasn’t expecting there to be, but it hurt his spark anyway. He felt cold, without Optimus’ warmth to circulate around him.

B-127 opened his optics and set himself to fix this. He popped open his cab to fish out his first aid kit that Ratchet and Jazz had both insisted he carry with him at all times. He had thought, at the time, that it would be another stupid requirement, like carrying around his rank with him all the time. But… He was so grateful for it now.

“Just hold still,” B-127 prompted, pressing his servo against Optimus’ plating. The Prime was no longer built like any other bot, his enhancements making him larger and more dangerous. But his functions were still basically the same.

B-127 was able to avoid his Matrix casing, guarding his spark chamber, and opened his paneling further down. Underneath were ripped fuel lines, cracked and disastrous. He had to work quickly, before he fully leaked out.

With trembling fingers, B-127 slowly lined back up the appropriate fuel lines where they were ripped in two, reattaching them with new piping where he could and flex-tape where he couldn’t. Some places were ripped so badly that even the tape didn’t sit on properly and he couldn’t quite get them on. He was too scared to remove the entire cord to replace it, too.

This kind of work belonged to Ratchet or any of his understudies. It wasn’t supposed to be B-127’s job. It wasn’t supposed to be.

He shuddered again, anxious digits fumbling with the lines. Something erupted into sparks under his servos, and he snatched his hands back, staring at the disaster with gasping vents. “Oh, Primus,” he whined as the wiring he had hit spluttered again. “Oh, I don’t know what I’m doing. Optimus, wake up, please!”

For the first time in his lifecycle, Optimus did not respond to his begging. His vents continued to rattle on.

“Oh, Primus…” B-127 repeated one more time, and then found electrical tape to bind over Optimus’ wires. He couldn’t just leave them hanging; one spark in the wrong place, and they’d all go up in flames. Energon, after all, was flammable.

By the time he had run out of patch kit supplies, Optimus was still leaking, and but at least he wasn’t sparking anymore. That danger had somewhat passed, thank the Primes. B-127 couldn’t do much else. His Prime was still leaking energon, albeit slowly, and he couldn’t do a thing.

Well.

Maybe one.

B-127 was many things, but most importantly, he was a soldier. He was loyal to a fault, devoted. He was willing to do anything to keep his friends alive, to make sure the Autobot cause would keep going on. It would not keep going without Optimus.

B-127’s spark ached, and he was afraid, but he knew what he would have to do. He was being clumsy, at best, he knew. But the siphoning line came out of his kit anyway. Shaky servos attached it to his own neck, and then fumbled around until it found the proper port on Optimus.

It felt strange, scary, to share his own energon with a Prime. No matter how close they were, how much B-127 loved him. It just didn’t feel right.

But it was all he could do, and he had to accept that. B-127 hustled into his systems, clicking on a few data streams. Slow his energon intake until it was a drip of equal speed to Optimus’ leak, open up the link between them.

Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. For the Autobots, for Optimus’ life.

He was okay. It was okay.

B-127 shuffled until he was leaning against Optimus. Slowing his energon so much would do nothing but make him tired, and he wouldn’t be able to fight if anyone came to try to hurt Optimus. But at least Optimus would stay alive for a little longer.

If everything went well, he’d survive longer than B-127. So at least, if – when – rescue came, then Optimus had a better chance of being alive and awake for it.

B-127… didn’t know if he’d make it. But that was okay. He was okay with that. He had to be, or else he was a bad soldier, a bad scout. And all he lived for was Optimus.

He just hoped Optimus understood that.

He folded his knees to his chin, and he waited.

(:)

Energon levels were at only ten percent. But movement drawing near startled B-127 awake. Pedesteps softly pushing at the dirt, advancing across stone, closer and closer.

His optics shifted, scanning over the terrain and the nearing bots. Searching for– there. Autobot-red, the insignia glistening on strong shoulders and powerful chassises. Five bots, approaching quickly, with Jazz in the front.

Primus, they were safe. Optimus would be okay, they had held out.

“Oh,” Jazz said dully when his optics finally landed on their injured forms. He must’ve seen them from a ways off, but B-127 understood. There was something different about seeing something horrific up close. “Uh– someone contact Cogs, tell her we’ve got two injured bots over here, in need of repairs! One conscious,” that was offered with a small smile at B-127 that for once looked strained. And then he continued, “One offline.”

Offline?! But–

B-127 whipped his head around to stare at Optimus’ dull face, still just as motionless as ever. That could mean anything. Was he– Was he really offline? But B-127 had tried so hard–!

“Asleep–offline.” Jazz amended, crossing the last few steps over to them. “Spark’s still burning for both of them. Looks like O.P.’s leaking energon pretty bad and B’s…”

His optics roved over to the siphoning line in Optimus’ neck port and traced it back over to B-127. His expression somehow crumpled even more. “...B’s pretty low, too. Applying energon patches to them now.”

“Optimus first,” B-127 gasped, desperate. He reached out to squeeze Jazz’s arm, but even that was too much. Everything spun.

“Relax– Relax, kid. Redblaze has got it.” Jazz reassured. “Got him. I’ve got you. Just… lay back. We’re going to take off that cord.”

“No, it’s– It’s keeping Optimus alive–!”

“I know, B. I know. It was, but we’re here now. And we’re gonna take care of you, got it?” Jazz smoothed his servos over B-127’s horns and down to his shoulders. “Just take a couple vents, m’kay?”

Primus, just like Optimus. Sometimes, Jazz was just like Optimus.

“Trying,” B-127 sniffed, trying to vent. Jazz smoothed an energon patch over his chassis as he gasped, and he absorbed it like a sponge. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just–”

“I know,” Jazz said gently, reaching up to remove the cable. B-127 immediately shut down the flow so none of his precious energon would be spilled. “You’re going to be okay, B-127.” He pulled the scout into his arms, holding him gently in his arms. “It’s going to be okay.

“How can a Prime be this stupid? I swear, invulnerability is wasted on the invulnerable!” Cogs huffed, the medic squeezing past Jazz to start treating Optimus. “Why’d I even take this job when you’re all so desperate for death?”

“Calm down, Cogs.” Jazz hummed, standing up with B-127. “I’m going to take li’l B into camp, okay? When ya’ll get the chance, and make sure he’s stable, bring Optimus back too.”

“I know how to do my job,” Cogs muttered, like she wasn’t pulling a welder out of her subspace with barely even a glance at Optimus’ innerworkings. “We’ll bring him back if he gets stable enough.”

“If?” B-127 asked weakly.

Jazz tutted and turned away. “Don't listen to her. You’re low on energon, and so is Optimus. But Cogs is with him now. And you know that the only one better than her is Ratchet. So don’t worry.”

“I don’t want him to leak out,” B-127 whispered.

Jazz ran his digits over B-127’s neck port, uncharacteristically quiet for a long moment. “I know, B. You proved that already.”

B-127 squeezed his optics shut. He didn’t know what to say. He was scared, but he held on. Jazz knew what he was doing. He just had to trust in him. Trust that they’d take care of Optimus. What other choice did he have?

Chapter Text

Bumblebee woke up.

His systems slowly whirred into being, cataloging the grimey yellow of the Ark above him, followed by a hasty connection to any other processors around him, trying to calculate how long it had been. He detected about a dozen around him, and they seemed equally empty at the time as he was.

His optics fluttered around him, and he pushed himself upright, scanning the area.

He was happy to see Wheeljack standing over him, a data pad in hand, utter relief in his gaze. “Oh, thank Primus,” the mechanic sighed, dropping his helm and allowing his forehelm to rest against the ridge of the data pad. “Thank you, Primus…”

“Lookit him,” Jazz grinned from behind, and Bumblebee turned to stare at him. “I knew you wouldn’t stay down without hearing some of the Earth tunes– Let me tell ya, they’re even more groovy than the ones we’ve got on Cybertron.”

“Huh?” Bumblebee echoed, numbly, awkwardly shuffling himself off the medical berth that he had, apparently, been sitting on.

Something was around his intake, making his voice come out more staticy than he had been expecting. He lifted up his hand and felt it. A battle mask. One he apparently could not retract.

Last Bumblebee remembered, they had been fighting Decepticons. He must’ve taken quite a beating that he couldn’t remember, if they had to protect his face like this. “What… happened? Where’s everyone else? Are they okay?”

“Most of our forces were revived,” Optimus, the final bot in the room, said. Bumblebee turned to look at his Prime. He wasn’t standing too far away, but his expression was a weird mix of relieved and distant, not quite looking Bumblebee in the face. “You were the last. We were… unsure we would be able to repair you at all.”

“We were all locked in stasis for… centuries,” Wheeljack explained, shuffling from one pede to the other. “Whenever we try to get an exact date, nothing really lines up. Even Elita-1 didn’t exactly know. It might’ve only been a year or two.”

Elita-1? She hadn’t been on the Ark with them. Were they in communication with Earth? What happened?

“Surprised the Decepticons didn’t kill us while we were out,” Bumblebee joked, and  immediately noticed how everyone winced. Even Wheeljack and Jazz, who had been staring directly at him, were now finding sudden fascination in the walls. “...Fine. Okay. How many casualties? No, wait– That’s not important right now. Put me back in the field. Let’s go.”

“Ratchet’s gone.” Optimus briskly stated.

Bumblebee’s spark grew still in his chassis. He pressed his servo against it. “...Gone?”

“Shockwave killed him. He jumped in front of a shot meant for Cliffjumper.”

“Shockwave? But… We left him back on–”

“There was a problem with a spacebridge.” Optimus explained. “It is hard to explain, but… Shockwave is dead now. Cliffjumper is M.I.A., but we believe he got stuck on Cybertron. With… Elita.”

“And if you’re talking about the Ark… The Decepticons went into stasis, too.” Wheeljack told Bumblebee. “Teletraan started repairing us, but it got confused and… Starscream came back first.”

“We…” Optimus began, but stopped just as quickly. He thought for a long moment.

To Bumblebee’s surprise, neither Wheeljack nor Jazz tried to interrupt or stop him.

“We are surprised we were able to bring you back.” Optimus settled on at long last, servo reaching out as if he wanted to hold Bumblebee’s servo. The distance between them was too great, but Bumblebee reached out, too. “We almost… You…”

Bumblebee could read between the lines. He was the last one brought back. Starscream had been the first to wake up, and it was a surprise Bumblebee could walk and talk at all. Fun.

Fun fun fun fun fun.

This was exactly what he wanted his first impression of Earth to be. Learning he was a dead bot walking, so damaged to the point where even Optimus had apparently doubted his ability to jump back. And the Prime was practically the definition of optimism.

Bumblebee thought back over his memory, cataloging everyone’s tense forms. He did his best to remember if had an altercation with Starscream previously, but came up blank. Had Starscream seriously offlined him while he was in stasis? Bumblebee hadn’t even been able to fight back? Primus, that was embarrassing.

“Well don’t worry about that now!” Bumblebee enthused, waving both servos dismissively. His paint caught his eye. Fresh gold. Catching the light whenever he moved. It was too bright to be a reflection of the Ark’s gritty interior, which meant he was this bright on his own.

He must’ve seriously been gone if Teletraan-1 hadn’t simply pieced him back together but given him an upgrade. Was that what this mask was, too? Teletraan-1 trying to keep him alive, and the only way it could do that was by adding more?

He wondered what he would feel if he was able to worm his digits underneath his new battle mask and feel around a bit. Would there be a gaping hole? He couldn’t feel his mouth move. Was there just a speaker underneath there? A vocoder? 

How much of him had Teletraan-1 been forced to build over?

“Wow,” Bumblebee said instead of voicing all of these thoughts into being. “I’m all golden now! I’m a golden bug! Bee! Bug-bee! Bee-bug!” Wow, was his processor damaged or something, what was wrong with him? Aside from, y’know, nerves. “All shiny! Pretty good for a pile of scrap metal, huh? Man!”

Optimus and Wheeljack sighed in tandem, relief pouring off their shoulders in heavy waves. Mission accomplished, if he could get those two worrybots to relax.

“Yup,” Jazz grinned, moving in to set a heavy shoulder between Bumblebee’s shoulder blades. “Special edition, limited time copy, our new golden friend here!”

“It suits you,” Optimus said, a crinkle to his optics. “I am glad. I spoke to Skywarp for quite a while, trying to determine what best would suit your new needs. What would keep you safest.”

And... Gold was the best option? Seriously? Bumblebee was a scout, and gold was certainly… eye-catching. Even more so than yellow, which was more of a self-imposed challenge than anything else.

“If you like it,” Optimus continued, completely missing the way Bumblebee’s spark flickered with frustration. “Then you can most certainly keep it. Our Goldbug. A walking miracle.”

What.

“Thanks,” Bumb– Goldbug smiled, a lie pulling his face into all the wrong places. “I love it! Goldbug. Lookit me! New and improved! Ready to kick Decepticon tailpipe!”

“I am so relieved to have you back,” Optimus said, and finally crossed the distance between them. His servos smoothed out over the top of Goldbug’s helm and came to rest under his chin, affection filling his faceplate.

Scrap. Goldbug couldn’t stay mad at that.

Was he even mad or just confused? It wasn’t Optimus’ fault Goldbug had been scrapped, apparently. Cannibalized by Starscream, injured to such a point. He was just trying to adjust. Goldbug could understand.

“You will have your opportunity soon enough, my young friend,” Optimus reassured, pulling back after a nano-klik.

“Yeah,” Jazz put in. “Your golden opportunity.”

Wheeljack reached over and cuffed him.

So this is who I am now? Goldbug wondered, looking back at his hands. The more he looked, the less he liked it. Pretty on any other bot, maybe. Fitting a Prime in peacetime, perhaps.

But on him? A scout who had only known war, whose whole mission statement was never-be-caught? It felt wrong. What had Teletraan-1 been thinking? What had they all been thinking? This wasn’t him.

This wasn’t who he wanted to be.

Goldbug.

Nothing more than a pile of pretty scrap.

Chapter Text

“What’s that?!” Twitch asked in excitement, scrambling through the cave at high speeds, servos pressing against the rocks to try and get ahead.

“Twitch,” Bumblebee laughed, reaching out to grab her rotor brace and pull her back a bit. “Calm down! Show me what you’re seeing. Communication.”

“You never do,” Twitch pouted, and Thrash chuckled behind his servo, amused. She glared at her twin for a beat, and then pointed across the way at a slight glow emanating from the opposite end of the cave. “There’s something shining over there!”

“Good optics,” Bumblebee praised, turning back to face all four children at once. “We’re going to use our training for this one. We just spotted an unknown object. What’s our game plan?”

“Find out if it’s an unknown flying object?” Mo suggested, giggling.

“I don’t think a UFO would be down here,” Robby told her. “And even if it was one, Bumblebee would probably know what it is. It’s probably an Autobot thing.”

“Or Mom would know, because it’s G.H.O.S.T. thing!” Mo beamed.

“No, that’s not what I was looking for,” Bumblebee sighed, though he couldn’t exactly blame them. It wasn’t like he tried to train them and teach them how to be a scout, after all. He usually focused his lessons on the Terrans while the humans were at school. “Twitch? Thrash? Any thoughts?”

Twitch straightened, bursting with the want to get something right. She was competitive, perhaps to a fault. “While finding out specifics of it is a good idea, we should be approaching it with caution! We want to get a visual on it before we decide whether it’s worth leaving or collecting!”

“We want as much data on it as possible.” Thrash agreed thoughtfully. “Our job is information-gathering based.”

“That’s right, good job! I’ve got a scanner on me, so we’ll take readings on it first when we get a visual.” Bumblebee said. “Approach with caution. You four get behind me.”

Three of them groaned, but Twitch had already got her annoyance out of her system, and happily saluted at Bumblebee as she fell into step behind him.

Carefully walking across the stones, Bumblebee led them onwards. They made their way through the cave carefully, advancing step by step towards whatever the glowing artifact was.

As it came into view, Bumblebee’s optic ridges furrowed. It was a perfectly spherical object, a rock or something. It was white in colour, glowing so bright that it stung his eyes to look directly at it. Almost like the sun, he supposed.

He brought out his scanner, flashing it towards the object, and then held it down towards the kids so they could see the readings.

“That doesn’t look good,” Robby frowned, peering down at it thoughtfully.

“Um, I mean, it’s not necessarily good or bad?” Bumblebee frowned. “It just means it has high energy readings. Really high. I’ve never seen… I mean, I have, but it’s definitely something… Well, we can’t just leave it here.”

“So we’ve got to collect it.” Thrash frowned. “How do we do that?”

“We’ve got… Give me one second…” Bumblebee dug into his cab, searching for something he could use to grab it. All he found was a energon cube, but it would have to do. “Alright. A vital part of being a scout is adaptiveness. But we’ve got to be careful, okay?”

“Uh. That’s an energon cube.” Robby said. “I don’t know how that’d help us.”

“Wow. Didn’t expect to be questioned.” Bumblebee rolled his eyes. “Here. I know you don’t need it, but Twitch, Trash, drink this.”

Thrash hesitantly grabbed it and slurped half of it down before passing it onto his twin, who gulped the rest immediately. She wrinkled her olfactory sensor and stuck out her tongue, but handed it back to Bumblebee promptly.

Bumblebee rolled his eyes, holding the cube carefully. “Okay, this is something you won’t learn in comics, kids. Energon is explosive. So our tanks are made up of sturdy stuff, because before it gets processed, a misfire can make everything go up in flames.”

He chuckled under his breath, holding up the cube as an example. “Our containment cubes are even thicker! During the war, Cons used to hijack our freighter ships and turn them into bombs against us. They should’ve just stolen our energon, but I guess they preferred destroying us to surviving!”

“That’s not funny,” Thrash complained. “You have to stop trying to make us laugh!”

Bumblebee shrugged. “Ah, well, can’t win them all.”

He turned back to the orb. “Well, watch and learn! Because these cubes can hold about anything. Shouldn’t be hard to contain it. Stay here just in case. If something goes wrong – and it won’t! – what do we do in case of an emergency?”

“Go home, find Mom, contact Optimus.” The children all recited as one, rolling their eyes and kicking their pedes.

“Good!” Bumblebee praised.

The chances of them actually obeying were slim, but at least they knew better.

He crossed the rest of the way over to the sphere, holding the cube and its lid in either servo, creeping up on the orb. It twirled in mid air, slowly rotating. Bumblebee lowered the sensitivity in his optics, until all he could see was the orb.

He wondered if, when he put the cube back into his subspace, if his chassis would be glowing like Optimus’, with the Matrix. A tad blasphemous, maybe, but at least it would serve as a reason to teach the Terrans how to lower their own sensitivity to bright lights.

Bumblebee carefully lined up the cube on either side of the sphere, trying to get it to evenly line up. It was only just big enough to fit it, and could spell disaster if he wasn’t careful. Like, what if he dropped it?

Even with it levitating. Hmm.

Bumblebee vented deeply, and then slammed the cube down around the sphere.

A flash of light snapped out of the orb, and he felt a ripple of energy grapple with his chassis.  It didn’t exactly hurt, but it– Frag. He pushed through long enough to snap the cube shut, and then the tremors knocked him to his knees.

He gasped against the rocky floor, trying to get a grip. His processor spun, trying to catalog information and get a grip on what was happening. Everything was fading in and out of focus, the energy stealing his attention away again and again.

The sphere was definitely dangerous. Bumblebee took the orb and stuffed it into his cab, hiding it away.

And then everything went black.

(:)

“What happened?!” Thrash squawked as the light encasing Bumblebee faded away, and their mentor toppled onto his side.

“I don’t know!” Twitch cried, lurching forward across the rocks to approach their mentor. Robby shouted her name, but she ignored her older brother, her attention solely on Bumblebee, scrambling across the rocks to get to him.

She came to a stop over him, peering down at his still figure. He looked… small.

No, he didn’t just look small, he was small. He was her size!

Oh no. That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all.

“Twitch! Come here!” Thrash begged, but even he was starting towards her. Mo grabbed his servo just in time to stop her. “Bumblebee told us that we had to go–!”

“Give me a second!” Twitch said, leaning down to wrap Bumblebee up in her arms. He came easily, to her utter horror. He wasn’t nearly as heavy as he used to be. He felt like he was exactly the same weight as Thrash.

She looked down at his frame as she hovered, dragging him along with her. He was missing a lot of the plating he used to have, and his armor was more sharp, his edges smoother. He was bulkier in some places, but definitely more scrapy.

He looked… younger. This couldn’t be good. This couldn't be good at all.

“Let’s get him home,” Twitch said urgently to her siblings as she rejoined them. Their mouths were all agape, staring at their tiny, tiny mentor.

It was the most scared she had ever been.

(:)

B-127 woke up with something weird underneath him. It was prickly, rubbing against his plating weirdly and causing a shudder of stimulation to cascade through him. His olfactory sensor wrinkled, and he whined under his breath, adjusting his arms beneath him as he rolled over.

His optics caught the sight of the yellow flakes beneath him, and, well. That wasn’t mesh. It was something else, something odd and smooth. He wouldn’t exactly call it comfortable, by any means, but it was slightly better than the typical metal berths if there wasn’t so much of it, getting into his joints and stinging.

A quick scan proved that it was organic. Worse than that, it was deceased. As if organics didn’t carry enough diseases and infections alive!

B-127 scrambled to his pedes, backing away from the organic stuff, grumbling under his breath. What was this kind of thing doing on Cybertron? Organic materials were banned aside from labs, and he hated labs enough that he would never step pede in one, even under penalty of death.

Maybe only Autobots obeyed the ban, though. He bet Decepticons still carried some. They were evil like that. Made him wonder why Breakdown had willingly joined them at all.

“You’re awake!” An excited voice chimed behind him, and B-127 pivoted around on his heel struts, his right servo transforming into a blaster.

A femme minibot startled at the other end of his barrel. She was standing directly outside the small structure B-127 was apparently in. At the sight of his blaster, she quickly held up her servos in surrender. “Ah–! Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you! You–! Are you feeling okay? Are you alright?”

B-127 stared at her. He didn’t move his gun away, optics roving over her. He didn’t see an Autobot insignia on her. But, she also didn’t have a Decepticon insignia. So she was likely a neutral, which could be equally as dangerous.

He took a step back. Around the edge of the door she was standing next to, another mech poked his helm around the edge. “Hey! Oh, uh– B? It’s just us! Remember…?”

“No,” B-127 spat at him. “Who the scrap are you?! What am I doing here?!”

The two minibots exchanged a look.

And then the femme said, channeling her vents to project her vents, “MOOOOOM?!”

What the actual scrap?!

B-127 fired, and the mech tackled her out of the way, the two of them disappearing around the side of the door. B-127 took a step backwards, thinking fast. Whoever they called for, whoever “Mom” was, would probably end up being bigger. Stronger. The boss, the person in charge.

B-127 was missing vital information on how he got here, what was going on. His sensors said it’d been thousands of years, but that couldn’t be right. Something had happened. Something bad.

He had to find out what was going on.

B-127 transformed into Altmode, hover capabilities kicking in. He launched himself forward, surging out the doors, just barely managing to tip enough to avoid clipping his side on the organic construction material.

And then he felt something clip his metal. Something painful. It hurt bad.

B-127 let out a surprised cry as he toppled, barely remembering to transform in time to hit the ground and roll to his pedes. He reached up his servo to touch the injury, melded into his shoulder, hissing under his breath.

It was a tiny metal ball embedded into his armor. It hadn’t gone all the way through, hadn’t even nicked a fuel line, and it wasn’t big at all, smaller than even the tip of his digit. But it still hurt like scrap.

“Bumble-b,” a voice shouted, and B-127 lifted his head, instinct telling him to look, that was the voice of a commander, and instead locked optics with an organic. “Did you just try to shoot my kids?!”

Remember, Jazz’s voice hissed into his audial. Don’t say anything if caught. Don’t admit to anything, don’t even try to lie. Silence is your best friend, li’l B. Don’t forget it.

B-127 locked his dermas shut, and glared at the organic, getting back up to continue moving. His optics settled on a blaster in the organic’s arms. It shot metal. Not lasers. Metal. Like some old-timey gun from way back during the Quintesson age.

“He doesn’t remember us, Mom!” The mech cried, alarmed.

B-127’s optics rolled over to him, and found the minibot flanked by two smaller organics, servos balled into fists.

“That’s not an excuse to go attack kids!” The first organic scoffed. “Even if he’s a kid himself! I hope he remembers something, because I got off the phone with Megs, so Optimus should be here soon–”

Optimus. B-127’s processor locked onto the name, and he stared at the organics. Optimus. What happened to him? Was he meeting with one of the leaders of this neutral clan? Were the organics in charge, had they captured the Prime?!

B-127 lifted up his fists, dentas pulling into a snarl. “Not slowing my roll, organic.”

“That’s Ranger Malto to you,” the organic scoffed. “And you better not try anything funny, or I will shoot you. You’re staying put, bumble-b.”

What the scrap was a bumble-b? Was it because he went toppling like a loser, or missed his shot? Because he bumbled everything? Because he was a b model?

Oh, these organics had jokes. They had jokes!

“Primus,” B-127 spat, rolling back and forth on his heels. He thought about it, gaze slipping past the organic at the foliage behind it. With his paint, it would be hard to blend in, but he’d manage. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw much of the same. In fact, they were surrounded. He just had to make it to it, and he would survive. “You organics are insufferable.”

“You’re the one who touched a magical orb and got yourself… messed up.” The organic scoffed. It readied its blaster, pointing it directly at B-127. “And who shot at my kids. So, no, you’re not leaving ‘till your dad gets here.”

And what the scrap was a “dad”?! A warden or something? Organics had such weird words for things.

“I’m texting him now,” The smallest organic shouted, digits pressing against a device. “So he hurries up.”

“See if he can comm in,” The largest organic advised, still frowning down its barrel at him. “Might calm him down until he arrives.”

“Aaand, sent!” The smallest chirped, looking up again. Her optics were wide, and full of nervous fear.

For a moment, B-127 felt a wash of regret. He wasn’t meaning to scare any of them, especially if they were kids, like him. But, then again, as far as he could figure, they had kidnapped him, and he had been shot at. So there was no way they were kind and gracious hosts! It didn’t matter who shot first. Who even cared about statistics like that?

“I told you guys we should’ve taken the orb out of him,” said the middle organic, shifting from pede to pede. “It’s what shrunk him; I bet it’s keeping him small!”

“He said the cube would contain it,” the femme said nervously. “It shouldn't be able to affect him through it, would it?”

“Well, he also said it’d be fine if he was fast, but he was wrong! Just look at him!” The mech waved at B-127. “He’s all tiny!”

“You aren’t much bigger,” B-127 snapped, taking a step back. If he kept moving, then perhaps he could get to the foliage before they got to him. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice him steadily backing away.

The tallest organic’s finger was on the trigger, and it was watching him closely. So it’d be odd if the organic didn’t notice his escape attempt. He wouldn’t be able to dodge fast enough if she decided to fire, and those pieces of metal…

They weren’t as deadly as, say, a plasma cannon could be, but with them managing to embed into his armor… One good shot is all it took, and he was pretty sure the first shot was meant to be a warning. He didn’t want to know how good of a shot it could be.

“B,” The organic said again. “Hold on. Stop moving. I don’t actually want to shoot you, but you shouldn’t go running off on your own. We can talk about this, but you’ve got to sit down for a–”

B-127’s audial clicked, and he jumped. ::Comm from: …Optimus Prime::

Oh, thank Primus. Thank Primus.

B-127 transformed his right arm to a blaster, reaching up with his left digits to touch his audial, clicking accept. “Optimus,” he greeted, desperate. “Optimus, is that you? Something weird’s going on– Why are we on an organic planet?!”

::...Bumble-b. It’s okay. Everything is fine.::

“What–” B-127’s spark squeezed in confusion. “Why do people keep–” Wait, was that even Optimus? He hadn’t run the proper security check on Optimus’ voice. “Nevermind, nevermind. Just– tell me what’s happening!”

::It is a long story,:: Optimus said kindly, and the security check came up positive. That was his unique voice signature. ::It spans thousands of years. Ranger Malto said that you got injured and… shrunk? Mo says you lost your memory.::

B-127 ran a check on his processor. Nothing came up wrong. Which didn’t track with anything Optimus was saying. “No, everything’s coming up great. I mean, I did lose some time, but it doesn’t say I lost any memory?”

::Hold on, I’ll be there shortly to explain. The Maltos are safe people, B.::

“The big one’s pointing a blaster at me,” B-127 snarked, narrowing his eyes at the organic. It smirked from behind the barrel, but didn’t lower the weapon. “It sure doesn’t feel safe. Organics, they–” He lowered his voice box, half-turning away from them to hiss into his mic, optics barley keeping the organics in his view, “–they carry diseases.”

“Who you callin’ diseased?” The big organic chuckled, and B-127 whipped back around to glare at her.

::B, calm yourself.:: Optimus chuckled. ::These organics clean themselves. They aren’t nearly as dangerous as you might think. She is simply… She is dramatic. She knows what she wants::

“Uh, she also shot me. With metal!”

::...I’ll be there shortly. Did it hit anything important? Wheeljack can buff you out.::

“No, it's just– Wheeljack? What happened to Ratchet?”

::He… It’s a long story. I’ll explain everything once I get there. It will take me seven kliks.:: 

Seven kliks?! Ugh, yeah, he could do it, he just… He really, really didn’t want to.

He dropped his blaster with a groan, burying his helm into his servos. “Ugh, fine, I’ll sit down, or…” B-127 looked down between his pedes at the dirt and the soft green organic stuff. “Eughh, don’t you have anywhere… nonorganic?”

“No.” The big organic dropped her gun, smiling at him. “Afraid this is the best we’ve got, kiddo. Unless you want to go back to the hay.” 

“Fine,” B-127 grumbled, crossing his arms and sitting down on the weird ground, folding his legs stubbornly underneath him. “I’ll just stay right here. Only until Optimus arrives.”

“Okay,” the femme breathed in relief. “Okay, he’s calm now!”

“And he’s totally not going to fire at us again!” The mech agreed, in a tone that B-127 couldn’t tell was sarcastic or not. “Are we sure he’s going to… stay down?”

“Yes.” B-127 snapped. ““He” is. Just until Optimus gets here.” He shoved his digit into the dirt and drew the biggest frowny face he could. “And only because he told me to.”

“Okayyy,” the medium sized organic said. “That’s good? It’s good, right, mom?”

“It’ll do.” The largest organic said. “We’ll figure this out together. It’ll be okay, bumble-b.”

“Stop calling me that,” B-127 grumbled.

None of them listened.

Chapter Text

It was unsettling, to watch Bumblebee pace restlessly in one of their makeshift cells and know it wasn’t Bumblebee behind that listless gaze at all. During his brief journey into Megatron’s mind, the cortical psychic patch had somehow placed Megatron into Bumblebee’s mind as well.

Ratchet had barely been able to restrain Bumblebee and the shard of dark energon before the warlord-in-a-scout’s-body could escape, and had stuck him in the cell until further notice.

Watching Bumblebee now, Optimus felt cold. Sympathy and dread flooded his systems in a messy mix of chemicals. He was so utterly scared for his scout.

“Are you certain we cannot put him into stasis?” Optimus asked, unable to turn his gaze away from Bumblebee’s glowing blue optics.

“We tried that already, remember?” Ratchet grunted, tinkering with a data pad in his servos so he didn’t have to look at Bumblebee at all. “Megatron managed to override it. That’s the whole reason they were able to get the shard at all.”

“Not a recharge stasis,” Optimus disagreed, “A stasis lock. Render him unable to wake, at all, until we have a cure. I am fully aware that we have the equipment for it, after all.”

“There’s no way of telling if that would completely shut down his mind,” Ratchet huffed, “or keep it active. This entire scenario is completely unprecedented, and I hate the idea of thinking we solved things when Bumblebee is left to deal with Megatron all alone. Besides,” he added softly, “They shouldn’t have been able to wake up from the recharge stasis, either.”

Optimus closed his optics and finally managed to turn his helm away from Bumblebee. “Perhaps you are right, old friend. I, too, hate the idea that he is locked alone with Megatron.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it.” Ratchet snapped, and if Optimus didn’t know him as well as he did, he would’ve missed the thread of concern hidden underneath. “For now, anyway.”

“This is a poor situation for everyone involved,” Optimus whispered to himself. “But most especially for our young scout. I cannot imagine what he is going through in his own head.”

“I don’t want to imagine it at all.” Ratchet’s voice dropped several octaves, glancing behind them. Speaking at normal volume, both of them knew their voices carried through the doors. Whispering, however, meant it was significantly harder to hear. “He must be undergoing great torture at Megatron’s servos.”

“He clearly has no control over himself,” Optimus agreed, “or I know he would be trying to communicate. The fact that Megatron has not tried to threaten us in Bumblebee’s voice means that our scout, at the very least, is withholding his glossary from him.”

“He’s likely holding so much more back,” Ratchet put in, a flood of affection flooding his tone. “Because Bumblebee would rather die than give up anything important to Megatron. We both know that’s true. He’s proven it over and over.”

Yes, Tyger Pax.

The worst day of Optimus’ life, but it was worse for Bumblebee tenfold. Optimus hadn’t even seen what Bumblebee looked like until Ratchet was already up to his servos in repairs on him, and none of the rescue party had dared speak up on his state. But it had been bad. That much was evident from the state of his voice box alone.

All because he wouldn’t talk and tell Megatron where the Allspark was.

Optimus sighed, settling on the ground beside Ratchet, their back struts against the cell door. “His loyalty always comes at a price, doesn’t it? I know he is choosing our safety over control of his body. I cannot help feel grateful but upset all at once.”

“Naturally,” Ratchet agreed, closing his eyes and tipping his helm against Optimus’ shoulder as they both sat and listened to Bumblebee’s endless pedesteps. “I think the most tragic part is how much I know he would choose our safety if given the choice. If he had control over his body…”

Bumblebee would shoot himself. Without hesitation.

Optimus could see it in his processor, playing out over and over. His canon against his own chin, firing if only to defeat Megatron once and for all. He would protect them, no matter the cost, that much was true.

Optimus found that he no longer wanted to imagine it either.

“Megatron will take more and more until there’s nothing left of our scout.” Optimus said, feeling the blame settling in his tank. If only he had been more careful in the Autobot ship, then they could’ve avoided all of this. The Cybonic Plague, apparently, did not need to be active to take bots away from them. “I do not know how much longer we have with him.”

“I can’t think of anything,” Ratchet sighed, rubbing his digits over his audials. “Perhaps it’s the stress, or the exhaustion, or maybe because we’re so slagging low on energon, but… Is there really anything we can do? Aside from ending his suffering, that is.”

“You cannot be suggesting we…” Optimus did not want to say it. He stared at the wall.

Ratchet froze. “It would be… a mercy.”

“We are not giving up hope.” Optimus scoffed. “You’re right. Perhaps you are too tired to think. Go recharge. I will keep watch over Bumblebee until you return.”

“You’re still recovering from being sick, Optimus. I’m not leaving you here alone. We can get Arcee or Bulkhead to do it, and we can both sleep.” Despite his words, Ratchet didn’t try to move. He inspected his digits. “...I am worried about Rafael. He swore he would stay by Bumblebee’s side until he woke, even after he should’ve gone home.”

“Yes, he was here when we returned, was he not?”

“Right, but Bulkhead took him home anyway. It’s too dangerous with Megatron here, and I feel we should keep all the children away for a good long while. What if he escapes? I would never forgive myself.”

“I know it.” Optimus heard Bumblebee stop moving on the opposite side, and the door thunked as the scout likely put his full weight against the door. “I wonder if Megatron will even allow him to sleep…”

“I don’t know.” Ratchet’s optics shuttered closed. “Megatron is a monster, so I can’t imagine he is making any part of this easy for Bumblebee.”

“Our poor scout… How scared he must be…”

(:)

Bumblebee felt his helm twist, unbidden, to press an audial against the door. Neither he nor Megatron could pick up on what Optimus and Ratchet were saying on the other end, and it came with a blossom of relief.

Bumblebee was a scout. Most of the time, that involved spying. He never wanted to end up spying against the other Autobots, even if he was only doing so by proxy.

It didn’t remove the fear from the situation, the endless tug-of-war against his spark as Megatron tried to urge him on.

We’re not getting out of here, Bumblebee sneered at the warlord. It was a moderate relief that, at least, in the bowels of their mind, they could understand one another. He thought he might go insane if he had to go through this without the gift of communication. They won’t let us.

I’m sure you and I will figure something out, Megatron returned, calm and demeaning. We simply need to bide our time. They’ll have to open the door to deliver energon cubes, will they not?

Bold of you to assume they’re going to feed us. Maybe they’ll let us starve until I’m forced to enter stasis. Bumblebee pointed out, forcing the fact that he knew that would never happen out of the area of his processor that Megatron could access. His locked files got a little more full. And then you truly can’t do anything.

Your Autobot allies would not be so cruel! Especially to their own darling scout.

As far as they know, I’m gone. It’s only you home, now. Bumblebee bluffed. It’d be better for everyone if they pulled the trigger. With you locked with me, or with you dead, it’ll be a little easier to take down the Decepticons. After all, Starscream is a bad leader.

Starscream… Megatron hissed, irritated. That blundering coward. I will kill him.

Cool. Bumblebee dithered.

He winced as Megatron sprang to his pedes and swung his fist against the wall. The concrete caved underneath the blow, and the metal of his hand twisted and cracked. He pulled it back, staring at the sparking digits.

Optimus and Ratchet’s helms popped back into view of the window, surprise and worry decorating their features.

What the frag, this is your body, too! Bumblebee complained, unable to turn his head to try to reassure them. Don’t destroy it, or you really won’t be able to even attempt an escape.

Do not tell me what to do, you pathetic scout!

Bumblebee shrugged in his mind alone, and Megatron forced them to begin to pace again. Their digits shook, spasming unevenly, losing control. Warning screens popped up across his HUD, and Bumblebee relented control of his HUD for Megatron. Bumblebee knew it was unwise to give him an inch, but he found he didn’t care.

At least this part of him was something he didn’t care for and would just annoy Megatron more than anything.

Sure enough, a nano-klik later, he felt a pulse of irritation come from Megatron, but he didn’t try to shove it back on Bumblebee. A win-win, while they were stuck in this body together.

“Oh, Bumblebee…” Ratchet mourned, his voice sounding like it was coming from underwater.

Instinctively, Bumblebee twisted his helm around to stare, temporarily overriding Megatron’s control. Megatron wrestled back dominance if only to sour his expression at Ratchet. 

The medic barely flinched. “What is he doing to you?” Ratchet said, voice lowering too much for Bumblebee and Megatron to hear him halfway through, but their logic processors were able to guess the rest.

Optimus’ servo rested heavily on Ratchet’s shoulder, and Bumblebee’s optics rested on it. Megatron’s desire to rip the arm right off of Optimus was almost overwhelming, and Bumblebee ordered a scrub of his systems.

Megatron clicked in annoyance as they powered down for five nano-kliks, but he could do nothing to stop it. It couldn’t even get rid of Megatron. It was a hindrance, an interruption, but not a permanent solution.

Frag, Bumblebee hated this. He hated this so much, but there was nothing to do about it.

Megatron’s pacing got a little faster.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee grunted, reaching up to try to reach Megatron’s arm, pedes kicking against his legs and knees. His free servo couldn’t reach quite far enough to sting him. Frag, he bet Prowl could’ve handled this.

“Really?” Megatron scowled, shaking Bumblebee so hard his processor got jumbled. He turned to glare at his underlings, scoffing. “You couldn’t even capture one little Autobot without my assistance? Lugnut, Blitzwing, I expected better of you!”

“Why?” Bumblebee asked, a smirk growing on his face. “They’re just a pair of rusty skidplates, they haven’t got the skills to catch me–!”

“Ooh, shut him up, boss!” Blitzwing groaned, swinging his arms back and forth. “He is so annoying! Ya’, and loud, too!”

“I could say that to you, too, bolts-for-brains!” Bumblebee protested, aiming for another kick against Megatron. It didn’t do much at all. He wasn’t used to being held up so high. Not like he made a habit of it.

Prime tried to teach him – really, all of them – how to escape from as many scenarios as he could. The amount of times Prime had scooped him up and tucked him under an arm and then went “Okay, now get down.” was erring on the annoying side of things.

Maybe Bumblebee could’ve forgiven it, but it wasn’t really helping against someone three times Optimus’ size. So now he was just bitter.

“I’m afraid,” Megatron grinned, his dentas on full display as he peered down at Bumblebee. “That I won’t be shutting him up. And you’ll see why soon enough. Lugnut, Blitzwing, come with me.” His optics drifted over to the Constructicons, and he scoffed underneath his breath. “Scrapper, Mixmaster, you’ll have your turn soon enough. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Yes, boss,” Scrapper drawled, not really paying attention to Bumblebee.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Mixmaster heaved over a barrel.

Bumblebee really hated them. As sorry as he was that Bulkhead’s plan to rehabilitate them failed, he was glad to see them stinking up someone else’s base with their bad habits and oil stench.

He was significantly less glad that Megatron was still holding him at arm’s length, marching through the halls of their base that was, apparently, a lot bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Bumblebee didn’t get much of a chance to wonder how they got the chance to build such a big base before Megatron was throwing him down onto the ground.

The doors behind them clicked closed, and Bumblebee hissed between his clenched dentas, tilting his head up to glare up at Megatron.

“We have yet to put this to good use.” Megatron mused, staring out over Bumblebee’s helm at the room behind him. “Autobot, you will find behind you a maze. Blitzwing and Lugnut will be hunting you down throughout it. Their goal is to catch you, by any means necessary.”

Uh. What?

“Uh, what?” Bumblebee laughed, but it came out strained. He swallowed, and tried again. “What? You do realize that I’m the fastest thing on Earth, right? I’m so totally going to out maneuver these punks! They’re going to be asking for their manufacturer before they catch me!”

“If I could catch you in two kliks, then they will learn to catch you before the lunar-cycle.” Megatron hissed at him. “Besides, I think you missed the “by any means necessary”. Feel free to shoot him, even if it means the only thing you end up retrieving is scrap metal.”

“It’ll be my pleasure, boss.” Lugnut rumbled, peering at Bumblebee with optics that glimmered with the need for approval.

Bumblebee suddenly felt very, very small.

“When will the bug start running?” Blitzwing asked excitedly, readying his blaster excitedly. “I want to squash him under my heel! Shut him up!”

“Careful, Blitzwing.” Megatron warned, but his tone carried no real infliction. “If he’s really as good as he claims, and if he truly can’t shut up, you may need his voice to find him. But if you really want a challenge… By all means. I won’t stop you.”

“A challenge!” Blitzwing chirped excitedly. “That sounds most excellent, ya’ ya’!”

Bumblebee touched his throat, pedes twisting around to form wheels as he screeched backwards. He felt like Sari on her roller skates, but at least it was easier for him to go in reverse then it was for her.

He transformed in one fluid motion, twisting around to start going through the maze. His optics scanned the walls, gauging how tall they were. Certainly too big for him to jump over and cut corners, but he could figure out other ways.

His optics darted behind him just before he turned around the first corner of the maze, and spotted Blitzwing and Lugnut starting after him. Megatron stood, immobile, watching.

He wasn’t bluffing when he told Megatron he was the fastest bot on Earth. Faster than any of his cronies, that was for sure. He just had to lure Megatron away from the door, at least to the entrance of the maze, and he would probably be able to pry it open and escape.

Bumblebee wasn’t about to become a bunch of crazy bots’ target practice.

His tires skid across the ground, and he continued on, keeping to the left. Prowl had said something about that, when it came to mazes. “Stay on one side to make your way to the exit.” He said specifically left, but Bumblebee was fairly certain it didn’t matter what side you started on as long as you kept with it.

He might have to skip a turn or two to avoid being backed into corners, to avoid “predictability”, or whatever Ratchet said, but that was fine. He’d figure it out. He would, he would, he would.

He turned his wheels again, rubber screeching against the metal, traction losing out for only a second, and then he was spinning back into action again.

Thumping erupted from above, and Bumblebee lifted his gaze in time to see Blitzwing, running along the top of the maze, high up. Of course he was big enough to jump up and stay above. The huge showoff.

That was fine. Bumblebee just had to use his intuition to stay ahead, and be fast enough that nothing hit him.

He turned again, wincing to himself as one of his mirrors hit the metal wall and scraped, noise echoing through the maze.

“Ha!” Lugnut laughed from far, far behind, voice echoing. “Even without talking he makes too much noise!”

“Frag you!” Bumblebee shouted, and then immediately regretted it as Blitzwing began to cackle. He pushed his engines to make him drive faster, lowering his undercarriage as much as it would go.

And then something struck him.

Something warm and cold all at once, barely a graze, hitting his door with enough force to make him go flying. Bumblebee screamed, detransforming if only to catch himself, servos lifting up to protect his face from the wall. He went to the ground in an instant, cold pain shooting through his side.

“Slag,” he hissed to himself, tucking his servos protectively around the injury. It had just been a laser wound, had hardly hit him, and now he was on the ground, rivets of pain shooting through him. “Slag, slag, slag!”

“I don’t know,” Blitzwing huffed, landing down a bit away from him, sticking the superhero landing before advancing. “This seems like my lucky day. Are you coming quietly, or are you running?”

Bumblebee flipped over onto his side, starting his transformation again, but Blitzwing grabbed his leg before he could get too far and pulled him back.

“Oh, too slow!” Blitzwing beamed. “Haha, and you said you were the fastest!”

“Ha! And Megatron thought we’d need to work at it,” Lugnut laughed, appearing around the edge of the wall. “No, no, it’s always a good idea to hone our skills. Megatron will be pleased.”

“Ya, with me. You did nothing! All me!” Blitzwing bragged, palm to his chassis. “I do not share credit! Except with me! Ya, and with me!”

“Glad I was caught by the crazy one instead of the slow one,” Bumblebee groaned, rolling his optics. “I mean, neither are ideal, but–!”

He should’ve seen it coming when Lugnut ripped him out of Blitzwing’s servo and slammed him against the ground. After all, he had been provocative on purpose. And yet, it still knocked the wind straight out of him, and he stared at the ceiling, heaving for breath.

“Oh no,” said Blitzwing, giddy, “You made him mad!”

“Not hard to do,” Bumblebee wheezed, kicking against the floor to try to get away. “His fuse is pretty short as–!”

Lugnut scooped him up, and threw him back the way he had come.

Bumblebee went tumbling, servos gripping the ground, trying to steady himself long enough to transform. However, relief never arrived, Lugnut already breaking into a run before he even came to a stop.

Lugnut kicked him.

“I don’t think Megatron meant literal scrap metal,” Blitzwing warned, almost managing to sound nervous. “Perhaps you should do the… calming down?”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Lugnut grunted, twisting his helm to glare at Blitzwing.

In his distraction Bumblebee scrambled to his feet to run. He didn’t get a single pede forward before Blitzwing fired again, the shot nailing him straight in the back. The moment he hit the ground, Lugnut stomped down, hard, keeping him trapped.

Bumblebee couldn't stop the keening wail from ripping out of his voice box, digits frantically digging at the metal, trying to escape. Lugnut didn’t budge the slightest bit.

Desperation rose up in his spark chamber, flooding his senses. Prowl had said, once, that his best trait was being annoying, so he better use that to his advantage. It had worked once on Blitzwing, please let it work on Lugnut too–! “You know,” Bumblebee wheezed. “I really don’t think this is what Megatron meant as “practice”!”

“He didn’t specify.” Lugnut snarled, reaching down to grab Bumblebee’s helm, moving his pede only to lift the Autobot into the air. “And he said he wanted you to be scra–SCRAP!”

Bumblebee’s stingers hit his wrist, and the much bigger bot let go with a hiss, stumbling backwards. Bumblebee dropped to the ground and took off running as soon as he landed, daring not to hesitate for a nano-klik.

Blitzwing’s next shot barely missed, hitting the wall behind him.

Bumblebee took off back the way he came, optics on a swivel even as he transformed and took off. Lugnut was right behind him for a turn, but Bumblebee used the momentum to speed ahead. He heard the tell-tale noises of Blitzwing climbing up high again, and his spark flared in his chassis.

He had to stay away from them.

Back the way he came, Bumblebee wondered if he should start making all the extra turns on the other side as he went, but he kept going straight anyway, on and on. He just had to stay ahead of them, and maybe if he got to a more open area, he could–

Bumblebee came to a screeching halt before he could slam into Megatron, hovering right at the end of the maze. Scrap, scrap, how had he forgotten about the Decepticon leader?!

He knew how; too distracted by Lugnut and Blitzwing and everything they wanted to do to him, but… Prime and Ratchet would be so disappointed if they learned he had let himself be distracted.

Megatron reached down before Bumblebee could do a donut, grabbing him by his scruff and scoffing down at him. “Well, it appears “being fast” is your only redeeming quality. Combined with your ego and stupidity, it’s a wonder you managed to get into the Autobots.”

Bumblebee steered away from telling him that he never, technically, got accepted into the Autobots. That was too much information for no reason, he knew.

“Let go,” Bumblebee demanded, Megatron finally close enough for him to stab his stinger into the bot’s arm.

Except Megatron didn’t even react at the stab of energy, glaring down at him. “Are you quite finished?” Megatron demanded. His optics trailed up before Bumblebee could reply, locking on Lugnut and Blitzwing as they came into view.

“He got away from you.” He snapped, and dropped Bumblebee again. Just like Lugnut, he kicked Bumblebee before he could get his feet underneath him, sending him rolling. “Pathetic. The lowest of the low. Autobot, you may want to start running.”

Bumblebee hated it, but he took Megatron’s advice. Servos shoving against the ground, he pushed himself upright and took off running.

Before he could even brush between Lugnut and Blitzwing to run, they started to fire.

Chapter Text

“Jazz,” Bumblebee cursed, digging through rubble even though his digits were already dented and damaged. “Jazz, come on. You have to be somewhere in here.”

He ducked down as Seekers swept overhead, scanning the rocky remains for any sign of life. His plating was just dirty enough that he blended in perfectly with the rocks. He turned his voice’s volume down again a few clicks after they left, if only to make sure he remained undetected.

Once their engines faded into nothing, Bumblebee resumed digging. “Jazz, please, you’ve got to answer me. Where’d you go–? Jazz!”

Jazz’s twitching face came into view, visor cracked but still concealing his optics. “Hey, li’l Bee… How’s the vibe…?”

“Shut your voice box up,” Bumblebee urged, gesturing down urgently, trying to urge him to quiet down, optics on the skies. “There’s still Seekers patrolling. I don’t know how long we’ve got until they come back, but…”

“Bee,” Jazz whispered, quieter. “I’m leaking energon something fierce.”

Well. Scrap. Bumblebee eyed his chassis, and sure enough, he could see energon oozing up from between bent plating. There was even more staining the rocks below him. This was the job of a professional medic, and Bumblebee barely had enough on him for a sprain.

“Look, don’t think I’m gonna make it, Bee.” Jazz rasped. “It’s just getting worse the longer I’m here, y’know? Our whole force is gone, too. All those humans… Primus.”

“Primus,” Bumblebee echoed, ducking his head. They had come out here with a solid fifty humans. They died in the earlier attack. A few well placed blasts, paired with Skywarp’s quick instincts and Thundercracker’s devastating blows… And they were alone now.

If Jazz truly died, here and now, then Bumblebee would be alone, too.

“Look, li’l Bee,” Jazz said, reaching out a servo that Bumblebee immediately took. “We don’t have a lot of time. We’ve got good information while out here. Someone’s gotta take it back to base. Someone’s gotta finish the mission, Bee.”

“Scrap, I know that, Jazz, I know that.” Bumblebee curled his hands into fists. “If I could fix you, I would, but I… I…” He swallowed down whatever grief he felt, activating whatever protocols he could to shut it down. This was going to hit him like a truck when he got back to the base, he knew, but he couldn’t afford that right now.

“Com’n, li’l Bee, don’t go soft on me now,” Jazz wheezed. “I’ve got a… I’ve got everything saved right here.” He held up his wrist gauntlet, but it fell right back down a second later. “You’ve gotta plug in and download the data.”

“Copy,” Bumblebee scrambled in his cab, pulling out their transfer cable and plugging it into Jazz’ arm. His own was quick to follow.

Jazz was too weak to start the download himself, so Bumblebee activated his wrist gauntlet and did it for him. They watched the files start to pour in, quick with the manual connection.

“Hey,” Jazz said. “One more thing, Bee. You’re going to have to shoot me. In my processor, and my arm. Gotta make sure no information trades. If they find me… I can’t be used against us. I can’t survive, and no information can, either.”

Bumblebee was doing such a great job at stamping down the grief. There wasn’t even any lubricant in his optics. He wasn’t sure how long it would stay that way.

The files finished downloading in the resulting silence, and Bumblebee ejected the cord, tucking it away again. He didn’t move, either to activate his blaster or start running. His gaze found a middle ground on Jazz’ chassis, and he didn’t look away.

“Bee, please,” Jazz whispered. “We don’t have time to wait. Patrol’s not gonna wait for us to finish this song and dance to come back. We’ll be sittin’… whatever humans call ‘em.”

“Ducks.” Bumblebee couldn’t help but correct.

Jazz rolled his optics “Yeah, yeah– Whatever.” He squeezed Bumblebee’s servo. “But, seriously. Bumblebee, you’ve gotta go. Where’s your signature… fierceness?”

“I save it for Megatron and his ‘Cons.” Bumblebee teased, but he forced his free servo to transform into his blaster. “Not for bots who helped raise me.”

“Sure,” Jazz wheezed. He was bleeding from more than his chassis, apparently. Bumblebee’s servo was covered in it, now. “I’m gonna need it regardless, Bee. You know I don’t trust anyone else.”

Bumblebee closed his optics. “Don’t do that, Jazz. Please don’t. You’re really making it harder than it needs to be.”

“Sorry. ‘M not meaning to. Just worried ‘bout you, Bee. I’ve had to do it myself a couple’a times. And it’s always rough. Wonderin’ if I could’a prevented it. You couldn’t. Believe me when I tell you that you couldn’t.”

Bumblebee’s optics closed. He squeezed Jazz’s fingers.

“You’re a good kid.” Jazz wheezed.

Bumblebee pointed his blaster against Jazz’ helm, and made himself breathe carefully. Jazz released his servo, and Bumblebee fired. Three times, in quick succession, just in case the first one didn’t do it.

Jazz didn’t even get the chance to scream.

Bumblebee’s spark pulsed, and he carefully didn’t look at Jazz’s face as he turned his blaster down to blow his arm up. The smell of melting metal hit his olfactory sensor, and Bumblebee cringed to himself.

He kept his optics shifted anywhere else as he pressed the rock back into place over top of Jazz, concealing him at least until the Seekers decided to do a ground sweep. Bumblebee breathed in deep, letting the grief hold him for a moment. And then he vented and let it go.

Jazz trusted in him. He had to go and get this information to Optimus and the government. Then he could grieve with people who understood.

Bumblebee turned, and he ran.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee was gone.

Optimus couldn’t think of anything else.

Bumblebee was gone, and with him went Optimus’ own spark. Extinguished just as quick, nothing but raw sorrow left in its wake. His chassis was empty. His light was dull. His processor all but stopped.

The tragedy of it all was that if he had even been a nano-klik faster, he could’ve diverted the blaster fire enough that Bumblebee could’ve lived. Yet, he hadn’t been, and Bumblebee was gone. Forever.

Unlike the Primes, Optimus could not reach out and talk to him whenever he wished. He was stuck with this grief, just like everyone else was. He felt so very mortal.

By his side, Bumblebee’s murderer was smiling.

His arms half lifted around Optimus’ own frame, claws resting against his back strut, not yet remembering to scratch and harm. A crooked grin turned to face him, smug victory painted all over Megatron’s face.

His former mentor and best friend had done this on purpose . He knew what would hurt Optimus the most, and he had taken his digit and poked it directly in the wound.

He chose to kill Bumblebee.

He did it with intent and purpose. It was the same as it had been during Tyger Pax, when he tore out Bumblebee’s voice box, ripped off his arm, and broke his leg. He had made a conscious decision to harm someone so much smaller and weaker than him, all with the intent to make Optimus suffer.

He had not killed Bumblebee back during Tyger Pax, the lack of cruelty a mystery that Optimus had never been able to solve. It was a mistake that had cost him, over and over, for Bumblebee was one of the best soldiers Optimus had ever known.

Megatron had not made the same mistake this time. 

This time, Bumblebee was dead.

And Optimus had been forced to witness it. It wasn’t a dull frame he came across in a war torn battlefield. This time, he had watched it happen. He had felt the agony as if he himself had been shot three times in his spark chamber. The guilt sat heavily in his tank.

There was nothing left for Optimus to do. Aside from, of course, pivoting on his heel strut and punching Megatron in the face.

“NO!” He roared, every ounce of his pain filling up his voice. Like yelling it loudly enough would bring Bumblebee back.

Megatron rocked backward, thrown off kilter, and Optimus landed another blow before he could recover. Energon filled his fuel lines, making each step count and each hit hurt. The Matrix had never worked so well before, for it was just as furious as Optimus was. Perhaps it was angry because Optimus was, but that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was Megatron, venting for breath, his gasps turning more into wheezes. He was in pain, but he wasn’t dead. And that wasn’t fair, was it? It wasn’t fair at all.

Megatron collided against the wall and crumpled to his knees, head hanging over the edge where the purified energon sat. He coughed as Optimus approached, the gleam of red optics reflecting in the pool.

His servo reached into the energon, stretching for something futilely. Optimus saw what it was just in time. The handle for the dark star saber. Like he would ever let Megatron use such an artifact.

He grabbed Megatron’s shoulders, twisting him around so he could look in Megatron’s face. “That is not yours to use anymore, Megatron.” Optimus spat into his face, grinding his knee into Megatron’s face.

Megatron pushed against him, but Optimus did not let up. He stared into Megatron’s face, and felt nothing but sick, twisted vindication. His servos pounded against Megatron, reducing his face into nothing more than scrap. For once in his life, the warlord looked scared. 

Good.

Good.

Good.

Optimus wanted to make sure he was just as sorry, as scared, and as lonely as Bumblebee had been, in all these hundreds of years of war since Megatron first laid a digit on him. If even half of the suffering Bumblebee had endured could be passed to Megatron, Optimus would be happy. It would be the best fragging news of his life.

“Op–” Megatron gasped, but Optimus didn’t let him finish. His next punch cracked Megatron’s helm in the middle. “Plea–” Another shattered the monster’s right optic.

Optimus’ spark sang with retribution. Sick delight squirmed its way into his spark chamber, and the Matrix pulsed. Megatron deserved this. He deserved this, for Bumblebee’s sake if nothing else.

And in the interest of Bumblebee…

Optimus dug his fingers into Megatron’s throat, feeling the metal crack beneath his fingers. It screeched and warbled as Megatron threw back his helm as best he could and screamed, but Optimus did not let up. It took only a few nano-kliks for Megatron’s voice box to be revealed, but that was too long already.

The Prime ripped it from Megatron’s throat. The warlord’s cries cut off in a flurry of static, and then there was nothing at all. Optimus held the voice box up, over Megatron’s glazed-over red optics, crushed the device in his fist. He let the bits of shrapnel rain down on Megatron’s face. The utter horror that was displayed in Megatron’s last remaining optic was delightful.

Optimus treasured it.

Yet, it could not be allowed to last. Optimus was not so horrible that he would draw out this torture forever. To give him Bumblebee’s handicap was enough.

He was, however, lucky that he was cybertronic and not organic, for he could take a picture of Megatron’s expression and save it to his harddrive. Forever captured and emboldened right there.

Optimus pointed his blaster to the remaining mess of wires and pipes in Megatron’s neck. He paused for only a moment. “Nobody will feel your cruelty ever again,” He hissed.

And he pulled the trigger.

Megatron’s head was blown straight off his body. It hit the pillar behind him, and it went flying off into Earth’s atmosphere. Optimus did not watch it burn.

His gaze remained locked on Megatron’s frame, still pinned beneath Optimus. The Prime watched in dull fascination and morbid curiosity as the warlord’s spark went out.

Generations of agony, thousands of years of torment, ended in a single moment. It should’ve been done ages ago. Instead of running when Megatron first revealed his true colours, Optimus should’ve snapped him in half right then.

After victory, after all, the heavy weight of grief came soon enough.

Optimus gasped out a sob, and bowed his head under it. It was over. All of it was over. 

There was nothing else. He was alone. He was alone, even with the rest of his team staring down at him. He was alone, because Bumblebee’s spark was gone.

The one most important thing, born amidst the throngs of war, was gone. Slipping out from between Optimus’ fingers. Where would Bumblebee even go, without the Allspark? Would he go to Earth and find somewhere to rest? Would he travel back to Cybertron and fly through deep space to find the Allspark?

Or would he simply fade, never to be reforged and reborn? Would he be lonely without a symphony of sparks alongside his own?

Optimus didn’t know.

And that was worse than anything else.

Chapter Text

Wheels skid against rocky ground and slick ice, and the bot felt the world whir around him. Higher and further he sped, the sun brightening up the scenery around him.

He twisted on the music on his radios, loud and stingy. He wasn’t sure where it came from, downloaded into his databases since before he woke up in the cold and snow. It at least made it even more fun to drive.

The bot had very few images of landscapes in his long-term memories, and none of them matched anything that he had seen, personally, thus far. Did that really matter, though? No, not at all.

Everything was lovely and bright, built for excitement and adventure. Nobody had built roads where he was going, but that was fine. His wheels bounced and extended across the rough paths, tensing against the ice.

His engines fired, sending what little energy he had managed to cultivate right through his boosters. He spun his wheels excitedly to make it around a tight corner, and the bot let out a high-pitched beep in the closest approximation as he could to the small organics when they rode on their four-legged pets.

It was fun to empty his pipes. He could understand why they did it.

The bot rode faster, turning his sights up towards the bright sun, shining down on him. He wondered if any of these mountains got close up enough to touch it. If he used to have systems to scan for that type of thing, they were all offline. But that didn’t matter to him!

He was already halfway up one, and he changed his orbit to start accelerating up it on purpose instead of beginning to descend. He set his sights for the peak, engines roaring.

His tank gurgled, and his frame rattled a bit from the sudden increase in speed. His speedometer was pushing 100, but he knew he could go faster.

The wind breezed against his plating, and he pushed himself, on and on.

The sun was yellow, like him. It cast everything in a more pleasant light, even dangerous conditions like the snow. It was beautiful. The bot loved being here, in this place. He didn’t know where he originally came from, why he was here, but that never mattered to him.

He was at peace here. He could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted.

That was better than any other life he could’ve had in the past.

The air was thinning. It was harder to get them to fill his vents, to get his systems to remain cool. At least the air was getting chillier, too, the further towards the sun he went. He was pretty sure that’s not how it was supposed to work, but his logic centers were scrambled!

He didn’t know better.

He got closer to the top, and the glare of the sun started to mess with his windshields and mirrors, making it hard to see in front of him. He adjusted accordingly, instinctively turning on dimmers he didn’t even realize he had.

The bot loved learning more about the way he worked. He didn’t understand why organics screeched and backed away whenever he introduced himself to them.

The sky was a frosty blue, just as cold as it looked. The bot drove closer to it, wondering if he’d ever be able to take it in hand and break past it. There had to be more up there, beyond it, right? His logic sensors said yes.

If he touched the sun, then he would be out of this place’s pull, and he could explore the next area! But then again, he hadn’t yet seen everything this place had to offer, and in the last thousand years it had already changed quite a bit.

He figured he’d never get bored of this place’s landscapes.

Still, it was good to have options. To see, if he jumped, if he could truly touch the stars. It sounded downright majestic, it did.

He was nearing the zenith of the mountain. A little further, and he’d be able to speed up his wheels and be home free. He watched how close he was getting, keeping an eye on the controls. As he neared the last turn, he fired his boosters with every single ounce of energy he could spare, loosening up every piston in his frame.

The bot pulled back just as he hit the edge of the mountain, and just like that–

He was in the air.

Freedom coursed through his systems, the sun close enough to touch. He must be glowing, with how all its light was focused on him.

The bot sprung out of alt mode, fingers reaching for the sun, trying to grasp it. The sun flickered, beautiful and bright, teasing him. And then it was no longer in reach.

The bot’s momentum was lost, and he fell.

He didn’t even get a chance to think about how the sun had betrayed him before the impact. He hit the side of the mountain, hard. His back strut screeched with agony, rocks and ice splintering up against his plating. Something lodged somewhere vital and painful.

The bot vented, a screeching static beep breaking out of his mouth. He tried to stabilize himself, but everything was moving too fast for him to do anything about it.

His digits dug into nothing, and he flailed helplessly.

Over and over he tumbled, until, finally, he came to a lurching stop at the foot of the mountain.

The bot gasped, haggard, draping an arm over his eyes. His spark pulsed in his chest. He couldn’t believe this had happened. The sun had stabbed him in the back. It had abandoned him. It had hurt him, it had left him to break.

Why would it do that? Why would it do that?

“You need to learn to slow down,” a voice whispered in his ear, firm but kind. Phantom fingers wrapped around his other arm, pulling him against a chest that was not there. “If you keep driving off into trouble, it’ll catch up to you.”

The bot couldn’t even respond. The ability of speech had been jarred out of him long ago. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe. He knew his mind was a little broken, but conjuring up hallucinations? That was a new low, even for himself.

“Come on, ███, I’ve never known you to give up a fight.” A feminine voice encouraged, this time, presence sitting close to his side.

“I can’t keep fixing you up if you keep being so reckless,” A third voice huffed. “I know you think you have everything to prove, but when will you accept that you’ve done enough?”

He didn’t need to deal with this. He didn’t want them to tease him for his blunder. He knew he had messed up, he knew it. The bot rolled onto his side, getting clumsy hands underneath him.

“What were you hoping to accomplish?” The first voice said with a touch of exasperation, this time. “You know better than that, █████████. Come on. Let’s find somewhere safe for you. You’ll need to repair yourself somehow.”

Leave me alone, The bot silently begged. Please, just go.

“Do you want to know why you’re still broken? You haven’t allowed yourself ample time to heal! You’ve got to sit down sometimes. Stop chasing visions of grandeur. It makes you useless to everyone.” The third voice scoffed. “You want to be trusted, don’t you?”

The bot grunted to himself, pushing himself upright. He swayed slightly. Trusted by who?!

“Trusted by us.” The first voice sighed, but it was strewn in affection. “Don’t listen to ███████, He’s just irrationally upset right now.”

“Irrationally–?!”

“We trust you no matter what. You’ve done so much for us.” The first voice urged, and there was a feeling like it had taken the bot’s hand. The sensation of touch rattled through the bot’s frame. “Please, find somewhere to rest. Somewhere to recover. We’ll be waiting.”

The bot pushed the stupid hallucinations out of his mind, and started to walk. He had a cave, not too far from here. He had been sleeping there for a while, surrounded by glowing crystals that refilled his engines.

He’d be fine. He just had to remember not to go reaching for the sun anymore, because it was a dirty fragger and would stab him in the back if he let it.

“And stay safe.” The first voice implored.

The bot closed his eyes. He did not listen to them. It did not matter. Whoever they were, they came from a shattered memory, one he could not touch. He had been on his own for over a thousand years now, and he no longer wanted to worry about them.

They would not come for him.

He was alone.

Chapter Text

B-127 made a note to himself to update the maps back at HQ with the apparent scraplet hive that laid between Tyger Pax’s ruins and Kaon. He wondered if the Decepticons knew this existed and it was an environmental trap laid in place for the Autobots, or if they were blissfully unaware.

He hadn’t seen any security measures to block the scraplets from spreading when he was coming back from Kaon, so it was likely the latter. Perhaps they would be able to drive scraplets back towards Kaon with a well-placed explosion.

Not that it was B-127’s priority at the moment; right now, all he wanted was to make it back to Altihex in one piece. Which was getting harder by the moment, as scraplets moved across the valley of metal in unpredictable patterns, shuffling about.

B-127 had noticed he had driven into a nest a little too late to turn around, and now the only thing he could make out to do was keep moving forward at a slow pace, engines barely on at all. His wheels turned, but he was careful not to activate anything else.

His headlights even remained off, too, if only he could avoid detection.

Funny how all his lessons involved Decepticons, but nobody had ever suggested that he might have to use it against the worst pests in all of Cybertron. At least it’d be a bragging point whenever he made it back home. Mirage would be so jealous when he heard of B-127’s adventure.

Provided he could, of course, make it out alive and downplay just how terrified he was in his later debriefing.

It was a mercy that the scraplets hadn’t already locked onto him. They couldn’t hear how loudly his spark was blazing. Thank Primus, thank Primus.

B-127’s wheels turned over another sheet of metal, wincing when his entire frame bumped from the shift. He would’ve frozen if it wouldn’t take too much energy to get himself moving again. The faster – but stealthily – he got out of this situation the better.

Ha, maybe he could mimic a Decepticon distress signal. Get a seeker to come down full speed and land among the scraplets. But then again, that was too risky. B-127 did a lot of things, but endanger the mission because he was feeling a little pouty of his situation? Perish the thought! He was better than that.

Totally. Totally better than that.

A scraplet let out a screech next to him, and B-127’s swung his mirrors around to stare at it. He didn’t pause, but kept his attention locked on it, fear coursing through his fuel lines.

After a nano-klik, it kept going, obvious to the fresh metal right beside it, still warm. How he had avoided detection so far, he didn’t know. His old scout teacher, Steelgrinder, had shown enough graphs and slideshows of what their heat-seeking vision looked like for B-127 to be comfortable.

He knew they were huge red marks in their optics, and yet he had managed to stay hidden. Perhaps it was too dark for them to get a read on him, or the heat from Kaon was messing up their sensors, or…

B-127 thanked Primus again. He didn't always feel favoured, having lost his voice box not two hundred stellar-cycles ago and left in bitter silence, but then again, he had survived this long.

Megatron had left him alive, he was Optimus’ “favourite little guy”, according to Jazz, and he was taken care of by the best medic the Autobots had ever known. Not to mention, the scraplets had yet to see him. So, yes, he felt very, very lucky.

Behind him, a plank of metal began to creak as his weight slid off of it, and B-127 slowed down, his rpm meter dropping down to only thirty. He eased forward, gently, taking his tires off of the sheet one slow rotation at a time.

He was fine, he was fine. Everything was fine.

B-127 wheels slowly spun off the metal, and it remained quiet. He vented, quietly, softly, and continued on another rotation, coaxing energon back into his wheels to continue speed.

His engine whirred, and his tanks boiled, and his rotations went back up to a nice, even sixty. Slowly, he turned to navigate around a hill as it loomed ahead of him. One bad thing about this whole situation was how he couldn’t see obstacles well, even with his advanced optics.

He would gladly give Mirage the nighttime missions, over and over, if it meant he never had to do this again. Top scout his aft. He should’ve gone for weaponized incompetence early on, but that probably meant he wouldn’t be able to keep his relationship with Optimus.

And Optimus was everything to B-127. Absolutely everything.

B-127 vented carefully, evenly, relieved for his lack of a voice box to eliminate the temptation to whimper. He hated this. But this was all to prove himself, totally capable, especially after Tyger Pax.

B-127 kept it careful, rolling down the piles of metal.

And then, almost predictably, one tire slipped. A metal pipe lurched underneath his frame, and his instinct reaction to slam on his brakes made it jump up, hitting his undercarriage.

The echo of metal against metal sounded out across the nest, and B-127 froze.

Thousands of optics fluttered towards him. B-127 shut his vents, and started his cooling systems. Something had to work, had to delay. If they didn’t think he was living metal, maybe they would leave him alone–!

The stalemate didn’t last for another two nano-kliks. One of the scraplets let out a screech, and its thousands of brethren copied it. All of them charged forward, and B-127 cursed.

His tires skid in place for a fraction of a nano-klik, and then they got traction, shooting him forward. If he drove fast enough, maybe he could evade them, swerving around one pile of metal.

His headlights turned on to light his path, but then he saw a servo, sticking out of the piles. He turned them off again, tanks rolling in fear.

He felt a bite against his plating. B-127 gasped, starting to turn away from the source of pain, but had to twist back around to avoid running into a spike trap.

He felt another scraplet land on his roof, digging tiny little feet into the metal on top. B-127 felt a beep of terror drop out of his mangled voice box before he could help it, and another scraplet ground into his other side.

His speed began to slow at the building weight and the blind terror coursing through his processor.

B-127 could do little else but send a distress signal to the Autobots. His first one ever, which made him all kinds of frustrated, but if he didn’t get help…

The encrypted phrase was simple, quick. “Scraplets”, along with a set of coordinates.

There was no response immediately, which should not have been as terrifying as it was. B-127 screwed his optics shut for barely a nano-klik, urging himself to keep going. The bites got deeper, hurt more.

One dug against his fuel line, and B-127 cried, static erupting from his voice box.

He transformed, the motion managing to fling the scraplets off him for a nano-klik. He whipped around, blasters armed and dangerous, firing recklessly at them. He managed to hit a few scraplets, but not nearly enough.

The angry swarm descended upon him again, and B-127 could do nothing but reach up to protect his face, pure fear shooting through him.

B-127 slipped on the metal, pedes shooting out from underneath him. He gasped, and those fangs dug deeper and deeper in. He was helpless to stop it, helpless to fight–

B-127’s processor began to short out, glitches surging through his systems.

It was trying to block out the pain, but it wasn’t really succeeding, lapses in judgment and memory replaying out over and over, and he couldn’t stop it, no matter how much he fought–

A single bite made his optics gloss over, everything shutting down around him. He could do nothing at all.

B-127 flailed, but he could do nothing else as everything started to fade–

And then there was blaster fire, filling the air around him.

The scraplets screeched, jaws releasing, finally, from his plating and wires and scampering off in all directions. B-127 whimpered, feeling his energon spurt.

“Oh, B…” A gentle servo brushed across his forehelm, but he couldn’t open his optics to see who it was. His audials ached. They couldn’t process any vocal cues. “We’re here now. Let’s get you to Ratchet…”

Everything faded fully away.

Chapter Text

The stupid Trion Protocols were going to be the death of Bumblebee. He wasn’t even sure what they were, but his processor was too warm for its own good. It was cycling through a new download of files that his memory banks could barely stand.

Unbidden, they had deleted memories of friends and races and useless deliveries that he didn’t even remember why he had kept for so long just to make room for the file size. He hadn’t even been able to control it. Yet here it came, scorching up his senses, taking every little bit of himself that he had and then some.

What even were they? He didn’t know. He didn’t.

Well, obviously he did. They had whispered names he vaguely recognized from a screwed-up mission into his audial. Optimus Prime. Ultra Magnus. Then the files had downloaded one more name that he didn’t know, Alpha Trion, and here he was.

All the way back to the stupid Autobot base, who hadn’t even paid him.

Honestly, they were worse than Soundblaster, in his opinion. Forced him to take an escort, didn’t listen to him when he gave advice, threatened him with guns, and then sent him away without even an extra credit to his name.

Yet, he was back here anyway.

Optimus Prime was explaining everything to his top commanders, and Elita-1 was giving him a stink-eye. A thoughtful stink-eye, but still. Again. A stink-eye. They didn’t trust him, and for good reason. He didn’t trust them either.

This whole situation was violating. It was downright torture was what it was, but it wasn’t like Bumblebee could press charges on a dead guy. Worse than that, he couldn’t press charges on the dead guy’s dead mentor! He wished he could, though.

Why couldn’t Optimus take the stupid protocols back so he could continue living his life? What did “being worthy” even mean?

After all, Ultra Magnus had apparently betrayed Optimus, and then the Trion Protocols had picked Bumblebee, someone who didn’t care whether the Prime lived or died. Bumblebee bet Alpha Trion didn’t even know what he was doing. 

Searching his memory banks, Bumblebee was pretty certain he had never even met Ultra Magnus. So how did Alpha Trion know he even existed in the first place?

This was ridiculous. This whole situation was ridiculous.

And his processor was overheating. Wonderful. Great. Then all this pain would be for nothing.

Bumblebee reached his hand out desperately, floundering for Red Alert, who was reclining not too far away. “You. Med bot.”

“Barely even that, but give it to me, kid.” Red Alert crossed his arms, looking down at Bumblebee. “What do you need? Data pad to burn off the excess information?”

“Coolant. Maybe oil for my vents. I don’t think they’re opening up all the way.”

Red Alert’s optical ridges furrowed, and he pressed a hand against Bumblebee’s helm, not even flinching when the scavenger shoved away and pointed a blaster at his chassis. “Cool it, yellow. I didn’t realize you were overheating. Too much information making you go into overload, huh?”

Bumblebee grit his dentas. “I don’t know what that means.”

“When’s the last time you got a medical checkup, bud?”

“When’d I last see you?” Bumblebee spat, because he frankly couldn’t remember. It could’ve been anything from the previous solar-cycle to ten stellar-cycles ago. Again, his memory was all gunked up with new information that he couldn’t organize a timeline for.

Red Alert had given him some supplies, though, if he remembered correctly. Perhaps that was his payment instead. Nice of him, but annoying nonetheless.

“No, Bumblebee. Before then.”

“I don’t know. Before the war.” Bumblebee didn’t even remember if he had one then, either. He was pretty certain he had only been a thousand or so when the war began, and even without the protocols overriding literally everything, his memory had begun to wane about those. “It doesn’t matter. Are you getting me the coolant or what?”

“You’re going to need more than coolant, kid.” Red Alert told him. “Honestly, I don’t know what you need. I can ask Optimus; he was around when Ultra Magnus went through this. I assume. I don’t actually know.”

“What the frag, man.”

“Hey, hey, don’t kill the messenger, I’m not the one leaving you melting into our couch.”

“This is a couch?”

Red Alert rolled his eyes good naturedly, before turning away to approach Optimus. The Prime was still whispering urgently with Elita-1, Ironhide, and a couple others Bumblebee didn’t recognize. And! Did not care to recognize! Just. For the record.

Red Alert tapped Optimus Prime on the arm and said something softly to him that Bumblebee couldn't hear. It made the entire group of commanders turn as one to stare at him, though, and he wished he could melt into obscurity.

Optimus’ expression softened from something tense into something sorrowful and soft, and he broke away from the group to approach. Bumblebee held himself perfectly still so as to not flinch, even as Optimus crouched next to him.

“Hello, Bumblebee. I am sorry for neglecting you.” Optimus told him, gentle to a fault. “I neglected to remember what a burden the Trion Protocols can be on your processor. While Ultra Magnus was dealing with that, I was suffering through an unprecedented frame upgrade, so I’m afraid I do not remember a lot of the strategies he utilized, much less what worked. We could, perhaps, lower the temperature in the room for you, if that would help?”

“How much spare water you got? I would love to dunk my head in a tank of it.” Bumblebee wheezed, feeling his processor fans’ desperate whirring echo through his entire frame. It wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“I’m afraid not enough for that,” Optimus said sympathetically. “You would be privy to it, first, if we had it.”

“Yeah, sure, I believe that.” Bumblebee rotated his attention over to the growing temperature gauge in the corner of his HUD. He was breaking personal records like crazy. Alpha Trion, apparently, didn’t choose Bumblebee because he liked him, but because he had a personal vendetta against him. It was the only possible explanation.

“Optimus,” Elita-1 called, stiff and stubborn. “A word?”

“In a moment, Elita.” Optimus returned. “Bumblebee is in pain.” He reached out and took Bumblebee’s servo in his. The scavenger couldn’t string together enough of a thought to take it back. Not that he necessarily wanted to, outside of his need to keep up his reputation.

Optimus’ hand was soothing, after all. Maybe a little cold.

“Optimus, I was there when you two were being pains in the aft. I know what’ll cool him down, but I’d like to talk to you first.”

Optimus looked ten times more tired.

Bumblebee put a pin in that so he could laugh at Optimus later. Almost immediately, the Trion Protocols wrote over that, and Bumblebee felt a bubbling of frustration. Now it was taking over his priority lists? Scrap this!

“Fine.” Optimus grunted. “What are you so desperate to tell me, Elita-1?”

“More of a question, while the kid’s… indisposed.” She gave Bumblebee a scathing look. “Because no matter how scrapy he is, he’s not able to do much like this. Magnus put up enough of a fuss when he first got the Trion Protocols that I know that much.”

“Speak, Elita.”

“Fine– Are you sure we can trust him?”

“What do you mean.” It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

If only a cold tone brought relief to Bumblebee’s helm.

“Last we saw him, he came into our base, milled around for a while, and left. And then he comes back, rambling his helm off about Alpha Trion, and… Megatron was one of his students, too. He’d know about the protocols, and if Ultra Magnus let it slip that you two split it two ways…”

“I… understand, Elita, that you have your doubts.” Optimus allowed. Even though he had turned away, he did not let go of Bumblebee’s servo. “But trust me when I say, he is on our side. I felt it in my spark, as soon as he came back, demanding to speak with me. You may not trust him, but he is half a Prime.” He squeezed. “And he is in pain.”

Elita-1 stared at Bumblebee. Bumblebee stared back as best as he was able, but he was trying to sooth his processor in the only way he could figure out. He was organizing the frazzled files into neater bundles so he could actually, you know, process what the scrap was happening. Maybe that would make it easier to think.

“Alpha Trion never even met the kid.” Elita-1 said, stubbornly, crossing her arms. “And if he did, it’s been four million years since then. Who knows how people can change.”

“Perhaps.” Optimus looked back at Bumblebee. Bumblebee wondered if the Prime ever didn’t look sad. “But I will choose to look for the goodness in his spark, instead of the rotten.”

“Fine.” Elita-1 sighed. “Fine. If that’s what you want, OP, I’ll listen to you. Ultra Magnus and I figured out that he’d be overheating no matter what the temperature is. His frame might be freezing, but his processor would keep going overdrive. Too much processing power going through it.”

“That doesn’t exactly help Bumblebee right now.” Red Alert frowned.

Bumblebee folded his servo into a thumbs up as best he was able and held it up.

“I was getting there. If we plug one of our extra service drives into him, it’ll clear up some storage. He needs room to think, personally, really, think. Having some extra space to move in will help with that.” Elita-1 shrugged. “It’d be better if we could plug him into the computers and he downloaded all the protocols into that thing, and we just give it back to you, Optimus–”

“I refuse.”

“–but you’d never– Yup.” Elita-1 shook her head. “Fine, then. And while he’s figuring that out, make sure he has enough energon. I mean.” She looked him over. “I’m sure he does, if he’s really as good as Wheeljack says. But just in case. He’s our only hope, after all.”

Elita-1 spun on her heel and marched away. The look Optimus cast after her was half affection and half exhaustion. He didn’t say thank you, and she didn't wait for one.

Bumblebee burned, but the promise of relief was coming, to the delight of his blazing spark.

“Frag Trion,” he told anyone who would listen, and the words grated against his pipes. “And frag Magnus.”

The only person who didn’t laugh was Optimus, but he held Bumblebee’s hand a little tighter anyway. “Red Alert will be back momentarily with the storage chip, and Prowl is grabbing you some energon now. It will be fine, young one.”

“And frag you, too,” Bumblebee huffed, because there’s one thing he’ll never forget how to use, and that was his attitude. “Half a Prime? Really? A short joke?”

That got amusement to pulse off of Optimus, at the very least. “My apologies. In my experience, only minicons come this small, but I suppose you are proof enough of the opposite.”

Bumblebee hated this whole situation. He’d honestly rather die than have to suffer back on dragging pedes back to the Autobot base, only to collapse as soon as the spark of adrenaline wore off. But Optimus was kind, if not a bit sad.

And he knew how to command his forces, at least moderately, to get them to look out for Bumblebee. Sure, he hated everyone here, but Optimus had covered his aft before he even got the Trion Protocols.

He was perhaps the only person Bumblebee was okay sharing such a responsibility with.

He just hoped he wouldn’t have anymore power overloads, because, seriously, what the frag?

Chapter Text

Everything was dark. Walls were pressing against his shoulders, and he couldn’t move an inch. Beside the claustrophobia, anyway. His wrists and ankles were bound tightly with chains, keeping him firmly bound in place.

No matter how much Bumblebee strained and wiggled, he couldn’t get out.

He couldn't wrap his helm around the fact that he had been caught by a bundle of neutrals. Not Decepticons, or Autobots who thought he was just a spoiled brat and wanted to teach him a lesson. But just… standard run of the mill civilians.

And yeah, he knew this war had been going on since before he was created, but Primus. It caught him off guard that they knew how to fight and how to carry a couple good blasters. It shouldn’t have, but apparently nobody thought to warn a scout that there were more than enemy combatants to worry about.

Well, there were Decepticon-leaning neutrals, he guessed, they just hadn’t seemed like a threat. Not to a top scout, to Optimus’ prized – and only – pupil. He had been wrong.

Frag it, he had been so wrong.

Bumblebee swept his optics around the room, searching for an escape for the umpteenth time.

There was a knob high above him, but no matter how he wiggled, he couldn’t get his pedes underneath him to push himself up to reach it. Spark rising in his pipes, he tried to shove himself against the door and force it open with his weight alone, but he couldn’t get leverage.

Primus, the entirety of Special Ops was going to laugh at him. “Why, Bumblebee, how did you get caught by stupid neutrals? Don’t you know that all they do is cower?”

Yeah, well, apparently when flight or fight kicked in, neutrals tended to lead towards fight. Or ambush. Yay, fun.

Bumblebee grumbled to himself again, trying to roll his shoulders back to free some room. He tried to extend his plasma blades, but just like the last two dozen times, nothing happened. They didn’t even budge. They must’ve put a clamp or something on him while he was offline.

Every attempt at transformation just went down the drain.

He tensed, hissing under his breath. This sucked. This all sucked.

He waited in the dark, for something to change, for relief to come. He continued to strain and wiggle, to try to get, at very least, his distress beacon to work. Nothing he did got his systems to reboot. And it ached.

Primus, this was so fragged up.

(:)

A few groons later, the door finally swung open, a green and a blue bot staring down at him. Their optics squinted down at him, disgust and disinterest paining their way across their faceplates.

“Oh, finally,” Bumblebee hissed up at them. “It’s about time I was allowed more than an inch to move.”

“Shut up, dirty frame.” The blue bot spat at him. “We don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

“Uh, excuse you, you kidnapped m–!”

The green bot shoved the barrel of her gun into Bumblebee’s intake, cutting him off with more than just a gag, but a wash of surprise and fear. “Oh, shut up, warframe. We don’t want your attitude. In fact, we just want you dead, but that’s a waste of spare parts.”

Bumblebee glowered up at them both, huffing around the gun and trying to keep the glare going instead of letting the fear he clearly felt creep onto his face.

“Listen,” The blue bot kneeled down. There was no sympathy in his voice, no pretending to be kind. “You’ve got two options here. Either we kill you, quickly, easily, or you swear fealty to us. Become our body guard. Guardian. We’re fighting about what to call you.”

The green bot withdrew the blaster. “Well? Make your decision.”

Bumblebee gagged, vents turning and twisting, swallowing up as much new air as they could, getting his coolant systems back into line. “Well,” he wheezed, kicking his legs against the wall to budge forward a few inches. They watched him with angry optics. “Even if I swear to work for you, or whatever convoluted plan you’ve got for me, there’s no way to guarantee I’ll keep my word, y’know?”

“Ha,” the green bot scoffed. “Of course a warframe would be honorless.”

Bumblebee’s processor clicked, finally understanding the connection. “Wait, you hate me for being a warframe?”

“And he doesn’t listen.” The green bot huffed. “Are we sure we want him as a guardian?”

“Shut up, he’ll get there.” The blue bot reprimanded, leaning over Bumblebee. “Listen up. Clearly, you don’t know how Cybertron works. Of course you don’t, with how the Decepticons and Autobots keep bickering about it.”

“The Autobots are trying to fix things,” Bumblebee hissed. “To put things the way that they were!”

“Well, then I guess we should be rooting for the Autobots, then.” The blue bot smiled meanly. “Back when warframes were treated like the weapons they were. Kept to the gladiator pits or security detail. They weren’t good for much else, aside from war. If you ask me, this war should only be between warframes. It only concerns them and their hubris, after all.”

“No,” Bumblebee glowered. “It doesn’t. If the Decepticons win, do you want to be the oppressed frame, instead?”

“You truly don’t know anything, do you? Wars aren’t engineered to win. They’re made to wipe one another out.” The blue bot cupped Bumblebee’s cheek, wagging his digit at Bumblebee when the scout made to bite his servo. “Oh, don’t do that. That’ll just make my lovely conjux here shoot you faster.”

“The only reason I haven’t is because he’s in the way,” The green bot glowered. “So you better swear allegiance to us fast or else the moment he moves…”

“Look.” The blue bot offered. “You’re nothing more than a puppet for the Autobots to play with. They’ve engineered a suit for you to fit into, and then hate you when you stray from it. They’re hypocrites at their best. They send you to die, over and over, because they know that’s all you’re good for. I bet you barely get fed, either!”

Bumblebee ground his dentas together. “You don’t know anything.”

“No? Well, what if I told you that if you swear allegiance to us, then you’ll never go hungry. We have energon stockpiled. We’ll feed you in return for you being our pet. Our loyal guard dog.” The blue bot’s digits stroked Bumblebee’s cheeks. “Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“No.” Bumblebee spat. “Everyone has a role in the Autobot army. That isn’t warframe exclusive, that’s everyone. Because some people excel at skills. But that doesn’t mean we fit into a perfect box, we’re allowed freedom and to try new things out, and–!”

“Sure.” The blue bot said boredly, reclining back with a sigh. He reached out to catch the green bot’s blaster before she could aim. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“It’s not a lie! “‘Til All Are One” means equality for everyone, whether warframe, miner, neutral frame, or–!”

“No.” The green bot scowled. “You were built for war. Your directive is war. The moment this whole thing ends, you will be meaningless, adrift. But you can continue to have purpose underneath us.”

“You can fight for us as a bodyguard, entertain us as a gladiator.” The blue bot coaxed meanly. “Once this war is over, we’ll even let you pick which one.”

The green bot reached past her conjunx, and jabbed the blaster right against Bumblebee’s helm again. “Let’s try this again. A living weapon, or a scrap heap?”

Bumblebee swallowed and closed his optics again.

The blaster whirred, and his forehelm grew warm. There was nothing he could do to stop it.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee pressed his digits upon his spark chamber. It was warm, pulsing under his servo. His entire frame shuddered, and he mourned the bliss that had come from ignorance.

He had loved his little life with Charlie. He had been nearly crushed by the weight of things he didn’t understand. The instincts that were ingrained into his harddrive made him want to flinch whenever anyone’s voice raised or if they held anything vaguely weapon-shape.

It hadn’t been perfect, and it had been scary a lot, but there was comfort in it. Once Charlie had shown him her trustworthiness, Bumblebee had held onto her and tried to never let her go. He had been safe and protected by her wildfire.

She had loved him, and that was good enough for him.

Or it had been. Until his memories came back. Now he was crushed by the weight of things he knew he didn’t know, of thousands of years worth of war, of a rough servo suspending him above open air, a cruel blade digging into his neck.

And Bumblebee… didn’t like the idea of the world anymore.

Especially now that Charlie wasn’t in his life anymore. He traded her away for a mess of memories he didn’t want and a slew of bots that kept looking at him odd. And he knew why; he was a different bot than he was on Cybertron. Hardened, sadder, voiceless.

Not to mention the fact that he had failed the mission Optimus had sent him to do; secure a base for them to hold the line in. Now everyone else was looking for a base, and Bumblebee had proven himself to be untrustworthy. A bad investment.

“Ah, Bumblebee.” Optimus’ voice sounded behind him, as the Prime hastened to try to get up the hill behind him. “I was wondering if I might find you up here.”

Optimus hadn’t said out loud that he was disappointed in Bumblebee, but the scout could feel the weight behind his words. He could tell that the expectations had been shattered, and Optimus didn’t know what to do about it.

Bumblebee twisted his helm over to greet Optimus as the larger mech joined him, sitting down beside him underneath the stars and the hooded trees.

::Why, hello there, beautiful…:: Bumblebee chirped, adjusting his radio. Speaking. Ha. It was just another thing that, without Charlie, he would be unable to do. He missed her so much. He wondered if he would still feel this way if she were with him.

“Why, hello there, Bumblebee.” Optimus returned. “How are you feeling?”

::Nowhere quite so good as the top of the world, baby!:: The lie pulled itself from Bumblebee’s speakers easily enough. One good thing about this situation is he didn’t have to worry about being genuine. His tone relied entirely on what was on the air, and the other bots understood that, thank Primus. ::How are you doing tonight, Joan?::

Mirth tickled Optimus’ expression, optics gleaming. “I am doing just fine. We’ve received contact from another Autobot escape pod; it seems we will have new allies here on Earth by this time tomorrow.”

::We’ve got visitors already? But the–:: Bumblebee caught off the recording, needing only to search for a moment to find the next clip. ::Who in the dickens is that?!::

“It’s a convoy of three bots.” Optimus told him. “Hound and his two associates; Mirage and Dutycall.”

::We’ve got a full party here!::

“We should,” Optimus readily agreed. He looked back down at Bumblebee, optics searching him for something. “Are you sure you are feeling alright? You have been… quiet, as of late.”

::He never shuts up!:: Bumblebee joked, but he pointedly gestured at his pipes, where his voice box used to sit. There was a reason he was more quiet than he used to be.

Charlie had found the empty spot, once during maintenance and had asked him nervously why it seemed like something should be there. Bumblebee had shrugged, because he really hadn’t known, and she had started muttering about how it was throwing off the balance in his head. Bumblebee had noticed that his helm seemed to sit awkwardly on his shoulders.

Charlie had said she would try to find a countermeasure to help out with the imbalance, but Bumblebee had left before they could make it the rest of the way through the list.

“I know,” Optimus agreed. “But even without your voice box, you have always been able to fill a room with your presence. And yet you have still been tampering yourself down. You have been getting quieter over time.”

Bumblebee beeped quietly under his breath. He didn’t know what to say to that, and none of the clips he scrounged up really tackled the subject. What was he supposed to say to Optimus?

“I hate the memories of pain. I hate remembering how Blitzwing hurt me. You don’t know this, but Shatter and Dropkick also showed up, and they beat me for information I didn’t have. I couldn’t even defend myself. I put Charlie in danger, over and over. I put a human in danger. But you don’t even like humans, so why would that matter to you I’m so lonely–”

Yeah, right. He wouldn’t be able to find one audio clip to summarize all of that, and piecing them together would take too long. Whatever point he wanted to make would be gone in an instant. Optimus was a patient bot, but even he’d grow tired of Bumblebee’s struggle before too long.

He settled for a shrug, moving to drum his servos against his knees.

“Well, if you want to talk about it, my audial is always open for you.” Optimus told him. And then, like he was telling a secret “I am an excellent listener.”

::You’re all talk!::

Optimus hummed good-naturedly, taking the tease for what it was, and they turned to stare back over the fields and wooded brush surrounding them.

Bumblebee wondered how far he could drive until he crashed into a ravine.

He hadn’t mapped as much of Earth out as he would’ve wanted, and much of it was still a mystery to him. Or, really, to them all. Everyone else was trying to get images from satellites, but they weren’t nearly as accurate as they would like. So it was up to them to do it themselves.

Bumblebee settled his chin into his servos, leaning forward. He shuttered his optics closed, and pretended like he wasn’t thinking about his failures and his death.

What would be least upsetting for Optimus? For Bumblebee to fall in the field of battle, or for him to simply disappear into a ditch somewhere? He supposed if he ever went through with it, the latter would be more likely the case. Because if they had it their way, no more Decepticons would come to Earth.

Bumblebee was hopeful that Shatter and Dropkick hadn’t managed to summon reinforcements, but he didn’t know for certain. He hadn’t been himself for long enough during their battles to put the proper safety measures in check, or remember to retrace their communications before he offline them.

Primus, he should really warn Optimus about that. He liked to believe that it wasn’t his problem anymore, that the bots who were older than him, better, and just generally more put together than him would handle it.

But that wasn’t fair.

As much as he didn’t want to believe it, Bumblebee was part of a team.

He couldn't just go off and die somewhere, because there would be consequences, even if he wasn’t who would deal with them.

“Well,” Optimus announced at length, standing up and dusting himself up. “I should head back and start preparations for our new friends. I am unsure where we will fit them at the moment, but I shall figure something out.”

For a klik or two, there was silence, Optimus’ optics raking across the land.

“What a rotten planet,” Optimus said quietly, and with that closing statement he began his trudge back to the base, pedesteps heavy from the weight of his responsibilities.

Bumblebee clicked to himself, put-off. He knew Optimus hated Earth, but what a thing to say, to the only member of their assembly who loved the planet. Or, at least, thought it a nice place to die. Regardless of his reasoning, the words sat heavy in Bumblebee’s processor.

He drew his knees to his chest and sighed, burying his forehelm against them.

Scrap.

He missed Charlie.

Chapter Text

Nemesis’ pedesteps were soft as he entered the broken remains of the Ark. There was death in these halls. Only some of it was brought forth by his own servo, but much of it was Decepticon forces coming to slay them all, or Autobots killing one another for the last of their energon.

Nemesis had watched it all happening, from a distant hallway. The Allspark was lost, and it was his fault. Yet nobody lifted a blaster up against him. Perhaps they hadn’t realized he was here at all. Unicron had blessed him and cursed him in many ways.

Now, though, there were sparkless corpses strewn about the halls.

Energon, a strange mix of dry and wet, stained the grounds. His pedes made treads all throughout the ship, staining the metallic halls even more than they already had been. Most of them were his own, but occasionally he could spot Galvatron’s in the mix.

Some Autobots, who had survived long enough to walk a bit left tracks, too, and despite himself, Nemesis was always careful to avoid those.

He would avoid the dead, allow them to rest. It was the only mercy he could give them, in times like this. Well, for most of them, anyway.

There was only one kept online, and even he drifted in and out of wakefulness.

Bumblebee’s body remained on the bridge, plugged into the ship itself. He was hung from the ceiling, a gross amalgamation of parts. Whatever energon that had not been spilled but kept in reserves were plugged into the Ark, and every drop was diverted into Bumblebee’s tanks.

It was a slow drip, ensuring he never had enough energy to cut himself down, and barely enough to wake up. He couldn’t even remember anything for longer than a groon, at best. His processor had badly been damaged when Ironhide had hit him over the head when he had been running to Nemesis.

He was the only one who had seen Nemesis Prime at all.

Nemesis was… uncertain as to why. Perhaps it was the Trion Protocols, whatever tiny scraps remained, that ensured their connection remained. That allowed his scavenger and best friend to be in-tune to him at all times, even as bent and broken as he was.

Perhaps it was another blessing from Unicron, to have his friend so close. Or another curse, since Nemesis witnessed Bumblebee’s optics grow dark as he started to leak, and Ironhide hadn’t looked regretful in the slightest. Bumblebee’s gaze had never left Nemesis, even for a moment.

Even presently, more than four centuries after that fateful battle, Bumblebee’s optics turned online to watch Nemesis cross the room. He was silent, most of the time. Watching and trying to comprehend the meaning of his new world, Bumblebee was a quiet companion.

It makes whatever’s left of Nemesis’ spark ache, that his friend has fallen so far from being haughty and bold. Nemesis had brought him to ruin, and the worst part was that Bumblebee never looked upset. Only contemplating, as if he was trying to think of something to say.

Nemesis found it odd that Bumblebee never quite asked him the same thing. For someone with amnesia – only able to remember up to the final battle before he was able to process any new information – Nemesis was expecting repetition, an endless slew of “How did I end up here?” but he did not receive it.

Instead, Bumblebee thought for a while, and then he asked something new. Once, it had been if Cybertron was healing. Nemesis hadn’t responded to that one. Another time, he asked if he was the only one left alive. Nemesis had nodded. One time, Bumblebee had requested if he could be taken down. Nemesis had refused.

More recently, Bumblebee had asked if he was only a head left, plugged into a terminal. Unable to move, only able to think. If he served a bigger purpose, or if he was purely here for a purely support role.

Nemesis had felt a curdle of guilt, but had not responded. He did not want to bother the young spark with such… troublesome details. He had not wanted Bumblebee to feel no more use in his life.

Bumblebee may have no control over his systems, but Nemesis had no doubt that if the former scavenger wanted to, he could offline himself one way or another. It scared Nemesis to be alone. With only Galvatron for company, he thought he would rather offline himself, too.

Unicron would resurrect him over and over. As many times as he blew open his own head, Unicron would bring him back. He doubted Unicron had “hope”, but he had a belief system similar to it. Thinking he could bring Nemesis back from the brink with enough tries.

Perhaps it was spite.

Nemesis felt spiteful himself. Like it was one last “frag you” to Unicron to keep Bumblebee alive at all. You can take everything from me, you fragger. But you cannot take my best friend.

Bumblebee twitched, and his fans began to whir. It took effort, Nemesis knew, for his friend to bring himself to talk. He turned his head towards Bumblebee, because the most he could do was pay attention, even if he didn’t answer.

“Optimus,” Bumblebee wheezed.

Nemesis never corrected him. He used to, during the first few times Bumblebee awoke. But Bumblebee went back to calling him by name almost immediately, which was how Nemesis learned he had amnesia at all.

He should’ve known from the beginning, but Nemesis was not a scientist. He had studied Ratchet and Wheeljack’s notes to bring Bumblebee back from the brink at all, and he was impressed that he had kept Bumblebee alive for long enough to do so.

Nemesis could not be blamed for missing Bumblebee’s broken processor.

“Yes, Bumblebee.” Nemesis returned. “Proceed.”

Bumblebee hesitated. He tended to do so more and more as time passed, even though Nemesis could not detect any further decay to his processing units. “Did I…”

Nemesis waited. He did not know what question Bumblebee could ask that he had not already, but his friend always managed to surprise him. Somehow.

Bumblebee cleared his pipes, and tried again, managing to wrangle his voice box back to sounding almost perfect, with no static. “Optimus, I did good, right?”

Nemesis’ spark ached.

He wished he could pull it right out. He wished he could take the dead Matrix from his chassis and slam it against his desk over and over and over again until it was nothing but twisted metal and a sparking mess.

He wanted to hurt, to force one of the broken sheets of metal between his optics and gouge out his own processor.

He wanted to scream and curse and beg Unicron for death.

He wanted to throw himself into the Well of Allsparks until there was nothing left of him.

Nemesis wanted to die.

Instead he offered a smile, still hidden behind his battle mask, for his friend. He hoped Bumblebee saw the kindness in his eyes instead of the anger, instead of the sorrow. Both were unfathomably deep, but for Bumblebee, he could find a bit of tenderness.

“Yes, Bumblebee.” He reached up, and for once allowed his servo to touch Bumblebee’s cheek. There was a clicking sound as Bumblebee slumped, curling into his touch. His spark burned and froze at once. “You did excellent.”

One cycle, he and Galvatron would bring back the Allspark. Perhaps Galvatron’s plan to travel back in time to steal what should’ve been theirs would succeed, and they could bring life to their planet. Maybe they would be able to resurrect their own by giving it the sparks of all their dead friends. Perhaps Nemesis could bring it back himself.

One cycle, Bumblebee would be able to walk and talk again. He would be himself, he would be free, and Nemesis would not have to worry so much about giving him so much that he would be unable to keep him alive.

Bumblebee would have the opportunity to live again.

Not because Nemesis decreed it, but because “You are everything. You are special to my spark the way so few are. You did good, because you are good. Nothing can take that away from you.”

Bumblebee chuckled. It was soft, it was tired.

Nemesis wished he could die.

“Thank you,” Bumblebee whispered, and his optics flickered shut again.

His spark still burned. He lived.

Nemesis sagged his own helm, staring at the floor between his pedes. He did not remove his servo from Bumblebee’s cheek. “Until you awake again, my friend.”

May it be to a better Cybertron, even if you and I are the only ones left.

Till you and I are one.

Chapter Text

“There we are.” A digit brushed the inside of Bumblebee’s helm, fiddling around. There was a flick of a switch, and a static buzz, bringing his optics back online. Shockwave’s helm came into focus, and if he had a face, Bumblebee knew he would be smiling. “You have been perfected.”

“What?” Bumblebee spat, straining against the restraints Shockwave and put him in. He hadn’t dared to fight back when he hadn’t been able to see, but now that he was back to himself, he didn’t see why he shouldn’t. “How did ripping me apart to see how I ticked equate “perfected”?”

“Do not worry yourself with those petty details,” Shockwave grumbled. He closed a panel on the side of Bumblebee’s helm. “For now, just be aware that you fight against me, I have installed an electrical device inside your processor. You will obey, or risk being offlined. For good.”

“Sure.” Bumblebee hissed. His voice came out a little staticy, but he tried to ignore it. “I’ll play your little game for now. But the moment I see an opening–”

“You won’t.” Shockwave released his restraints, pulling him up to a sitting position. “We have safety protocols in place to guard against your escape. Come along now.”

Bumblebee huffed at him as Shockwave forced him to his pedes next, and pushed Bumblebee in front of him.

The lab wasn’t nearly as detached from the rest of the Decepticon’s base as Bumblebee had thought. It deposited straight into the middle of a busy hallway. Some vehicons ran by, others were walking with their olfactory sensor buried into their datapads.

Seekers were flying overhead, yelling at some of the grounded vehicons to get out of their way, and then charged on. Some battalions ran by in a rush, and others were leaning against the wall, just out of the way.

However, everyone split the moment Shockwave stepped into the hallway. They cleared out of his and Bumblebee’s way, wide optics turning to stare as they walked past.

Bumblebee juts his chin out high, but it was hard to stay brave when he knew he was being paraded about as a glorified war criminal. A couple vehicons made eye contact and snickered behind their servos, and a few others tore their gazes away immediately.

There was no hesitation, no interest in their newfound prisoner. Most just continued on their way, barely stepping away from Bumblebee and Shockwave before continuing on.

Bumblebee tried to vent in rhythm as they got further along, shoulders hunched. He didn’t quite know why he was being kept alive.

He had figured that Shockwave would’ve killed him just as soon as he got done tearing him apart. Most prisoners didn’t survive very long. Certainly not long enough to be paraded about.

Finally, Bumblebee couldn’t take the thoughtful expressions anymore and he looked down.

He looked down at servos that were not his. Elongated and gangly claws, replacing his usual digits. Servos twice his regular size, grey and sharp. For the first time, Bumblebee realized that they were really heavy. How hadn’t he noticed–

How hadn’t he noticed that everything weighed so much?!

Bumblebee felt a bead of panic springing to life in his spark, and he pivoted around on his heels. “What did you–?”

He didn’t even get the rest of the sentence out before there was a buzzing in his helm. Bumblebee was on his knees in an instant, electricity scalding into him. He clutched at his voice box, and he cried, pressing his forehelm to the ground.

Pedes moved around him, uncaringly. A few stilled next to him, but none of them lingered for long.

Only one thought was able to push past the pain, sneaking into Bumblebee’s processor; this all sucks.

The electricity cut off all at once, and he broke off into a sob, sinking even more into himself. He hadn’t even done anything, why would Shockwave bother–? Why did he hate Bumblebee so much?!

“Clearly,” Shockwave said, “you did not understand my instructions. You will not fight back. You will not complain. Get off the floor.”

Bumblebee got off the floor before he was completely sure what he was doing. He swayed on his pedes, blinking heavily at Shockwave, feeling a wash of pain cascading through him. “What… what did you do…?”

“As I said. You have been perfected.” Shockwave grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back around. Bumblebee stumbled slightly, but obediently walked along with him. “You deserve this for being an Autobot. I am the most logical judge for such things.”

“I don’t understand,” Bumblebee whispered, keeping his optics locked on his servos as Shockwave pushed him on and on through the throngs of Decepticons.

“It does not matter what you understand.” Shockwave scoffed, guiding him into a stairwell. For a moment, the lack of Decepticons was a relief, and then Shockwave’s cold servo on Bumblebee’s shoulder began to prickle. “You are nothing more than an example.”

“An example?” Bumblebee asked, shivering as Shockwave pushed him on and on, up step after step. “How is this– I don’t…”

“Do not bother yourself with your own ignorance.” Shockwave huffed, his digits sliding over the remote he was holding, towards the button Bumblebee bet would zap him if he spoke up again. For the sake of his processor, Bumblebee said nothing else.

They continued to walk, slowly, advancing up the stairs.

Three floors later, Shockwave pulled Bumblebee off the stairwell into another hall. It was more empty than the hallway below, but that didn’t mean it was completely devoid of Decepticons. At least a dozen marched the hallways, barely interacting with each other.

Bumblebee found himself wishing that this was a diplomatic meeting or something so he could cower behind Optimus’ leg and pretend he was a sparkling again. Optimus wouldn’t let that stand anymore, and Bumblebee was a fully fledged warrior, so all his bravery now had to be on his own merits.

He let himself be guided anyway. Every instinct was telling him to run, but Bumblebee knew better. He knew the pain that would come with letting that part of him win over. He didn’t know how far the device would continue to work, and he didn’t want to find out.

So he continued to walk.

After a while, Shockwave grabbed the handle to one of the doors they passed, ripping it open to shove Bumblebee into it.

Bumblebee stumbled into it, finding himself in the middle of a dull grey room. The only furniture piece was a mirror hung on the nearest wall. Bumblebee caught his own optic, and found himself staring.

Because he only did have one optic. It encompassed the entirety of his face. His helm was a completely different shape. He didn’t have a mouth, just a speaker. Shockwave had rebuilt Bumblebee to look like him.

And he hadn’t even realized.

“You will be delivered back to the Autobots tomorrow.” Shockwave told him. “So they can understand the consequences of trying to stand against us.”

“What’d you do?” Bumblebee asked numbly.

Shockwave stared at him for a long moment. “I do not know what you mean,” he said at long last, and then closed the door behind him. He left Bumblebee alone with his reflection.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee’s heel struts dug into the ground again, pivoting around before he continued his restless pace over the floor. To his side, Optimus and Hound sat, long since having given up on telling their students to calm down. To his other side, Mirage was clawing at the door, trying to get it to open.

So far, pacing and punching had yet to proven to be of any good. Even when their mentors had been helping, neither of their superior strengths had managed to break the reinforced metal. Bumblebee knew he should sit down, but he felt like if he stopped, he’d never get up.

Mirage probably appreciated his moral support. It was likely the only reason neither of them had burst into tears yet. Mirage was five times Bumblebee’s age, but even he was painfully young in comparison to their two mentors.

“Primus, this is stupid,” Mirage spat, digits once again failing to squeeze between the cracks of the door. They skittered off, and he paced back two steps to shake his servo out. “If they want something from us, shouldn’t they have already done something?!”

“Perhaps they are waiting for us to drain out of energon.” Optimus suggested, optics locking on the tiny camera in the corner of the room. “Our friends will come for us before that happens.”

“They will not.” Mirage denied. Rare for him; even he wasn’t usually brave enough to challenge the Prime. “They don’t even know where we are!”

“They will come anyway,” Hound optimistically put in. “Jazz is a wonderful tracker, and he was nearby when we were taken. It will not take him long to find our trail.”

“If we even left a trail, maybe.” Mirage grumbled. “But they didn’t even hurt us. We’re not leaking, and if they were prepared to disable us, then they probably were prepared to transport us, or…” He dragged his servos over his helm. “Frag!”

Bumblebee looked down at his own servos, not pausing his trek as he inspected his new cuffs for the umpteenth time. They apparently disabled all his weapon mechanics. As the only warframe in their group, he was the only one with wrist cuffs.

There was also a neck band, but he couldn’t see it that well. From what he could tell, those disabled their ability to transform into alt mode and stopped Mirage and Hound from using their holograms. Not to mention that all of their extra weapons had been confiscated before they even onlined again after being captured.

They were helpless. Bumblebee had never been helpless before.

“I have faith in Jazz.” Hound pressed, pushing away from where he was leaning against Optimus to sidestep around Bumblebee and wrap his arm around Mirage’s shoulders. “And you would do well to also have faith. There is nothing more we can do.”

Bumblebee twisted back around and paced back to the opposite wall. His internal clock said that he had been walking for three groons now, but it wasn’t like he was going to stop. Not when they still didn’t know what they were doing here. Who had captured them. How long they’d be stuck.

Primus, this sucked. Mirage was right about that much, at least.

“I don’t like this,” Mirage loudly announced, but let Hound lead him back to the wall.

Yeah, Bumblebee wanted to cry now that his ally was sitting down again. Mirage had given up on repetition. It would only be a matter of time before Bumblebee did, too.

“Bumblebee,” Optimus called again, gently. “May you please sit down?”

Bumblebee firmly shook his head, and pivoted again. He couldn’t stop moving, wouldn’t, even for a moment. Time was ticking, and this was the only thing he could think to do.

Maybe he should replace Mirage’s post at the door. His digits, after all, were a bit more sharper than his, a little less like nubs. Whoo, benefits of being a warframe.

He continued to walk regardless. He wasn’t going to waste time working for nothing.

Another half groon passed. Mirage powered off for a couple kliks, and then woke up with an irritated huff when he saw that they were still in place. Optimus and Hound hissed a few ideas to one another that would go nowhere, but at least they were trying.

Bumblebee’s heel struts were going to dig holes into the ground at this rate. He hoped it’d carve through the metal so they could escape before they all ran out of energon. His logic systems helpfully told him that they wouldn’t.

The intercom next to the camera buzzed. An automated announcement: “Please stand clear of the doors.”

“Bumblebee,” Optimus said tiredly, before the scout could even think of being defiant. “Please stand clear of the doors.”

Bumblebee grumbled and stood back, bouncing on his pedes as Optimus, Hound, and Mirage all climbed to their pedes as well, standing at the ready.

The doors clicked, and slid open. Just like that, everything they had hoped to accomplish had come to fruition. Except it hadn’t, because filling the doorway were three mercenaries, staring down their olfactory sensor at them.

“Can’t believe we’ve actually got a Prime,” the one on the left grinned. “Guess today is our lucky day!”

“And two sparklings!” The one on the right added, optics sparkling. “Do you know how much money you two sell for? And if we scrap you for parts, that’s even better!”

“What?” Mirage huffed, straightening up. “Excuse you, I’m not a sparkling! I’m over four thousand!”

Optimus grabbed Bumblebee’s shoulder and pushed him behind him. “You're not laying a hand on either of them.”

“Still not a sparkling!” Mirage grumbled. “I’m almost fully trained!”

“Not the time, Mirage.” Hound hissed, shouldering his way to the front with Optimus.

“But I’m not?!”

The middle mercenary sniffed at them degradingly. “Fine. The rest of you will sell for a pretty package. For now, however, grab the little one.”

Optimus snarled, adjusting more firmly in front of Bumblebee. “You will do no such–!”

“I’m afraid,” the mercenary, probably the leader, said with no amount of sympathy. “You don’t get a choice in the matter. Hardjaw, will you do me a favour, and clear the path?”

“You got it, boss.” The left one grinned, hitting a button on his wrist.

There was no pause. Immediately, the rest of Bumblebee’s team was screaming, bodies lit up with bright electrical surges. Mirage was on the ground first, and in no time Hound and Optimus were on their knees, too.

Bumblebee gasped, stumbling back a step. No, he reminded himself harshly, be brave. You’re braver than this. Be brave.  

He lifted his servos up into fists, pulling his dentas into a scowl, “Don’t touch me!”

“Oh,” the right mercenary chimed excitedly. “He does talk. You owe me a batch of high grade!”

“Of course he does,” the leader grumbled. “His voice box is fully operational. Fear normally just renders bots this young speechless. It should not have even been a bet.”

Bumblebee didn’t lie and say he was older than they thought. If they had scanned his systems, they already would know his manufacturer code. They would know he was born during the war, which really did mean he was a sparkling. Mirage had seen Cybertron before its fall, at very least. They were just trying to rile him up.

But every threat against Bumblebee was real, and that was what was so scary.

“Grab him.” The leader clicked his glossia.

Bumblebee hissed. “Don’t! I’ll–!”

“If you touch him,” Optimus hissed, trying and failing to get his servos underneath him. A click of Hardjaw’s wrist, and he was back to the floor, writhing in agony.

Bumblebee hissed, back shoved against the wall, and then into the corner. “Just because I have weapons built in doesn’t mean I’m helpless without them! I know how to fight, and I won’t let you take me down without a–!”

“Hardjaw,” the leader drawled. “Please make sure his words hold no truth.”

Bumblebee’s entire frame lit up in red-hot agony, blazing through him. He gasped, digits clawing at the air, intake open in a scream. He tried futilely to stay upright, but his back strut hit the war and the last of his resolve and balance collapsed.

His instability crashed through his frame, and it was all he could do to twitch. His optics started to leak, all his attempts to hold back his own terror failing the moment he couldn’t control his own body.

The two lackeys grabbed his arms and started to drag him backwards. Bumblebee was able to let out a screech of terror as he was pulled. His pedes partially dragged, lodging a bit in the ground, but that was all he could do.

“Bumblebee,” Optimus tried, a servo reaching pathetically after him, but he couldn’t get up in time.

Bumblebee was dragged out the doors, and they clicked in place after him. He was alone.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee hydraulics hissed uneasily as he switched back to “root mode”, or whatever Windblade called it. The version of him that didn’t have sick wheels and helped him go faster.

Switching back to pedes made everything spin dangerously, and Bumblebee grunted under his breath. Squeezing his optics shut, Bumblebee pressed his hand over the tiny spherical holes decorating his side, hissing.

Man, that stung.

At least he had gotten back to the ship he shared with Windblade in record time. That wouldn’t have been fun to try to limp his way back together in the wilderness. He knew, because he had done it before.

Bumblebee strode onto the ramp, clicking a couple of his gears that he wasn’t using together restlessly. Sooner he got himself back together, the sooner he could go back to exploring this forestry area they had found themselves in, and the less mad Windblade would be when she found out he sneaked out again–

“Bee!” Speak of the devil, there his friend was in all her glory, striding into the bay with all the anger of a rampaging bull. “Where have you been?! I know you’re not used to having a friend, but you cannot go driving off just whenever you want! Did you forget we’re being hunted?”

Bumblebee rolled his optics despite himself. He hadn’t forgotten, but he had avoided detection from the rude Decepticons before Windblade had come into his life, and he could continue to do so. It wasn’t his fault she was bright red.

He guessed he didn’t have much reason to complain about her colour scheme. He was bright yellow, and in a forest he was just as noticeable as she was. Just because no Decepticons had spotted him didn’t mean no humans had.

His side panelling was starting to ooze. Fantastic.

::You never let me live my dream!:: He beeped at her, pushing past to start hunting for their first aid kit. He was pretty sure he had seen one in the server room, but it could also just as easily be on the bridge. Ha. Both options were good.

“Hey, where are you going?” Windblade reached out to seize his arm as he strode past. It pulled too hard on his side, and he winced, stopping abruptly. “You’re never so… stingy.”

Bumblebee activated his stinger proudly, and lifted it up to show it off to her. He raised an eyeridge curiously. ::Darlin’, I’m the best at what I do.::

“What? No, not your stinger, stingy. It means… nevermind.” Windblade pressed her servos to his shoulders, and made sure he was looking at her directly in the optics. Bumblebee squirmed under her gaze. “You just have never shrugged me off before. What happened out there?”

::I don’t know what you’re talking about.:: Bumblebee grumbled. ::Hoo-wee! People are nasty! Sometimes.::

“I… I don’t get it. Did you get into a fight?” Windblade asked nervously. Scanning him over. “Or did you just… Did they say something rude to you? I told you, Cons are bad news. They’ve tried to kill us multiple times!”

::We’re pals! No harm, no foul.:: Bumblebee reassured, but lifted his arm to show off the bullet holes underneath. Clearly, Windblade would be worried about him no matter what. Maybe she’d be less mad if he was direct. ::All taken care of, see? Not even a scratch!::

“Oh, Bee…” Windblade mourned, taking him by his hand and guiding him after her. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Bumblebee rolled his optics again. It was like she thought he was totally useless. He was just kind of useless, instead. ::Way ahead o’ ya, missy!::

Windblade grumbled and didn’t relent, leading him onwards. Sure enough, his first guess was right, and the server room was stocked with a first aid kit. She pulled it open and set it down decisively in his lap. “Hold still. I’m going to see what I can do about putting you back together. You’re leaking already, but not badly.”

::It’s sprung a leak! We’re going down!”

“Ugh, you’ve got tiny bits of metal in the holes.” Windblade squinting. “I’m no medic, but I’m pretty sure those aren’t supposed to be there. Hand me the tweezers.” Her optics started to glow to light up his injuries as Bumblebee handed her what he was decently sure was the right tool. “Good. This might hurt a little, but I’ll try to go quickly.”

::Let’s speed, keed!::

“Yes, sure, whatever.” Windblade pressed the tweezers into the first hole, and Bumblebee winced, digits tightening around the first aid kit. It bent slightly under his grip, and he strained not to tighten his hold on it any more. “I’m sorry this happened. This isn’t any kind of weapon I’m familiar with… It wasn’t a Decepticon who did this to you, was it?”

::Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet.::

“Oh you cannot be serious. Humans?! I didn’t know they even had firepower like this. Like, really, not lasers? Tiny pieces of metal? That doesn’t even make sense. I mean, it does, but that’s just cruel, leaving residue behind like this– Ah, there’s the first piece.” She plucked it out, holding an oblong piece of metal up. “Primus, I don’t understand why this would happen.”

::How’s it looking, doc? Will I live?::

“Ugh, yes. Your nanites should start working as soon as I finish pulling them out. I’ll weld them shut, too, just to prevent any more leakage. Guess you’re getting an extra cube tonight.”

::You spoil me, dear sister!::

“Not spoiling. It’s just to make up for whatever energon’s been lost.” She reaches in again. The second metal piece came out much quicker. “As long as it’s just us, we’ve got to stay in fighting shape until we find the others.”

::Don’t worry, we’ll keep her in ship-shape!::

“Bumblebee, that means no more sneaking out! Even for fun! If you want to go for a drive, we’ll find somewhere else to go. I’ll keep an eye on you the whole time. But you can’t leave while I’m not looking, okay?”

::What a buzz kill…::

“Yeah, most people are much nicer than me. What’s why you were blasted a couple times.” Windblade rolled her eyes, leaning in again to collect another piece of metal. “Just… please promise me you won’t go off on your own.”

Bumblebee stared at her, worrying his bottom dermas. He didn’t want to let her down. He guessed he just wasn’t used to having people who cared about him. Usually his mistakes only affected him, and he’d drag himself into a cave or something until he recovered, even if that took a hundred years.

He wasn’t used to having Windblade.

::I promise.:: He reassured her.

Windblade’s optic ridges softened. “Okay, Bee, I’ll take your word for it. I just… don’t want to see you hurt again.”

For once, the consequences hurt more than Bumblebee. And he didn’t know how he felt about that.

Chapter Text

There were times when Optimus regretted his position. Being a Prime was… a lot. Both mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically–

Okay, every part of him was worn out! There was a near constant headache from everything he had to do, and everyone kept looking at him like he was some perfect pioneer of safety and relief, even though he was on the younger scale of things. He wasn’t even a full vorn old! He hadn’t been born when the thirteen were in power, and his only basis for leadership was Sentinel, the smug, selfish spawn of Unicron.

That was rude. At this point, though, Optimus didn’t care.

It was like Sentinel knew his time was ending soon, because for the last cycle he hadn’t done any of his paperwork. So now Optimus had a backlog of reports and duties to work through, not even counting the amount of diplomatic missions he had to attend and cities he had to visit and the new laws he was trying to orchestra in, and the amount of miners who were now displaced and–

Had he mentioned that everything was a lot to deal with yet?

There were some days, surrounded by paperwork, that he wondered why Sentinel had even considered being a Prime to be a blessing. Clearly, he hadn’t accounted for the fact that a job that was formerly done by thirteen would not be easily condensed to be dealt with by one. No wonder Sentinel had avoided his duties.

And all of that was without accounting for the fact that Optimus was currently fighting two wars at once. There were the Quintessons, outraged that their treaty had been broken and their pet killed, and the Decepticons who hated Optimus for objecting to the killing of said pet.

It was an exhausting job, and sometimes Optimus wondered why he had to do it.

At least he, too, was sometimes allowed to play hooky with his old mining buddies or B-127.

Not that it ended up being very mundane. Any amount of exploring the surface resulted in either running into the Decepticons or Quintessons. This time proved to be no different. Sitting with B-127 near an outcropping, the two of them stared down at a Quintesson patrol, driving by the area.

“I told you we shouldn’t have come over here,” Optimus grumbled, trying to pretend like this was all a wild coincidence.

It wasn’t, though, that much was obvious from B-127’s wide grin itself. “Oh, come on, Optimus! Sure there’s a few more than we were expecting, but we’re the best fighters in all of Iacon! We can handle this no problem!”

They were absolutely not “the best fighters” by any definition of the phrase, but Optimus allowed it with a roll of his eyes. They were capable, at the very least. And B-127 was right; he needed something to take his processor off everything.

“Please? Come on, Optimus, it’ll be totally dope!”

“Fine, fine.” Optimus sighed, dusting off his legs and pushing himself to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“Yesss!” B-127 whooped with a fist pump. “Let’s go do it! I’ll race you there!”

“Stop!” Optimus insisted, reaching out to grab his best friend’s arm, but B-127 was already rolling down the steep hill before he could even get a step. Optimus hesitated with a groan, dragging a hand down his face. ““Just go, with B, Prime, it’ll be fun.” “You’ll feel better after punching a Quintesson”, yeah right, Elita.”

He followed after B-127 urgently, skidding down the cliff after him. It only took him a few nano-kliks to resolve to transform as well, rolling after the younger bot.

B-127 was faster than anyone gave him credit for. Optimus had to apply his boosters just to keep up with him, wheels spinning recklessly against the pavement as B-127 got further ahead of him.

B-127’s Primus-given silence gave him the few nano-kilks he needed to get the jump on the nearest Quintesson, punching it in the face. That was enough time for his motormouth to catch up to the rest of him. “Take this one for size!” He backflipped, shaking his hand as the Quintesson recoiled. “Man, you guys are tough for organics!”

“Use your knife hands, B!” Optimus reminded, switching to alt mode and swinging out his axe to plunge into the next Quintesson. It let out a scream as the blade dug into its vulnerable flesh, its blood splattering across his faceplate. “They’ve got hard interiors– What are they called?”

“Bones, I think?”

“Yeah! Bones. Look out for the bones. They’ll get you.”

One of the Quintessons reached out their hands for Optimus’ face, but he ducked underneath it, swiping his axe up at their armored arms. Without the right amount of traction, it only somewhat dug into their arm, but it was enough for the Quintesson to screech and back off, slithering away.

“This is great! Isn’t this great, O.P.?” B-127 asked, vaulting underneath a Quintesson’s legs and cutting as he went, leaving it to fall over on itself, blood oozing from his injuries.

“Not exactly the word I would use.”

“Oh, come on! You’ll be feeling better in no time!” B-127 chattered, bouncing on his pedes and nearly walking straight into a Quintesson before he readjusted himself. “You’ve just got to let yourself go with the flow, you know?”

“You’ve got to stop hanging out with Jazz,” Optimus complained good-naturedly. “He’s got all his… metaphors. It’s going to bog you down, B.”

“Nothing can bog me down! I’ve just got–!”

There was a blast from… somewhere. Optimus didn’t even see it hit, all he knew was that the ground under his pedes shifted violently, and dust exploded into the air. His processor and optics blacked out for a nano-klik.

When they came online again, multiple blasters were being pointed at his and B’s helms, and there was about double the amount of Quintessons than they had originally spotted.

“Well,” B said anxiously, coughing and wisely not sitting up. “I guess we shouldn’t have come over here.”

“Oh Primus,” Optimus groaned, lifting his servos up to dig them into his optics. The Quintessons shifted with the movement, glaring at him suspiciously. One of them kicked his axe further away. “We’ve got to stop getting ourselves into these messes.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it’d be a mess–”

A Quintesson stabbed one of its sharp feet into B-127’s shoulder. The yellow bot screamed as it went straight through, energon sputtering out of the new entry wound.

“B!” Optimus yelled, turning to reach for his friend, but two feet slammed on either end of his head, a Quintesson redirecting itself to stand directly over him. “Hey–! Let him go!”

The Quintesson clicked its tongue at him, one of its pedes lifting out to grab his face and tilt it back towards B-127, not letting him turn his helm away.

B-127 pulled against the pede in his shoulder, whines ripping their way out of his intake as he struggled futilely against it. His optics rounded over to Optimus, and he tugged away one servo to hold out to Optimus.

Optimus reached back, but the Quintesson over him shuffled its feet more securely. Optimus could not move towards his friend. He could do nothing but watch as B-127’s assailant pressed in more, another sharp foot raising up and angling towards B-127’s other arm.

“Leave him alone,” Optimus ordered, servos tightening into fists. “Leave him alone–”

“Leave me alone,” B-127 whispered in sync, lifting up his free servo to clamp over his shoulder protectively.

It did nothing against the Quintesson stabbing its clawed foot in, straight through his servo and shoulder at once. B-127 screamed.

“NO!” Optimus squeezed his optics shut. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see what was about to happen.

The Quintesson over him dragged a leg against his side. Not sharp enough to hurt, but so its thoughts were transmitted straight into Optimus’ consciousness, just like their leader had done to Sentinel all those orbital-cycles ago. If you want to keep him safe, you will beg.

Optimus didn’t have any pride in that regard. There was nothing telling him he was too good for that, like D-16 had. There was only him, desperate to keep his friend safe.

“Please,” Optimus begged, the word raw and desperate. “Don’t touch him, don’t hurt him– He doesn’t deserve this! Please, he’s just been following my orders–”

“Don’t be stupid!” B-127 snapped back, voice quaking, threading in and out of steely annoyance – he must’ve gotten that from Elita-1 – and pain. “It was me– I told him this was a good idea, you–!”

“That doesn’t matter.” Optimus said quickly. “I’m his leader. I am the new Prime, Sentinel’s successor. Everything that happens is by my command. B-127 was just following orders. He was trying to do good. He always tries to do good, even when he shouldn’t, he’s… He’s a good bot, please don’t hurt him, please.”

B-127 groaned as the Quintesson pushed more firmly against him, claws digging into him. His digits wiggled, and Optimus couldn’t tell if that was on purpose or just a stray movement caused by split circuits.

“No! No, please, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Will you kneel? WIll you swear to provide us with energon?

“What? There are– There are lakes now, why would I ever need to–?”

It is not about that. It’s about you obeying us. The Quintesson’s leg adjusted to press firmer against Optimus. Still not hurting him. Privately, Optimus thought that was the worst part. Do you swear to do what we ask?

“No,” Optimus disagreed, spark aching. “I– I can’t.”

The Quintesson clicked. Then your pleading is for nothing.

“No, no! I– I can’t serve you but I– Take me, leave him out of this, take me!”

We cannot do that.

“Please, don’t touch him, please, please, please–”

The Quintesson piercing B-127 moved, sharp feet yanking themselves straight out of the young bot. B-127 barked out a short yelp, energon spilling out of his now open wounds as nothing was in place to stem the flow of energon.

“No!” Optimus clawed frantically, but he could do nothing to stop it. B-127 tried to plug the holes with his servos, but with one having its own hole, energon just spilled out from between his gears. “Don’t–”

The Quintesson tapped his foot over B-127’s helm, right between his optics. B-127’s venting caught, and he went very still.

Energon. Optimus’ Quintesson demanded. Now.

“I– I…” Optimus struggled for the right words. “I can’t” would’ve been a good one. And yet, when he tried to say it, the words got stuck on his glossa. He squeezed his optics shut. “How… How much?”

Three trains, ten cars each. Delivered here in half a deca-cycle, at midday. It started to twist away, one last stray thought crossing between them as it departed to join its brethren over B-127. We’ll keep your pet as assurance. Don’t be late.

“Keep him alive!” Optimus yelled, stumbling up to his feet as all the other Quintessons departed as well.

His servos shook, barely contained fear shooting through him as they took B-127 and departed. He could do nothing to stop it. He was helpless. Lost.

What was he going to do?!

Chapter Text

“Careful, I want him unharmed when we bring him back to the Autobots.” Megatron advised, his pedes tapping the ground in front of Bumblebee’s face, pacing in front of his prisoner.

The vehicons pinning Bumblebee down grumbled, but didn’t argue with Megatron, trying to reangle his arms behind his back. Bumblebee buckled against them, trying to yank his arms out of their grips, but they held fast, claws tightening on him.

“Right,” Bumblebee spat, “because when you bring me home, Optimus is going to shake your hand and pat you on the back and go “Oh, thanks, I was wondering where I put my scout”!”

Megatron came to a stop in front of Bumblebee. Bumblebee couldn’t actually see his face, but he could practically imagine the sneer painted on him. “Oh, little scout, you think you’re so clever. So wry.”

“Well, I wasn’t made a scout because I was good at not getting kidnapped,” Bumblebee snorted, twisting his helm to try to look up at his assailants. He got a glimpse of a vehicon’s helm before it was shoving him back down. “Ow– I think that one’s pretty obvious.”

“It wasn’t due to your charisma, either.” Megatron scoffed, and Bumblebee liked to imagine that the warlord was barely holding back from kicking his face. It was better than picturing him as a gracious host. “I will tell you this much, little scout. Bravery will get you nowhere. Neither will pointless hopes and expectations. I advise you to watch your tongue.”

“Man, it’s not often that I get blatant confirmation that I chose the right side,” Bumblebee laughed. It hadn’t been a choice at all, not really, just happenstance that he had been found by Autobot scouts before Decepticon ones, but he wasn’t about to give Megatron his whole sob story. “Autobots are better than Decepticons, who knew?”

“That is enough out of you.” Megatron hissed.

The vehicons finally were able to trap Bumblebee’s arms, snapping restraints on to keep his arms awkwardly bent behind his back. He hissed under his breath, kicking against them, but they didn’t relent.

“In fact,” Megatron continued, turning away. His heels had sharp spikes on them that almost stabbed Bumblebee’s optics. “If you utter one more word, I’ll personally see to it that you are harmed. Just what your Prime needs to see. His most trusted and loyal scout, nothing more than damaged goods.”

Bumblebee hissed. Despite all his ribs and Primus-given defiance, he didn’t actually want to tempt fate and get himself killed.

He tried to imagine Optimus’ face upon being given a yellow, compacted cube of scrap metal. He pictured the terror and anger that would lace through the Prime, only to be replaced by dull acceptance. He hated how easy it was to picture, because he had seen it happen all too many times.

The pain strewn across his friend’s expression, only to be shoved down and snuffed out all for the sake of appearing “strong”. The Decepticons were, after all, so unbelievably cruel, and in this war Optimus could not afford to be anything less than stoic.

Sometimes, Bumblebee wondered if Optimus was kind because it was the only part of him he still had autonomy over. That he still had the option to choose to be, over and over again.

Bumblebee couldn’t exactly relate, since Optimus had let him make his own decisions over and over again, but he could understand.

“At least you have some sense.” Megatron said after a beat, when Bumblebee had gone a while without saying a word. “Good. I was almost worried that all of Optimus’ soldiers were idiots.”

It was a bait. It was very, clearly, a bait. Megatron was dying to get Bumblebee to bite.

And honestly, Bumblebee didn’t exactly fall for it, since he saw it coming, but… The internal debate probably wasn’t as long as it should’ve been.

“You’re wrong.” Bumblebee hissed, digging his shoulder against the ground. “Optimus knows how to choose–”

Megatron grabbed one of his horns so tightly that it felt like it would crack, yanking his helm backwards. “But, I have been known to be wrong. Look at you. So pathetic that you could not give up the opportunity to run your foolish mouth.”

“I’m not completely to blame, here,” Bumblebee hissed between clenched denta. “You shouldn’t play stupid, yourself! You were literally just trying to goad me–!”

“Out of curiosity. To see how great your will truly was.” Megatron sneered into his face. “And just like the rest of you, you were underwhelming. Now. We really need to do something about how you cannot seem to shut up.”

“Only when prompted–”

“Hmm.” Megatron narrowed his eyes. “There is no cure for your insubordination. What a shame.”

“Not exactly a cure for my voice, either.” Bumblebee teased, trying to ignore it when Megatron started to lift him off the ground, shifting his grip to his neck instead to lift him up. “So, I’m afraid you’re stuck with it–”

Megatron slammed him against the wall so hard his vents spluttered. “Hmm. I think not. Pathetic child.”

“I–” Bumblebee gasped, arms aching through the restraints. He tried to kick off against Megatron, but the warlord held tight.

Megatron adjusted his grip, reaching his claws up to tug at Bumblebee’s neck. It stabbed straight into his metal joints, and Bumblebee released a quick cry, optics straining by how far they snapped open as Megatron dug in.

“Hush,” Megatron chided. “I am being careful. You won’t be hurt any more than necessary.”

“If you could just learn to ignore me–” Bumblebee gagged, kicking as much as possible. “This wouldn’t be–”

Megatron’s claws found the proper amount of purchase, and he ripped open the panel on the side of Bumblebee’s neck. It cut him off with a hiss, squeezing his optics shut. Megatron’s grip reached in, seizing some of Bumblebee’s innerworkings.

Bumblebee barely managed to realize just what Megatron had grabbed – his voice box, he wouldn’t dare, he wouldn’t – before Megatron ripped it straight out of him. Bumblebee gasped soundlessly as pain surged through his body. He tried to scream, but nothing came out.

Megatron dropped him onto the ground, and Bumblebee thumped onto the cold ground. Energon splattered against the floor, dripping everywhere. Bumblebee gagged, legs futilely shoving against the ground as he dry heaved against the floor.

Megatorn’s claws reached down, and Bumblebee gasped at his cold touch as Megatron clicked the panel shut. He squeezed his optics shut as Megatron stood up over him, saying a quick phrase to the vehicons.

He couldn’t hear whatever Megatron said over the hazy static in his audials, and at this point Bumblebee wasn’t sure that he wanted to. Everything ached far too much for that. He wallowed in the puddle of his own energon, vents wheezing in the liquid.

More cold servos grabbed his neck and forced him to bare it, and then something far too hot hissed against his neck. Bumblebee gasped and tried to fight back, but he couldn’t get enough leverage against them, and everything hurt, making it hard for him to focus.

There was a huff of air, and his metal warped underneath their touch, melding back together. Bumblebee cried and kicked, but they didn’t react. One more firm hand against him, one more touch, and everything cooled.

Megatron leaned down close to him, just enough that Bumblebee could hear him over the static-filled haze. “Let’s hope you can be repaired. And let’s hope you are better for it now and have learned your lesson, hmm?”

Bumblebee wheezed, closing his optics again. He didn’t react, even as the vehicons manhandled him up to his pedes and dragged him out of the room and to a holding cell.

As the door clicked shut behind him, he curled into himself and tried not to leak anymore than he already was. He tried not to imagine Optimus’ face when he was given a damaged scout, a useless scout.

It was hard to think of anything else.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee found himself checking the Terrans for the umpteenth time, dusting them off and looking them over frantically. “Are you kids sure you’re okay? That was a pretty rough battle.”

“Are you kidding?” Thrash laughed, holding up his shield to playfully ward off Bumblebee’s attempts to look them over. “Those arachnomechs can’t touch us! We’re great.”

“Yeah, you big worry wart!” Hashtag chuckled, reaching up to affectionately lob his shoulder. A cascade of pain lurched through his arm, and he winced at her, trying to pout good naturedly. “It’s like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves!”

“Of course I do,” Bumblebee said between gritted teeth and rolling his optics as gently as he could. “But when you start to underestimate your enemies is when they get you.”

“Right,” Twitch snipped. “That’s how we could’ve gotten hurt in the two minutes since the last time you checked us. While we were distracted by you, an arachnomech snuck up and got us.”

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated, Twitch.”

“Your fretting is not appreciated either, Bumblebee.”

Bumblebee sighed, reluctantly letting go of her siblings to take a step back, lifting the arm he could move comfortably up in surrender. The other got halfway up and then got stuck. He tried to ignore it. “Okay, okay, no more checks. Just tell me if anything pulls or gets weird, okay?”

“We will,” Nightshade reassured, patting his good shoulder sympathetically. “But we can all assure you, this was quite easy, all things considering. We got out unscathed, even Jawbreaker.”

“Yeah!” Jawbreaker enthused merrily. “I’m, like, super strong, even without an alt mode! How much cooler am I going to be when I can transform into something?!” He flexed.

Bumblebee laughed. “Okay, okay! Fine, you’re all much stronger than I give you credit for! I’m proud of you all. One day you might be as good of a fighter as me!”

If they weren’t already. The Terrans had gotten out of the simple altercation unscathed, but Bumblebee… So, he was a little rusty and got his aft handed back to him. So what?

He’d handle it.

He’d totally handle it.

At his joke, though, the Terrans all groaned and kicked their pedes, oblivious to just how genuine it was, and not a lot of it was actually fueled by ego. He wanted them to be better than him. He knew they had the ability to do so, he just didn’t know how to drive them to succeed. He didn’t know how to train them to be better than him.

Especially not when his arm hung tiredly at his side, broken in some way he couldn’t quite articulate. He was pretty sure one of the sockets had cracked, so no matter how he held his arm, it would not snap back into place.

“I can’t wait to tell Robby all about this!” Twitch told her siblings excitedly, waving her arms merrily. “He’s going to be so jealous he couldn’t be here!”

“Yeah,” Thrash agreed. “Mo too!”

“Why don’t they just quit school and join us with Bumblebee all the time?” Jawbreaker asked. “What’s so great about school?”

“Blah-blah-blah, something about having real human kids as friends?” Twitch shrugged. “Mom says if there was a school for other robot kids, ones that weren’t family, she’d sign us up. Social interactions are important, she says.”

Bumblebee winced to himself. The thought that he would be replaced as quickly as Dot possibly could was not a very fun thought. He couldn’t even blame her in the slightest, really. He’d replace him, too, if he got the chance.

He had lost to arachnomech, for crying out loud! One mistimed move, and he was left with a dislocated arm. He’d have to practice until he could do that punch perfectly, and then he could properly train it to the Terrans without fear that something would go wrong, and Dot would kill him for getting her kids hurt.

Not to mention Optimus. If the final hope of the Cybertronian race got hurt under his watch, he’d never be forgiven.

“Well, she’s right,” Bumblebee said in lue of confessing all his fears and worries to them. “I didn’t have any bots my age when I was your age. The closest was my… um, brother, but he was two vorns older than me. And I didn’t stick with him for long.”

“Wait, none?” Hashtag asked, eyeridges rising. “That sounds… lonely.”

“Well, yeah, but I had Optimus and Ratchet.” Bumblebee shook his head. “That’s not the point, though. It’s awesome that you have each other. That there’s five of you. But that’s really not enough. Sometimes, over a hundred bots could come out of one batch. I mean, it wasn’t frequent, but it could happen. Classes would be filled with spark siblings or just other sparklings. There was a wide variety of bots.”

“So we are built to be social.” Nightshade muttered. “But we are not. We are isolated, because nobody is allowed to know of our existence, and the adults are kept at a distance.”

“I hate being stuck like this.” Thrash scoffed, kicking the floor. “If we were just allowed to, I bet we could befriend all sorts of humans! Mo and Robby’s friends could be ours, too.”

“You know why that’s not allowed.” Bumblebee chided as gently as he could. “I can start working with the Autobots to get you more substitutes to increase all that social interaction and stuff, but I’m afraid that’s all I can really do.”

“That’s okay, Bumblebee.” Twitch mumbled. “We don’t mind. Really.”

Bumblebee fought back the “Well I do”, that was on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to do right by them, he really did. “Alright, well. We’ve stayed out long enough hunting Mandroid’s droids down. Go and head home.”

“Are you accompanying us?” Nightshade asked, catching up on the vague wording immediately.

“Oh, I’ll be right behind.” Bumblebee told them. With the state of his arm, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to transform at all or not. He’d try to weld it back into place, he supposed, but he wasn’t sure how well that would go. And if he messed up…

Well, he guessed he and Hardtop would have something alike.

“I’ve just got a couple things to check up on, and I need to give Optimus a mission report.” Bumblebee continued, turning to kick an arachnomech. “I’m sure you’ll all make it back home okay without my help, right?”

Twitch burst with the opportunity to prove herself. “Yes! Of course! I’ll make sure we all make it back, safe and sound! Come on, Maltobots! Hup, hup, let’s step to it!”

“Yes!” Jawbreaker enthused, trailing behind his sister merrily. “We won’t let you down, Bumblebee!”

“Of course you won’t,” Bumblebee grinned, because he honestly could not think of a single thing that would ruin his faith in them. It was impossible. A nonfactor. “Call me when you get home. I’ll be right behind you.”

Twitch saluted. “Sir, yes sir!” And then she was turning back to her siblings, herding them along. 

Bumblebee watched them go, subtly, over his shoulder. As they poured away, the tired smile fell off his lips, and he reached up idly to touch his joint.

Well. What was he supposed to do about his arm?

Chapter Text

Bumblebee gave himself five minutes to vent and recover what little energy he could before he was pulling himself meekly out of the sewers. The arena that had almost been his downfall, the accursed Bot Brawl.

Primus, he couldn’t believe he had let himself get caught. That he thought it was a joke or an exaggeration that they drained the losers of their energon. What self-respecting bot would allow themselves to get tangled up in that mess?

Apparently, desperate ones. Decepticons who thought they needed their brethren’s energon more than they did.

Bumblebee himself wasn’t self respecting, ha, so he didn’t really count. But, Primus.

As he made his way up to the surface, he was bombarded by the sounds of car alarms going off, and the wake of destruction led him in the direction the Terrans must’ve gone in, chasing desperately after their sister. 

He prayed they had stayed safe, and stayed close together. He wasn’t their guardian anymore, after all, and he couldn’t exactly give them orders if they wouldn’t listen. “Go. They need you more than I do right now,” and that was the only instruction he could give.

Putting distance between themselves and him so they wouldn’t get hurt because of him–

But it was too late for that. The moment he allowed Jawbreaker to even pretend to be a part of Bot Brawl, the moment they got caught up in the fight with Grimlock, the moment he asked them to help him get Grimlock, he had let it get out of control.

And now they really were in trouble, and he couldn’t protect them from it. He had gotten himself caught, and what if they suffered the consequences of it instead of him? He was a disaster magnet and a danger to all.

No wonder Optimus made sure Bumblebee kept his distance from all the other Autobots. No wonder it was always Bumblebee seeking Breakdown out, and never the other way around.

Bumblebee kept up the pace, slowly inching his way through the city and grabbing onto whatever he could that was bot-height and served as a semi-secure resting point. He couldn’t afford to stand still for long. Or, rather, the Terrans couldn’t afford it.

Just in case Hashtag wasn’t something they could handle on their own, or if they got stuck too or if Grimlock showed up–

Optimus would say to stop letting the “what ifs” cloud his judgement, but it was so hard, and Bumblebee knew for a fact that Optimus was a hypocrite.

Scrap it all.  

Bumblebee pushed forward to stumble forward a few steps, barely able to grab a lamppost in time before the weight of his body took him off his pedes. He gasped against it, feeling it bend slightly under his weight.

Pain flared through him, the lack of energon all too hard to handle, and he groaned.

“Ah!” Jawbreaker’s voice broke through the wave of agony, and his helm snapped up to watch the younger approach, breaking out of a lower divot in the park. “Hey, over here!”

Bumblebee smiled, trying to push himself upright. “You’re okay–!” Bumblebee sharply overbalanced, and it was only because Jawbreaker was right there to throw himself underneath Bumblebee’s arm that his face didn’t meet concrete.

“Are you okay?!” Jawbreaker asked, desperate, supporting him awkwardly as he helped him limp the rest of the way towards the rest of their family.

“Of course I am, Jawbreaker.” Bumblebee reassured, realizing only a moment too late that he sounded like the biggest aft this side of the universe. And also a very obvious liar, too. “I mean– I will be. Being drained of energon is a stressful process.”

“I bet it is,” Jawbreaker said anxiously, staring up at his face with optics that betrayed his youth. Bumblebee had put so much into their performance in the Bot Brawl, to ensure that his first impression of Bumblebee again wasn’t a traumatizing one.

Bumblebee knew he had failed, especially with the later stuff, but… he hoped it wasn’t that bad.

“But we never found Grimlock,” Twitch mourned, into the air, and Bumblebee snapped his way into a conversation he had not been privy to. The lurch of guilt, that Twitch was taking the pessimistic outlook onto her own shoulders, was powerful.

Hashtag, at his opposite side, looking healthy and none the worse for wear, clicked on her wrist to activate a data screen. “Still no chatter about a dinobot in the city. If he went through what I just did, he’s definitely going to look for somewhere safe.”

And it was for a prolonged period of time. Not just a “fifteen minutes of fame” quick burst of exposure. No, for Grimlock, it must’ve been going for the last three deca-cycles. Bumblebee wondered if he got breaks, or if he his mind had been assaulted the whole time, or–

Selfishly, Bumblebee was glad it wasn’t him in Grimlock or Hashtag’s pedes. Simply being strung up had been bad enough. He couldn't imagine losing his processor to the claws of Mandroid. To the Bot Brawl.

“But–” Jawbreaker nervously asked, looking back and forth between them. “What about all the Decepticons on the run? They can’t rest!”  

“Yeah,” Thrash agreed, the brothers watching Bumblebee closely, for reassurance or a confirmation, Bumblebee didn’t know. “Won’t they just… go to another Bot Brawl?”

Bumblebee sighed, pushing away from Jawbreaker. The sudden shift of weight was great, and he winced, gingerly lowering himself to sit on the stairs. He made himself small, so as to not scare them. If anything could, anymore. Haaa, just another way he failed.

“They might have to.” Bumblebee admitted. “It will be really difficult to change things for the better as long as hateful people try to control was Cybertronians need to survive.”

It was one of those twisted truths that there was no way to step around and avoid. It was a bad admittance.

Everyone exchanged awkward looks, nervous. Bumblebee sighed, putting his helm in his servos. Why had Optimus ever put him in charge of the kids when all he could do was sigh and pout about things with the rest of them?

“But we’re not giving up,” Robby said, living up to his title of a legacy of hope. “Right Bee?”

Bumblebee smiled despite himself, nodding. “Right.”

“Okay,” Mo said decisively, slipping in. “But Mom and Dad will wake up soon, and we don’t need to get ourselves into any more trouble today.”

Bumblebee watched them for another moment, loving them with all his spark. His kids, trying so hard to stay out of trouble. And ultimately failing, but they were his. And he loved them. But their paths had diverged an orbital-cycle ago. As nice as it was to see them again… “You all go. I need to stay back and lay low for a while.”

He stumbled up unevenly to his feet, smiling over his shoulder at them.

Twitch hovered a bit closer, something desperate and yearning in her expression.

Bumblebee looked at her. Sorrow spread like a wildfire in his chassis, spilling over into his tanks. But he really couldn’t stay, even for her.

Bumblebee turned to go, t-cog spinning in his side. What little energon he had surged into his fuel lines, and–

Nothing happened. Gears jerked against one another, something bubbled through him, and he was on his knees in a moment. He gasped, processor spinning.

Everything faded in and out of focus, and he stared, broken, at his clenching and unclenching servos. He gasped, sudden understanding that he couldn’t take care of himself flashing through him–

And that was the last bit of conscious thought he had before he was on the ground.

The cries the Terrans and Maltos released didn’t even reach his audials as his processor clicked offline.

Chapter Text

G.H.O.S.T. was all but gone, Mandroid was dead, the sun was shining, Dot and Alex were busy having a personal day so the bots had custody of the children, and there was the prettiest looking rock pile Bumblebee had ever seen just an hour drive outside of Witwicky.

The rock pile itself was huge, bits of rubble tumbling into a clearing between hills, hidden from the rest of the world. The Terrans had whooped with delight before Twitch had planted  herself at the top and proclaimed that she was king of the mount. And so the struggle began to dethrone her.

If they got bored of wrestling, there was plenty of room around the rock mound to race around it, but Bumblebee couldn’t see that happening for a good long while.

There was one part in the clearing that extended even further away where the Autobots made camp to watch. Everyone was there; Optimus, Elita-1, Megatron, Wheeljack, and Arcee.

It felt good to have his entire family in place, sans Breakdown and the adult Maltos. His two lives were intersecting for one, glorious day.

Except Bumblebee didn’t feel at peace.

The kids were having fun, climbing up the rock pile, falling down, and scrambling to get up again. Robby and Mo were wearing helmets and knee pads to protect their bodies from getting hurt, and were paired with a Terran the entire time. Regardless, Bumblebee could see plenty of moments where their play could turn more dangerous.

If they landed wrong… If the rock pile started to slip… If a Terran used improper form on a move and sprained something…

The Autobots watching didn’t help. If someone got injured, it would fall on Bumblebee, as their teacher, for not predicting it coming. He was a scout. Seeing the angles nobody else did came with the territory.

“Careful, kids!” Bumblebee felt himself yelling, backing up to get a good look up at them. “Nightshade, watch that front kick, you– Good!” To himself, he repeated, “Good.”

“Bee!” Arcee called, and Bumblebee turned to look at her, keeping the kids in his field. “You’ve got to relax a little! They’re just being kids!”

“Yeah, no.” Bumblebee deadpanned, rolling his eyes back to the kids. “My responsibility, Arcee.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Robby, careful,” Bumblebee warned as the eldest began to lose balance, “lower your center of gravity– Yeah, you’ve got this.” They had this. He had to calm down.

“Bumblebee, come here.” Optimus ordered, a twinge of mirth in his voice.

Bumblebee found himself looking over once again, frowning. “But– The kids, someone’s got to–”

“They’ll be fine. Come along, and relax with the rest of us.”

Obediently, if not a touch hesitantly, Bumblebee padded over. He was stiff as he made his way over to Optimus, hovering anxiously for a moment.

Elita-1 shifted a bit to the side, allowing him more room when he inevitably sat down, and he felt a flare of guilt. They shouldn’t have to adjust just for his comfort, he was fine watching the kids, and–

“Bumblebee.” Optimus said in exaggeration. “Sit down.”

“Ah.” Bumblebee blinked, and very hesitantly made his way down next to Optimus. He crossed his legs, trying to adjust so that he was somewhat stable. Elita-1 snorted at his feeble attempt, but he didn’t bother trying to fire back a retort. He turned his attention back to the kids.

They looked happy, from this distance. Shouting at each other and laughing, hopping around the rocks with graceful ease. Maybe his presence had made them nervous, and had held them back. It was better he was sitting back here, so he wasn’t affecting their fun anymore.

He twisted his servos together. He wasn’t that great at teaching them, was he?

“Bee,” Elita-1 teased, nudging her elbow against his arm. “You’ve got to relax a little. Take a load off.”

“Thanks,” Bumblebee said, not moving his optics off of the clambering Terrans. “But as entrusted guardian to the Terrans, I can’t let my guard down. I’ve got a sacred duty–”

“Oh, Primus,” Arcee grumbled, “You don’t even hear yourself, do you?”

Bumblebee leaned over so he could see her down the lineup, and narrowed his eyes at her. “Um, I think I’m fine, thank you very much. I take my job very seriously. It’s a certain mark of pride, and–!”

“Bee.” Optimus chided, and Bumblebee turned to look at the Prime. “They are right. You are allowed to take a break. Just enjoy watching the sparklings play for a moment. If it bothers you that much, we can take over for a bit.”

Frag. That wasn’t what Bumblebee meant at all.

He felt like a sparkling himself, and he hadn’t been one for nearly two decades.

“Oh, uh, no.” Bumblebee reassured, settling back as best as he could. “I’ve got this. I’m takin’ ‘er easy.” Massaging his legs with his servos, Bumblebee turned his full attention back to the clambering children.

He was calm. He was fine. He was relaxed. Nothing was happening, they were at peace. He had to take a load off, lest he cause an argument. Bumblebee was, after all, the most “chill” bot in the Autobot division. He was great.

Optimus hazarded a sigh, and Bumblebee’s optics flickered towards him for a brief nano-klik. The Prime was watching him, not nearly as subtly as he probably thought.

Bumblebee rolled his shoulders back and leaned back a bit, just to prove he was fine. Look at him, lounging. Was that something a hardaft would do? He didn’t think so.

“I’m starting to think you don’t know what “takin’ ‘er easy” means.” Elita-1 proclaimed, crossing her arms stubbornly over her chest.

Bumblebee’s spark flared up, irritation flooding in. He barely managed to take a vent to stop himself from snapping, but still he ended up sounding more hotty than he probably should with a superior. “Yeah, well, you worrying about my style of relaxing isn’t doing you any favours, either. Take your own advice, and maybe–!”

Optimus’ servo was on his shoulder.

Bumblebee had enough time to blink before Optimus was pulling him back, straight off his skid plate and pressing his helm against his shoulder. Optimus wrapped his arm around Bumblebee’s back, holding him secure.

Bumblebee had to reboot his processor. “Um–”

“Don’t.” Optimus chided. “Elita-1 is correct. You are not relaxing, and you are doing a poor job of disguising it. You need to rest. Close your optics, if that helps.”

Bumblebee froze, not knowing how to respond to that. He had responsibilities. He couldn’t just pack up and ignore them when it was convenient. He had too much hinging on him, the Terran’s safety, the Malto kids’ wellbeing, to just stop. That didn’t make any–

“No more thinking.” Optimus ordered.

Fine, then. Fine. If it was a direct command, Bumblebee could do nothing else but obey. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to make himself a nuisance, though.

Adjusting himself, Bumblebee stretched himself across Optimus’ lap, helm coming to rest between Optimus’ legs, and stretching out one arm to reach across both. He wiggled his shoulder to find the perfect spot, and forced himself to stop moving and his pistons to finally relax.

Surprisingly, it was comfortable, and a chill of peace surged through his frame.

Optimus froze for a fraction of a nano-klik – that’ll teach him – and then his servo smoothed out over the side of Bumblebee’s helm. 

“Rest well, Bee.” Optimus soothed, the rhythmic stroking luring Bumblebee’s optics shut. “We will keep watch for you. Do not worry.”

A klik later, his processor finally entered recharge.

(:)

His brain module turned back online sometime like three groons later, according to his internal clock. His audials snapped to attention first, narrowing in on the sound of all seven sparklings approaching, Terrans and humans alike.

They were laughing and chattering amongst themselves, excitement and energon rising and falling in steady sync. They sounded happy. No injury to speak of. Good, good.

Bumblebee turned his attention back to the gentle pull of sleep, relaxing into Optimus’ lap.

“Shshhshh!” Nightshade broke out, suddenly, and Bumblebee immediately felt his sensors spring back online, listening intently. “Look at Bee!”

Ah. Of course.

“Aww!” Hashtag crooned, another excited pedestep scuffing in the dirt. “I’ve never seen him recharge before, except for Bot Brawl! And definitely not looking so happy.”

“Never?” Optimus inquired, curious worry filling his tone.

Bumblebee cracked an optic open to glare at her for making his Prime feel that way. They’d have a talk about personal details and the sharing thereof later.

“Ha,” Twitch giggled, catching his optic. “Well, not recharging anymore.”

“Goodmorning, sleepyhead,” Thrash grinned, leaning over with his servos on his knees. “Had a good beauty sleep?”

“Extra training tomorrow.” Bumblebee muttered, slipping his optics closed again. “That’ll teach you…”

“Can we all take a nap before we head back?” Jawbreaker asked, and Bumblebee couldn’t tell if the following yawn was fake or not. “I’m pretty tired, and don’t feel like I can run all the way home…”

“Of course,” Optimus invited, steadfast. “There’s plenty of room for everyone.”

“Dibs on Wheeljack!” Twitch enthralled, bursting away in a moment.

Everyone sounded off their own agreements and claims as they split, each selecting their own Autobot to bury themselves into. Bumblebee wound up sharing Optimus with Robby, who curled around Bumblebee’s helm immediately. It was good, though, and Bumblebee found he didn’t mind much.

Nestled between both families, he found himself hoping they could do this again.

Chapter Text

::Oh captain my captain!::

A static-filled recording, not even Optimus’ scout's real voice, replayed in Optimus’ processor over and over.

::Oh captain my captain!::

Bumblebee had known what he was doing. He knew he was dying. The moment Scourge skewered him, he had to have known.

The light had already been fading from his optics, and yet his gaze had been for Optimus alone. His words had been for him, too.

There was no plea for mercy, no desperation for karmic retribution. Only a simple phrase from one of his cheesy action flicks.

No, that wasn’t quite it. Bumblebee had told him about that movie, at some point. It certainly wasn’t one of the ones Optimus had seen glimpses of as he patrolled near the drive-in theatre, trying to keep Bumblebee in sight. But his scout had told him about plenty of the movies he saw.

It was a drama. Or something of a new age coming? Optimus didn’t remember.

Movies were never his type of thing, but.

::Oh captain my captain!::

They had been Bumblebee’s. Optimus could’ve stood to enjoy them more. Could’ve watched one with Bumblebee once in a while, instead of turning a lazy ear to him, only half listening when Bumblebee spewed out quotes and misaligned radio snippets.

There were so many things he could’ve done better.

He would regret them every solar-cycle for the rest of his painfully long existence.

Optimus bundled Bumblebee up in his arms, squeezing his optics shut and pretending like he could still feel Bumblebee’s spark pulse under his own. There was nothing there. Just empty stillness.

“I am so sorry, my little scout.” Optimus whispered, taking step after painful step as he walked away from the blazing building behind him. “I did not mean for this to happen. I did not think…”

He had thought he would win against Scourge. He had thought that everyone else would get away, even if he lost. He did not, even in his wildest dreams, imagine Bumblebee would jump in to try to save him. It had seemed pointless, and nothing else.

They had been fighting so much lately. Optimus thought it would drive Bumblebee away, but he hadn’t been able to stop, because he had thought…

He wanted to protect Bumblebee from the possibility of cruelty, of being hurt. They were in an unfamiliar world, and he had wanted to shield him away. Even if his words became unkind.

Instead of leaving, Bumblebee had protected him to his dying vent.

His spark was gone.

Nothing on Earth would save him. Optimus doubted even anything on Cybertron could, either.

His anger burned.

He would kill Scourge, even if it destroyed them both.

Scourge and his thieving servos, who had taken Bumblebee from him and ripped the insignia of Bumblebee’s devotion off of his head. Now, the only things remaining that proved that were Optimus’ still beating spark and an echoing memory.

::Oh captain my captain!::

No words were more treacherous than those.

(:)

A full solar cycle later, and Optimus still could not remove his eyes off of Bumblebee. Stratosphere’s messy flooring rattled beneath his pedes, and one of the humans, the femme, looked like she was going to hurl at any moment.

Mirage couldn’t stop drumming his legs and humming whatever random song came to his processor and if Bumblebee were alive…

 He’d turn on the radio to one of those horrible human songs they both loved and Mirage would sing along.

And then they’d beg Optimus for high grade despite the fact that they were both only eight hundred. He never said yes, and they never stopped asking. He was certain they only did so to bug him.

Optimus was now trapped in a tiny area with two organics, one bot who hated everything he said, Arcee, and a corpse. He could admit that the amount of poorly thought-through ideas he had gotten in his life were… immense, but this was one of his worst.

His grief would not stop growing. All his regrets kept being pushed to the forefront of his processor no matter how much he forced them down. His anger was a harsh cylinder, rattling about in his spark chamber.

He could not stop feeling everything.

::Oh captain my captain!::

 “Hey, Arcee.” Mirage hissed, and the femme looked up from where she was zoning out on the wall. She stood, making her way busily over the corridor to kneel beside him. “Hey, yeah, sorry, but… Why are we taking his body?”

“Mirage,” Arcee hissed as Optimus fought against his impulse reaction to snap. “There’s some questions you do not want the answer to.”

“Kind of do, Arcee.” Mirage grinned. “That’s why I was asking. Because, like, no offense, but we’ve lost millions of bots. Most of ‘em don’t even get the decency of a proper funeral. So, like. Why the Bee?”

“He is my friend.” Optimus rumbled, because there were no other words for the vastness of affection and love he carried for Bumblebee. He had carried.

“Nepotism? Never took you for the type, O.P..”

Anger burned through Optimus, and he curled his servos into fists. Mirage truly didn’t get it. He never would. The one time they were given the decency of recovering a bot’s body without risk of being offline in the process, and Mirage was arguing against it.

::Oh captain my captain!::

Slowly, Optimus brought his knees to his chassis and buried his helm into them.

“It’s not– Look. I know that you’re an opinionated bot.” Arcee told him. “I get that every time something feels a little bit off you feel like you need to speak up. But for once, Mirage, let it go. We got lucky that we were able to grab Bumblebee, okay? The fact that he and Optimus are close is a nonfactor.”

“Except it is a factor. Big man said so himself!”

“Shut up. Just… Stop talking and think something through. For once.” Arcee huffed, she stood up, and made her way back to her spot across the plane.

Optimus turned his helm to continue to watch Bumblebee. He would’ve understood the decision. He would not have fought it. At least… Optimus hoped not.

Primus, if only he could ask Bumblebee now.

::Oh captain my captain!::

The fact that Bumblebee had died, for his sake, for something so much bigger than himself, was a mystery to Optimus. Why in the world would Bumblebee be so stubborn and reckless, sacrificing himself for nothing…

Except that it wasn’t truly for nothing, was it? It had been for Optimus. To save his spark, to save him from becoming one of Scourge’s ridiculous trophies. Bumblebee had done it out of love and devotion.

He had done it so Optimus would live another day. Because the Matrix was so very important, and to have Scourge take it would be… It would put everyone at danger even more than they already were.

Bumblebee would’ve died either now or later. The difference was whether or not Optimus would be alive to see it. And Bumblebee had ensured he would be.

Optimus closed his optics. He would survive and get revenge against Scourge. For Bumblebee. No amount of Mirage’s teasing or Scourge’s weapons would prevent that.

Oh Bumblebee my Bumblebee. I will avenge you. And I will continue to live. For you, for us. Because your spark was so very important. He reached down and blindly fished for Bumblebee’s servo until he found it. You have my word; I will put an end to this.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?!” Ratchet’s voice suddenly filled the room, and Bumblebee startled.

Bumblebee twisted away, unbelieving that he had slacked off and allowed himself to get caught. He barely remembered to switch the blowtorch for before he shoved it between his berth, the wall, and his skid plate. He turned around, adjusting his optics to be as big and blue as possible, the perfect picture of innocence.

Ratchet didn’t even slow down, grabbing Bumblebee’s shoulder, with surprising gentleness, and tipping him slightly over so he could grab the blowtorch. Picking it up, Ratchet’s servo shook with barely repressed anger. “What is this?!”

– Good – safe – Bumblebee argued, knowing how obvious the lie was as he crossed his arms protectively over his chest in a futile attempt to hide his side.

“It absolutely is not!” Ratchet snapped, tucking the tool away into his cab.

He crouched down to be on eye level with Bumblebee’s side plates and lifted up his elbow, with no difficulty, to glare at it.

– Move – far – Bumblebee tried to argue. (Go away.)

The tips of Ratchet’s digits grazed the plating, and Bumblebee flinched, a flicker of pain rising up from the marred metal on his side. Ratchet’s expression fell into something close to despair. “Oh, Bumblebee… Why would you…”

The anger came back just as fast. “I need that panel! You still have annual checkups, and this makes it incredibly inconvenient, and I don’t know how to–!”

Bumblebee deflated while Ratchet cut himself off abruptly. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Bumblebee… Just… Why?!”

Helplessly, the scout gestured towards his plating, where he knew his t-cog still resided. Thankfully. Thankfully. It was still there. – Danger – bad – hurt – He explained, using all the words he had repeated like a mantra when he had originally lost it. He switched gears a bit for the next chain of words, – hidden – build – armor – safe –

“By welding your paneling shut?!” Ratchet barked, standing up abruptly to tower over Bumblebee. “That’s barely preventative! Need I remind you that they didn’t directly open your panel to get your t-cog! They sawed straight through your bracings! That’s why your panel wouldn’t close properly after we got it reinstalled, remember?!”

Bumblebee rubbed his arms, and looked away from Ratchet. Even so, Ratchet’s shadow continued to engulf him. He couldn’t escape from the elder’s wrath.

The panel had been a pain to fix. Bumblebee had jarred it loose during his first test drive with Raf after coming back, and had gone to Ratchet in a guilty haze. Ratchet had yelled at him for ignoring his medical expertise, told him that next time he should stay put until released, and then had worked on fixing Bumblebee’s panel.

It had been a bit mortifying, to be awake and feel Ratchet’s fingers against his side. Bumblebee hadn’t been conscious when he had been assaulted, but he had relieved it in his nightmares. And with the sudden overstimulation that came from having his panel prodded…

Bumblebee’s resolve had lasted two deca-cycles before he had given in to the paranoia and had welded it shut.

It had been fixed and everything, but everything had been too much, and–

“What makes you think they won’t just do it again?” Ratchet asked, confused. “A patch job won’t stop them, especially not if your enhanced plating didn’t.”

Bumblebee had no rebuttal. He squeezed his optics shut.

It was just… It had felt like a good idea at the time.

“You’re not the youngest anymore! Raf isn’t even a vorn old– In fact, none of our allies are!” Ratchet steamed. “What kind of example do you think you’re setting for them?!”

Bumblebee knew the right thing to say. – Bad – safe – danger – sorry – sorry – sorry – (This isn’t a safe thing to do. This is dangerous.)

“Oh, is that all?” Ratchet quipped. So. Apparently it hadn’t been right at all.   “Incredible evaluation, so glad that was your takeaway, you insufferable bucket of–!”

Ratchet stopped himself. He groaned, thrusting his helm into his servos. “Primus, I hate dealing with stuff like this. Why is it always you?”

– [question] –

“The– The self-harm, Bumblebee! In all my megacycles, I have never met anyone as bullheadly brash as you! At the very least, everyone would have the good sense not to tell me about it, and would find a more “gentle” medic!”

I didn’t find you, though. Bumblebee thought bitterly. You broke into my room.

“But you, Bumblebee, you’re just so…” Ratchet’s servos shook. “...I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me to use Raf against you. You’re still a sparkling, trying to figure things out. I’m supposed to help you with that. Or Optimus is. Whoever.”

Bumblebee almost laughed at how deadpan Ratchet sounded. He didn’t, though, because his spark ached so much for letting the medic down.

He had known Ratchet would be unhappy by it, but he had thought the metal would at least have time to cool down. He thought he could delay the inevitable by another deca-cycle or so.

“Bumblebee.” Ratchet said, sitting down on the scout’s opposite side to drape an arm around his shoulder. He couldn’t see the weldmarks anymore, and Bumblebee wondered if that was on purpose. “I know you’re scared. But if this is what you do when you’re scared, then I’m scared for you. Tell me. What was the thought process?”

Bumblebee shook his helm. He didn’t know how to communicate it through beeps alone. Ratchet had hit the nail on its head, summarizing it all up in one sentence. Bumblebee was scared, and he couldn’t stop the fear from taking control of him.

Ratchet grumbled at his silence, reaching into his cab once again to pull out a data pad. It found its way into Bumblebee’s servos, and Ratchet tapped it. “Write it.”

Bumblebee paused, staring down at it quietly. Even writing seemed like an insurmountable task. Like no matter how hard he tried, there were no words that could explain it more in depth than a primal urge. They simply didn’t exist.

Ratchet didn’t say a thing. He waited for Bumblebee to do it himself, keeping his arm firmly around Bumblebee’s shoulders. Ratchet did not directly force him to say a word, but there was the very direct implication that he would not be allowed to leave until he said something.

Regardless, Bumblebee appreciated his forcing non-forcing.

He hesitated, and then started with what he knew. ::You’re right. I’m scared, Ratchet. All the time. I keep losing things and I can’t fix it.::

Upon being shown the data pad, Ratchet’s optical ridges furrowed. Despair crept into his tone, despite his best attempts to school it down. “Right. Your… your voice box, too.”

::Yes! But this time, it wasn’t my fault.:: Bumblebee might have pushed those glyphs a little too hard, trying to hide the trembling of his servos. ::I followed every protocol, I worked so hard, I did my best. But I still lost something.::

He handed it back to Ratchet. The medic’s expression contorted into a funny expression. “Tyger Pax was not your fault! Nor was it mine! Neither us nor Optimus could have prevented it. Megatron was… more cruel than we thought. Perhaps we should’ve predicted that.”

Bumblebee stared numbly at the pad in his servos, thumbs running along its side plating quietly. For all his talk, it sure sounded like Ratchet blamed himself and Optimus.

After a beat, Ratchet sighed. “But I suppose that this is why… You overworked yourself for so long back in the day, hmm?”

It had been over a stellar-cycle of tireless work, of working his aft off trying to prove that he was still the same scout. Still capable, still worthy of care and effort. Ratchet had caught the resulting rust infection early, but that was almost purely happenstance. Luck, really.

Forlornly, Bumblebee nodded.

Ratchet continued, “So, back then, your preventive measure was trying to improve yourself. And today you’re maiming yourself.”

Bumblebee stiffened, going back to typing angrily. ::I’m making it harder on them. So they can’t do it so easily. So I’m not worth the trouble.::

“We talked about this, if it didn’t stop them before, it won’t stop them–” Ratchet cut himself off, taking a deep, angry vent. “I mean… I see your reasoning, Bumblebee.”

Bumblebee didn’t think he did.

“But I can’t let your plating… stay like this.” Ratchet gestured at Bumblebee’s side pointedly. “I need it available for annual checkups, or if you need emergency surgery, and this is not convenient!”

Bumblebee curled away from Ratchet, pressing his servos against his side.

Ratchet reached over to grab them and pull them away. “Listen. I need to replace that plating. But, I’ll help you figure something else out. A way to make you feel safe again.”

Bumblebee paused, measuring his options. He felt like a sparkling, meekly inquiring – Medic – good – [question] – (You promise?)

Ratchet stared at him for a moment, and then worked down to squeeze his digits gently between his own. He leaned forward, looking Bumblebee in the optics. He smiled, even if it came out a bit strained. “I promise.”

Bumblebee hesitated, and then cast his arms around Ratchet, hugging him tight.

Ratchet hesitated for a beat, and then his arms encircled Bumblebee’s back, steering clear of his door wings and his side paneling to give him a gentle squeeze. “Everything will be okay. I’ll fix it.”

Ratchet could fix anything. So Bumblebee believed him.

Chapter Text

Megatron’s servo remained firmly clamped over B-127’s shoulder as he led him through the scout through the prison block.

Around them, the remaining bots in B-127’s party were in cells, pacing restlessly like caged cybercats. B-127 was pretty sure the energy fields were one-way, because none of them were even looking in their direction as Megatron forced him onwards.

B-127’s servos shook. The ends of them had been forced to be a pair of guns, and they had been damaged enough that they could no longer switch back to his regular appendages. Megatron had taken them and broken them, and now he could do nothing at all.

Normally, he might’ve tried to shoot Megatron in his stupid face plate, but his servos were locked up tight in cuffs. No matter how he tugged, he couldn’t get them up above his torso, or angle them anywhere other than the ground.

He was scared. He didn’t know why Megatron hadn’t killed any of them yet, or shoved B-127 into one of his cell blocks, or–

B-127 just didn’t know.

“Little scout, there is something I have been waiting to ask you,” Megatron said, and B-127 could hear the sneer in his voice. It took everything B-127 had not to look at him. “You are not a minicon, are you?”

B-127 ground his jaw and did not answer. His optics remained firmly fixated ahead, seeing a glimpse of Prowl’s armor out of the corner of his vision as the high commander stalked in his cell. Prowl didn’t turn to look at him, either.

“No, you are part of the last generation born of the Well.” Megatron continued. “Before it dried up, using the last of its resources… Primus made one last batch. One last warframe.” His claws tightened on B-127’s shoulder. “Tell me, little scout. Being as young as you are, do you even know the importance of who you are?”

Of course he did. Optimus had held him tight one night on one of the balconies overlooking Iacon and had told him about the war. How the oppressed, the warframes, had rightly decided to rebel against a cruel system. They had killed the entire council, but they had not stopped there.

They had been replacing their oppressors with themselves, trampling down anyone who dared point out what they were doing was wrong. Everyone was shoved into a cell or lined up for execution, and for a few stellar-cycles, everyone lived in fear of their new regime until Optimus had received the Matrix and rose up against them.

B-127 was special because Primus had stopped generating warframes for two megacycles before the warframes had ultimately risen up. And he was the only one born after the war had started. At least, the only one the Autobots knew about.

Optimus had told B-127 that he hoped it was a sign that things would change soon. That a young warframe would be enough to cool Megatron’s burning spark. He had told B-127 that he could be anything he wanted, the first warframe able to make such a choice from the very start of his lifecycle in generations. Perhaps ever.

Except that there had been a war going on, and B-127 still had to choose a station worthy of it. Perhaps he could be a corpsman, or an engineer, if he wanted to lean for something more peaceful…

But B-127 had wanted to be a scout instead.

He wondered, sometimes, if it had been the wrong move, choosing a station that was at the forefront of the battle, instead of a more neutral job. It seemed to send the wrong message, that there was no chance at change. But Optimus had told him, over and over, that it did not matter what he wanted to do as long as it came from his spark.

B-127 was trying to trust in that. Trying to trust that choosing to be a scout would not set back all the progress Megatron had made in breaking the system, and all the work Optimus had done to piece the good parts of it back together.

It was hard to believe that he was a beacon of hope with how hard Megatron was grabbing his shoulder.

“Fine,” Megatron scoffed, “keep your silence. Optimus has turned you into a good little pet, hasn’t he?”

B-127 was not a pet. He ground his dentas together to keep himself from snapping.

“I bet you haven’t had a warframe mentor. Whatever pathetic scraps of warframes you Autobots have managed to accept into your folds are kept far away from each other, aren’t they?” Megatron asked.

B-127 glared furiously forward. Megatron was wrong. There weren’t a lot of warframes in their ranks compared to the Decepticons, that was true. But he had met plenty. Chromia and Ironhide were some of the highest commanders in the Autobot army.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were warframes, and B-127 often found himself having a ball with them. They were born in one of the younger generations of warframes before the gap, when Primus produced none. They were young, like B-127 was.

The point was that he had friends. No matter who tried to isolate him, he had friends.

“No matter, I will be your mentor.” Megatron promised, the words cutting deep to B-127’s spark. “I believe that the only reason you have not joined us, that you have not seen the light, is that you don’t truly understand what it takes to survive.”

B-127 did not answer. He didn’t.

Optimus would say that it was a good thing that B-127 had never felt oppressed. Megatron, apparently, did not share his opinion.

“You were born in war, but you don't know what we went through.” Megatron reached out, grabbing B-127’s servos. With a simple click of his claws, the cuffs loosened enough that Megatron could take his arms and angle them whichever way he desired. “I would like to show you, little scout.”

B-127 yanked against him, trying to leave, trying to flee. He tugged desperately against Megatron, but the warlord held him tight, reaching up the servo that had been around his shoulder to grip his chin instead.

“No, no, none of that. There will be no running, there will be no fighting. Do you understand?”

B-127 did. Despite all his desperation to not give away any tells, he felt a terrified tear slip out of his optic, lubricant leaving a greasy trail behind it. Meekly, he nodded.

Megatron’s grip tightened. “Do you? Verbally, now.”

“Y-yes.” B-127 croaked, and immediately flinched. How could he speak?! How could he slip up like that?! Mirage was right; he couldn’t shut up to save his life.

“So you are not mute!” Megatron’s gaze brightened. “I was almost doubtful. Good thing, because I would have killed you if you had been. I have no use for a bot who cannot communicate.”

B-127 shivered. “I– I just don’t have anything to say to you.”

“And so bold! I could truly use someone with your bravery.” A claw tightened on B-127’s cheek, and he felt it nick a fuel line. “We may just have to do something to curb your insolence.”

“I’m not scared of you,” B-127 whispered, the lie obvious to both him and Megatron. How could he be anything but scared, really?

“Oh, yes, because none of the Autobots are. They’ve filled your head with fanciful dreams. They did not know what it was like to be crushed under someone’s heel for daring to speak up. To be torn apart for entertainment and barely stitched back together.”

B-127 swallowed. What was Megatron going to do to him? Throw him into a gladiator pit, force him to fight for survival, just like he had? That wasn’t right. That wasn’t just. It was terrifying.

“Just wait. It will not be long until the Autobots show their true colours and treat you the exact way their predecessors treated me. But do not worry. I plan to set you free before that happens.”

Another twist of his claws, and B-127’s cuffs dropped off onto the ground. Pure desperation fueled him as he lifted his duel blasters up, aiming them at Megatron’s spark, and–

Megatron grabbed them before they could finish charging up. The fraction of a nano-klik delay was all he needed to shove them up towards the ceiling, and the blast discharged above them. Metal shrapnel rained down around them.

The captured Autobots started and looked around, but they could not see what was happening outside. They stared at the barrier for a second longer, and then went back to their anxious pacing.

B-127 wondered, with a sick rolling of his tanks, if they could hear Megatron talking if they strained enough. Were they just not trying?

“This is exactly what I mean. You have gusto, you simply do not know where to point it.” Megatron grinned, all his fangs on cruel display. B-127 pulled against his grip, but Megatron’s claws dug in a little tighter. “Let’s start at the basics. Choose a member of your entourage to do away with, little scout.”

“What?” B-127 whispered, tugging. “No, no!”

“Oh, yes. Prove to me that you know how to use your boons.”

“I– I don’t want to!” B-127 protested, choosing a point over Megatron’s shoulder to lock his gaze. “Optimus– Optimus said that this is the exact thing you’re fighting against! You can’t make me do anything I don’t want!”

“Oh, but I can.” Megatron hissed, and shoved B-127 against the nearest wall, keeping his grip on his jaw firm enough to force him to look him in the optics. No matter how B-127 tried to redirect his gaze, Megatron made him look back at him. “I am no longer weak. I can make you do whatever I want. When I say fire, you fire. Be glad I’m giving you the benefit of a choice.”

Megatron withdrew, and B-127 crumpled to his knees, vents whirring anxiously to reclaim air back into his systems. The warlord’s menacing pedes stayed just within the parameters of B-127’s gaze.

“Now,” Megatron said, lowly. “I will not ask again. Choose someone to offline. Anyone in your entourage. They’re all here, we checked.”

B-127 looked up, slowly, staring first at Megatron, and then the row of cells behind him. Over a dozen bots, waiting to be slaughtered by him. Megatron would never let him stop at one, either.

No matter who he chose, another would be selected quickly. He knew how cruel Megatron could be. He knew how pure intentions had turned jagged and raw.

B-127 had been born in a war Megatron had started. He was a sparkling crafted of spilled energon. But that didn’t mean he had only known war. Despite it all, he had been raised in love and brought up in warm arms.

How could he deal that back in misery?

The Autobot prisoners would die either way. But B-127 would not be the one to do it.

B-127 did not move off the ground.

With shaking servos, he took the blaster and aimed it right for his own jaw.

He closed his optics.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee tried not to think about how it wasn’t his hands that reached up to cover the mirror that Nightshade had installed in his berthroom. He tried not to think about how he was two feet taller than normal, and that he was about one and a half times his normal weight.

Everything about him was too much, too different, and he was stuck like this forever.

Bumblebee got one last glimpse at Breakdown’s face in the mirror before it was shielded away, and he let out a slow, shaky breath.

One deca-cycle ago, the two of them had woken up in each other’s bodies and had rushed to the Witwicky racetrack to discuss. Three solar-cycles ago, Breakdown had done something stupid, as usual, but this time there was no coming back from it.

And now Bumblebee was stuck in his best friend’s body forever. Forced to look at his face whenever he passed a reflective surface, trying to get used to the systems that most certainly were not his own. Trying and failing to do good, to recover, when all that was left was a violent, raging storm within.

Why did Breakdown have to go and die? Why’d he have to do it in Bumblebee’s body?

Wheeljack had refused to fix it, too. Something about how if the procedure went wrong, then they’d both be dead. And if it went right, then Bumblebee would be dead and Breakdown would be alive.

Since when did the engineer care about such little details?

Bumblebee didn’t want to live like this. He didn’t want to have to deal with it.

He hated walking up to his family, the Autobots and Terrans both, and having them jump in surprise because they weren’t expecting Breakdown at their side. He hated seeing the annoyance in Optimus’ optics before it smoothed into something more relaxed when he remembered.

Once he had approached the Cons, curious to see what would happen. Their ready acceptance had smoothed to pure hatred within a nano-klik. How dare he impersonate one of their flock, even though it wasn’t even his fault.

It was a mess. Everything was a mess.

“Hey,” Bumblebee joked to himself, turning away from the concealed object to tuck his servos behind his back. “At least now you can beat three thirty-six, huh? Hah, you can shave an extra two seconds off, and you…”

His servos gripped each other so hard, Bumblebee almost thought he’d break right through the armor. Breakdown had always been stronger than him, too. “You won’t have anyone to share it with, huh.”

And that was another thing. Breakdown’s voice followed him whenever he spoke. Haunting him, chasing him, like some annoying devil.

When they were little, Breakdown had squeezed his shoulders and had promised him, “Nothing’ll take us apart, Bee. Even if I die, I’m still gonna haunt you forever, you got it?”

Bumblebee had believed him. Because he was young, and impressionable, and thought having his brother with him forever was a good thing. Now, he wanted more than anything to be free of this Primus-forsaken curse.

Bumblebee hesitated where he stood, anxiously shuffling his pedes. In a larger body, his nervous ticks were harder to do as naturally as he was used to. But he couldn’t be held down by it, because then he wasn’t a good scout. He wasn’t good at handling whatever came his way.

Ha, if he ever was.

Well, at least there was one benefit to being cursed with having Breakdown with him no matter where he turned. His brother would always be sharing in his victories, too. When Bumblebee eventually finished his race in three thirty-four or whatever, Breakdown would be there, too.

When Bumblebee reached the ranking of warrior, Breakdown would be a warrior, too.

And yet.

Bumblebee touched the insignia, engrained on his chest. Perhaps Breakdown would hate being forced to live Bumblebee’s dream. Autobot, Decepticon…

Bumblebee couldn’t tarnish Breakdown’s memory by doing whatever he wanted with his plating. He couldn’t replace the Decepticon insignia with an Autobot symbol. That just wouldn’t be right.

But that didn’t mean that Bumblebee was any less an Autobot or any more of a Decepticon. He just meant he was stuck wearing a symbol for an army he wasn’t even part of.

Ha. Ha. Like Megatron.

Like fragging Megatron.

Primus, this was so messed up. Like, so insanely messed up that Bumblebee wanted to just curl up on his berth and never get up again, but that wasn’t fair to his hosts. That wasn’t fair to the Autobots, who still asked for his help sometimes.

All of this sucked.

Bumblebee squeezed his optics shut, taking a shaky vent to try to calm his nerves.

Why’d you have to leave, Breakdown? Why’d you have to go and leave me with this?

Naturally, there was no response. Bumblebee wished there had been.

Chapter Text

“Hey, bossbot.” Bumblebee said, casually. The opening to the conversation was a ritual, a song, a dance. Each part of it was carefully choreographed.

Optimus knew enough to respond accordingly, reciting the script by spark. “I’ve told you not to call me that.”

“I don’t remember that, no,” Bumblebee trilled, going with the “as long as he just keeps saying “I’ve told you not to” without actually telling me not to, I can keep going with this as long as I want” mentality. Which wasn’t actually a strategy he had ever heard of before , but whatever. Maybe he was a trend setter. “I actually wanted to ask you a question.”

Optimus, thrown off guard, blinked at Bumblebee. “You? Wanting to ask me something? Who are you, and what have you done with Bumblebee?”

“Relax, I’m not asking your permission for anything.” Bumblebee snorted.

“Oh, well, thank Primus for little miracles.” Optimus sarcastically returned, but finally set down his datapad to fully face him, leaning his elbow against the bench Bumblebee was hanging around upside down. “So, what’s on your mind?”

Bumblebee winced. He had somewhat hoped it wouldn’t get this far, but of course he couldn’t be that lucky. “Oh, well, uh. You know… Prowl?”

Optimus’ shoulders hiked up, tension gumming up his joints and expression awash in grief. “I… Yes, Bumblebee. I do.”
Of course he did. Stupid question, Bee. “Right, well, he…  He left.” Bumblebee kicked one of his legs agitatedly towards the ceiling. “As a hero. And stuff.”

“He did.” Optimus agreed, and Bumblebee wasn’t really anticipating how sad he sounded.

“Do you think he was happy?”

Optimus was quiet for a long beat. He dragged his arm from its propped position into his lap, tapping his thumbs together.

The silence lasted long enough that Bumblebee made the executive decision that the quiet was just too much. “I mean, if it was you, I know you would’ve been happy. So… was Prowl?”

“What makes you say that?” Optimus asked in surprise, lifting his helm to lock Bumblebee with concerned optics.

“Dude, I was there. Way back when we first arrived, you died while fighting Starscream.” Bumblebee pointed out. “And you were happy about it. I’m glad Sari was there, or else we wouldn’t have you anymore.”

“Oh,” Optimus said, a little lost, a little wonderingly. “That’s surprisingly sweet, Bumblebee.”

“Nobody’ll ever believe you.” Bumblebee argued, sticking his olfactory sensor in the air.

“Of course not,” Optimus readily agreed, but he got back onto the subject of hand readily enough. “I… Don’t think I would be happy dying like that anymore.”

Bumblebee snapped his helm around to stare at the Prime, optic ridges hiking up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Optimus nodded, very serious. “I didn’t have much going for me, Bumblebee. Before becoming a Prime, I only had two friends. One of them died – or I thought she had – and the other one was Sentinel. I lost them both before I even got my promotion.”

“Ha! You’re a social outcast!” Bumblebee trilled, delighted. Optimus had hidden from them that him becoming a Prime was more of a courtesy, a pity promotion, because he had still wanted them to respect him. Bumblebee wondered how well that had worked out for him.

“Everyone here is a social outcast,” Optimus huffed, reaching over to push Bumblebee’s servo down. “Except for Ratchet, but he was a package deal with Omega Supreme.”

“Ha, and he was a social outcast, too.”

“Sure,” Optimus sighed. “More like he was disabled, so the entirety of Cybertron threw him out without a thought. Sometimes… I’m going to sound treasonous right now, so this cannot leave this room.”

“If I say anything about it,” Bumblebee told him, “you can bring up all the times I said I wanted to shove Sentinel into the pits.”

“A solid deal,” Optimus nodded wisely like they hadn’t spent the last stellar-cycle backing each other up in front of the Cybertronian High Guard. The whole team had, so they weren’t special, necessarily, but it was nice. “Right, well. I don’t think Ultra Magnus does the… best job at keeping things fair on Cybertron.”

“Yeah, he put Sentinel in charge of cadets.” Bumblebee grumbled. “How good can he really be?”

“And he made Sentinel his immediate successor!” Optimus agreed, tossing up his arms. “Why?! Cybertron would’ve been doomed if that was permanent! It probably still will be, eventually! Dare I say it… You know who would’ve been a better temporary Magnus?!”

Bumblebee felt the laugh bubble out of his throat before he could stop it. Optimus’ optics glimmered with a taste of good humor, and both of them said at once “Longarm Prime!”

“And he’s a ‘Con!” Bumblebee admonished.

“The worst one, too!”

“Rather Megatron be in charge than Sentinel?”

“By a long shot, there’s absolutely no competition.”

They devolved into giggles, Bumblebee reaching out a servo to shake the Prime’s shoulder, and Optimus placing his own servo on Bumblebee’s chassis to rattle him in return.

After a while, Optimus sobered up. “Okay, but to answer your question, honestly. I don’t… know what Prowl was thinking. I don’t think even Jazz knew, and he was with him. I like to think that Prowl didn’t regret it at any point, but I don’t really know.”

“If he wasn’t happy, he wouldn’t have died, right?”

“I don’t know.” Optimus said softly. “I really, honestly do not know, Bumblebee. Plenty of Cybertronians die, and they’re not happy about the circumstances. Elita did.”

“Except she’s not really dead–”

“Maybe not.” Optimus inclined his helm. “But I thought she was. And she thought she would die then. Nobody was happy about it, but there was nothing to be done. Look, on Earth, we’ve all passed multiple times. And you’re right, it was lucky Sari was right there. I think you’ve died the most.” Optimus looked back at him. “Were you happy?”

Crashing down from the atmosphere. Being shot in the back. Being stabbed by his best friend. Wheels crunching underneath his frame as he hit the pavement. Darkness. Panic, fear.

“No.” Bumblebee whispered. “I never was. I was scared, but I knew what I had to do. Dying a hero, it’s kind of…”

“Poetic?”

“Yeah.”

Optimus drummed his digits against his knee quietly. “Is there… more, going on in there?”

“Huh?” Bumblebee blinked. “What do you mean?”

“There’s nothing we can do to change what happened to Prowl.” Optimus said, twinged in sadness. “It doesn’t really matter whether he was happy or not, because he made the choice to do it. And I think you know it.”

“Maybe it’s just for my peace of mind.” Bumblebee grumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly over his chassis. He glared at the ceiling, and tried to pretend he wasn’t as bitter as he was. “Ever think of that?”

“It might be.” Optimus kindly allowed. “And if that’s really what it is, I’ll accept that. But I want you to be honest with me, Bumblebee. Is there more to it?”

“Maybe.” Bumblebee grouched.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

Bumblebee stared upwards for a long moment. Optimus shuffled to watch him, but his gaze didn’t seem imposing. Just gently studying, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else.” Bumblebee admitted after a beat. “I know we fought all the time, but Prowl was… he was really great. And I miss him a lot. He didn’t even say goodbye, Optimus! He could’ve told Jazz to tell us goodbye or something, but he didn’t.”

“No.” Optimus said softly. “I’m not sure there was time for that.”

“Still!” Bumblebee squawked in offense. “I wish I could’ve said goodbye, or just been nicer to him! I could stand to be nicer to a lot more people! Like Ratchet. I could really be nicer to Ratchet.”

“Why Ratchet, specifically? Because he saved your life?”

“Because, I don’t know how long we have with him! He’s old, Optimus! And I know we’re not like organics and die when we get old, I know that, but he’s also… Everyone else his age chose to go back to the Well. What if he does, too?”

“Bumblebee…”

“And you and Bulkhead, like, are super important! You’re a Prime, the guy who took down Megatron, and Bulkhead’s the best space bridge technician, and I’m just…” Bumblebee waved his hand absently. “A sidekick. You know?”

“You’re not being left behind, Bumblebee.” Optimus said seriously. He reached over to seize Bumblebee’s servo in his. “You’re our friend. I’m allowed to choose my own team, you know. Like Sentinel has Jazz and the twins. You, Bulkhead, Ratchet… You’re my team.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Bumblebee. There are no “but”s. You’ve been stuck with us this long, and you’ll continue to be stuck with us.” Optimus told him. “And if you’re wanting to go back to Earth, think about it. Do you really think that anyone could stop the Head Space Bridge Technician from going wherever he wanted?”

Bumblebee laughed before he could help it, pressing his hand over his intake.

“I know Prowl… leaving was rough. But we have each other. And now that the war’s over, I can promise that none of us are going to disappear on you. Ratchet’s not the type to disappear without a word, Bulkhead loves us too much to go anywhere without talking to us first, and I think communication is healthy for a team.”

Bumblebee looked away. Optimus wasn’t necessarily wrong, but it still didn’t sound quite right to Bumblebee. After all, he had thought Prowl was good at communication, but he had left without a word, too. The jerk.

“And I would hope that you would extend the same courtesy to us.” Optimus squeezed his hand. “You’re our family, Bumblebee. And we’ve got our back, okay?”

“Are you sure?” Bumblebee said, hating how small he sounded. He was supposed to be the big, loud one, not the quiet one. When did he replace Prowl, haha–

“I’m sure.” Optimus squeezed him. “Prowl loved you, Bumblebee. Even if you were a bit of a jerk sometimes. He never would’ve wanted to hurt you. In war, you have to make hard choices. And I’m just sorry that he was forced to make such a big one.”

Bumblebee looked down at their intertwined servos. “I am, too. I miss him, Optimus.”

Optimus sighed. “Me too, Bumblebee. Me too.”

Chapter Text

B-127 kept his glitching optics on the smog-filled sky.

Everything kept uneasily fading in and out of focus. The sky, the noises around him, the blistering pain surging through every inch of his body. He couldn’t even try to move to try to alleviate it.

Everytime he did, it hurt worse. Aside from one arm and leg. Which he couldn't feel at all, but the joints where they were supposed to pop into place burned. He didn’t know what would happen.

There were Cons around him for a while, padding around him, teasing and mocking. Whatever lackeys Megatron had left behind after tearing B-127 to pieces. He wasn’t sure why they were still here if they weren’t scrapping him for parts.

All he could do was shake and wonder what would happen.

But as his processor glitched in and out of focus, the Decepticons slowly trailed away. He didn’t know where they went, and he couldn’t turn his head to look.

He continued to stare up at the sky and wait.

And wait.

Pain soared through his neck, and he wanted to scream, but whenever he did no sound came out. Not even a staticy buzz, not a beeping cry. There was nothing there.

After a while, the nothing faded away to three vaguely familiar faces peering at him. A symbol that was much more familiar was emblazoned somewhere on all three of them, and they all sighed in relief at the sight of his optics locking onto them.

One kneeled down, taking B-127’s still-attached servo in hand. “Hey, B-127. It’s me, Rip Line. Remember me?”

Barely. Not really. No.

Well, B-127 might have seen him in passing. Not long enough to form an opinion. He was just glad someone was here at all. He wished he could squeeze the servo back, but trying was way too hard. Lubricant welled up in his optics.

“Can you tell me where you are?” Rip Line urged. “What happened?”

B-127 couldn’t even try to answer.

“Scrap,” Rip Line grunted, half turning away from him to address the other bots. “He needs medical attention. One of you call the triage facility, see if you can get Ratchet!”

Ratchet? The CMO? Why?

B-127 had never met him. He had heard stories from Optimus in full and disgruntled Autobots in passing. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Tyger Pax. He should’ve been in Iacon, far away from the action.

What was even so special about Ratchet’s help? Any old medic could reattach B-127’s limbs. Any old medic could tell him there was no way to fix his voice box, and it wasn’t like Rip Line and the other Autobots even noticed he was missing it at all.

But B-127 couldn’t complain. Literally. He could just sit there and tiredly blink as Rip Line tried to talk to him, and one of the others tried to hold him. The third, standing a bit behind them, chatting quietly on the comm.

B-127’s optics began to glitch out, processor fading out into nothing for a while. Rip Line shook his line, but B-127 couldn’t keep awake for the life of him.

The feeling of a new EM field arriving at a scene was the only thing that got B-127 to online his optics again. They fizzled at the effort, and B-127 dared to consider just how damaged they were. It was terrifying.

As all the bots turned to face the newcomer, B-127’s own gaze flickered over to look, too. He recognized the CMO from holographs Optimus had taken with him megacycles before. He looked scarier in person.

Ratchet met his gaze, and his hard orbital ridges softened at the sight of B-127. Despite how terrifying he looked, his voice was kind. “Hey, kid… I’m Ratchet, and I’ll get you all sorted out. What’s your designation?”

“B-127,” Rip Line helpfully put in.

Ratchet’s servos, from where they were already hovering over B-127’s chassis, stilled. “Optimus’ kid?!”

Someone must’ve nodded. B-127’s attention had been stolen away by Ratchet, and he didn’t see it.

Ratchet was continuing to talk worriedly, “Then what was he doing on his own–? Nevermind!” He shook his helm. “That’s not important. It’s an issue for later.”

“We don’t know either.” A different bot explained anxiously. “He’s not on our list of missing persons. He– We don’t know why he’s here. We don’t.”

They – that was, Optimus and his party of four plus B-127 – had been evacuating the Allspark, and there had been Decepticons following their trail. They barely managed to hide before the Cons’ helms had peeked over the hill, looking down into the ravine and hunting for their prey.

Optimus had hissed that they needed to distract the Decepticons, and B-127 had loyally volunteered to do it. He was the fastest, the stealthiest. The most disposable, but he hadn’t said that part out loud.

Optimus had hesitated, had waited until the Decepticons got their trail again and started towards their hiding spot. And then he relented. He had made B-127 promise to be careful before the scout had headed off.

B-127 had led them into a merry chase for over a groon.

He hadn’t been expecting to be caught. He hadn’t been expecting Megatron.

“Well, hold on, kid.” Ratchet said, and B-127 snapped back to focus on him. “You’re leaking energon real bad. Not to mention hull and plating damage… Primus. You’ve been very brave, B-127. Optimus will be proud.”

More like disappointed.

Optimus had made B-127 promise, and he had failed him. He had gotten stuck.

B-127 felt lubricant begin to well out of his optics, and he offlined them so that he wouldn’t see Ratchet’s expression when he caught B-127 acting like a sparkling.

Ratchet, however, grabbed his cheek with surprising gentleness. “No, no, you can’t leak, kid. You need to maintain your fluid levels.”

Right. Right, of course. B-127 fought against the overwhelming emotion sweeping through him, and managed to meekly nod, despite the pain in his neck. Because he was brave. Ratchet believed it, at least. He could try to maintain that.

Ratchet’s optics were focused on his neck when B-127 online his glitching optics again, horror painting his expression. He wiped his servo over B-127’s neck, and staticky pain flitted through his buzzing systems. “Oh…”

Rip Line peered over Ratchet’s shoulder in bubbling horror. “Oh, the energon was– I missed that.”

“B-127,” Ratchet called busily, servos turning away for just a moment to grab something. “You’re missing your voice box.”

B-127 knew that already. He tried to nod again, and immediately regretted it.

“You’re leaking from your neck.” Ratchet continued. “I’ll have to stabilize you before I can move you back to base, and it may take a bit. Keep being brave.”

B-127 tried to hold still. He did his best to make sure his vents didn’t move and gave his energon as little reason as he could to pump. He tried to ignore the boiling fear at unfamiliar servos running over him as Ratchet started to inspect his neck.

After a few kliks, Ratchet withdrew a bit. “B-127, I’m going to keep talking to you. I may need help here while I’m helping you, but you’re the only one who can do that. Blink twice if you can understand me.”

It was a struggle, but B-127 managed it. His ability to follow orders and do so thoroughly was why Optimus took a liking to him in the first place.

“Good, good. You’re part of Steelgrinder’s scout class, aren’t you? Has he taught you methods to resist torture?”

B-127 had figured out enough to blink once to that. No.

“Ha, you really shouldn’t be out on the field,” Ratchet grumped under his breath. “Alright. What about basic survival lessons, like manually turning off your systems or disabling pain receptors?”

B-127 hadn’t even known either were possible to do consciously. One blink, again.

This time, Ratchet cursed so profoundly that B-127 knew that Optimus would’ve steered B-127 straight out of the room if they had been safe at Iacon. And then he would’ve doubled back to scold him for such poor language. That’s what he had done to Jazz, anyway.

“Fine,” Ratchet hissed. “Good. Thank you, B-127.”

B-127 could practically feel the medic’s pride waning away. That, too, was being replaced by disappointment. 

He could practically hear what was going on in Ratchet’s mind. This scout, Optimus’ favoured one, was the worst patient he had ever had to deal with. How dare he be called to deal with such a troublesome pest?

“I’ll walk you through it, then. Forgive me, it’s been megacycles since I’ve had to explain this to anyone.” Ratchet warned, pressing his servos against B-127’s chassis. “Follow my instructions exactly, and this won’t hurt anymore.”

B-127 blinked twice, desperate to serve.

“Good.” Ratchet huffed. “You know how to get into your settings, don’t you?”

B-127 did, thank Primus, and it was easy to offline his optics to focus his full attention on his processor. He could tell some parts were damaged, but he focused on the simple task of getting into his admin systems. Despite not being able to see, he blinked twice.

“Excellent. Go into the tab labeled “senses”, and then to “touch”. Are you there?”

B-127 was.

“Good. Go to “pain receptors”, and make sure the slider bar is on “disconnect”. It’ll be yellow if it’s on “connect”, but won’t have colour if it’s on “disconnect”. A confirmation screen will come up. Select “yes”, and you’ll be disconnected. You don’t want those off long term, but for now it’ll do just fine.”

B-127 blearily followed his instructions, blinking his optics open again.

He could still feel Ratchet touching him, but the waves of pain weren’t there. His limbs didn’t even feel disconnected, even though he knew they must be. It still was a lot of effort to move his helm to look at the medic, but there was no more pain stopping him.

Ratchet caught him staring, and huffed in annoyance. “That’s the exact reason you shouldn’t keep them off. Kid, don’t move. You’ll worsen your injuries by trying to force it. Just because your warning systems aren’t working doesn’t mean there’s nothing to be worried about, you hear?”

Oh. That… B-127 supposed that made sense. He blinked twice again.

“Okay, good. Your systems are already slow enough that we might not have to worry about that right now.” Ratchet squeezed B-127’s shoulder. “But I’ll make sure you’re alright, kid, you got that? You’re going to be just fine.”

B-127 wanted to reach up and squeeze his servo back, but Ratchet had told him not to strain himself, so he didn’t. With optics remaining on the medic, B-127 waited for it to all be over with.

Hands back on his neck, slowly piecing him together enough to move him.

Optimus had held B-127’s shoulders many times, pointing to the medical ward gently and told him that they were all people B-127 could trust. “They’re good, B. If you ever find yourself having to be tended to by them, I promise that they’ll make sure you live to see another cycle. Best in the business.”

B-127 had believed him then.

He believed him now, too.

Chapter Text

“Hey,” Charlie leaned forward, crossing her legs neatly in front of her as she cautiously watched Ratchet unpack his equipment into the infirmary Bumblebee had carefully made for him.

It was weird to have over a dozen robots twice Bumblebee’s size wandering about, even though Bumblebee and Charlie had spent the last year and a half preparing the cave for them. It was almost surreal in a way.

Ratchet, on his part, had mostly ignored her since he arrived yesterday. But as a fellow car mechanic – though admittedly wasn’t the most skilled at working on living cars – Charlie had spent all of today following him around.

Partially just to annoy him, but Charlie would never admit to that.

Besides, Bumblebee was annoyingly busy with the big guy himself, Optimus Prime. Charlie wasn’t sure what they were doing, just that she didn’t like being around Prime. So here she was, with Ratchet instead.

“What do you want.” Ratchet said, tired. He picked up a contraption Charlie couldn’t even begin to guess the use of and set it on top of one of his counters. “Make it quick.”

Charlie rolled her eyes and didn’t take it to heart. She pretended like she hadn’t witnessed Ratchet yell at Bumblebee for half an hour straight right after hugging him when he first arrived. It had been glorious. “So. Bumblebee’s a lot smaller than all of you.”

Ratchet stalled for a moment, likely forgetting for a moment that Bumblebee had changed his name at all. Or, rather, that Charlie had changed his name for him. “He… yes. He is. Your point?”

“Why is he?”

“He’s young, Watson.” Ratchet huffed. “He still has three frame upgrades to go until he’s his full height, and his next one isn’t due for over a vorn.”

“Vorn?” Charlie asked, making the educated guess that a “frame upgrade” was their equivalent to a growth spurt.

She thought of the x-ray she had seen in school of a toddler’s skull and how all they had their adult teeth lodged into the top of their jaw, giving them the illusion of having two sets of teeth. She wondered if a scan of Bumblebee would reveal much the same. Like extra armor and bolts and wires unused resting right below the surface. She wondered how cramped he felt like that.

“Approximately eighty-three stellar-cycles. Years, I believe you organics call them.”

“Huh. So, Bumblebee is still a… teenager? Or is he more like a toddler or something?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Ratchet deadpanned.

“Well, uh. Percentage-wise, how close is he to reaching his full size?” Charlie asked, figuring that was a more simplistic way to put it that both species could understand.

Sure enough, Ratchet barely hesitated. “About sixty-one percent.”

Charlie did some quick math. “Definitely a teenager, then. Younger than I am, comparatively.”

Ratchet sighed, not exactly falling for the bait but accepting it regardless. “How many frame upgrades do you have left, Watson?”

“Well, I might have maybe one left. But more likely, this is the size I’m at forever. Our growth spurts – or upgrades – are a lot more random than yours probably are. We don’t have set times. They just happen whenever.”

“Hmm,” Ratchet rumbled. “Interesting.” He didn’t sound interested, which probably amused Charlie more than it should’ve.

“One more question, and then I’ll leave you alone.” Charlie promised.

She meant it, too. She should be seeking out Bumblebee sooner rather than later to drag him away from his meeting with Prime.

They were due to take a joyride over to Burns and annoy him on his coffee break. They hadn’t done so since the first Autobots began to arrive, and Burns was probably – not – worried about them. Eh, details.

“Fine. Ask it.” Ratchet grunted, picking up a handful of tools to drop them with great annoyance into one of the drawers.

“Why does Bee look so different from all of you?”

Ratchet stilled. His optics slowly shifted over to stare at her. “...it’s just his frame type.”

“It’s not.” Charlie stated.

It was more of a guess than anything else. For a brief moment, she worried she was wrong, but by how ridgid Ratchet was standing, she thought she was on the right track.

“I’ve been scrapping him back together for almost two years now,” Charlie continued. “I can tell a lot of his parts don’t really fit, or they’ve been altered in some way. So, come on, Ratchet. What’s going on with him?”

Ratchet’s digits were a lot like claws, sharp and pointed, and they scraped against the counter dangerously. Charlie did her best not to flinch at the noise, nails on a chalkboard. “There was an accident,” Ratchet spat, “when he was a sparkling.”

Charlie frowned. What kind of accident?

“It’s not something I should even be telling you about,” Ratchet grumbled. “Why don’t you ask Bumblebee?”

“Because he barely remembers anything. He had amnesia for a while, you know. Processor damage or something. He managed to get them back because of an electric surge, but a lot of things are still fuzzy. I’ve asked him to describe Cybertron to me before.”

Charlie tucked a knee up to her chest, and rested her chin on it. “He can explain people, mostly. Like you, Optimus, Jazz, Prowl, Elita… Not a lot more than that. Not locations, not minor moments. So whatever the accident was, not sure he remembers it. He barely remembers anything.”

“Right. I did a scan and saw that he had quite a bit of damage done to his processor.” Ratchet grunted to himself. “When I get the chance, I’ll take a look and do some repair work. See what I can salvage that he hadn’t been able to resurface himself.”

“So,” Charlie prompted, leaning forward expectantly. “What was the “accident”?”

“Don’t you have someone else’s personal lives to butt into?”

“Nope. Memo’s life is boring, I’ve already dug up everything I can about Burns, and I really am sick of my family and don’t need to know more about them then I’ve already got.” Charlie hummed. “So come on. Tell me what happened to Bee.”

Ratchet scowled at her, but he conceded anyway. “There was a bomb. We found the settlement in smoking ruins. B-127 was a sparkling at the time. There were three adult bots over him, trying to shield him from the fire. They were dead, and he was alive but deformed.”

“Deformed.” Charlie echoed dully after him.

“His form was barely still in place. I’m surprised he didn’t leak out from the energon spilled. I barely managed to revive him all of the dozen times he went offline, and don’t get me started on how long it took me to piece him back together in general.” Ratchet huffed. “It was six solar-cycles straight of nonstop work.”

“And a few dozen modifications.” Charlie said. “That don’t just… go away with a trans-scan.”

“No. They’ll adjust to fit whatever form he takes, but that’s just because any creature on our planet can transform. But because they aren’t exactly B’s original pieces…” Ratchet shrugged. “It’s convoluted to explain, but trust me, it checks out.”

“Ha, okay.” Charlie hummed, but frowned despite herself. “...so, there’s no other bot I’ve seen that has, for example, Bee’s eyes. So I guess it isn’t a typical organ donor situation?”

Ratchet hesitated. “I… some of his parts were. But his optics… were not. I had to use a cybereagle’s for them. Best eyesight on the planet, so it made him a better scout, at very least. As for his mouth, that wasn’t even organic in nature in the first place. I utilized a broken radio to give him speakers to talk with.”

“So… this isn’t the first time he’s lost his voice box?”

“It is.” Ratchet said, broken. “His tank, processor, spark chamber, voice box, t-cog… Those are all his original ones. There’s no changes to them. It’s everything else that needed replacing and reshaping.”

Ratchet’s digits tightened on one of the devices he was unpacking. “There were very few B-models ever made. B-127 is the last, though he can hardly be counted as such at this point. Cliffjumper was the other remaining one, but we found his carcass before coming to Earth. He’s gone, too.”

“Do you have a picture?” Charlie asked, and was unsurprised when Ratchet turned on a holoprojection immediately.

The bot in the picture stood tall and proud, shoulders rolled back. There was a fierce expression on his face, a touch of bravery to his features. He was more bulky, and had two sharp horns on the top of his helm. His plating was sleek, but he ended up being more triangular than round.

He looked nothing like Bumblebee at all.

“Huh,” Charlie said quietly. “He doesn’t look anything like I was expecting.”

“Yes. Well. If B – that is, Bumblebee – hadn’t been maimed too severely, he would’ve looked just like Cliffjumper. But Bumblebee was, and Cliffjumper is dead.” Ratchet snapped the hologram off.

Right. Charlie sighed. Struck a nerve there, huh?

She guessed even robots lost people. Which she had always known, distantly. Heck, she had seen Bumblebee offline Shatter and Dropkick! She knew they had been in the middle of a war for… a while. And yet it had never really clicked.

“Bumblebee is now a gross amalgamation of science and careful, tireless work.” Ratchet grumbled under his breath. “And yet, even if we find the Allspark and restore life to our planet, he’ll never fit in with anyone. He’ll always look just subtly off. The sparklings will see his face and run in terror.” His hands balled into fists. “He’ll be a pariah, because I couldn’t fix him.”

“Hey…” Charlie frowned, leaning forward on the edge of the medical berth to regard him. “From one mechanic to the other–”

“–I’m a medic–”

“–okay?? From one “medic” to another, I know Bumblebee really well. I’ve been talking to him every day for the last two years, man. I know what he’s like. And believe me, he’s not going to care.”

“Perhaps he should.” Ratchet spat to himself, digits twisting into themselves with barely restrained frustration. “His life’s been ruined. I couldn’t fix him, and it’s likely I never will be able to. This war screwed him over before he was old enough to give a frag about it.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “And the trauma’s going to get him a lot worse than all else. Believe me, I’ve been watching him, because I’ve been worried how lonely he can get. But between Burns, Memo, and me, he’s happy. Doesn’t matter that the rest of the world hates him.”

Ratchet hesitated for just a moment. “That doesn’t change a thing. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be hated by your own kind like that. Without the bias of war, but just based on what you look like…”

“What, like you look grumpy?” Charlie snarked.

Ratchet rolled his optics to glare at her. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do. You just… You have to remember that Bee doesn’t blame you for anything. I don’t think there’s a single bone in his body capable of blame. Or bolt. Whatever.” Charlie shrugged. “And if it ends up being a problem, then I think it’s up to you to teach the sparklings differently.”

“I know.” Ratchet huffed. “Of course we all will. But it’s going to be a recurring problem. Scrap it, Watson, even you know he’s odd in comparison!”

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “But “odd” isn’t the word I would use.”

Ratchet looked at her curiously, his interest piqued. He was cautious, expecting her to say something worse. Yet he still asked, “What?”

“Cute.” Charlie grinned.

She counted it as a relief when Ratchet’s expression cleared without hesitation, and his dermas finally shaped into a smile. His first one since he had first hugged Bumblebee not a day ago. “You’re a good friend, Miss Charlie Watson.”

Hey, they were on a first name basis now. She smiled even harder. “Thanks, Ratchet. You’re a good medic.”

Ratchet rolled his eyes, but the smile didn’t quite leave even as he turned away. She hoped that took care of some of the guilt he was carrying, like he could ever feel bad about saving her friend.

She swung her legs back forward over the edge of the berth and leaned forward to watch him work.

This time, he took every question she asked eagerly and told her about each device in turn. Oh yeah, this was going to be a great friendship, she knew.

Chapter Text

Loneliness had become an old friend of Bumblebee’s.

The last nine stellar-cycles of his life had passed in isolation. Cold resentment followed by quiet fear and longing, arms curled around his frame, waiting for something to happen.

Endlessly watching humans, parked on the top of a hill, or scanning a new form so he could attend a race without G.H.O.S.T. picking up that all the cars at the circuits weren’t the same guy over and over.

Bumblebee was beloved enough by humans that following his “death”, it wasn’t too big of a leap to say that they were all painting their cars yellow in memory of him. Even if he didn’t used to be a traditionally zippy car. He was sure some racers liked him enough anyway.

He spent his time scouting out racetracks, looking for Breakdown, wondering if he’d ever find his best friend. He had made it nigh impossible for Breakdown to find him with his energon suppressor, and he saw at least six blue-white-and-red cars in the lineup per race. So it was hard to actually find him.

But Bumblebee was doing his best there.

When he was driving to the next destination, Bumblebee kept his audials “to the ground”, so to speak, listening for signs of Autobot stragglers. Usually, those clues pointed to a Deception, and he contacted Optimus to come pick them up. The other times, it led to nothing at all.

For the first five stellar-cycles, Bumblebee didn’t know how many Autobots were left in hiding. He left before the death count could be tallied up, and he didn’t exactly have access to a TV or a human radio. The few times he called Optimus and his Prime actually picked up, Optimus avoided the topic.

Finally, Optimus caved in and told the truth.

There were no other Autobots in hiding, Bumblebee found out. He was the only one explicitly on the run from G.H.O.S.T. Everyone else worked directly for the humans.

Cosmos was the only one who was MIA, and that wasn’t because he was in hiding. They didn’t think, anyway. He was just missing. And Bumblebee couldn’t find him, much as he tried for the next four years.

As for the Decepticons, Optimus wasn’t sure how many were left. Megatron didn’t either. Bumblebee found Starscream once, but despite all his attempts to interrogate him and get him to spill the tally count, the new leader kept his intake shut. The absolute jerk.

Anyway. With the lack of Autobots and not a single Decepticon Bumblebee actually cared about being found, Bumblebee was cursed to wander alone. Looking and hoping and wishing.

And then, over nine stellar-cycles after Bumblebee went off on his own, his sparkdate came. The big one.

He was eight hundred and thirty now. The age of maturity. Back before the war, it would’ve meant he was old enough to vote for the high council, or get a job. He no longer was confined to having a mentor or going to school. It meant he could have high grade and join in the last-night gossip sessions.

During the war, it meant that he could now reach warrior class, and would no longer be the victim of pitying looks of “oh, how could the Prime have enlisted a sparkling for a soldier”.

He had freedom and autonomy. He was his own person. He was an adult.

He just never imagined he’d start his adulthood so lonely, without Blurr or Jazz or Arcee or Breakdown or Ratchet or Optimus–

And yet here he was, surviving on rations, on a mostly unfamiliar planet, on the hunt for any other bots and trying to stay hidden from G.H.O.S.T. and people.

Optimus didn’t call, either. He remained in radio silence.

None of the other bots had been given a direct line to Bumblebee either, and vice-versa. So nobody called him. Bitterly, Bumblebee wondered if they would’ve remembered him even if they could talk to him.

He didn’t think Arcee, Wheeljack, and Grimlock even knew he was alive. Were they grieving him extra hard today, or were they trying their hardest to pretend like he never existed at all? He wouldn’t blame them either way.

Bumblebee tried calling Optimus up, but his Prime didn’t pick up. He didn’t usually anymore. The last two stellar-cycles had been a downward spiral of less and less times they actually talked to each other.

Optimus had stopped being readily available to pick up his calls, probably as he became less busy, and Bumblebee was trying not to call so often, but.

It was his sparkdate. He was allowed to call.

So, he left a voice memo. “Hey, O.P.! It’s me, Bee. Been a while since we’ve talked, I know, ha. Um…” Bumblebee hesitated, optics raking over the interior of the empty cave he found himself parked in. “So, I’m eight hundred and thirty today. Yeah, the big eight-three-zero. Whooo! Uh. Just. Yeah.”

He hesitated, anxiously bouncing his leg. “Think you could get away from G.H.O.S.T. for, like, a day and we could meet up for a drink or something? I mean, both you and Breakdown promised you’d be there for my first batch of high grade, so… If you want to beat Breakdown to the punch, it’s now or never.”

Ha. Ha. Yeah, sure. 

Sure.

“Well, um.” Bumblebee said at long last. “Thanks for listening. We’ll talk later, I guess.”

It wasn’t like Optimus responded to his messages in a timely manner. Bumblebee was half certain Optimus had stopped listening to them in general.

Bumblebee clicked off the message, feeling stupid for even attempting. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and buried his helm into his knees.

He wondered if Breakdown was still alive, wherever he was.

Chapter Text

“This was not the life I imagined for us.” Optimus mourned, kneeling over Elita-1’s freshly covered grave, staring down at it. His pedes nudged the snow, and his shoulders slumped. “And without you, I do not know if it’s worth fighting for. Elita, I am sorry things ended like this. I am sorry I am alive while you are dead.”

He bowed his helm. “I should’ve listened to you. The Allspark should have stayed on Cybertron. Even if it was only for your sake.”

Bumblebee shuffled, watching Optimus quietly talking to his dead conjunx.

Bumblebee had only possessed the Trion Protocols for a deca-cycle. He had been there when the plan was forged and crafted, and never once had there been any doubt in his or Alpha Trion’s minds that removing the Allspark from Cybertron was the best choice.

Even after losing the Trion Protocols, he remembered feeling nothing but pure disappointment that Elita-One and Skyfire had stayed behind. Didn’t they know that Optimus was their Prime? That his word was law, that he had been right?

It proved how little they cared about Alpha Trion, too, since Bumblebee had never lifted up a word of complaint against Optimus. But sometimes people thought they knew better than the Primes, he supposed.

Bumblebee had been one of those people, too. He had looked Optimus right in the optics for the first time, and told him this war was unfounded and foolish. He had practically spat in Optimus’ face and marched off.

It wasn’t until the Trion Protocols had chosen Bumblebee as their host that he had thought differently. That he had dared to consider that Optimus was exactly the bot for the job. That he was the best bot Bumblebee had ever met.

Presently, Optimus straightened up, finally turning his back on Elita-1’s grave.

He looked towards Bumblebee, expression buckled under the weight of his grief. “Hello, my friend. I did not know you’d still be here.”

“Yeah, well. We’re a package.” Bumblebee shoved off the pillar to join Optimus near the grave. “Where you go, I go. That’s just the way we work, Prime.”

Optimus smiled at him. It was hard to tell, beneath his battle mask, but his optics softened, looking just a bit more wry than usual, and a little less sad. “I would not have it any other way.”

Ah, there was the bitterness again. Bumblebee glanced down at Elita-1’s resting spot. “Are you sure about that?”

Optimus hesitated, and his smile evaporated. “What do you mean, my friend?”

“Come on, Prime.” Bumblebee laughed, though it did come out a little sarcastic. “I hear how you talk to… her. If you had your perfect life, you and I wouldn’t know each other. Magnus would still hold the Trion protocols, I wouldn’t be here.”

Optimus flinched. “I suppose that is… I suppose so?”

“I like being your friend, Optimus, but don’t lie to me. Just say you like being my friend too, and leave it like that.”

Optimus frowned at him, but didn’t stay behind for long when Bumblebee turned to go. Like he said, they were a package deal. It worked the other way, too. Where Bumblebee went, Optimus did, too.

(:)

“It wasn’t a lie.” Optimus said three solar-cycles later as they worked through the paperwork together. He looked pointedly at Bumblebee and pushed a cube of high grade in his direction.

Bumblebee barely spared a glance in his direction, taking the cube quickly and threw it back. It burned through his pipes, bubbling slightly as it went down and settled in his tanks. “What wasn’t? And how worried should I be?”

“When I said I wanted you by my side.” Optimus told him.

Bumblebee rolled his optics before he could help it. “Optimus, come on. Don’t do that. I know what it was, and that’s not really necessarily a bad thing. I don’t blame you for it. We’re still friends.”

“No, you don’t know.” Optimus shook his head. “Because my “perfect life” does not exist.” He looked down at his own cube mournfully. “It hasn’t for a long time. Ultra Magnus and Elita are gone. Megatron has hated me for four million years.”

“Yeah.” Bumblebee sighed, trying to refocus on the datapad in hand.

However, as Optimus continued, Bumblebee found his attempts to do his job to be futile. “It means I can be as indulgent as I want with my ideal world.” Optimus said. “There’s nothing I can do, after all, to make it come true.”

“Ha, never dreamed you’d be the imaginary type.”

“The Autobots are built on hope.” Optimus pointed out with a slight tease. “Can’t have hope without a bit of imagination. Rebellions are built on imagining better days. Megatron will never admit it, but we’re both built on dreams.”

Frag. Bumblebee’s optics slipped closed, and he sighed, pinching the space above his olfactory sensor. “Okay, I get it. You’re a bunch of dreamers, like you’re a pair of sparklings.”

“Yes, Bumblebee.” Optimus smiled, reaching over to flick the side of his helm. The Prime clearly didn’t know his own strength, because Bumblebee’s processor spun with the force of the impact. “We’re sparklings. It’s healthy to be young at heart, or else the megacycles will get away from you and leave you with nothing.”

“Uh huh. Not sure a single person can call Megatron “healthy,” and that includes the other ‘Cons.”

“Bumblebee!”

“What? Just because we’re playing nice and diplomatic with him doesn’t mean that we have to like the guy. Rebellions might be built of dreamers, but diplomats are liars. Or storytellers, if you want to use “nicer” language.”

Optimus laughed. “Yes, yes. Storytellers. Fair enough.”

“Anyway. You were saying something about indulgence?” Bumblebee asked, curious despite himself.

“Yes, yes.” Optimus snorted, and took a sip of his high grade before he said anything else. He turned his helm away to hide his intake as his mask slid open to allow himself a taste.

As the Prime drank, Bumblebee waited for him to collect his thoughts as he managed to finish the first of ten forms that would start the legalization of trade between Autobots and Decepticons. Hmm, he should think about securing some amount of peace with Soundblaster’s gang. If they were still alive.

If the cold front hadn’t killed them, then Nemesis had.

“But, like I said.” Optimus said at last, pulling the cube back and setting it down on the table. “I am allowed to be indulgent, Bumblebee. I can confidently say that I wish Elita were still alive. We would properly become conjunx’ed. Perhaps we would have enlisted ourselves as a guardian for a new spark.”

“Aw, the true dream.” Bumblebee tutted, trying to imagine himself in charge of a kid. He felt a wave of disgust at the thought. He was pretty sure it showed on his face, but Optimus was kind enough not to point it out.

“Megatron would still be my friend. We would mock each other for our dubious morals, and we would hold reasonable, healthy discussions. We would work together to try to find a better way forward. Our diplomatic meetings would not be hidden behind datapads and marked by overwhelmed processors.”

“Huh. Sitting in the same room without a mediator? Sounds great.” Bumblebee grumbled, but it honestly did sound fantastic. He would finally be able to discuss changes in real time without them having to barter updates to their charters by files exchanged back and forth. “...and I mean that genuinely.”

“I know.” Optimus smiled kindly at him, an exhaustion weighing on his optics. “The way things sit now… It simply cannot stand. Megatron enjoys being as bothersome as possible, even in peace.”

“Now look at who’s insulting him.”

“Not a word to anyone.”

“Not on your life!”

Optimus huffed out a gentle chuckle. His digit ran along the top of the cube. “...and perhaps Ultra Magnus betrayed us. Perhaps what he did was an awful thing, but if I can forgive Megatron for the atrocities he has made our people face, I can forgive Ultra Magnus, too.”

“You’re a better bot than any of us, Optimus.” Bumblebee grunted. “Either that, or you need your back strut replaced.”

“Both are likely, my friend.” Optimus allowed in good nature. “Now, if I had it my way, mind, in my hypothetical world, then Ultra Magnus would still be my partner. He would still have the Trion Protocols.”

“Hmm,” Bumblebee nodded. “Which leaves…?”

“Many people, Bumblebee.” Optimus hummed. “There are many people I would bring back. That I would still want in my life. I like to imagine that I would’ve formed a personal relationship with each and every Cybertronian eventually. Perhaps I would have been the longest reigning Prime. Perhaps I would have made a connection to the people that none other has managed before me.”

“And nobody else would manage after.” Bumblebee accepted instantly. He watched Optimus cautiously. The Prime was right. There was a great amount of hope built up in his shoulders and his helm. He loved and he yearned more than anyone Bumblebee had ever known.

“Perhaps.” Optimus nodded. “But I will always long for greatness for every subsequent Prime. I would hope that they would be good leaders. In reality, I have failed to live up to everything I wanted for myself. Everything Elita wanted for me. This is not the life we wanted.”

“Or expected.”

“Or expected.” Optimus agreed. “It makes me sad, that nothing will live up to what I want. But, I’m allowed to be wistful. I do not need to permanently live in the moment and be logical.”

“Mm.” Bumblebee slid Optimus’ still half-full cube of high grade away from him while the Prime was distracted, and sipped at the rest of it as discreetly as he could.

There was not a beat of recognition of what Bumblebee had done when he turned back around. “In my perfect world, Bumblebee, you would be right there beside me, too.” Optimus reached across them to squeeze his hand. “Even if it’s not your “speed”, exactly, I would like you to accompany me from settlement to city to town. Meeting new people, establishing bonds.”

“Oh,” Bumblebee froze, going rigid. “That’s…”

“I know.” Optimus allowed. “Perhaps as a bodyguard, so you did not have to be social?”

Bumblebee couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of his pipes. “What? In your perfect life, you still have people trying to kill you?”

Optimus froze. His optics twitched over Bumblebee for a moment. And then something soft smoothed over. “I did not think of that. I suppose I am, unfortunately, far from perfect.”

“Oh, be happy. Someone’s got to keep you in line.” Bumblebee pushed his arm. “Maybe that can be my job! Keeping you from saying stupid stuff.”

Optimus chuckled, and wrapped an arm around Bumblebee’s shoulders. “That sounds perfect. We do not need the Trion Protocols to be friends, Bumblebee.”

“Uh-huh? Are you sure about that? I hated your mug when I first saw you.”

“I think we would’ve grown on each other.” Optimus reached over to tuck his other servo around Bumblebee’s, slotting their digits together. “I think that, no matter the reality, or the life, we would find each other. Bumblebee, I believe that you and I would have become the best of friends.”

“You think so?” Bumblebee asked, feeling like a little sparkling having to ask such a timid question.

But Optimus warmed, and did not seem put off. “Bumblebee, in whatever life we get, chosen or not, I would be honored if you decided to be my friend every time.”

Bumblebee had spent the last four million years skirting away from people and physical touch. It usually resulted in a knife to the back, after all, and someone stealing his energon away.

But he supposed he could make an exception. Releasing the cube from his grasp and shoving it far away, Bumblebee turned into Optimus and wrapped his free arm around his Prime’s neck. Optimus hugged him back without hesitation.

“I’d be honored, too.” Bumblebee told him. “Someone’s got to keep you humble.”

Optimus laughed and tightened his grip just so.

Privately, Bumblebee thought that this life, though absolutely far from perfect, was pretty good, too.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee kept his servo over the tube as he sat up, wiggling his way to his pedes. He winced as a bit of energon wheezed out of the joint between his chassis and his tube. He twisted it back into place, wincing to himself.

Ratchet’d kill him if he wasted even a single drop of energon. Needing energon and not having a mouth was an… interesting situation. 

It meant he had to lay still for half a groon while his systems took in the energon. Honestly, he was lucky that Charlie had figured out how to get his emergency supply of energon into him whenever he got too tired, because with his lack of memories and general comprehension on how to do things…

He would’ve starved long before the other Autobots arrived on Earth. Frankly, he was surprised he had lasted as long as he had.

And then, of course, he had died anyway. Dying for a friend, for his family, for Optimus. Which meant that now he was stuck for a full groon while Ratchet monitored him carefully.

Honestly, it was ridiculous that Bumblebee was being doted over when he had died but had come back to life just fine, whereas Mirage was still gone – in a coma or whatever Charlie had called it – and was slowly being repaired by Charlie and Noah. No Autobots were trying to piece him back together.

Mirage was where Ratchet’s focus had been, and Bumblebee had almost suspected that’s where he would go after he checked Bumblebee over. Instead, he could still hear the old medic talking with Optimus in hushed, angry whispers outside his room. It sounded like they were preparing to kill each other.

Which was why he was standing up at all, the desperate need to know exactly what was being discussed. Why Ratchet was ignoring Mirage to shout at Optimus.

Bumblebee kept the tube firmly in place as he pressed his audial against the door, listening carefully.

“–still don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me!” Ratchet was hissing, clearly struggling to keep his voice quiet as he spoke to Optimus. “This concerns me, too, you know!”

“Yes, I am perfectly aware of that. But as I said, my attention was on the mission.”

“Oh, right, and not on him?! I don’t believe that for a single nano-klik.”

“I don’t believe it, either.” Arcee’s voice filtered through, and Bumblebee’s processor twinged in surprise. He hadn’t expected to hear her. He had put the utmost faith that she, at least, had been with Mirage.

Or maybe Charlie had thrown a shoe at Arcee for interrupting. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. That would explain while she was here.

It still didn’t explain Ratchet away, because Bumblebee had tried throwing things at the medic to keep him away before. Scraplets, Charlie had tried before. Neither one’s attempts had worked.

“You should’ve seen him throwing fits over him, Ratchet.” Arcee teased, and Bumblebee couldn’t tell if she was directly tattling or was, indeed, being lighthearted. “Optimus broke just about everything and actually, literally killed Scourge. It was epic. I think Bumblebee was all he could think about.”

Ah, of course. Ratchet was throwing a fit because he hadn’t been told when Bumblebee died. The medic had raised Bumblebee just as much as Optimus had. If Optimus hadn’t told Ratchet immediately that Bumblebee had died, it was no wonder that they were fighting.

Bumblebee just wished they weren’t doing it so loudly. After all, he was alive and well. There was no reason for them to be fighting about it right outside his door.

“My mission was to destroy Scourge.” Optimus amended, sounding a tad bit guilty. “I simply… He took Bumblebee from me. Us. I had to end him before he could take more.”

“You should’ve told me.” Ratchet hissed. “If there was even a chance he could be revived–!”

“He was revived. He is fine, he is safe. He is resting right now and recovering his low levels. That is a victory. You did not know what happened until it was fixed, old friend. This should not be a subject of aggravation.”

“I’m “aggravated” because I wasn’t told! What if he wasn’t brought back, and you returned without him, and then you had to explain it?! Can you imagine that?! You, telling me that you lost Bumblebee, and didn’t even think about calling? How hard could it have possibly been to–”

Bumblebee slid open the door, sick of listening to them fighting. ::What’s with all this ruckus? I said “lights out”!::

All three Autobots froze at the sight of him. Arcee was the first to move, giggling behind her servos. “Yeah, I knew you were listening! That’s what you get for yelling outside his room!”

Bumblebee pointed at her, and then pointed away angrily. ::It was just a mirage!::

“Ah,” Arcee pouted, but turned to go anyway. “I’ll go check on him, but no promises I’ll stick around if Charlie throws a wrench at me again.”

So it hadn’t been a shoe this time. Good ol’ Charlie, switching things up.

“Bumblebee,” Ratchet said, firmly, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around back towards his berth. “You know you’re not supposed to be moving while you’re digesting.”

Bumblebee gave Ratchet a very pointed human gesture. Ratchet looked back in utter confusion, not recognizing it. Bumblebee didn’t bother explaining. ::You’re… fighting… over me? Get a life.:: Bumblebee snarked.

“Bumblebee,” Ratchet frowned. “I’m sorry if we bothered you. Go back to bed, and Optimus and I will continue this discussion elsewhere.”

::–just a mirage!:: Bumblebee huffed, digging in his heels angrily before Ratchet could steer him back.

“Yes, yes, I’ll worry about Mirage after we’ve reached a consensus–”

::–mirage!:: Bumblebee demanded again, managing to wrangle down the audioclip. ::–mirage! –mirage! –mirage! –mirage!::

Ratchet threw his servos into the air. “Fine! I’ll go take a look at him!”

::–mirage!:: Bumblebee reiterated. ::I need you to… take care of business.::

Ratchet stared at him. Optimus had to turn away to hide his smile.

Bumblebee pushed Ratchet’s arm to get him to move. ::–mirage!::

“Bumblebee! Your feeding tube!” Ratchet admonished, and the scout reached over to make sure it was still attached. It had come a little loose. Whatever.

“Ratchet,” Optimus offered with dubious kindness. “I’ll look after him and make sure he goes back to bed. You have my word.”

“Yes, but will you tell me if something goes wrong? If his condition starts to get worse, will you contact me? Or will you hide it from me until I come back?!” Ratchet demanded, whipping around to face Optimus so suddenly that Bumblebee nearly fell onto his face.

He caught himself, grumbling as he readjusted the tube again. For bots who were so very worried about him, they seemed to be caught up in their argument too much for their own good.

“I’ll tell you,” Optimus told him, calmly. “You have my word.”

“I thought I had your word earlier. That when our scout gets injured at all, you’ll tell me.” Ratchet pushed.

“I… yes. You’re right.” Optimus admitted, reaching out to put his servo on Bumblebee’s shoulder to draw him close. “I should have told you. There was no excuse for not reaching out. I suppose I just… got wrapped up in the hopelessness of it all.”

“Hmph,” Ratchet scoffed, olfactory sensor in the air. “Well. Thank you for admitting it.” His shoulders slumped. “I would’ve been worried, too. I doubt I would’ve been able to do anything other than hold his hand.”

::–mirage!:: Bumblebee admonished with a roll of his optics.

Ratchet reluctantly, finally, held up his servos in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll go find him. Look after Bumblebee, Optimus. Make sure he lies the frag down.”

Bumblebee waited until Ratchet was walking away to finally relax, turning away to return to his berth before Optimus could try and make him.

“We didn’t mean to disturb you,” Optimus said, trailing after Bumblebee like a lost puppy. The mental image almost made him laugh, but he swallowed it down. “We should’ve taken it elsewhere. We were worried about you, but that was no excuse to be–”

Bumblebee lifted up his servo in a “shush” motion. ::Oh, you’re really one to talk!::

“Bumblebee…”

Bumblebee shook his helm at his Prime, and climbed firmly onto his berth. He didn’t lie down, but he remained seated, pressing the back of his helm to the wall and staring at the wall quietly.

Optimus shuffled in place for a while. “Well… if you need anything…”

::You’ll be the first to know,:: Bumblebee loyally promised. He wasn’t going to move, and he had done this enough times that he knew there would be no reason to try to get up. Short of trying to get Optimus and Ratchet to quit fighting, anyway.

“Okay,” Optimus said awkwardly. “I just… Ratchet and I are quite worried about you. You gave us quite a scare, and–”

::Well, you’re half right.::

Optimus winced, and looked down at his servos. “I should’ve told him. You’re both right. I just… I wanted revenge first. I wanted Scourge dealt with, so we could mourn in peace. I hoped the energon would bring you back, but I doubted it would. Primal said that it was dormant, so I…”

::Hey. I’ve got you. I’m here.:: Bumblebee reassured, flipping over his servos towards Optimus. His Prime stared down at his waiting servos for a moment, and then came over to encase Bumblebee in a hug.

He’d never do something as personal as physical affection in front of the other bots, but in the privacy of Bumblebee’s room, with the door firmly shut, Optimus could love the way he wanted to. 

Bumblebee hugged him right back. ::Talk to him.:: ::Oh captain my captain!::

Optimus stilled, his grip getting a touch more tight. “I… I will. You have my word that I will.”

::Okey dokey!:: Bumblebee nodded, because he’d always trust his Prime’s words.

They stayed hugging for a long while.