Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bumblebee groaned, his optics starting back up as his audio receptors picked up the raging battle that was slowly dwindling to a stop. He blinked a couple of times, the world around him clearing. He was laying on the ground, rubble blown all around him. There was someone standing in front of him, someone who looked very familiar. 

Megatron was standing with his back turned to Bumblebee, looking out over the horizon. The internal revving of his systems were quiet, almost too quiet to be normal. 

That was when Bumblebee remembered. 

Bumblebee and Cliffjumper were sent on a mission to distract the decepticons by the Well of Allsparks to aid the Wreckers and to allow Optimus Prime time to launch the Allspark off planet. Bumblebee realized that the mission must’ve been a success and that Optimus must’ve sent the Allspark off planet to some unknown galaxy, far away from their dying home. He was also quick to realize that he must’ve been injured during battle and that Megatron must’ve somehow missed the bright yellow autobot, most likely due to all the rubble around him. 

That’s when Bumblebee started to giggle uncontrollably, holding his right hand over his mouth plate as laughter racked his body. His near-miniscule actions had completely ruined any and all of Megatron’s plans to control the Allspark, to control their species’ future. His mission in this battle seemed so miniscule to the point that Megatron overlooked it and now the unbeatable warlord would have to pay the price. 

And Bumblebee found that fact to be absolutely hilarious.

He didn’t stop laughing, even as Megatron turned to look at him, a mix of dark emotion crossing over his face as he finally realized that simple fact. Bumblebee couldn’t stop laughing even as Megatron stalked over to him. He didn’t even stop laughing when the Decepticon leader picked his injured body up with one hand on his shoulder, his mouth drawn back into a sneer.

Bumblebee finally stopped, but his shit-eating grin was still plastered on his face as he looked down on the Decepticon leader. Both of them knew what Bumblebee had just done. Not only had he basically destroyed the Decepticon leader’s future plans, but he had the nerve to insult Megatron to his face . 

And you cannot get away with that unscathed. 

Megatron’s hand flew up to Bumblebee’s throat panel and ripped through the metal with unnerving ease. Bumblebee screamed (or, at the very least, he tried to), the unbearable pain making the world around him flash different colors. He could feel the energon build up in his throat as Megatron did unknown damage to it, pulling something out. But Bumblebee couldn’t see; he couldn’t feel anything other than excruciating pain as his systems shut down and he went offline. 

Megatron dropped the yellow scrap, throwing his voice box far away. He started to walk away from the yellow body, rage still simmering through his systems. 

However, before he got more than ten pedesteps away from the fallen pest, the Decepticon leader froze. He turned to look back at the yellow body of the Autobot scout, contemplating the idea that just worked its way into his processor. 

It would be such a waste to leave Bumblebee here. To leave him for scrap or, worse, for the autobots to find him; Megatron knew that they had one of the best medics in the galaxy that might be able to save their ‘poor scout’. The Decepticon warlord was no fool. He was far too intimately aware of what this single scout was capable of when properly… motivated. If he could just motivate the scout, well…

Optimus wasn’t the only leader for a reason.

With the right words, the right actions, Megatron knew he could turn the Autobot leader’s tool against him. Megatron wasn’t weaksparked like his so-called brother- he knew when to use a situation to his advantage. The warlord was the best gladiator in Kaon for a reason and he knew how to make use of any resources he would happen upon. 

And right in this moment, the perfect tool had fallen right into his lap without Megatron even trying. He could end this war and he would use Optimus's own precious scout to do it.

After all, the Autobots would never hurt their innocent scout, even if he had ‘changed’ to be a part of his faction. That’s one of the Autobots’ downfalls; they were too empathetic, too trusting, too attached. And he had been made aware that Optimus and the medic, Ratchet, had raised the scout since he was a tiny sparkling long ago, but never before had he received such a perfect opportunity to use that particular piece of information...

It would be the perfect revenge. 

Megatron walked back to the yellow scout, picking up Bumblebee’s body with his right hand by his neck, claws digging into the energon dripping wound. His other hand went up to his comms unit and pushed it.

“Soundwave,” he said. “Bring the warship to my coordinates,” he watched distastefully as the energon wastefully dripped to the ruined ground, “Quickly.” 

———

With the seemingly eternal war, Bumblebee had become used to the cold that would seep throughout his metallic body. The world beneath their pedes was dying, no one could deny this, as what little atmosphere existed in their world faded with the life force of their home. All of the warmth of the fading core dissipated with every nano-cycle, a ticking countdown to what they all continued to live in denial of.

Yet, Bumblebee remained still where he laid, sensory panels picking up no movement in the room around him.

That was what clued him into something being wrong long before he began to fidget, only for his limbs to run into restraints. Never had Bumblebee risen from recharge without another Cybertronian nearby, whether they were Decepticon or Autobot, not since his early days, when Bumblebee had been all he had. There was always some movement, some sound, whether it was chatter or gunfire, a world reduced to constant destruction.

Silence and chains were never a good sign.

Bumblebee hated silence. The scout did not want to test how long he could withstand this special kind of torture. He rifled throughout his emptied subspaces and turned his sensors to his armor’s seams, scanning for any of his tools hidden away. Most of them were gone and Bumblebee fought the urge to shudder at the thought of someone unknown searching him.

There .

The scout smirked behind his mask, wincing at the way his faceplates ached as his arm split apart to reveal an old compact blowtorch Ratchet had insisted he always keep on him since he was small. To an outside observer, the little device was simply a loose scrap of metal a small youngling stole from the surface of the wartorn planet, but Bumblebee had spent many vorns with Ratchet, learning how to conceal tools of all shapes and sizes on his own person.

He smirked as the blowtorch melted the wrist restraint apart and sat up, working on the other restraints. The melted metal dripped onto his arm guards, uncomfortably warm, stinging against the metal. Bumblebee ignored it, after all, he was no stranger to pain.

It took far too long of Bumblebee listening to his vents as he melted each restraint off, before the scout was free. He knew that any moment now someone could walk into this room and it would be over, yet, to his surprise, no one walked into the room. This wasn’t Bumblebee’s first capture- he could see the cameras blinking away, supposedly hidden in the corners of the room. He wasn’t one of the Autobots’ greatest scouts for no reason.

Bumblebee got to his pedes, rubbing at his neckplates, only causing more pain to spike through him. He winced and approached the sealed door that predictably didn’t open. No seams, no gaps, no wires on his side of the door. Of course nothing was that easy.

He looked to the right, seeing a computer nailed to the wall. Bumblebee walked over to it, carefully turning it on as his spark beat anxiously with the fear of being caught. It booted up (too slowly, if you asked the wary Bumblebee), different Decepticon logos being scattered across the screen like a TV with no DVD, with the ‘DVD’ signal bouncing around the screen playfully. 

Once the computer had finally, finally booted up, his servos went to work. He was almost frantically searching for a way to open the door; a button, a command, anything! Primus, why won't anything appear- 

Bumblebee skimmed through countless files, anything that could be of use stored away in his processor for later, whilst he continued to search for a potential door opening command. His optics landed on a file titled ‘Escape’. The Autobot blinked and smirked as he clicked the file.

Except the file didn’t unlock the door, but instead was about a dirt planet, ironically labeled as Earth by the Decepticons. Bumblebee, despite being fully aware of each tick that passed, had always been too curious for his own good and continued to read the file. There was a report filled out by some Decepticon with the designation Knockout (hooray- he sounded like a delight) that went into immense detail about how some mission to hide plentiful amounts of energons on the organic planet was a success. No Autobot had figured out that the Decepticons were hiding so much of the valuable, life sustaining substance on a planet that was so very primitive, but Bumblebee wasn’t surprised. The Autobots didn’t want to involve other sentient creatures in this endless war, but the Decepticons were more than happy to drag them into the fight.

This planet was in its earlier stages of life, so the indigenous life forms were of no concern to the Decepticon forces. However, despite their superior nature, they still hid in plain sight to avoid attracting attention. Robots in disguise, Bumblebee internally chuckled.

Bumblebee was so focused on this file about Earth, that was turning out to be juicier than anticipated, that he had almost completely forgotten about finding a button or some code to open the door that was the only thing he knew of currently blocking his way to freedom. Sure, he had no idea how many guards there were outside, but it wasn’t like he had any choice. There was only one road to freedom from this room.

The scout’s attention was finally recaptured by the sound of a door opening- the door.

Scrap .

“Scouts are always such resourceful little pests,” a far too familiar, gravelly voice hissed from behind the scout.

Bumblebee swung around, doorwings fluttering as he backed up against the computer behind him. The tactic to try and not have to look up at the towering Decepticon was proven pointless as he only managed a single pedestep back before hitting the computer. Bumblebee scowled at the other Cybertronian, reluctantly craning his head up to meet the overlord’s optics.

“Megatron,” Bumblebee hissed out or, at least, tried to. Nothing but static spluttered from his voicebox, leaving his audio receptors to reset, plunging the Autobot into a world of silence for a few blissful seconds where the pain was so overwhelming, his pain receptors refused to process the feeling.

Then, all at once, it hit the Cybertronian, the grating of messily welded gears grinding against each other as they tried to force immovable metal to give way. Servos scraped and clawed at neck plating, trying to dig into the empty void that somehow was the source of every hurt, every ache, every injury so make it stop please makeit stoppleasepleaseplease-

“Attempting to scream will do you no favors.”

Bumblebee rose his optics from the floor, glaring up at the Decepticon leader from his spot, kneeling at the metallic murderer’s pedes- when had that happened- feeling the floor vibrate as Megatron himself moved across the room, clearing the distance in only a few short steps. He didn’t say anything, just watching as the scout sat there, vents heaving and rattling away within his chassis, optics locked in an impromptu staring contest.

The scout looked away first, optics glancing at the shut door behind the Decepticon warlord.

Megatron stepped to his right, exposing the door to Bumblebee, a straight shot if he would just run- he was fast, one of the fastest Autobot Scouts- but the Autobot remained on the ground, glancing between the warlord and the door. The Decepticon leader tilted his helm and gestured from Bumblebee to the door with a servo, a seemingly open invitation to leave, nothing more than an offer that pretended to be a choice.

A choice he might not be offered again and took with no hesitation.

Bumblebee immediately heaved his aching body up and ran for the door, almost tripping over himself in his rush. However, before he was even a few pedesteps from the warlord, he was hit with an overwhelming amount of pain. He fell to the ground, body convulsing as he grabbed for the source of his pain. 

This time, it wasn’t his abused neck plating. It was his seemingly mostly undamaged chassis. 

The pain was like nothing he had ever experienced before; it was like the tingling you felt when your pede fell asleep, but dialed up to a thousand and one. Bumblebee forced his arm out, away from his curled up body, and reached for the door, his optics flickering on and off. The pain faded slowly, a residual numbness replacing it. 

Bumblebee could hear Megatron walk over to tower over him and click his glossa. “Being electrocuted is excruciating,” he said, looking down at the yellow bot on the floor, a softness in his tone that Bumblebee wasn’t sure what to make of. 

The scout blinked, realizing that Megatron did this- this- whatever this was. There was something in him, something in his chassis, so close to his spark- oh Primus was it attached to his spark? Surely not- Megatron was cruel but he wasn’t that ruthless, right?

But the truth was in the way his body wouldn’t move, no matter how much he willed it to get up and punch the presumably smug look off Megatron’s face, get this mind game over with. He was stuck, in an unforeseen situation with what was probably an unknown device somewhere in his chassis that Bumblebee had no control of.

As the Autobot’s optics flickered off, no longer registering the closed door in front of him, Bumblebee fought the urge to shudder at the silent threat that was being issued with those four words, his stuttering vent the only giveaway of his current internal distress.

Disobedience means pain.

Bumblebee was going to die here, wasn’t he? Alone and in pain, at the mercy of the Autobots’ greatest enemy.

How pathetic was that? He just had to talk his way into a painful prolonged death.

Or- well, he really couldn’t talk anymore, could he? 

If the extreme pain that had been constantly flowing from his neck or caused by his failed attempt at speaking meant anything, something happened to his voice box; something that was making every movement send burning hot fire down his throat panels. 

With every passing moment, he felt the pain infecting his body, flowing but never ceasing. Everything hurt and Bumblebee wanted nothing more than to go home, than to be safe within his family’s grasp, to be healed by Ratchet, to laugh with Cliffjumper, to just see Optimus, to just do anything with his family and escape this horrid place. 

But he knew that wasn’t an option, it had never been. Not until he found a way out, a way to deal with whatever tricks Megatron had installed inside him (and that just made Bumblebee feel gross thinking about it) at least. However, the future didn’t look very bright for the young, brightly colored scout. He knew that with Megatron’s hand on the wheel he wouldn’t find that escape for a long, long time….

Bumblebee’s optics flickered back to life, the numbness that had spread throughout his body finally letting up. He could feel his back against the table again, his optics only able to see the dark ceiling above him. He couldn’t remember being moved from the floor back onto the Decepticons’ torture table, nothing coming to his processor as his body continued to slowly regain feeling. 

“I sincerely hope that you had a good rest,” Megatron's form encroached on Bumblebee’s vision, though he was a bit blurry. Bumblebee could still see the everpresent sadistic grin on the warlord’s face and forced his body to remain completely still as the overlord’s sharp stare pierced into his spark. He wanted to back away from him, but he would not show any more unnecessary weakness. “You will definitely need it.” 

As Megatron’s pedesteps drew farther and farther away, the door closing behind him, Bumblebee was once again subject to silence as he contemplated his situation. He was stuck alone in a sealed room with unknown injuries to his voice box that he did not want to test again and some sort of device inside his chassis that limited his already limited options.

He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t disobey Megatron again and he couldn’t escape. 

What could the poor scout do?

There weren't many options available to him, but he could do what a scout did best, following orders, although Bumblebee preferred to think of Megatron’s so-called orders as impossible to turn down requests or advice. Rest seemed like a good thing right about now, especially since his pain receptors had decided to begin to boot up again, his metal plating beginning to ache all over again. He closed his optics, his internal systems finally taking a break as his other senses were forced to become one with silence that was already surrounding him, consuming him. The silenced scout was both comforted and terrified by the rare quiet, but it didn’t stop his body from slowly drifting into a nightmare-filled recharge.

Chapter Text

“Bumblebee?” Cliffjumper called out, anxiously scanning the wreckage that used to be the proud city of Tyger Pax. “Bumbles, c’mon, this isn’t funny anymore!” 

The Autobot held his right arm, energon flowing out of the wound that made their usually red appendage a sickening blue. When Starscream had aimed and fired one of his rockets at Cliff and Bumblebee, Cliff’s upper arm was caught in the explosion that successfully separated the two siblings. Cliffjumper had tried to get back to Bumblebee, to fulfill his orders and his personal duty to stay by his brother’s side, have his back, but life was rarely so simple. Starscream smirked as he landed right in their way, making their mission to find their brother a whole lot harder. 

The two Cybertronians fought, far too much time passing until Cliffjumper finally managed to get the upper hand (Cliff wasn’t sure how- Starscream was a seeker full of tricks, giving him the upper hand in battles- the second in command of the Decepticons was a complete contrast to Megatron, yet maintained the position for many vorns, despite all the competition). Before he could do any real damage, Starscream transformed and ran like the coward he was well known to be. Cliffjumper followed the retreating seeker with his optics, only for his spark to still in their chassis. Staining the red sky, the Decepticon warship, the Nemesis, was floating just above their helm. Anxiety filtered through his systems as the little voice in the back of his processor told him that something was very wrong.  

He needed to find Bumblebee. Now .

However, that had been proving to be harder said than done, much to the red Autobot’s distress. Cliffjumper had been searching for his brother for more than ten breems and the yellow bot had yet to show himself. The anxiety burned through his fuel lines and the little voice from before came back, but this time, it was ten times stronger, reminding him that Bumblebee was his responsibility, that Optimus had entrusted his safety to him, that Bumblebee had trusted his big brother to always have his back. Primus, if Bee was pulling a prank on them, (please- oh, please , just be a prank) they swear that they were never going to share their high-grade with him ever again- 

Their mind stopped, finally reaching the place where Starscream had separated the two siblings. He ran past it, straight toward where Bumblebee must have been discarded by the blast- he had to be-

“Bumblebee! Please, Primus, please just-” he was forced to stop to let his systems breathe, taking the break to scan the field of debris in front of him. “ Please just say something! ”

Cliff scanned the debris-covered plains, which was once a thriving city, now little more than a pile of scrap, until their optics landed on something that made their spark almost stop. 

A giant puddle of energon was flowing down the small hill, huge pedesteps implanted in it. The puddle was so big that it almost looked like the blue liquid that gave every Cybertronian life had rained down from the sky above, replacing the acidic rain that usually covered the planet.

Cliffjumper could hear their internal systems stop and start up again as their processor tried to comprehend the situation, too overwhelmed by the different possibilities racing through his head. Please, please - Their hand flew up to their comms unit near their right audio receptor and he frantically pushed it. He really hoped the leaving Decepticon warship wasn’t a precursor for any more potential tragedy.

“Optimus?” his voice choked out after a couple of moments of silence. 

“ Cliffjumper? ” Cliffjumper had only heard Optimus’s voice wobble like that once before, when the Autobot leader had found him with a missing arm after his first failed mission. He had gotten lucky and Ratchet had been able to reattach it with no problem, but Cliff remembered how Optimus held his hand throughout the entire operation. He could only imagine how the other Autobots around the commander were watching him with worry, particularly a certain field medic. “ Is everything alright? ” 

“I don’t, Bumblebee, he’s- there’s so much energon …” multiple thoughts flowed out of Cliffjumper’s intake valve quickly, words just falling right out. “ Bee - he’s not here- I can’t find him.” 

“ Cliffjumper, you need to slow down, ” Optimus’s voice was steady now, no wobble in it as he responded to the nonsensical sentences that Cliffjumper had just spewed. “ What happened to Bumblebee? ” 

“He’s not here!” the red Autobot yelled, making the larger Autobot jump a little. “I can’t find him, but I just- there’s a giant puddle of energon and-” they forced themself to let their systems cool down before they continued. “ Dad , I think something really bad happened to Bumblebee,” he whispered. 

There were a few moments of silence before Optimus spoke. “ Cliffjumper, get back to base, ” his voice shook with an unusual amount of emotion, ” Now. ”  

———

Cliffjumper screeched to a stop outside of the Autobots’ base of operations in the city Iacon, quickly transforming to his bipedal form and practically running inside. They opened the doors with their one good arm, energon still slowly dripping from the wound on their other arm. Their optics scanned the main atrium, ignoring the stares that pierced their way under his metal plating. They finally saw the familiar optics of the Autobots’ CMO, and ran over towards Ratchet. 

“Primus,” Ratchet whispered when Cliffjumper stopped in front of him. He grabbed their arm, worry flashing through his optics as he scanned the wound. “What happened ?! Optimus said that you were…” He trailed off and looked up at his face, waiting for an answer.

Cliffjumper sighed, suddenly so tired, emotion overwhelming his processor. He glanced around at the other Autobots who were staring at the two. “I…” he stopped- he couldn’t - too many optics -

“Alright, let's go to the medbay,” Ratchet released Cliff’s arm and grabbed their shoulders, carefully leading them toward the CMO’s main office. 

Cliffjumper’s processor felt like it had shut off, nothing being processed beside the pain from his arm that had finally reached it. However, it was nothing compared to the emotion he already felt. Bee was out there somewhere, hurt and alone, unable to call for the help he deserved, yet Cliff could walk home. He should be limping at the very least- not walking with gentle, stern hands on his shoulders. Cliffjumper should’ve been there to save him, been there to help or just -

He never should’ve left him alone.

It was all his fault.

“Cliff,” Ratchet’s voice (unusually soft, but familiar, safe ) broke their mental spiral. “Can you sit down on this berth, please?”

“...Yeah,” Cliffjumper said as they sat down on the edge of the berth. 

Ratchet nodded and started to stop the slowing flow of energon down their arm by putting pressure on it to plug the wound. He cleaned it and soldered a temporary patch onto it, protection whilst the self repair systems kicked in. Cliffjumper didn’t care, hardly taking notice of the action, but he did notice how Ratchet’s faceplates weren’t plastered with his usual ‘medic face’, but instead, they were filled with soft concern and fear. 

“There,” Ratchet said once he was finished. He sighed and straightened up, placing his hands on his hips. “Optimus, I know you’re behind me.” 

Cliffjumper looked behind Ratchet and sure enough, the towering figure of his other father was standing in the doorway. 

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Optimus’s voice was quieter than usual as he walked over to join the two Autobots. 

Ratchet shook his head with a smile and sighed again, (Bee would probably make some joke about how his vents needed that air- no wonder their medic was so hot headed) shooting a pointed look at Cliff. “Don’t do anything to open that wound again, alright?” 

Cliffjumper nodded back in muted agreement, getting up from the berth to follow Optimus. Optimus looked down at him, nodded and started to walk out of the medbay. Cliffjumper followed behind him, trying to keep up with Optimus’s bigger legs, taking one and a half pedesteps every time the much larger bot took a single one. 

The walk was silent, no endless chatter to break it. Cliffjumper wondered where they were actually going. Were they- were they going to the conference room? That room was only used to make war plans but- was a missing scout really worth making an entire battle plan over? Cliffjumper internally chastised himself for that thought, but, as much as he hated it, he knew it was true. Even though they were raised personally by the Optimus Prime, everyone made sure that they were treated like every other Autobot, equals in and outside of battle. Cliff hated it, but he was faced with grim realities every day. To the war effort, Bumblebee was a scout, one of the best, but just a scout regardless. Optimus’s right hand bots would likely object to a plan to find Bumblebee; they would consider it a waste of resources. 

Or they might think that the yellow scout was already dead- it was a possibility.

The thought made anger burn through Cliffjumper’s systems. 

If they didn’t want to save Bumblebee, fine, but that wouldn’t stop Cliff from saving him themself. They would do anything to see their little brother safe again, safe in the Autobots’ base, safe with their family , safe in his arms.

He would do anything. Everything . To see their brother, even if it was just for a single moment, one final time. 

Optimus stopped in front of the giant doors of the conference room and Cliff felt his plating shuffle. The large Prime opened them with ease and took his place in the biggest chair in the room at the head of the table. Cliffjumper followed after him, like a lost sparkling, struggling to close the doors behind them. When they finally got the doors shut, they walked over toward Optimus, sitting down in the chair next to him. 

The conference doors opened, one Autobot entering the room. Ironhide, the Autobots’ weapon specialist and Optimus’s long time friend. He sat on the other side of Optimus, his face grim as he turned on the giant holographic table in the middle of the room. 

“Cliffjumper,” Optimus looked down at the red Autobot next to him. “We need to know what you know.” 

“Well- me and Bee were distracting the ‘Cons, like you ordered us to. Everything was going just fine. We had gotten around the back! Flanked them! But then Starscream came out of nowhere and shot one of his rockets at us, which is where I got…this.” Cliff gestured at the wound on his right arm. “We got separated by the blast and-and Starscream came after me. We fought, he ran away to the warship and then! A-and then I went searching for Bee. I went over to where I thought he got blown away from the blast and…there-there was…” he stopped speaking, his voice box being overwhelmed with static. The red Autobot forced his voice box to reset for a few moments before continuing. “There-there was a giant puddle of energon…and…I didn't-I didn’t see his body.” 

The conference room fell into almost complete silence, the only sounds coming from the internal workings of the three Cybertronians’ bodily systems. 

“Where were you sent to distract the Decepticons, again?” Ironhide’s gruff voice spoke up and he pulled up a map of Tyger Pax. 

“I think it was more toward the west of the city,” Cliffjumper pointed at the general area on the map. “I think I got blown this way,” they moved their digit more to the west, “and Bee went over here.” 

Ironhide's systems stopped producing sound, a horrified expression spreading across his face as soon as Cliffjumper’s digit landed on Bumblebee’s predicted location. Cliff’s body stilled, all his systems seeming to have faded into silence.

“Ironhide?” Optimus asked, placing a hand on the trusted mech’s shoulder.

“That’s part of the area where the Nemesis was hovering over. It’s where Megatron was reported to be,” his voice was unusually quiet as he looked at the two Autobots around him. “Megatron was there.” 

The room went completely silent this time as all of their internal systems seemed to read the room and stop. 

“I’m sorry,” Ironhide’s voice was the one to break the silence again, his own voice box crackling in sympathy. 

“No!” Cliffjumper yelled and stood, fists banging against the table, spooking both of the older mechs. “No! His body wasn’t there! There’s a chance! A chance they took him hostage! He might be alive! ”

“..Yes, he might be alive, but up in the Nemesis? With Megatron?” Ironhide shook his head, “I hate to say it kid, but he’d be better off dead. Maybe Megatron just discarded his body somewhere else. Just to give us a false sense of hope that he’s still kickin’ like the cruel, merciless slagheap he is, but the poor kid would never survive up there alone.”

Cliffjumper felt burning hot anger rise up in his chassis. “Optimus!” he looked at the other mech desperately, a silent plea being shared with his optics. Optimus can’t give up on Bee! He refused to do so many vorns ago when they were smaller than his thigh guard! He wouldn’t now! “We have to save him!” 

Optimus wouldn’t give up on him…right?

The Prime silently looked back at the younger Autobot in front of him. Cliffjumper could see fluid start to fill his optics as the infallible leader attempted to hide them with his left hand, but Cliff could still see them fall down his face like a small, sad waterfall. 

“..Optimus?” Cliffjumper could hear how destroyed his voice sounded, how weak- almost as if his voice box was torn from him, as he managed to force out a second plea that was filled with nothing but heartbreaking betrayal. 

“I’ll inform Ratchet,” Ironhide said as he patted Optimus’s shoulder. He got up from the chair he was sitting in and exited the conference room, the doors closing loudly behind him. The conference room was left in a blanket of silence, only being filled with the choked sobs from the Autobots’ commander and the internalized sounds of a broken Cliffjumper. 

———

Cliffjumper quickly and quietly climbed out of his berth, the impulsive thought he had just gotten overpowering any and all common sense. He couldn’t recharge, not with the day he had just experienced, not without knowing his family was safe under the same roof. Bumblebee wasn’t here and for all he knew, he was out there, in Tyger Pax, the Nemesis, the Well, waiting for help that would not come from the cowards that dared to call themselves Autobots. He opened the door that led out to the hallway outside of his room with great care, closing it behind him while he started to sneak down the hallway. 

Cliffjumper just couldn’t recharge, no matter how hard they had tried; their thoughts constantly drifting back to Bumblebee, in an unknown, but likely seriously injured state, in an unknown location with unknown people. He was their little brother! Cliff had to do something , even if the other Autobots thought he was as good as dead. The red Autobot wasn’t so keen on giving up on the yellow bot just yet. They knew he had to be out there, he had to be! Bee wasn’t one to go down without a fight (Cliffjumper ignored how it had been a fight- they were always fighting) He couldn’t… he just couldn’t be dead. 

Cliff refused to believe it. Not yet. Not until he got proof. 

So, they impulsively (the only way Cliffjumper did anything) made a plan to ‘rescue’ Bumblebee or, at the very least, confirm if he was still alive. First, they would try to track down the Nemesis, which would be quite the challenge. There was a reason the Decepticon warship was rarely infiltrated by the Autobots, despite being a key player in the war. It was almost impossible to track, even for the smartest Autobots in their ranks, and, unfortunately for Cliffjumper, he was not a part of the formerly mentioned group. So, even if he managed to find the warship, he needed to find a way to get on it without being detected. He was a grounder, not a flyer, which only added a layer of difficulty to this situation. Then, he needed to find some sort of proof Bumblebee was dead or alive in the giant airship. There had to be something, proof that he had been there, even if the Decepticons had already transferred Bumblebee to another location by now. If that was successful, he would only need to either save Bumblebee and get off the ship without anyone noticing or just leave without being detected. 

Easy.

Cliffjumper knew this plan was stupid; you really don’t have to tell them! They know , they know, they know , but…

They have to try. If they don’t do this, they’ll never know if Bumblebee was alive. They’ll never forgive themself. 

Cliffjumper needs to do this. 

Cliffjumper slid down the hallways, not stopping as they avoided the guards that were on the late shift. It wasn’t hard. Bee had stolen the schedules and the two had learnt them until they could repeat them backwards. There was a reason no one caught the two brothers during their regular escapades until they were out of the building and staring at the stars. 

They were about to turn to walk into the main atrium, their way out of the base, when they heard quiet voices speaking to each other. Cliffjumper glanced at the exit taunting him, so close, but, as the words suddenly picked up in volume for a few seconds, their curiosity got the better of them. The Autobot snuck over toward the doorway of the room where the voices seemed to be coming from and, utilizing all his awesome scouting abilities, they peaked around the corner to see who else was wasting precious recharge hours, besides the guards. 

Cliffjumper’s optics picked up the familiar forms of Optimus and Ratchet, their metal plating glowing in the faint light around them as they stared into each other’s optics. The somber atmosphere around them penetrated the room and poked out of the doorway, prodding at Cliff and threatening to drag him back into tears.

Cliff had cried enough today.

Quieting his internal systems to prevent the two war-taught bots from hearing him, Cliffjumper focused his audio receivers onto the two of them, easier with the distracting hum of his internal systems quieted down. Cliffjumper felt like a small sparkling again, sneaking around while everyone was asleep and spying, trying to steal energon treats, climbing the places he wasn’t allowed to go. He thought he had grown past this, grown up and finally made his family and the Autobots proud, but Cliff couldn’t change who he was. They were just too curious for his own good. 

“Optimus,” Ratchet spoke, voice desperate and broken, just like the silence that had settled over them. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t…” Optimus sighed, forehelm resting against the top of Ratchet’s helm, “I don’t know,” the larger mech admitted, leaning into Ratchet’s side more. He sounded exhausted, but Cliff didn’t understand why. All he had done was stand around, no searching, no fighting. “It’s a war, but… but I had never even considered… that losing him, either of them, was an option.” 

Cliffjumper could feel the scowl wash across his faceplates as he heard those words. Bumblebee wasn’t dead! Why are they acting like he was? There’s a chance- a chance he’s still kicking, that he’s not one with the Allspark! Why were they acting like this? Why were they giving up?

“What about Cliffjumper?” Cliff perked up at their name. Ratchet’s normally steady hands shook like his voice and Cliffjumper watched as his father’s face lowered into those hands, hiding itself from the world as Optimus wrapped his arm around the smaller mech's shoulders. “He seemed so… devastated . We can’t… I can’t let anything happen to him. Not after this. We should’ve…we should’ve never given Bee that mission…Primus…I just…” 

“I know,” Optimus nodded and kissed the top of Ratchet’s helm. “I know.” 

Primus, they really were giving up on Bee! How could they? How dare they! This whole situation was their fault. They gave the order and now they want to just leave him behind? What sort of family did that? They knew Bee! They knew he wouldn’t have gone down that easily! He would’ve fought until the very end and Cliff doubted anyone could keep up with Bee when he was properly motivated, he had certainly tried and failed. They should already know this from what happened at Kalis and the Tagan Heights stalemate. And now, they dared to doubt that Cliffjumper could protect themself? They were blaming Bumblebee for not being good enough? For not being able to protect himself? Primus! Bee was capable, Cliffjumper was capable- Optimus and Ironhide and all the best Autobot warriors had trained them themselves!

Did he really just see them as some rookies in over their head that couldn’t keep up?

“About Cliffjumper,” Optimus pulled away from Ratchet, meeting the shorter bot’s optics and spoke, his voice soft, afraid of disturbing the fragile, fake peace in the air. “I’ve assigned someone I trust to keep him safe.” 

And now they’ve hired a sparkling-sitter for them?! 

Cliffjumper had heard enough . He stormed away from the doorway, thanking the Primes (except the one he just stoned away from) for the training that instinctively made what could’ve been thundering steps into quiet taps and creaks that could be passed off as pipes. He turned back toward the door that led to the main room and opened it, continuing his warpath toward the exit of the base. 

Something, or more like somebot, grabbed one of Cliffjumper’s horns, making him bite the outside of his mouth-plating to keep himself from screaming. He elbowed the bot in the chassis, making them hiss like a cybercat, and stumbled away, transforming their right servo into one of his cannons, spinning around to meet his attacker. 

But, to Cliff’s surprise, the bot on the other end of their cannons was none other than the allusive Arcee. 

They lowered their cannon and switched it back to their servo as Arcee’s right servo gingerly brushed her chassis. 

“You going somewhere?” Arcee didn’t quite snarl, but it was close, as she shot him a look, faceplates both neutral and annoyed at the same time.

“Yeah,” Cliffjumper monotoned, turning back around to walk out the door. 

“You know I can’t let you do that,” she stepped directly into his path. “I was assigned to keep you safe and that means I can’t let you go on some suicide mission to invade the Nemesis alone.” 

Cliffjumper crossed his arms and glowered at her. “How do you..?” 

“I’m not stupid, Cliffjumper,” Arcee crossed her arms over her chassis. “It’s not hard to see. Everyone can tell you want to look for Bumblebee, to find him and bring him home. Subtlety is not one of your strengths.” 

“Yeah, so what if I am? You all think he’s dead,” Cliffjumper spat the last word like venom, feeling the bitter sting on his tongue. “But you’re wrong! I know he’s out there, somewhere, and he needs help! And I’m not going to just stand around here and wait for everyone else to realize it.”

Arcee’s faceplates fell into something more solemn, something that made Cliffjumper’s spark burn with even more rage. Cliff didn’t think he could get any angrier. 

“And don’t tell me that he isn’t! There’s a chance, a chance he’s still alive and I’m not going to let go until I know for sure,” the anger in Cliffjumper’s voice broke away into a plea, trembling as he prayed to Primus himself, holding on with everything that he had that Bumblebee was alive. If he was…. Cliff didn’t think he could... “ Please, Arcee. I just….I can’t lose him.” 

Something in Arcee’s demeanor seemed to change, her internal systems quietening down before revving up again. “I said that I can’t let you go on some suicide mission to the Nemesis alone,” she repeated, much to Cliff’s dismay. “So, that means I’m going with you.” 

Wait… Wait what? 

Cliffjumper blinked as his processor buffered, trying to wrap around what Arcee had just said. She was going to…help him? Really? 

“…Why?” It was quiet, barely louder than the quiet revving of Arcee’s engine.

Arcee rolled her optics and leaned back on her pedes. “You aren’t going to stop…” she hesitated, “and… no bot should be left behind.”

Oh .

She wasn’t mad, just determined and resigned.

Cliff smirked with the first genuine grin he’d had since… “I knew you liked me.”

Arcee scoffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, hornhead,” she said as she flicked his forehead. “This is just business.”

“Oh, really?” Cliff placed an arm around her shoulders. “Are you sure this isn’t a bonding mission?”

The shorter Autobot ducked under the arm, pulling it round behind Cliffjumper’s back. “Very sure, Red Boy.”

Cliffjumper laughed and winced as she tugged his arm again. “Yep- a-alright, you win! Just let- argh- let go!”

Arcee just hummed and dug her pede further into their back.

“Fine! Primus, damn it-” they winced as their metal plates strained under the pressure. “You are superior to me in every way…” 

“What was that?” Arcee put her free servo up to her audio receptor as her smile grew ten times wider. 

“You are superior to me in every way!” He yelled. Arcee finally let go of his arm and pulled her pede off of his back. He got up, holding his left shoulder in his right servo. “You slag-head.” 

Arcee lifted one of her opticbrows. 

“Ok- okay no need to do it again..” he put his hands up as he backed up a couple of pedesteps. 

Arcee strode past him, only turning to look at him once she was a couple of pedesteps in front of him. “Are you coming or not? This was your idea.” 

“Yeah, yeah…no need to get your tailpipe in a twist.”

“Stop right there!” 

The two bots hadn’t even managed to take more than a few steps forward before they were stopped by that voice, that dreaded voice. They both slowly turned around, looking back to see….

Ultra Magnus had his arms crossed in front of his chassis. “Where do you two think you are going, soldiers?” 

“Uh…” Cliffjumper glanced at Arcee, optics begging for help. 

“ You are coming with me,” Magnus said, turning back around. 

Cliff and Arcee’s engines huffed as the two shared a look. The red Autobot shrugged helplessly and begrudgingly, the two bots followed behind their superior. Arcee elbowed him in the chassis, making Cliff stumble slightly. He sighed. Of course she’s blaming it on him. 

Ultra Magnus led them out of the main atrium and back into the hallway. He walked over to the room where Cliffjumper remembered his parents were and he internally cursed himself for getting caught. Of course Ultra Magnus would bring him to Optimus…of slagging course. Now, he would probably be exiled to his room with guards outside of it, not letting him get out for anything until he ‘learned his lesson’. 

Now there was no way he’d be able to find Bumblebee! 

“Prime?” Ultra Magnus knocked on the door. It opened, revealing the form of Optimus Prime. 

“Yes, Ultra Magnus?” The Prime’s optics flickered from his friend to the two Autobots behind him.

“These two soldiers were caught sneaking around during recharge hours,” he stated. 

Primus, Cliffjumper hated how to-the-point Magnus was. The way he spoke made him feel like some misbehaving youngling, not a soldier. Cliff resolutely ignored the part of him that whispered technically he was both.

“Bring them inside and I shall talk with them,” the Prime opened the door wider, as if he had been asking a question. 

Cliffjumper felt anger rise up in his chassis again. 

Ultra Magnus moved out of the way as the two smaller Autobots walked past him. The door closed behind him as they sat down on two empty chairs. Cliffjumper could feel Ratchet’s glare on him, but they ignored it and looked directly ahead of them, eyes plastered on the wall, unwilling to meet either superiors’ eyes.

“Cliffjumper. Arcee,” Optimus sat down in another free chair. “Would you like to enlighten us with the reasons for this escapade?” 

“It was my fault, Optimus,” Arcee immediately spoke and Cliff fought back a flinch. She was covering for him? But… maybe Bee was right and Arcee wasn’t all missions and misery.. “It was my idea to sneak out and try to look for Bumblebee. It was just supposed to be a look, settle our restless minds since neither of us could rech-” 

Optimus lowered his now raised hand and sighed, “Arcee, although I appreciate your intentions, please do not take responsibility for Cliffjumper's actions,” the large Autobot leader stared the red Autobot down. “I know it wasn’t your idea.” 

Cliffjumper chose that moment to meet the larger mech’s optics and stared right back at him, tightening their jaw, refusing to back down.

“B-but sir!” Arcee interrupted again, redirecting Optimus’s attention from Cliff, “You assigned him as my responsibility, therefor-“

Optimus sighed again, hand falling over his eyes. “I appreciate your loyalty to your duty and your friend-“

“We are not friends!”

“Like you know what friendship is.”

“-Cliffjumper is his own mech and can take responsibility for his own choices. I will not allow you to suffer because of his ill-conceived ideas-“

“Ill-conceived?!” Cliff thundered, slamming his servos against the desk in front of him. “Just because I actually care -“

“Cliffjumper,” they heard Ratchet say and turned to the medic. “We know that…this has been hard for you, but there’s nothing we can do-” 

“Don’t say that!” Cliffjumper yelled, slightly startling the bots around them. They glowered at Ratchet, rage glimmering in their optics. “You’re just giving up on him?! You’re not even going to try and look for him?! Primus!” 

“Well, what do you want us to do?!” A cord had snapped and the cracking spark was hidden beneath anger as Ratchet yelled back. “We can’t go looking for the Nemesis! It would be a death wish to try and invade one of the hundreds of cities that the Decepticons have captured just for the slim chance he’s there! And that’s if he’s alive ! What if he’s dead , Cliffjumper?! We would have to admit to our soldiers that we sent them on a wild goose chase for nothing ! That they were laying down their lives for nothing!”

Energon was falling from Ratchet’s optics, his internal systems revving as he finished. The room was dead silent, sorrow, awkwardness and anger infecting the atmosphere. Cliffjumper could feel their anger start to boil over and they turned and stomped toward the door. 

He stopped just before it and turned back to meet Ratchet’s optics. “Well maybe you’re just a shit dad,” his voice was cold as he stared into his so-called father’s optics, a single tear of energon slowly falling down his faceplates. 

Cliffjumper swung the door open with more force than necessary and stormed out. Through the open door, he could hear Ratchet get to his feet and chase after him. 

“Cliffjumper, come back here right this instant!” Ratchet yelled from behind him. “Primus, you’re so hard-headed!”

“I wonder where I get that from!” Cliffjumper threw his hands up in defeat, not pausing in his stomping. He knew throwing a tantrum like this was childish, but right now, he didn’t care. Cliff was upset and hurt and he wanted the whole dying planet to know that. 

“Cliffjumper! Please , just-” 

Cliffjumper suddenly stopped, twisting round to confront the orange Autobot. “What?! Listen to reason?!” they scoffed, rolling their optics and crossing their arms. “Oh please , I already know! Everyone keeps telling me how it’s stupid to try and search for him, but I don’t care! There’s a chance !” 

“Really? And how likely is that chance?!” Ratchet snapped back. 

The hallway went quiet. 

The no longer empty hallway, Cliffjumper realized, glancing at the nearby bots. It was now filled with at least ten other Autobots, their optics wide. Cliffjumper could see Arcee and Optimus behind Ratchet, their faceplates scrunched up with different emotions Cliff did not have the energy to decipher right now.

“Fine. Fine !” Cliffjumper threw his hands up again. “I’ll go back to Tyger Pax and I’ll look for some kind of clue that he’s alive! I’ll prove it to you,” Cliffjumper poked a digit against Ratchet’s chassis. He looked behind Ratchet to stare the Prime down, determined to go, whether or not he approved it.

Something crossed the Autobots’ leader’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came, leaving Cliffjumper unsure of the leader’s potential response. Usually, he had a pretty good grasp on what the Prime’s limited facial expressions meant, but this was new, foreign. Cliff had no idea what to make of it.

“...Okay,” Optimus relented and Cliffjumper felt his body relaxing, gearing down as he left fight mode, “You can go back to Tyger Pax first thing in the morning,” Cliff couldn’t help, but grin at that, opening his mouth to thank him, knowing he could always count on his father, even if it took a while, but froze as the Prime held up a digit, “But you are to have two other Autobots accompany you.”

“I’ll go,” Arcee immediately volunteered. 

Optimus nodded and turned to their gathered audience, “Everyone, please disperse from the hallway and go back to recharging.” 

“Can’t keep their audio receivers to themselves,” Ratchet muttered under his breath. “Always after more gossip.”

Optimus chuckled as almost every Autobot who wasn’t Ratchet, Arcee, Optimus and Cliffjumper quickly scrambled back to their rooms. “It’s good for morale, my old friend.”

Cliffjumper rolled his eyes and twisted as they felt a tap on their back; behind them, they saw the Wrecker, Wheeljack, looking back at him. 

“I’m going with you,” the Wrecker’s tone held no room for argument as he stood there, arms crossed over his chassis. “You’re gonna need someone with some major fire power and medical expertise if you’re going back to Tyger Pax.” 

Cliffjumper nodded gratefully at the bot, offering him a small smile. “Thanks.” 

Wheeljack nodded back to him, silently going back to his room. Cliff heard Ratchet scoff from behind him, muttering curses under his breath. The red Autobot rolled his eyes and decided he was going to learn as much as he could from the Wrecker, just to use it against Ratchet. He ignored the unknown emotion rising up in his chassis, but he quickly pushed it down and walked back to his room. 

Tomorrow. They’ll look for him tomorrow.

Just hold on a little longer, Bumbles. Jumps is coming.

Chapter Text

Everything around him was dark, gray and dead, an unfortunately familiar sight to the young scout. Ash or something that almost looked like spores from one of those organic planets Optimus would tell him about floated down from the sky, like the aftermath showers of a volcanic eruption. The yellow Autobot started to close his vents, trying to keep the white pellets from entering his systems, noting how the air around him had become harder to vent in. Bumblebee tried to call out for help, for someone, anyone, but all that came out was broken static that spread molten pain down his throat. 

Pain that wasn’t from accidentally swallowing the ash, but something Bumblebee refused to remember right now.  

Everything in Bumblebee’s frame ached and he couldn’t understand what was happening to him. It was almost like he was going offline -it had to be- there was nothing like this on Cybertron- but it was a lot more painful than he had ever imagined. Becoming one with the Allspark was something more and more bots had begun discussing freely. Those that had come to the edge and been brought back, those that still held onto outdated beliefs, those that just wanted to know it would be okay, no matter what happened on the battlefield. Most bots described it as peaceful, like you were almost swimming in an ocean of nothing-ness. 

But this…this was far from peaceful. 

The Allspark was gone from Cybertron and this was the future that awaited its children. Without the beautiful blue glow that made all life on the dying planet, the source of all life on this planet now flying to some unknown universe that no one else knew, where it may someday be forgotten. The last hope for their species was gone, lost and scattered in the stars.

Everything about this war was far from peaceful, now that he thought about it. Offlining might be the only peaceful moment they would get. 

Bumblebee closed his optics, the pain overtaking his body. 

—

His optics shot open, his frame heaving as he sat up on the torture table he had fallen asleep on, the only surface beside the floor available for such a feet.

Just another night terror…

According to Bumblebee’s internal clock, one of the few pieces of data on his HUD still available to him, it had been just over solar-cycle since he had been captured by Decepticons, even if his memory of the incident was still a bit foggy. He had been ordered to recharge, so he did, not like there was any other option, but it didn’t come without a price; the night terrors that had plagued his processor all throughout his life had come back in full force, leaving him shaking with fear. 

Though, Bumblebee’s optics glanced around the room, this place wasn’t much better than the night terrors. 

Primus, he really missed his family right now. Even though he was no longer a youngling, his family, mainly Cliffjumper, always helped him after his night terrors, at least when they would find out about them. Cliffjumper used to climb into his berth and rub his helm, never leaving his side. Optimus would tell stories about their history, about other worlds he had learnt about from his time in the Archive. Ratchet had always used logic to show him that he shouldn’t be scared, but he had never forced Bumblebee back to recharge, giving him menial work to help out around base instead. He had even thrown a fit when he found out Bumblebee had tried to lie about how often they happened. Bumblebee didn’t like to lie to his family, but Ratchet was thorough with checkups and always found out the truth, like the Autobot’s lack of sleep.

Now, instead of warm sparks and open arms just outside his door, he was alone in a room, trapped aboard the Decepticon warship, the Nemesis. 

Bumblebee moved his wrists, realizing that they weren’t bound to the table below him. His pedes moved freely, which meant he wasn’t bound down to any part of the table. Megatron hadn’t had him rebound to the table in his recharge it would seem and left him able to move around the room freely. He almost laughed; were the Decepticons really that stupid? Did they not believe that he would get up from this table and leave easily? He started to sit up on the edge of the table, pedes hovering slightly above the ground below him. 

However, something in the back of his processor stopped him. 

The last time Bumblebee had tried to escape, he had been shocked with a powerful burst of electricity. His body still felt tingly and numb. Considering he had never had this problem before, it was easy to piece together that Megatron or some other Decepticon had placed something inside his chassis, where the numbing pain had come from. The Autobot scowled at the door as he rubbed his knee. His frame still ached from the blast, making escape look more and more unlikely with time.

Bumblebee really didn’t want to go through that again, not with his currently healing frame. He laid back down on the table, arms resting over his torso, anxiety peaking at an all time high as he tried re-enter into a light recharge, hoping that he wouldn’t experience another night terror. It was just one thing after another at the moment and Bumblebee needed a moment of just peace.

Please .

However, just as he felt himself drifting off and his systems begin to shut down in preparation for recharge, Bumblebee heard the door open, loud pedesteps thundering through the doorway, interrupting his quest for some actual rest. The door closed as the figure walked over toward the table, over toward the scout, over toward him. 

Scrap.

Bumblebee immediately sat up on the table, alarmed, forcing his optics to focus on the figure as the Decepticon warlord continued his path toward the terrified yellow scout. 

“Do not be alarmed,” the Decepticon stopped a few clicks away. “I mean you no harm, little scout.” 

Bumblebee internally cringed at the nickname, shivers running through his frame as he glared at the warlord. 

“I need to check your injuries,” he tilted his head at Bumblebee’s defiance. “It would be better if you laid down.” 

Bumblebee stared at him for a few more seconds before complying, laying back down on the table. Megatron walked over toward his left arm, naturally heavy pedesteps shaking the ground and the table with it. 

“Hold out your arm, please,” Bumblebee again complied with the surprisingly gentle demand, holding out his left arm gingerly, light pain jabbing at his pain receptors at the motion. 

“You know, I would have left you alone, out on the battlefield,” Megatron said as he worked on repairing Bumblebee’s arm, under the scout’s watchful gaze. He would not risk another secret alteration to his frame if he could help it. “I would have left you for scrap.” 

Bumblebee was quiet, as he always had been since he had been on the Nemesis, holding his vents closed in fearful anticipation. He didn’t doubt the warlord’s words. The mech was manipulative and couldn’t be trusted, but he was cruel, dangerous. Bumblebee wasn’t stupid. He was here because Megatron wanted him to be.

“It’s just… no one came,” Megatron stopped his welding to look at the scout’s optics. “I waited there, to intercept and kill anyone who would try and save you. I waited for several mega-cycles and there was nothing ,” the mech spat, startling the younger Cybertronian.

Bumblebee felt everything come to a standstill for several nano-cycles as his vents actually stopped. Not even Cliff, Optimus or Ratchet…?

No! Bumblebee fought the urge to shake his head, unwilling to betray his internal monologue to his enemy. No, Megatron was lying- he was his enemy- he had to be. He was trying to- he was trying to make him hate his family, to think they betrayed him, abandoned him! Well, news flash, it was never going to happen! Bumblebee knew better than to fall for this master manipulator’s tricks.

“Even I couldn’t leave you all alone to die,” the warlord continued, as if he hadn’t been trying to tear Bumblebee’s entire world to shreds. “I’m not that heartless. Not as heartless as the Autobots that you call family. Contrary to popular Autobot belief, I am familiar with the concept known as mercy. After all, you are proof of that.” 

Bumblebee opened his mouth to speak, to deny, to scream or to yell, to tell him that he was wrong, Bumblebee would never know, but he did know one thing. His family would never leave him to die- 

Right? 

As soon as he spoke, or tried to at least (maybe it was going to be a joke about how a dictator like Megatron could never understand mercy or a reminder that the Matrix chose Optimus, not Megatron or- he’d never know though, Megatron took that option from him), all that came out was angry sounding static. Molten hot pain erupted in his throat alongside the static that was uttered.  

Bumblebee fought back the urge to scream and yell as the inside of his intake valve screeched, the mess of soldered metal fighting not to give way under the merciless turning of the gears attempting to rip their way through the metal. He tried to focus on something, anything, except the way he could only feel the overload of his pain receptors, taste the energon on the back of his throat that shouldn’t be there, hear the metal twisting and crunching just like-

Bumblebee’s vents closed, attempting to prevent the battlefield’s dust from getting in as claws dug deeper and deeper and please it can’t go any deeper-

His vents took in a huge amount of air as a servo between his doorwings brought the scout to reality. No. He was not there, not anymore. Bumblebee glanced over his shoulder pads at the warlord hovering, servo lingering. He was somewhere far worse.

“Easy, little scout,” Megatron spoke, not as a warlord, but as a caretaker. Bumblebee had seen a similar softness appear in his own fathers’ tones. He really didn’t like the implications behind it. Megatron was not a part of his family. “Easy.”

Bumblebee just glared at the larger mech. What did he want? A thank you? 

Megatron sighed as he pulled his servo away, leaving nothing but phantom pricks of pointed digits between Bumblebee’s doorwings. “I should have expected this,” the Decepticon stood to his full height, towering over Bumblebee. “You must learn full control over your body if you want to avoid unnecessary pain. Lapses in control and… running that derma of yours will only land you in more trouble than strictly necessary, but…” the mech sighed again as he turned away, walking over to the shelves filled with familiar medical equipment. “You are not to blame. Autobots have always done as they wished, just like all upper-classes. Clearly, they have taught you the same ideals. Where we have been raised on caution and restriction, you have been raised on stubbornness and ignorance.” He shook his head and tutted. “As is the nature of the frivolous.”

Bumblebee held his glossa, glaring holes into the helm of the Decepticon, watching as Megatron returned to his side and knelt. The Autobot squinted at him, forcing his systems still and silent, unwilling to move with Megatron so close. Even with the few variables Bumblebee was aware of, he didn’t dare protest. 

It was terrifying that there could be unknowns. There were always unknowns, especially when it came to the Decepticons’ torture tactics. 

Bumblebee just sat there, as Megatron himself tested the range of motion in Bumblebee’s pede. He didn’t understand why a mech of his station was demeaning himself like this; not that medic work was demeaning. Ratchet would have his helm if he said something like that aloud…. 

Medics were faced with the horrors of war and held the lives of allies in their servos on a daily basis just like any other soldier. Bumblebee had watched Cybertronian after Cybertronian enter that medbay, sometimes even lending a servo. It was thankless work, but not to Bumblebee. He saw mechs he never thought would walk again run out of the medbay and he saw femmes he was so certain would never exit recharge smiling.

And only the majority of those were Autobots.

They didn’t fix Decepticons for interrogation purposes. At the end of the solar-cycle, Decepticon, Autobot, Neutrals, they were all Cybertronians and there was no need to extinguish more sparks than necessary.

Decepticons didn’t think like that: they only saw targets to eliminate or hostages to negotiate with once they rang every last piece of information from their processors. Bumblebee had seen the result of the few lucky sparks that returned home, optics dulled and always unsure of reality. Almost always, those few survivors brought home tales of the cortical psychic patch or some other device that Shockwave, the Decepticons’ main inventor, used to get information. He did not care for the means, only the results. Bumblebee almost shuttered at the thought of meeting him, the giant red optic burning a hole into his memory core. 

However, right now, Bumblebee was alive and stable, in a secured room with a nearby computer, which were the perfect conditions for the use of such a tool.

Yet, despite all this, Megatron began to work on his knee. 

The yellow Autobot winced as it was forcefully bent. He forced back the instinctual hiss that wanted to escape, unwilling to repeat his earlier mistake. 

Megatron continued to work on healing his frame, mostly on his shattered knee-joint. Bumblebee bit the outside of his mouth plating, trying to keep from screaming or making any noise that might upset the warlord or result in more unnecessary agony. 

Megatron tutted again and shook his head. “You really walked on this to try to get out of here?” He turned from the knee to look Bumblebee in the optics. “You really shouldn’t do that. It’ll make things worse in the long run, you know.” He paused, something flashing across the red optics. “Starscream did this, correct?” 

Bumblebee remained still, hesitant, before nodding slowly, wary, unwilling to risk upsetting Megatron. 

The warlord vented, exhaust fumes leaving his systems. “He really is always too harsh,” he shook his head again. “I will have to deal with him later concerning this matter. Such unnecessary violence cannot go unpunished.” 

Bumblebee didn’t respond; it was not like he wanted to talk with the warlord. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure he could talk. At all. Like Megatron said, he shouldn’t cause himself too much unnecessary pain. The warlord didn’t seem to like that.

Bumblebee tried to ignore the feeling of phantom claws on his backplate.

Cliffjumper used to use that to calm him down. A simple pressure when everything was too much to ground him, perfect positioning to feel Bumblebee’s spark calming down without having to fight potentially flailing limbs.

Bumblebee hated that the Decepticon warlord had used that tactic and it had worked. He would do it again, Bumblebee knew that, but if he could figure out how not to do… that again, Megatron wouldn’t have a reason to do it.

It would be okay. Bumblebee had been a Decepticon prisoner before. He was fine then, he’d be fine now.

His family would come and save him soon. Even though the Nemesis was basically untraceable, flying high above in the atmosphere of the dying planet that was their home. And no Autobot would risk going there for a scout- but, he was one of the best scouts in the Autobot ranks, quickly climbing them after the events of the Tagan Heights stalemate and the victory at Kalis, right? He had proven he had worth! However, would the Autobots really risk almost an entire force just for one good scout? Did the Autobots even know that he was alive? That he was in the Nemesis? 

Did… did they forget about him in the wreckage that was Tyger Pax? Were there so many wounded that the Autobots, his family, forgot all about him? Was his family some of them? Cliffjumper had been close- what if… no, Ratchet would fix him up. He’d be okay. His brother was strong and his dad was the best, but where did that leave Bumblebee? Alone, abandoned. He wasn’t the priority right now, not after a fight like that.

Maybe Megatron was right- maybe the warlord had wasted his time and actually did wait for multiple mega-cycles and no one came . Maybe everyone forgot about him, forgot that he existed, that his vents still inhaled the dying atmosphere around them, maybe- maybe- maybe-  

A sudden burning heat of Megatron resoldering a patch onto Bumblebee’s sensitive knee forced him out of his spiraling thoughts. The Autobot didn’t hiss, instead focusing on a realization that was setting in. Bumblebee wasn’t alone! He knew somebot on this ship, somebot in disguise! Thank Primus they hadn’t been in his processor, rooting around for information. Bumblebee may have only been a scout, but he still knew enough to leave a large dent in the Autobot army.

Jetfire, Bumblebee’s friend that he had known since sparklinghood, would be one of the poor sparks at risk, if Bumblebee leaked top-secret information. Bumblebee, Jetfire and his splitspark twin, Jetstorm, were some of the very last of the sparklings that were created by the Allspark, naturally making them all very close with each other. Bumblebee didn’t know who the twins’ spark father was, but he did know that they were entrusted to Ironhide, which had led to the three of them spending a lot of time together when they were sparklings.  

A couple of deca-cycles ago, Jetfire had taken on a horribly dangerous mission that had him go undercover on the Nemesis, disguised as a Decepticon. They needed every advantage they could get over the Decepticons and, unfortunately, that meant they needed a flyer to take that risk. Everyone, especially his family, knew the dangers, but Jetfire, one of the bravest sparks that Bumblebee had ever seen, took it on without a single moment of hesitation. He periodically sent updates to the Autobots, but his life signal couldn’t be tracked through the ship’s shield. Even if Jetfire could send through the ship’s location, it would probably move in the next mega-cycle, leaving it displaced again, until Jetfire could give them another heads up, an endless cycle that was ultimately pointless; hence why they decided to just find and share information about what the Decepticons were planning. 

So, if everything was going to plan, Jetfire was still among the Decepticons’ ranks…meaning, he could help Bumblebee get out of here! They couldn’t risk some of Bumblebee’s valuable Autobot knowledge falling into Decepticon servos and the scout couldn’t stay here. If Jetfire could alert the other Autobots that he was here, then Bumblebee wouldn’t have to rely on just himself to get out. His family would be waiting, a reunion only a groundbridge jump away. 

That was how it would happen. That was how Bumblebee was going to get out. 

Right?

Please just let him escape this volatile volcano.

Megatron finally got up from where he had been crouched by Bumblebee’s side, effectively breaking his trance created by the thoughts in his processor. 

“Soundwave or Shockwave will be back in a couple of mega-cycles to check on your healing.” Bumblebee’s nerves multiplied tenfold at Megatron’s words; he had hoped that he would never meet those two Decepticons, the ones known as the Internal Interrogators, able to strip any secret from your frame, but destiny clearly had a different path for him. “For now, get some more rest. Your frame needs to heal.” 

The giant Decepticon warlord turned and walked out of the room, paying his unbound captive no mind, pedesteps loud like small volcanic eruptions bursting across the floor of the room; Bumblebee swore to Primus that he saw little dents in the flooring because of them. The door opened and closed, but he didn’t see Megatron go in or out. It was like the warlord had turned into an untouchable ghost killed by some natural disaster, still roaming the streets of the ruined city that they used to live in, watching as volunteers selflessly tried to save others that were long gone. However, they still foolishly held onto hope that they would save someone, anyone, but they were far too late to do anything useful. 

Bumblebee’s eyes were glued to the door, even long after Megatron had left. He was waiting, watching as each nano-cycle passed, his internal systems unhealthily quiet. The scout was horrified by the very idea of someone else coming through that door; Starscream, wanting to get revenge on him for revealing that he damaged his frame so severely (that had probably resulted in him getting some kind of terrifying punishment right now). Shockwave, who was ordered to probe his mind for some kind of useful information, using whatever torture devices he could use to get it from Bumblebee’s broken frame. Soundwave, near silent but extremely deadly, wanting to watch Bumblebee with his blank screen of a face, betraying no emotion to assist Bumblebee in making the right decisions in their interactions. Or, even just Megatron, who had finally decided to give up on this weird game of charades and just end him right here, right now. 

Bumblebee stared at the door for so long that he was almost certain something would burst through like hot magma plowing through a city, pushing over cars and decimating buildings. But, no matter how long he waited, nothing happened and Bumblebee forced himself to relax a little bit, his systems finally slowly shutting off. 

However, this would be one of the last moments where Bumblebee felt a sliver of safety and he could feel it; everything around him was about to erupt, throwing him directly into the unstable and sometimes dangerous volcano that was destiny.

Chapter Text

Finally, after mega-cycles of worthless tossing and turning, getting no recharge, Cliffjumper’s trained internal clock told him that it was time to get up. They sighed and groaned, getting up from their berth slowly. He stood for a few nano-cycles, waiting for their greasy optics to focus. Eventually, the world stopped pressing into his helm and he headed for the door, opening it to reveal a familiar, empty hallway. He sighed, servo resting on their faceplates. It was far too early for any bot to be up and they were still in no shape to go on a scouting mission, let alone lead one, (Primus, Cliffjumper was leading a mission. This had been their dream, Bee) but their younger brother was on the line. 

Cliffjumper had to do this, no matter what. So what if his frame felt like it was wading through tar and his metal joints sounded like they were invested with squeaking glitchmites? Cliffjumper couldn't just stop. He wasn't the priority here.

His walk to the main atrium was boring, to say the least; with it being so early, almost every other bot was recharging, leaving the hallways silent, empty of any life. Such quiet would usually unnerve Cliffjumper, but now it steadied their spark, reinforcing the flickering flame, like it had something to hold onto, to fuel it. Cliffjumper wasn’t sure that they could handle much of anything right now, not with their rapidly diminishing mental and physical state. There was a fragile balance that was becoming harder to maintain.

They opened the door to the atrium, optics landing on the familiar frame of Arcee, Wheeljack leaning against the wall near her. The two broke what appeared to be a staring competition and, after a quick glance at each other, turned their attention to him, gazes piercing through his plating.

“You look terrible,” Arcee noted as Cliffjumper walked over to the pair. 

“Thanks,” he deadpanned and crossed his arms, face plates showing no emotion. “I didn’t really recharge, so…” he trailed off and shrugged. 

Arcee’s faceplates softened, the forced emptiness draining away into sympathy. Wheeljack reattached a cylinder with a suspicious amount of blinking lights to his belt and turned his full attention to the other two bots, narrowing his optics. Cliffjumper still had no idea how to read the unfamiliar Wrecker’s expression and could not tell whether they were annoyed or concerned. It was… hard. Bumblebee would always say Wreckers look tough, but they had the best sparks, but that was Bee. He admired them, spoke about the powerful bots constantly, adored them almost as much as he adored their dads. 

For Bee, he would give the Wrecker the benefit of the doubt. 

“We can always go on the mission tomorrow,” Arcee quickly suggested, servo raised and hovering over Cliff’s arm. “If you’re too tired-”

“-NO! No,” Cliffjumper denied just as quickly, furiously shaking their helm. “If you think I’m going to just-” the red Autobot’s words caught in his voice box as he saw the smaller Autobot step back. He lowered his raised servos and curled into himself. “Sorry…There- I just- I need to do this. I can’t - If I wait another solar cycle, I really might lose it.” 

“Primus, you really are hard headed,” Arcee huffed out a sigh and shook her head, taking a step forward. 

She tossed them a couple of different gadgets they would need. Cliffjumper recognised most of them, having trained with a multitude of tools to prepare for any eventuality, like a good soldier (yet, he wasn’t prepared- he should’ve been-). There were some energon rations, a small selection of medical supplies and small weapons that Cliffjumper would need to hide around their frame. Only enough to let them keep going for a few solar-cycles. Cliffjumper wasn’t surprised. They wanted a way to keep them coming back.

“Optimus gave us the medical supplies,” Arcee explained. “Wheeljack supplied us with the extra weapons.” 

Cliffjumper twirled a metal squiggle with lots of blinkity blinks between his digits and slotted it between his plating. He looked up at the two bots in front of him, a smile slowly appearing. “Thanks.”  

“Yeah, yeah,” the Wrecker shrugged, “Just thought we would need to be prepared in case we come across something,” a smile flashed across his faceplates. “Better to be over prepared than under.”

Cliffjumper flashed a smirk back. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?

“Well then,” Cliff clapped his servos together and grinned at his team, “if we’re ready-”

“We have been ready for several-” Arcee cut in.

Cliffjumper raised his voice, grin growing despite her. “I guess we better-”

“-Wait!” a familiar voice yelled across the atrium. “Let me come with you!” 

Loud pedesteps came from the other side of the atrium, combined with the sounds of heavily intaking vents and loud, screeching internal systems. The team of three bots turned to see who it was, optics landing on a small flyer that came to a stop in front of them, venting as if the faint atmosphere had dissipated. Cliffjumper sighed, servo dragging down his faceplate. 

He really couldn’t deal with this right now. 

Jetstorm was intaking loudly in front of them, servos on his knee pads. Cliffjumper fought back the urge to groan as the much younger Autobot rose to his full height. Even when compared to Arcee, the flyer appeared tiny, her presence overshadowing him. He wasn’t much shorter than her, reaching her shoulders, but Arcee always seemed larger than life. Jetstorm crossed his arms and glared up at the team leader.

Cliffjumper raised a brow and pushed the flyer with a digit. Jetstorm stumbled off the tips of his pedes and onto the heels.

“Maybe focus on standing in a stable position instead of showmanship,” Cliff glared at the younger Autobot.

“I wouldn’t do that in the field! You know that!” Jetstorm punctuated his argument with a pout. 

The two bots behind Cliffjumper failed to completely suppress their laughter at the sight. Cliffjumper sent a glare over his shoulderplates, making the other two bots cough to stop their laughter, before returning his attention to the flyer in front of him.

“Jetstorm, no ,” Cliffjumper shook their helm, refusing to budge, despite the watery optics. “Ratchet already has it out for me because of this mission; I’m not adding Ironhide to the list!” He glanced to the side, optics distant, “Ironhide punishments should be avoided at all costs.”

“Yeah, I am going to have to agree with Cliffjumper on this one,” Wheeljack said. “Jetfire is already on that dangerous mission and Bumblebee’s…missing,” Cliff fought the urge to flinch, refusing to show any weakness to this master manipulator at his pedes, “We aren’t putting another one of the last sparklings, another kid, in unnecessary danger.” 

“But- I can help! I want to help!” Jetstorm argued, crossing his arms over his chassis and stomping his left pede. Cliffjumper recognized the look in his optics; he probably wasn’t going to back down anytime soon. 

They felt bad for the kid, they really did; they knew how much he wanted to help, how useless he must be feeling right now, but they really didn’t want to put him in danger- they couldn’t. They were already at their wits end with what had happened to Bumblebee and Jetfire. No one knew the states of the two Autobots, but they could only hope for the best. Once they lost that hope… Cliffjumper really didn’t want to add Jetstorm to the list of children he’d failed. They didn’t want to lose him too.

Cliffjumper had helped raise this kid. He remembered when Optimus had shown up, energon staining his pedes as he carried a pair of splitspark twins. Cliff had only heard rumors of such a strange occurrence, a spark that wasn’t stable enough to remain whole, but refused to flicker out. He had stared on in awe as the two were given to Ironhide and left under Ratchet’s watchful optics.

Sparklings were becoming rarer with time and this? This had to be a gift from Primus himself.

Cliff remembered helping patch up scratched fuel lines and drying leaky optics and playing chase as they learned control of their tiny alt modes. He rarely saw an Autobot flyer in the base, the tight ground base not serving them well. They were his friends and he was theirs, but they were family. The twins had Ironhide, but they also had each other. They had a brother.

And then Cliffjumper got his own.

“Cliffjumper. This is Bumblebee. Your brother. Take care of him okay? Teach him our ways.”

His servo had been so small compared to Cliff’s, and the scars that now littered his little brother's servos had yet to be created.  

“We know, kid,” Arcee sighed, walking up to him and placing a servo on his shoulder. “And you can help by keeping yourself safe.” 

“No!” The young flyer’s faceplates scrunched up, even more annoyance, anger and determination painting his faceplate with nasty lighting that seemed to almost look like cracks spreading through it. “My brother is sacrificing everything and Bumblebee is who knows where! I know that wherever Bee is, he’s fighting denta and digit to stay alive. If they’re going to be that brave…” Jetstorm swallowed and clenched his fists, meeting Cliffjumper’s optics, “the least I can do is try and help one of them! If I lost one of them……I’d…” he trailed off again, the silence around them answering the sentence. “You have to let me go with you. Please! ” 

There was no room for argument in those optics. Cliffjumper sighed as he cradled one of Jetstorm’s servos in his own. It was so small , despite many upgrades as the young bot had grown and he still had so much growing to do.

They all did.

How did it come to this?

Jetstorm still hadn’t stopped his argument for why he should come with, his rambling rapidly becoming more incoherent as his voice box glitched under the strain of the unbridled emotion, “ Please ! If you don’t let me come, I’ll… I’ll glitter bomb the entire base! And then I’ll follow you! Whilst security is distracted! They can’t stop me and neither can you!”

Cliffjumper didn’t doubt the flyer would and fought back the urge to chuckle fondly, exasperated. He had once decided to try and test his luck with Jetstorm in his younglinghood and regretted that decision to this day. The flyer’s name was very fitting. Instead of giving in with a smile on his face, Cliffjumper decided to clasp onto his irritation that came with his extreme exhaustion and channeled it into his next move. His free servo that had been cradling his head started to trail down his faceplates, rubbing slightly at sore optics. He was not happy about this and he was going to make sure Jetstorm knew it.

“Fine. You can come,” he relented, ignoring the quiet cheers that Jetstorm hadn’t quite been able to muffle in time and the groans from the two older bots next to him. “You are to stay by my side at all times, though! No running or flying off!” 

Jetstorm saluted Cliffjumper, smiling. “You won’t regret this! I promise!” 

Cliffjumper just sighed, shaking their head. “I know I will.”

———

Without the noise and chaos of the battlefield, the abandoned remains of Tyger Pax were more disturbing than Cliffjumper remembered. The blue lifeblood of energon stained the broken bones of what were once towering buildings, large puddles sickeningly drying into past memories of what happened. Cliffjumper felt a lump of energon crawl up the back of their throat, forcing them to intake harder and force it back down, but that did nothing to help calm their nerves. 

All they could see was the giant puddle of energon, sitting proudly directly in front of them, no ripples disturbing its surface, cruelly implying that the worst had happened to their little brother. It sat there, taunting them, reminding him of his mistake of letting himself be separated from Bumblebee, their responsibility for his younger brother, betraying him because if they had just been there-

Cliffjumper shook his head slightly, pushing those self-deprecating thoughts to the back of his processor. He didn’t need to think about that right now. He could apologize to Bumblebee later, but for now, he had a job to do; he had to find his brother. So the red Autobot reloaded his focus, looking around the wreckage for something, anything , that looked familiar, that would lead him back to the infamous puddle that leaked into his dreams. He internally cursed himself for leaving in such a rush and not looking around his surroundings for any further clues or familiar landmarks. Now, they were just aimlessly walking around the west of the city, the holographic map limp and useless in his servos. Cliffjumper really hoped that wasn’t an omen. 

“Where did you say you and Bee were?” Jetstorm’s helm popped into Cliffjumper’s field of vision, breaking them from their thoughts. 

“Over towards the west of the city,” Cliffjumper lifted the map so he could see it behind Jetstorm’s helm, but it was still no help. They sighed. “Other than that? I’m not sure.” 

Jetstorm groaned, ducking under the taller Autobot’s arm. “Great, real descriptive. A lot to go off.” 

“Hey! I can always send you back to the base, if you would prefer,” Cliffjumper glared at the smaller bot’s wings, pointing an angry digit in their direction. 

“Woah- ok, ok, fine,” Jetstorm lifted his servos up defensively, a nervous smile stretching across his faceplates. “Well, was there anything distinct that could help narrow things down about where you were? Anything near where you think Bee got discarded by the blast?” 

Cliffjumper sighed, turning back to look at the map in his right servo. “There was a cliff and… the giant puddle of energon,” he whispered the last part under his breath, but Jetstorm must have still heard him, as the smaller got twisted around to face him with a face painted with pure terror. 

“O-oh…” he stuttered, glancing away from the red Autobot. However, before either of them could speak another word and start another fight, Arcee’s voice pierced the silence, crackling through their comm units. 

“Guys…I think I found something,” her voice was steady, but uncertain, like she had just seen an undead spark. “Get here as quickly as you can.” 

The two Autobots didn’t hesitate and transformed into their vehicle modes, racing over toward the blip on their upgraded sensors that represented Arcee’s life signal. Cliffjumper sped over thousands of bumps and wreckage, testing his suspension and making them wish they were a flyer so they wouldn’t have to deal with this. 

As he flew over the last piece of rubble, Cliffjumper saw Arcee, Wheeljack and Jetstorm (who had just finished transforming back). He skidded to a stop next to them, transforming back to his root form as he applied his brakes. Cliffjumper shook his servos slightly as he straightened up, light pain littering his frame because of the drive. 

“What did you find?” Cliffjumper asked Arcee, taking note of how her right servo was partially curled into a fist, wrapped around something, her faceplates grim. 

“I don’t…I don’t know if it’s Bee’s…” Arcee trailed off, glancing around at the Autobots surrounding her. She was curled into herself, Cliffjumper noted, making her already smaller frame seem even smaller. “But I found…this.” 

She uncurled her servo, revealing what at first glance appeared to be a pile of torn up scrap, but Cliffjumper was a trained soldier, taught to spot details others would overlook and miss, such as the way there were tiny familiar cords and connections.

That was part of a Cybertronian’s frame.

Cliffjumper reached a servo out and delicately brushed aside some of the top layer of cracked metal, revealing the inner workings of a familiar mechanism Ratchet had once taught him about when he was still deciding whether he wanted to fight or to fix. It had been too much detail, too many different procedures that blurred together in his head and always so much waiting, but staring at the metal scrap pile, Cliffjumper wished he had more practice and was capable of doing something for the delicate biomechanism.

It was an almost completely destroyed voicebox, with the cords still attached to the biomechanism, flexing every few cycles as if to try and call out to the sparks surrounding it. Dried energon coated it like a blanket, painting an even more gruesome story before them. Cliffjumper heard Jetstorm gag next to them as they swallowed sharply. 

“Oh Primus… ” Cliffjumper vented, optics unable to look away from the thing that used to be part of a Cybertronian in Arcee’s hand. 

“...Yeah,” Arcee nodded quietly and closed her servo, covering the precious body part the best she could with her smaller hand. She patted Jetstorm on the backplate with her free servo as he continued to dry heave. 

“Cliffjumper,” Wheeljack spoke up, voice steady, betraying no emotion, giving the red Autobot an excuse to turn their attention away from the broken mess seemingly held together by Arcee’s servo. However, the Wrecker’s optics did not move from it. “Did you see anyone in the med bay… missing their voice box?” 

Cliffjumper thought back to their visit to the med bay after they had talked to Optimus and Ironhide. Multiple faceplates flashed through his head, but he knew, both of them knew, what must have happened. The Wreckers had been the main powerhouse of the Battle of Tiger Pax and most had taken up residence in the med bay for several solar cycles.

“I don’t…” he shook his helm. “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, me either,” Wheeljack replied, optics narrowed. “And I was in there Ratchet helping fix my siblings. It wasn’t any of theirs…” he hesitated. “Meaning this…”

“..Might be Bumblebee’s,” Cliffjumper whispered, finishing the Wrecker’s sentence. Just might, not probably. He could still be... even if he wasn’t… Ratchet could fix this- Ratchet could fix anything. They blinked once, twice, thrice, trying to see if the sight in front of his optics would change. This was a dream; it had to be. That can’t be- that can’t be his! 

Jetstorm’s gagging turned silent as he looked up at the other Autobots as Arcee looked back down at her clenched servo. 

“That’s- that’s Bee’s?! ” Jetstorm almost squealed. 

“It’s our best guess, kid,” Wheeljack sighed, arms crossing over his chassis as he shook his helm. “I really hope it isn’t, though.” 

Jetstorm looked like he was about to start heaving again, right servo placed tightly over his intake as energon dusted his face plates. Arcee looked like she swallowed some rusting energon as she cradled the delicate biomechanism in both servos, slotting it beneath her surface plating with a grimace. 

“For…safekeeping,” she justified, faceplates smoothing out, though Cliffjumper could see how uncomfortable she was with how her plating shuddered.  

Everything around the four bots went quiet as they tried to figure out what to do next. For a moment, they could almost pretend they weren’t in the middle of a war, that they were a group of tourists visiting some old ruins. Cliffjumper’s optics continued to stare at Arcee’s servos and their new dusting of blue that her paint could not hide. If- if that really was Bee’s, then the cliff had to be close by. Cliffjumper pulled up the map again, blue light illuminating his face as he looked down at the smaller version of Tyger Pax. The four red Autobot life lines lit up the left side of the map, and Cliffjumper narrowed in on them, trying to see if any cliff was near- 

Bingo! 

Just a couple of clicks north was what looked like a small cliff, the towering, slim buildings around it somehow still standing. 

“I think I found it,” he said, looking at the surprised faces surrounding him. “The cliff.” 

Cliffjumper transformed back into his vehicle form, not waiting for the others as he zoomed across the broken remains of buildings. He bounced even more, even gaining some airtime for a few seconds when he hit a particularly big lump of debris. 

The red Autobot finally skidded to a stop once the environment around him began to become recognizable, a rock formation on his left, that hole in that building, the Decepticon arm... He transformed back to his bipedal form, the other three Autobots quickly following his example. The cliff had to be close, it had to be- 

His optics fell on a giant puddle of dried up energon, the cracked surface like old bones that had been left out in a desert for thousands of vorns, waiting patiently for something, anything, to happen. The blue stain in the middle of a metallic war was still a large confirmation of their fears, no matter how much its volume had decreased. Despite the time that had passed, the dried puddle remained undisturbed, a ring of lifeblood abandoned, but it wasn’t the only thing here that didn’t belong. Although the shape was inconclusive, Cliffjumper could still make out the outlines of giant pedesteps, despite the wear and tear of the air. 

They heard a cacophony of gasps echoing around him from the other bots and Cliffjumper swallowed down the digestive fluid that threatened to crawl out of his intake valve again, but he couldn’t afford to let emotion like this overwhelm him right now. Cliffjumper pushed their pedes forward, walking straight up to the puddle for further examination, despite how their servos shook and their spark wanted to run back to his fathers’ warmth, their safety, but they couldn’t. This was something Cliffjumper had to do, so despite the pressure still pushing against their intake valve, they only forced themself to approach more. Due to their quick retreat from the solar cycle before, they hadn’t had the chance to look at the puddle all too closely or for too long. It was in the middle of a battlefield, but Cliffjumper hated that he’d delayed getting potentially spark saving information because he couldn’t bare the thought of-

Never again. His brother needed him and Cliffjumper was not a coward.

The red Autobot crouched near the dried up puddle, optics narrowing at the cracks like they held some type of secret, almost like if he got close enough, the cracks would whisper everything that had happened right into his audio receptor and he would finally understand everything that happened here. However, Cliffjumper was not a sparkling who expected the answers to fall into their lap like that. They knew that this find wouldn’t lead them to much; after all, it was just a dried puddle that they could only assume used to be Bumblebee’s energon, but it was something .

Once they started to really look for clues, Cliffjumper could only stare at the cracks, engraving them into his memory core in greater detail, memorizing the pedesteps breaking them up and revealing the ground beneath the dried liquid. They traced the pedesteps with their optics, looking at them closely, wracking his memory files for some form of recognition, some clue. However, one fact kept rotating in their processor.

There was so much energon.

Nobody could survive losing that much of the precious blue life liquid that coursed through their frames without almost immediate medical attention. If this was Bee’s…primus. Even if the Decepticons took Bee to the Nemesis, there was no proof that they had treated Bumblebee’s wounds. There was not even proof that they even took him aboard still online . They very well could have just been toying with the Autobots, not giving them the luxury of anything to say goodbye to. 

“Maybe Megatron just discarded his body somewhere else. Just to give us a false sense of hope that he’s still kickin’ like the cruel, merciless slagheap he is.”

His shoulderplates curled upward as he hunched over the puddle. The realization was finally setting in that that was exactly what Ironhide was trying to get them to understand in the conference room the solar cycle before. Primus, they should’ve listened to him. They should’ve listened to Ratchet too. They should’ve realized it the first time they saw this puddle. 

There was no way Bumblebee was alive. 

Cliffjumper held back the warm fluid forming in the corners of their optics and looked back at the three bots behind him. Arcee and Wheeljack were crouched behind him, faceplates looking worn and resigned, whilst Jetstorm lurked behind them, optics wide and anxious, looking like he was about to start gagging again. 

“This…” they trailed off. They all looked at him like he was going to say something revolutionary, but what he ended up saying seemed to shatter their already breaking sparks. “It seems like Ratchet was right,” the admission tore through Cliffjumper’s spark as the words tore through his own voicebox. They paused as more fluid formed in the corner of their optics. “I’m sorry for dragging you all along-” 

Jetstorm lifted a digit to his intake, signaling for silence. Cliffjumper wanted to scream and protest because how dare he right now, but the flyer’s faceplates softened into surprised joy . All the broken pain dissipated from his faceplates and left Cliffjumper’s processor buffering. He knew that Jetstorm may have been a jokester, an immature youngling, but he also knew Jetstorm. This flyer wouldn’t disrespect Cliffjumper’s brother, just like how Bumblebee and Cliffjumper would never disrespect Jetstorm or his brother, Jetfire. Cliffjumper watched as the flyer in question’s optics narrowed before his face plates broke out in a smile, happy fluid welling up in the corners of his optics. 

“Jetfire,” he whispered under his venting, but it was just loud enough for the other three bots to hear, no one else, whispered like a prayer to Primus himself. “He finally reported back. He- He-“ Jetstorm’s voice box broke off into static and, despite his impatience for an answer, Cliffjumper refused to push the distressed Autobot.

“Take your time, soldier,” Cliffjumper laid a hand on Jetstorm’s shoulder, resolutely ignoring the raised browplate from Arcee and gaping Wheeljack. Dumbass. He was the son of a Prime; they knew a few tricks.

The young flyer reset his voice box again and wiped his optics, grinning up at Cliffjumper, hope flickering to life behind them, “Bee. He’s- Jetfire- he says- he says he located Bumblebee- they’re on the Nemesis together!”

Cliffjumper felt his spark flicker in his chassis, the embers of hope reigniting, but he refused to fan the flames, not until he had confirmation. “…Alive?”

Jetstorm’s nod of confirmation was all Cliff needed as a burst of static flew out of their voice box. Cliffjumper reset it, wiping his optics. Jetstorm smiled up at him and Cliffjumper didn’t need to turn around to know his other two companions were also smiling. The desolate battlefield suddenly didn’t feel as sparksucking as it used to.

But joy and hope could wait. Cliffjumper had a job to do.

“Can Jetfire get to him?” the red Autobot asked quickly, worry enveloping his spark again. He hadn’t listened to Ironhide in the moment, but the much older Autobot’s words echoed around Cliffjumper’s big, empty helm.

“Jetfire,” the flyer’s voice turned into a whisper, as if afraid he’d accidentally expose his brother whilst deep undercover. Thank the 13 Primes for twin comms. Those things were almost impossible to tap into without sparkscarring consequences, even for somebot like Soundwave, “can you get to Bumblebee?” The four bots on the ground waited for an answer and Jetstorm’s optics left the puddle and met Cliffjumper’s optics. “He says Bee is under heavy guard, but he’ll have an opening later tomorrow.” 

Cliffjumper nodded, a plan forming in his processor. As much as Jetfire was an asset to the Autobot cause the longer he remained on the Nemesis, Cliff knew the mech would never forgive himself for standing by as Bumblebee remained at the mercy of the Decepticons. An overheard conversation with Optimus and Jazz from a few weeks ago flickered across his processor.

“It’s getting too risky, Prime. We need to pull him out before there’s nothing to pull out.”

What better way to return than with the glory of rescuing one of their own! A blow to the Decepticons on two fronts.

The red Autobot’s face became serious. “Tell him that as soon as he gets himself and Bumblebee out to come to the exact coordinates we’re at right now. We’ll meet him later in the solar cycle.” 

“Sir?” Jetstorm’s voice was hopeful and Cliff’s spark ached. They weren’t the only one missing their brother.

He smirked. “Didn’t you know? Prime was planning on pulling him out.”

The younger’s optics sparkled and he nodded, quickly and quietly relaying the message back to the imposter living among the Decepticons. A smirk spread across his face as he cheered. “We’re gonna save Bee!” The flyer’s smile only grew wider. 

Cliffjumper nodded, a real smile finally plastered on his faceplates. “We will.” 

—

The Autobot base sat proudly in the middle of Iacon, the large city buildings still standing despite so many vorns of war. They were torn and damaged, but not broken, just like the Autobots sheltered by the towering buildings. The veins of energon that led into the city thrummed with a strange sense of life. It made sense to the Cybertronians inhabiting the planet, after all they were quite literally connected to the heart of Primus, their planet’s core. However, the sparkbeats were slowly dwindling, getting slower and weaker every solar cycle.

No bot could ignore the proof that their planet was dying, but, unfortunately, they had to keep their focus on the situation surface-side. War wouldn’t stop, not even for this. At the end of the solar cycle, this war was a choice between the planet and the people. The people were usually put first and the planet would always suffer as a result.

But right now, that wasn't important. What was important were the four Autobots racing into the base, pedes working faster than they had in some time as they ran through the halls towards the room that belonged to their leader and the last of the Primes, Optimus Prime.

Cliffjumper’s servo banged on the large door repeatedly. Different patterns lined the door, grooves and dents creating fascinating textures Cliff and Bee had traced throughout their short lives when waiting for their father to answer the door. The loud sounds echoed throughout the long hallway, drawing attention from the different Cybertronians who weren’t currently on missions and meandering throughout the hallway. 

At last, the door opened, the hinges squeaking as the large frame of Optimus Prime loomed in the doorway. His optics widened in surprise when he saw the four smaller Autobots that had been tasked with an important and time-consuming mission; his surprise was visibly short-lived because the emotions of the Autobot leader were always quickly hidden behind blank faceplates. 

The five Autobots didn’t need to speak, their optics saying so much more than words ever could: Cliffjumper’s optical ridge in a determined slant, Jetstorm’s optics a scared icy-blue, matching the dark blue details that traced his grayish frame; Arcee and Wheeljack’s optics showing the same worn emotions that traced their faceplates mere mega-cycles earlier, although their faceplates seemed to have softened slightly. Even though Optimus tried to mask it, there was some hope creeping into his spark at the sight. He hoped that Cliffjumper and his team had found something, anything , that could prove Bumblebee was alive and give him an excuse, any excuse, to do something other than ignore this problem clawing at his spark.

As much as Optimus valued the Autobot cause and the lives of his soldiers, he also was a friend, a brother, a father. Despite the front he displayed, the Autobot leader’s spark was in constant conflict.

The group of Autobots started to walk towards the conference room, not wanting to discuss sensitive information in the middle of the hallway, especially as more onlookers started to gather and stare at the group as they walked by. When you lived a life like this, gossip was almost as valuable as energon treats and other rations and, unfortunately for the group, the Prime and his son were often great sources of gossip, especially after what happened between Cliffjumper and Ratchet the solar cycle before. 

Eventually, the large doors of the conference room could be seen. Cliffjumper noted that there were four other bots standing outside the doors, waiting in the approaching group. Ratchet, Ironhide, Prowl and Jazz, all considered the right-hand mechs of Optimus in their own rights. The team of four watched the trusted older mechs all enter the room after their Prime. Arcee, Wheeljack and Jetstorm made to step after them, only to pause as Cliffjumper scowled and didn’t move. He side-eyed his team, noting their confusion as they waited for him to make the first move and sighed. Cliff hated leading.

They stepped forward, but instead of following directly in Optimus’s footsteps, they purposely started walking closer to Jetstorm. His team followed their lead, closing ranks slightly in an attempt to avoid suspicion.

“We don’t tell them about our plan with Jetfire to save Bee,” they whispered in their audio receptors, just loud enough for Arcee and Wheeljack to hear, but soft enough so the other five bots couldn’t. “We tell them we talked with him, and Bee’s alive, but nothing else; got it?” 

Jetstorm nodded, a flare of anxiety passing through his optics before he set his optical ridge in understanding. If any of the older bots knew what they were planning, they would forbid them from going along with the plan. They would tell them it was too dangerous, too foolish, too risky . Cliffjumper knew all of that, they all did, but this could be their only chance to rescue his little brother. 

And, he swore to Primus, he was going to save him no matter what. 

The nine autobots took their seats at the large conference table, silence still draping over them. On one side were the top members of the Autobot resistance, optics staring across the table into the sparks of the team sent to try and find clues about the fate of one of their own. Cliffjumper faced his Prime, his father, down as Jetstorm was forced to do the same with his own parental unit, Ironhide. Wheeljack smirked at Ratchet, who simply glared at him in response, not giving any verbal acknowledgement to the Wrecker. Arcee folded her arms, frowning at Prowl in front of her, who simply prepared to take minutes of the meeting, and scowling at Jazz, who winked at her. The somehow second-in-command of the Autobots chuckled as one of his best friends rolled her optics at him. Sometimes Cliff forgot Arcee used to be part of the Special Ops with Jazz, that the two used to be drinking buddies before Arcee…

Cliffjumper swore he would do everything in his power to make sure Arcee would be able to take part in harmless fun like that again someday. He knew Bee would help and, honestly, he would probably need it too. 

“Cliffjumper,” Optimus’s voice was first to cut through the silence like a sharp sword. “Since you are the leader of this group, we would like to hear from you what you have found.”

“And I’m curious as to why you brought Jetstorm with you,” Ironhide almost snarled, crossing his arms across his chassis, “considering this team was supposed to only consist of three of you and Jetstorm had other… duties to fulfill.”

Chores. No wonder Jetstorm leaped at the opportunity to escape Ironhide’s oppressive digit. Shirking work, especially chores,  was basically a youngling coming of age ritual.

“Uh…well…” Cliffjumper started and stopped, trying to think of an excuse so Ironhide wouldn’t slag him when this was over. The cursed talk between Ironhide, Optimus and Cliffjumper was still raw in the red Autobot’s processor, bouncing around his helm. All Ironhide had delivered was bad news and Cliffjumper hated to confirm any of it, despite knowing there was little choice. Cliff just didn't know how to go about it and keep his spark intact from an angry parent, like Ironhide. Compliments, maybe?

“It’s my fault, Ironhide,” Jetstorm’s voice was small, but determined as he cut through the settling silence. “I made him take me with them.” 

Ironhide sighed, one of his servos coming up to rest on his helm. “We’ll talk after this meeting,” he said, voice betraying none of the shimmering emotions hiding beneath the surface, a silent anger. 

Silence filled the room once more, no one willing to fill it, until Cliffjumper decided he couldn’t put off answering the order phrased as a request. “Well, the Nemesis wasn’t at Tyger Pax, but I think you already expected that,” he stared at the five older bots, before his optics sent a glance at Arcee. “There were no signs of any Decepticon or Autobot activity after the battle…” Cliffjumper hesitated, “but Arcee found…something.” 

Arcee appeared to unnecessarily swallow as she pulled out the small organ that she had placed in her frame earlier that day. She held the voice box carefully, softly, placing it down like it was a small glass figure that would break under any pressure or from any sudden movements. Small, near silent gasps echoed from the older bots. Jetstorm looked away from the organ, energon coloring his cheeks and Cliffjumper’s half expected him to start gagging again. Luckily, the flyer held it in, not adding to the situation already unfolding before them. Primus, Cliff really shouldn’t have brought him along on the mission. They were too soft on him and look where it got them.

Ratchet softly grabbed the organ, cradling it in his palms without any hint of disgust stretching across his faceplates. “...You think this is Bumblebee’s.”

It was not a question, but Cliffjumper decided to treat it as one and nodded. “It’s possible, likely even,” their voice trembled a little, but they forced their voice box to continue. “It was near the place where I found the…energon.” 

Everyone in the room went quiet again, different faceplates showing different stories, different fears, different beliefs .

“But Bumblebee isn’t dead,” he broke the silence, no shudder in his voice.

“Are you out of your damn processor?!” Ironhide stood up, slamming his servos against the table. “No one can survive something like their voice box getting torn out without immediate medical attention! It’s your slagging intake valve! The energon loss alone-”

“Don’t you think I already know that?! I’m not stupid!” Cliffjumper yelled back, optics ablaze as he slammed his own servos on the table, but Ironhide wasn’t backing down without a fight. 

“So, what?! You think the ‘Cons wasted their own rations to fix him?!” Ironhide’s face plates were angry, but there was something else there that Cliff couldn’t quite pick out, hidden behind the rage. 

Cliffjumper glanced at Jetstorm and nodded, signaling him to speak up. 

“W-well,” the flyer reset his voice box once more as all optics turned to him, “I got Jetfire’s regular check-in transmission when we were in Tyger Pax. He said that Bumblebee is alive and I believe my brother! He wouldn’t lie, especially about something like this!” the youngest bot in the room scowled, voice leaving no room for doubt. After a few moments of the other Autobots watching him in silence, energon rose to Jetstorm’s cheeks as he lost his bravado and curled into himself slightly. “A-and well, he said Bee is under heavy guard,” he swallowed again, optics anxiously darting around the room. 

Ironhide fell silent, no protests falling from his glossa as he slowly dropped back into his chair. Optics from all around the room stared at Jetstorm, the weight of those words running through their processors. Jetfire was a trusted member of the Autobot army undercover in the highest ranks of the Decepticon army. No one doubted the words of his brother that Jetstorm had shared.

“He’s..alive,” Ratchet breathed, like he couldn’t believe it. 

Cliffjumper honestly believed his father was buffering as the information loaded into his aging processor. As much as he wanted to yell, to remind him of how he doubted Cliff, the young bot restrained himself. He wasn’t cruel enough to rub their lack of trust in his dads’ faces until his baby brother was back home.

Ratchet’s optics looked down at the crusted energon-encased voicebox he continued to cradle in his servo and curled over it, resting the top of his helm gently against it. Cliffjumper felt his spark stutter in his chassis. That had always been a Bumblebee and Ratchet action, when Bee complained as a sparkling about being so small. Ratchet had told him that doing that meant Bee was up high with him at spark and the little bot had followed his dad around for several deca cycles, wanting to be tall just like him. “Slag, he’s alive .”

Prowl’s optics narrowed, as if the Autobot knew there was more to the story. If he did, the stick in the slag better not spill to the Prime. “Is that all you talked about? Did you make any plans?”

Cliffjumper shook his head, digging his pedes in and burrowing deeper into the protection of the lie. “Nope. We decided to come back and get your opinions to help decide our next move.”

“Really? The Cliffjumper showed restraint?” Jazz joked, but it fell flat in the serious atmosphere. The special agent awkwardly laughed, slowly trailing off as the glares he was subjected to dug into his frame. His faceplates almost seemed to twist in well deserved embarrassment. 

“Hey. I don’t intend to go on a suicide mission or risk my brother’s life,” Cliffjumper frowned at the older bot, struggling to hold back their internal scowl. He turned towards Optimus with a sigh. “What are your orders?” he asked, trying to play it off like he had magically turned into a goody two-shoes. 

Optimus seemed to think, his right servo resting against his chin softly, his face plates still hiding whatever emotions he was feeling right at that moment. Then, after what felt like a couple of cycles, Prowl leaned in and whispered something to the Prime. He fell away, optics narrowing again in Cliffjumper’s direction. Optimus seemed to nod at Prowl and looked back at the four younger bots on the other side of the table. “Ratchet, Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz and I will decide,” he stated. “You may return to your rooms.”

“But we went on the mission? Shouldn’t you tell us what you decide?” Jetstorm spoke out, cowering when Arcee and Wheeljack’s optics turned to glare daggers into his frame. Even though the rest of the team didn’t agree with the Prime’s decision, they wouldn’t dare speak out against him; well, everybot except Cliffjumper. 

“Although I appreciate your willingness to help, Jetstorm, it would be better if this decision was discussed between the five of us,” Optimus answered, voice gentle, slowly letting the small flyer down. Jetstorm sighed and nodded, turning to begrudgingly leave with the other four bots, the other five pairs of optics watching their every move. 

After the large doors shut, all four of them sighed and looked at each other. 

“Well, at least we don’t have to wait,” Arcee whispered to the other bots around her. 

“Next solar cycle, right?” Wheeljack placed one servo on Cliff’s shoulder, the other on Jetstorm’s as if he was waiting for confirmation. 

Cliffjumper nodded towards him, a small smirk on his face plates. “We’ll need all the rest we can get; so we should take Optimus’s advice and go back to our rooms,” he replied like an obedient youngling.

The others nodded in agreement, their own small smiles adorning their face plates. Cliffjumper was used to lying to Optimus, since he was their father, but the rest of his team felt a little nervous about it; what if he found out? What if he tried to stop them?

There was no turning back now, though; they just had to deal with the decision their leader made, even if it would eventually have unintended spark-shattering consequences. They would face those when they got there. For now, they were trusting the bot in front of them, focusing on keeping themselves alive and bringing one of their own back, now upped to two.

Cliffjumper hadn’t led them wrong yet, so why would they need to doubt him?

As the four bots split and Cliffjumper walked away from the group in the direction of their room, their spark flickered with nervousness, but burnt with confidence. Confidence that everything would turn out ok, that they would see their little brother again and that Jetfire would come back unharmed. Those were his goals and if he succeeded, Cliff would finally feel the warmth of happiness in his spark once more.

When. When he would succeed. Cliffjumper was an optimist, at the end of the solar cycle, always holding onto those tales Optimus would tell him of heroes fighting to protect the ones they loved. They always won and always lived happily ever after. That was him; Cliffjumper was the hero of the tale and about to win. It would all be okay. Optimus would never lie to him.

After all, everybot who had done good things had to have a happy ending. That was only fair.

Chapter Text

“Wake up.” 

A voice seemed to pierce through Bumblebee’s mind, interrupting the small recharge he managed to get. He groaned, tightening his optics, not wanting to go back into the world of the living. He wished he could stay here forever, not worrying about anything as he peacefully passed on. 

“Little scout, you need to wake up,” the voice spoke again, louder this time. “I need you to wake up.” 

Bumblebee finally opened his optics, the light above him almost immediately blinding him. He closed his optics again, his helm tilting his optics away from the light. He saw the light dim a little, so he opened his optics again, starting to search the room for the source of the voice. 

Megatron’s dark gray frame came into view, his faceplates neutral as he watched the yellow scout. Bumblebee flinched a little under his gaze, his systems screeching in alarm as the Decepticon warlord looked at him. 

“Do not worry, I will not hurt you,” the Decepticon said, as if Bumblebee could trust that, tilting his helm a little to the side. “Can you stand?”

Bumblebee swallowed the bile of energon rising up in his intake valve and swung his legs over the side of the medical berth he was on so his pedes would be parallel with the floor below him. He placed his pedes on the ground one at a time, the dark metal cold against his frame. He blinked his optics multiple times, warily looking up at the Decepticon warlord, a little worried for what he had planned for the yellow scout; even though he said he wouldn’t hurt him, Bumblebee was very slow to trust his words. The only reason he was even doing what the Decepticon told him to do was so he could stay alive a little longer. The last time he didn’t do what Megatron wanted, he got electrocuted by something he guessed was somewhere in his chassis, so who knew what would happen if he disobeyed the warlord again. Despite his naturally curious programming, Bumblebee did not want to find out.

“Follow me, scout.” 

Megatron started to walk away from the berth. Bumblebee quickly obeyed him and followed behind him, finding it a little hard to keep up with his larger frame. The Decepticon warlord opened the door quickly, allowing Bumblebee out of the room. Bumblebee nervously stepped out into the hallway, immediately noticing two vehicons stationed outside of the door, their optics locked onto Bumblebee; they didn’t move to attack, so Bumblebee continued to walk forward, Megatron quickly overtaking him and leading him along again. 

Their pathway was winding, multiple vehicons taking the time to stop and stare in the two mech’s directions, quickly looking away when Megatron glared at them. The Nemesis's hallways were very quiet, no noises outside of the pedesteps that belonged to Bumblebee and Megatron, although there were some whispers. 

Finally, Megatron seemed to stop in front of a large, detailed door, walking over to the keypad next to it to open it. Bumblebee stayed back, worry still invading his systems as he watched the door open slowly (Cliffjumper would roll his optics and call them dramatic. Bumblebee was glad he wasn’t here). Through the doorway, Bumblebee could see a mostly empty room, except for a couple of small tables with spare tools on them and chairs, a bar lining the walls of the room. Megatron looked back at him and tilted his head in the direction of the now open door, silently signaling for him to walk in. 

So, Bumblebee begrudgingly followed his unvocalised orders once again, stepping through the opened door. 

Megatron walked in behind him, the silence that hung over them still deafening. The Decepticon leader walked until he stood in the middle of the room, his back turned to the scout, his eyes tracing over the different tools on the table nearest to him. Bumblebee turned to look back at the door and saw that it was still open. He then looked back at Megatron, who still had his back turned to the young scout, his optics still scanning the tools. 

This was the perfect chance to escape and Bumblebee knew it. 

The yellow scout didn’t hesitate as he immediately ran out of the room, his pedes skidding on the metal floor below him as he turned toward one end of the hallway, preparing to transform. Before he could transform into his car mode though, pain erupted from his chassis, making the bot fall to the ground, his optics flickering from blue to black and back to blue. Bumblebee convulsed a little, the tingling numbness back in full force as his frame, mostly his chassis, felt on fire, like he was being struck with lighting over and over again. 

When it finally stopped, Bumblebee vented hard, his servos digging into the cold metal beneath him as he gasped. Pedesteps thundered over towards the downed scout as he heard someone laughing from in front of him, but he couldn’t move his head to look at them, so his aching helm just rested against the floor. 

“Tisk, tisk, tisk,” Bumblebee heard the familiar annoying voice that belonged to Starscream sigh. “Why do you insist on keeping this dastardly bug, Lord Megatron?” 

“He’s more helpful than you,” Megatron’s voice growled. Several seconds passed before someone spoke again. “Well? Stop just standing there and get into that meeting room, slaghead!” 

Somehow, over the buzzing in his audio sensors, Bumblebee could hear Starscream stamp off in those heels which, if Bumblebee wasn’t currently twitching in pain, he might have been impressed. Bumblebee could’ve sworn he heard another set of smaller pedesteps walk behind Starscream’s, but he couldn’t be so sure. 

The two sets of pedesteps faded away, leaving Bumblebee to his venting on the floor. He was well aware he wasn’t alone, but Bumblebee refused to be the first to make a move; he knew what was coming and he was scared.

“Get up,” Megatron’s voice was harsh, none of the false gentleness that had been present only a short time ago.

He didn’t want to.

“I will not ask again.”

Bumblebee’s frame shuddered, but he knew Megatron was being nice right now. He’d messed up with that escape attempt; he lost his chance.

But he was Bumblebee, Autobot Scout, and he wasn’t going to just lay down and offline.

The scout turned his helm to glare at the warlord as he forced shaking arms under him and slowly got to his pedes. Megatron stared down at him, faceplates not shifting as he observed every wobble in Bumblebee’s frame. Bumblebee hated it, but he had no control over his own body’s shaking. He stood on his pedes, entire frame swaying against his will as he continued to glare up at the large mech. Megatron did not look away, staring the younger mech down.

Bumblebee looked away first, shifting his optics to look at his pedes. He hated the shame that welled in his spark at his pathetic actions.

“Come,” Megatron ordered, voice no longer as harsh, but still cold.

Bumblebee hated how the warmth of relief filled his systems at that small mercy. Megatron wasn’t angry, just displeased, like when Bumblebee accidentally knocked over Optimus’s datapads when he was younger. He wasn’t supposed to be in there -

Bumblebee didn’t like that comparison.

He trudged forward, like a sparkling caught with his hand in the energon treats, falling back into step with Megatron. The warlord slowed his pedesteps, walking at Bumblebee’s side. There was no more hiding behind the Decepticon; that privilege had been stolen.

Bumblebee ignored the servo that was placed on his shoulder pad as he walked into the room again; this time, Starscream was in the room, his backplates pressed against the wall. The smile on his face grew as he locked eyes with the scout, but Bumblebee easily noticed how he was leaning heavily on his left side. No confident facade could hide the injury that was on the seeker’s right side. Beside the injured seeker stood a red, orange and white plated bot and, when Bumblebee locked eyes with the bot, he almost gasped. 

Standing right next to Starscream was Jetfire. It was Jetfire. Right there in front of him. Jetfire stared back at him, but his face was in more of a snarl, false hate inscribed into his face plates. Or, at least, he hoped Jetfire was pretending to hate him. 

Slag. He should stop staring before anyone got suspicious. 

The scout quickly tore his gaze away from Jetfire, his face turned to stare directly in front of him as he traced the patterns on the wall with his optics. He had to pretend that he wasn’t happy to see him, that right there wasn’t his lifelong friend and that he had no history with him; easier said than done, though. 

Bumblebee had missed him.

“Aww, is the little scout scared of the big bad seekers?” Starscream laughed, his screechy voice almost making Bumblebee shudder. “How hilarious .” 

Bumblebee heard Jetfire laugh along with him and he clenched his servos into fists, having to remind himself that he was just pretending, that he wasn’t actually laughing at Bumblebee’s situation and that it was stupid for Bumblebee to feel this hurt over it. He vented as quietly as he could, watching as Megatron sneered at Starscream, quickly shutting him up without a single word. Megatron looked back at Bumblebee, his optics cold. 

“Please, take a seat.” The warlord pointed at the free seat beside him. Bumblebee glared at him, but complied with the ‘offer’, his frame still numb, his digits still tingling. Megatron patted his shoulder once, silently congratulating him for listening. The scout wanted to shrug the servo off of his shoulder, but he wasn’t willing to take that risk, not with the recent incident still playing in his processor, so he remained quiet and unnaturally still, barely venting as his optics stared hard at the floor. 

Two more pairs of pedesteps walked through the open doorway into the room, their gaits very different. One was soft, like they were forever sneaking around somewhere, careful not to make any sound; the other was loud and strong but slow, as if every step made was somehow a statement. The door closed behind the two pedesteps, sealing their creators inside the room with them. Bumblebee finally looked up from the floor, scanning the room discreetly until he found the two newcomers. 

Soundwave and Shockwave. 

Bumblebee quickly looked down at the floor again, panic bubbling up inside his fried chassis. He swallowed down the acidic fluid rising up into his intake, his right servo nervously picking at the edge of his thigh plating, one question rattling around his processor. 

What was going to happen to him? 

Megatron cleared his intake tube, making everyone except Bumblebee look at him. “We are here to discuss our newest recruit’s future,” he started. Bumblebee almost shivered, glaring down at the floor as Megatron continued to talk. “Since you all are in charge of different parts of the Decepticon faction, I thought you would want to discuss it.”

Recruit? Him? His… future? This- this was- did they- when had they decided- what made them think he was going to stay here and be a part of the Decepticons? Bumblebee had just assumed they were keeping him around for some sort of ransom (scouts never had enough confidential information to be worth keeping alive), but no, it seemed like the scout was in a much worse predicament. 

They intended to keep him here, in the Decepticon faction and Bumblebee knew he didn’t have a choice.

He’d tried to make one and he’d paid the price. His chassis twinged at the thought. 

“He’s clearly not that strong,” Starscream immediately stated, something that Bumblebee could almost describe as pity lacing his voice. “And he’s not a flyer model. He would be useless in my seeker battalion. Even the grounder squadron wouldn’t want… this,” Starscream tisked, shaking his head. “Unsurprisingly, I can’t help him in that regard. I only take the strongest for our military under my wing.” Starscream looked at Jetfire as he patted his shoulder plating. “What do you think?” 

Jetfire stared at Bumblebee for a few seconds, gaze somehow more piercing than Megatron’s, and swallowed. “I think his frame is too small. He wouldn’t last for more than a cycle out there,” he answered quietly, internally cringing at his own words. 

Megatron glared at Starscream, but sighed, his optics switching quickly over to Bumblebee’s frame. “You both bring up good points.” The warlord nodded and looked over at Shockwave. “Do you need any help in your projects?” 

Shockwave’s optic bored a hole into Bumblebee’s plating, making the scout pick harder at his thighs, a habit that would’ve earned him a scolding back home, but went ignored with this company. The giant purple mech seemed to be able to stare straight through Bumblebee’s helm to his processor and search it. “He doesn’t seem to have the intelligence needed to even begin comprehending my projects,” he stated matter of factly. “Even if he was intellectually programmed, the last scientific partner I had…went outside the agreements we made, so it is most logical that I work alone for the time being.” 

The room went silent; Bumblebee and, to an extent, Jetfire could feel that they were missing something important in Shockwave’s words, but Bumblebee assumed that he wouldn’t get clued in on that something anytime soon and part of him hoped he wouldn’t be here long enough to be clued in. He hated the part of himself that was still reeling from the pain of the electricity, everything still feeling warm but not in a good way.

“Soundwave?” Everyone looked over toward the silent dark bot, his presence going unnoticed until now. Soundwave’s visor reflected Bumblebee’s gaze and the scout had to stop himself from reeling back in discomfort. Bumblebee had stared into empty optics, angry optics, offlined optics, but nothing could prepare him for the void reflecting his own face; the tales never came close to reality. Soundwave must have come to some sort of judgment as he looked up at Megatron and nodded, the entire room dead quiet. 

Megatron nodded back and stared down at Bumblebee. “You were a scout for the Autobots, yes?” 

Bumblebee only glared back at him. 

The warlord sighed, shaking his head back and forth. “Then you will work for Soundwave, since he majors in bringing back information for the faction,” he said and Soundwave looked back down at Bumblebee, who only glared at him; whether that glare was from hatred or fear, no one could tell. “Hopefully his loyalty to the Decepticon cause will rub off on the poor scout.” 

“Was this meeting all about the new worthless scout?” Starscream growled, his wings moving up and down in one jerky motion as he crossed his arms over his chassis. “Or do we have other, actually important, things to discuss? We are in the midst of a war, you know. If I was leading the Decepticons-“

Megatron’s gaze seared into Starscream’s plating, his red optics narrowing in anger. “It would be best if you would shut your intake, Starscream.” 

The seeker scowled, but his intake remained shut as he averted his gaze from Megatron’s optics. 

“But yes, to answer your question, it was to discuss his future,” the warlord said, his optics roaming about the room. “I think it’s of utmost importance to keep a close eye on him and what lies in his path ahead, especially after what he tried to do today.” 

Shockwave nodded, his one optic flickering toward Megatron. “That would be the most logical course of action to keep him among our ranks.” He started to walk over toward the small scout, his heavy pedesteps shaking the metal beneath them. “If you would like, Lord Megatron, I can check his systems to ensure they are fully operational.” 

Megatron nodded. “But do be careful with him, doctor,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Bumblebee swallowed, his optics staring up at the engineer, his intake stuck in a scowl. Megatron, Starscream and Jetfire all started to leave the room, although Jetfire seemed to stand there for a second, his optics uneasily looking over Bumblebee’s frame. The two young mechs met each others’ optics.

Jetfire quickly broke the staring contest and left the room, the door closing once again, leaving Bumblebee, Shockwave and Soundwave alone. The atmosphere was tense and quiet, but it didn’t seem to bother the two Decepticons who stood in front of Bumblebee. Bumblebee almost missed the room he had been staying in, where the only company he had was Megatron and his own thoughts. The normally impatient scout could wait as long as was required of him, a skill he had begun perfecting with all his free time. It seemed he wouldn’t have to wait long, however, as Shockwave looked over at Soundwave, his singular optic betraying no feelings. 

“Do you have to occupy this particular space at this given time?” he questioned, almost sounding exasperated with the surveillance bot. Soundwave only wordlessly stared back at him, his visor and frame betraying no emotion. They stared at each other for a couple seconds until Shockwave eventually just sighed, breaking their eye contact and looking down at Bumblebee. “Can you stand?” 

Bumblebee stayed sitting on the chair, not moving as he continued to glare up at the Decepticon engineer. Since Bumblebee guessed that Megatron had the control for whatever kept electrocuting him, he didn’t have to listen to Shockwave. So, he wasn’t going to. He didn’t need to listen to the orders of anyone else.

Shockwave stared at him until he sighed, slight irritation begging to roll off his frame. He pulled up a chair and sat down on the scouts left side, grabbing one of the tools on the table nearest to him. “Extend your arm.” 

Just to frag with him, Bumblebee extended his right arm and looked back at Shockwave, an innocent smile on his face. Shockwave just looked at him before grabbing his left arm, yanking it up toward him so he could start to look at the scout’s arm. Bumblebee attempted to let out a yelp at Shockwave’s rough treatment, but what came out of his destroyed throat was just static. Bumblebee descended into a painful coughing fit where the only sounds were bursts of static, tearing away at his insides, but Shockwave didn’t even glance his way, his entire focus on Bumblebee's arm. 

Quickly, Soundwave walked over towards Shockwave and grabbed his left arm, stopping him from operating on Bumblebee further. They stared at each other again before Shockwave loosened his grip a little, leaving behind little dents on Bumblebee’s arm plating. Soundwave let go of his arm, standing over the scientist as Shockwave continued to work. 

Once Shockwave was done examining the scouts arm and Bumblebee had stopped coughing, he spoke again. “Stand up,” he ordered, getting up from his own chair. Bumblebee ignored him for a couple of nano-cycles before begrudgingly standing up when there was no reaction. “Walk forward.” 

Bumblebee just stood there until he started to walk slowly, stopping just after a couple of pedesteps. 

“Walk backwards.” 

Bumblebee walked back to Shockwave’s side, looking down at the floor in shame. Shockwave nodded and turned to Soundwave. “Most of his injuries are almost healed, though I would recommend not despatching him on missions until he is ready,” he stated, his voice returned to its extreme monotone. He started walking toward the door and it opened, but he stood in the exit as he turned back to look at Soundwave. “Escort him back to his quarters.” He then turned back around and left the room, his pedesteps echoing through the dark hallways. 

Soundwave looked down at the smaller scout next to him and slightly motioned his head toward the door. Bumblebee squinted his optics but decided to walk forward anyways, just wanting to get this over with already. He walked out into the hallways, Soundwave quickly catching up with him and placing a servo on his shoulder plating, his spindly digits making the scouts plating crawl. 

Soundwave directed him with the servo that was on his shoulder, the touch soft but still commanding. No other bots were in the hallways, so the scout didn’t have to deal with stares and whispers for a second time. His shoulders started to sag as they walked, exhaustion straining his plating and delicate wiring. He absent-mindedly rubbed at his left arm, his digits tracing over the dents Shockwave left. 

Finally, the mechs rounded the corner to see the room where they were keeping Bumblebee. The scout relaxed a little more at the familiarity, walking a little bit faster. Soundwave opened the door to his room, letting go of his shoulder as Bumblebee walked into the room, but Soundwave remained outside, closing the door as soon as the scout entered the room. 

Bumblebee walked over to his berth, laying down in it quickly. He vented and closed his optics, the lull of recharge calling him again, his plating still a little sore. 

—-

The first thing Bumblebee realized when he woke up from recharge was that someone was shaking his frame. 

He slowly opened his optics to see Jetfire, his servos on his arm. Bumblebee immediately sat up and hugged him, though the hug left him in an awkward position since his legs were still laying perpendicular on the berth. Jetfire hugged him back quickly, his arms going around his neck as he vented. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Jetfire whispered, a giant smile on his face. Bumblebee wished he could respond, but he instead just nodded, cooling fluid pricking the edges of his optics. Jetfire pulled back from the hug quickly, his face plates full of anxiety and apprehensiveness. 

“Sorry for cutting the hug short,” he whispered again, his optics scanning around the room. “But we gotta go, Bee. C’mon,” he grabbed his servo and pulled him off of the berth. He ran over toward the door, typing the code into the computer near it to open it. Before he could input the code, Bumblebee grabbed his servo, looking at him with confusion. 

He trusted Jetfire, of course, but he needed to know what the hell was happening. 

“I’m breaking you out,” he said quickly, giving him a quick smile. Bumblebee blinked and let go of his servo. 

He had expected that Jetfire would be the one to help him get out, but he didn’t know they were going to break out this soon or obviously. Shouldn’t they wait a little? Let things settle before breaking Bumblebee out? Come up with a plan? Talk this out? Although that would be a little one sided at the moment-

Bumblebee shook his head a little as Jetfire opened the door; he should be thankful Jetfire was doing this earlier rather than later. Who knew what would’ve happened to Bee if Jetfire had decided to wait?

Jetfire still held Bumblebee’s servo as he ran out; the scout saw two knocked out vehicons on the floor, their visors buzzing with electricity. Jetfire quickly pulled him down the hallway, running as fast as he could towards the hangar bay, knowing that they could get out via ground bridge there. There was no other way off, not when Bumblebee couldn’t just fly away. The two kept on running, not realizing how empty the Nemesis’s hallways were, thinking nothing of why they hadn't come across any Decepticons whilst they were fleeing. 

Finally, the hangar bay's door came into their field of vision, and Jetfire ran faster, knowing that they were running out of time before someone got suspicious. They stopped outside of the door as Jetfire quickly typed in the code to open the door, his servos going faster than his processor. Finally, the door opened. 

The young mechs’ sparks dropped.

The hangar bay was full of Decepticons, all of their blasters pointed directly at the door. Megatron, Starscream and Soundwave were standing in the middle of the group; Megatron had his eyes narrowed, Starscream looked appalled and Soundwave, as was typical of the Con, showed no emotions, his visor hiding his faceplates. Though there was something different about Soundwave; there seemed to be something missing from his chassis, making it look bare, empty, small.

The two bots tried to turn around and run the other way, but they soon found that the hallway was blocked by another huge group of cons led by Shockwave, his one optic seemingly narrowed at the two bots before him. 

They both glanced at each other, panic gripping their sparks as Megatron walked forward, his head shaking slowly side to side. He was disappointed, which meant he was angry, which meant…. 

“How surprising,” Megatron’s voice rumbled within his chassis, giving no emotion away, even if his faceplates were another story entirely. 

The two young bots almost wilted under his fierce glare, but stood tall, even as they watched Lazerbeak appear, flying past their heads and reattaching himself to Soundwave’s chassis. What a dumb oversight they had made; everyone knew that Soundwave heard everything on the Nemesis.

“We gave you so many chances to turn back,” he started, his voice growing in volume. “Yet, you continued. If you had stopped your worthless attempt at escape, we would have let it go. But you continued. ” 

Megatron’s optics started to turn from displeased to murderous, making Bumblebee and Jetfire squeeze each other's hands harder, panic screaming at them from inside their processors. They knew there was no coming back from this, but they wouldn’t let go of each other; they couldn’t.

“There will be dire consequences for this uprising.” His pedesteps shook the Nemesis walls, almost as if the warship itself trembled under Megatron’s rage. “Very dire consequences.”

Chapter Text

Since Cliffjumper was no longer worried that Bumblebee was alive, he had managed to finally get some recharge; not a lot, since adrenaline continuously pumped through his fuel lines, but some was better than nothing. Even though he hadn't gotten a good recharge in...yikes, he realized, a very long time, he felt way to energized to get even a moment of recharge. He was yet again left tossing and turning in his dark room even as light broke through his window, broken by his metallic blinds, that almost resembled prison bars in the rising sun's weak light.

Soon after dawn, he heard someone opening his door. He expected it to be a member of his accidental team, but when he turned over on his berth, he saw Ratchet standing in his doorway. He blinked a couple of times, an attempt to rid his optics of the lingering blurriness in his vision, hoping to dispel the probable illusion, but he ultimately gave up. Cliff turned back over so his back plating would face the door as Ratchet closed it behind him and walked over to the edge of his berth. 

Cliff felt Ratchet sit down, but they both didn't say anything, just sitting there and letting the room remain silent; it was sort of awkward, yet it was also very calming. Cliffjumper vented a little louder and Ratchet sighed, the stubbornness of his youngling (that wasn't young anymore) not lost on the old medic. 

"We have a plan," the medic said quietly, though it wasn't quite a whisper, not quite a secret. Cliffjumper already knew what he was referring to. "We will get him out." 

Cliffjumper stayed silent, their frame still turned so Ratchet couldn't see their face, but they were frowning, their intake forming a tight line on their face. 

"Are you sure that you didn't...plan anything to get him out?" Ratchet asked slowly, like he was waiting on a specific answer from Cliff. 

Even though they wanted to tell him about the plan, they really did, they just wanted to pretend this was a bad dream and let their parents handle it, like they had handled all the monsters under their berth when they were small, they just shook their head slightly. Ratchet sighed again and got up from the edge of their berth. "Recharge well." He patted Cliffjumper's arm before walking out of room, softly closing the door behind him.

Cliffjumper listened to Ratchet’s pedesteps, waiting for them to fade completely from their audio receptors. The moment they were gone, Cliffjumper’s entire frame slackened and they curled into themself, holding the only member of their family in reach that they could always rely on. Their frame rattled as they choked back a sob and then another, refusing to make a single sound for their father to potentially hear. 

Cliff didn’t want to lie to his dad. 

But he was beginning to realize he would not hesitate to anymore. When he was younger, he’d tell his dads everything. Even now, despite the fact that he was growing up, as it was vital to the war effort that they kept no secrets. Cliff trusted his dads, completely, no questions asked. 

Until now. 

And that was what was tearing Cliff’s spark apart. He couldn’t trust his dads, the two bots he had always trusted more than anyone, that he had always been able to rely on, but Cliffjumper had a mission and he would fulfill it, no matter what. He had to bring his little brother home and he refused to rely on the parents that failed both of them. 

They were only the second set of caretakers. Cliff should be used to them betraying him. He had hoped Optimus and Ratchet would be different; they promised to be different. 

Promises were always meant to pacify. They were very rarely kept. Promises were made to be broken. They are made between younglings who promise to love each other and break it off a week later. Between a parent and their sparkling to get the sparkling to stop breaking things, only for the parent to ‘forget’. Between siblings to always have each other’s backs, only for one to immediately betray the other and beat them in their own game. 

Promises are fleeting and unreliable. 

Oaths and swears, those mean something. He swore to help his little brother, made an oath on his spark, and he won’t stop, not now, not ever.

Cliffjumper is going to find their little brother, even if their parents didn't believe in or trust them. 

So, when their internal clock struck a certain time, they got up from their berth. They walked out into the hallway, shut their door behind them, and acted natural. 

It was still light outside, since it was a few mega-cycles after the middle of the solar-cycle, and that meant the Autobots' base in Iacon was bustling with life; so many different bots lined the hallways, making them a little crowded, but Cliffjumper didn't mind. They searched through the small crowds of different Autobots, looking for three specific frames. 

Then, in the main lobby of the base, they finally found the bots they were looking for. It had unfortunately taken them a couple of cycles and Cliff was not happy about wasting so much time, but what could you do? Arcee, Wheeljack and Jetstorm were towards the doors that led out into the streets of Iacon; Arcee had her back plating against the wall, while Wheeljack and Jetstorm had their backs towards Cliffjumper, the picture of casualness. The red Autobot sauntered over casually, shifting next to Arcee slowly with a smirk on their face. 

"Nice of you to finally join us," Arcee said as she rolled her optics. "We've been waiting awhile.”

"We didn't really set a time, so....not really my fault." Cliffjumper smiled widely. "But thanks for waiting for me. Appreciate it."

Wheeljack sighed. "Love the banter, but can we go already?" he asked, his voice quiet as to not let the other bots around them know what was happening. "Jetstorm as been bouncing on his pedes for cycles now and it's making a very grating noise." 

As soon as Wheeljack said that, Jetstorm's optics went a little wide. He immediately stopped and grinned at the others sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm just- I'm nervous." The young bot looked quickly off to the side, his dentas worrying his bottom derma. "I haven't gone behind Ironhide's back before." 

The three older Autobots looked at him with blank stares. 

"Okay- okay, I haven't gone behind his back to this degree." He smiled again, though it lacked any real happiness. "I'm scared that- that something bad will happen to...to Bee and Jetfire. I just- I have a real bad feeling about this." 

Cliffjumper sighed and gave the smaller and younger bot what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, they'll both be fine. I know it." He put his right servo on Jetfire's left shoulder. Cliffjumper could feel Wheeljack's stare boring into his plating. "But...Wheeljack is right. We better get going before someone gets suspicious, or we're late and the two were meeting get caught at Tyger Pax.”

The three other Autobots nodded, their faces instantly turning serious. They looked at the other bots around them through their peripheral vision and, when they were certain no one was looking at the four of them, they quickly departed from the Iacon base. The three of them transformed into their vehicle modes and shot out in the direction of Tyger Pax; Jetfire flying high above the other three bots, using his vantage point to scan for any danger. When he saw none, he relaxed a little, but the almost debilitating bad feeling he had felt before that had settled in his fuel tanks almost made him shiver. 

He quickly brushed the feelings off, embracing the excitement bubbling up and infecting his systems at the thought of seeing his brother and his best friend again, almost replacing the bad feeling in his fuel lines. 

---

Tyger Pax was still quiet, no Decepticon or Autobot stepping place in the scrap of the city, abandoning the battlefield to its fate; well, except for the four Autobots who now stood once more in the mess of mutilated metal, their optics darting everywhere. 

They were close to the coordinates that they had sent to Jetfire, but they couldn't see him or Bumblebee nearby or even hear the roars of their engines, sending the experienced soldiers programming into overdrive, leaving all four bots on edge. Arcee had climbed a pile of precarious looking scrap, her small and light frame making it a good vantage point for her to get a good look at the landscape with her enhanced technical binoculars, just to make sure that there weren’t any unwanted Cybertronians. They weren't taking any unnecessary risks, using all of their training and experience to ensure their safety the best they could. The other three Autobots waited patiently for the all clear from her.

“Will you stand still?” Wheeljack scowled, placing a heavy servo to ground Jetstorm. “You’re making me dizzy.” 

“Sorry! Sorry,” the younger mech mumbled, servos squeezing each other. “I’m jus-“ 

“Nervous,” Arcee sighed, still looking through her binoculars. “We know.” 

“Sorry,” Jetstorm’s wings lowered, looking like a kicked scraplet. He certainly had enough bite to rival one. 

Cliffjumper sighed, handing the younger mech a piece of scrap he pulled from his subspace. “Twist this before you break your servos.” 

Jetstorm slowly grabbed the metal and it twisted easily in his hands. His venting started to slow down a little; it was still a little fast paced, but the youngling was a little calmer now. 

Wheeljack just stared at him. “How did you…?” 

Cliffjumper smirked, “Trick of the trade, bud.” 

“They’ve known each other for years,” Arcee deadpanned, sending a smirk at Cliffjumper. “This bucket of bolts always carries some of that metal around for the kid.” 

Cliffjumper gasped, offended, and pointed at her, “Wow! Wow! Did you guys just hear that?” 

Arcee just stuck her glossa out at him. Cliff, like any mature bot, placed a hand on his chassis and gasped.

Wheeljack rolled his optics, but there was a slight smile on his faceplates as he watched Arcee and Cliffjumper bicker; it was all in good fun, something that he had unknowingly missed ever since Ultra Magnus had taken over the Wreckers. Though he missed being apart of the group, missed the brothers he had left behind, Wheeljack couldn't stand the Magnus and all his rules and orders, so he decided to leave, not wanting to be apart of that anymore. 

Maybe this is what he needed after leaving the Wreckers. 

Wheeljack stifled his laughter behind his servo as Arcee flipped Cliffjumper off, a smirk on her face plates as Cliffjumper continued to act offended, his servo still on his chassis. Cliff turned to look at Wheeljack, mock hurt glazing over his optics as the Wrecker continued to chuckle. Even Jetstorm had to stop himself from laughing, the piece of scrap in his servos momentarily forgotten. 

"Wow....." Cliffjumper shook his head as his gaze switched from Wheeljack to Jetstorm and back again. "I cannot believe you too are laughing at poor little old me." 

Arcee clicked her glossa against her dentas. "I would be surprised if they didn't laugh at you, bucket of bolts.” 

But before Cliffjumper could shoot a retort back at Arcee, they heard the familiar roar of a large engine. Smaller, more quieter, engines followed suit, but were almost drowned out by the sounds of the larger one. The group immediately hid behind some rubble sticking up out of the ground; Cliffjumper took a quick peek from where they were hiding and his vents stuttered. 

They watched as six different, distinct vehicles transformed, revealing the frames of Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Ratchet, Ironhide, Prowl and Jazz. They all stopped, the atmosphere quiet as they looked around for something or someone.

"It's Optimus and the others." Cliffjumper vented as the others gasped quietly. "They know.”

"But how?" Jetstorm whispered, his optics wide and the programmed pupils inside them slightly constricted with fear. Cliffjumper shrugged, turning slightly to look back out at the six highest ranked Autobots that continued to walk around and look quietly behind the rubble. 

Cliff didn't think that anyone from their team would tell any one of the higher-ups about their plan; they knew that Arcee and Jetstorm would listen to them, and that Wheeljack had too much hate for leadership, especially Ultra Magnus's leadership, to rat them out to anyone of them. So, how did they figure it out? 

Cliff's venting stopped, realization hitting them like an out-of-control truck. They looked back at their team to see the same realization cross Arcee's face plates. 

"Prowl," the two bots whispered as they held electrifying optic contact with each other. 

"He heard us talking about it before we went into the meeting." Arcee scowled. "That's why he asked if we had any other plans. That's why he whispered something to Optimus. He knew."

"Slag," Wheeljack cursed, not even thinking about Jetstorm hearing him. "That afthole." 

Cliffjumper vented and pursed his dermas, his internal systems revving slightly in anger. "We have to get to those coordinates. Now.” 

"And how exactly are we going to do that?" Arcee glared at him from where she was crouching. "We can't sneak around; Jazz is quite literally the best in everything stealth. We couldn't get past him even if we tried.”

"We create a diversion," Cliffjumper whispered back, turning slightly to look at her. 

"It's going to need to be better than throwing rubble to get them off of our trail." Wheeljack looked at him through the corners of his optics. 

"I wasn't thinking about us throwing rocks." Cliffjumper's optics landed on Jetstorm, a small smirk on his face. 

Jetstorm's face immediately filled with horror as he shook his head. "No. No way!" he whispered, but Arcee and Wheeljack already looked like they were considering throwing the youngest bot under the bus. 

"You're least likely to get in trouble," Cliffjumper argued back, "And the faster we do this, the faster we get Bee and Jetfire back." 

"You're also the smallest and youngest here," Arcee whispered, placing a servo delicately on his shoulder. "You're least likely to get caught and get in trouble.” Jetstorm fixed her with a stare. “Well, least likely to get in a lot of trouble.” 

Jetstorm let his upper dentas chew on his lower derma. After a few moments of consideration, he let out a resigned sigh. "Fine! Fine." He slowly and silently got up from where he was crouching, still sheltered from the rubble, so the older bots couldn't see him yet. "But you all owe me!"

Cliffjumper nodded, smiling, as Jetstorm grumbled and stalked away silently as if he were on death row. The three older bots waited for Jetstorm's signal, but also kept a close eye out, ensuring that none of the six other Autobots had found them yet. Their internal systems were forced to be quieter than normal, they darkened their optics and pulled their EM fields close to their frames just in case. To any passing glance, they would just look like the other offline frames scattered around the past battlefield.

Then, they heard the roar of a jet engine, looking up just in time to see a cool-colored jet fly close overhead. The six Autobots immediately noticed it too, Ironhide's face plates scrunching up in slight anger but mostly worry as his optics followed the small jet. The six older bots transformed into their alt-modes, chasing after Jetstorm. The three Autobots that were hiding looked at each other with smiles, glad that Jetstorm's diversion magically worked. 

Autobots could be so predictable at times. Their protective and caring nature was their greatest strength and their greatest weakness.

They quickly transformed into their alt-modes, not worrying anymore if there were Decepticons at the coordinates, the only thing on their processors to get to the cliff without Optimus or the others finding them. There was just as much rubble on the ground as the day before, so their ride was still bumpy, even more so since they were travelling twice as fast as they were travelling yesterday. Cliffjumper could feel the rubble denting and scratching the plating on the underside of his alt-mode, but they didn't care. 

They just needed to find Bumblebee. 

Once the three bots got the exact coordinates, they transformed back into their bipedal modes; Cliffjumper's face fell when they saw the dried up circle of energon, their optics narrowing. They felt something on their right shoulder and looked over, seeing Arcee looking back at them, her servo  placed delicately on their plating. 

"Don't worry, Cliff." She gave them a reassuring smile. "He's going to be alright. They're just not here yet.”

Cliffjumper sighed, turning away from Arcee, a frown still very prominent on their face. They didn't say anything else, looking up at the sky as anxiety swirled around in his fuel tanks. 

Bumblebee and Jetfire weren't here yet; that was plain to see. Arcee had been looking out for any Decepticons that might've got wind of their plan and went to the coordinates before the Autobot commanders had shown up, and she hadn't seen anyone arrive, so it was extremely unlikely that they had gotten there during that time. Besides, they would've heard if someone had arrived while they were hiding from the Autobot commanders. 

Maybe they had gotten there on foot? No, no that wouldn't make sense. They would probably want to get to the coordinates as soon as possible, incase they had Decepticons following them, so them walking was out of the question; they both knew better than that. 

Cliffjumper started to tap the end of their pede against the ground below them, swallowing bile down their intake cable. Even Arcee and Wheeljack were getting anxious, their optics looking around the clearing in quick movements, tracking anything that moved.

They had sacrificed aerial support and eyes in the sky for this chance, but that was feeling more and more like a stupid decision. Maybe if they hadn’t been in such a rush, there could’ve been another way that didn’t sacrifice their one bot able to take the high ground. Three grounders waiting on their two comrades shouldn’t have been a cause for such paranoia, but war had taught the three soldiers well. 

None of them had ever wanted to be soldiers, but then again, neither had most of the Cybertronians currently fighting. Bots like the Jettwins and Bumblebee had been born into this life, and bots like Cliffjumper, Arcee and Wheeljack had been barely younglings when it started. 

This wasn’t what their world, their home, their people was supposed to be reduced to, but it was what it was. Maybe things would never go back to the peace that was there before, but wasn’t that what they were supposedly fighting for? Was this all worth it if they never got peace? None of the waiting bots knew the answer to that. Instead, they listened to their battle hardened programming and scanned their surroundings, watching out for a lone jet and Cliff’s brother streaking across the landscape. 

They were tired, but resting out here was not an option. 

Get their bots. Get home. Refuel and recharge. That was their current mission.

However, fate had something else in mind for these bots. 

They heard the sounds of other alt modes rushing towards them and, before any of them could hide, six vehicle modes rushed into the clearing; Jetstorm's jet mode flew behind them slowly. Cliffjumper felt his spark drop as the seven of them transformed back into their bipedel modes, all of the older bots' face plates some forms of mad, worried, or both. He swallowed slowly, the anxiety in his fuel tanks growing more and more and more. 

"I'm sorry, guys." Jetstorm kept his optics glued to the ground as he stood timidly next to Ironhide.

"It's alright." Cliffjumper feigned confidence as they put their hands on their hips. They glared at Optimus, ignoring the others that surrounded him. "It's not your fault." 

Optimus's optics narrowed slightly. "Cliffjumper," he started, but no other words came out of his intake, even though he kept it open. Eventually, the Prime sighed. "You know why we have to stop you." 

Cliffjumper huffed, rolling his optics. Arcee and Wheeljack glanced at him out of slight concern. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said with the most sarcastic tone he could muster at that moment. He could feel the pin-pricks of tears at the corners of his optics, but he blinked a couple of times, trying to ignore the feeling. "I'm just trying to save my brother and Jetfire from the Decepticons!”

"Cliffjumper-" Optimus tried to speak again, but got cut off. 

"Right, right, I forgot that you constantly have something up your tailpipe," he almost snarled. The other bots around them started to realize very quickly where this was going; some of them moved out of the way, out of crossfire, while the others moved closer incase they needed to step in. "Get out of my way, Optimus. I'm going through with this no matter what you say." 

Optimus's face plates moved to scrunch together, making him look more serious than he did before, if that was even possible. "Cliffjumper. We are here to help you," he said, his voice as loud and proud as ever. "You should've told us about this plan. It's extremely dangerous to be doing this on your own." 

"You left me to do it on my own when you gave up on Bee," he whispered, still glaring at the mech in front of him.

Widened optics showed that he had been heard, but Optimus didn’t acknowledge the words. Cliffjumper felt his spark crack as he watched his father, the man he was supposed to be able to trust above all else, deny nothing. There was still a part of his spark that had wished that Optimus knew what he was doing, that he was just waiting for the perfect time. 

The bot that thought his dad could take on the world had finally been given a reality check he could no longer deny.

Cliffjumper scoffed, rolling his optics, glancing at the older bots that surrounded the Prime. "You all gave up on him," he said. Jetstorm slowly started to walk over to Cliffjumper's side, his face a confusing blur of emotions. 

"Jetstorm," Ironhide commanded, but all Jetstorm did was look back at him for a nano-cycle before continuing to walk away and join the younger bots. Ironhide started to march after him, but Jazz put a servo on his shoulder plating, looking at him out of the corner of his optic. Ironhide looked pissed, but soon relented, remaining where he stood, but not before he shoved Jazz's servo off of his shoulder. 

The four young bots regrouped; Cliff could feel their optics on them. They could feel their sorrow, their hurt, their pity. They hated it. They didn't need pity right now, they just needed to find their brother. That's what they've needed this entire time. 

"Where are they?" Jetstorm whispered, looking around at the rubble, suddenly very aware of how exposed they were. "Aren't they supposed to be here by now?" 

"We haven't seen them yet," Wheeljack answered in a low tone. 

“Wait…" Arcee butted in, “Jetstorm, you didn't see anything when you were in the air?"

"No." The flyer shook his head. "I didn't see anyone besides the commanders.”

Cliff’s servo clenched. They were so close, but things were beginning to fall apart. They should’ve been here by now. They were supposed to be here and rub it in Optimus’s face. They weren’t all a bunch of inexperienced sparklings! They were warriors! Just because they were older didn’t mean that the younger bots had no idea what they were doing. If Optimus had just trusted them… 

They wouldn’t have to be sneaking around. 

A terrifying thought occurred to Cliffjumper. Was this how Megatron had felt? In the early days before the Con lost his mind? Cliff knew all the stories about his father’s former brother. 

How much of Megatron’s reign of terror could’ve been prevented? 

… 

Was Optimus rightly blaming himself for losing Bee?

…

Was Cliffjumper going to loose his mind just like Megatron had? 

…

Whatever. What Optimus did in the past with Megatron doesn't matter now because it already happened. There's no changing that, and he doesn’t care wether Optimus was the reason Megatron lost his mind. That doesn't matter to Cliff right now. 

Suddenly, the sound of soaring metal slicing the sky and a singular roaring engine broke the ten Autobots' focus on the task at hand. Cliffjumper barely had time to whip their head around to see Megatron's alt mode flipping as metal scraped, moved and warped into his bipedal mode. Cliff felt a chill run throughout their entire frame as they noticed Megatron's faceplates were seemingly sporting a metal shattering smile, one he recognized all too well. The other three Autobots in their group tensed, Arcee protectively putting herself in front of Jetstorm as they all transformed their arm plating into guns or knifes. All of the older bots, except for Optimus, all sported sneers on their faces as they too got out their weapons; the Prime stood there, his gaze unbreaking as he stared directly into Megatron's optics, unwavering. 

"Well, well, well," Megatron barked. "I am so very sorry for breaking up this...wonderful family reunion." His smile turned even more toxic as he continued to stand there. "Or...well, Jetfire and Bumblebee aren't here yet, are they?"

Wait...did he know?

No- no. no nonononononononononono!!! That wasn’t- this couldn’t- nonononononono!!!

"Where are they?!" Cliffjumper yelled, their sparkbeat speeding up.

The ‘Con just clicked his glossa at the young bot. “Now where, oh where are your manners? I would’ve expected better from Orion’s child, but then again,” the much larger mech’s optics narrowed at Optimus, “you are a Prime’s child.” 

“He owes you nothing, Megatron,” Ratchet scowled, his own weapon freshly sharpened and glinting in the slight light of the cloudy sky. 

Megatron’s gaze sharpened at the medic. “I have nothing to say to the Autobot,” he spat, “that abandoned his so-called ‘beloved’ for the shell left behind, one that would turn on his own brother.” 

“You claim betrayal,” Optimus seemed to almost sigh, “and yet you were the one to turn away from our original goal. You never desired the peace you spoke of, the peace we worked towards. You only wished to be the one in power.” 

“I wanted to protect my family!” Megatron scowled, “Orion understood that, but you are not my brother.” 

Cliffjumper fought back the shivers that ran up his back plating at that. No wonder Megatron was so popular. He really had a way with twisting words.

"You still haven't answered my question, Megatron," Cliffjumper spat. "Where are Jetfire and Bumblebee?!"

It was then that something seemed to bubble up from Megatron's throat; a deep, gutteral sound that made Cliffjumper feel a chill run up his back plating again. It became louder and louder and, somehow, even louder until the red bot realized that he was laughing. Other Decepticons stepped out from the darkness as he laughed. Starscream with a shit-eating grin, followed by some of his seekers, Thundercraker and Skywarp. Vehicons followed the seekers' lead, their red neon visors lighting up the ground around them. 

"Did you really think that your plan was going to work, little bot?" Megatron cackled, his sharp dentas scratching against each other. "You really need to get better at rescue missions." 

Cliffjumper felt something cold settle in his fuel lines as Megatron turned to look at Optimus.

"You really just thought I would leave him there?" Megatron cackled in front of Prime's face, a sinister smile dancing across his face plates. "How stupid are you, Prime? To think I would leave such a valuable asset alone on this cliff, and how stupid your other youngling would be to think that I would let him escape that easily.”

“I’m not a youngling,” Cliffjumper growled. It seemed that Megatron underestimated the younger bots, too.  

Optimus's frown deepened, still keeping his blasters pointed at Megatron. Optimus could see out of his right optic as Ratchet's position moved slightly, almost trying to shield Cliffjumper, who had moved closer to both of them without realizing it. Cliffjumper had a look of almost pure hate, their optics following the Decepticon leader's every move. 

“Oh how delicious. This one has some bite!" Megatron clicked his glossa at the gathered Autobots. "What you don't realize it that there was no one to 'save', little minibot. The little scout serves the Decepticon cause now!" Megatron's sharp smile somehow grew ten times wider. "How hilarious! The leader of the Autobots lost his youngling to the same cause he was relentlessly fighting against." When that didn't get the desired reaction from the sturdy prime, the warlord pointed at Cliffjumper. "What? Should I take him too?" He turned to look at Jetstorm. "Or maybe him, since his twin did have his uses before... well." 

Jazz and Prowl had to hold Ironhide back from lunging at the warlord. Arcee and Wheeljack moved further in front of Jetstorm to better protect him and Ratchet followed their example, not hesitating to move protectively in front of Cliffjumper as Optimus moved closer to them. 

Megatron smiled as he turned back towards a specific shadow. "What? Don't you want to see your Autobot family again?" The Decepticon Leader's smile almost seemed to turn soft as he almost cooed at the shadow. "Please, don't be so shy. Come here." 

Optimus's venting hitched when saw the shadow hidden behind Megatron move towards the edge of the slight cliff the Decepticon leader was standing on. He knew the implications of Megatron's words, but the Autobot leader refused to look away. The shadow soon morphed into the shape of a frame, revealing...

"Bumblebee...?" 

Cliffjumper stared at the yellow and black bot that looked so tiny next to the Decepticon leader's massive war-frame. The younger bot didn't look at him, but that didn't stop Cliffjumper from seeing it.

Where his chassis had once proudly displayed the red Autobot symbol, there was now an all too familiar purple emblem on his it, proof of a truth that just refused to register in Cliffjumper's processor.

Cliffjumper felt themself stop venting, confusion and sadness and betrayal stopping the words that screamed in their processor from going down to their voice box; the only thing that came out of their voice box was just quiet static. 

Every other Autobot in the clearing seemed completely frozen, surprise and anger keeping the atmosphere tense, promising violence. A single misstep and Tyger Pax would be a war zone once again. Megatron either didn't care or didn't notice the atmosphere and continued to laugh, his left servo tight on Bumblebee's shoulder. 

"You're too late to save him, Optimus," Megatron snarled. "You're all too late. He's already chosen his side."

"You're- you're lying!" Jetstorm yelled, his voice cracking on the air in front of him. "Bee would never do that! You're making him do this! He's not a traitor!"

"Oh really?" Megatron's sneer somehow managed to become even more threatening, as the warlord turned around to Starscream and tilted his head slightly. "Why don't you tell Jetfire that?”

Starscream's sinister smile turned sour, but he complied with Megatron's silent orders. The seeker grabbed something from the ground and walked forward. He stopped once he was parallel with the silver warlord, the opposite side of him to Bee, allowing the gathered Autobots an uninterrupted view of his right servo holding onto a metal, orange arm. 

Wait a nano-cycle…was that...?

Starscream pulled the arm up violently, holding it up high enough to showcase the entire frame that the arm was attached to, letting the frame dangle in the air above the cliff. The frame was colored with light oranges and reds, light grays painting the delicate machinery beneath the plating. The optics were a dark black, showing no spark left in the frame as the intake slightly sagged open. But what caught Cliffjumper's optics was the giant gapping hole in the chassis of the frame, still dripping with leftover energon from when the frame was alive. There was no mistaking who the frame had once been, yet Cliffjumper couldn't seem to truly process the sight in front of his optics.

It was Jetfire's frame. It was Jetfire. And Jetfire...Jetfire was dead.

The seeker kicked the body forward, surprising strength in his smaller frame launching most of the body at the gathered Autobots. Cliffjumper could only feel the static scratching away at his internal code, unable to process the sight before him. He was a soldier, they all were but…but this! This was a bot he called his brother. 

“Jet… Jetfire…?” A tiny voice squeaked out. 

Cliffjumper didn’t dare turn away from the sight in front of him. Despite everything going on, he knew his spark wouldn’t be able to take the sight of Jetstorm’s own spark breaking. That would be the red bot's limit.

“You can have most of him back,” Starscream cooed, wings twitching as the gathered soldiers glared at the once great leader of the seeker armies, “but this part?” He waved the arm he had been holding with a smile too big for his own face. “It’s ours.” 

Jetstorm screamed in anguish, reaching for the reluctantly Decepticon branded arm that was dripping energon from severed wires. Cliffjumper swallowed back the waste fluid that tried to expel itself out of his intake and scowled, turning disgust and grief into determination and anger. He had lost one brother today and he refused to lose another. 

Cliffjumper tried to meet Bee’s optics, but the other bot wouldn’t stop staring at the offline body at the Autobot’s feet. 

The red bot had never felt smaller.

"That was the scouts doing," Megatron smiled, the servo on Bumblebee's shoulder denting the plating beneath it. "You see it now, don't you? He truly has betrayed you." 

Arcee and Wheeljack had to physically hold Jetstorm back from lunging at the arm that Starscream was holding, the youngling's incoherent screams tearing through all of the Autobots' sparks. Starscream cackled as he held Jetfire's arm just above Jetstorm's grasp, his optics alight with mangled joy. The other seekers behind Starscream joined his laughter, their smiles enraging Ironhide so much that his optics turned red. Jazz and Prowl barely recognized that his optics changed colors before he was shooting directly at Starscream with reckless abandon, making use if the biggest cannons in his arsenal. Starscream screeched out, cowardly running away from the cliff's edge as the entire clearing broke out into fighting. 

Ironhide was clawing up the cliffside, gunning straight for Starscream's head as poorly hidden snarls escaped his throat. The other seekers tried to stop the enraged parent, but Jazz and Prowl started to shoot at them, barring them from hurting Ironhide. The several vehicons started to swarm Arcee, Wheeljack and Jetstorm; the two older bots formed a protective wall around Jetstorm, who was now on his knees from emotional pain, completely unaware of anything but the energon drying and staining a planet that had never had the chance to be called a peaceful home by the flyer. Ratchet ran over to assist Arcee and Wheeljack, his knifes not much help against guns, but the old medic still had some fight left in him. Megatron, ever the predictable Con, jumped down to face Optimus, a sword extending from beneath his cannon. Despite the chaos spreading across the battlefield, Cliffjumper only had optics for his brother who remained stationary atop the Cliff.

"Bumblebee!" Megatron screamed, his voice echoing over the chaos. "Attack Cliffjumper. Now!!”

Cliffjumper’s energon froze as his brother, freed from the crushing grip of the warlord, leapt down at him. The slightly older red bot darted backwards, his scout training kicking in as the older brother’s processor continued to try and reboot. Bumblebee didn’t seem to have the same reservations as he jumped at Cliffjumper again, fist pulled back. 

For the first time in cycles, Cliffjumper was able to meet those blue optics. He had no idea who was staring back. 

The red bot ducked under the arm, letting Bumblebee’s momentum guide the other forward into a stumble. Bumblebee didn’t let that stop him, twisting in his heel to fling himself at Cliffjumper in another attempt to take the elder bot down. 

Yet Cliff could only dodge, eyeing the indentations left behind on his brother’s shoulder plate. He refused to be anything like Megatron. Cliff would never raise a hand against his beloved brother. He supposed that was the difference between him and his father and now, him and his little brother. 

“Bee…?” Cliff murmured as a fist got a little too close for comfort, attempts to pour all the love he could into the single word, but all that came out was all of the pain the red bot had been repressing for too long. 

A grinding sound scratched at Cliffjumper’s auditory receptors as his brother flung himself at him again, this time going for an easy to dodge kick. The uneven battlefield shifted under the changing weight, but remained steady, allowing Cliffjumper to show off why his designation was so fitting as he jumped to another small cliff. His brother didn’t even hesitate to follow him and for a moment, Cliff could imagine their games of Follow the Prime when they were barely taller than Optimus’s pede. 

But this wasn’t a game and Cliffjumper wished the worst consequence would be a banged helm. 

“Guh!” Cliffjumper stumbled as he dodged another punch from Bumblebee who had landed in front of him, having predicted his path. “Okay, smart-scrap, you wanna play? Let’s play!”

Just because they weren’t supposed to be children anymore, didn’t change the fact that Bumblebee still was. Cliffjumper had no idea what Megatron’s game was or why he was trying to convince them of such fragging scrap about his little brother, but he didn’t care. He was bullheaded after all, just talk to the horns.

Cliffjumper started to dodge Bumblebee's punches and kicks with faster movements; Cliff could tell that Bee was already starting to realize that he wouldn't be able to hit his older sibling if this kept going, but the yellow scout didn't seem to care as he kept punching and punching and punching. Bumblebee had even hit a piece of large rubble in what seemed to be blind rage when Cliff dodged one of his punches again. 

"C'mon, Bee, you don't have to do this," Cliffjumper pleaded again. Bumblebee kept punching, ignoring their words. "Please, Bee." 

Bumblebee kept punching, so Cliffjumper decided another approach.

"I'm sorry I left you there for Megatron to find you," they apologized, the words spilling out. "You were gone before I knew it and- and I should've found you faster. I should've been there for you." Cliffjumper dodged another punch. "And I know, I know you're hurting but- but I don't believe that you actually killed Jetfire. You wouldn't do that." Another punch. "I promise that I'll get you out of this. You'll be free from Megatron. You just have to stop fighting me." 

Bumblebee stopped, doorwings dipping hesitantly. His optics seemed to search Cliff's faceplates as another grinding sound left the red bot stunned with a sickening realization: no rubble had shifted this time. Even though their audio receptors ached from the sound, they smiled and nodded, pretending that whatever noise that had came from Bumblebee’s throat didn’t turn their frame cold. "Yeah- yeah! I'm right here, Bee. You're safe." 

But before anything else could happen, something erupted from Bumblebee's chassis; shocks of lighting spluttered out from the yellow metal, crackling across the surface of the plating and violently shaking Bumblebee to the point where the young scout was forced to his knees. Cliffjumper ran over, reaching out to try to help him, but one of the wayward shocks burned their servo, making them hiss in pain and back away a few steps. Bumblebee spasmed for a second before the shocks stopped, leaving his systems panting and his venting unnatural.

Cliffjumper moved forward once more, reaching out to try to help his brother up, but a giant silver pede kicked him directly in the middle of his chassis, sending him flying back into a pile of nearby rubble. The red bot groaned as he blinked, seeing Megatron just a few steps away. The silver warlord had a sneer on his face plates, his red optics glaring holes into Cliffjumper's plating. Cliffjumper blinked again, servo raising to rub at the new dent in his chassis, his vision blurring even more as he felt his systems start to slow, different warnings flashing across his slurring vision. Then, everything went dark, leaving Cliffjumper alone to float in nothingness. 

---

As soon as awareness returned to Cliffjumper, his frame quickly jumped up into a sitting position. He looked around wildly, his optics scanning the room, but his processor registering none of the input as his systems booted themselves back up. Cliffjumper felt someone push him down softly and gasped, fighting against their arms because he needed to find Bumblebee. He was right there on the ground and Megatron was there and he needed help, Cliffjumper's help.

"Cliffjumper, stop trying to fight me!" someone's voice growled in his audio receptors. "You're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up!" 

The red bot blinked again, and again, and again, and slowly, his vision cleared; he saw Ratchet standing over him, the medic's two servos on his shoulders and a large scowl on his face. 

"Where's Bee?" Cliffjumper croaked, coughing slightly because of his scratchy throat. 

The medic's face morphed into something anguished, his servos leaving Cliffjumper's shoulders slowly. "He's not here," he whispered. "Megatron took him back to the Nemesis after you passed out." 

"But- he needs our help! I have to help him!" 

"Cliff," Ratchet cut off his incoherent ramblings. "He....he chose his side. We all saw Jetfire's-"

"It's no-t his fault!" Cliffjumper yelled, coughing again once he felt pain twist inside his chassis plating. "Megatron- Megatron is forcing him to do this! I saw it with my own optics! His chassis- it…there was electricity and-“

"Cliffjumper," Ratchet sternly said, his voice more forceful this time, starling the younger bot. The old bot was refusing to listen. "No one saw..." Something flashed across Ratchet's faceplates that Cliffjumper couldn't decipher. "No one saw what you saw. At some point you have to realize that maybe Bumblebee-"

"Don't. Don't finish that slagging sentence." Cliffjumper glared at Ratchet. "I know what I saw." He rolled his optics, turning away from Ratchet. "You really think he would leave us for the Decepticons? Just like that?" There was no masking the hurt in his voice. If his father though that Bee could so easily…do that, did they even truly trust them? Love them?

Ratchet was quiet. Too quiet. “I think that we should just recognize the facts.” 

Cliffjumper scoffed. "Whatever." He started to pull off the wires that were connected to his frame, getting up from out of the medical berth as he did. 

"Cliffjumper-" 

The red bot quickly stormed out of the med bay, earning some stares from other patients as he slammed the door. He walked down the hall, ignoring how Ratchet chased after him, yelling 'get back here' or something along those lines. Cliff wasn't listening to him anymore.

Surprisingly, the halls of the Autobot base were silent and empty, the wall echoing their pedesteps and Ratchet's stomps. They quickly realized that everyone must be gathered at an all bot assembly, so they started to walk towards the main lobby despite Ratchet's yells. 

It didn't take long for Cliffjumper get to the lobby, since the medbay wasn't too far away. They could hear from the hallways the amount of bots that were there, their chatter and internal systems near deafening at this capacity. Cliffjumper could hear Ultra Magnus get up on stage, as his voice echoed around the room, demanding silence. They could hear the familiar pedesteps of Optimus Prime as he took Ultra Magnus's place. And they could hear Optimus as he spoke, no matter how much they wished they wouldn’t hear the Prime's newest speech. 

"It has been a rough solar-cycle for the Autobot faction," he said steadily, his words echoing throughout the halls as Cliffjumper finally reached the main lobby; they stood in one of the doorways, since the main lobby was too crowded for them to actually go into the room, their optics trained on Optimus. "I know you all have heard the rumors that Bumblebee has joined the Decepticons and was the one responsible for Jetfire's unfortunate demise.”

The room was deathly silent, every bot waiting for Optimus's next words. 

"And those rumors are sadly true." 

The entire room erupted in gasps, in yells of anger, in talks of 'whys' and 'whats', in promises to have the scouts head. 

Cliffjumper's dentas grated against each other as he swallowed back a curse. 

"Quiet!" Ultra Magnus yelled, and the room begrudgingly followed his orders again. 

"We do not know why Bumblebee has joined the Decepticons, but he has and, as a result, he has taken a large amount of Autobot secrets with him. Due to these facts, we are declaring Bumblebee a high priority Decepticon." Optimus cleared his throat; Cliffjumper could recognize the tears in the Prime's optics as he forced himself to quietly blink them away. "Please, do not engage him if you are alone." 

Optimus paused again. 

"And if you manage to capture him, please bring him back here immediately," he spoke. "That is all." 

The entire room became chaos as bots yelled, but the higher Autobots left the room through the other doorway, ignoring the outrage and questions they left behind. They closed the large doors behind them, Cliffjumper following their example and shutting the other door. He could tell Ratchet was behind him, his whole demeanor somehow different than it usually was, but Cliff didn't care. He swore he didn’t. 

Cliffjumper glared holes into Optimus's plating, his EM field full of anger and spite. Optimus turned to look at him, his optics slightly misty. They stared at each other for several moments. 

"Cliffjumper-" Optimus took one pedestep towards him. 

"Don't," Cliffjumper's voice shook. "Don't." 

Cliffjumper stormed away, headed directly for his room. 

"Cliff-" Ratchet's voice called, but he didn't say anymore, presumably because he was stopped by Optimus. 

...

It's hard to have servos stained with the energon of your brother.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee was a terrible, horrible bot. He couldn't even call himself an Autobot anymore, if the bright purple emblem that had been melded harshly onto his chassis had anything to say about that. He doesn’t deserve to call himself an Autobot after all the hurt and pain he has caused. 

He saw how Jetstorm sobbed, hanging onto Jetfire's frame like it was his lifeline. He saw how Ironhide snarled and clawed his way towards Starscream, unhidden tears flowing freely down his sleepless metallic cheeks. He saw the way Optimus and Ratchet had looked at him, like they had failed him in some way, like they didn’t recognize him. He saw how Arcee's face fell, like she had just lost another partner. 

And he saw how Cliffjumper pleaded with him, begging him to stop attacking him before he got kicked by Megatron. He was probably being treated in a med bay because of him.

...

It was all his stupid fragging self's fault. He was the reason behind the hurt on their faceplates, the pain in their sparks. There was no one else but himself to blame. 

If he had just kept quiet on that fateful solar-cycle in Tyger Pax, none of this would've happened. He would still have his voice, one of his best friends that he’d known since he was a sparkling and he wouldn't be stuck on the Nemesis with no way out. 

He needed to learn how to not speak. How to make no sound. How to be so silent that no one knows he's here. Well, Bumblebee had already learnt that. He had just ignored it because he was a stupid, no-good, waste of space, fragging idiot. He wanted to prove himself, to prove that he could be a good scout. He thought that his victory in the Tagan Heights stalemate and the victory at Kalis had made him someone special, someone who deserved happiness. If anything, this situation proved that he was cocky, that he needed to learn from his horrifying mistakes. 

He didn't deserve to be saved by someone else. He didn't deserve Cliffjumper trying to help him. He didn't deserve anyone's kindness. He killed Jetfire with his own servos; he was the reason the flyer got found out in the first place. He needed to escape and get far away from everyone, so that he couldn’t hurt anyone else. 

Now, because he wasn’t strong enough, he had hurt every single one of his family members; if Bumblebee were them, he wouldn't try to save him.

He shook his head slightly and realized quickly that he had been stood in front of the infamous Decepticon spy, Soundwave, for an indeterminate amount of time. Bumblebee almost jumped at the sudden change of setting and the creepy Decepticon who stood silently in front of him. He concluded that Megatron had probably dragged his weak frame to Soundwave’s main office whilst the scout’s own thoughts had consumed him, dragged him down, leaving him in the ever so capable servos of the Deception’s third in command. He didn’t quite trust Bumblebee anymore, as the Warlord had unfortunately made very clear, and in the ranks of the Decepticons, Soundwave was his most loyal; he didn't take a vow of silence for nothing. 

Soundwave turned back around, his back plating now facing the small yellow scout, his long spindly fingers starting to type away at the keyboard in front of him. He didn't point out how Bumblebee seemed to be in a daze to the point that the scout didn't remember arriving here, and instead, stayed silent, like he always did. Bumblebee didn’t like that. Not knowing something in enemy territory was dangerous. He should be gathering information, not zoning out and wasting time like a stupid sparkling. 

Bumblebee listened to the clacking of the keyboard and if he tilted his helm slightly, enough that the side of his optic could catch the lighting just right, Bumblebee could almost see Ratchet's frame instead of the streamlined Decepticon head of intelligence, but he was quick to acknowledge that it was a memory of his that he had been trying to lock away in his processor, the sound of the clicking of keys forcing it to surface. He shoved the memory away, focusing back on the reality. Ratchet was an Autobot medic; he helped anyone who needed it and Bumblebee dared to insult him by making such a comparison? He didn’t have the right to find comfort from such a memory. The scout didn't move from where he stood, his pedes glued to the metal floor, energon pounding in his audio receptors. 

Then, after what seemed like hours to the young, hyperactive Cybertronian, Soundwave seemed to turn around, finally noticing the scout’s glare that tried to dent his back plating. He passed a small purple file into the scout’s servos and, with that, he turned back around and continued to tap away.

Bumblebee looked down at the file in his servos, his helm slightly tilted to the side with confusion. Did...did Soundwave want him to help?

He glanced back up at the Con working away in front of him, but Soundwave didn’t pause; he hadn’t this entire time. That sort of dedication was something that would’ve made the stoic Ironhide leap for joy. At least, it would’ve before Bumblebee stole one of his small sparks. 

Bumblebee sucked in a slow vent, trying to chase out the gnawing guilt that chewed away at his frame. He had done that. He might as well have taken Jetfire’s spark into his servos and crushed it. He didn’t deserve to even think about the Bot’s adoptive father. Bumblebee’s optics trailed down to the file, one that could contain unknown Decepticon secrets. 

Secrets that Jetfire had been collecting- 

Nope. Bumblebee could sit here with his own thoughts or he could figure out what Soundwave wanted him to do. He didn’t exactly trust choosing the sitting here option; his own thoughts and the metal device that didn’t belong in his machinery thrumming under his chassis encouraged him to pick option two. 

That didn’t stop Bumblebee’s hesitance, the way his optics kept flickering to Soundwave, whose audio receptors were probably dialed up past the usual, safe threshold for any sound. He hadn’t been given an order. His fuel lines started to warp with anxiety. Was this a trap? Another punishment? Or was Soundwave trying to make Bumblebee useful, less of the liability he had proven himself to be to both sides?

Bumblebee, after moments of indecision, finally opened up the file, his frame prepared for any volts of electricity that might spring out of his chassis. But, when he felt no pain, he reopened his optics, his curiosity getting the better of him as words in binary Cybertronian sped down the screen. 

The file detailed more about the planet Earth; Bumblebee's internal systems perked up a little when he read the name of the small planet again. Apparently, Megatron and Shockwave had sent some experiments to the planet a little while back, but Shockwave hadn't gotten any signs that they were alive since they had launched them. This planet, for whatever reason, seemed to interest the Decepticons. Bumblebee swiped to the next page of the file and saw some paperwork plastered on the screen, making the young Cybertronian internally sigh. Paperwork. His least favorite pastime. 

However, instead of whining like he would have when he was with the Autobots, when he was an Autobot, Bumblebee sat down on a chair near where Soundwave was working and fully opened the file so that different screens floated around his head, starting to tap away on the hologram keyboard in front of him. For a brief second, out of the corner of his optic, Bumblebee saw Soundwave's visor look towards him, but just as quickly as it had happened, Soundwave turned back to the screen. 

So, the two Cybertronians worked away at their respective tasks, neither of them acknowledging that the other was there; someone could come into the room and neither of them would notice, since they were both so engrossed in their own work.

Finally, Bumblebee reached the last page of his paperwork; he walked over quietly to Soundwave and placed the metallic file on the spy’s desk, trying to stay out of the Con’s way. He looked up expectantly to the larger Decepticon and Soundwave looked back, screen betraying nothing. The taller Cybertronian picked up the file, looking through the paperwork with disturbing hands. He nodded once he was finished, and handed Bumblebee another file to get started with.

Bumblebee’s entire frame sagged at the approval; Soundwave had wanted him to do the paperwork and he’d managed to do it right. The thrumming in his tanks settled at that, allowing him to relax slightly into the menial task he had been given. If he was working, he didn’t have to sit bored and listen to his thoughts. An occupied scout was a good soldier. He walked over back to the chair, sitting down as he opened the file. He tapped a digit against the holographic makeshift desk in front of him, reading through the file. 

The information that was coded onto it showed more about ‘Earth’. Some mentions of fossils and energon being transported, which wasn’t unexpected, if Shockwave had sent some experiments there. Bumblebee scanned the pages, finding different tech jargon he didn’t fully understand, but he was a scout; even if he didn’t understand, Bumblebee was good at picking out the important stuff and putting the pieces together. 

But why did Shockwave want DNA from some old bones? 

The paperwork spoke of a barren planet; the previous organics that had inhabited it had been rendered extinct, but the Decepticons had observed the start of new organic life developing on that planet. Bumblebee pitied the creatures, growing on a world touched by the Decepticon plague. 

He scratched at his chassis, where that mark was now one with the metal, his metal, almost as if it had always been there, the welding barely visible if you didn’t know where to look.

But Bumblebee knew. He would always know. Bumblebee refused to forget. 

He pulled his hand away and resumed his tapping with renewed vigor. His silent observer didn’t comment or stop him, continuing with his own work. Bumblebee refused to acknowledge the gratitude that sprung up in his spark. Soundwave would stop him eventually, once the tapping got too grating. 

Bumblebee didn’t want to stop yet, not when it was one of the few things that he had control of right now.

“Long live the Autobots!" he could hear Jetfire's deceased voice cry out as he locked optics with him. "Live!”

He almost shuddered as tears of coolant pressed up behind the back of his optics. 

He didn't want to think about what happened, what he did. He didn't what to hear his voice or see his optics as they seemed to plead for Bumblebee to save him. He didn't want to think about Jetstorm's screams of horror. He didn't want to think about how Cliffjumper tried to get through to him, tried to save him, when he was truly a Decepticon. He just didn't want to think or feel. 

He vented and swallowed down the burning fluid that was slowly crawling up his throat cables. He doesn't have time for regrets. He had work to do. 

—- 

Jetfire’s body lay slumped in front of Bumblebee, his arms being held tightly by some irrelevant vehicon soldiers. The yellow scout could feel as dread seemed to consume his entire frame, optics from different Decepticons eating away at his platting like scraplets in a scrap-heap. 

He couldn't move, even when he heard Megatron's booming laugh or Starscream's quiet growls as his gun pointed at Jetfire's chassis. 

"Well, scout?" Megatron's servo came to rest on his arms. "Don't keep us waiting. It's either you," he pointed at Bee, then moved his servo to point at Jetfire, "or him." 

Jetfire laughed, though it lacked any humor. It was a laugh Bumblebee knew well, a laugh of an Autobot that had accepted their fate. He looked up at Megatron, a wide smile on his face plates. "You're never going to completely control him, Megatron." 

"Silence!” he screamed, making Bumblebee flinch away from his towering frame. "Do not mock me, youngling." 

Jetfire just laughed. 

The warlord turned towards Bumblebee again. "Do it," he ordered, his sharp optical ridge tightening over his optics. 

Bumblebee’s frame trembled, optics that should have been scouring the room for an escape unable to look away from the friend on his knees in front of him. The Decepticon leader wrapped his servo around the little scout’s wrist, lifting the trembling gun to the Autobot’s helm. He couldn’t deactivate it, no matter how much Bumblebee tried to force his weapon away. He didn’t want to do this, he couldn’t, but his T-Cog just wasn’t responding!

They had taken something else from him and Bumblebee could only stand there and let Megatron guide his gun. 

“Do it,” the warlord hissed into his audio receptor. 

Bumblebee tried to shake his helm, a silent refusal, but as his helm twisted, he felt the tickling electricity thrum in his chassis, an unheard warning to everyone but Bumblebee.

The servo on Bumblebee's shoulder plating tightened painfully. “Do it now." 

Jetfire looked over at Bee. "Long live the Autobots!" he yelled, energon trailing from the edge of his intake. He looked straight into Bumblebee's soul through his optics. "Live!" 

“Fire!!" Megatron's voice yelled as his chassis screamed. 

One shot rang out as Bumblebee followed the orders he was given.

—-

Bumblebee pressed the file's keyboard harder, his digits stinging slightly from overuse. He kept on swallowing, his throat cables as dry as sand, but nothing was helping the hard beat of his spark against his chest. It seemed to echo around the room like an untamed drum; it was so loud that Bumblebee thought Soundwave could hear it from his place near him. 

He kept trying to work, but everything seemed to blur in his vision as the last words from one of his friends kept playing over and over again in his mind. The shot that Bumblebee forced out of his gun felt painful in hindsight; it was as if the yellow scout had shot himself in the chest. A hole formed directly in his chassis that ached with an intensity that Bumblebee had never felt before. 

Well, he had felt it before. But that was long ago. So long, in fact, that it was before he had met his current family or, well, the family he had with the Autobots. The memory had been muddled with time, but he understood vaguely what had happened on that cursed day. 

Bumblebee remembered that someone important was with him; he didn't exactly remember what they were doing or who she was, but he remembered that her plating was a dark pink and that she had a smile made of the sweetest energon. But then loud sirens had sounded and he remembered how he was carried to his first set of caretakers; he remembers that one of them had plating the same color of energon, while the other’s plating was like fire, neon reds and oranges wrapping around light yellows. He couldn’t remember their names no matter how hard he tried, but he knew that they loved him. He remembered one last goodbye to his parents, but at the time, he didn't realize that it was the last time he was get to say goodbye; he was so young, so small, the concept of goodbye was lost on him at the time, but they definitely knew, judging from the tears falling from their optics. He was knocked out by something, the cold darkness of shut down. He remembered waking up and seeing nothing but smoke and fire. He remembered walking around and only seeing dead frames of bots he used to know. 

And he remembered....

....

He didn't like remembering the end of that story. If only his first set of caretakers were here to see him now. 

The world around Bumblebee continued to spin as even more ugly thoughts reared their heads in his processor, leaving him feeling distraught over something that wasn't actually there. He felt like he was dying, taking more and more intakes of what felt like dirty air, and he could feel his chassis constrict, and, and, and, and-

Bumblebee felt someone put their servo on his shoulder plating; it felt cold against his rapidly heating up machinery, so he started to relax slightly, his venting finally returning to something somewhat normal, and his plating eased up against his wiring. His optics trailed from the spindly servo on his shoulder plate to the paper thin arm to the face plates that were covered by a dark black visor that seemed to reflect Bumblebee's own figure back at him. 

It was Soundwave. 

Bumblebee kept staring at the faceless figure, his processor tired as it tried to understand what had happened. He blinked owlishly, slowly but surely getting his bearings back. 

As his venting slowed, Soundwave gave his shoulder one small encouraging squeeze and then, just as quickly as it happened, the spy's servo left. He pointed at the file that sat at Bumblebee’s lap once and turned around, his pedes echoing in the room as he walked back to his main computer.

Bumblebee's optics followed the spy's movements, his optical ridge set over them with confusion. He looked down at the file and, after a couple of moments, he moved, picking up the file in his slightly cold servos. He re-opened it and continued to type, this time with not as much vigor as before, but just enough for the sound to sit right next to Soundwave's own tapping. His servos still ached, but they were slowly getting used to the pain. 

And that's when Bumblebee started to devise a plan. A plan to escape. 

His processor wasn’t running itself into the ground from panic anymore, now he had strengthened his resolve to get away, to stay away, to never hurt anyone like that again. No more Autobots. No more Decepticons. No more war. He was a small Cybertronian, trained to make use of his skills in order to defeat opponents bigger and stronger than him. Bumblebee was quick and nimble, but he was also crafty. If the scout could get Soundwave to trust him, although Bumblebee found it hard to imagine the spy experiencing any kind of emotion, he could get on his good side and learn all of the Decepticons' secrets. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, but it was all he had right now. If it worked, he could find a way out, a way back towards his Autobot family. The place he belonged. 

He scratched at his chassis, the mark still welded on uncomfortably. Would they except him? After all that he's done? 

...

No. They wouldn't. They didn't accept him back the last time he saw them. 

The thoughts from before flooded back to him in full force. He steadied his venting, his servos stopping over the keyboard in front of him. Then, once he had shoved those thoughts away (deal with them when you’re out of danger, not behind enemy lines, when you can afford to feel) he restarted, fleshing out a barebones plan. 

He needed to get out of there, even if the Autobots would never except him back. It didn’t matter, so Bumblebee was still going through with it. He didn't know where he'd go after he escaped, but, he'd try to find some Neutral camp and stay there until he could somehow get off planet to leave everything behind. Even his family, the Autobots. They would be better off without him. 

But something twisted in his fuel lines as he thought about basically betraying Soundwave. Bumblebee would be a monster if he got close to him just to turn on him like that. How could he do that? How could he even think of betraying someone after working to earn their trust like that?

Was he starting to think like a Decepticon? 

...

He didn't know the answer to that question. He just wants to survive. 

Bumblebee worked, this time determined not to get lost in his thoughts again like he had so many times before. He had to get out of here and if he had to betray some Cons, he would. 

He cringed, but swallowed down his uneasy feelings.

The same mantra repeated and repeated and repeated in his processor until he finished filling out the paperwork. Bumblebee slowly sat up, walking over towards Soundwave slowly. He placed the file down on the right side of the computer's keyboard, trying his best to keep it out of Soundwave's way. Though, that seemed useless, because the spy immediately paused in his typing and grabbed the file, quickly looking it over for any mistakes. This time, instead of just nodding, Soundwave took one of his spindly servos and placed it on the top of Bumblebee's helm, patting him twice before returning to his work. 

He didn't give him another file to work with. Bumblebee just stood there in silence as Soundwave pretended that nothing had happened.