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Movement registers against his sensors before sound does. Not all that surprising; Bee’s pretty sure his head got rattled enough that nothing is working as it should. One optic manages to take in just enough light to give his processor a fuzzy image of the rocks around his frame, a few of the gaps leading off into deeper darkness beneath the collapsed mountain, the fainter grey off in one direction that should lead towards the surface.
The direction that movement is coming from.
Not someone digging him out, that’s for sure - not nearly the right number of vibrations from the rocks crushing Bee in place. More likely- ah, frag. More likely it’s the kid he sent away to find help.
Spike- no, it was- Daniel? Maybe?
Human feet scoot into view, followed by the rest of their owner. Light increases; they’ve got a small camping lantern gripped tight in one hand, and- thank Primus, a miniature subspace generator, just big enough to contain a field medic’s kit up to Ratchet’s standards.
“Team’s here,” the kid says, ducking over to a reasonably flat chunk of stone currently weighing down one of Bumblebee’s legs. “They’re gonna start figuring out the best route to get you out of here, okay? And I’ll keep you from bleeding out in the meantime.”
Team- this is Raf, then? No- no, that can’t be right. Sari?
Leaking energon is wiped away from torn plating. Sealant tubes and a whole stack of mesh bandages are put to work, temporarily blocking each wound. It’s appreciated - the automatic commands to shut off energon flow in the damaged place didn’t trigger, and thanks to all the rocks that hit his head on the way down, Bee hasn’t been able to manually redirect the codes. Self-repair systems have been doing what they could, but- well. There’s a lot of energon coating the nearby stones, and probably more underneath his half-buried frame.
His small rescuer keeps talking, a stream of consciousness jumble of words that would put Bluestreak and maybe even Blurr to shame just for the sheer amount. Bee doesn’t mind, though. He never minds listening to any of his humans.
Wracking his processor, he tries to come up with the right name for this one.
Charlie? Or maybe Russell? Can’t be Alex, too young... Possibly a different Malto?
Ah well.
Bee’s made friends with a lot of humans, over the centuries. He doesn’t mind letting the mystery sit until he can think clearly again.