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As the Energetic Sparkling she was, and for her Creator's bad luck, Snarl -better known as Copper- jumped around her hab, refusing to her recharge time and exclaiming she wanted to stay awake forever. Bumblebee groaned, she already had her cube of Energon and she was just dry from her bath, the only thing left of the list was making her sleep.
"C'mon little monster, time to sleep..." he sat on her berth and patted the spot next to him.
"No! I'll wait for Daddy!" She puffed her cheeks and crossed her arms in front of her tiny chassis.
"Your sire is at the other side of the Country, with your Uncle Blades..." he sighed, rubbing his tired optics. It was like that every time one of them were away to teach at the academy or at any specific mission. Snarl was brave and energetic, but really close to her creators.
The Sparkling sat at the floor of her hab, decorated with stuffed dinosaurs and some car posters. The former Scout smiled at the attitude of his daughter and moved to pick her from the floor, dusting her rear with a groan. "Sweetspark I already gave you a bath..." just to his creation to stick out her glossa.
Picking her favorite stuffed toy, the carrier moved to place his Sparkling on the berth, wrapping her with the soft blankets and place the toy next to her.
"I'm not sleeping! Swoop agrees with me!" She hugged the stuffed pterodactyl.
"For me he seems exhausted... tomorrow you'll see your Sire" Bumblebee said softly, stroking the little one's helm. Her little head resembled like Grimlock's and her frame like Bumblebee, but a bit bulkier and with claws instead of plain digits. And a shiny Coppery paintjob.
"... tell us a story" Snarl mumbled, snuggling closer to her carrier.
Bumblebee smiled, he knew the perfect tale to tell her.
Once upon a time, in the era were Cybertron was different.
There was a Gladiator, Champion of Kaon. He was the strongest among his kind, shining a silver armor full of scars and memories. He had the gift of words, using them to communicate his dreams of a right world, where everyone were seen as the same.
A curious and kind Archivist from Iacon admired him, following the ideas of a right Cybertron for all. Hungry for knowledge from their distant past, concerned about the present and future of their civilization.
They became close, soon falling in love and working together on their ideals. Dreaming about their perfect world, fantasizing about a future of them along a family.
"We'll build a perfect Cybertron, together"
The time passed, and the Gladiator left the pits to run for a political role. Wanting to become part of the high council, the Archivist supporting him behind. They seemed unstoppable, the people supporting and cheering the Gladiator as a candidate, they all wanted a better world where you wouldn't be discriminated for the cast you came from.
So the time came.
The high council gave an audience for the Gladiator, who, with his words tried to convince them to join them as a new part of the ruling kind. A negative was given to the Champion, making his spark twist in anger, blaming the old bots and their caste systems.
"You are all Blind! You don't see what your people need, you don't see out of your bubble!"
The Gladiator Shouted at the top of his vents, toxic anger boiling the Energon on his lines. Pointing at the bots who rejected him and his ideals.
"You will all see! When I become a Prime, you will all see!"
The Council was about to make him leave, when the Archivist stood in front on his beloved, with a cool head a soft words he said again the needs of their people. At the contrary of The Gladiator, the smaller mech was part of a middle-high cast, so he was heard. His soft words helped them to understand.
The congratulated the Archivist, offering him a high post on their council, talking like the Gladiator wasn't even there.
Anger and jealousy erupted from the Gladiator's spark, storming out of the place with a feeling of betrayal from his mate. His beloved was heard and was given the recognition he dreamed of, that was unforgivable.
The thoughts of achieving his ideals through violence poisoned his spark, using his words to turn his most adept followers to the side of rebellion. His actions lead to poisoning the very core of Cybertron, in an attempt to stop the production of new sparks.
The Archivist tried to stop his beloved, tried to reason with him, but it was fruitless.
"You betrayed me, you betrayed our cause! Now, we are nothing but enemies"
The Gladiator barked those last words before the clerk made his way to the Planet's core, sparkbroken. His kind personality dedicated to find a cure to it.
Once there, he heard a voice calling him, encouraging him to move closer, being enveloped by a strange sensation-
"And he was eaten by a Giant space monster!" Shouted the Sparkling, her tiny back nubs fluttering.
Bumblebee chuckled, of course she thought that, that was the typical end of a Cybertronian tale.
"No, Sweetspark..." he stroked her helm again, pulling the blanket and tucking it around her. "Let me continue..."
There, before a mere data Archivist from Iacon, was Primus himself. His field mingling with the bot, calming him.
The Archivist felt warm and safe there before Primus, his chest stung for a second to feel a full wave of pain on his neural net.
Before he knew or could process, he had the Matrix of Leadership fused to his spark. Now, he was a Prime, he chosen by Primus himself to become the last of them.
The former Archivist emerged from the core, his frame changed, adapting it to any threat what could come. So there, right in front of him was the Gladiator, furious red optics analyzing his once lover, now transformed into a Prime.
Right there, he declared the war.
Millenia of fighting ended up in the Planet's destruction, making it an inhabitable place, the well dry long time ago, no new sparks were emerging from it and it was really dangerous for a bot to carry a Sparkling.
The Prime's faction flee from the planet, seeking Energon for survival here on earth. But the Gladiator and his followers were there too.
Their fights often ended in one on one, always one of them sparing the life of the other. Even the Gladiator, who swore to destroy the Prime for what happened long ago had his soft spot remembering the times they spent together, his still raging love for each other stopped them.
But the time came where the Gladiator had to be stopped once and for all, the Prime was decided, with a big pain on his spark, to terminate the mech he once loved.
On their final battle, the Prime was on the ground, his mythical sword away from him and with no time to cry the fallen friends. The Gladiator had his dark blade threatening his life, about to give the final blow. There he saw, in those Matrix Blue eyes, the quiet Archivist from Iacon he fell in love with. So he hesitated.
A young voice called his name, followed by the Prime's sword piercing his chassis, mortally wounding him. The Prime's young Scout, the bot he raised as his own was now snuffing the Gladiator's spark.
The lifeless body fell into earth, the Prime extending his servo in an attempt to grab it, but it was fruitless. Sparkbroken, he did what he had to restore his home along his soldiers.
The Prime spent solar cycles crying his lost, his spark aching, even back on Cybertron, knowing that the corpse of his lover was on earth, forgotten.
Bumblebee made a pause, looking at his Sparkling, who was soundly recharging, the stuffed toy being strangled between her arms.
The former Scout smiled, those memories making his tanks churn a little. Still relieved that the story continued, but that he had to tell Snarl other night she felt like recharging was out of her schedule.
He smiled and stood from the side of the Sparkling sized berth, turning the lights off and walking to his own hab. There a picture of Megatron with an arm over Optimus' shoulders, Bumblebee and Grimlock holding a Tinier Snarl on their arms, rested on the nightstand.
His daughter was too young to understand the odds of her family, how her Grandcreators came back to life in different times and now they were just two old bots loving each other like the time never passed.
