Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Go get Optimus and Megatron, now!” Desperation dripped from Bumblebee’s voice as he struggled against the restraints wrapped around his frame. 

“We’re not leaving you Bee, they’re just Arachnomechs!” Twitch shouted from the arena floor, gesturing to the scattered droids, “we can take them-!”

An explosion cut the Terran off, smoke filling the arena.

When it cleared, suddenly the Arachnomechs weren’t as scattered as previously thought. 

The Maltos froze as they watched the individual mechanoids skitter across each other, they’re legs clinking against one another, as they came together to form a single being.

The mega-Arachnomech screeched, the piercing sound echoing through the hollow cavern, as its snake-like form loomed over the Maltos.

For what felt like forever, no one spoke. Until Thrash’s quivering voice broke the silence.

“Good monster!” he called out, “we-we’re cool right?”

“Not even close,” Mandroid’s steely voice rang out across the arena. Wide, bloodshot eyes scanned across the scene, and a chilling smile spread across his face. 

Without warning, the Arachnopede sprung into action, diving for the Terrans scattered across the ground. 

From above, Bumblebee watched as the arena erupted into chaos. 

“Kids!” he called out, but his voice went unheard among the noise of battle. Bee could feel the energon seeping from his fuel lines, funneling in the tubes that burrowed into his frame. 

A warning in his HUD blocked his vision.

[Energon levels have reached critical levels – Initiating emergency shutdown]

Before he knew it, Bee’s optics flickered a dull blue, and the world went dark. 

Down on the arena floor, the fight raged on. Twitch hovered above the chaos, watching as her siblings dodged the enraged Arachnopede’s attack. Yet simple evasive maneuvers wouldn’t be enough.

“How do we beat this thing?!” Thrash shouted from somewhere down below. From the other side of the arena, Twitch watched as Hashtag grabbed Robby and Mo, throwing them into her alt-mode interior.

“That thing’s big, but it wasn’t always that way,” Twitch pondered, the adrenaline of battle running her processor a million thoughts per nanoklik. 

“Of course!” Nightshade shouted as they backed away from the squirming Arachnopede, “what comes together can be torn apart, we must dismantle it!”

“Great idea Nightshade!” Twitch exclaimed, motivated by the desperation that rattled her frame.

“Easier said than done!” Thrash whined, as he dodged another blast from the giant mech. 

Tires skirted across the arena floor as Hashtag made a tight turn to avoid the Arachnopede’s whipping tail. “We never trained for a mega boss fight like this!”

Robby and Mo bounced around inside her alt-mode. “We need to regroup!” Robby called out, “think of a plan!”

“We have a plan!” Twitch argued, “dismantle!” She fired an EMP blast at the mega-Arachnomech, yet the creature seemed to simply shake off the effects. 

“That’s just an idea!” Thrash cried. The Arachnopede swung its body at the Terran, smacking into Thrash and sending him tumbling across the ground. 

The giant mech rose to its full height above Thrash, still crumpled on the ground, each individual Arachnomech chittering. A pink glow began to rise from the mechanoid’s frame. But before it could fire, a shrill taunt rang out from across the arena. 

“Hey, big and ugly! Over here!” Robby shouted from Hashtag’s windows, Mo shouting various insults. 

Their opponent fell for it, abandoning Thrash on the ground and giving chase to the purple van. 

Nightshade and Twitch flew after it, firing every projectile in their arsenal at the mega-Arachnomech. Yet the creature didn’t even flinch.

“It's no use Twitch!” Jawbreaker shouted from the sidelines, as he helped Thrash back onto his pedes. 

“We can’t leave Bee!” Twitch cried, growing more desperate with every EMP blast she fired. 

The Arachnopede continued to chase Hashtag around the cave in circles, growing closer each nanoklik.

“Twitch-” Thrash pleaded, “we need to get help–”

“No– no! We can do this!”

A pink glow once again rose from the Arachnopede’s frame. And a plasma blast soon followed, narrowly missing Hashtag, as Robby and Mo continued to taunt it. 

“This isn’t working!” Hashtag cried as she swerved to avoid another blast from the creature. 

Twitch froze, hovering amid the air as the fight clambered on beneath her.

The Arachnopede dashed in circles around the arena as it chased Hashtag, while Nightshade followed. Thrash and Jawbreaker had joined in the chaos, diving in and out of the underside of the creature’s slithering frame as they tried to grab its attention away from their sister.

Thrash was right. They needed help.

“Hashtag,” Twitch yelled out across the arena, her drone optic following the van, “Get to the surface, keep Robby and Mo safe.”

“But—” Hashtag started.

“Go! We’ll be right behind you!”

The purple Terran remained quiet, but tires squealed against rock as Hashtag made a sharp turn and drove towards the tunnel that they had come in from.

Twitch turned to the others after Hashtag disappeared into the dark. The Arachnopede tried to follow after the van, but Nightshade intercepted its path, firing their powered feathers at the creature.

“Thrash, get-!”

“On it!” Twitch didn’t even have to finish her sentence before her twin sprang back into action. “Over here, thousand eyes!” He taunted in a sing-songy voice, as he zipped around the Arachnopede in circles.

The giant mech followed Thrash’s movements with its head, twisting its frame around itself until it was practically a pretzel. 

Eventually the creature grew tired of its game, and a spark of pink erupted from its mouth as it fired an energized beam at the Terran. 

Thrash was quick to react, switching to root mode and pulling out his shield. The blast made contact, and a brilliant pink light filled the cavern as the blow reflected off the white shield. 

“Nightshade, Jawbreaker!” Twitch called as she fired another EMP blast at the Arachnopede, “follow Hashtag!”

Jawbreaker offered a nod, and soon enough Nightshade dove down and scooped the Terran up, flying to the same tunnel Hashtag disappeared down.

Twitch watched them go, before turning back to the issue at hand. Thrash still danced around the arena, the Arachnopede close behind.

“Time to go Thrash!” She called out

“That’s my cue,” Thrash ran the ramp leading to the upper level of the arena, and followed after the others.

Twitch followed. But, for nanoklik, she glanced behind her. Past the raging Arachnopede she saw Bee, dangling from the ceiling like a prize to be won. Motionless.

A pang of guilt rattled her frame. How could they just leave him? But the sentiment was pushed to the side as the Arachnopede fired a charged blast in their direction. 

Twitch turned, flying after Thrash’s disappearing form.

We’ll be back Bee,  she thought, I promise.

Chapter Text

Even once they reached the surface, the Terrans could still hear the Arachnopede’s thrashing echoing through the subway tunnels. 

The creature hadn’t been able to follow them—the narrowness of the tunnels had blocked its entrance—but the Maltos still weren’t too keen on waiting around for it to figure out a way.

Twitch and Thrash climbed through the subway tunnel grate, pulling themselves up into the Philadelphia night air. 

The cool wind stretched over their frames, and the fresh breeze seemed to calm down their panicked processors—if only a little.

“Guys, over here!” Jawbreaker’s voice pierced the darkness. The twins turned to see the rest of their family huddled together under a streetlight. Safe, at the very least. 

Thrash and Twitch rushed over to them. “Everyone alright?” Twitch asked, her pedes landing on concrete as she switched back to root-mode.

Solemn nods were passed around the group. No one was feeling particularly conversational.

“But what about Bumblebee?” Thrash asked, also transforming back to root-mode and joining the others.

Instinctually, the group looked to Twitch. It was at this moment she realized she had been the one to take over as leader since Bee’s disappearance. At first, the prospect of being seen as the wise, older sibling was something she had been chasing since the other three Terrans were forged. But, now, the burden didn’t seem nearly as appealing.

“We need help,” she said, looking down at her pedes, “We need Mom—and Megatron and Optimus.”

 She looked up, the others still stared at her, unmoving. Distress and fear was written all over their faces, and a terrified silence settled over the group. 

That is, until Mo’s voice broke through the stillness. 

“My phone!” She squealed, a shining smile plastered on her face as she jumped out from behind Hastag’s crouched form, “I can call Optimus! I can-”

The abrupt silence fizzled out any hope that had sparked within the others. 

“What is it-?” Robby asked. The others didn’t dare move.

“It’s dead…” Mo said, dropping her arms to her side.

Robby pulled out his own phone, the unchanging black screen reflecting back his solemn face, “Mine too…”

Twitch shuttered her optics. Okay, definitely not good. But, that’s alright, they would just have to make do.

“Alright,” Twitch said, clapping her servos together, “Then…we’ll just have to go get them ourselves,” she decided, her optics scanning over the rest of her family.

Slowly, the looks of fear and uncertainty were replaced with looks of determination.

This, Twitch thought, she could work with.

Bumblebee was fairly used to waking up to a HUD message blaring across his vision. It had become something of commonplace during the war. But this was extreme—even for him. 

Before he had even shuttered his optics open, flashing reports consumed his sight, all warning of low energon levels, external damages, the works.

He groaned, his processor still slipping out from under the blanket of unconsciousness. 

In a nanoklik, it all came flooding back to him–the bot brawls, Grimlock, Mandroid, the kids-

“Kids!” He shouted, instinctively pushing himself up—only to be stopped by…something restricting his frame.

“What the…” Bumblebee pulled against the restraints. Opening his optics, he saw cords—glowing a light blue—wrapped around his limbs, torso, and even his throat for Primus’ sake. The same kind that had suspended him above the Bot Brawl arena.

The cables were keeping him tied down to some sort of metal platform, the pressure pushing uncomfortably on Bee’s doorwings. 

His processor spun at the exertion of simply being awake, even more warnings flashing across his vision. What little he could see began to blur. 

“Ah,”  a cold voice rang out, “you’re awake.” 

Bumblebee almost wished he didn’t recognize the owner. “You…” he breathed, twisting his helm to try and get a better look at his opponent—to no avail, “where am I? Where is my family?”

Mandroid’s laugh echoed throughout the space. Wherever they were was dark, the only light source being Bee’s restraints.

“Your family ?” Mandroid mocked, “your ‘family’ turned tail and left the second they got the chance.”

Bumblebee ignored the cruel tone, instead focusing on a singular thing: the Maltos were safe . Far away from whatever hell Bee had found himself in.

“What do you want,” he grunted. His vision danced along with the never ending alerts blaring in his processor. 

“What do I want…” Mandroid repeated. His disembodied voice surrounded Bee, only adding to his disorientation. 

“I want…” he went on, “to see your kind eradicated.”

Bumblebee tugged against the cables surrounding his frame once again.

“But,” Mandroid continued, ignoring Bee’s outburst, “I’ll have to set my goals a little lower for now.”

Bumblebee heard a small click, and the dark that crowded his optics was replaced with threatening red. Wherever they were was illuminated with dull crimson light, revealing dozens of mechanisms dangling across the ceiling above Bee. 

Slowly, what seemed like thousands of small optics surrounding Bee’s peripheral began to glow, exposing the Arachnomechs that started to inch closer.

Bumblebee watched as they skittered toward him, eventually finding their way onto Bumblebee’s frame, climbing all over him as their legs clinked against his plating, picking at his joints and chipped paint. 

The Autobot struggled, grunting as he tried to shake the creatures off of him. 

“Get off! You gross little-” a snap of metal fingers cut the griping bot off.

The Arachnomechs retreated, as whatever platform Bee was laid upon began to rise upright. 

“Now,” Mandroid said, his form coming into view as he stepped in front of Bee’s now forward-facing frame, “what to do with you…”

Chapter Text

The Terrans had been on the road for what felt like forever. In reality, it had only been around four hours—and they were almost home. It was somewhere in the AMs, they knew that much. But, without Robby and Mo’s phones, their only hint to the time was the dimly lit sky that passed above them.

Slowly, the urban expanse of Philadelphia melted away to reveal the rural landscape that surrounded Witwicky.

The siblings were brimming with anticipation. Each minute that ticked by was another wasted in their mission to rescue Bee. 

Eventually they made it back onto the familiar road that led back to home, pushing their gears until they were practically tripping over one another’s tires. 

Mo and Robby sat in Hashtag’s interior, completely silent–as were the others. 

Regrets were starting to pile up in Twitch’s processor. What if they should’ve stayed? What if they really could have taken on the Arachnopede? Now Bee was in the hands of Mandroid–and who knew the kind of things could be happening to him?

When they finally made it to their home, the Terrans practically tumbled up the dirt driveway, individually switching back into root-mode and scrambling for their house.

For what felt like the first time in a million years, someone spoke.

“Mom! Dad!” Twitch shouted, her voice soon being joined by those of her siblings. A cacophony of calls rang out from the group through the early morning air, all crying for their parents.

Soon enough, the lights inside the house flickered on, followed by their parents rushing out of the front door.

“Kids!” their mom cried, “What one earth has gotten into you?”

Without a moment to spare, the seven children began to recite their explanations, each more nonsensical than the last. 

Alex came up beside Dorothy, the two exchanging glances before Dot once again raised her voice.

“One at a time!” she said. Immediately, the siblings shut their mouths—or intakes.

When no one else did, Twitch spoke up. “It’s Bee,” she said, her optics widening like dinner plates, “We-we found him in Philadelphia-”

“Fighting in Bot Brawls-” Jawbreaker cut in.

Simultaneously, Alex sputtered, “you were in Philly?”

“And he was looking for Grimlock,” Twitch went on, undeterred,  “and Mandroid was there, and there was a giant Arachnopede, and-and-”

“Okay, okay,” their mother soothed, “It’s alright now, you’re alright,” she walked up to Twitch, cupping the Terran’s faceplate, “just tell me what happened.”

Twitch emptied her vents. But, before she could continue, Robby butted in.

“Mandroid has Bumblebee,” he explained, fear soaked into his voice, “he said to get Megatron and Optimus.”

At this, their mom straightened up. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

…

Within a matter of minutes, the Maltos had once again hit the road. Dorothy and Alex now rode inside Hashtag’s alt-mode, while Robby stood atop Twitch, and Mo sat within Thrash’s sidecar. 

Dorothy tapped away furiously on her phone, sending message after message. Each one updating Megatron and Optimus on their coordinates, plan, and the situation.

With every mile marker they passed, speeding back to Philadelphia, Twitch only spiraled more into a trench of regrets. 

They should’ve stayed, they should’ve fought . Twitch just needed to be a better leader–a better older sister.  

But they didn’t, and she wasn’t. And now, who knew what was happening to Bee.

Her processor reeled from all of the possibilities. What if Madroid took him? Or drained all of his energon, leaving him an empty husk—like that Decepticon? Or-

Her mother’s voice cut off the raging noise in her mind.

“Optimus and Megatron are already on their way to Philly—they’ll meet us there.”

Right, Twitch thought. One step at a time; get help, rescue Bee.

Her optic traveled across the sight of her family. Jawbreaker was being carried by Nightshade, the owl gliding high above them. Mo sat secure in Thrash’s sidecar, and Robby’s weight on Twitch’s alt-mode remained a steady reminder of one thing:

She wasn’t alone. Together, they could do this.

They would get Bee back. No matter what. 

Mandroid had begun what Bumblebee could only describe as an examination of his ‘subject.’

Bee’s optics followed him as the scientist approached the restrained mech, beginning to prod at his frame. The tapping of metallic digits against the Autobot’s plating echoed through the space, and Bee shuddered against the touch as Mandroid’s servo glided over his damaged arm. 

“Well,” Mandroid said, breaking the silence that had settled over them, “I have been in need of an upgrade,” his eyes scanned hungrily across Bumblebee’s frame. He drew back the arm that once belonged to Hardtop, stretching the creaking joints and observing the rusted surface with discontent.

“Of course,” he continued on, looking back at the bot, “I’d have to repair this one,” gesturing to Bee’s arm. Instinctually, Bumblebee tried to activate his blaster, only to be met with a shock of pain through his systems and more alerts buzzing in his processor.

Bee winced, clearing the alerts. “Bite me,” he groaned. The remark was no energon blast, but it would have to do.

Mandroid tsked, rolling his crazed eyes and reaching back for the damaged arm. 

Bumblebee jerked away from the man’s touch—as much as his restraints would allow him to, anyway. He wanted to offer a snide remark, or say anything at all. But the words caught on his glossa. Instead he simply glared, staring daggers at the mad scientist before the bot as if that alone could deter him. 

Mandroid looked up, blood-shot eyes meeting piercing blue optics. He seemed almost amused with Bumblebee’s attempt at intimidation. A small puff of air escaped him, mimicking a cruel chuckle.

“Let’s begin, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Mandroid had disappeared into the crimson darkness that surrounded them, silently tinkering with something set behind the platform Bee was strapped to. 

The bot could hear buttons clicking. With every tap, the sound of more and more turning gears began to echo around him. The mech would be lying if he said the suspense building up in his spark wasn’t killing him. 

The Arachnomechs had begun to roam, chittering as their optics illuminated the ground they walked on, and getting more bold with the passage of time.

They seemed almost…curious, and Bumblebee dreaded the thought that the creatures were sentient. 

Occasionally they would approach Bee’s form, chittering as they tried to climb the platform. The bot would continuously try to shake them off, shouting the occasional insult—it didn’t work very well.

It was getting hard to stay focused. His processor ached from the lack of energon, and his frame joined it. 

Dull shocks of pain writhed through his joints—reaching from his pedes to his doorwings. Noises began to muddle, sporadically sounding out in clear cacophonies. 

Suddenly, a bright red light illuminated the space, pulling Bee out of his daze. The dull crimson tones of before were replaced with a brilliant red shining out from the ceiling. Bee tried looking to the source, only to be stopped by the cables restricting his neck.

However that issue was soon resolved, as the platform snapped back—locking Bumblebee back into a horizontal position and exposing him to the unrelenting brilliance of the red light.

The illumination was coming from a single, concentrated point. The red seared into Bee’s optics as his dazed processor tried to adapt to the sudden change. 

From the darkness reached four spindly legs, the red lighting shining off their metallic surface as they reached for Bee’s form. The Autobot struggled, grunting as he shook his frame—desperately trying to feel for any sort of give in his restraints. 

Such a blessing did not arrive. 

Bumblebee suddenly felt the grip of even more cables wrapping around his pedes and servos as the ones previously restraining his abdomen and throat retracked. 

He did not relish in the new found freedom, however. Refusing to tear his optics away from the blaring red above him, Bee watched as the bulbous body attached to the light came into view, even more legs tearing themselves away from the frame and reaching for the bot.

The machine’s pointed extremities pushed down onto Bee’s frame, pinning him by his shoulder plating. Bumblebee groaned as a dull ache washed through his doorwings as the weight of his frame was mercilessly shoved onto their delicate hinges. 

Once again Bee struggled, trying his best to push himself up, only to be shoved down once more. The force knocked his helm against the platform, leaving his processor spinning. 

But, as his vision cleared, sudden realization dawned on him; he had seen this machine before—if only briefly.

The day he had met the Terran Twins, the day he had been assigned their mentor. After the fight, he had caught a glimpse of the same machine, poised above two metal examination tables.

He thought they had destroyed the unsightly nightmare. Clearly, he was mistaken. 

For the umpteenth time, Bumblebee found himself grateful for the Terrans’ absence. 

“Perhaps you recognize my machine,” Mandroid’s chilled voice sounded from somewhere to Bee’s left. 

The mech stilled, refusing to say anything as the singular red optic bore into him. 

“Well,” Mandroid continued when Bee failed to provide a remake, “you’ll be familiar with it soon enough.” 

Bumblebee heard a click, and the machine sprung to life. The cables wrapped around Bee’s extremities went taut—stretching his joints to their limits—and he held back a cry of pain. 

Arachnomechs skittered away, their legs frantically clawing the ground, trying to distance themselves from the monstrous machine. 

The mechanism lurched forward, the red optic turning its gaze to Bee’s damaged arm. The distant glow stretched into a pointed laser, aiming at the joint connecting his shoulder to his chassis. 

Bumblebee’s optics widened, the brilliant white pupils becoming pinpricks in a sea of blue. 

The bot watched as the laser skidded across his plating. Calculating. Three more arms descended from the machine, reaching down to poke and prod at his yellow paint. 

Once again, Bee tried to squirm away from the touch. And, once again, nothing came of the effort. He was practically helpless, his limbs spread eagle, and nothing but his helm left to move. 

A whir sounded out from the machine, the lighting growing more and more intense. He began to feel heat spike against his frame, a dull burning building up, as the laser grew even brighter within the dark.

In a nanoklik, the faint burn was replaced with scorching heat. The laser bore into Bee’s frame, melting the metal as the yellow paint began to bubble up. 

Bumblebee released a scream of agony, unable to hold it back as he felt his very frame boil away. He writhed upon the metal table, the sound of his scream overpowering all other noises around until Bee could hear nothing but his own shrieking rippling through the air. 

The pain began to spread, traveling across the plating that covered his joint. HUD alerts flashed in his vision, yet he couldn’t bring himself to pay them any mind. His screams continued, the sound grating against his vocoder and scraping his throat. 

His optics began to blur, HUD alerts filling his vision, and what little remaining energy he had draining from his frame. Slowly, his cries began to die down, melting into weak groans. 

“Perhaps,” Mandroid said once Bee had practically gone quiet, “after I’ve gotten what I need from your frame, I can finally test the real Cybertronian annihilation device.”

Within Bumblebee’s blurry peripheral, he saw the flash of some sort of metallic disk in Mandroid’s hand.

“What-” Bee tried to question, only to be cut off by another groan of pain forcing its way from his intake. The heat began to burn past the last of his plating. Eventually, scorching agony spread across the inner joint. Bumblebee once again writhed, pulling at the restraints binding his limbs.

“Powered by your own energon,” Mandroid mused, now holding up the disk to his eye. An almost manic smile spread across his face. 

Even in his state, Bumblebee could recognize the spider-like design of the chip—the same chip he and the Terrans had knocked off of Grimlock.

“I wonder how your so-called ‘family’ will feel about one of their own turning against them,” Mandroid pondered. “Let’s see how your ‘family values’ hold up after you murder your own kind.” A breathy chuckle escaped the mad scientist. 

Bee’s processor whirled, the debilitating pain forgotten as Mandroid’s plan sunk into his mind. Even as he felt his very endoskeleton begin to melt away, only the horror of the proposition plagued his consciousness. 

Scorching agony and HUD alerts alike forgotten, a cloud of adrenaline floated across Bee’s processor. He began to tug at his uninjured arm, pulling his wrist up and in—and the cable with it. 

A mix of rage and fear fueled his actions. Pulling, and pulling, and pulling. The fear that his very frame would be used against his own kind, and the rage at Mandroid’s madness—his hate. 

He began to scream again; an unholy sound erupting from deep within his frame.  But, this time, it wasn’t in pain; determination replaced all suffering. He would not allow Mandroid to win. He couldn’t.

Among Bumblebee’s relentless pulling, he felt the glowing cables give—the center dwindling until it ripped in half. The glorious feeling of freedom flooded his arm as the released momentum sent it flying towards his frame—the ripped cable in tow.

Mandroid seemed to catch on to the Autobot’s activities. As Bee flexed his cydraulics—relishing in his success, the mad scientist dropped the disk, letting it clatter to the ground.

“Arachnomechs!” He shouted over the buzzing of his machine, “Get him!”

The command dragged Bumblebee back to reality. Without hesitation, he began pulling on the cables surrounding his pedes. Desperation racked his frame. Tug after tug, he pulled at his right leg, pleading for the cables to just let go . 

He could hear the Arachnomechs crawling closer—the nightmarish sound of their legs against the cold floor rang in his audials. 

Finally, just as the first Arachnomech climbed onto the platform, the right cable snapped, his leg pulling back. Bee swatted away whatever dared come near him, shouting insults and profanity he was sure Dorothy would not approve of. 

His own actions began to blur together. He felt himself pull at his left leg, and his freed arm screeching against the steel of the Arachnomechs. But none of it formed a full picture. None of it registered within his mind.  

Eventually, though, Bee felt the same release within his left leg, as the cable snapped and curled on the ground. 

But this time he didn’t relish in the success. Continuing to swat at Mandroid’s mechs, only one thing kept him tied down now.

Bumblebee turned his frantic gaze to his injured arm. The laser had been thrown off course, now creating wild tracks across the yellow plating. Only now did Bee become aware of the pain accompanying the visual—a persistent sting that buzzed in the back of his consciousness. 

On instinct, Bee pulled at the arm. Only a weak tug rippled through it, and a sharp pain washed through his frame. He tried again, now pulling from the socket. 

He screamed, but refused to let up. Pull after pull, desperation creeped into the Autobot’s processor. He felt the mangled metal begin to give—inner cables and fuel lines were stretched to their limits as he tore at the joint.

Arachnomechs began to cover his frame, launching small cables that wrapped around his plating and tugged at his frame. 

But Bumblebee refused to break his concentration—refused to allow his resolve to falter for just a nanoklik. 

Distant pain washed through him. Even more HUD alerts blinked back to life within his vision; warning of external and internal damages alike. Bumblebee cleared them without hesitation. 

Another savage scream tore through him, accompanied with the snapping of cables as his frame gave out. With each snap, sharp agony rippled across his shoulder. Yet he persisted. 

Somewhere in the distance, Mandroid’s voice roared across the chaos. The dreaded noise only worked to drive Bumblebee forward. 

With a roar of determination, the Autobot gave one final tear, yanking his shoulder plating up and in. Sparks flew, energon splattered golden paint, and slowly the bold yell turned to one of agony.

The pain felt almost distant—like that within a memory—yet it racked Bumblebee’s very existence just the same. 

He felt every snap and crack of the wires, heard the screeching of metal tearing apart, and watched as shimmering energon dripped from severed fuel lines. 

It all happened in a matter of nanokliks. The final cables within Bumblebee’s socket snapped, and the bot went tumbling off the metal platform with a pained yelp. He fell to the side, opposite of the laser still drilling into whatever found itself under its gaze. 

Immediately, the Autobot tried to stand up—shaking off and tearing at the Arachnomechs that still clung to him with his remaining arm. Vibrant red cables sprung wildly from the small mechs, grappling for any hold on Bumblebee. Blue cables still secured around Bee’s limbs tangled with his movements, yet he refused to pause for even just a nanoklik.

The bot kicked and swatted at anything that came near him, stomping on whatever was unfortunate enough to find itself under his pede. The bodies of the Arachnomechs began to pile up, only adding to the plethora of tripping hazards. 

After what felt like a century of reckless swinging, it seemed as if the hoard of Arachnomechs had begun to die down. Puffs of air worked their way through Bumblebee’s vents, as the high of battle fizzled out. With it went the adrenaline.

Bee’s processor was overcome with reality; the loss of energon, the horrid pain, and the exhaustion racking his frame. All of it came crashing down on the bot, the only thing keeping him standing being the shred of adrenaline running through his processor.

The Autobot’s chassis rumbled with fatigue. When he looked up, his optics locked with Mandroid’s eyes—furious and bloodshot as ever. The scientist shouted something over the sizzling of the machine, and not a nanoklik later a dozen Arachnomechs skittered out from the darkness.

More shouting arose from Mandroid as the small mechs charged towards Bumblebee. Dread flooded the Autobot’s processor. In his dazed state, the only thing Bee could think to do was run.

For the first time, the mech looked around and took in his surroundings. Things began to blur together, but Bee could distinguish a small downwards staircase diagonal to the examination table he had been strapped to.

 As the Arachnomechs began to approach, Bumblebee made for the staircase. Behind him, he could hear Mandroid’s rage filled shouts.

Bee tumbled down the stairs, his pedes landing on rough gravel once he reached the bottom, nearly slipping on the energon that began to pool under him. The blue cables followed, still tied to the bot’s extremities. 

Well, the remaining ones that is. 

Fatigue weighed the bot down like lead in a barrel. With every passing moment, he became more and more sluggish. The mech glanced up, the faint red light lending itself his surroundings. 

Rusty train rails covered the dirt ground, and the crimson glow reflected off the few corroded mechanical parts that littered the space. 

He was in some sort of warehouse. From the distant darkness Bumblebee could make out rustic walls covered in vines and dirt.

Toward the end of the long building sat a wide doorway. Through it shone the faint light of the moon. Without a second thought, the bot stumbled toward the light, never taking his optics off the blue brilliance.

It felt as though the warehouse went on forever, every step forward seemed to merely slided Bumblebee backwards. Yet he did not falter, leaving behind a small trail of energon as he staggered to the light. 

Time seemed to warp in front of the mech’s very optics. Suddenly Bee was at the entrance, grabbing hold of the steel doorway as he pitched forward in a mixture of pain and exhaustion. 

Even as a cool breeze stretched over his frame and the light of the moon encompassed him, the Autobot didn’t dare pause, pushing off the warehouse wall—leaving behind an energon-stained print—and into the night. 

Bumblebee found himself in a sea of rusted trains. Graffiti and rot covered every traincar, the bright art dancing across the bot’s vision. With it returned the alerts flashing in his HUD. Yet he could do nothing but ignore them. He put his servo to his right arm socket. He felt the lose cables, and energon dropped onto his digits. Despite the discomfort, Bee pushed his servo flush against the wound, letting out a pained groan. He’d rather be damned by Primus Himself than leave a clear trail for Mandroid to follow. 

He continued to stumble through the night, tripping over the interlocking rail roads hidden in the dark. The bot didn’t dare look behind him, but the sound of Arachnomechs—and their creator—had entirely faded. He slowed his pace, cautiously working his way through the train yard. Cables still dangled from the Autobot’s limbs, dragging themselves through the dirt.

Slowly, the scenery of the mechanical graveyard melted away. Railroads disappeared into the overgrown forestry, and trees replaced the towering train cars. Soon enough, Bumblebee found himself deep within a forest, his bright yellow plating standing as starch contrast to his surroundings. 

Even deep in the reaches of nature, Bee refused to stop moving. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure how he was even standing, let alone walking. His processor pushed him to keep going—his desperate battle protocols whirred across his frame, keeping his gears moving. 

Time began to blur together. Bumblebee wasn’t even sure how long he had been walking—the only indicator was the soft sunrise that had begun to grace the sky. All he knew was that he had left Mandroid and that dreaded train yard far behind.

At some point, the blue cable wrapped around his left pede had slipped off. Yet the others refused to come loose. They remained secure around his joints, upsetting the earth beneath the Autobot's pedes as they were dragged along.

Finally, exhaustion took hold. The bot could support his weight no longer. Bumblebee collapsed, landing on his knee plating, and falling faceplate-first onto the forest floor. 

Chapter Text

The warm colors of sunrise had begun to paint the sky by the time the Maltos made it back to Philadelphia.

The family made their way through the streets of Philly, taking back alleys and avoiding as many humans as they could. They stuck to the shadows, dodging the eyes of those curious enough to look their way. The roads began to fill with cars, and the sidewalk with hurried feet as those awake at such an hour rushed to their jobs. 

The Terrans traversed the streets, until—finally—they made their way back to the same city square they had first met up with Bee.

Without hesitation, the Malto kids headed for the tunnel grate they had escaped from. Jawbreaker jumped down from the claws of Nightshade, reaching for the grate and prying it open. Twitch was the first in, switching to root mode the second the shadows of the tunnel covered her frame. Her siblings followed, each jumping down into the tunnel, with their parents in tow. 

Hashtag’s headlights illuminated the tunnel. Pipes and wiring ran across the walls, and Twitch’s optics immediately fell to the path set by the pedesteps pressed into the dust coating the floor.

“This way,” she called to her family,  beginning to follow the prints.

She heard the steps of her siblings and parents behind her, yet she didn’t bother turning around before breaking into a sprint down the tunnel. 

Her pace never slowed as they made their way through the winding tunnels, and her optics refused to drift from the prints laid out in front of them. All the pressure and suspense that had built up in her gears was released through the beating of her pedes against the tunnel ground. 

Yet her mind still whirled. All the possibilities and scenarios she had conjured in the hours since their escape swirled like a tornado across her processor. The anxiety ate away at her, pulling her frame down like a lump of lead in  her spark. 

Finally, the sight of the entrance to the arena graced  her optics. She didn’t know what to expect upon their arrival, but—as she exited the tunnel—the scene that met her was not one she had hoped for. 

Mandroid was gone. And Bumblebee along with him.

Any evidence of the mad scientist’s presence had been wiped from the scene. The only clues left from their battle were the scorch marks in the ground, and the crumpled train cars that littered the arena. 

“No…” Twitch muttered, stepping out to the center of the arena and looking around in disbelief. Eventually, her optics made a full circle across the cavern, landing on her family, who stood scattered across the flooring. 

Hashtag scanned the space, her helm turning wildly in desperation. Jawbreaker and Nightshade stood off to the side, despair written across their frame. Robby and Mo stood with Alex, his hands on their shoulders. Their mother was the last to enter the arena—Thrash just ahead of her. Her eyes examined the cavern with skepticism, coming to settle on the scorch marks in the floor before she pulled her phone out and began to type. 

It had been a possibility, Twitch knew it. An ugly, festering idea that—in some way, no matter their effort—they would just be too late . Yet, to see the nightmare realized drained Twitch of any hope left in her spark.

Mandroid could be half way across the world for all Twitch knew. Or Bee could be dead–left for scrap in a junkyard, never to be recovered. Or held to the mercy of Mandroid. Or—

“What are we going to do?” Jawbreaker’s quiet voice broke through the whirling tornado in Twitch’s mind. 

She looked up at his brother. His optics squinted in sorrow, and his servos held themselves in a tangle of digits. But, before she could respond, thundering steps sounded out through the entrance tunnel. 

On instinct, the Terrans rushed together in the center of the arena. They ushered the humans behind their towering frames as they drew their respective weapons, training them on the tunnel mouth. 

“Kids, wait–” their mom said, reaching to put a hand on Twitch’s extended blaster. 

Just as the Terran was warming up her barrel, a red and blue bot stumbled out of the tunnel, stepping into the arena and extending to his full height.

“Optimus,” Dorothy greeted in a sigh of relief. 

At the sight of the familiar mech, each Terran retracted their weapons, reclining from their defensive positions.

Soon enough, Megatron and Elita-1 followed Optimus through the tunnel mouth.

“Dorothy,” Megatron responded. Optimus remained strangely quiet and—after a closer look—Twitch realized the bot had his battle mask up. An air of tension and worry racked his frame as he scanned the arena.

Another twinge of guilt flooded Twitch. Obviously Optimus would be worried, Bee was his scout. One of his closest friends, even. It was just another reminder of how much Twitch had messed up in leaving the bot in the hands of Mandroid. 

She would fix it, all of it , she promised—to no one in particular. 

Optimus spoke up, turning back to face the Maltos. “What happened here?” he asked, skipping his usual niceties. 

Dorothy turned to look at the kids. After a few nanokliks, and no one saying anything, Twitch reset her vocoder.

“It’s Bumblebee. He…” she paused, trying to get the words to form on her glossa as she looked between the three towering bots before her. Steady air flowed through her vents as she took a step forward. “We found Bee here in Philadelphia. He was fighting in these…Bot Brawls,” she gestured to the arena around them, “looking for some bot-”

“Grimlock!” Jawbreaker announced. Everyone turned to look at the Terran. On instinct he shrinked in on himself, suddenly very aware of all the optics—and eyes—trained on him.

“He asked us for help,” Twitch continued on, turning back to Optimus, “but, when we got here, we found Mandroid, and…” She trailed off, the words catching in her intake. 

“Mandroid had this giant Arachnomech thing,” Robby piped up, coming to stand next to Twitch, “It attacked us and Mandroid captured Bee. He told us to run and get you guys…”

The kids looked back to Optimus, though the bot didn’t say anything. Instead he averted his gaze, turning his optics back to the scorch marks covering the arena floor and walls. 

Megatron glanced at the red and blue bot—concern etched in his faceplate—before kneeling down to the Maltos’ level. 

“Did Mandroid give any clues as to what his plans were?” the silver mech asked. 

Twitch thought for a moment, before she turned to look at her siblings. They all wore similarly helpless expressions, shrugging at Megatron’s question. Twitch sighed, shaking her helm in response as she turned back to the Decepticon. 

In all honesty, she couldn’t recall much of what Mandroid had said herself. All she really remembered was him blaming Cybertronians for the damages done to humanity, and the ensuing battle. 

It frustrated her to no end. Even after the battle she was no help at all.

But, before her processor could begin the familiar spiral, Elita-1 stepped forward.

“Then we’ll just have to look for clues ourselves,” she declared, setting her servos on her hips.

“Oh!” Jawbreaker exclaimed, “what about that Decepticon we found?”

Optimus looked back to the Maltos.

“Decepticon?” Megatron asked, rising back to his pedes.

“Oh, yes!” Nightshade perked up, “the one with the missing arm. Where was he again?” they mumbled to themself.

The Malto kids began to look around, before Hashtag pointed to a nearby pile of dented train cars.

“He’s over there, I think,” she said. Before the purple Terran could even finish her sentence, the kids rushed to the pile, pulling and pushing at the stacked cars.

Optimus and Megatron joined their efforts, removing each train car with ease and putting them aside. Soon enough, the Decepticon’s battered husk was revealed beneath. 

“Brawl…” Megatron breathed, his crimson optics going wide as he knelt beside the dull frame. 

The Decepticon laid in a thin puddle of energon, the vibrant substance staining his frame.

The sight only darkened the Terrans’ mood. 

“Mandroid drained him of his energon,” Twitch said, staring at the lifeless husk. Some part of her thought that—maybe if she stared long enough—the mech would spring back to life. Maybe then Bee would have a better chance of…

A faint buzzing interrupted her thoughts. The soft sound echoed through the cavern, and everyone turned to face the source; Optimus.

The red and blue mech practically jumped at the disturbance. He instinctively lifted two digits to his audial fin, only to hesitate at the last nanoklik.

Twitch watched as his optics went wide, focusing on something in his HUD, and—seemingly unconsciously to Optimus—his battle mask slid back. 

He brought the two digits up to his helm, pressing them firmly to his audial fin.

“Bumblebee?” He asked with a note of hesitation.

It was almost as if everything in the room gasped. A sudden wave of suspension traveled through the room, and Twitch found herself beginning to instinctively hover above the ground, gawking in disbelief.

All optics trained on Optimus Prime, waiting with bated breath for any answer from the comlink. 

After what felt like hours, Twitch heard a quiet, raspy voice respond. 

“Optimus,” Bumblebee sighed. Twitch could hear the relief in his voice, and she would be lying if she said that same feeling wasn’t flooding her processor at the sound of the golden bot. 

“Bumblebee,” Optimus exclaimed, his voice now filled with urgency, “Where are you? Are you okay? Is Mandroid–”

“Opti…mus, listen,” Bee rasped, effectively cutting off the bombardment of questions, “I–I don’t know where I am, but…”

His voice trailed off into a string of incoherent nonsense. It sounded like nothing more than the ramblings of a mad man to Twitch, yet she studied Optimus’ face as he continued to listen.

“Bumblebee? Bee, can you hear me?” the red and blue bot demanded. The urgency never faded, but whatever surety was once present in his voice was replaced with fear. 

“Energon suppressors,” Bee mumbled through the comlink, “I—I need to remove the…so you can find…”

“Oh!” Elita-1 gasped, taking a step towards Optimus, “He’s trying to remove his energon suppressors so he can send a signal out,” she explained. 

Optimus’ optics widened as he stared into Elita’s.

“But won’t that hurt?” Thrash asked. Optimus glanced down to the Terran, before exchanging looks with Megatron and Elita.

“It…is a necessary action,” Megatron explained.

Optimus focused back to the comlink. “Bumblebee, can you do it?” he asked.

His question was interrupted by a pained grunt, followed by a short “yes” hissed between clenched denta. 

After a blissful pause, the screech of metal on metal tore through Optimus’ comm, the bot instinctively flinching at the noise before returning to neutral concentration. 

The Terrans were not so stoic. Twitch hated the sound. Even muffled through the Prime’s audial receiver, it was the worst thing she had ever heard. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to shy away from it. She stilled, hovering just above the ground as her frame filled with tensed gears. Behind her she could hear her siblings go rigid, feeling the fear thrum through their circuits. 

The awful screeching continued, only interrupted by groans and grunts of agony. Just as Twitch thought she couldn’t hear another nanoklik of the nauseating noise, it stopped. The sound of something heavy landing on a bed of grass replaced it, followed by heavy puffs of air escaping Bee’s vents.

“Its–its out,” Bumblebee gasped between breaths. Twitch felt a rush of air through her own vents that she wasn’t even aware she was holding in. Yet her spark did not untangle from the mess of horror and strain it had wound itself into. “I’ll send out…the–the signal,” He finished.

With each word, Bee’s voice grew weaker. Pain laced every syllable, and the tension never left Twitch’s cydraulics as she listened. 

Optimus looked to Elita, who immediately produced a hologram from her left gauntlet.

The projection formed a small globe, spanning the continents of Earth and spinning idly. Twitch stared at it, curiosity momentarily taking over her processor. Yet her mind snapped right back to reality as Elita-1 adjusted the map using controls placed along her gauntlet. 

The projection began to change; flattening out and zooming in on North America. After a moment of waiting, Elita looked back to Optimus—a grimace plastered across her face plate—only for her optics to snap back to her gauntlet as a faint beep protruded from the hologram.

A small red dot blinked to life on the map. Within an instant, Elita-1 had zoomed in; first to the northeastern side of the continent, then into Philadelphia, and further still until the dot absorbed a digital sign marking a small town.

Nauseating excitement filled Twitch’s circuits as she looked at the map, squinting to read the words displayed across the hologram. 

Brookville, Pennsylvania. 

“I’ve got him,” Elita said, a confident smile gracing her faceplate as she turned to the Prime peering over her shoulder. 

That’s him, she thought as she drifted back down to the ground. That’s where she’d find Bee.

Where they’d find him, she reminded herself as her pedes fell flesh against the ground. She wasn’t alone in this—and Bee wouldn’t be either. Not anymore. 

“Bumblebee,” Optimus called over the comlink, “We’ve traced your signal. We’re coming…hang in there.” he added after a short pause. It was a request as much as it was a prayer. 

Twitch heard a small sigh from the other end, and the relief lacing the sound was unmistakable. But nothing followed it. The Terran waited, begging Bee to just say something, anything . Yet nothing quelled her ache. 

Optimus seemed to hold the same sentiment. “Bumblebee?” he called. No one answered. The Prime spoke his friend’s name a few more times, but all that answered was the sound of a disconnecting link. 

The silence left in its wake made Twitch sick.

Optimus blinked, a thousand emotions running through his optics as he stared at nothing in particular. Eventually, though, he turned to Megatron, before looking back to Elita-1.

“Well? What are we waiting for?” Thrash demanded, and Twitch did not miss the belligerent taint to his words. Without waiting for an answer, squealing tires hit the stone floor, and the Terran took off down the entrance tunnel.

Twitch didn’t remember activating her t-cog, but—before she knew it—she was flying through the stale underground air, Thrash in front of her, and the rest of her family behind.

She would make good on her promise. She had to.

Chapter Text

The drive from Philadelphia to Brooksville was four hours. They made it there in three.

Dot and Alex sat within Optimus’ interior, with Jawbreaker tucked away in his trailer. Robby now rode in Hashtag’s van, and Mo sat in Thrash’s sidecar. Megatron, Nightshade, and Twitch hovered above, cold air whipping past their frames as they raced to their destination.

Twitch stuck close to Megatron. Something about the war frame made her feel safe—protected. Like everything was going to be okay, even when her processor was screaming that it wouldn’t be. 

“Megatron?” She asked, turning her optic to the aircraft. A singular, hideous thought had been festering in her circuits ever since they had first started their trek, and she couldn’t manage to contain it anymore. “What if…what if somebody else is able to track Bee’s signal?” 

She hated how small her voice sounded—how scared. She was Twitch! The older sibling! She didn’t get to be scared. Yet, at this moment, she felt like anything but the brave older sister she had built herself up to be.

That facade had slowly begun to crumble, and she couldn’t manage to glue all the pieces back together.

Megatron was silent for a while; her question was left to dangle in the breeze. Until, eventually, he answered. “Then we will just have to find him first, little bird,” he declared. A stoic tone planted itself in his voice, yet Twitch could still hear the worry running its course—the same worry absorbing Optimus’ every move and thought. 

The parade of bots and humans alike continued. They took all the backroads they could–being careful to avoid as many public appearances as possible. Though it was clear none of them were exactly concerned with obeying the speed limit.

“I can’t pinpoint Bumblebee’s exact location,” Elita piped up as she drove alongside Hashtag, “I’ve got about a mile radius surrounding the signal.”

“We’ll need to split into teams,” Optimus said, “Jawbreaker and Alex will stay with me. Dorothy, you will accompany Nightshade and Hashtag.”

“I’ll take Thrash and Mo,” Elita-1 said. From her vantage point, Twitch could see Mo pat Thrash’s plating.

“And I will search with Robby and Twitch,” Megatron decided.

Twitch darted her optic back to the gunmetal gray aircraft—though he could obviously not return the favor. In all honesty, the little drone was thankful to have the Decepticon by her side. 

She turned her optic back to the late morning sky ahead of her. They had a plan, and that was better than nothing. 

Mandroid gripped another Arachnomech, tossing it across the dilapidated warehouse and watching it crumble against the wall. It let out a pitiful screech as it fell to the ground, its legs twitching as sparks flew. 

“How could you let him escape!?” He screamed at the mech—as if it could understand him. 

His makeshift lab was in ruins. The Autobot had left a pile of destruction in his wake. Typical. Cybertronians could do nothing but destroy everything in their path. 

Mandroid swiveled to see the rest of his Arachnomechs cowering on the other side

of the raised platform—bright pink optics blinking owlishly.

He growled, stomping back over to his monitor. He tapped at the panel in front of him, his fingers smashing each key with unnecessary aggression.

He was still fuming, even as the monitor blinked to life with an active call. He accepted it.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Meridian,” a female voice echoed through his speakers.

Mandroid groaned, bringing up two digits to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I…underestimated the subject. It won’t happen again,” he said.

Deafening silence answered his promise, until the woman sighed.

“My agents have picked up a signal not far from your location,” she admitted, although reluctancy plagued her tone.

“Good,” Mandroid smiled, lowering his arm, “I will dispatch my Arachnomechs at once—“

“No,” The woman cut him off, “you’ve caused enough problems for today. I will handle this.”

With that, a small beep ended the call, and the monitor blinked to black—leaving Mandroid to bask in the crimson light of his lab. 

Elita led the group to the edge of a forest. With every mile marker they passed, the beeping emitting from her gauntlet grew stronger. And, with every beep, Twitch’s anticipation only grew.

Eventually, the rickety dirt road they had been following faded into the forest floor, and the group was forced to blindly traverse the woods.

“We’re entering the mile long radius now,” Elita-1 said, stopping in a small clearing within the forest. She turned to face Optimus, and the Prime offered her a short nod.

“This is where we separate,” Optimus said. 

“Remember,” Dorothy chimed in from where she stood with Hashtag and Nightshade, “stick with your group, and call in the second you see anything .”

Twitch knew their mother was never exactly happy about their adventures—and definitely not about their missions—yet the Terran could never stop the small swell of pride she felt in her spark everytime her mom entrusted them with a task. 

Agreeing mutters echoed through the clearing, as each bot—and human—split into their respective groups and began to trudge through the woods. The only thing they left behind was Optimus’ trailer.

Robby and Twitch walked side by side behind Megatron. The lumbering figure barely fit in the confined woods. He was forced to crouch, constantly dodging branches and stumbling over roots.

It would have been an entertaining sight—seeing the ex-leader of the Decepticons stumble through a forest with such difficulty—but Twitch couldn’t be bothered to focus on him. Her optics were wildly scanning the foliage, searching for any ounce of yellow peeking through the never-ending green. 

Her head was practically on a swivel. Jitters built up in her gears, and she once again found herself subconsciously hovering just above the ground.

She wasn’t entirely sure how long they had been walking, but she eventually had the mind to glance behind her. There she realized Robby had begun to lag behind—although neither her nor Megatron’s pace had quickened. 

“Robby?” she asked, slowing her steps to match his, “what’s wrong?”

The boy’s head lifted to look to her’s. “Nothing,” he mumbled, “just a little tired.”

“Oh,” Twitch hummed. She had completely forgotten just how long her and her siblings had been up for. The midday sun now gleamed down on them through the canopy, and she couldn’t even recount the last time Robby or Mo had had food, or any sort of sleep.

Without saying a word, the Terran stepped behind Robby, picking him up by his waist and placing him atop her shoulders before the boy even knew what was happening.

Robby let out a small yelp of surprise, before easily settling on her shoulders and wrapping his hands around the sides of her helm.

“Uh…Twitch?” he asked. The Terran didn’t bother responding, instead falling into a light jog to catch up to Megatron. 

Robby’s weight on her shoulders offered soothing relief to her tensed frame—a reminder she was safe, her siblings were safe, and Bee would be safe too. She didn’t suppress the small smile that graced her faceplate. 

She fell into step beside Megatron, the gunmetal gray mech offering her a soft grin at the sight of the two siblings. She smiled back, before returning her gaze to the foliage surrounding them. 

They continued walking. Leaves and sticks crunched under their heavy pedes, and the sun poked through the canopy, warming their plating. 

Twitch heard a chitter to her left. Her head swiveled, and she caught sight of a small squirrel skittering across the forest floor. The little creature scurried into the underbrush and disappeared from the Terran’s sight. Her gaze drifted, and sunset orange optics caught sight of a magenta glow buried within a bush, and Twitch’s pedes jerked to a stop. 

She took a hesitant step toward the glow, just as Megatron shifted to look at her. 

“Little bird?” He asked.

Twitch swiped away the foliage covering the glow to reveal a small energon stain on the ground. 

Air rushed through her vents. She glanced up to Megatron who now stood behind her, optical ridges furrowed. His gaze shifted, looking to something further in the woods.

Twitch’s optics followed his, landing on more energon splattered across the forest floor. She glanced up, catching sight of a magenta smear spanning a tree trunk. She approached the wood, lifting her servo and pressing it against the stained bark. It was dry, leaving no mark on her digits when she pulled them away. 

She looked back to Megatron, who was now crouched down, drifting his hand across a patch of exposed dirt. Twitch squinted at whatever he was focused on. It looked as if something had been dragged through the foliage, leaving behind a light scar within the ground—something like a rope.

“This way,” Megatron said, standing up and walking past Twitch and further into the forest. She followed him without question, her servos raising to grab hold of Robby’s legs dangling over her shoulders as they trudged through the woods. 

They continued like that for some time; with Megatron leading the trio, picking up clues Twitch could never hope to see on her own. They passed several more energon splatters, the alien glow invading the scenic foliage. Each time magenta graced her optics, Twitch felt more and more nauseous. 

She had just cleared a particularly thick shrub when her gaze fell upon something glowing a light blue peeking out from the underbrush. Megatron was already kneeling next to the object that—upon further inspection—resembled a glowing blue cable. The same kind that had restrained Bee above Mandroid’s arena. 

Megatron reached for the cable, cradling it in his servos as his vision drifted across it. 

Twitch grimaced, looking up to Megatron’s squinted optics. She couldn’t be bothered to even attempt to conceal the unease written across her faceplate as the Decepticon’s crimson gaze turned to her’s. 

“Come, let’s keep going,” he said, standing up and continuing further into the forest.

Twitch wasn’t sure how long they had been walking for. But as the sun grew higher in the sky, more and more energon appeared across the forest’s greenery. The sight left an hideous, festering feeling in the Terran’s gut, growing with every step she took. 

She had been focusing on rustling coming from a nearby bush when her frame clanked against Megatron’s still leg. 

She rubbed her helm, looking upwards towards the Decepticon standing stock-still amid the rustling trees.

“Megatron?” she muttered. Red optics turned to her, an unreadable yet horrific emotion written across the adjoining faceplate. 

Twitch glanced down, past the space between his legs, her spark virtually jumped out of her chassis when she caught sight of muted gold against the vibrant greens of the forest. She rustled Robby, who had practically fallen asleep atop her shoulders, and lowered him to the ground before rushing in front of Megatron.

She stopped in her tracks barely two steps in front of the mech when her optics landed on the horrific sight that splayed across the forest floor.

It was Bumblebee, collapsed on the ground—his face flush against the dirt. Energon splattered his dull plating, pooling beneath the once vibrant gold she was familiar with. Two blue cables were strung around his limbs, tangling among the extremities. It made her sick. Cave water bubbled in her fuel tank—threatening to spill from her intake.

But the worst of it was his arm. Or lack thereof. It was gone ; leaving nothing but an empty socket and sparking cables. If she focused on the grotesque image for too long, it would begin to feel as if her optics were to burst from her helm.

It wasn’t right—seeing him in such a broken state. The imagery screamed throughout her processor as something profusely wrong . He was Bumblebee! Their brave and unstoppable Autobot mentor. She had always looked up to him as the invincible bot that would always keep her and her siblings safe. Yet, as she looked at the still frame in front of her, she realized no one was truly invulnerable. Not in the way she thought.

Twitch rushed to Bee’s side, laying one servo on his shoulder plating and reaching the other toward his helm as she struggled to turn the bot onto his back. She heard the crunching of leaves and a small gasp behind her, but couldn’t tear her optics away from the scene in front. She knew it was Robby all the same.

The Terran eventually managed to flip Bumblebee onto his back with a heave—his once bright optics now dulled and hooded, gazing off into the distance at nothing in particular. She began to shake the Autobot, calling out his name with increasing distress as the dull frame refused to wake. Eventually, her cries died down, and her voice faded into the soft rustle of the trees in the wind. 

Severed cables coated in dried energon flopped onto the forest floor as Bee’s body settled into its new position, and the overwhelming nausea once again found its place in Twitch’s systems.

He had needed her—needed them . For once she had needed to be the big sister. But she failed. And now her mentor…her brother laid in a clump of his own energon. 

Robby came up beside her, kneeling next to her hunched form and placing a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t even realized it, but heavy huffs of air had begun to work their way through her vents, exiting her frame with an audible hiss. 

Finally she managed to tear her gaze away from Bee, glancing over to Robby. The boy stared straight ahead at Bee’s frame, a haunted look in his watery, unblinking eyes. 

“Elita, Optimus,” Twitch heard Megatron say through his comm, though it sounded muffled to her—like she was underwater— “we found him…sending coordinates now.” The usual confident tone Megatorn prided himself with was gone from his voice, reduced to quiet uncertainty. 

Twitch heard a muffled response echo through the Decepticon’s comlink, yet she couldn’t make any of it out. She didn’t particularly care, in all honesty. As she turned her gaze back to Bumblebee, he was all she was focused on. 

“He’ll be alright, little ones,” Megatron’s gruff voice said as he approached, “Cybertronians are not easily felled.”

She turned to face him. Her faceplate felt weighed into a grimace as dulled orange optics locked onto burning red. Megatron offered her a solemn nod before she turned back to Bee. Those cold, colorless optics mercilessly bore into her.

The Terran had no idea how long they had stayed there, listening to nothing but the serene forest ambience. The tranquility felt out of place among their gruesome circumstances. 

Eventually Megatron took hold of Bee’s frame, shifting him into a sitting position against a tree with his legs stretched out in front of him—leaving behind a dried puddle of energon in the bot’s wake. The Decepticon looked over the smaller bot, taking inventory of the injuries Twitch couldn’t bear to focus on.   

At some point, the sound of rustling forestry began to surround the trio as—one by one—each group appeared from the woods.

The first to break through the foliage was Optimus, his blue and red plating poking past the natural greens opposite to the trio. 

Twitch and Robby looked up to him in unison from their spots next to Bee. His battle mask was up—eyes squinted—but the Terran could see the fear hidden just beneath the surface.

His movements were slow, yet Twitch could still feel the urgency behind them as he took cautionary steps toward Bumblebee’s hunched frame. Megatron took a step back and the Prime kneeled in front of the Autobot’s outstretched legs, but his frame still towered effortlessly over Bee’s—his shadow encompassing the dull yellow plating.

Optimus reached his servos out, gently cupping Bumblebee’s helm, rubbing a slow digit across the bot’s metal cheek. Just as the Prime’s servos made contact, Jawbreaker and Alex burst from the thicket, thick puffs of air escaping them both. Their gasps for breath ceased as soon as their gaze landed on Bee. 

“Bumblebee!” Jawbreaker shouted in a grotesque mixture of distress and joy. He had only managed a few steps when his optics processed the extent of the scene in front of him. He stopped in his tracks. Twitch watched as unnamed emotions flashed across his face. Alex came to stand next to him, offering a hand in Jawbreaker’s massive servo. Eventually though, the man stepped forward, looking at Bee before walking towards Twitch and Robby and wrapping them both in a firm yet gentle hug.

Dorothy, Hashtag and Nightshade followed the others, and Elita’s group after that—but it all simply began to blur together. At some point, Twitch had stood up, standing off to the side with Robby. Someone had put their hand on her shoulder, yet she had no memory of who. She didn’t care much to find out. She felt like she was empty and overflowing all at once. Absent emotions swelled in her spark, simultaneously threatening to spill over and to dry up. 

Someone hugged her—actually, a lot of people had hugged her. Her whole family, in fact, wrapped in one giant embrace. Yet she didn’t reciprocate. She couldn’t . She just couldn’t force herself to wrap her arms around those she craved comfort from. Someone was crying, she knew that much. Small droplets fell to the forest floor, mixing with splatters of energon.

They had begun to walk. She watched as flashes of the forest passed her by. Optimus led them, Bee in his grasp. Golden limbs and glowing cables hung limply from the Prime’s arms, swaying with every step. 

She wasn’t sure when, but eventually Twitch watched as the dense forest began to melt away. More and more of the sun poked through the dwindling canopy above, a light breeze accompanying it. It would have been refreshing, had Twitch’s mind not been so…distant. Instead, she felt nothing; not the warmth of light, not the cool touch of the wind. Only empty despair reached her. It carved out her spark, leaving a cold chamber that could not even warm her own frame. 

She kept her optics on the ground in front of her, refusing to avert her gaze. If she looked up, she’d be forced to face her reality— to face Bee. If she shut her optics, his cold, colorless eyes stared back at her.

Eventually the soft ground of the forest floor beneath her faded away into tough gravel and dirt as they emerged from the woods. They had made it back to the dirt road they started at. Optimus’ trailer still sat where he left it.

The Prime didn’t hesitate before making his way to the trailer’s door. Elita came up beside him, swinging open the doors and taking a step back as Optimus lowered the golden frame down. As Bee was placed inside, Twitch was struck with how much it resembled a metal coffin—her family surrounding the casket like a makeshift wake. She averted her gaze, that familiar nausea bubbling up in her tanks again. 

They all watched in silence as Optimus arranged Bumblebee’s frame in the trailer. Wind whistled across the nearby trees, and birds jumped from canopy to canopy above. But the serenity was chased away by a cacophony of tires thumping across the dirt road that led out of the forest. 

The path led off into a curve, the trees covering whatever made its way towards them. Through the sparse woods, Twitch caught sight of dark flashes contrasting the pleasant greens. Something was moving towards them. Fast.

The Maltos stood together beside the trailer. Megatron took a step in front of them, effectively hiding them just as a parade of black vans and military vehicles rounded the forestry.  Twitch glanced at Optimus just as he began to swing the trailer doors closed, practically closing them entirely. His optics squinted at the incoming barrage as his battle mask slid up with a quiet click. 

“It’s Ghost!” Twitch heard Hashtag gasp. 

“Kids, get behind the trailer,” their mom ordered, ushering each Terran and Alex into the shadows of the container. 

Twitch stood at the corner, poking a singular optic out from behind their cover. 

Megatron and Optimus took a step forward as the G.H.O.S.T convoy screeched to a stop a few feet away from them. Elita stayed back, shifting her frame in front of the trailer doors. 

A woman with white hair and furrowed eyebrows stepped out of the van closest to the bots, stomping up to Optimus and crossing her arms across her chest. Twitch could see the aggravation emanating from the woman even from her vantage point. 

“Agent Croft,” Optimus greeted, the polite yet restrained air returned to his frame, “what brings you out here?” He gestured vaguely to the surrounding scenery. 

“Optimus,” she returned, “I could ask the same of you,” she snapped. When Optimus made no reply, she continued, “my men picked up a…strange signal emanating from this location. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head down but maintaining eye contact with the Prime. 

“As it so happens, I do,” Optimus replied. 

Twitch felt her spark jump in its chamber. Was Optimus really about to give Bumblebee up to G.H.O.S.T? Her servo gripped the side of the trailer and a small screech split through the air. 

The Prime turned to gesture to the two other mechs standing with him. “We picked up the same signal. We’ve already searched the woods, and we found nothing. I’m afraid it must have been a false alarm.” He turned back to Agent Croft, “faulty equipment, and all that,” he mused. 

An irresistible sigh of relief fell through Twitch’s vents.

“And—if you don’t mind me asking—why did you feel it necessary to pursue this signal without alerting my organization?” Agent Croft piped up. Her tone was undeniably hostile, and Twitch’s joints cringed at the tension.

This time, Megatron spoke up, taking a small step towards the human. “We simply did not wish to cause any extra panic among your agents,” he assured her, “besides, should a matter concerning a Cybertronian signal not be handled by Cybertronains?” 

“It should be handled with caution and discipline,” she snapped, “you should have alerted us before running off to go play hero .”

“My deepest apologies, Agent Croft,” Optimus said, raising a servo to his chassis. 

Croft huffed, bringing her arms back up to their folded position. For the first time since she arrived, the woman broke eye contact with the bots, instead looking past their hulking frames and towards the trailer. Cold suspicion covered her face like a film as a tense silence stretched on. 

Twitch gasped, shoving her helm back behind the container and pushing her back against the cool steel. 

Tension settled across the forest like a thick fog. Twitch could hear Elita-1 just on the other side of the trailer shift her weight. 

“Surely you would not object to me and my men having a look around? Just to be safe,” Agent Croft said. The sound of several vehicle doors opening and closing reached Twitch’s audials as the question hung in the air.

“Of course not,” Optimus said, a small yet false smile evident in his voice, “though my acquaintances and I best be going.”

“Of course,” Agent Croft agreed, though her tone was laced with venom—distrust lied just below the surface.

Twitch found it in herself to peek around the trailer again, bracing herself with servos against the steel wall.

She watched as dozens of G.H.O.S.T agents climbed out of their vehicles, weapons at the ready. Agent Croft gestured towards the face of the forest that sat parallel with Optimus.

“This way,” she called, ushering her men forward with a waved hand—yet she herself did not move. Instead, she turned to Optimus and offered him a firm nod that was anything but friendly.  

Optimus returned the gesture, watching as the woman and her agents disappeared into the foliage. 

Their footsteps disappeared with them, and once they had completely fallen silent, the Maltos took cautionary steps out onto the open dirt road. 

Optimus stared at the spot of woods the G.H.O.S.T agents had vanished in, before turning to face the Maltos.

“We need to move quickly,” he said, the professionalism persisting in his voice, “I fear this won’t be the last we see of Ghost…”

No one objected. Twitch stood among the bots as each switched to alt-mood. She turned to Optimus and watched as Elita loaded the trailer onto his axel. She had never seen Elita so gentle—moving with precision as to not shift the precious cargo inside. 

Twitch stared at the trailer doors. Some childish part of her was praying for Bumblebee to jump through those doors—breaking them off the hinges as he goes—and announce it was all a prank. A joke.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

Finally, the trailer clicked into place, and Optimus started down the dirt road—Alex and Dorothy within his passenger cabin—without saying a word. 

Elita followed the truck, and the rest of the Terrans followed her. Megatron, Nightshade, and Twitch retook their spots among the clouds, this time with Jawbreaker clutched between Nightshade’s talons. Robby and Mo sat within Hashtag’s interior, holding each other in a small embrace as silent tears were passed between the two.

Twitch had kept her promise: she had come back for Bee. So, why did it feel like their struggles were far from over?

Chapter Text

Twitch’s optic strained against the light of the sky. The midday sun shone down on the convoy, reflecting off the glimmering plating below.

The drive back to the Maltos’ felt as though it went on forever. Never-ending road stretched before them, even as the rural landscape of Witwicky began to pack the roadside. 

The giant sign welcoming visitors to the small town passed Twitch by in a blur. Yet she would be lying if she said the familiar sight didn’t release the tension building up in her circuits—if only a little. 

Eventually, the woods grew denser, and the roads narrower. Their makeshift convoy stretched into a mockery of a parade; odd vehicles in place of floats as they zipped down the rural pavement. 

Twitch came to recognise the scenery they passed. She knew they were getting closer to her home—her haven—and her spark filled with undeniable relief. 

That familiar dirt driveway came into view as they rounded a corner, and Twitch’s rotors instinctually kicked into high-gear, her rustic orange optic never leaving the path sticking out from behind the trees.

After what felt like a mile-long stretch, heavy pedes met the ground of the driveway, kicking up dust as she treaded up the path. Megatron flew in low beside her, provoking a small whirlwind at his arrival—the rest of Twitch’s family followed suit. 

She practically sprinted up the driveway, glancing behind her as Optimus rolled up the path, trailer in tow. 

When she turned back around to face the barn, a bot stood beside the building, servos resting on their hips. For a nanoklik, Twitch’s spark jumped from its chamber. But, soon enough, the familiar red and green stripes covering the mech’s frame met her optics, and all unease melted away.

“Dad two!” She gasped, taking off towards Wheeljack and flinging herself into his open arms.

“Hey kid,” he chuckled in his southern drawl, letting out a huff of air as Twitch’s frame slammed into his. 

She lowered herself to the ground, a giddy smile plastered on her faceplate. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Well I heard you could use some help with our friend over there,” Wheeljack said, gesturing behind Twitch.

The Terran turned around just as Elita-1 and Optimus had begun unloading Bumblebee from the trailer. Limp limbs hung from his frame like broken tree branches as Optimus hoisted him into his arms.

Twitch caught sight of the wires dangling from Bee’s empty arm socket. The grotesque flaw bore into her optics, and she planted her gaze on the ground as queasiness bubbled within her frame.

“Oh dearie me…” Wheeljack muttered from beside her. Twitch turned back to face him.

“You can fix him, right?” She asked.

Wheeljack’s optics met her’s. He hesitated for a nanoklik, before lowering himself to one knee and placing a firm servo on Twitch’s shoulder. 

“He’ll be right as rain in no time,” he assured her. His gaze never left her’s as a small smile worked its way across his face.

She offered a small nod, turning back around and watching as Optimus carried Bumblebee into the barn’s dugout.

… 

Twitch stood in the corner of the Terrans’ hideout as she watched Wheeljack and Elita work across Bumblebee’s battered frame. They had placed him on a makeshift berth in the middle of the dugout. Equipment surrounded Bee, all brought in by Wheeljack to aid the mech.

At first, the Terrans had eagerly offered to help the bots in any way they could, only to be denied by Elita and Wheeljack as the two shared an uneasy look—leaving Twitch with nothing to do but stand idly in the corner. 

Most of her siblings stood beside her—the exception being Robby and Mo, who were carried off to bed the second they rolled up the driveway. The two had fallen asleep in each other's arms within Hashtag’s van, and everyone agreed the kids needed the rest. 

Twitch had half a mind to join them, yet something kept her at Bee’s bedside. She stared endlessly at the still frame, willing for him to wake up—though she knew it was nothing but a childish wish. 

Energon still coated his plating, but some of the vibrancy had returned to the  golden paint. Wheeljack had said that was thanks to the energon infusions and IV hooked to Bee’s main fuel lines, pumping his frame with the much-needed fluid. Despite the improvement, Bee’s dull eyes still glared—unblinking—straight ahead, never once flickering to their original vibrancy.

Elita-1 and Wheeljack whispered among themselves, occasionally darting their gazes to the huddle of Terrans that stood watching them. Eventually, Elita approached the gangle, wiping her digits of magenta stains as she did. 

“Alright kids,” she said, resting a servo on her hip, “time for you guys to head out, me and Wheeljack have it handled from here.” 

Any easy smile was wiped across her face, yet Twitch still understood what she was conveying: Things were about to get rough, and the Terrans didn’t need to see it. 

Nonetheless, Twitch and the others nodded, making their way to the dugout entrance.

The rest of her siblings hobbled up the stairs, yet Twitch couldn’t help but linger in the doorway, watching as Elita approached Bee and Wheeljack. The last thing she saw was Wheeljack, reaching for something on a nearby cart before the doors slammed in her face.

She sighed, forcing her pedes to move as she followed her siblings up into the barn. 

When she reached the top, she watched as each Terran found their spot among the hay littering the barn. Hashtag and Jawbreaker sat together within a stall, their backs up against a stack of straw, while Thrash sat outside of it, leaning against the adjacent stall’s door. Nightshade sat above them all, resting on the hayloft with their legs dangling over the edge. 

Eerie silence fell over the group; an unnatural occurrence for the siblings that only served to remind Twitch of the situation they all found themselves in.

The Terran walked to the Barn entrance, propping herself up against the door as the old wood creaked beneath her weight. 

Nothing but silence reached her audials. That is, until low murmuring echoed from outside the barn. The words were muffled, yet unmistakably the voice of Optimus Prime.

Twitch pressed her helm to the barn doors, keening her audials in hopes of picking up any of the words passing from the bot’s intake. 

In all honesty, she didn’t know why she felt the need to hide from the Prime, yet something about the tone in his voice revealed vulnerability she felt she had no right intruding upon. 

Eventually, his words began to form within her processor.

“I could’ve done more…I could’ve done better, ” she heard him say. 

A deep, gruff voice muttered a quiet response—a voice Twitch easily identified as Megatron’s.

“I should’ve been more prepared,” Optimus continued, “I knew he was hurt—I should have brought an energon reserve, or a repair kit— something. ”

Again, Megatron mumbled something in response, yet Twitch had no hope of deciphering his words.

“He ran on a practically empty tank for so long…we both know that could have severe lasting effects,” Optimus sighed, a sound seemingly weighed down by the same guilt that perpetrated his voice.

The two mechs continued their conversation, though their words faded into the wind as heavy pede falls signified their departure. 

Twitch sighed, twisting her helm back around and pressing a servo to its side. A heavy pit had found its way into her spark at the Prime’s words. She had little understanding of Cybertronian anatomy, but she knew anything adjoining ‘severe lasting effects’ couldn’t be good. 

Twitch turned to face her sibling.. They, at least, had not seemed to hear the conversation.

After a moment of watching them, she squared her shoulders, walking to Thrash and knocking a gentle servo against his helm with a soft clank— a sly smile accompanying her action.

The Terran looked up to her, and she gestured for him to stand as she grabbed his servo and hauled him towards where Jawbreaker and Hashtag sat. 

The two looked up at the twins, and Twitch quickly sat Thrash down next to them, as she simultaneously looked to Nightshade. 

The teal Terran sat above them all, watching Twitch’s actions with owlish optics. That is, until their gaze met Twitch’s, who offered a small smile and a beckoning gesture.

Nightshade followed without hesitation, joining the small huddle of bots in the barn floor. Each Terran found their spot, nestling into the straw as Twitch joined them. The end result was an entanglement of limbs and servos as the siblings each embraced one another.

They sat in their makeshift nest for a while, with nothing but the rumble of their own sparks to fill the air around them.  Eventually, though, a small voice worked its way out of Jawbreaker.

“Bumblebee’s going to be okay…right?” he asked.

Twitch turned her helm to face him. His servos were clasped together in his lap, fidgeting as he stared down at them. 

Before she could even part her denta, Thrash let out a light-hearted scoff beside her.

“‘Course he will be,” he said effortlessly—as if banking on Bee’s recovery was the easiest bet he could ever make, “nothin’ can take Bumblebee down.”  

“Yeah…” Jawbreaker mumbled, “yeah, you’re probably right.” A small smile graced his face and he settled his servos in his lap. Twitch saw Hashtag take one in her own, giving it a small squeeze. 

Twitch sighed as she settled into the hay, and she didn’t hesitate to allow a smile of her own on her faceplate. She felt her siblings around her relax in eachothers arms. And—if only for a moment—Twitch could almost pretend they were simply resting on a Thursday evening after one of Bee’s lessons. 

Though that fantasy was soon ruptured by the aching pit worming its way through Twitch’s spark, weighing down her frame like a chunk of lead. Yet she stayed, tucked within the grasp of her siblings. 

That pile of mitch matched plating and limbs was exactly how the Terrans’ parents found them. The sunset had just begun to graze the farmland hills when Dorothy and Alex walked into the barn, making a beeline for the gangle of Terrans that sat within the stall. 

The siblings had all fallen into recharge, yet Twitch still remained wide awake, sitting beside Nightshade with her servo resting on their knee. 

She listened to her siblings’ rumbling sparks, glancing up as their mother crouched down in front of her. 

A soft smile graced her mom’s face, but Twitch could still see the storm writhing behind her eyes.

“How you doin’ baby?” she asked, raising a hand to cup Twitch’s helm. 

The Terran sighed, releasing a weak puff of air from her vents. “I’m alright,” she said, though they all knew it was a meek lie. 

A strong sadness weighed down Dorothy’s smile, though she did not drop her gaze as she lowered her other hand to hold Twitch’s servo. 

“He’s going to be okay,” she said, raising Twitch’s helm with her hand.

Alex came to stand behind Dorothy, resting a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Bee’s strong—the strongest I know. He’ll pull through just fine,” he assured her.

Twitch nodded, though she couldn’t keep her faceplate from falling into a grimace as she turned her gaze to the ground her mother stood on.

Her parents exchanged looks, and Dorothy rose to her feet.

“Get some rest,” she said, rubbing a hand across Twitch’s helm. 

They both turned to leave, and Twitch listened to their footsteps fade before releasing an exhausted sigh from her vents.

She turned to her siblings, watching their faces as each chassis rose and fell with the rumbling of their sparks. 

Eventually, she closed her optics, leaning her helm back till it rested against the stall wall. 

In the darkness that enclosed her vision, nothing but Bumblebee’s unblinking optics stared back.

…

Despite her best efforts, Twitch’s processor refused to succumb to the serenity of recharge. She tossed and turned for what felt like hours—until the sun dipped below the horizon—before she decidedly untangled herself from the nest of Terrans and made her way down the dugout stairs.

At some point in the night, Twitch had watched with hooded optics as Elita exited the hideout; closing the hatch silently behind her before disappearing into the night air. This left only Wheeljack, who Twitch saw sitting on a stack of hay bales beside Bumblebee’s berth as she entered the dugout.

She watched the two for a while. Wheeljack looked entirely the same, but Bee’s appearance was starkly different from the last time she had seen him.

Energon stains no longer coated his frame, and the dull yellow had faded away to reveal his familiar golden shine. His optics were shut now, and—with the mangled arm socket facing away from her—Twitch could almost imagine he was in nothing more than a simple recharge.  

An IV still worked its way into his fuel lines, feeding from a small bag of energon that hung from a thin pole.

Various tools and materials littered the ground and a cart that sat next to the berth. Small pools of energon accompanied almost every object, and Twitch forced herself to look away from the hideous magenta stains. 

Wheeljack sat, unbothered by the mess, tinkering with a small mechanic in his servos.

Eventually, Twitch saddled a sigh, and made her way into the main room.

Wheeljack noticed her presence as soon as she took her first step, glancing up from his project. 

The bot practically jumped up from his hay bale as he set the small mechanism on the cart. “Hey Twitch,” he said—though surprise coated his voice. 

The Terran walked straight to the berth, gripping the edge with her servos and peering at the bot laid on top.

“How is he?” she asked in a small voice, never taking her optics off Bumblebee’s still face. 

“Ah…” Wheeljack muttered, stumbling over words for a moment as he watched Twitch’s solemn face. “Well, I’m no Ratchet, but me and Elita did a fine job patchin’ him up—if I do say so myself,” he chuckled.

Twitch didn’t move from her spot beside the berth, still staring at Bee with gloomy optics.

Wheeljack cleared his throat, awkwardly standing to the side, his gaze darting between Bumblebee and Twitch.

Eventually, the mech took a step forward, coming up beside Twitch and kneeling to her height.

“Here,” he said, reaching for her servo, “lemme show ya something.”

He took her servo in his, gently lifting it till her digits rested on Bee’s chassis.

Twitch raised an optical ridge, glancing to Wheeljack with squinted vision.

“Just wait,” he said, offering her a wink. 

Twitch followed his instruction, turning back around to face Bee. 

She waited, and waited, and waited—to no avail. But, just when she was about to pull her servo away, she felt it: a gentle thrum working its way through her digits. It was an energetic feeling; one she could tell brought promises of life inside the bot.

She gasped, turning wide optics to Wheeljack as a curious smile spread across her faceplate.

“It’s that spark of his,” the mech whispered, letting out a breathy chuckle, “still humming away throughout his frame.”

Twitch giggled right along with him as she pressed her servo flush against Bee’s chassis, her pedes beginning to hover above the ground.

“He’s a strong one,” Wheeljack continued, “I’ve seen him bounce back from worse—and I’m sure this time’ll be no different.”

Twitch let the warm hum wash over her. It traveled through her servo, up her arm, and writhed throughout her circuits until it danced within her own spark.

She shut her optics, focusing on nothing but the soft purr.

For the first time in what felt like forever—as Twitch’s spark synced with the beat of the one under her servo—the Terran’s frame released its tension, and a wave of hope flooded her whirling mind.

Chapter Text

The last thing Bumblebee remembered was hitting the ground; his frame collapsing against the unforgiving forest floor. 

Everything after that passed him by like a cloud in a raging storm.

Wisps of sounds, of feelings—of pain—flew by, all submerged in never-ending darkness. With each fleeting nuance, Bee failed to hold on to the sensations. They seeped from his servos like energon from a sparkling’s. 

He heard voices, sure—he even heard his own—but the noises scraped against his audials like rust lodged in gears. Yet even that was soon replaced with overwhelming agony traveling across his chassis. 

It was distant—like that of an old war wound resurfacing in a dream. Yet it was so vivid just the same. It felt as though it scratched at his spark itself, tearing at the chamber to expose the delicate radiance within. 

Just as abruptly as the pain arrived, it vanished; replaced with a muffled ache seeping through his frame. 

Though things did not improve in any sense of the word. Although the pain was gone, it gave way for something much less physical to mutilate him.

He began to hear more voices, though he was not so sure these ones were real. 

He heard Breakdown, taunting him with words Bee swore had been said long ago. Ratchet, too; chastising him for… something . Sounds of war—of terror—broke through his audials. Megatron’s voice came along with them, though in a horrific spirit Bumblebee had not heard for a long time;  one that brought on memories of fierce battles and extinguished sparks. 

Through the darkness, he heard the Terrans, too. They laughed, and shouted—and he listened to the echoes of their childish banter. 

Optimus’ gruff voice spoke through it all; merely nothing but a raindrop amid the rapids. 

The ghosts all whirled across the bot’s processor like a typhoon; reeking havoc upon his aching mind. Echoes of the past unburied themselves from the recesses of his memory bank, clawing at him until he was sure nothing but stripped gears was left of him.  

The noises wreaked havoc on his mind like a tornado, tearing it apart until it drowned out even the physical pain, yet never revealing themselves from the darkness that engulfed Bee.

The voices only picked up until they overwhelmed his audials, whirling together to form one great scream that tore across his frame. 

But—just like that—it was gone.

 In the cry’s wake, it left nothing but an unnatural silence that Bee had always suspected could only be found in death. 

As the bot drank in the sudden serenity, the void that once encompassed him was interrupted by a floor. The ground formed into a textureless gray, seemingly stretching on forever, yet he felt nothing under his pedes. Four walls soon followed, though—to Bumblebee—it looked as if they never connected with the flooring. 

Each wall appeared to inch closer to the bot, yet they never closed the distance. They remained static, but refused to stand still all the same. If Bee focused on one thing in the dreary scenery for too long, it simply dipped back into the abyss until he looked away. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before, and—if only for a moment—Bumblebee wondered if he had become one with the Allspark. 

As he stood in the silence, part of him expected Primus to reveal Himself before the Autobot. Though it was a different sight entirely that greeted him. 

Stray colors began to wander across Bee’s vision, gathering in a spot in front of him before snapping together to form the silhouette of a certain red and blue Stunticon.

“Well, you’ve certainly seen better days, huh Slowpoke?” Breakdown teased, resting a servo on his hip.

The Decepticon had materialized in front of Bee in a matter of clicks. Everything was the exact same about the bot since that day at the Witwicky racetrack—except for one thing. A foggy yellow glow stood in place of Breakdown’s optics, dancing across his faceplate like a swarm of fireflies.

Bumblebee gaped at the figure, bringing up his arms to rub his disbelieving optics. But, as his left servo pushed against one optic, nothing met the other. The bot froze in spot, turning his helm towards his right arm—or where it would be, at least. Instead, an empty socket took its place. 

Magenta bubbles floated across the socket, as if the energon was shoved into zero gravity and left to wander. Bumblebee half expected blaring pain to accompany the visual, yet none arrived—not even the dull ache he had become familiar with. He felt nothing, to put it simply.

Wide blue optics turned back to Breakdown, who stood stock-still—as if forced to wait for Bee’s repsonse to move. So much swam through the Autobot’s processor, he found it impossible to focus on one thing.

His frame did not share that sentiment, however. Almost by instinct, he went to respond to the Stunticon’s quip—the words poised on his glossa. But, just as he pried open his intake, the sensation of rushing water gushed through it, gurgling through his pipes and forcing his denta shut. 

The Autobot let out a choked gasp, raising his servo to his throat. When he looked back to Breakdown, the mech looked unfazed by Bee’s behavior—still standing in the exact same pose since he first materialized. 

Finally, in place of Bumblebee’s silence, the Decepticon spoke.

“Then again, you haven’t seen many good days in a long time,” he snorted. 

Bee just stared at the bot with undeniable disbelief. But—right before his very optics—Breakdown’s form began to unravel like ribbons. Colors loosened from his silhouette and danced across the dull backdrop as the mirage slowly melted away. 

Blues, reds, and whites began to warp, intertwining with one another and blurring together until pinks and whites took their place.

Another form began to solidify, a smaller one of toothy whites and bubblegum pink. 

“You've always been on the clumsier side,” Arcee chuckled, her voice emerging before her frame had even fully materialized. 

As her form hardened, her optics did not—just like Breakdown’s. Vibrant blues fluttered across her face, refusing to settle. 

“But we both know you won’t let that stop you,” she joked, but her lighthearted quip held a deep tone that rattled Bumblebee’s spark. 

Before he could even think to respond, her vibrant colors went cold and faded into the dull not-room surrounding them. The femme disolved into the background—leaving a blaring emptiness in her wake. 

Bumblebee just stared, unable to tear his optics away from the spot she had just stood. 

But the emptiness was almost immediately filled with gunmetal gray. A towering figure took the femme’s place—a blazing red blur overtaking his optics, and a shining Decepticon badge staring down at Bee. 

On instinct, the Autobot took a cautionary step back as his battle protocols kicked into high gear. Echoes of the Megatron Bumblebee knew from the war still rang out through his mind, and he half expected the looming warlord to lunge for him—cannon at the ready. However, the present soon caught up with the bot, and his frame easily relaxed.

A much kinder—gentler—expression wrapped across Megatron’s faceplate, and Bee instantly recognized him as the reformed Decepticon that had won them the war, and proven himself to be truly changed many times over. 

For a moment, the two simply stared at one another—well, as close you can get to staring when one has no solid optics. 

Eventually, Megatron seemed to shift. One leg bent beneath him and he lowered himself to a kneel, placing a hefty servo on Bee’s shoulder—the one still intact. Though the Autobot did not feel the weight he expected to accompany it. 

“You are strong, Scout,” the Decepticon muttered, “and you have many relying on that strength. Do not let it go to waste.” 

Bumblebee watched the mech’s arm flex, as the servo saddling his shoulder squeezed—though any expected sensations still remained absent. 

Bee looked back to Megatron, and—if only for a tenth of a nanoklik—the bot watched as shining silver twisted into vibrant blues and red, and Optimus’ soft smile replaced Megatron’s determined grimace. 

In the blink of an optic, Megatron’s visage fizzled away, revealing a red and white bot standing behind him. 

The mech stood with arms crossed against his chassis. Two Autobot badges were perched upon each shoulder, and red crosses littered his frame.

Bumblebee’s optics widened, and his spark thrummed. As he looked upon the old medic, the Autobot realized it had been a long time since he had last seen the bot. Too long.

The bot looked to Ratchet's face, expecting to see a dazzling glow in place of his optics. But all that met his gaze was a swirl of colors; reds, grays, whites, and that familiar brilliant blue—all mashed together to form a singular vortex. The whirlpool overtook his entire helm, leaving no discernible features. 

But, as Bumblebee stood there staring at the medic, he realized—no matter how hard he focused—he could not remember Ratchet’s face in full. Certain details would emerge from his memory; the medic’s soft smirk, or his gruff hands working so delicately, and the interjections of turquoise within the cool blue sea of his optics—yet none of it came together to form a whole image. 

It tugged at his spark; knowing a bot he once considered a close friend now sat faceless within his memory banks. 

Ratchet’s voice interjected Bee’s brooding, rumbling out of his intake like a rusted exhaust. 

“Well? What’re you standing around for?” the medic hawked, “it's rude to keep ‘em waiting, y’know.”

Before Ratchet could even finish his sentence, something within Bumblebee’s spark sputtered, and the dull visuals—and Ratchet—were ripped away as the bot was plunged into a blur of support beams and glaring rectangular lights.

Bee gasped as once absent pain tore through his frame again, and the sight that hung above him swirled together in a nauseating dance. 

“Well well well,” a thick southern drawl chuckled from beside him, “lookie who's awake.”

Chapter Text

Dulled agony swirled across Bumblebee’s processor like a whirlpool in a fish pond. Nausea bubbled in his tanks, offering silent threats of purging every time he dared to shift his frame. HUD alerts flashed across his vision as sickening deja vu followed them. He cleared each one without even thinking 

Wheeljack continued talking beside the bot—though Bee couldn’t make out a single word over the whirlwind in his mind. The bot offered a gentle servo on Bumblebee’s left shoulder as he scrambled to get his shaky arms beneath him. 

Bumblebee groaned as he struggled to push himself up. He felt his left servo press against the berth beneath him, and immediately surged forward—only to tip to his right as his shoulder crashed against the berth. 

A burst of pain tore through Bee’s frame, traveling from his shoulder in ripples. A yelp came with it, ripping out of his intake as his world once again began to blur. 

Wheeljack’s servos found their spot on Bumblebee’s back, guiding him into an upright position. 

“Careful now,” the mech chuckled as he coaxed Bee into stability, “Primus knows we don’t need another injury on our servos.” 

His tone was lighthearted, but Bumblebee still easily recognized the hint of fear—worry—worming its way into his words. 

Bee’s helm hung limply like a block of lead, threatening to tear right off his shoulders. Despite it, his optics searched through their blurred haze as the world around him came into focus—along with his memories. Philadelphia, Grimlock, the kids, Mandroid, Arachnomechs, the train yard—

A sharp huff of air hissed from Bee’s vents as his optics shot towards his right shoulder. 

He had thought—prayed—it’d been a dream, yet the gorey reality still stared back at him no matter his pleas to Primus. His arm was gone.

It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real. His processor refused to accept it, instead retreating into a numb haze as his optics refused to tear away from the empty socket. 

From his left, Bumblebee heard the dugout doors slide open, the click of the latches echoing through his mind like a train horn as everything else melted away. 

Heavy stomps followed, thumping towards his berth until skidding to a stop beside him.

“Bee?” he heard someone say as a servo rested on the small of his back—a quiet, feminine voice, yet not meek in any sense of the word. “Bumblebee, it’s Elita,” the voice continued, “can you look up for me.”

He wanted to, he really did. Yet the lead in his helm refused to subside as his optics began to flutter closed. Eventually, whatever was left of his vision slipped from his grasp, and Bumblebee felt his helm slam back against the berth.

Colors bursted from behind his optical shutters as a dull ache arose from the back of his helm, pulling him deeper into whatever rest awaited him.

The last thing he heard before darkness overtook him was Elita offering a hushed “scrap.”

… 

When Bee woke up for the second time, things were noticeably less corporeal.

Conversations and sensations passed him by like water in rapids; refusing to succumb to the proper passage of time.

Touches grazed his plating, and voices floated around his processor as a dull ache accompanied him through it all. He was vaguely aware of the words directed towards him—calling his name—yet his vocoder rejected his attempts to form his own.

His frame refused to listen to the demands of his mind, and the bot was forced to remain dormant and still as the waking world faded back to black.

…

The third time Bumblebee woke, his senses were thrust into a domain of whirling white lights and deafening sounds. 

The mech’s audials shook with the noises of every little movement surrounding him. Every metallic scrape, thump, or word endlessly scraped through his processor with a sickening tear. 

He was faintly aware of groans running from his own intake, yet they refused to meet his audials over the rapids of noise overpowering his senses. 

Steady servos placed themselves upon his frame—guiding him upwards—landing on his clavicle and moving up until they cradled the back of his helm. Through it all, a voice—muffled and soft—broke through the storm, intertwined with the rapid thrum of his own spark.

The voice emerged from the cacophony drowning Bumblebee’s world—a life preserve in the ever-circling rapids. Though his vision was still filled with dazzling lights, he grappled for salvation, desperate to keep afloat. 

He strained to listen to the voice, as the surrounding sounds slowly melted away. The grip on his helm—although gentle—remained firm, dragging his aching frame from the depths of unconsciousness.

He knew that voice. He knew it. His mind refused to produce a name to match, yet the rumbling verberation filled it with blurry memories: quiet nights, rushing nightmares, the thrill and horror of battle, and firm embraces within arms much larger than his own; all mushed together in one overwhelming amalgamation. 

Slowly—among the glaring lights that demanded his attention, and screaming noises overriding his audials—a face lifted from the chaos. A dark blue helm encased a silver face, as sharp blue finials protruded from the sides. Dazzling blue optics interrupted the unceasing white lights, illuminating the smile lines across smooth metal as a soft grin found its place on the mech’s face.

Blurry shapes began to harden, as the hold on Bee’s helm held firm. Blinding lights faded as the ear-piercing ambience faded into the background. What took its place was the solidified image of Optimus, kneeling down in front of Bumblebee’s slouched form, his denta curled into a smile.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” the Prime said, pulling the yellow scout into a hug.

Bumblebee practically sank into Optimus’ arms. What felt like a millennia of pain and tension seeped from his frame as the soft rumble of the Prime’s spark rubbed against his chassis. 

Optimus’ servo absentmindedly rubbed against Bee’s backstrut, as the Prime offered quiet words of comfort. Through the bot’s mumbling, Bumblebee slowly became aware of the small audience surrounding them. 

Hefty puffs of air escaped his vents as he tried his best to regain his bearings. His processor still twirled in a confusing dance as his world intermixed in a mess of reality and dreams, yet he found the strength to begin to release himself from Optimus’ hold—much to the Prime’s apparent dismay.

He groaned as his frame pulled away from Optimus’, leaning back into a sitting position. Around him stood three other bots; Wheeljack to his right, Elita to his left, and Megatron positioned behind Optimus—though the mech had no hope of being able to stand in the space, instead reduced to an awkward crouch. Bee wondered how he and Optimus even managed to get into the Terrans’ hideout in the first place. The scout’s optics locked with those of the ex-warlord’s, and he offered him a curt nod. Bumblebee returned the gesture, although the small movement sent aching waves of vertigo through his helm. 

Elita-1’s unusually gentle voice broke through his dizziness. “How are you feeling,” she asked, kneeling down and offering a servo on his shoulder. The touch reminded Bumblebee of the blaring issue of his frame, as—in a moment of deja vu—his optics slowly turned to his right arm.

Just as before, empty space took its place. But—unlike before—cold darkness did not overtake his vision. Instead, heavy air flowed from his vents as his optics shuttered, before turning back to face forward. As his helm resettled, a small cable caught his attention from the corner of his optic—trailing from his left arm to a small IV drip, stocked with energon. Right on cue, a small alert popped up in his HUD, revealing his fuel levels had reached a satisfactory level. It was likely the only good news his processor had provided since this whole thing started. 

“Better,” he said, eventually—though the sore rumble of his vocoder disagreed with the narrative. 

For a few nanokliks, no one said anything. However, just as Wheeljack parted his denta to presumably continue the conversation, the dugout doors zipped open, and in poured a torrent of squealing Terrans, making a b-line for Bumblebee’s berth. 

Elita barely had enough time to leap out of the way before the Terrans overtook her spot, producing an impressive amount of racket for such small bots as they bombarded Bee with questions, statements, and answers to questions Bumblebee had not even asked. 

The sounds pounded against Bee’s processor, producing a nauseating ache as his fans kicked on to try and subside the scout’s rising inner chaos.

Each Terran’s voice mixed together in a roaring tornado as the individual bots attempted to catch Bee up on what he’d missed, how much they missed him, how long he’d been out, and anything else that grazed their processors—each one louder than the last. Through it all, Bumblebee struggled to keep up with even one of the kids, as his audials bounced between one bot to the next. The voices only rose in volume, and stars began to fly across his vision as the audial assault relentlessly continued. 

Eventually, though, one voice easily managed to slice through them all. 

“Kids!” Dorothy shouted from the dugout entrance—Alex, Robby, and Mo by her side—”What on earth are you doing, bothering poor Bumblebee like this?”

The Terrans stood frozen, glancing between their mother and Bee. But eventually, with identically dejected-yet-guilty looks on their faces, they began to shuffle back to the entrance. 

Each kid casted Bee a sheepish look—except for one. Twitch stood still by Bee’s bedside, rapidly glancing between him and her family. Until she launched herself at Bee, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and neck as she pressed herself against his chassis in a desperate embrace.

The soft-yet-firm contact stilled the disastrous panic of his processor, as the rapid thrum of his spark softened. Bumblebee remained frozen as Twitch’s hold only tightened. Slowly—as his mind regained its sense—Bee raised his servo, resting it against her back strut in a meek attempt to return the sentiment. 

Wordlessly, Twitch pulled away, staring at Bee for one more nanoklik before she turned and silently followed her family.

He found himself missing her presence the moment it disappeared—leaving a chilling emptiness in its wake. 

As the dugout doors slid closed, each remaining bot in the room slowly turned back to Bumblebee—their movements cautious, as if he could shatter at any moment. For a nanoklik, their wariness grated at Bee’s processor. He wasn’t fragile , he wasn’t weak. He didn’t need to be cradled like a chipped porcelain pot. But, in the very next, the bravado soon fell away as his state caught up with him. 

As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t exactly in prime condition at the moment. 

During the war, he had never really had time to recover from injuries—being constantly tossed from one battlefield to the next. But, now that he finally found himself in times of peace—and surrounded by those he trusted—maybe he could finally, finally take it slow. 

Heavy silence stewed in the room, only interrupted by Bee’s fans whirling throughout his frame. That is, until his raw voice broke through the quietude. 

“How long–” he croaked, interrupted by a cough, “—have I been out?”

He turned back to face Optimus, still kneeling in front of him with a solemn expression plastered on his faceplate. 

“Four solar cycles,” the Prime said.

The news didn’t hit Bee as hard as he had expected. The sentence washed over him like water over stone, settling in his mind as he moved onto the next question.

“What…happened?”

Soft silence sank over the room. In front of him, Optimus’ gaze averted, flickering over to Wheeljack before resting back on Bumblebee. But, before the Prime could answer, Elita beat him to it.

“We were hoping you could tell us ,” she said.

Optimus nodded along with her words, turning back to Bee. “The Terrans…did their best to explain the situation—however our information still contains many holes. To our knowledge, Mandroid was the one conducting the Bot Brawls in Philadelphia. When you confronted him, he managed to fend off the Terrans, and transported you to Brookeville, Pennsylvania. We later found you in stasis-lock in a nearby forest. The rest…is your story to tell.”

Bumblebee could tell Optimus was choosing his words carefully, and the prudence once again irked his senses. But he was right; it was up to Bee to recount his time with Mandroid—though it was something he would rather keep buried. And his memory banks seemed to agree with that sentiment as—now that he reached for recollection—he realized a thick fog covered much of the events. And for good reason too, he suspected.

But his squeamishness would be no use in his situation.

Bumblebee reset his vocoder, lowering his gaze to his servos resting in his lap as he fought back the haze covering his memories. 

“I remember waking up somewhere dark,” he started—his voice far too meek for his liking. “Mandroid was there, and his Arachnomechs. He had some sort of machine—large and round,” his tone began to rise as the fog lifted from the memories. His glossa failed to keep up with his racing mind as recollection washed over him in a swirling rapid. “It had a singular optics with a laser, and—and I’ve seen it before, but I—I don’t remember–”

Bee’s rambling was cut off by a heavy thud, as Megatron’s knee landed against the dugout’s flooring. A soft crack resinated from underneath his weight, and Bumblebee winced at the damage possibly done to the Terrans’ hideout. But Megatron did not seem to notice as he shuffled his hulking frame towards the end of Bee’s berth. 

“This machine…” he started, never taking his blazing optics off of the scout, “did it have piercing appendages, and a smooth silver body?”

Bumblebee nodded, offering a choked “yes.”

Megatron’s gaze lowered to Bee’s right shoulder. “And…did that machine do this?” he asked. as his helm gestured to the empty joint. 

Bee once again nodded, but refused to incite his voice box.

Megatron’s helm twitched towards Optimus, whose optics locked with the ex-warlord’s before flickering back to Bumblebee. 

Cold silence stretched over the group again, until Optimus’ vocoder clicked on as he rested a servo on Bee’s left shoulder. 

“Get some rest,” the Prime said, offering a weak smile, “Wheeljack will be back soon to check on you.”

Bumblebee’s optics twitched towards the mech, but refused to meet Optimus’.  The bot wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, but his encounter with Mandroid still hung over him like a looming beast. He was scared, and he hated it. The feeling threatened to consume his aching frame with every nanoklik he failed to fight it off. The volatile emotion was something the scout had become accustomed to during the war, yet back then it had remained a sudden and fleeting feeling—something that would arise during the fire of battle, and fizzle out with time. But what festered inside Bumblebee seemed out of place; unnatural within the safety he now found himself. It stood out in his processor as something profusely wrong. 

As Bumblebee stewed within his own thoughts, a silent agreement seemed to pass between the other four mechs, as each bot awkwardly shuffled out of the dugout—barely fitting through the doors.

The entrance slid shut, leaving Bumblebee to bask in the silence of isolation.

Chapter Text

The latch clicked shut behind Megatron as each bot scuffled out of the barn. Elita was the first to step out, extending her back strut as she stretched with a soft grunt.

“Those Terrans really oughta widen those doors,” she said. 

“But you have to admit,” Wheeljack chimed in, coming up beside her and sweeping dirt from his chassis, “That hideout of theirs is an engineering marvel.”

The Terrans in question stood not far out in their field, loosely huddled together as small groups of cows intertwined with the bots. The Malto siblings—as well as Alex and Dorothy—sat with them, idly chatting as their voices carried through the day’s breeze. 

The family turned as the bots emerged from the barn; the kids waved, and Dot offered the four a short nod. Elita-1 and Wheeljack shuffled towards the group, as Optimus and Megatron hung behind, returning Dorothy’s gesture. 

As soon as the others wandered out of earshot, Megatron turned to Optimus, a distant form of urgency burning in his optics. 

“I fear there is more to Bumblebee’s story than meets the eye—and unforeseen consequences will arise from his encounter.” 

Megatron did not even give Optimus time to straighten his joints before jumping into his calculated retort—something the ex-warlord was infamous for. However, the Prime had grown used to his friend’s mannerism, and easily fell into step with the mech’s words.

“Mandroid is a formidable opponent,” Optimus agreed, “and I fear our strained relationship with Ghost will only deepen our vulnerability to him.” 

“With all due respect, Prime,” Megatron cut in, “I’m afraid the consequences I’m referencing are much more personal.”

Optimus processed the mech’s words. But, it became clear the Prime had not caught on, and Megatron continued.

The Decepticon sighed. “He is scared, Optimus,” he said. “Your scout is brave, there is no doubt about it. However, clearly the recent events have stirred his processor up more than you realize.”

Though Megatron had fallen silent, Optimus did not offer a response. He couldn’t disagree with the mech, but an uncomfortable feeling squirmed in his spark; foreign and unidentifiable. The strange sensation kept his glossa tied, as he instead turned his optics to the figures in the field. 

The Terrans had turned their attention to Megatron and Optimus—their eyes darting between the pair and Wheeljack as their intakes moved in unintelligible conversation. But, eventually, Wheeljack mimicked their glances, and began walking towards the two mechs. 

The Malto kids trailed shortly behind him, followed by Elita-1 and their parents.

The Terrans practically skipped up to Optimus, skirting to a stop at the Prime’s pedes as they peered up at him with what Dorothy always called ‘puppy dog eyes.’ Twitch stood in front of them all—servos clasped together.

“Can we go see Bee now? Please?” she asked, drawing out her plea into a childish whine. Her siblings followed her lead, gripping their digits together and stringing together an incoherent web of whines.

Optimus looked to Wheeljack, who now stood behind the gangle of younglings—a questioning look in the Prime’s optics. 

The scientist shrugged, crossing his arms and glancing down at the kids with amusement. “I don’t see why not,” he said to the other mech.

Optimus Prime nodded, his optics flickering to Megatron beside him before returning to the Terrans.

“Very well,” he resigned, “but you must be gentle—and calm .”

The kids eagerly nodded, before rushing between and around Optimus’ legs to reach their hideout’s hatch, disappearing down the entrance in a blink of an optic—their human siblings close behind.

Wheeljack released a breathy chuckle, stepping forward to follow the Terrans into their lair. Elita settled beside Optimus, a servo resting on her hip as she watched Wheeljack hobble into the barn.

Dorothy and Alex found their places beside the bots. But—as soon as their children disappeared down the hatch—their attention snapped to Optimus. 

“How is he?” Dorothy demanded, refusing to give leeway to any niceties. There was a reason Megatron was so fond of her, after all.

“Stable—but shaken,” Optimus responded, keeping his optics trained on the shut trapdoor hiding in the shade of the barn. Dorothy’s eyes never left his frame, instead boring into him with perfectly concealed emotion Optimus was frankly afraid to unearth. 

The Prime could tell she wasn’t satisfied by his answer. A puff of smoke escaped his exhaust stacks as he steeled himself.

“I will not deny his…dire situation,” the Prime continued, “but we must have faith in Bumblebee’s strength. He will recover.” He has to , Optimus thought—a silent prayer to anyone that listened. 

Dorothy hummed, and—through his peripheral—Optimus saw her turn towards the barn, eyes trained on nothing in particular. 

Bumblebee lost track of how long he sat alone in the dugout, with nothing to keep him company but the soft thrum of the lights, and the creaking of the dugout’s foundation.

The bot tossed and turned—each movement revealing more and more dents and scratches littering his frame—yet his aching processor refused to allow any rest. 

Throbbing pain worked its way across his body, washing through his joints and pooling at his right shoulder. 

He groaned, giving one last frustrated huff as he flopped onto his back—only to immediately regret it as a jolt of pain rocked his door wings.

“This is stupid,” Bee grumbled to himself through a pained gasp, “I don’t need ‘rest,’ I need…” he searched his processor for the correct solution, only to find it filled with a faint haze. “I need…something,” he finished lamely.

His processor lagged behind as any attempt he made at forming cohesive thoughts was met with nothing but a sluggish daze. Utter exhaustion leaked across his frame—a sense of tiredness that transcended any amount of recharge Bumblebee could even dream of obtaining.

The stabbing pain in his shoulder had faded to the back of his mind; subdued in order to make room for fatigue.

He groaned again. He just wanted to rest. But, at the same time, the idea of being unaware of his surroundings ever again made his tank slosh—which, in turn, made him even more exhausted. What a predicament, he bemoaned to himself. 

Just as the mech had shifted back onto his side, the doors to the dugout slid open with a click that broke the silence that had enshrouded him for Primus-knows how long. Bumblebee jerked upwards, locking his optics on the door. Something akin to panic burst from his spark—if only for a knee-jerking nanoklik. Rationally, he knew he was safe; that the base was surrounded by friends and family—those he trusted most to protect him. Yet logic refused to stow the suspense that kept his frame tense as he stared down the door. 

In the doorway stood the Terrans, and—although his cydraulics released their tension—some instinctual part of Bee braced itself for the loud chaos that was sure to accompany the bots. But, unlike last time, restrained calm rested over the group, as each kid made their way to his berth.

Despite their reserved demeanor, their faces easily portrayed the true giddiness bubbling just beneath the surface of their frames. Bright smiles plastered themselves on each of their faceplates as soon as the Terrans’ optics landed on Bumblebee’s form. As they approached, Bee noticed Jawbreaker practically shaking with excitement—his servos twitching at his sides—and the scout instantly recognized just how eager the Terran was to wrap him in a spark-crushing hug. Bee silently thanked Jawbreaker for his reservation; he wasn’t sure his frame could take the crushing blow. 

Twitch was at the head of their little parade, practically skipping her way to Bee.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. It was a simple question, poised with an innocent demeanor. But something about the Terran’s careful tone just reminded Bumblebee of how utterly fragile they saw him; a cracked porcelain doll, threatening to crumble at the slightest jolt. 

The dark, squirming feeling returned to his spark.

Bee swung his legs over the berth, planting them on the floor. The simple movement jostled every dent and scratch littering his frame, and the exhaustion that had momentarily subsided rushed across him like a wave in a storm. He fought to keep back the pained groan building up on his glossa.

The kids didn’t need to know how fragile he actually was.

“Well,” he said, plastering a sly smile on his face, “I’ve been better.”

Twitch didn’t seem too amused by his attempt at humor. She made her way to the berth, eventually resting her servos on the edge as she stared up at Bee with what he assumed were the best puppy dog optics she could muster. 

For a beat, no one moved, no one talked. It was just Bee and Twitch—unheading eye contact burrowing into one another.

Eventually, he sighed, widening his posture and opening his arm in an inviting gesture. In the blink of an optic, Twitch launched herself at Bee’s chassis, wrapping her arms around his neck.

The mech let out a low grunt as her frame collided against his, but—just as quickly—he had his arm swaddled across her back. Distantly, Bee felt the pistons in his right shoulder moving to mimic his left, though no extremity met the effort. 

The two bots pressed into each other like sparks clinging to life itself—desperate and unrelenting. Through the dulled agony rushing across his processor, Bumblebee could hear the quiet rumble of Twitch’s engine flowing through her frame. 

Bee was the first to loosen his grip—if only by a little. His arm pulled back, cupping Twitch’s shoulder as he moved his optics up to the rest of the Terrans. 

A small audience had gathered at the spectacle; each bot peering over one another to catch a glimpse of the two. Robby and Mo gathered at their siblings’ pedes, and Wheeljack stood away from them all, leaning on the far wall—observing with what Bumblebee assumed was a smile underneath his battle mask.

 Bee released a tired chuckle, before freeing his servo and offering a small beckoning gesture to the gazing kids. 

Without missing a beat, Thrash flung himself at Bee, practically shoving his sister out of the way as he found his place in the older bot’s arm.

Thrash was noticeably less gentle, nearly knocking Bumblebee over if the scout hadn’t braced himself just in time. As the Terran rested in his arms, stabbing pain returned to his frame, washing across it in growing waves. Again, Bee bit back a groan. 

The rest of the Terran siblings followed in their older brother’s footsteps—albeit with increased caution. 

Hashtag sat beside Bumblebee on the berth, resting her weight against his. Thrash hoped down from Bee’s embrace, taking a step back as Nightshade and Jawbreaker took his place, each wrapping their arms around the scout. Robby and Mo stood below them all, resting their hands on Bee’s golden plating.

The end result was an entanglement of colorful plating and servos, all coming together to form one great silhouette. Their sparks all purred together, matching each others’ pace as their frames merged to become one.  

Bumblebee sat in the middle—engulfed in the warmth of his students. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he felt safe.

But the feeling was fleeting. Within a nanoklik, the peaceful bliss faded away, giving way to reality’s return. The embraces of his wards were replaced with winding pain twirling across his frame, spiraling from his helm to his pedes. 

Growing whines and groans seeped from his voicebox, barely being restrained by the scout’s stubborn stoicism. All that managed to slip through his vents was a low sigh, releasing every pained cry with it in a silent howl. 

His processor swam with exhaustion and blatant dizziness—leaving his thoughts to flow in a muddled mess as his mind struggled to fully take in the world around him. 

Among it all, he felt the Terrans’ embrace begin to recede; an absence that made his frame shiver. Each of the siblings pulled away—if only slightly—leaving a desperate chill in the space their frames had just taken up. 

Bumblebee felt a pathetic desire build up in his spark; an immature want to have them envelope his aching frame until he drifted off into recharge, until it was all over. Silently he scolded himself for his fragility. He didn’t need to be held like some newly-forged sparkling. Atleast, that’s what he told himself. 

He was pulled from his whining by the silent realisation that the kids were looking at him. Their owlish optics watched him with oceans of mixed emotions, pulling together to form the unreadable thoughts crossing their processors. Whatever pitying or saddened notions that graced them, Bumblebee was sure he despised. 

Twitch’s muffled voice pulled through the Autobot’s sluggish audials.

“We’re glad to have you back,” she said, her servos never removing themselves from their spot on his frame. A soft timbre permeated her voice; a vulnerability Bumblebee realized he had rarely heard from her—from any of the Terrans.

“Yeah, things definitely wouldn’t be the same with you gone,” Thrash cut in—though his remark was cut short by a quick elbow jab from his twin, followed by matching glares from the rest of his siblings. “Was it something I said?” he asked. 

The rest of the Terrans shared a look of disgruntled annoyance, but an undeniable look of fondness broke through each of their faceplates. Bumblebee realized he understood that feeling front, back, and center; the aftermath of a harrowing mission or battle, where the reality of what did or didn’t happen finally began to set in, and it's all everyone can do to enjoy the presences of the people still there to be enjoyed.

It was a disturbingly nostalgic feeling—one Bee wasn’t so sure he was glad to share with the Terrans. 

Since the very first day he was assigned their mentor, Bumblebee had understood he would not be able to protect them, not from everything this planet was to throw at them. But, as he looked at their weary faces and sagging frames, that understanding finally clicked into place in his processor. Even with the war long since extinguished, and a whole new Cybertronian race roaming Earth, they would never be free from the conflicts that ravaged his life—that now ravaged the Terrans’ lives. 

The realization made him sick, and suddenly their absent embraces seemed that much colder. 

In that moment, he wanted to wrap them in the best hug he could manage, and never let go; to protect them from whatever their world may throw at them. 

Before he could even lift his servo to their frames, the dugout’s door slid open, startling him from his mind. 

Optimus’ bulky form took up the entirety of the doorframe. His joints creaked as he practically contorted his frame to fit through the door, eventually making it to the other side and being plunged into the awkward silence of his observers. The sight would have been downright comical if Bumblebee could muster the energy to laugh.

Instead, every bot stayed quiet, watching as Optimus did his best to right himself in their confined space. Eventually, the Prime cleared his vocoder, turning to face Bee and the Terrans. 

“I apologize for my intrusion,” he said, “but I would like to talk to Bumblebee alone…if that is alright with you,” he finished, nodding his helm to Bee. 

The Terrans whipped their helms back around to the scout, their pleading puppy dog optics returning to their faceplates as they shook their helms in unison. Bee couldn’t help but chuckle at their adolescent pleas. But, the Autobot suspected there was merit behind Optimus’ request for solitude; some things just weren’t meant for the kids’ audials. 

With the smallest grin on his face, Bee nodded to the siblings, gesturing with his helm to the vacant doorway. An ocean of groans echoed from the kids as they began to drag their pedes—and feet—across the dugout’s flooring. 

When the last of their frames disappeared out of the exit, Wheeljack stood from his slouch, offering a curt nod to Optimus, and followed the Terrans out the door.

A resounding click echoed through the room as the door slid shut, plunging the two mechs into awkward silence. The smile faded from Bee’s face, as his optics drifted from the door to his pedes splayed out in front of him.

The only thing that penetrated the quiet was the faint creak of Optimus’ joints as he shuffled to kneel in front of Bee.

Bumblebee didn’t want to look at him. He felt the optics of the Prime burning into the top of his helm, yet the scout refused to raise it. In the absence of any distractions, an unreasonable sense of guilt washed over him, weighing down his frame and keeping his helm hung—despite its odd and irrational nature.

Eventually, Optimus released a tired sigh, and Bee could feel the pressure of the mech’s optics lift from his frame. When he gathered the courage to raise his own gaze, he saw the Prime observing the dugout around them.

“This…base the Terrans have constructed is rather impressive,” Optimus noted, gesturing to the various decorations and furniture surrounding the duo.

“The dugout,” Bumblebee corrected.

“Pardon?”

The scout waved a vague servo to signal to the space around them. “The kids call it the dugout,” he explained.

Optimus hummed, returning his gaze to the room’s extremities. “I believe my point still stands,” he said.

Bee nodded in agreement—though the small movement jostled his sore neck. Eventually, he joined the Prime in observing the infrastructure and ingenuity. Every inch of the little clubhouse screamed of the personalities of each Terran, all of which had added their own personal touches to the space over the months. It brought the soft smile back to Bee’s face; looking at the individual details littering the room.

String lights hung from just about every bannister streaming across the roof. Stuffed animals and decorative pillows were spread across the couch atop the loft. Bumps and dents littered every ramp laid across the floor, and scratches and scraps splayed themselves across the ground from the Terrans’ frequent roughhousing. Each article told stories spanning months and days. Some of which—Bumblebee realized with a creeping sense of sadness—he wasn’t here to experience. 

“Yeah…” he agreed eventually, turning his optics back to the ground laid out in front of his pedes. “The entire thing was mostly Nightshade’s idea,” he muttered, the faintest smile slithering onto his face. “They really are great kids.” 

He felt Optimus’ optics moving back to him, looking his frame—which he was sure must have been a sight to behold—up and down.

“Well, they had a great teacher,” he said after a pause. 

Bumblebee let the words sink into his frame, leaving Optimus to stand in silence. His processor fought to supply memories supporting or denying the Prime’s words; old files dating months and months, spanning his time with the Terrans. 

His lessons, their missions, and the quiet and loud nights alike flooded from his memory banks, tangling together as his processor scrambled to produce a resultant.

Something about Optimus’ words couldn’t rest easy in his mind. Shame bubbled up where pride should’ve, and tracking down the origin of the feeling proved challenging.

Eventually, the silence Optimus was left to stew in grew too long, and he cleared his vocoder with an audible click.

“Bumblebee…” he began, pulling the scout from his stupor, “While I do not wish to pry…” The Prime paused, seemingly taking great care to pick his words. “I fear there is more to your story than what you are telling me.”

Bee kept his helm lowered; optics fixated on the ground. But, hidden beneath his still frame, his processor flooded with panic. In all truthfulness, he wasn’t entirely sure what Optimus was referring to. But, the Prime’s tone mixed with the anxiety mounting in his frame resulted in a reaction that reduced him to an antsy ball of nerves. 

Optimus kneeled expectantly across from the scout, but Bumblebee couldn’t manage a response even if he wanted to. And Primus knows he didn’t want to. 

Eventually, Optimus caved to Bee’s silence. “Bumblebee,” he sighed, “what really happened with Mandroid?” 

Bee dragged his optics up to meet Optimus’. Something soft and understanding rested in the Prime’s face; a look he had grown comfortable with, yet missed with an aching spark the second it left his vision. It made him want to lean towards the red and blue frame, to bury himself in the metallic shine and combination of everything that made Optimus Optimus . Yet something held him in his place; welded to the berth beneath him. 

“You are not in trouble,” the Prime urged, leaning forward to rest a servo on Bee’s knee, “I simply need to understand your chain of events.”

The yellow mech offered a short nod, his optics darting across the dugout before returning to Optimus. He took a deep breath in; letting the stale air wash through his vents and systems, only to pour back out in the next nanoklik. 

With the release of air came his voice. His glossa practically moved on its own, prattling on and on about every detail Bumblebee could remember leading up to his fight with Mandroid, and the events that trailed afterwards. His vocoder buzzed in his throat, picking up in speed and tone as his words violently spilled from his intake; one after another in rapid succession as he barely gave himself time to think through them. If he thought, then he’d have to think about him, and about his arm, and about that glowing red light slicing into his plating. 

Before he knew it, Bumblebee had come to the end of his tale; throat buzzing and chest wheezing with clumps of air pushing themselves through his vents. 

As Bumblebee’s voice box came to rest, a tense silence fell over the two. Bee remained still, refusing to meet the Prime’s optics that he was sure were boring into him.

The quiet was broken by creaking joints, as Optimus’ arms wrapped around Bumblebee, encompassing him in an embrace; desperately tight and gentle at the same time. 

“I am…sorry,” the Prime said, his voice barely above a whisper. Bumblebee could tell there was more the mech wanted to say, but the three words were enough.

Bee lifted his arm to Optimus’ back in a weak attempt to return the hug. “It’s not your fault,” he muttered.

“I am still sorry.”

The simplicity of it all was what broke him.

There—resting in the Prime’s arms, with those four words whispered into his audials—Bumblebee felt himself shatter.

Resolve he didn’t even know he was 

conserving began to crumble, and within a matter of nanokliks the scout found himself pushing further and further into the embrace as his strength wilted. Whatever brave face he had been attempting to put on for the Terrans—for himself—was gone, leaving a quivering mess, held together by nothing other than Optimus Prime’s arms. 

“It’s okay, you are safe,” Bee heard Optimus say, although the words were practically drowned out by the rushing arising in his audials. Panic swirled in his processor, and he hated the way his frame trembled in response.

A steady flow of “you’re okay” and “you’re safe” streamed from Optimus' vocoder as his grip on Bumblebee only served to tighten. 

Bravado continued to leak from the scout with every nanoklik as every ounce of exhaustion he had been holding back came crashing down on his frame.

“I’m tired,” he managed to say between shivers. 

“I know, I know,” Optimus said, rubbing his servo in circles across Bee’s backstrut. “I know, but you’re okay now. You can rest.”

Bumblebee wanted to believe him, but the fear running rampant in his protocols told a different story. 

“I’m scared,” he whispered, like it was some shameful secret.

Optimus’ hold on him only tightened, bordering on crushing even as the Prime kept his grip gentle. “I promise you, you’re safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Pain and terror still buzzed through Bee like a swarm of wasps. But, wrapped in the arms of the Prime, resting against his rumbling chassis, his optical lids grew heavy, his limbs weighed him down, and—despite the protests of his processor—Bumblebee managed to slip into the dark embrace of recharge.