Chapter Text
Oh, he didn’t expect this. This shouldn’t be happening.
His processor conjured up about a thousand different possibilities, from being taken back to Cybertron and being thrown in prison like Wasp, or being beaten back into the Autobot mold like Sentinel would, or even just being poisoned and disposed of upon arrival. There were always endings that didn’t even involve Autobot punishments, like perhaps the ship, being human, would have some faulty component and blow them to bits before ever touching down on the planet.
And of course, there was terror in meeting Optimus. His mentor, his leader, and his tormentor. Shockwave may have captured him, but any moment he stepped out of line, it was Optimus who crushed him under pede, mercy having left his optics and exchanged for cold, deadly, unflinching hatred. When Bumblebee sat with Arcee, his more hopeful, more earnest spark tried to rationalize, they were called Decepticons, after all, it could have all been an elaborate illusion to try and push him away from his teammates.
That didn’t stop him from backing away like a street cyber-cat when he heard Optimus’s voice, didn’t stop him from trying to grab onto Arcee, keep her away from the Prime. She couldn’t get hurt, not after everything she did for an unworthy wretch like him. Ratchet’s shouting didn’t help, and while he couldn’t quite make it out, Bumblebee knew Prowl was keeping them all out of the ship for a bit, probably trying to get them to be merciful to him.
Yeah, like that would happen.
At least Autobot protocol demanded some protective measures, as Ratchet, while maintaining a respectful distance with Prowl and Arcee guarding both sides of him, maintained a strictly medical tone, asking Prowl questions rather than him.
“When did he last refuel? Has he been able to keep fuel down?”
“I gave him a cube only a few clicks ago, and he hasn’t been having any upcharge. I believe he is relatively alright regarding physical injuries, as I gave him a standard examination.”
Sounding mildly unimpressed, Ratchet began to go through his cabinets, pulling out various tools and packages. “Respectfully Prowl, I understand you have training, but he may have more underlying damages than just superficial cuts. It's unclear if he has any faults or broken wiring or even fractured coding from an untrained bot’s check-up.”
“Ratchet, I think the bot who actually did something to help Bumble-”
“Are you trying to say I don’t know what I’m talking about, ninja-bot?”
Cutting in, Arcee took the attention away from their argument with a snap and firm voice. “Both of you! You ought to be ashamed, bickering about who helped the sparkling out more or who knows better! All that matters is helping him out, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were my students arguing over candied Energon!”
Ratchet, avoiding facing Arcee, simply nodded and continued setting up the medical berth. Arcee scooped him into her arms, and Bumblebee allowed his guard to drop, but not completely to not tense up as Optimus entered.
The Prime held himself close, awkwardly fidgeting and a reserved, uncharacteristically timid stance. “Ratchet, I wanted to see how you were doing, and uhm, wanted to see if you wanted me to contact Jazz for any resources.”
Prowl perked up when the mech was mentioned, and Ratchet rolled his optics playfully. “I’m not quite sure about what we need yet…”
Sometime in all the chatter, Bumblebee found himself dreaming. Not a shallow recharge, but his processor somehow wasn’t totally wrecked by the cycle and could afford to entertain itself. The world was some blend between Earth and Cybertron, bright blue oceans meeting metal tracks, perfectly shiny and clean. Everything was light-both bright and unburdened, the yellow hybrid felt weightless, bounding across his dreamscape.
All the pain, the rotting shame, the fear coursing through his fuel lines-for a moment, it all fell away like ice melting off a flower, letting the Earthen plant bloom to its fullest potential.
And like a mech crushing it carelessly under pede, he appeared.
Not even his whole frame. Not his claws, not his towering antlers, no. Scarlet rays tinted his fantasy, morphing from a sparklet’s fantasy to an otherworldly nightmare. Bumblebee couldn’t move, couldn’t shout, only stare at the beastly optic. Taking over the skyline, Shockwave’s cracked optic pulled everything toward it, a black hole dead-set on taking him.
This time, no bot was here to save him. No trick, no hologram, no moment of arrogance he could exploit. Bumblebee would never be free, not as long as he was still Goldbug, or was it the other way around? Primus, that didn’t matter! He was going to die, cold, alone, worthless-
His optics burst open, stingers half-charged and the command to fire was readied on his HUD. But no, he was not under attack. Rather, he was lying in the berth Ratchet set up, with a fuel line opened and fed medical grade through a tube. Sitting at the end, Optimus held his helm in his servo as Ratchet soothed his plating.
Instinctively, Bumblebee wanted to shout against the lack of personal space.
But Optimus was-well, weeping. Ratchet kept opening his derma to say something, then raising a servo and shaking his helm in disgust. Prowl kept out of the room, but he bet that mech had his helm pressed to the door, listening for the tiniest twinge of tension. Sari, Bulkhead, and Arcee, were nowhere to be seen or heard.
By this reasoning, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt their intimate silence. They didn’t even seem to notice he was awake, as Optimus showed no restraint in his broken cries.
“I can’t believe I failed him so horribly…Fellow soldiers are one thing but my sparking? The only mech I undoubtedly have to protect, and I held my ax towards him when I could have been bringing him home? I have half a processor to inform Magnus and turn myself in for gross negligence!”
Optimus thought of him as his sparkling?
“And what good would that do? Split up the team while the Decepticons are clearly after him? Get the kid sent from one caretaker to the next, until he’s old enough where they’re not required to pretend to care? How is that any better than trying to move forward with him?”
Optimus seemed to despair at this suggestion, but his tears subsided, at least for now. “I just…If I can’t protect even Bumblebee, a capable cadet and one of the most important beings in the world to me, why is there any reason to have me lead? When my other charges have to go against orders to save their teammates?”
“Because you try, frag it! Most Primes I’ve ever met do it for the glamor, to show that they're great and we’re all lesser pieces of scrap who should worship their exhaust fumes! You keep trying even when you know there is no shanix, no glory, and no prestige waiting for you back on Cybertron. Like a real Prime, you get up off your aft and help others until your plates lose their shine!”
Optimus wiped his optics, and without hesitation, hugged Ratchet with all his might.
“Yeah, I know, kid. It’s gonna be a long, long, long process, and we’ll do what’s best for Bumblebee, no matter what. Time will be our biggest ally, and Bumblebee isn’t beyond repair. Not by a long shot. I’ll be stepping out to catch up with Arcee, and if that minibot tries to leave that berth, get me immediately or you’ll be in the med-bay too.”
Optimus chuckled, and gave a weak wave as Ratchet tightly shut the door behind him. Feeling overwhelmingly exhausted again, Bumblebee let himself rest, not fearing Optimus’s supervision.
And he knew that somehow, despite everything, one cycle he’d feel okay.