Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Scrap.

Scrap!

Scrappity scrap!

Yellow plated pedes thundered along the lush forest floor, spraying dirt and grass in all directions as a frantic minibot hurried through between the trees. Not caring he got whipped in the face by overhanging branches, all that mattered was that the fragment was safe with him. He clenched said fragment in his hand, head ducked down low as the hum of an engine roared high above. Baby blue optics flicked in all directions for hidden signs of danger. Bumblebee panted heavily, his systems venting in exhaustion.

He skidded to a stop, high above was a canopy of leaves so thick the sun barely pierced through it. Bee leaned against the aged trunk, silent and hopeful that the Cons would lose interest and leave.

The engine’s hum increased as it approached his location. In a split second, it suddenly roared to life and took off. The hum grew quieter as the pursuer flew further away. Bee cautiously peered out from his hiding spot, signs of a purple and white flier were absent. He heaved a breath of relief.

“Thank Primus…” he muttered to himself. Blitzwing was ruthlessly relentless when he wanted to be.

Yes, technically, he shouldn’t have goaded the insane triple changer into chasing him. In reality, Bee’s teammates were busy dealing with both Lugnut and Megatron, completely oblivious to Blitzwing sneaking up behind to freeze them solid. In Bee’s line of rationale, he bought them time to throw off the other two.

Whether his team was happy about the diversion or not, Bee was about to find out right about-

“Bumblebee!” His comlink crackled to life. “Where are you?”

Bee grimaced slightly at Optimus’ frantic but firm tone. “I’m fine, Boss Bot, just hiding in the forest.”

“Alright. Rendezvous at the base as soon as you can. Prime out.”

Perhaps not too upset. Bumblebee hefted himself upright, the glowing fragment tingled in his hand, he gritted himself to be prepared to be grilled by a certain Boss Bot and medic. Trudging silently along the forest line until he came upon an opening into the city of Detroit, he scurried out of the lush clearing and transformed mid-step as he did so, tearing through the streets.

In no time at all, the old factory that served as the Autobot’s home base came into view. Several bots were out and about at the front entrance. Bee revved his engine, pushing himself to go faster than ever as to not keep them waiting. Rubber squealed and burned on the paved road, the group grew larger as he got closer. Larger and larger until Bee realized he was coming in too hot.

He pulled back on the brakes to come to a halt. His alt mode sputtered and jerked around, hurtling so fast that even Bee himself couldn’t keep up with it.

When it seemed like he was about to have an unpleasant crash, Bee squealed to an abrupt stop, his alt tipped over on its front wheels. It landed back down with a dull clang. He transformed on the spot, standing up straight with a nervous smile.

“Bumblebee, are you hurt?” Optimus asked, his frustration dissipated the moment their youngest crew member transformed.

“I’m as fine as I can be,” Bee replied a bit cheekily, “Look, I got the fragment all safe and sound.”

He held out the AllSpark piece for Optimus to examine. He nodded in approval and accepted it, hand clenched around it as if it was going to vanish at any moment. He looked up at Bumblebee, lips turned down.

“That was an incredibly reckless thing you did back there. You, all of us, know better than to provoke Blitzwing like that.”

“But it bought you guys time, didn’t it? All I did was lead him away.” Bee shot back a little petulantly.

“It did but still, it’s dangerous to take on a Decepticon all on your own like that.” Optimus said with an air of finality.

He turned and walked back inside, hand up close to continue examining the fragment, his faceplates illuminated by its glow. Bee’s spark pulsed with a pang, the frown remained present on Optimus’ expression.

“C’mere kid.” A blunt object clanged lightly on the back of Bee’s helm. No time to react as a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and dragged him inside.

“Hey! Watch where you’re throwing that dang wrench, and Doc, I’m fine!” Bee protested, persistently fighting against Ratchet’s weary but firm hand.

“I know exactly what I’m doing with my wrench and I’d like to see you try kid,” Ratchet said grumpily, “I’m this crew’s medical officer, and when I say you need a check-up, yer getting a check-up, whether you like it or not.”

The bickering continued even beyond the doors of the medical bay.

Once Ratchet finally wrestled a protesting Bumblebee onto the examination berth, he tinkered around the room for the necessary tools while Bee sat there with a growing pout on his faceplates. It happened every single time, once he was even in a lick of danger, the doc always dragged him in here for a check-up. He wasn’t sure why Ratchet was so insistent but all Bee got out of this was annoyance and time wasted.

Ratchet muttered to himself while supplies ruffled and clattered around his hands. This youngling, this youngling, was for sure going to be the death of him. A couple phrases escaped his field of privacy and reached said youngling’s audio receptors. Something about ‘spark-damn reckless younglings’ and ‘kids these days’.

“Aww, I didn’t know you cared so much Doc,” Bee said with a teasing grin. He absently kicked his pedes around, the motions soothing him.

“Now, kid, don’t get too sappy on me.” Ratchet waved a hand dismissively, though it was half-sparked as he had a tiny grin. He made a little ‘hah’ once he finally found a mini ion-wrench, hung on a hook at the back.

“Arms out,” Ratchet commanded as he approached Bee, “C’mon kid, you know I can only work if you have them out.”

Bee sighed in defeat and held both of his arms out, side to side. His frame jostled and protested at the posture. He winced in discomfort and threw Ratchet a pleading glance over his shoulder.

“Please be quick. My frame always gets twitchy whenever I do this.”

“It’s ‘cause yer a minibot, these kinda of frames are more prone to damage than bigger ones,” Ratchet said absently, having said this many times before. He carefully directed the mini ion-wrench between the shoulder and back-plate. He twisted it slightly and Bee jolted in discomfort.

“Every time, Doc…”

“Sorry, but I gotta know yer in working order.” Ratchet dismissed the complaint. “Besides, it’s…”

He stopped, train of thought screeching to a halt. He always hated these kinds of thoughts. They’ve been niggling at him since Bee transitioned out of his late-youngling stage some time ago. And to be frank, Ratchet would rather not think about it at all. He was pulled out of it by someone attempting to get his attention.

“It’s what?” Bee repeated, curiosity rapidly grew within.

“Well… er…” Ratchet fumbled with his words. “It’s due time for you to… upgrade, anyway.”

“Upgrade?!” Bee burst out of excitement. “Oh yeah, my spark day was a while ago. When do we get the parts?”

“Whenever we get them shipped from Cybertron.” Ratchet replied quickly, not wanting too many questions. Or explain exactly what kind of parts Bee needed for a new frame.

How much longer can I keep this up? Ratchet thought wearily, eyeing curiously mismatched wires and circuitry.

An hour later…  

“Aannnd, that’s it kid, yer a clean bill of health,” Ratchet announced tiredly, removing his scope lens and rubbing his faceplates.

Bee immediately hopped off the examination berth, stretching and cracking his joints. He turned on the spot in a half bow. 

“It was an honor to be your patient again.” His cheeky statement was met with a huge wrench appearing in Ratchet’s hand and threatening to throw it.

“And I’d better not see you in here again anytime soon!” Ratchet hollered after a blur of yellow. He put the wrench down with a groan. “Primus…”

Shakily standing up, he clenched his hands to will the shakiness away, Ratchet made his way to his private office deeper within the medical bay. Slumping into the comfy chair, he crossed his arms and deeply sighed. Wandering optics lead him to the large monitor in front of him. Ratchet automatically recounted the code given to him in case of an emergency, or something urgent.

“Hrm…” Ratchet mumbled, shaking his head.

Dim lights flickered eerily in the equally dark command room, monotonous dripping filtered out the tension that gradually thickened with every passing klik. The central computer obnoxiously beeped out the last known location of an AllSpark fragment.

That the Autobots now had in their hands.

A low growl responded to the beeping. A heavy hand slammed the monitor and silenced it for the time being. Megatron didn’t immediately remove it, retaining a slightly strained posture at the echoing reminder of his failure.

“I am surrounded…” Megatron began slowly, the growl deepening, “by idiots.”

The two mechs twitched uncomfortably behind him. If they felt the danger in the tone, they didn’t show it.

“This little repair crew can hardly be called warriors, yet…” Circuitry crackled and buzzed when Megatron removed his hand, holding it up in a tight ball. “And yet, we are outmaneuvered by them time and time again.”

“Lord Megatron,” Blitzwing said, faceplates twitching as if on the verge of switching, “zat little Autovot waz being annoying. He even had ze AllSpark fragment.”

“I care not if some bot is being annoying on the field, fool,” Megatron hissed out, crimson red optics flared dangerously, “I do not enjoy wasting time and energy for something so irrelevant. We would have succeeded in gaining a fragment if we had taken their little crew out of commission, which your ice cannons would have been useful Blitzwing, then all we had to do was corner the little Autobot and take it.”

“My apologiez, Lord Megatron,” Blitzwing bowed his head down to appease the warlord’s anger.

Back to his soldiers, Megatron was uncomfortably silent for a few kliks. Systems venting and working overtime to cool the anger burning within him. His right arm shifted, its mounted cannon heavier, begging to unleash itself on those who deserved it.

“Go, make yourself useful somewhere else.” Megatron said softly, the command sharp as a blade in the air. “I do not want to be in your presence until I am calm again.”

It took little time to hear heavy footsteps scampering off, a quiet, barely accented voice muttering in thanks. One other remained.

“Leave me be, I wish to be alone.” Megatron cut off Lugnut’s queries and then too, another set of heavy footsteps left the command room. The door smoothly slid shut with a distinct click.

A long, rumbling vent left his lips, internal systems toiled about inside. It wasn’t what occurred today that threw him into such an irritable mood. A memory, one he hated thinking about, despite its persistent presence on… certain days. It roused emotions and a disgusting feeling to the surface as soon as Megatron dared to touch upon it.

He’d never had his own spark day. Like his kin, he was constructed during a time on Cybertron when one’s alt mode determined their function. Never knew his spark day, didn’t celebrate it, didn’t bother at all. Which then, to the surprise of those in his inner circle, Megatron mated and then sparked his own creation. He’d been secretly, overtly enjoyed about the prospect of something cherished in this harsh and cruel universe.

Harsh and cruel indeed. His sparkling’s spark day passed not too long ago. Megatron scarcely wondered whether his sparkling was still online and functional.

His spark pulsed in a pain he found indescribable. A hand thumped on his chestplate, almost as if in silent promise.

Neon White, the name still stung Megatron even after all this time, why does the universe make it difficult to forget you?

Chapter Text

Amidst the kerfuffle and activity in the base’s common area, Bee sat on the stone couch, hunched over. He hadn’t moved a single plate since he emerged from the medical bay some time ago. No bot had asked and probably didn’t think to, figuring Bee was still sulking about the mild reprimanding he got from Prime earlier. He’d get over it, he always did.

That’d be the case if Bee wasn’t so… quiet. Unusually so. He wasn’t yapping away or zooming around the place showing off. He hadn’t even touched the game controller at all, and it was certain it was beginning to accumulate a thin layer of dust. Bee just sat there, resting his elbow joints on his legs and faceplates in his hands.

It was enough for all of his teammates to wonder if he was experiencing some kind of malfunction. Even Prowl, the most stand-offish of them, noticed. And he would’ve ironically welcomed the silence.

Eventually, a heavy, lumbering presence approached the couch and sat down next to the quiet Bee. If he wanted the company or not wasn’t considered, Bulkhead had it in mind to bring his best buddy out of a bad funk. The couch shook and creaked faintly to accommodate his large size.

“What’s the matter, little buddy?” Bulkhead asked casually, hoping it’d broach enough for Bee to talk.

“Nothing Bulk, it’s nothing,” Bee said, shrugging off the question.

“If it wasn’t anything, then you wouldn’t be sitting there,” Bulkhead’s volume dropped to a near-whisper, “doing nothing.”

There was a soft chuckle as Bee tried to hold back snickers at his friend’s melodramatics. He turned his head with a somewhat sombre expression.

“Okay, ya got me there, big guy,” he said, his chestplate felt considerably lighter. “Have you ever, I don’t know, felt out of place? You wear the same badge as every other bot and believe in the same cause, but deep inside you know something’s just… missing.”

Bulkhead pondered upon Bee’s words for a bit, sorting through his memory banks as to why he would think that. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at him. Except for a notable detail, one that took Bee a long while to confide in after he befriended Bulkhead. It was an innately personal detail, and there was a promise to keep it just between them.

“I may not know what your life was like before boot camp,” Bulkhead said at last, in a quiet tone so no other would hear the particulars of this conversation, “but I’d bet my credits if you asked any other post-war orphan the same question, they’d probably feel the same as you do.”

Bee’s faceplates shifted into a thoughtful expression, his optics averted from direct contact, and tapped a digit on his helm to get the gears rolling. He admittedly hadn’t considered that-like he’d ever say that out loud-he knew plenty of bots who grew up without their creators. It was egregious to Bee as he had no clue if his creators were offline, or worse… abandoned him. He vented deeply, armored plates shifting and expanding to calm himself.

“Maybe I’ve gotten too used to having other bots look down on me,” Bee said, assuming his original posture. “They thought, I guess, I didn’t ‘act’ like an Autobot enough. B-but none of that matters now, I’m here with you guys and that’s all that I care about.”

Bulkhead scratched his head, a hint of suspicion lit his optics. He gave Bee a pointed look but didn’t press further. “If you say so, and that’s all that matters to me, too.”

In one fell swoop, Bulkhead picked up Bee and hugged him close to his frame.

“Love ya too, big guy,” Bee said with a laugh.

“You reckon Sentinel’s been living credit-free in your processor again?” Bulkhead asked once he set Bee back down, who swayed before he hastily shook it off.

“I guess he has,” Bee said with a growing smirk, he peered around before he motioned Bulkhead to put their heads together. “Say, next time big chin visits Earth, what if we douse him with fresh water, straight from the river?”

“Then he can’t say he’s been contaminated, because it’s natural water,” Bulkhead said with a nod, “as long as it hurts no bot, of course.”

“Nah, a little old splash won’t offline him.” Bee shrugged. He huffed in amusement, already hearing the shrill screaming in his audio receptors.

Unbeknownst to the young mechs, a red and blue figure had hovered nearby, if only briefly, and was frowning at some of Bee’s words. Optimus put one pede towards the large computer, hesitated, and looked back again. He briefly entertained the idea if he’d been too hard on Bee today, then again… he didn’t always trust his own judgment.

“Something bothering you, Prime?” Ratchet’s voice came from behind, startling Optimus.

The aged medic joined Optimus at his side and observed the scene before them. Their two youngest crew members joked and messed around the common area. Bee sure seemed livelier than he was prior, his dark mood evaporated.

“Ratchet,” Optimus began, mentally asserting himself that he’d trust his word, “do you think I’m being too hard on Bumblebee?”

“Kid’s got a good spark in him, he just needs some bot to rein him in sometimes,” Ratchet answered with a hint of fondness, “besides, I was there when he was a newspark, I know exactly how he is.”

“You say that about every bot in my age group,” Optimus bantered lightly, rigidness gone.

“And I’ll keep saying it! Too many of you are ready to throw it all away,” Ratchet grumbled and winced as Bee tripped over himself. “Kids these days…”

Breaking away from the conversation, Optimus finally made it to the computer monitor, while it shared space with the common area, there was a sufficient distance to have very few distractions. He’d received a private communication some kliks ago and was required at the computer for a long-range transmission. A few taps on the monitor and Optimus stepped back to wait.

Not a nano-klik later, the screen buzzed with static before the image of a blue and orange mech appeared. Optimus tensed up, his plates tightened as he bit back whatever snarky statement attempted to fly out of his mouth.

“To what do I owe this call, Sentinel?” He politely ground out.

“Let’s keep this short, shall we?” Sentinel’s faceplates twisted arrogantly. “Ultra Magnus and a few of the Elite Guard are coming to that mud ball planet for a report on the hunt for the AllSpark fragments. We’ll be there in a few mega-cycles, don’t keep us waiting.”

Instantly, the transmission cut, leaving a silent Optimus glaring at the screen. He vented in and out in rapid succession. That could probably be considered one of their… better conversations. Now to get his team ready for their guests.

Bee victoriously laughed out loud when he ducked under a broad arm attempting to trap him in a headlock. He skidded around the couch, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. Bent over to meet Bulkhead optic-to-optic, they stared each other down.

“Still too slow Bulk,” Bee said shamelessly.

“One of these days, little buddy, and I’ll have finally caught you,” Bulkhead said, holding a hand up in declaration.

Whatever Bee wanted to say next was interrupted by Optimus calling to come to the common area for a quick meeting. He shared a glance with Bulkhead, curious about what could be so important.

“Every bot here? Good,” Optimus said, surveying every single one of his crew mates gathered. “I’ve just received word from the Elite Guard, a few of them and Ultra Magnus are coming to Earth, they’ll be arriving in a few mega-cycles. They want a detailed report on the search for the fragments.”

Speak of the Pit-spawn… Bee’s mood soured, frowning. He tuned out the rest of the meeting, dread curdling in his tanks at the thought of being in a certain bot’s presence. Out of all the bots who jeered at and mocked him, Sentinel was by far the worst. He really seemed to have it out for Bee despite never having met each other before boot camp.

Bee was dragged out of his brooding by a gentle nudge from Bulkhead, he looked up to see the others dispersing, presumably to prepare for when the Elite Guard arrived. Footsteps going faster than his thoughts, Bee ignored all questions directed at him and headed straight to his room.

“Just call me when they get here.” Was the only thing he said.

“Is he okay? Is it about what happened earlier?” Optimus had asked Bulkhead.

“I don’t think so, maybe he’s just being moody today,” Bulkhead replied a little helplessly. His earlier talk with Bee didn’t reveal much.

The quiet from Bee’s room was just as equally uncomfortable as it was in the common area. To the point, any bot passing by tip-toed to leave him undisturbed.

As expected, a huge vessel hailed in Earth’s atmosphere. It was always a spectacle whenever the Elite Guard showed up, a huge crowd of humans gathered to watch the vessel make a landing on the outskirts of Detroit. Police enforcers created a barrier to keep the crowds away, while the vessel activated a shield to keep them out.

Determined to keep certain bots from getting on his tailpipe, Optimus and his crew went out to greet their visitors. Granted access through the shield and a brisk decontamination bath later, they stood to attention when Ultra Magnus descended the ship’s ramp. He was followed closely by the likes of Jazz and the Jet Twins.

“At ease,” Magnus said with a hand raised.

“Welcome back to Earth, sir,” Optimus said, and they shook hands.

“Optimus Prime,” Magnus greeted. “I assume things have been progressing well?”

In the background, Sentinel rolled his optics in impatience.

“Yes, sir, let’s head inside and I’ll give you the full report.”

Every bot transformed and smoothly rolled along a short road back to the old factory. Except for Sentinel who kept stuttering along, unwilling to get any ‘contaminants’ on his armor, he ended up falling far behind.

The common area quickly filled up with bots, all taking various seats and positions around the stone couch, where Optimus directed Magnus to take a seat. Casual chatter went around awaiting for every bot to settle. Finally, with a thump of his hammer, attentive silence focused on Magnus.

“The progress report, if you’d please,” he said.

Without hesitation, Optimus took a datapad from his subspace and handed it over, explaining the details in the meantime. Near the back of the room, Bee leaned against the wall, not quite listening. He wasn’t invested in the whole report thing and was content to hang back and let the others do it.

An indiscernible amount of time passed, Bee felt an unwelcome presence looming over him. He turned his head to be met with the winged badge emblazoned on Sentinel’s chestplate. Said mech looked down on him with disdain.

“What are you doing all the way over here? Did they think you just got in the way?” Sentinel asked with a sneer.

“Don’t you have more important things to do than bother with a repair bot?” Bee asked shortly, hugging his arms around his frame.

“Don’t you take that tone with me bumbler,” Sentinel growled out, his voice faintly laced with venom, “just stay out of my way.”

“Gladly.” Bee bit out, uncharacteristically glaring daggers.

It was a miracle the rest of the day passed without much incident. Bee stuck mostly to himself and Bulkhead, ignoring the others altogether. He pretended to not notice whenever Sentinel looked his direction, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being insulted by him. The idea of a water bucket prank grew more and more satisfying all the time.

There was a certain tension in the base, nearly every bot was waiting and making bets whether Sentinel, Optimus, or even Bee would inevitably have some kind of blow up. Ratchet’s medbay was looking especially meticulous, and particular tools were sharpened and polished.

Much to their disappointment, the night ended in little fanfare.

The same couldn’t be said for the next day. Tentative peace lasted ‘til only about noon, Bee and Bulkhead inexplicably left the base with a vague promise of returning shortly.

The roar of the current drowned out Bee’s dark thoughts, the sandy shore crunched under his pedes. He and Bulkhead walked along the shoreline of the Detroit River, the city glistening under the midday sun, it sat impressively along the horizon. Bulkhead carried a small bucket in his hands, hastily grabbed before he left, it rattled with his uncertainty.

“Are you sure about this?” Bulkhead asked, wanting to shrink into himself at the idea of the prospective consequences.

“I’m sure,” Bee replied, “let’s stop here.”

Motioning his friend to hand the bucket over, Bee kneeled down right on the edge of the shoreline, his faceplates reflective in the channel. Dipping his digits in the water, a cold tingle travelled up his arm. Bee quickly pulled them out. Firmly grasping the bucket, he dunked it into the current.

“Nice and cold, Sentinel could, you know, chill out a bit,” Bee said with a grin, he fought to keep hold on the bucket as it rapidly filled with water.

Heaviness indicating the bucket was filled to the brim, he hefted it up with the thin handlebar, awkwardly carrying it about. Bee waddled back down the path he came, the bucket dangerously swaying and sloshing in his grip, Bulkhead close on his tracks. Things went unspoken between them, unwilling to break under the pressure.

Sneaking back into base through one of the back entrances, they carried along as casually as they could muster. Few bots came across their path, less so questioned why they had a bucket of water.

A sense of giddiness bloomed in Bee’s chestplate, his spark pulsing with intensity when he came upon a room he knew to be Sentinel’s. The door was closed shut, no doubt locked by a passcode, and better yet; Sentinel was nowhere to be seen.

Bee spoke over his shoulder to Bulkhead. “Quick, lift me up!”

Silently, Bulkhead wrapped his hands around Bee’s midsection and lifted him up high. Considering Bulkhead’s size, Bee’s helm nearly grazed on the ceiling. His arms shuddered when he held the bucket out to carefully position it.

A little nudge here, a little twist there.

“There, all done,” Bee said, “let’s pack it before some bot sees us.”

Bulkhead took off down the hall and turned around a corner, still holding Bee in his hands. In the relatively protective shadow of the wall, they cautiously peeked around the corner to watch the chaos erupt.

Sentinel came marching down the other end of the hallway, the frown ever present on his faceplates. No doubt he got into it with Optimus again, based on the quiet mutterings that flew out of his mouth. Tapping on the keypad, Sentinel expelled a dramatic sigh while he waited for his door to open.

Bee’s spark sped up in excitement, he leaned forward in anticipation.

There was a rattling clatter as the bucket was disturbed from its perch high above, and came tumbling down on top of Sentinel’s helm. With a mighty splash, freezing cold water splattered all over his already shiny armor and the surrounding floor.

Cue shrill, feminine screaming. Bee snickered, and Bulkhead couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at the sight of Sentinel doing what Sari would’ve called ‘tap dancing’ on the spot. Sentinel’s arms flailed around violently trying to fight a nonexistent enemy and at the same time attempting to wipe off whatever substance spilled all over him.

The noise had Optimus charging down the hall, concern written all over him. Once he saw the scene, though, his jaw hung open in surprise. He made out only two words through Sentinel’s gibberish yelling, something about ‘liquid’ and ‘cold’.

Bee and Bulkhead ducked behind the wall when Optimus surveyed the area. His optics landed on an empty bucket that just happened to be suspiciously there. Picking it up, he gave it a good shake and a few droplets of water dripped from its bowels. A couple of pieces fell into place.

“Sentinel, calm down!” Optimus grabbed Sentinel’s shoulder. “It’s just water, it’s not acid.”

The screaming fell off, all but forgotten. Sentinel jerked away from Optimus’ touch. “Keep your hands off of me! And what do you mean it’s not acid?”

When Optimus prepared to reply, a flicker of movement caught his optic. Yellow plating flashed in the light. He slapped his faceplates with a groan. “Bumblebee!”

Realizing they were caught, Bee and Bulkhead emerged from their hiding spot with the most innocent faces they could muster. Optimus stared pointedly at them.

“Uh… fancy seeing you here, Optimus,” Bulkhead said weakly, his smile faltering.

“Boss Bot’s right,” Bee said, crossing his arms, “it’s just water… straight from the river.”

“From outside?!” Sentinel yelped, it quickly morphed to anger. “You annoying little bumbler. I should have you cited for this.”

“You’re seriously going to do that over a dumb prank?” Bee said snarkily, brow ridge raised. “You need to chill.”

“Not when it comes to outside contamination!” Sentinel snapped. Unsettlingly, his optics lit up with a small plot in mind. “In fact, perhaps I should do just that.”

“What?” Bee, Bulkhead, and Optimus asked all at once. That same pit of dread formed in Bee’s tanks.

“You see, unlike any other bot here,” Sentinel said pompously, he took a step towards Bee, “you’re the only one with so little information it’s like you don’t even exist.”

“So?!” Bee retorted, fear pricked at his spark. “You know, a lot of records were lost during the Great War.”

“Ah, but you were sparked after the Great War, were you not?” Sentinel straightened up to full height. “No recorded day of creation, creators are seemingly nonexistent in any Autobot database, and apparently you didn’t even have a name.”

Bulkhead gasped out loudly in horror. That was supposed to be Bee’s secret to tell.

“Sentinel, that’s enough!” Optimus went to grab him again but found himself roughly pushed back.

“What are you saying?” Bee asked in a low voice. He ignored the stinging sensation in his optics.

“I’m saying that you’re not who you think you are,” Sentinel said smugly. He reached out to take Bee’s arm, then shrieked when his entire body exploded in pain with volts of electricity.

“You had no right to go through my private information!” Bee raised his voice, body trembled violently in terror, and barely noticed lubricant tears streaking down his faceplates. His stingers retracted just as quickly as they appeared. He jolted back as if he’d been physically struck.

“Oh, but I do, it’s perfectly well within my right to do so in my position,” Sentinel said coldly, he made his way towards Bee, threateningly descending on him. “Now, be a good little Decepticon spy and come along quietly.”

In an instant, metal crushed metal and a shout that was followed by a loud crack as Sentinel unexpectedly found himself thrown into the wall. He had a brief nano-klik to realize the yellow bumbler was gone before the visage of an uncharacteristically angry Optimus got up in his faceplates.

“What’s your deal, Sentinel?!” Optimus spat, shoving him into the wall. “You can’t just go around accusing bots of being Decepticons!”

“What in the name of the AllSpark is going on here?!” Ratchet’s voice echoed in the hall. He came rushing in, slightly panicked. Skidding to a stop, seeing the two Primes in an apparent brawl and an eerily quiet Bulkhead watching from the side, faceplates curled into a slight snarl as he marched up to Sentinel.

“You slagging glitch!” Ratchet thundered, his EMP popped out in response to his anger. “What did you do to the kid?!”

“Where did Bumblebee go?” Optimus asked, fighting to keep his former friend in place.

“No idea Prime, he transformed and tore out of the base before any of us could stop him, I coulda sworn I saw him crying too,” Ratchet answered, glaring at Sentinel, daring him to make a sound and risk his wrath.

“I need to find him, I need to talk to him.” Optimus unceremoniously dropped Sentinel and made to take off as well. A firm hand held his shoulder, holding him back.

“Just leave him, I think he needs to be alone for a while,” Ratchet said in warning. He only let go when he saw Optimus deflate in defeat.

With what kinda bot Bee was, there was no predicting what he would do next. Ratchet could attest to that at the very least.

Chapter Text

Everything around him was a blur. A huge, immeasurable amalgamation of sounds, colors and sensations. First it was too loud, then it all seemed to slow to a snail’s pace, and then Bee’s body became numb. As if he’d simply dropped off the face of the Earth, falling and falling for Primus knows how long. His engine roared, pushing itself as hard as it physically could rev him through the streets.

Idon’texistIdon’texistIdon’texistIdon’texi-

Rubber burned on the pavement, a hot, painful surge made Bee’s alt mode stutter. Unsteady and a bare minimal regard of local traffic, he squealed around the descending curve. Other vehicles honked at and swerved around him.

Bee didn’t acknowledge it, nor did he care at the time. The streets felt too open. He might as well be without his armor on.

The city was too large, encroaching no matter what direction he went. Bee wanted to be- needed to be alone, all just to himself. To be himself and not be so cramped by other bots. Or anyone at all for that matter. It was perhaps a strange line of thought among the Autobots, but to Bee, it made much more sense to him than anything else in the world.

Any bot would want space to themselves from time to time, right?

Bee’s alt suddenly veered off to the side. His tires screamed on the pavement, he righted himself back into the lane. Definitely needed to get off the road. He couldn’t think, too many things had scrambled through his processor.

Focus… focus…

Findsomewheresafefindsomewheresafe-

A familiar and lush scent wafted through his olfactory sensors. Bee vented deeply and sighed in relief. In the forest surrounding Detroit, with its tall trees and thick, protective canopies, there were bound to be hidden nooks and groves. Bee huffed dryly, he hadn’t thought of that, as usual.

Driving off the nearest exit, Bee drove in between the trees, slowing down to take in the sights and sensations of the forest. The way through was bumpier than the impeccable city streets, Bee didn’t mind, he welcomed it. It gave him a good work up as opposed to the monotonous droning in the city, by the Pits, even Cybertron too.

While the forest closed in around him with it density, Bee always kept track of where the sun was shining. Streaks of sunlight cutting in between the trees paved his path forward.

It took him far and wide, maybe even beyond the city limits. It was freeing, at his current speed he’d might as well be flying too. If the others knew of what he was thinking, they’d probably have a processor crash, Bee laughed faintly. Then they’d start questioning him, his laugh faded, his insides stung sharply at the reminder of Sentinel’s words.

Speeding up, the surrounding forest became in incomprehensible blur. They widened out the faster Bee went, creating a clear path ahead. The air changed, cooler and damp, as indicated by a slight condensation forming a thin layer on his alt. A tangy smell of salt hit Bee, he winced, feeling like he just took a shot of raw oil. Gently lapping water washed away his chaotic thoughts. It clued Bee in that he must be near Lake Erie, on the other side, that is.

The path came to a dead end off of a craggy cliff overlooking the lake. A rock wall expanded on both sides of the opening, going as far as the optic could see and shrouded by trees. Bee slowed to a stop and sat there in his alt, taking in his surroundings.

It was quite peaceful out here, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Imagine if he could step off that cliff and fly away.

Transforming, Bee crept closer to the cliff’s edge, trembling slightly all the meanwhile. Standing about half a foot or so away from the edge, he peered over. A steep drop greeted him. Waves crashed against the craggy rock-face, placing emphasis on the sharp rocks submerging above the surface. It would only take a misstep and those rocks to end it painfully.

Bee’s world shuddered, he wavered as a bout of dizziness hit him. His throat pipe closed up and a sense of fear spiked through him.

“Too high…” Bee muttered, he walked back, keeping a hand to his head to steady himself.

Safely away from his probable doom, Bee stood there, his frame numb from emotions for several nano-kliks. His pistons tensed up and his chestplates tightened, lubricant threatened to spill from his optics as the memory of Sentinel’s brazen, cruel accusations assaulted him. It couldn’t be true, the mech barely even knew Bee.

Yet, it deeply hurt him for reasons he couldn’t figure out. So what if he was a post-war orphan with no information. And he sure as slag would know if he was actually a Decepticon, namely if Bee had inbuilt weapons or was larger than the average bot. They were known features of war frames.

Stinging hurt buzzed in his circuitry, slowly boiling into anger the more those awful words dug into him. With a small yell, Bee twisted his body and kicked a leg forward. There was a crunch as his pede collided with a moderately large boulder.

“Stupid Sentinel,” Bee mumbled angrily, “and his big, stupid, fat mouth!”

Another kick. Another crunch.

Bee stood there, venting deeply and in exhaustion. A pained throb tingled up his leg, he yelped and hopped on his other pede, holding the sore one.

“Ouch, shouldn’t have kicked so hard.” Bee sighed to himself.

Body slumped, all emotional energy sapped out of him, Bee slowly crumpled into a sitting position. Feeling the fresh and cool soil coat his armor somehow made him even more tired, his systems rumbled softly with a faint spike of warmth. A quiet click alerted Bee to his fans turning on, he vented deeply and brought his knee joints to his chin. Arms wrapped around his legs, listening to the lull of the fans, Bee buried his faceplates and offlined his optics.

Lubricant streaked down his faceplates, dripping off his chin, while his plates ruffled and expanded with every exhale. Bee’s back struts tightened, every vent was more difficult to expel than the last, a sickly feeling boiled in his tanks. A tiny whimper escaped his lips.

The very Earth shook under his might, the trees shuddered in his presence, and wildlife scattered in all directions in silence. Such tiny vermin on this planet, and yet they were hardy in their thousands of stellar cycles of change, or so Megatron read from what little research he did about the planet.

He supposed size difference had to do something with it, he grinned in quiet amusement. But Megatron wasn’t here for that, he was out on patrol. Or that’s what he led his soldiers to believe. Considering what happened in the last solar cycle, they wisely kept their distance.

A twinge in his spark brought unpleasant thoughts up to the surface. Megatron growled in warning. He’d spent so long alone in the command room without as much as a word, it was apparently more than enough for Lugnut to break the door down. Right there and then, Megatron considered blasting the fool into oblivion. Instead, he retreated to his private quarters with the order to leave him undisturbed unless absolutely necessary.

His recharge that night could be called anything but sufficient. Even in his head, his sparkling, his son, haunted Megatron. Silvery-white and yellow flashed before his optics, and he’d jolt out of recharge, expecting his sparkling to be there. Just to be greeted by nothing, much like the empty void in his spark where their shared bond had once been.

Willing away the tormenting thoughts, Megatron bared his denta in another growl. It would pass over, it always did, he simply had to ignore it until then.

An odd scent drew his attention, the sound of a liquid crashing about prompted Megatron to push some tree branches out of the way. Many snapped off as he did so, displaying the view of a sparkling body of liquid.

Interesting. Megatron rarely went near water. He’d discovered a compound that apparently made up more than half of the planet’s oceans in his research to be certain there wasn’t an acid existent on Earth that would melt through his armor. Sodium chloride, hardly worth his focus, though it could be problematic if he spent significant time in certain bodies of water.

Venting in annoyance, Megatron decided he’d wasted enough time here. He made to transform and leave when another disturbance caught his attention. Megatron had about enough time to vanish beyond the trees when the sound of a car’s engine came in close vicinity. Right down below where he was hidden, a yellow Earth vehicle drove into view. It stopped, unmoving, for a few short nano-kliks.

It quickly registered to Megatron that this must be one of the Earth Autobots, and right he was, as the yellow car transformed into a minibot. He corrected himself, the youngest of the Autobots. What was a youngling like him doing all by himself out here, Megatron admittedly did have to wonder.

Growing mildly curious, Megatron knelt down to observe the minibot.

The youngling crept to the edge of the lower cliff, and peered over it as if he was considering something. For a moment, Megatron thought the youngling might actually attempt to do a jump. He watched the youngling shudder at the view of such a steep drop, and backed away from it.

Now that I think about it, Megatron thought idly, the youngling does appear to be about the same age as my-

A yell of frustration and a crack abruptly pulled him from his musing. Megatron watched with dark amusement as the youngling apparently had a fit of anger, kicking at a large boulder. The little Autobot seemed angry as his mouth moved, though Megatron couldn’t make out the words. Then another kick, the youngling stood there before grabbing his pede in pain.

Megatron was disappointed when the youngling slumped down into a half-curled posture. His little frame wracked with soft cries, something itched at Megatron’s helm. As quiet as the crying was, it was as clear as the Crystal Gardens on Cybertron, digging into his processor the longer he listened to it. Then his personal HUD blipped to life, alerting him of an incoming energy signature not far from his position.

Anger rattled his plating as the visage of a distinctive purple fighter jet screamed into view, heading straight for where the youngling sat. It took Megatron’s immense willpower to not charge up and fire his fusion cannon at a now transformed, maniacal Starscream.

The traitor flew straight for the youngling, and violently kicked him in the chassis, sending him clear across the opening and right into a tree. Megatron adjusted his arm and his vision zeroed in on Starscream’s back, awaiting the moment to fire.

Down below…

A pained cry erupted from Bee’s mouth when his back impacted with a rather huge tree, his chestplates ached dully from a kick that sent him flying in the first place. His head shot up in alarm at the sound of a familiar and screechy voice.

“Now what’s this? An Autobot all by himself?” Starscream mockingly asked, flexing his clawed digits.

“None of your business, Decepti-creep!” Bee shot back, up and ready to rumble.

“Oh, it’s my business alright,” Starscream snarled and lurched forward, “as long as you Autobots are hunting for the AllSpark fragments!”

Bee dodged to the side in the nick of time, warily eyeing the disturbingly deep gashes on the tree bark. He counted himself lucky those creepy claws didn’t slice into his chestplate, or his spark for that matter.

Turning on the spot, Bee made a run for it. Get back through the forest and comm the base he was being chased. Not even a pede past the tree line, something sharp dug into Bee’s shoulder and roughly pulled him back. Again, he was flung away, this time he skidded close to the cliff’s edge.

“You’re not going anywhere, Autobot!” Starscream said nastily, his digits faintly laced with pink liquid. “I have a… need for you.”

Bee wasn’t listening, not that he cared to since it was Starscream after all, his body froze up staring down the steep cliff. A vent hitched in his throat pipe, he wanted to move away, his frame was numbed. His spark rattled in its casing, icy cold fear draped over him, a singular thought rushed through his head.

It’stoohighIt’stoohighIt’stoohighIt’s-  

A heavyset pressure crushed down on his spinal strut, pain jolted through Bee like lava flowing through his energon lines. A little more pressure from above, Bee groaned, his faceplates digging into the dirt.

“This is how we are going to do it,” Starscream said and bent down, sneering at Bee’s expression, “so listen well, Autobot.”

Twisting his heel into those soft backplates, Starscream rested an elbow joint on his knee joint, making sure his prey stayed down.

“Since you’re the smallest and the youngest of the Earth Autobots, you’re also their weakest link,” Starscream began to explain, “I’m sure they care more about your wellbeing than some little trinket. If I hand you over to them and in exchange, they give me the AllSpark fragments, it’s a win-win for all of us.”

Bee pulled his hands up and laid them flat on the ground, using his arms to push himself up, he scarcely spared a glance. “Get fragged!”

The pressure on his spinal strut mysteriously vanished. Before Bee was aware of it, a clawed hand suddenly grabbed him by the neck, slowly lifting him up off the ground. Wide optics jerked between a snarling Starscream and the fact the ground was slowly disappearing under him.

“Then so be it, Autobot.” Starscream raised a null-ray, aimed directly at Bee’s chassis. “If I must offline you to force the other Autobots to cooperate, I have no qualms.”

Bee squirmed in the surprisingly strong grip, fear devolving into panic as Starscream steadily rose higher into the sky. He kicked weakly at the seeker, said panic draining all of Bee’s strength. His processor hard-locked on how frighteningly up high he was.

Spark pounding violently in his chassis, Bee could no longer bear it, numbing terror ate at his limbs.

“Put me down!”

“Shut it!” Starscream hissed out, dangling Bee out in the air.

Struggling to get Starscream’s grip to loosen, Bee’s optics flicked around desperately for something. An idea. A gap. Some kind of weakness.

“Why is every bot being so grabby today?!” Bee shouted in exasperation, without a thought, his stinger activated. In mere nano-kliks his stinger charged up, and Bee jabbed it up the first place he thought of.

With an unearthly screech, Starscream howled as intense volts of lightning coursed through his entire body, the Autobot’s small weapon jammed up under his shoulder. As his limbs locked up and his body fell into emergency stasis, his grip loosened.

Bee cheered to himself when he slipped from Starscream’s hold. “Yes! I’ve wanted to do that forever.”

The sudden feeling of his spark dropping into his tanks harshly reminded Bee where he was. Up high in the air. Nothing holding him up, Starscream had fallen away somewhere, and Bee was plummeting back down. Genuine horror clutched onto him as Bee screamed his vocals out, his body dropping straight down like a magnet.

Nonononono!

Kicking and clawing and grabbing for something to halt his deadly descent to a seemingly watery grave if those rocks smashed his body into pieces.

“Help! HELP! SOME BOT HELP!”

Chapter Text

The horrible feeling of dropping into his tanks and rapidly filling with lead forced Bee to offline his optics. All in the hopes of feasibly avoiding watching his untimely end. It seemed so slow he wondered if he actually offlined or was still in free fall.

Neither answer brought him any sense of comfort.

Bee’s vocals long since grew static from extended use. Screaming like a sparkling in the hopes some bot would hear him, a dull ache in his body said otherwise. His words became garbled and scratchy under the strain, even so, he pushed himself to keep yelling out his voicebox.

Trees passed by Bee in a green blur, then an uneven slab of grey and beige. Not that he could differentiate them. The air grew cooler, a light spray of water swept over his form. Wind viciously lashed at Bee’s faceplates and armor, so much so it actually stung a little. It shrieked into his audio receptors, drowning out his own screams. Who knew it was capable of doing that.

The rocks were decidedly appearing sharper and sharper, nearly gleaming in the light. Taunting him. Bee secured his arms in front of him, his body tensing as he braced for an agonizing impact. He didn’t even want to think about where pieces of him would end up.

Bee’s body suddenly swerved, he was still tense and didn’t dare online his optics.

The only thing he knew was that he wasn’t falling anymore. The surrounding atmosphere was solid and sturdy, strangely enough, comforting as well. Like he was with some bot who cared for him. Not in the way Bee’s friends cared, but more… personal.

If only that were true.

“Don’t drop me… please don’t drop me…” Bee mumbled a chant, hands clung onto whoever caught him.

There was a protective squeeze around his frame, a soft voice spoke in Bee’s audio receptor.

“Fear not, dear spark, I won’t.”

Unwilling to online his optics, in the fear of breaking whatever illusion this was, Bee hesitantly nodded his head. He stiffened and whimpered softly at the sensation of a rising motion. Another squeeze and he relaxed – barely. Intakes shuddered and whimpers were held back as Bee tried not to think about the fact this mysterious bot could fly.

They rose higher and higher, far from the rocks and water. The lake’s spray eventually ceased, leaving a gentle wisp of cool air. The sun shone proudly, casting warm rays. Though the sky was slowly darkening in warning of an oncoming storm. Water continued to crash against the cliff, but not so much as a roar. Such an immense display of nature.

A blast of wind pummelled them, knocking them backwards. As sturdy as they were, Bee softly cried out and curled up into his saviour’s chassis. His entire body wracked with uncontrollable shivering, hands clenched tighter in fear. The arms cradled him closer and, inexplicably, a hand gently stroked his helm.

“Hush, dear spark, I won’t let go.” The same voice spoke again, soothing.

While still in the air, Bee vaguely sensed they were no longer floating. A calm, not exactly dropping sensation, cued him in they were descending – hopefully to solid ground. Bee faintly vented out before he, hesitatingly so, rested his head against the other bot’s chestplate. Oddly enough, their spark was reassuring to his audio receptors.

Before long, they landed without a sound on the relative safety of the ground. The mech smiled to himself, content he hadn’t frightened the little bundle in his arms. On the other hand, Bee peered down and nearly sighed in relief.

Bee made a small sound when the other bot knelt down, still cradling him closely but lowering him down also. They never let him go, even once Bee’s pedes touched the ground. Plates and armor rattled noisily from involuntary shaking, it was only thanks to the other bot’s help he steadied himself and stood up straight. He found himself missing the sturdy comfort once the bot let him go.

Stretching out and cracking his joints, Bee spoke. “Hey, thanks for the…”

A shadow loomed over him, occurring to him that this bot seemed particularly huge. His optics traced out a familiar outline. Huge rectangular shoulders and a blocky helm shape. Realization of horror draped over Bee and he spun around.

“Save…?”

Standing over him, the large form of Megatron smiled gently down at him. Bee stared in utter shock for a good nano-klik, then a hand clamped over his mouth to muffle a scream threatening to burst out. Legs crumpled beneath him, strength all but gone, Bee fell back on his aft.

Despite his fear, and wishing the Earth would open and swallow him up, Bee meekly asked a simple question.

“Why…” he swallowed and tried again. “Why save me?”

With gentle gracefulness, Megatron stepped forward and knelt down to Bee’s optic level. He slowly reached out and carefully cupped Bee’s chin, caressing his faceplate with a digit. Impressively, the youngling didn’t even flinch. The two of them locked optics, as if Megatron was silently affirming no harm would come to Bee.

Megatron leaned in close, making certain only Bee could hear him.

“I have my reasons.” He smirked at the youngling. “You will find out soon enough.”

Without another word, Megatron stood up and shot off, transforming in midair, taking to the darkened skies as his alt form roared away. Left in the dust was a gaping Bee, faceplactes partially shielded by his hand from the immediate blast. Wind whistled eerily around him, Megatron’s words ringing in his processor. A dark foreboding feeling pressed on Bee’s spark, the words had a certain weight to them.

Getting up, his body shook violently with turbulent emotions ready to burst. First and foremost was total and utter confusion. The nasty little voice in his head, suspiciously sounding a lot like Sentinel, whispering cold cutting words of being fake coiled around Bee, clashing with the heavyset implications of Megatron’s own word.

“What on Earth did he mean ‘I’ll find out soon enough’?” Bee asked no one, hands clenched. “What the frag is even happening?!”

No answer. There were no possible answers. No bot could possibly have one. This had to be some kind of cruel trick from Primus.

Bright blue skies, tainted by the rapidly forming presence of a storm and rumbling dangerously seemed keen on chasing Megatron’s thoughts. Going at a hundred miles an hour, it was hyper focused on just one thing. Even if it was for a few kliks, he had the youngling in his arms.

Megatron didn’t need to think about it, he knew it.

The way his spark soared when he caught the youngling.

His sparkling. Here, on Earth of all planets.

Megatron had watched with quickly thinning patience while Starscream tossed the little Autobot around. Threatening him because he happened to be the youngest and smallest of them, what a foolish notion. The fusion cannon was warmed up and ready, Megatron narrowed his optics, waiting for the moment the traitor’s body was in full scope.

The youngling seemed to mouth off Starscream, who picked him up by the neck and rose into the air. They went back and forth for a few nano-kliks, at one point Starscream pointed a null-ray at the youngling’s chassis. Of course, he would offline a bot just to get what he wanted. What a waste.

Unexpectedly, and dare Megatron be bold, impressively, the youngling treated Starscream with a full body shock of electricity from his own in-built weapon. Clever little Autobot, none of the others would have dared to think or do such a thing. As a result, Starscream was effectively paralyzed and let the little Autobot slip from his grasp.

Then the youngling screamed.

It pierced into Megatron’s helm. For unforeseen reasons, it clicked. In a snap, as if on instinct, his spark screamed at him to protect the youngling.

Wasting not another nano-klik, Megatron dive-bombed the cliff, his jets pushing to keep him afloat. He veered under the youngling and caught his small form in his arms. Memories flooded his mind, a silvery-white sparkling wailing in terror. At that moment, he’d realized who the youngling truly was.

“Neon White.” Megatron said softly, the name familiar and yet foreign. His precious sparkling, all grown up and so different.

The pitter-patter of rain washed away his thoughts, starkly reminded of the deteriorating weather conditions. His spark weighed heavier with every drop, part of it was yearning for his sparkling, but he couldn’t just whisk him away like that.

Bearing down on a lone mountain, Megatron transformed and landed at its base. Were it anyone else, all they’d see is just a solid rock face. In his presence though, a hidden door slid open, granting access to the mine inside. Walking in, shadows shuddered away from him, the fluorescent lighting shone brighter than usual.

As expected, both Lugnut and Blitzwing were the command room, puttering away on various computers and monitors. They immediately stood to attention when they noticed Megatron’s presence. He approached them with a growing grin.

“Have you found something, my liege?” Lugnut inquired instantly.

“You could say that,” Megatron said, he gestured a hand to the side, “I need you to prepare a spare berth room, preferably close to my quarters.”

“Are we expecting a vizitor?” Icy Blitzwing asked.

“Perhaps, if all goes according to plan,” Megatron replied dismissively. A plan, a backup plan, and a contingency or two. He’d find a way to bring the youngling over to his side.

Noting the tone of dismissal, the other two mechs slightly bowed and promptly left for their task. Alone in the command room, Megatron sought out a spare datapad on a nearby monitor. He tapped away on it while his mind went back to his sparkling, seeing the fear in those blue optics stung a little. But he’d demonstrated he wouldn’t harm him, which his sparkling quietly accepted with ease. Almost too easily.

One would think the Autobots kept their databases under tight lock and key, it was pathetically easy to break into it. They must’ve become incredibly lax in the millions of stellar cycles since the war ended, that and Shockwave was an exceptional spy. Megatron searched through his memory banks, if he was correct, nearly all Autobots went to a boot camp as soon as they became adults.

There, boot camp records. Megatron knew his sparkling’s name wasn’t Neon White anymore. It took a little time, he eventually found a matching description of the youngling he’d saved. Ah, it was Bumblebee now. Strange name, but it seemed to fit him.

No wonder Megatron hadn’t recognized him at first. Yes, Magnus did an impeccable job of hiding his son in plain sight.

“Soon, my dear sparkling, I’ll have you by my side again.” Megatron said to himself.

The mega-cycles passed in a blur. Between Sentinel hurling accusations at Bee and Optimus brawling with his former friend, the two were separated with Sentinel hauled off to be confined to his quarters on the Steelhaven; the sky was a dark grey with light gold-orange gradients. Ratchet shook his head, had the time passed that quickly? Bee was gone for quite a while.

But the way Optimus was fidgeting all over the place, and Magnus was mildly agitated by the situation, Ratchet had a personal tally on which one of them was going to start sending out bots to search for Bee. He kept himself busy in the medbay, polishing tools and equipment and doing inventory. His joints ached in worry about their youngest crew member, listening to the faint rumblings of a thunderstorm affirmed those worries.

Ratchet hoped the kid didn’t get himself into a tight spot and be unable to help himself. Primus forbid if that damned frame failed on him. He’d been waving the issue in Magnus’ faceplates for some time now, but he’d always brush it off. Ratchet made a mix of a soft growl and a grumble, he was getting too old for this. Bee would also be in need a check-up, again, once he got back.

The angry monologue went on for another couple of kliks, colorful swearing and promising pain to certain bots bled in. Ratchet’s commlink crackled with activity. Mumbling in vexation, his moment ruined, he replied.

“What is it? Unless the kid’s back, I don’t-” Ratchet started and then was cut off.

“I was going to say that, Bumblebee’s back,” Optimus said in exasperation, “I don’t think he’s injured, but he looks worse for wear.”

“Kid probably took a tumble,” Ratchet said, pinching his nasal ridge, “I’ll check ‘im over as soon as I get my hands on him.”

“Bumblebee just walked in- hey, where are you going?” Optimus went radio silent for a nano-klik. “I think that check-up will have to wait. He’s gone to his room.”

 “Slag it! That youngling is too prideful.” Ratchet grouched, Bee locked his room at night and there was no way to get past it short of breaking the door down. Always looking to avoid the medbay. “I don’t suppose he’ll keep boasting that pride when he gets up with aches in the morning?”

“I can already hear the complaining,” Optimus said with a slight chuckle.

They bid each other good night. Ratchet paced around, mulling over what to do next. The bay itself and his lab were meticulously cleaned. All stocked up on the necessary supplies. Nothing else left on the table to keep him busy. Ratchet wasn’t sated enough to go to recharge, it was merely a feeling, he didn’t want to lock up the bay for the night just yet.

Who knows, he might run into a bot or two.

The statement proved itself true within a couple mega-cycles.

Ratchet had ultimately decided to settle in his office, slumped over his monitor and dozing off. Door left ajar in case of an outside disturbance, he’d be able to investigate it unhindered. The continuous hum of the monitor and the rainfall outside lulled him, optics halfway offline and sensors not as nearly as sharp.

A clatter rang out. A muted boom of thunder. Ratchet jolted up, optics bright with alertness.

Effortlessly creeping out of the medbay, he made his way through the dark common area, rain illuminated by the city skyline streaked down the skylight. Weaving his way around the scattered furniture, Ratchet traced the source of the noise.

The kitchen was faintly illuminated by the shine of headlights, from Bee’s pedes. The silhouette of a minibot was positioned in front of one of the numerous storage cabinets. The silhouette bent over, picking up an empty energon cube.

“Kid?” Ratchet prompted.

Another clatter, the cube bounced away from Bee.

“Aw scrap.” Bee said sourly, his optics narrowed in annoyance. “I wasn’t… expecting any bot to still be up.”

“I’m a medic, I can go a few solar cycles without much recharge,” Ratchet said and folded his arms. “It’s real late to be refueling.”

“Can’t a bot get some late night energon?”

“Most bots don’t make a habit out of it,” Ratchet said, he found the cube and picked it up. “Come on, get yer aft to the medbay.”

“Can it wait? I just want my energon,” Bee protested, his vocals pitched slightly to a whine.

“It’s either that or get up in the morning aching all over, and I’ll have’ta haul you to the bay myself,” Ratchet said, leaving no room for argument.

Ratchet turned and left the kitchen, the empty cube still in hand. Almost right away, he heard Bee’s pedes shuffling behind him. At least the kid was self-aware when necessary… sometimes. They were halfway across the common area when the storm thundered violently above them, the windows rattled and the night sky flashed with lightning. Bee yelped in fright and inched himself closer to Ratchet for comfort.

He made no comment. It was a common fear among Cybertronians, storms of that scale were more than enough to deal serious damage to their systems. Earth was unfortunately prone to extreme weather events.

The warm glow of the medbay greeted them, Ratchet made haste and busied himself at one of the counters. Bee slowly followed up, making himself at home on one of the few chairs. He leaned back on it, limbs hung limply at his sides.

Pouring fresh medical-grade energon from a dispenser, Ratchet gave the cube a little swirl while his other hand busied itself with a small canister. His digits moved deftly, popping the lid and pinched a white powder between them. Sprinkling it into the energon, still swirling it around, a mild sedative – it’d knock Bee out within the next mega-cycle or so.

He handed the energon cube to Bee without a word, who quickly gulped a small portion of it down. Ratchet stood close by, surveying the state of Bee’s frame, noting nothing serious and small scrapes here and there.

“You were gone for a long time,” he finally said.

“I wasn’t running away,” Bee said a little indignantly, “I um… ended up at Lake Erie.”

“You didn’t run into trouble, did ya?” Ratchet asked, eyeing small cuts on Bee’s left shoulder.

“No, I just…” Bee’s answer faltered. “Fell.”

The unconvinced silence was too much for him to bear.

“Ugh… fine, I ran into Starscream,” Bee said shortly, taking another sip of energon.

“What?!” Static blustered out of Ratchet. “Kid, there is no way you could’ve gotten away from him without significant injuries.”

The kid tensed up, optics wide and his body turned to the side. Brow ridges furled up uncomfortably and his lips twitched.

“I beat him… sort of,” Bee said slowly, “I shocked him with my stinger. Charged it up and jabbed his shoulder, and zap! He was down just like that.”

Of course, you’d use your in-built weapon, it’s natural for you, Ratchet nodded along.

“I’ve… never used it like that before,” Bee continued quietly. “Hey, Doc?”

“Yes?” Ratchet perked up.

“I was just thinking… don’t some bots recognize their own by a call or something like that?” Bee asked, tapping a pair of digits together. His body was slack and optics slowly offlining.

Why is he asking that all of a sudden? Ratchet grew still, he’d need to answer carefully.

“So some rumors say, I’ve never witnessed such a thing myself,” he replied. His processor was racing, there was no way the kid knew. He was sworn to total secrecy, only one other bot had the knowledge and even then, Ratchet didn’t know everything except for a few vague details.

“Oh…” Bee’s head swayed a little. The sedative was working in full force. “I can’t stop thinking over what… Sentinel said…”

That walking, talking pile of shuttlescrap, Ratchet raged internally, his internal systems cranked at the thought. “Kid, I want ya to never take everything that glitch says to yer spark, he doesn’t know you like I do, like our friends do.”

“Mm…” Bee tiredly managed a small, weak smile.

“Now, let’s get some sealant on those cuts, are ya trying to leak fluid and energon everywhere? Then you need to try to get some rest, you’ll feel better if you do.”

Chapter Text

Systems booting back online forced a small vent out of Bee’s mouth, yawning loudly in the process. Blue optics blearily flickered on to be greeted by a ray of sunlight shining through the window. Its warmth wrapped around him like a blanket, Bee blinked himself awake and twisted to the side, his body heavy.

A soft fabric tangled around his legs, coiling tighter the more he tossed and turned. Bee realized after a couple of kliks of messing with it that it was a blanket. Standard grey colour and the texture was pleasant. He didn’t recall going to recharge last night with it. As a matter of fact, he didn’t remember much of the night before.

A vague and heavy sense of uncertainty hung over Bee. Cruel words thrown at him were so far away now, his frame jolted as if he’d been punched in the tanks. Then there was a mess of everything, the lake and the terrifying drop – he vaguely remembered a purple fighter jet – and then… Megatron. Bee gasped softly at the reminder, his hand clenched the edge of his berth. That-whatever happened, brought up confusion and resignation.

Bee found it strange he easily accepted the Decepticon warlord’s help, nor was he as afraid of him as he thought he would be. Well, maybe just a little. It was Megatron for Primus’ sake!

Familiar crossed Bee’s mind before he hastily pushed it away. There was no fragging way, they were completely separate bots. He was sure the brief gesture was just that, brief. Perhaps a way to try to manipulate him. Yet, the more Bee pushed down the notion, the more his spark pulsed excitedly, once again making his processor swim in confusion.

Oh, for-

“It’s not like he’s going to that again, right?” Bee asked himself. Right?

Sitting up on his berth, he yawned again, his pistons loosening as the tension eased a bit. He rolled his shoulder joint, Bee’s entire left arm stung sharply.

Hissing out a curse, Bee clutched his shoulder and massaged it. He examined and frowned at the small cuts marring his paint job. He was sure he applied sealant to them the day before, it must’ve not been enough to soothe the pain. Unless another bot applied it, the last bot Bee spoke to was-

That old slagger. Bee thought wryly, of course it was Ratchet. That old medic was wily when he wanted to be.

Another sharp pain surged through his arm. Now he needed another layer on top of the old one, one of the rare times he’d willingly enter the medbay. Bee hopped off his berth, landing awkwardly on the tips of his pedes before he rebalanced himself. Body stiff, holding his shoulder as to not jostle it too much, Bee slipped out of his room.

The hallways were empty, not surprising since it was still a bit early. Bee fleetingly noticed the small crater in the wall where he threw Sentinel to the side the other day. His plating rattled and pistons squeaked in agitation, Bee tore his gaze away, pretending he didn’t see it. The incident replayed in his processor, the blinding adrenaline when he collided into the arrogant bot, and the disturbing tremors of thrill when he realized what he’d done.

He… was glad he did that.

It was just a one-time thing. He was mad, that’s all there was to it. However, Bee wasn’t comforted or convinced by his own reasoning. Now that he thought about it, there were a few times when he did lash out, he’d get the same surges of thrill throughout his body. Like some part of him was begging to let those around him know to leave him alone, violently.

Bee shook his head with incredible force, the very thought went spinning, he couldn’t focus on it anymore. Hopefully not again anytime soon. Just get to the medbay.

The common area was relatively absent of bots, the only one present was Prowl, getting his morning energon. Probably after getting up Primus knows how early to meditate, typical Prowl stuff, Bee laughed quietly to himself. Said bot as much as acknowledged his presence with an inconspicuous tilt of his head, and nothing more.

At the doors of the medbay, Bee paused, warily eyeing them. Slowly and carefully with one hand, he nudged the door open and peeked through the crack. Golden rays of sunlight highlighted the entire room, every nook and cranny cascaded by light. And a notable lack of Ratchet. Bee grinned, perfect. All he had to do was sneak in, grab some sealant and leave.

The crack widened just enough for Bee to squeeze through the doorway, and an added bonus of making as little noise as possible. Snaking around the examination berth on the far side of the room, sticking close to the edge for a shorter way around, he came face to face with numerous unlabelled cabinets.

“Great… how am I supposed to know which one has the sealant?” Bee’s head veered side to side in confusion.

Bending down on his knee joints, Bee slid a cabinet door open and shuffled through the contents inside. His digits brushed over sheets of medical graft patches and mesh, no small canisters present. Swiftly sliding the neighbouring door open, he reached in again. Objects clattered and rang out as he hastily searched. A prickling tingle told him he needed to hurry.

“Come on, where are you?” Bee quietly asked out loud, his vocals pitching slightly.

Reaching in further, all the way up to his shoulder, his digits scraped against the inner cabinet wall. Lowering his hand, they grasped around a cylindrical object. Followed by a victorious ‘Yes!’ Bee pulled a rather small, chrome canister. Its sleek shape fit comfortably in his hands, he cradled it close.

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything.” The unexpected presence of another voice jerked Bee out of his musing, banging his head on the ledge of the counter.

“Ow! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Bee said mildly.

Ratchet made a mix of a laugh and a scoff and folded his arms. “You’ll have to forgive this old bot for revelling in the moment, never thought I’d see ya in here willingly.”

Bee closed the cabinet and awkwardly stood up, holding the small canister protectively against his chassis. Staying silent, he attempted to leave, optics shifting uncomfortably and pedes scraping on the floor. Ratchet, faceplates shifting to concern, obstructed Bee’s path, stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Now just hold on a klik, kid,” Ratchet said, “you wouldn’t be in here unless you had a problem. Your shoulder still sore?”

“Sometimes I think you’re too good for your own good, Doc.” Bee stared. Ratchet stared back in equal intensity, prompting the former to sit on the nearest examination berth.

Without a word, Bee put both of his arms out to the side and winced slightly, making Ratchet pause before dismissing his peculiar behaviour. Dragging a nearby chair behind him to sit while he worked, Ratchet sat parallel to Bee to focus on his shoulder.

Carefully thumbing the cuts with a digit, Ratchet saw Bee wince again from his peripheral vision. Grunting quietly in affirmation, he pried the canister from his hand and uncapped it. Transparent cream settled within the canister’s interior, a mild and sterile scent emitted from it. Ratchet scooped it up with a pair of digits and smeared it over the cuts, gently rubbing it in.

“That’s kind of cold,” Bee said, optics staring straight ahead, fighting the urge to look at Ratchet.

“Good, that means the cuts are sealing and self-repairing,” Ratchet said, examining Bee’s shoulder closely with the scope lens. He hummed in satisfaction and stood up.

Nano-kliks passed in an awkward quiet, neither bot moved from their respective spots. Sunlight shone on them like stage lights, eagerly waiting for one of them to make a move. Bee kept his head dipped down, optics flickering around nervously, hands gripping the side of the berth tightly as if hanging for dear life. Ratchet stared pointedly, torn between letting it go or wondering what was the kid’s malfunction.

“You didn’t seem surprised,” Bee said suddenly, tilting his head slightly, “when I said I used my stinger… as a w-weapon.”

Startled by Bee’s comment, Ratchet took a few nano-kliks to process what he meant, and then began to laugh quietly. His frame rumbled in laughter.

“That’s what’s got ya so worked up?” he asked in-between chortles. “I’m an old bot, it ain’t the first time, and it certainly won’t be the last.”

“What do you mean? I know ya were a combat medic and treated Autobots during the Great War and all,” Bee said, his optics flickered brightly in confusion.

“Not just Autobots kid,” Ratchet said, “I treated Autobots, Decepticons and any bot in between. I’ve seen what all kinds of bots are capable of doing.”

“Decepticons too?!”

The disbelieving question had Ratchet nodding firmly.

“Oh yes, I took an oath and would sooner offline myself than break it. Never turned away any bot who needed help.”

“So… what does this have to do with my stingers?” Bee asked, his hands curled up into fists.

“What I’m saying is that your frame, alt mode, coding, all that junk, doesn’t define who you are.” Ratchet knelt closer, levelled with Bee. “It’s been rough, but we’ve come a long way since Functionalism.”

“I just… I didn’t think my stingers would be that strong without needing the battle grade mods. And I literally threw Sentinel into the wall, never thought I could do that.” Bee babbled.

A hand gripped his other shoulder, silencing Bee as he focused properly on Ratchet for the first time.

“One, Starscream was attacking, and you defended yourself. Two, Sentinel was being an aft, and you were hurting. Hurt bots don’t always make rational decisions.”

“I guess…” Bee shrugged. He still didn’t quite understand why he threw Sentinel, only that he wanted the arrogant mech to shut up already. “Pretty sure I crushed his armour, though.”

“Bah, if he’d done that with any other bot, he would’ve gotten the same treatment either way.” Ratchet countered with a grump.

There was a stifled chuckle from Bee, they traded side grins with each other.

“But you do understand what I’m saying?” Ratchet asked once Bee hopped off the examination berth.

“Yeah, I think so,” Bee said, tapping his chin. “Just like there are Autobots who can fly, there are Cons who can drive.”

“…that’s one way of looking at it.” Ratchet shook his head in exasperation. Then, his comlink chirped noisily and he winced. Who could be calling at this time? “Ratchet here.”

“Medic Ratchet, my apologies for calling so early, have you seen Bumblebee?” Ultra Magnus’ voice greeted him, deep and heavy.

“As a matter of fact, I have him right here,” Ratchet said in a hushed tone, “whaddya need him for?”

“I believe Sentinel has something to say to him, and please don’t worry, I will be supervising,” Magnus said, quickly deflecting whatever defensiveness Ratchet would’ve put up.

“An apology eh? Alright, I’ll bring him out front,” Ratchet said smugly, “but, it’ll be up to Bumblebee whether he accepts it or not.”

“I understand.” Magnus acknowledged and the comlink beeped, ending the conversation.

“What’s up?” Bee asked, noticing Ratchet’s sudden silence and a pensive expression.

“Er… the Magnus wants you to come out front, Sentinel apparently has something to say to you,” Ratchet replied, rubbing the back of his helm.

“Oh, okay…” Bee said in a small voice, shrinking into himself. Head down and body slumped in worry.

Tense, unspoken silence settled over them. The calm was too still, as if just right before a storm. Ratchet understood the kid’s apprehension, he wasn’t one to trust so easily.

“If it makes ya feel better, Magnus and I will be there the whole time,” Ratchet said softly.

“Mm…” Bee mumbled with a slight nod. “Think you’ll be throwing wrenches?”

“If I have to, Primus knows an aft like Sentinel needs one,” Ratchet said with a loud huff. Oh, how he longed to put a dent in his helm.

Bee snickered a little. “I guess we can go now, I want to get this over with.”

Leaving the medbay, it was noticeable how colder the rest of the base was compared to it. Bee shivered, rubbing his arms to generate warmth. The idea of Sentinel, having an ego bigger than Cybertron, apologizing, was baffling. Maybe he somehow fell into an alternate reality. Even so, his spark was unsettled by the thought and tried to resettle by pulsing in an erratic rhythm. Bee’s intake shuddered, knowing whatever this was, it was all for show.

Sentinel, and whatever apology he tried to cook up would never be sincere. He was more than willing to twist things his way.

Before he knew it, Bee stepped out into the gaze of the morning sun, its brightness nearly blinding him. Optics flickered and peered around, taking in the rather peaceful surroundings. Birds chirped from Prowl’s tree, which Bee slightly smiled at, letting himself forget for a moment why he came out here.

A hasty nudge and quiet grunt from Ratchet brought Bee back to reality. His body rattled in a mix of nervous and agitated energy and his throat pipe made an unusual squeaking sound, faint traces of nausea bubbling in his systems. Just down the beaten road, Magnus, as stoic as ever, walked alongside a sulking Sentinel who had his arms crossed.

Time seemed to stretch out with every pulse of Bee’s spark. As if they’d take forever to arrive and remain nothing more than tiny specks in the distance. Optics shuttered momentarily, and when they blipped open, Bee found himself staring at Sentinel’s sour expression.

Sentinel was quick to notice the staring and jerked his helm away. He was painfully, stubbornly uncommunicative, lips twitching like he was fighting himself to not say a word. His posture shifted uncomfortably, ready to run away at a moment’s notice. Dented and crumpled side armour stood out like a sore digit. Sentinel consciously shifted his arms in an attempt to hide the embellishments.

Plating quivered noiselessly, it flared out in warning as Bee’s hands curled into fists, firmly positioned at his sides. A steady hand from Ratchet clasped on his shoulder, grounding him.

Similarly, Magnus held Sentinel’s shoulder in a tight grip.

“Whether you say it or not, this incident will be on your record,” Magnus said, tone laced in warning.

Sentinel made a small groan, immediately silenced by a sharp look from his commander. Faceplates twisting into a grimace, he fumbled over his words as though it was physically painful to say them. Optics gradually darkened in resentment.

“Bu-Bumblebee,” Sentinel said flatly, “I wish to formally apologize to you… for making baseless accusations of being a Decepticon spy. They were unwarranted an-and said in a moment of anger. I will be mindful about my words in the future.”

That’s it?! Bee stared in disbelief at how tone-deaf it was. His body slumped as if something invisible weighed down on him. Pistons creaked as his fists tightened some more, a shaky vent escaped his mouth.

“Something ya want to say, kid?” Ratchet asked, brow ridge raised. He caught Magnus’ gaze for a nano-klik, knowing full well that he knew Sentinel’s words were hollow. They discreetly nodded at one another.

Bee closed his optics, lips tight and savouring in stretching out the time he took to answer. After a klik or so, he pinned Sentinel with a cold glare.

“Apology… not accepted,” Bee said simply. He still felt a weight pressing down on him, but he ignored it for the time being. “You can take it and shove it up your tailpipe.”

“What?!” Sentinel all but yelled, struggling within the iron grip. He turned his helm to the side, pleading optics directed at Magnus. “I-I apologized, didn’t I?!”

“Because you didn’t really mean it!” Bee snapped out before either Magnus or Ratchet could reply. “You were just looking for a reason to single me out!”

“You threw me into the wall, how about that, huh?!” Sentinel shot back, gesturing to his ruined armour.

“What’s done is done,” Magnus said, finally finding a break into the bickering. “While that was not the appropriate response, I understand why you would react like that.”

Bee almost smiled, it faltered as Sentinel continued to bluster in anger.

“But, sir-!”

“But nothing.” Magnus cut off the protest. “For the time being, you’ll be confined to your quarters on the Steelhaven, you will only be allowed out for patrol and meetings. And a temporary guard will be assigned to you.”

Sentinel’s jaw dropped in shock at the conditions laid out before him. All because of some poorly misplaced words. He sneered at a suspiciously quiet Bee.

“This is all your fault.” Sentinel hissed.

“You don’t even know me.” Bee folded his arms and turned his back to the arrogant mech as a sign of finality.

“That went as well as expected,” Ratchet commented, watching Magnus drag a protesting Sentinel away. “The aft head didn’t even try.”

“So, I came out here for nothing then,” Bee complained, his arms spread out in a wide gesture. “Could’ve just told me he wanted to apologize, and I would’ve said no right there and then.”

“I suppose that could’ve worked too.” Ratchet sighed with a pinch to his nasal ridge.

“I… think I’ll stay at the base today.”

“Hm? Why?” Ratchet adjusted his audio receptors, wondering if he heard right. “Is there a problem?”

“No… nothing.” Bee said, his answer lacking energy behind it.

His pace hastened in an unforeseen urge to get back inside. He ignored the calls behind him, Megatron’s words once again ringing in his processor.