Chapter Text
Creeping through the dimly lit halls of the Ark's lower decks, Bumblebee felt his spark stutter in his chassis. Sneaking around was second nature, even among his own faction's territory, but typically it was utilized only to play pranks on his fellow bots or eavesdrop on whatever the latest gossip was behind closed doors. He'd never needed to access the brig like this, without anyone else knowing. He had never lacked trust in his comrades' actions.
Only a few joors before, he had been comming Thundercracker like any other day. Discussing the latest episode of As The Kitchen Sinks, where they thought the convoluted plot was going, the rare image capture- almost always from Bumblebee, such as that morning's glorious photo of Sunstreaker cuffing his twin so hard on the back of the helm that his morning energon spewed from cranial vents in an arc of purple droplets throughout the mess hall. It had been the norm for quartexes at that point to send his thoughts Thundercracker's way on a whim, especially if he thought it might amuse the straight faced seeker.
Their circumstances had changed so quickly.
When Bee heard the rumors, he was in the armory finishing up a cleaning detail he'd been assigned- a punishment for getting caught up in one of Sideswipe's schemes, though not a particularly unpleasant one. After all, it was barely a punishment when Bluestreak had joined in to chat while he was there. The praxian could disassemble, examine, and reassemble a blaster almost as fast he could yap. All for the low, low price of being his sounding board. By the time news reached him, all sorts of theories were floating around, mingled with the facts as though they were one.
The core of it remained the same, however: A blue Decepticon seeker had entered Autobot territory alone, politely waited for security to approach, and turned himself over willingly without explanation.
Now, he was being held in the brig while command held a meeting to discuss the sincerity of his surrender, with Windcharger on guard. Well, Bumblebee knew how he was spending much of the rest of his day.
Due to their Security Director's extensive knowledge and dedication to his job, Ark security was no joke. Since Red Alert had been brought out of stasis, Decepticon infiltration had been halted to only twice- both Skywarp, neither serious attempts at sabotage or theft. Both had nonetheless caused the paranoid mech to spiral inconsolably. From all that Thundercracker had told him about his trinemate, that was likely the true goal of his invasion of their base.
All that aside, Bumblebee was well aware that properly covering his tracks wasn't an option. Penetrating that many firewalls in order to disable all the sensors and cameras he would be passing on the way to his destination would take so long that his efforts would be noticed. There was no way he could do this in perfect secrecy; It was only a matter of when he would have to reckon with the scrutiny of his superiors.
Bee carefully hacked just one camera- it's feed positioned in the center of the monitors by default, forcing it offline. For the same scheme that Bee had been assigned a cleaning detail, Sideswipe had been assigned monitor duty- without his twin, no less. He would be jumping at any chance to leave the lonesome monotony of watching cameras alone. He would leave his post and check the camera's status himself. Bumblebee could already hear Prowl citing the violations of code and protocol at the red half of the Terror Twins.
He waited a few kliks and watched the status of the offline camera until it showed an indicator that it was being physically manipulated, then proceeded. Keeping his pedesteps even and a smile on his faceplate, the saboteur made his way down the winding halls until he saw Windcharger. Sending him a friendly ping and a comm about relieving him from duty was all that was required for his fellow minibot to willingly step away. Yet another mech that would end up on the other side of Prowl's desk, Bee was sure of it.
He pushed any guilt over that from his mind as he prepared himself to enter the brig.
The Autobots had a strict code of ethics, and their procedures for holding mecha prioritized the prisoner's well-being- balancing it against the safety of any and all autobots. Certain practices were outright banned- corporal punishment was out of the question for anyone regardless of their status as prisoner or ally, for example. Some, such as the use of a t-lock, were allowed only if it's necessity was unanimously agreed upon by High Command. The same was true of solitary confinement.
Many of the lines they drew were based upon the unspeakable cruelty of Sentinel's regime, after all. The Autobots had to hold themselves to strict standards. Even when treatment appeared harsh, it had to be fair.
Bumblebee wasn't a newbuild, not anymore. He knew what a typical arrangement looked like for decepticon prisoners. It didn't stop the feeling of horror he had as he entered the brig. Sitting behind energized cell bars on the padding-less slab berth was Thundercracker. Servos bound with stasis cuffs; Wings pinned together with a magnetic clamp. There appeared to be a spark regulator positioned to the left of his cockpit, light pulsing weakly in time with the turning of his spark; The most reliable way to circumvent an outlier's abilities, though one that would make the affected mech feel weak and extremely uneasy.
Balancing well-being and the Ark crew's safety was the goal. The restraints were uncomfortable, but could not injure a previously uninjured bot; The restraints looked excessive, but were standard for an enemy, a flier, an outlier. Knowing that didn't stop anger from seeping into Bumblebee's struts. Because, really, he had stopped thinking of TC as an enemy, despite the purple insignia that stood proud against the blue of his wings. If Thundercracker weren't a decepticon, then the other two reasons to bind him wouldn't be reason enough for this.
::TC,:: Bumblebee commed, then frowned and furrowed his optic ridge as it refused to send. "—Thunder—" the minibot rumbled instead. His friend looked up blankly, smiling very briefly before he blinked. Whether the vacant look in his optics was a side effect of the situation he had found himself in or just the spark regulator, Bee couldn't be sure.
"Bee," he greeted in soft bass. Seeker claws clicked together as he strained slightly against his restraints. Seeing the Beetle's frustration, he apologized, "I wasn't ignoring you. My comms are blocked. For obvious reasons."
Obvious reasons they might be, but it didn't prevent the wheezing sound of annoyance the Bumblebee produced with his internals. There were so many things he wanted to say. Why are you here? What happened? Are you hurt? Prowl and Ironhide didn't hurt you, did they? I can't believe they're treating you like this. You wouldn't have done anything to warrant this. He wanted to say all of this to his friend, but without comms, he would be reduced to solely using his radio. He wouldn't have time for that, even if he were willing to give up clarity for speed. And that was all assuming he didn't fear the sound drawing attention to the the goings on in the brig. He was already working on an unknown time limit. Even Sideswipe couldn't be distracted for this long.
Instead he reached his round, delicate hands through the cell bars, ignoring the tingle of electrical arcs licking across his plating in uncomfortable waves, and beckoned the larger mech over. Hesitantly, he obeyed and knelt an arm's length from the bars and offered his own clawed digits to Bumblebee. The smaller bot wove his blunt digits between Thundercracker's and pressed their palms flush before concentrating his EM field through their joined plating.
Bumblebee wasn't a master of this method. He wasn't like Jazz or Inferno- who could create the near-perfect illusion of telepathic communication through their fields- or Optimus- whose field was so strong and pronounced that even Ironhide could discern what the Prime felt keenly, but the little saboteur was good enough that he could pulse concern-frustration-apology and reassurance-determination-urgency in ripples that got his thoughts across in broad strokes. It seemed to work, as Thundercracker's field loosened, though to a nearly imperceptible degree with how closely the mech held it.
Unraveling the digits of one hand, Bee slid his palm up the larger mech's to poke his blunt fingertips against the cuffs. The manacles were tightened against the flier's wrists. When he had wriggled against them earlier, they had scuffed the dark paint on his vambrace and the back of his hand.
"You can't act surprised about those, bug. Your commanders have no reason to trust me," TC reminded Bumblebee. To anyone else, his tone may be heard as patient. Bee knew him well enough that he could hear it for the resignation that it was. "Besides, it's not that bad. Even the clamps just make my wings a little sore. This isn't even half as bad as getting tossed in the Nemesis' brig."
It didn't have the reassuring effect that Thundercracker probably wanted it to have. It was bad enough to see his friend in discomfort; Imagining what could be worse sent a jolt of concern through his field. He gripped the large hands hard, metal creaking against metal. His processor kept returning to that thought. Why? Why was Thundercracker here? Their last conversation had been normal- discuss their shows, share recommendations, make notes of the files they would swap at their next meeting, all interspersed with their usual jokes and gripes about their comrades.
The seeker had let some things slip during their conversations over the months he'd known him. They were all Bumblebee could think of now. That his friend was going to be forced to do something that he absolutely couldn't bear. The Decepticons are planning something heinous, something to escalate the war, something to destroy the earth. Or maybe he had been punished horribly for some infraction aboard the Nemesis. Was it the first time? Or just one time of many? Whatever they did to him convinced him to leave the faction he held rank in for millennia. Bumblebee couldn't imagine what such a breaking point would be. He didn't want to try. Now he's being punished for seeking sanctuary, what does that make us?
The scout recalled their first meeting, the broken wing- a fresh wound when there had been no battle. The seeker's skittish nature. Things he had said in passing in the time since about Starscream and Megatron and his own isolation. He said them so casually, like they weren't an issue. If Starscream was as cruel to his wings on the battlefield as he seemed to be, there was no telling how much worse his treatment was in Decepticon territory. How long have you been suffering?
"Bee?" Thundercracker said, interrupting Bumblebee's train of thought. "Are you allowed to be here?"
The scout shrugged his pauldrons. Command hadn't explicitly forbid anyone from coming to the brig. It was the guard's responsibility to prevent this, after all. What Command didn't know wouldn't hurt them, he reasoned.
It didn't matter either way. He needed to be here for his friend. It was only right. He tightened his grip on the other's larger hands.
"Bee, please," the seeker rumbled, optics downcast, "I don't want you to be troubled by my.… by this."
Your trouble is my trouble, Bee thought. That's what being friends is all about. He shook his helm and locked optics with Thundercracker. The larger mech sighed, shoulders sagging.
"Stubborn," he grumbled quietly, but not without fondness. "Every last one of you is so stubborn." That last part left the seeker's pale lips with a smile, though it painted his faceplate with a wistful expression. Once again the scout felt frustration bubble within his core over the one sided nature of their conversation.
The two of them sat there for a little longer, digits woven together, Bumblebee attempting to be an anchor for his friend. He rubbed his thumb over TC's metacarpal plate soothingly. There was no doubt this situation would become worse for the seeker before it became better. Though there was definitely questioning as they shackled their prisoner, Command and Security were likely preparing for a more thorough interrogation. Thundercracker was just below Decepticon High Command- Starscream's own lieutenant. He knew things- raid plans, energon reserves, armaments, flight formations, weaknesses- he knew things that could turn the tide of any battle. Maybe even the war.
Yes, even though the two of them avoided talking about the war, Bumblebee wasn't oblivious and he hadn't deluded himself into thinking that none of this mattered. Of course he knew! Of course it mattered! Though Bee and TC were good friends who spent their days exchanging pleasant comms, Autobot Bumblebee and Decepticon Thundercracker had exchanged fire twice on the battlefield within the last quartex! Bumblebee'd sat through more tactical briefings than he could count where Thundercracker was noted as a high priority target alongside Starscream. Bumblebee had been built and ignited for the war- it was all he had ever known, he would only have such holes in his knowledge if he had willfully culled it all from storage.
He knew that the Thundercracker who liked cheesy drama holos and had taken to human media like a newbuild to their first taste of energon goodies- the mech who complained about breaking up fights and dealing with the fallout of his most impulsive trinemate's actions- was the same Thundercracker who had carried out atrocities at Megatron and Starscream's command. He had injured and killed countless Autobots during their multimillion year war. He himself had caused Bumblebee injuries in the field, and Bumblebee had returned fire. Thundercracker wasn't an innocent; He was still responsible for the actions he took while following orders. Bumblebee hadn't forgotten any of that. And yet….
This same mech was Bumblebee's friend, and not because of a lingering pre-war bond or a sense of obligation. He was more than just a Decepticon lieutenant. There was more to his actions than blind loyalty or a lust for violence, even if his fellow 'bots couldn't see that. He was intelligent and charming, in a quiet sort of way. He had a kindness deep within him that had yet to be worn away by the war. Even if Command would refuse to see that, all of it was there within Thundercracker. And that mattered just as much as anything else they might see in him. He didn't deserve to be treated like a prisoner when there was clearly a reason he was here. There was something horribly wrong going on within the dark belly of the Nemesis.
"Thank you."
Bumblebee snapped back to reality with the simple phrase, not fighting as the larger mech unwound his clawed fingers from Bee's blunt digits. He rose unsteadily to his pedes and schooled his face into a stoic expression.
"You've been incredible, and I can't thank you enough for being here for me, but I refuse to drag you down with me. Whatever your leader chooses to do with me," Thundercracker said, venting softly, "that is entirely the consequences of my actions. Please, Bumblebee, go while you can, before the guard returns and you have to explain… whatever this is."
The beetle ground his dentae and dipped his helm, but he still nodded and collected himself from the brig floor. He cast one more glance at the seeker- the large mech having submitted to whatever may follow, but in far better spirits than when Bumblebee had first entered the room- then slipped quietly out. Once he had left the brig, Bee allowed himself a moment to vent and swallow his concern. It festered in his chassis like excess moisture into rust.
He had to trust his fellow autobots. He did trust them. With his very spark. But it was hard to do so when his friend was the one most affected. Though Prime had time and time again expressed his sorrow for the Decepticons, the deep mourning he felt at the destruction of any of Primus' children, he was not a tyrant and would follow Command's advice when it came to handling such a high profile prisoner of war. Ironhide loathed their enemy with every watt of his spark and Prowl was practical to a fault.
Many autobots would want nothing more than to slip into the brig and take out their frustration on an easy target. There were plenty who would see it as deserved- justice, both for the blue seeker's own crimes and those of his faction. Thinking about the idea sent ice through the scout's cables and turned his tanks.
Venting once, twice, he straightened his posture and continued down the hall, still ruminating on all of the possibilities, most of them ending with the image of an injured, terrified Thundercracker staring back at him from his imagination matrix. Worse images threatened to come to the forefront. Blue turning gray; Energon drying black. It consumed his processor so much that he had opted to simply navigate by memory, rather than looking where he was going.
This worked well until it didn't, when his olfactory ridge met a solid and previously unmapped object in his path. Stumbling back he took in the reality of it. The "object," was none other than Optimus Prime's broad thigh.
With an apologetic gesture, Bumblebee took a stumbling step back before Optimus leaned down to place a massive servo on his shoulder. The look in his optic was stern, but not upset. It allowed no room for argument, but still retained the mentor-ly warmth that the Prime had held for as long as Bumblebee had known him.
"So," he began, finials flicking forward as if to probe Bee's EMF, "you visited our guest, I take it?"
With just a moment of hesitation, the scout nodded. He didn't want to lie to his Prime- truly he didn't, but he didn't want to admit to his months long fraternization with an enemy officer. It bordered on treachery. Frag border, actually. It was treason. Bumblebee had become a traitor for his friend. A friend who had fought against them for eons. He… couldn't find a single scrap of remorse within him for it.
"Right now, I'm not concerned with punishment," Optimus clarified, voice softening, "whether protocol has been broken or not. This situation… it's far from anything we've expected. I need you to tell me everything you know about what has occurred. Anything your friend has told you will help us understand the full picture. I assure you that your compliance will be in his best interest, Bee."
Feeling sick to his tanks, Bumblebee nodded, optics averted. At this point, what else could he do? Betrayal on betrayal; he was certainly capable of it. Even as his spark and processor went to war with one another, there was one belief that he maintained total faith in: If there was any mech aboard the grounded Ark that would treat Thundercracker fairly despite his faction, it was Optimus. Their leader, at his very core, was a kind spark. Any information shared, however, would reach far beyond his Prime. To mecha who were decidedly less generous with their compassion. That is, if it hadn't already found them.
Bumblebee's nausea worsened. Of course. Of course.
In all this time, somehow his own faction's intelligence network had slipped his mind- the same network he was part of, for Primus' sake!The scout had grown complacent. He had forgotten, foolishly, the first lesson every spec ops agent learned: If you know anything, then the boss already knows too. Their commander was just that good.
Jazz had known from the start- from their very first meeting, no doubt- and had obviously reported it directly to their Prime. Just as Bumblebee should have, even if he had neglected to report it on that fateful day. It was too late for that, now. What was done was done, after all. Bumblebee thought of Thundercracker sitting alone in his cell and couldn't find an ounce of regret within his spark.