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It was strange to be alive right now, as the history books were written. Some would consider themselves lucky, witnessing the beginning of a new era.
The fall of Cybertron.
No one spoke about it, but everyone knew they were on the precipice of war. Megatron’s speeches were growing in frequency and everyone was picking their sides. Their world was fed up of neglect and discrimination and pain, but Bumblebee wasn’t sure that this was the answer. He’d see it in the streets- the way that Cybertronians that once called each other brother spilt each other’s energon. Before that was the one thing they could rely on, each other. That was the sentiment Megatron used to power his control, yet the division of Cybertronians led to the opposite.
What happened to the unity the warframe spoke of? What happened to the equality? To the justice?
Cybertronians were rioting in the streets over every injustice; the Autobots unable to handle the amount, spread too thin. Cybertron couldn’t survive like this and everyone knew it, but no one was doing anything. The higher ups ignored it, drowning in their denial as they tried to hold onto any power they had; the same power slipping through their fingers like sand. Decepticons were screaming at the top of their lungs to be heard, growing in number exponentially, driving the Autobots to extinction. Neutrals tried to stay out of everyone’s way, but most were always caught in the crossfire.
How lucky was Bumblebee to be alive right now? That was the question of the millennia.
They were on the precipice of change; it was coming whether they wanted it to or not. Yet, all Bee saw was his fellow Cybertronians offlining everywhere he looked. It felt pointless- all these sparks wasted, for what? There was no war to win right now. Couldn’t they try peace? At least argue their point? Propaganda to win troops was all well and good (he knew the worth of preparation. After all, it paid for someone of Bumblebee’s proportions to be prepared), but why did it have to start like that? Talking didn’t have the same oomph that violence did, but it could still have an impact.
And maybe people didn’t have to offline before it was absolutely necessary.
The yellow Cybertronian knelt down next to the grey, discoloured frame. It was small, too small. Bumblebee moved a little bit of debris off the small frame, dusting it off as if that would return the colour to the frame. They weren’t much smaller than Bee, but they weren’t a minibot either. A youngling who hadn’t noticed or maybe hadn’t moved fast enough to escape the falling debris. Their frame was dented, energon still leaking out of their frame, dripping into a puddle beneath them. It wouldn’t have been a slow offlining, but someone must have taken pity on the poor spark beneath him. The blast mark was still smoking, too precise to have been a misfire.
Bumblebee sighed, pulling the lids over the empty optics that would never glow again.
If this was the Cybertron Megatron and the Decepticons wanted, Bumblebee couldn’t support them. This wasn’t the world he wanted. He was no idiot; the Autobot council was corrupt, but there had to be a better way to go about it. This wasn’t the answer.
This was extinction.
He supposed it was funny that, no matter how much the gladiator preached, Bumblebee just couldn’t see Megatron’s promised equality within the Decepticons. Maybe he was being silly, ignorant, brainwashed, but all he continued to see was that whoever was loudest, whoever threw the strongest punch, whoever had the biggest frame, they always came out on top and that meant they were the ones heard.
That wasn’t a society Bee wanted. That wasn’t a society he could survive in.
But… but he knew that Autobot society wasn’t one Shockwave could survive and flourish in.
And Bumblebee hated that he had to make a choice, but he knew, deep in his spark, that he already had. If the yellow Cybertronian wanted to be able to live with himself, he had to leave behind his best friend, his only friend.
His brother.
The sparkling, the youngling, before him was offline and Bumblebee knew he’d have to bury him, just like he’d have to bury his own youngling past, his memories, his feelings.
War was coming and he was no soldier, but Bumblebee refused to be stood on the outside looking in as his home offlined.
———
Bumblebee hit the ground. Hard.
“Frag,” he cursed quietly, the word almost drowned out by his venting.
The young scout pushed himself up on his servos, glaring at his much larger opponent swaggering over to him. They were really living up to the Decepticon stereotypes: purple bulky war frame, several obvious guns welded to their frame, the strutting. Yeah, Bumblebee got it! You like the game of the hunt- that didn’t mean you had to turn it into a fragging fashion show. Stop swinging your hips and just shoot alreadyyyy- put him out of his misery!
Or don’t- Bumblebee quite enjoyed being online and, well, he had dealt with many Decepticons. They were always confident; they didn’t see the small scout encroaching on their territory as a threat.
Their mistake.
Bumblebee launched his aching frame to the left, leaving a smoking crater where he had been previously stood. His enemy blinked at the damage, processing. Bumblebee didn’t let them, diving behind them into their blind spot and launching himself at their backside. He may be small, but he was fast, manoeuvrable and he wouldn’t let anyone forget that.
His stingers dug into the sensitive wiring hidden under armourplating. The scout didn’t hesitate to send several thousand volts coursing through his enemy’s frame, watching them fall to their knees. He smirked, taking a moment to revel in his victory. Bumblebee didn’t like being underestimated, but he had long since learnt to accept and use that fact.
He had also learnt not to let overconfidence be his undoing.
The scout leapt from his enemy’s frame, darting down the hallway on his left. He lowered his wheels to the ground, speeding away, slowing for nothing except the sharp turns. Bumblebee was no amateur; his sparklinghood racing through the streets with Sho-
Bang!
Stupidstupidstupidstupidstupid- Bumblebee shoved himself off the wall, wheels reconnecting with the floor. That was such a rookie move! His superiors from Camp would have his helm- he was such a Bumbler! Letting himself get distracted in enemy territory was an offline sentence!
The yellow scout scampered down the hallways. No matter how much his engine revved at his increasing speed, those thundering pedesteps grew louder. Bumblebee was fast- the fastest even -but these were tight corridors with 90° turns. There was no drifting or shortcuts, just wall, wall, door and more wall and the Decepticon knew that, its cackling chasing him, nipping at his heels. It knew there would be heavy consequences if Bumblebee escaped with this information, but it knew his strengths and it knew he had no access to them here.
He was an organic bug in a jar slowly running out of places to run or something along those lines. Bumblebee hadn’t been all that into organic studies at school. He would never step foot on one of those planets, so what was the point?
“Hey! Watch the paint job!” Bumblebee scowled as he threw himself to the side, transforming back to his bipedal mode. A scorch mark was left where he would’ve been, had he kept moving.
A servo slammed down where Bumblebee was and the scout dived for the floor, his left horn scraping the Decepticon’s armour. He smirked at the dent left in the wall, a testament to the fact he wasn’t an easy bug to squish, and jumped at the Con’s face, transforming. His enemy cried out as Bumblebee’s tires tore up his faceplate and he shoved the minibot away. Bumblebee sniggered as he drove away once more, but he didn’t get far.
“HEY! LET GO!” Bumblebee absolutely did not squeal from where the Con had him trapped under their pede.
“You have caused me a lot of unnecessary problems, insect,” the Decepticon leant down and hissed near where his audio receptors were hidden away. “So why don’t I repay the favour?”
Bumblebee’s tires squealed against the ground as he pushed his engine to the limit in an attempt to escape his opponent’s grasp. He yelled and squirmed, his mirrors rotating rapidly to get the best angle of the reaching servo only getting closer and closer. Bumblebee tried to transform, but the Decepticon squeezed him tightly, keeping his parts in place. It tutted at him as if he were some misbehaving sparkling.
“Now, now, now,” it trailed the end of one of its clawed digits along the top of his door, “take your punishment like a good little Autobot.”
Bumblebee screamed.
His vision went static as more and more warnings showed up, not that they were necessary. Bumblebee could feel the claws digging into his door as it pulled and tugged and ripped-
And then it let go.
Bumblebee tugged himself away, curling his body around his injured door-turned-arm. The scout vented harshly, coming to terms with the fact that he was still online, in one piece. He glanced at his torn arm. Well, mostly, anyway.
His optics slowly rose, taking in the sight of the offlined body of the Decepticon that had been tearing him apart only tics ago, a smoking crater where their chestplate should’ve been. Bumblebee could see his spark chamber, he numbly realised, but it was empty and the frame slowly grayed, although it didn’t differ much to its online colour scheme. The scout turned his helm to look behind him, but instead of the expectation of another unexpected Autobot staring back at him, there was a familiar single optic.
“Bumblebee-“ he reached out, taking a step forward.
Bumblebee rose a trembling blaster, aiming it at the Decepticon in front of him. “Don’t!”
“I-“ Shockwave hesitated, optic glancing at the obvious injury on the scout. He lowered himself to the floor, servos raised in peace, and nodded to one of the several doors that adorned the hallway. “Take two lefts and you’ll be out.”
Bumblebee squinted suspiciously at the Con, despite the ache in his spark. It hurt to regard someone he once held so dear with such suspicion, but the purple emblem on Shockwave was a clear reminder of the Con’s allegiances.
Bumblebee nodded, edging his way towards the exit, blaster still raised at his enemy. He didn’t take his optics off the Con, listening for the door opening. The scout checked the new hallway, ensuring he had a clear escape route. He glanced back at the Con and hesitated.
“I… Goodbye, Shockwave.”
Bumblebee didn’t look back. He didn’t think he’d be able to leave if he did.
———
Longarm was Shockwave and Shockwave was Longarm. That was reality. That was the absolute truth. Their only true difference, beside the physical, was where their loyalties laid, except that both of them were only truly loyal to Megatron. It didn’t matter that Longarm was supposed to be loyal to the Autobots; his loyalties could never truly change. He was Shockwave and Shockwave was him. He was loyal to a fault, eccentric at times, but always remained on mission.
It didn’t stop how his spark ached as he watched these younglings enter the Autobot Academy alongside him, ready to be brainwashed and moulded in preparation for a war long over. Honestly, it was a smart move for the Autobots to remain prepared, but it would amount to nothing more than more lost sparks. Maybe they were preparing for the inevitable second war, but that didn’t change the fact that this was just a repeat of the past.
If Longarm cared enough, he would be able to pick out the ledge they had sat on together during every break.
But Shockwave was the one that cared and Longarm couldn’t be Shockwave right now. Maybe that was another difference between the two of them: Longarm had a new past, whereas Shockwave refused to let go of his.
It didn’t change the fact that these younglings would become Autobots, become his enemies, and Longarm couldn’t stop that, not without blowing his cover. It wasn’t worth it. If he could work his way up, grow his power and influence, nothing would be able to stop the Decepticon takeover and it would all be over.
It would all be worth it.
No more brainwashed Autobot younglings forced onto the frontlines too young. No more frame discrimination. No more unnecessary offlining.
No more Bumblebees- younglings with sparks too big, too young, too positive, offlined in a needless war.
So Longarm would make use of all the old security loopholes he knew, abuse the Autobots’ poor background checks, earn their trust. He would increase his positive rapport with the other students, learn that one of them is quite the Groundbridge expert, learn that one of them is mostly muscle, learn that one is a jerk of a minibot.
And maybe, when the green minibot is out too late and catches sight of smth amiss, well…
It’s far too easy to give a victim a way to get rid of their bully.
Lord Megatron taught Shockwave that you don’t always have to be the one holding the gun.
———
“BULKHEAD!” The little half-organic screamed. “BULKHEADDDDDD!”
Bumblebee tilted his helm at her yells. Her noise level indicated distress, yet she wasn’t running around frantically. It was strange, how she exposed herself. Maybe that was why she was able to get along with the Autobots. Her height made the base a warzone, constant dangers to avoid, yet her noise level was like an early warning system for the Autobots. An impressive adaption.
After all, small meant easy prey to Cybertronians.
The minibot crouched down, buzzing inquisitively at the girl, Sorry, he believed her designation was.
“Oh! Hi Bee!” Sorry smiled. “I’m looking for Bulkhead. Have you seen him?”
He whirled, shaking his head at her. The girl’s smile fell.
“Oh. Okay,” she kicked her foot against the floor.
Disappointed. He’d seen some organic’s do it on that Tellyfishon show Optimus would yell at. It was strange, how expressive such small creatures could be- fascinating, his friend would’ve said.
Will say.
No past tense- not whilst there’s a chance-
He held out his servo, palm up. The girl stopped her kicking and stared at the open palm, before glancing up at Bee. He didn’t have any intake or dermas to smile with, but he did have blue optics he could widen. The minibot rumbled at her, nudging the hand towards her.
Sari placed a hand on Bumblebee’s open servo. “You… you want to look for him together… Are- are you sure?”
Bee didn’t hesitate before nodding. This seemed to be the right answer as the girl beamed again, clambering onto his palm and seating herself comfortably within his grip. It was rare that the minibot held such power over another being; he could easily crush her with a single thought and she couldn’t do anything about it.
And yet this girl was glancing over the edge of his servo, complete confidence in the fact that Bee would catch her should she slip.
She trusted him. His free servo wandered up to the piece of fabric tied loosely around his torn neck (but not tight enough, never tight enough to exert pressure like a hand pressing- tearing-). Bee would never do anything to betray that trust- he couldn’t.
“Onwards!” Sorry declared, pointing to the door that led to the chambers of the other bots.
Bumblebee made his way down the hallway, careful to not jostle his companion more than absolutely necessary. His scout training shone through, pedesteps near silent, his precious package barely jolting with each step. They peaked into Prowl’s chamber, only to see the ninja meditating. Sorry glanced at Bee and pulled a face, her tongue sticking out. Bumblebee, mature Autobot soldier, squinted at her, a poor imitation of her own expression.
Sorry opened her eyes and promptly burst out laughing, forcing the minibot to dart away from the ninjabot’s chamber. A cry followed them down the hallway, but went ignored as Bumblebee skirted around the corner, venting heavily as Sorry laughed, her own venting heavy.
“Tha-that was,” she huffed and raised her arms, smile wide, “AMAZING!” She turned to Bee. “You have the best eyes! I’ve never seen an Autobot do that with their face before. Can you open your lids more? Can you-“
Bumblebee stared at the rambling half-organic and brought her to his faceplate as she reached. Her fleshy hands hesitantly reached for his optic, touching the faceplate around his optic gently when he didn’t flinch away. She was gentle, curious.
Bumblebee couldn’t help but compare her to his oldest friend. They would get along, he thought.
Sorry pulled away and smiled up at him. “You’re different- not that that’s a bad thing!” She waved her hands as if she could erase the first part of the sentence. “I’m different too. I think normal’s boring, but some people can be mean about it.” Sorry curled up, her arms wrapped around her legs. “I miss my dad. He would stop them being mean.”
Bumblebee wasn’t completely sure what a ‘dad’ was, but he had seen images of the man Sorry would refer to as her dad. He was a prisoner of Decepticons (they were here, on this planet of practically civilians-) and the little organic’s life had been falling apart. The Autobots had offered her a home, but they were Autobots and she was organic. The gap was more and more obvious, but at least Sorry would be very vocal about her needs.
The scout raised a digit from his free hand and rubbed the organic’s head. It was something he had seen other organic’s do to other organics and they regularly responded positively, with a few exceptions. He couldn’t use his whole hand, but a single digit should work just fine with their size difference.
And, judging by Sorry’s giggling, it did.
She wiped at her eyes and did that strange half vent like sound, sniffing she had once called it. “Thanks Bee.”
The organic moved forward to wrap her arms best she could around his much larger face. He rumbled his engine at her and buzzed a comfort she didn’t understand at her. It had the desired effect, as the organic sunk into his faceplate, a positive behaviour he had learnt.
It meant trust and safety and affection and comfort and love.
Bumblebee’s engine hitched at the realisation and Sorry pulled away slightly to look at his optics. He just pushed his faceplate closer, an action returned by her strengthening her hug, which was surprisingly strong for a little organic like her.
“Oh? Are we doing hugs? I love hugs!” And without warning, two much, much larger arms encompassed Bumblebee’s body and pulled him close, the large figure completely dwarfing his own body. He could crush him easily, with a single thought, but he was so gentle and Bumblebee couldn’t help but relax into the kind embrace. Bulkhead wouldn’t let anything happen to him or the precious organic he held close.
Sorry, on the other hand, pulled away and scowled at Bulkhead, stomping her organic pede. “And where have you been! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Bulkhead chuckled and Bumblebee just melted into the other bot’s chest. He had never felt so good when surrounded by Autobots before. They had always been other soldiers, on the same side, but beyond a pat on the backplate to congratulate a job well done, no one would just openly give physical affection.
Bumblebee had missed this.
“I was out on a drive,” Bulkhead explained. “I just couldn’t get my painting to look good! I needed some inspiration.”
“And you didn’t take me with you? Didn’t take us with you?” Sorry gestured to her and Bee.
Bulkhead sighed. “I needed peace and quiet and, no offence, but neither of you are exactly peaceful or quiet.”
Sorry gaped at him and started screaming as Bee buzzed an agreement. He was right. Bee didn’t like the quiet, because that always meant something worse was coming, so he always had some sort of sound, usually listening to that radio thing of his alt mode. It was portable sound and it sometimes sounded super fun and he just had to move!
But it was there, wrapped in the arms of a huge bot and holding a tiny organic that Bumblebee realised why his spark was feeling so warm. Why he was memorising this moment and holding it tightly in his spark. Why he wanted to keep a world that wasn’t his own safe from anything that would harm it.
Bumblebee was content with his life and he didn’t want to lose it.
It was a strange realisation for Bumblebee. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt… satisfied with life, happy even. Bumblebee had lived and fought and survived. Joy had become a second priority after survival, something he had hidden from for so long. Yet, here and now, Bumblebee was greeted by joy like an old friend welcomed home.
He… he liked being here, with these Autobots and hoomans. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it, in Bumblebee’s optics. These people cared enough for him to give him as many chances as he needed to learn about this world, this future. They were right by his side and, for the first time since he had parted ways with his brother, Bumblebee didn’t feel along; he felt loved.
He thinks Shockwave would be happy for him.