Chapter Text
"Sweet sweet summer child, spoiled by the sun, washed out by the rain -- every beautiful thing as haunted you."
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Bumblebee always had trouble sleeping, it got worse the more hours he spent in a war not meant for him. All lines that separate good and evil were starting to blur. He woke up out of half-awake stages of recharge many times a night (and it seemed to be just one of those nights), to bots whispering beyond his quarters door on the Ark. He was so tired that even trying to close his optics and sleep was exhausting.
Proceeding to do the rational thing, he hopped off of his berth, his thermal-cover falling on the ground and he scoped out the area, making sure not to bump into anything that would make Hotrod wake up. He was usually a deep sleeper, though, everyday he had to shake him awake. Bumblebee wished he could sleep like that. The only thing wrong was that Arcee wasn’t in her berth, she was out on a mission. It never felt right, he worried, but was told it was “what had to be done.” Afterall, no Autobot, never-mind the age, got out of pain and suffering.
He didn’t know what he belonged to.
After slipping out of his shared quarters, the Ark was set in those sickly lights that let you know it was night, but didn’t allow you to see the stars. Teletran-X whispered something to him, as it did when it was all quiet, Teletran used to say that when the sun went away, the other suns became stars and told stories in constellations. It used to tell Bumblebee that Orion was up there, Orion Pax, the doomed faller who fell to the Matrix of Leadership. The bot who was erased by all-holy Primes and born anew as the one that haunts the halls now. The Prime.
But tonight was different. Tonight there was no whisper, no question from anyone about where he was going, he simply just slipped out of view. Into a field nearby, away from prying eyes and unwanted thoughts. He sunk deep into the earth, the tall-grass, the soft kind, flattening down as the weight of his frame shifted upon the living ground.
And all the sudden, childish memories began to fill his processor again, the ones that stay with you. The ones you think of when you need to calm down, when you need to remember that life will be so much more once again:
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“Okay,” Arcee said, “Picture this, you me, side-by-side, walking down the Great Iaconian Hall, Leaders of all!!!” She wrapped an arm around Bee’s shoulders, giving him an affectionate squeeze. He giggled a little, amused by his older-sister's ambition. Arcee smiled down at him.
Hotrod pouted, looking up from his data-pad, “But where am I?” His spoilers flickering in disappointment, that he might not be along with his siblings when they were all grown-up.
“You’re–” Bumblebee began, spinning on a chair, pausing to tap an ink-pen on the desk, “Climbing the ranks, yk, because you’ll keep getting demoted…” Arcee leaned over and lightly slapped the back of Bee’s helm - along with her softly shaking hers - as a silent “stop that,” and "that's not how that works."
The speedster rolled his optics, knowing Bumblebee was joking, but still left a little hurt. He’d always been a sensitive person, continuously covering it up with cockiness only the young and bold can achieve.
Arcee patted Hotrod’s shoulder, “You, Roddy, will be doing big things.” She said with a fond smile, he immediately popped up, “Really?”
“Mhm,”
“Life will fall right into the palm of your servo, the world between your digit-tips.”
Bumblebee smiled, he wasn’t exactly sure that would come true, but anything to make his little-brother feel better. Anything to make him feel like this universe was truly more than it was.
That smile faltered for a moment, it was then Bumblebee realized that every word and spoken destiny Arcee had uttered to him, years and years before -- the ones he worshiped -- were just to make him feel better. Just to make him live one more day, to cherish a thought he could enjoy.
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That was the day the rest of Bumblebee’s soul died.
Those final minutes where the promise day-dreams really could come true, died like a fire that had burned too long. All his thoughts turning into ash, but if you mix a little water, you can make a writing. Colored charcoal and crossed out thoughts.
God, did he wish that he could bother Ratchet right now, but Primus knew the old badger would have his helm if just for a second– that’s when he remembered, Ratchet didn’t sleep! He probably should, but he didn’t. He hesitantly clambered up from where he priorly was laying. The stars seemed to whisper, just for a second, it wasn’t something he could quite catch. But just the way it was delivered from the wind and to the ground, the way it tussled the leaves of the trees. Mist slowly began to fog up space, it wasn’t quite beautiful, it was ordinary.
He was hit with warm air the moment he stepped back into the Ark, Teletran giving him a small greeting, followed by a question he chose to ignore. Him and Teletran weren’t on the best basis, as in he wanted to crush the things speakers every-time he ushered him out of recharge that he barely managed to get.
Whether Ratchet would be in his quarters, or sleeping standing up in the Med-Bay was to be determined, all Bumblebee had to do now – was to turn the knob. The action was so simple yet such a horrible feeling. He hesitated, he wasn’t known for hesitating. It was annoying to spend 16-yorns in your own frame and not even know what you want. Just then, he could hear approaching pedes from down the hall, and he probably looked really stupid right now. Retracting his servo – with a small reluctant flick of his doorwings – he was greeted by his care-giver.
“You should be sleeping, Bumblebee.” The Prime hummed, but it made a little more of him die. (The guy was red and blue, what more could you say? How you want to love your father-figure but every time you try and get close, he turns away because he doesn’t know how to raise you. The thing the hurts the most for the both of you – is that you know he loves you, but he never says a single word about it. The very most he can show is telling you to get some rest.) Clear that the bot cared, but it made Bumblebee get stung once again. Ironic, seeming as that’s what he seemed to do to every person he ever tried to love. Primus knew he didn’t want to be like him when he grew up.
He loved his care-giver -- Optimus that is -- the way a human-mother loved their daughter. But their relationship was the way a human-father loved their son. Always expecting him to be okay, and the only love and guidance shown was when times were desperate and barren fields, coolant not found in once-full streams.
Primus knew that he never wanted to make his child feel like they were worthless, like they needed to act out just to get attention.