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Chapter Text

Bulkhead picked Bumblebee up and dropped him on his shoulder. He gingerly picked up both their luggage and cradled it in one arm. "Are you really that upset about being expelled, little buddy?" Bulkhead asked.

His first and probably only friend from boot camp lifted his head with a groan. "A little, but honestly? I'm not even that upset. I wish I was, but I'm not." He turned, now hanging upside-down from Bulkhead's shoulder. "My amica's gonna kill me."

"You have an amica?" Bulkhead asked, his tone of disbelief. "You never talked about them during camp."

"They're my amica in name only," Bumblebee elaborated. "Never did the bonding for it, just the uhh...rites for it." He waved his hand dismissively. "He and I aren't much for labels."

"Oh..." he pondered that for a moment. "Since when do Amicae have to do rites?" His friend paused in picking at his paint job, then gave him a look of confusion. "I thought only conjunxes had to go through rites."

Bumblebee sat up. He held his helm in his servos. "Ohhh, scrap. Am I a conjunx now?" He asked, voice slowly growing more high-pitched. "That's a lot of responsibility. I'm not responsible. I just got old enough to drink engex." His frame shook in silent, nervous laughter. "Scrapscrapscrapscrap."

Oh great. Now his little buddy was freaking out. He gently plucked Bumblebee off his shoulder and shook him. "Calm down. Maybe that's just a you and him thing?" He suggested. Bumblebee stared at him blankly but stopped outwardly freaking out. "You know, you two have a thing and it's going through the rites like you're conjunxing." He gestured with his helm, shrugging in one direction, "But you guys are actually amica-ing. If that's actually a word."

"But Bulkhead," he said, reaching up to gently pull himself onto his friend's chassis. "That's not how that works." The way he said it was weak.

Bulkhead shook him off, giving him a look of disbelief. "Since when have you ever done things the way they're supposed to work?" He gestured wildly. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say! Slag what everyone else says, cause you don't listen to people anyway."

Bumblebee placed his servos on his hips and yelled, "I do too!"

"Since when?" He asked incredulously. He dropped his friend onto the ground and held up his pincers. "You always break the rules, slack off on Sentinel's punishments, ignore when people yell at you to stop, and are probably ignoring this conversation right now!"

"I am not!" Bumblebee yelled back. "I just-" Bulkhead raised his optics ridges, waiting for a response. "I listen. I just don't...remember what people say?" He laughed a little nervously.

"Uh-huh." He began walking towards wherever they were supposed to report. He honestly stopped listening halfway through Sentinel's rant. "Sure..."

"Come on, Bulkhead! Not everything someone says is important." He grinned and muttered, "Least of all whatever Sentinel and Wasp say."

Bulkhead snorted at that. He covered his mouth before coughing. "Anyway," he began before Bumblebee could distract him again, "Do conjunx rites with your amica. Do what you want with your life, Bee. Except, like kill bots. Cause obviously that's wrong. Don't do that, or else uhhh we won't be friends anymore."

His friend snorted. "That's a good threat," he said quietly. "Yeah. Sure. Doing amica rites should be a whole thing, actually." Bulkhead paused for a step. He recognized that tone.

"What?"

"I think I'm onto something here," Bumblebee said, jumping onto his friend's shoulder. He smiled and flickered his optics. "So...wanna ignore Sentinel's orders and go get some rust sticks? I'll pay."

Bulkhead stared at Bumblebee with narrowed optics. "Huh? Well, yeah, I guess so. Can we get it to-go? I don't want to be late." Bumblebee made a noise between a groan and a whine.

"Ugh, fine. Just take a left up here, big guy," he ordered from Bulkhead's shoulder. He noticed his friend's glare. "Uhh. Please?"

"That's better."

It took until after they had gotten the rust sticks and were halfway to the site before Bulkhead even thought twice about it. He was halfway through chewing the rust stick before his optics widened. Pointing one of his pincers at Bumblebee, he asked suspiciously, "Is this you doing the amica rites with me?" Bumblebee stared, raising an optic ridge. "What? It's an important question! Not that I'm complaining," he said, quickly. They were best friends after all. They could make it official.

"Uh yeah," Bumblebee hid his smile behind his hand. Despite figuring out what Bumblebee was up to, Bulkhead's jaw dropped. His tinier friend gently hooked it back onto his jaw hinge. "You'll start catching scraplets if you keep doing that, Bulkhead." Bulkhead didn't respond, but he did walk, only more sparkless-like. "Wow, and you say I'm a terrible listener."

Chapter Text

Click...hiss-kkzt....click...hiss-kkzt...click...hiss-kkzt

"Must you continue that incessant racket?" His roommate asked. The mech, in a rare act of indecency, hit the bottom of the top bunk. "I am trying to let my nanites repair and gloss my paint job. Something only possible in recharge?"

Out of spite, Blaster clicked his comm again. It disconnected once more, static filling the room once again, much to Tracks' dismay. His roommate groaned, plopping back onto his bunk with a clang. Blaster could imagine a servo dramatically draped on his forehelm as he moaned about the curse of Unicron, dust, and roommates with no tendency for hygiene.

"Sorry, mech," he said unapologetically. "I can't get a hold of my amica." It was an odd thing to think about. Bumblebee was always waiting for a call from him, mainly to keep him from being bored to stasis. According to one of his teammates, Bulkhead, he always brightened at his calls.

So why the ghosting?

"Gee, I wonder why," Tracks deadpanned, knocking him out of his thoughts. Blaster shifted his body, shaking the bunk. "Hey-! Blaster! Knock it-" he kicked the top bunk for emphasis "Off!"

Blaster snickered. Then he frowned, deciding that if Bee wanted to contact him, he could. He was a grown mech, albeit an immature, egotistical, and enthusiastic one.

Despite what Tracks would say otherwise, Blaster was fully aware of the irony-slash-hypocrisy of his statement.

Lying down on his bunk, he crossed one leg over the other. He flicked his visor up and down, up and down. Tracks cleared his intake. "Sorry," he said. With a long sigh, he thought a moment. "Maybe their comm system is down."

"Or they were eaten by space barnacles, Decepticons, or Sharkticons," his so-called elegant roommate drawled. Blaster stayed silent a moment, then he rolled, glaring at Tracks. He hunched in on himself. "Ohhh...you were seeking optimism? Apologies." Tracks sat up and smiled reassuringly. (A rare thing for him to do as he believed smiles gave mechs wrinkles.) "If what you've said about Bumblebee is true -and believe me, I know everything about your amica and I have never had the pleasure of meeting him- he is sufficiently in good health and will possibly call you in the next solar cycle."

At that, Blaster softened. He vented once before smiling back. "I hope you're right."

"I often am," Tracks declared, pressing a servo right over his spark as he turned his head away snobbily. Blaster hid his snort before slipping off the bunk. "Where are you going?"

"To check something with Cybertron communications," Blaster said. Tracks raised an optic ridge. "It'll ease my spark." The mech shuttered his optics incredulously. "Later Tracks," he said, slipping out the door. "I should be back before curfew."

If Tracks had another protest in his vocalizer, it was lost behind the door. Blaster walked to the communications bridge. Waving at his old teacher, Kup, he grinned and turned a corner. He nearly ran into Perceptor, who was...frazzled and made a quick apology before sprinting down the halls.

That was...odd.

Stepping outside of Metroplex, he patted the Titan's doorframe before making his way through the crowd of bots. A large crowd of bots that weren't usually out at this time. That was also odd.

Blaster pushed his way through the crowd. "Yo! Watch it, my mech," Beachcomber said. He glanced up, then grinned. "Yo! Blaster, my mech, what's shaking?"

"Apparently, this side of poor Metroplex," Blaster replied with a grimace. "What's the sich?"

"Not sure," Beachcomber said. "I'm just here for the vibes." He waved his arms, much more fluidly than Blaster thought was originally possible for their species.

"You just got back from Maccadam's, didn't ya?"

Beachcomber froze. He glanced around frantically, before relaxing as no bot was paying attention to them. "Shh!" His friend hissed, waving his servos in a 'hush-hush' gesture. "Don't tell my boss. Or anyone, for that matter. I just finished paying that citation off." Blaster snorted.

"Listen, I gotta go," Blaster said. "I gotta go check something out at my station. Catch ya later, for drinks? Not the inebriating kind," he added, when Beachcomber looked a little too hopeful. But the minibot waved happily as Blaster pushed through the crowd.

"This is worse than rush hour," he grumbled under his breath. He finally made it out of the crowd and hurried to the side doors. He dialed the code before slipping inside. Some intelligence officers shoved past him, and he let them, pushing down his anger. It was fine. He just did it to a whole crowd of bots.

It seemed, from his current vantage point, that this was the source of all the chaos. He huffed. Couldn't anyone do their job right?

Slipping past the myriad of bots, he made it to his station, where a visored mech was sitting. "Hey, somethin' I should know?" Blaster said, accidentally scaring the bot. "Sorry. But that's usually my station."

"My b," the mech said. "Name's Jazz. Just usin-" He froze, realizing something. He pointed at Blaster. "You Blaster?" He shrugged, 'Duh. ' "Aww scrap mech. You ain't supposed to be here. Conflict of interest and all that."

"Conflict of..." Blaster realized and turned the chair around, making Jazz stiffen. Leaning down, his visor fell in front of his optics as they glowed brighter, his servos clutching the armrests of the chair. "What's the situation, Jazz?" His voice was dark and low.

Jazz shivered.

"Don't shoot the message bot," he said quietly. He pointed a servo shakily at the map. "We lost contact with one of the ships. The Orion, I think."

"My amica's on that ship."

"Oh, scrap Blaster, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Blaster said. "He ain't dead," he turned his helm, glaring at Sentinel and Ultra Magnus, "And it ain't your fault." Pushing himself off the chair, he slowly turned. Jazz stood, servo moving to grab him, but Blaster ignored him, heading straight for the two leaders.

Blaster may have been dragged kicking and screaming out of the station, but the incident of a top communications officer fighting a Magnus and Major was forgotten in the face of having once again lost the AllSpark and a group of Autobots.

Chapter Text

"Alright, team," Optimus had announced one day in the common area, "We need to repair Teletran-1 so we can communicate with Cybertron our status." He gestured to their medic. "Ratchet has requested-"

"Demanded."

"-All hands on deck," Optimus finished quickly. "That means no one is getting out of this," he said, giving a hard look to Bumblebee and Sari. The two youngest smiled sheepishly and hid behind Bulkhead. It was an effective maneuver considering their sizes. "Understand?" He didn't need to call out his teammates, but everyone stared at the two guilty parties.

Bumblebee's servo popped out from behind Bulkhead in a thumbs-up. "Got ya, boss-bot. We won't play hooky this time." Sari shot her own hand above his, also a thumbs-up.

Ratchet nudged him, surprised by their easy compliance. "What do you two have up your sleeve?"

"Nothing," Sari said. She grunted as she dragged herself up to Bulkhead's shoulder. "It's raining Ratchet." Standing, she placed her hands on her hips and glared at Bumblebee, pointing at him. "And until Bumblebee learns how to drive in the rain, I am not riding with him."

There was a story there, but if Optimus heard it, he would be forced to forbid Bumblebee from driving Sari around. She enjoyed riding the long rides with him. He would...just make sure they didn't drive around in the rain until even Fanzone wouldn't raise concerns (see rightfully complain) about it.

"Right," he said firmly, making all of them straighten. "Let's get started."

"Finally!" Ratchet declared. "Hopefully, by the time we finish, the rain will let up enough to let us drive, because we are either going to love each other or want to offline each other."

Optimus smiled wryly. "I doubt it will be that bad, Ratchet. Besides, this will be good for us. A team exercise, if you will." Ratchet stared at him, then patted his shoulder silently before walking away.

Stepping into place next to him, Prowl asked, "Is it just me, or did an oddly specific sense of dread fall over our base?"

"We're all gonna die, aren't we?" Bumblebee deadpanned.

"Stop moving, Bumblebee," Prowl hissed. He was currently trying to connect the wires as he had the most nimble servos. "I need that light to be still."

"Sorry," Bumblebee said, for perhaps the hundredth time since they started, which was a few hours ago. "I can't help it, this is so boring."

Prowl glared at him, connecting the wires with a borderline violent twitch of his digits. Voice low, he whispered, "One wrong move, and this whole base will explode. Your processor won't even be able to understand what's going on until you're already a dismembered, sparking, energon-ridden mess. All...over...the warehouse." As he watched Bumblebee process the description, beginning to squirm, he leaned in and asked softly, "Is that boring, Bumblebee?"

Hunching in on himself, Bumblebee quickly shook his head. "N-N-No, Prowl." The light stayed still for a few moments longer. "Almost done?"

The ninjabot sighed. "Yes, I'm almost finished." When all the wires were connected, he stood and gently pried the flashlight from Bumblebee's trembling grip. "Thank you." After a moment of silence between the two of them, he asked, "Would you like to do the next one?"

The look of horror on the minibot's faceplate was priceless.

"Bulkhead, gently," Ratchet emphasized. "Drop it, gently. Easy...Easy." It wasn't often the doc-bot said please. Bulkhead's arms shook. "Right..." Ratchet motioned to a little space between the console. "Right here." Bulkhead crouched down and dropped it onto the ground. He jumped, shaking the ground and yelling in pain. "Take it easy!"

Bulkhead shook and covered his mouth. With a stiff, shaky servo, he pointed to the ground. His pede was right under the console. "It hurts," he wheezed.

Ratchet transformed his servo into his electromagnet. Activating it, he lifted the console high enough for Bulkhead to pull his pede out from under it. It was slightly dented, but no need for amputation.

He shot a hopeful look at the medic. The medic gave him an uneasy smile and a thumbs-up. No need to make his future patient worry.

"What does that do?" Sari asked, pointing at the console buttons from his shoulder.

He sighed. Were all human children this curious? Praying to Primus, they weren't, he replied, "I don't know, Sari. I just know that if I connect it to this thing, it would be bad." The answer wouldn't satisfy her, he knew, but one could hope.

"How bad?"

Optimus was...fine. This was fine. They were bonding as a team, learning boundaries, learning what made them want to offline each other.

Resisting the urge to growl or entertain his mildly violent thoughts, he forced a smile. (Sari was a human child. If this were Sentinel, it would be a far easier decision to punch him in the face.) "According to Ratchet, Kup, and pretty much everyone that taught me anything in science, very, very bad."

She crossed her arms and huffed, blowing one of her bangs out of her eye. "That's a boring answer."

Optimus was going to send everyone away for a drive. Regardless of rain or Decepticon activity. Then lock himself in his room for a long recharge period, regardless of whether his teammates were stuck in a ditch or about to be deactivated by Decepticon servos.

"What do you want me to say, Sari?" Optimus asked, pushing away the petty and frankly dark thoughts. They were his teammates, and he loved them, no matter how much any of them annoyed him. "It could explode or spit out acid? We'll accidentally cause an intergalactic war?"

Sari grinned and nodded. "Yeah! Those are much cooler answers." She was blessedly silent for a few minutes before opening her mouth.

"Sari," Optimus said before she could get another word out. "This part requires...a lot of concentration. Could you keep your questions until the end?"

"Ugh," she groaned. Rolling over, she hung upside down before sitting up. "Want me to go bother Bumblebee?"

"Yes!" He said. His answer was too quick and too enthusiastic. "I mean, yes, why don't you go?" His servos gestured widely and vaguely. "We're almost finished here."

Her eyes lit up. She beamed. "Okay! Bee, did you hear that?" She whooped and jumped, making Bumblebee dive to catch her. "Optimus said we can go!"

"Really?" Bumblebee asked. He glanced up at Optimus, who nodded. "Okay!" Then he turned shy, kicking his pede against the floor. "Call us when you're finished? I need to call someone." Turning on his pede, he waved in their direction before transforming and racing out. Ratchet vaguely waved in their direction.

It was silent. Optimus sighed in relief.

Ratchet snickered. "Well, I think that was a productive team exercise," he said cheerfully. "We're nearly finished with Teletran-1 and know how long we can spend time together before we kill each other." His remaining teammates groaned in agreement.

Bulkhead wobbled over to the couch. He groaned as he collapsed against the couch. "Everything hurts."

"Agreed," Prowl said, though his words were muffled by the flashlight in his mouth. He finished...whatever it was that he was doing and stood. "Mind if I join you, Bulkhead?"

"Go ahead," his teammate said, his servo lazily falling against the frame of the couch.

"Thank you." Prowl sat down, visor dimming in either meditation or recharge. Either option would be good for his health.

"So," Optimus said, standing in a similar position to when he had announced this day's activity, "I think we can all agree, not to go to that Swedish furniture store Sari was telling us about."

Ratchet plopped down to the ground. "Sure. Whatever the scrap that means."

Optimus nodded. "Yeah, I don't know why I said that either."

"Try recharging, boss-bot," Bulkhead said. "Sari says weird things when she's running on low amounts of recharge."

"I think I will," he said. "Good night, team."

"Afternoon, actually," Prowl corrected.

"Yeah, whatever."

They had learned something today. Putting together furniture required patience, listening skills, and the ability to tolerate multiple people you could tolerate for long periods of time.

The Decepticons could never.

Chapter Text

Prowl sat down on the couch, watching the chaos of his teammates. He sighed and lowered his audio receptors to brace for the impending chaos. And it was coming, it would not be their ragtag, washed-up team of Autobots if it didn't happen.

He heard a grunt and felt an organic skin on his leg. Glancing down, he watched as Sari struggled onto the couch with a beanbag. "Would you like me to lend a servo?" he asked. According to the organic textbooks he read, it was necessary for children to develop a sense of agency and autonomy.

Sari shook her head, then hurled her beanbag onto the couch. "Nuh-uh. I got it," she winked and with her serv-hand threw up a peace sign. A habit she (he resisted the urge to sigh) unfortunately gained from Bumblebee. With that trial overcome, she climbed onto the couch. "Okay. I'm ready to watch!"

"Ready to watch what?" Prowl asked. "Your television show isn't on yet."

"Oh, what?" Sari shook her helm...head. "No. I meant watch the other guys flop around like dead fish," she said, gesturing to his teammates. "This is going to be hilarious!" She flopped backward, squealing in laughter.

Prowl stayed silent, processing her words. There was one thing he couldn't -and didn't really want to understand. However, for the sake of comprehending organics. "Uh, Sari?"

Sipping her juice, Sari looked up at him, peeking open one eye. "Hmm?"

"Could you explain the simile 'flop around like a dead fish'? I haven't heard that one before."

"Huh? Oh!" She grinned and turned to him, putting her hands on her lap, acting a lot like the businesswomen he often saw on organic shows. "It's basically saying that someone is awkward in like..." she put a finger to her chin in thought. "Different or new situations. Remember my birthday party? Or when you guys first met humans?"

He nodded, remembering the way they had stood around the humans, unsure of how to act or proceed. "I see. Thank you, Sari. This was a very informative conversation." Pondering over the phrase, he frowned. "I understand the sentiment, but I don't understand. Can fish move when they are...offline?"

Sari froze. Then she narrowed her eyes in thought. "Now that you mention it...that doesn't sound right."

"Yes, because as far as I know, only chickens have limited functionality after death," Prowl said. She gave him a confused look. "I watched in a documentary that chickens can run around, even when they have been beheaded."

"EW! Gross!" She waved her hands. "Chickens are gross, Prowl. They are disgusting." Sari stuck out her tongue and shivered. "I think I just threw up in my mouth."

"We got off subject," he said, raising a servo. "Is 'flop around like a dead fish' correct?"

She shook her head. "It can't be. Ask OP, I'm gonna go get some water. I feel sick."

His processor didn't observe any abnormalities in her body function. Perhaps it was another figure of speech. He listened closely, hearing her footsteps in the kitchen. Satisfied that she was alright, he stood and walked over to Teletran-1.

"I don't suppose there has been any luck?" Prowl asked.

Ratchet glared at him. If he used it against the Decepticons, perhaps they would surrender without a fight. "What," he spat, "Do you think, Prowl? Do ya see any signs of life on the screen? Any sign of one of the old coots and emotionless scientists on the monitor? Hmmm?"

He averted his optics. "Uh, no. Sorry."

"The console is working," Optimus said, shooting Prowl a smile. "It's more...uh, Cyertron is going through their records to make sure we existed and aren't lying."

Bumblebee groaned and slid down the wall to sit. He pouted, bringing his knees to his chest. "And they're taking forever," he claimed. Then he, with a more forced smile, said, "We're going to be as old as Ratchet's rusty knee joints by the time they figure it out." He ducked his helm to hide his smile at Ratchet's glare.

After a moment, Ratchet sighed. "Usually, I would make a big fuss about your little comment." He grinned as he emphasized the 'little', eliciting an offended squawk from Bumblebee and a face-palm from Optimus. (Bumblebee really shouldn't show his sensitivity to things.) "But this time, I'm just gonna say you're right. Because you are, kid," he finished cheerfully.

Bumblebee stared at Ratchet, then he grinned, placing a hand over his spark. "I know," he said, smugly.

"Hmm, it would be the first time since I've met you that I've seen you called 'right'," Prowl said. Bumblebee's smile fell.

"Okay, listen, I know I'm annoying, but seriously?!" He screeched, waving his servos wildly. Prowl turned his helm to hide a snort. He was too easy. "Ugh, I'm gonna go find Sari. Call me when someone actually responds."

"You're eager, Bumblebee," Optimus said. "Why is that?" Bumblebee turned.

"Obviously, so we can get reinforcements in case the Decepticons come back," Bumblebee said. It was said a little too quickly. They stared at him with varying looks of disbelief. "What? I have a working processor! I just choose not to use it," he finished with a wry smile and a shrug. Then he walked out, only stopping Bulkhead. "Am I being too obvious?" He hissed.

Bulkhead leaned into whisper, "Just a little. Don't worry, they don't even know what you're being obvious about." That made Bumblebee freeze and face-palm, optics brightening in embarrassment. Bulkhead patted him on the shoulder.

They realized they were being stared at by their teammates. Bumblebee groaned and ran out of the room while Bulkhead shifted uncomfortably before announcing "I got some oil." There was silence for a moment before they returned their attention to the monitor

"I'm not sure whether or not to be worried," Optimus remarked.

Prowl hummed then said, "Whatever it is, I'm sure we will find out soon. Bumblebee is not the type to keep secrets."

Bulkhead bumped Prowl with a can of oil. "You guys don't give him enough credit," he said. "He's got plenty of secrets."

"Like what?"

"Hah," Bulkhead said flatly. "I'm dumb but I ain't that dumb."

Snorting, Ratchet shrugged. "Worth a shot. Any idea what Bumblebee is excited about? He can get first dibs after Prime and I here." He raised an optic ridge as Bulkhead slowly slurped on his oil. "Fine, fine. Just wanted to make sure it wasn't an emergency."

Bulkhead waved his servos. Wiping his mouth, he said, "Don't worry, doc-bot, it's not. It's just-" He covered his mouth again, determined to keep Bumblebee's secret.

"On another note," Prowl spoke up, deciding to spare Bulkhead. "Optimus, I have a question."

"Go ahead, Prowl," Optimus said, straightening. In fact, he had an ecstatic smile.

"Do you know the phrase 'flop around like a dead fish'?" Prowl asked. All of his teammates looked at him oddly, with a mixture of concern and disgust. Awkwardly averting his optics, he explained, "Sari used the phrase earlier to indicate that you bots were in an embarrassing situation and unsure of what to do. Similarly, to when we first came to Earth and at Sari's party."

Optimus pressed his mouth into a tight line. "Do you think she may have meant 'flop around like a fish out of water'?"

The amount of relief that came over Prowl must have been a gift from Primus. He sighed. "That must be the phrase. Thank you, Optimus." Beside them, Bulkhead and Ratchet sighed, the tension leaving their shoulders.

"No problem."

"Cybertron to Earth, I repeat Cybertron to Earth. Do you read me? Earth, report."

Bumblebee scrambled over to the console. He pressed a button, giving them a much clearer hearing of the voice. "We are reading you loud and clear, mech." He paused, narrowing his optics. Then a smile took over his face. "Wait, Longarm, is that you? You look great!"

"That's Longarm Prime to you, Optimus' wash-out," Sentinel said, offscreen. "One of the only bots on my old platoon that amounted to anything."

Longarm flickered his optics with an annoyed look. "Yes, Sentinel. So you've said." Under his breath, he muttered "Multiple times." Returning his optics to Bumblebee, he said, "Yes, I completed my dream of...of..."

"Being an Elite Guard intelligence officer," Bumblebee finished. Longarm quickly nodded. He crossed his arms and grinned, "I bet you didn't think you'd become a Prime, of all things. Nice job." He gave a thumbs-up.

Staring at the thumb in confusion, Longarm copied it. "Right. Thank you, Bumblebee," he said. "A lot of things have happened in the fifty stellar cycles your team was missing. For example, Ironhide's promotion and my own, as well as Wasp's trial."

"Oh yeah." Bumblebee made a face. "That. I guess they found more information? Cause I mean, we only found a communicator."

Longarm half-shrugged. "They found more evidence later on. Could you retrieve your leader, Optimus Prime? He needs to make his report on your team's situation."

Sensing that Longarm was getting tired of this conversation, Bumblebee teased, "Aww, tired of me already, big guy?"

"Believe me," Longarm began, "I-I am relieved that my...friends are online. It is reassuring. I heard you were attacked by Decepticons." He smiled hesitantly.

"Yeah, we were," Bumblebee said. He flexed his arm. "No Decepticon could ever stand a chance against us." Longarm gave him a blank stare. He chuckled sheepishly and said weakly, "I'll go get the boss-bot."

"Thank you, Bumblebee."

The minibot dashed away, yelling. Longarm waited patiently. Then he relaxed as a red and blue bot came forward. "Optimus Prime, I presume? Sentinel often speaks about you."

"Uh, yes, that would be me," Optimus said. "Good things...I hope. I'm sorry. Who are you?"

"That's Longarm Prime," Bumblebee yelled from his spot on the couch. He was practically bouncing.

Bulkhead whirled. "Wait, Longarm became a Prime? Nice job, buddy!"

Sighing, Longarm replied, "Thank you, Bulkhead. Now, Optimus, your report?"

"You know this guy?" Ratchet deadpanned, jabbing a thumb in Teletran's direction.

"Eh, he was one of the nicer guys at Autoboot camp."

"It was a low bar," Longarm said, making Bumblebee snort and Bulkhead choke. "I apologize. That was unprofessional of me. Optimus," he said quickly, returning his attention to the Prime. "Your report is on its way?"

He nodded. "You should receive it soon. Let me know if there are any details that need more elaboration. I can hardly believe the story myself."

"Affirmative," Longarm agreed easily. "It shall be done. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but I fear I must-"

"Wait-" Bumblebee called out, appearing next to Optimus, who smiled, turning to lean against the wall. He played with his digits as he spoke. "Do you have access to our emergency contacts?" His old platoon mate nodded. He grinned, "Great. Could you contact Blaster?"

Making an odd noise with his vocalizer, Longarm frowned, narrowing his optics at the screen. "Let me see..." His optics blinked once, then twice. "...Negative. He no longer has clearance."

Bumblebee straightened in surprise. "Huh? Why not? He's like one of the top comm specialists."

"He started a fight with Ultra Magnus," Longarm said blankly. "And Sentinel Minor." The addition was rushed, absently added.

"I'm sorry, he what?"

Longarm shut his optics. "Blaster started a fight with Ultra Magnus and Sentinel -at the time- Major."

"He what?"

"You heard me."

"I did," Bumblebee agreed, holding his servos up. "I did, but that doesn't change the fact that this is a 'what the scrap' moment." He sighed and shook his head. "Can't Blaster just do some community service work?"

Longarm typed a few more things. "He, uh, never did the community service work offered, so he was demoted, losing several security clearances." The statement was said blankly, as if Longarm was flabbergasted by Blaster's audacity.

However, Bumblebee wasn't. "Huh." He clicked his vocalizer a few times. "When did this happen?" He asked, shifting to place his left hand on his hip.

"Fifty stellar cycles ago," Longarm said. Then he hummed, curiosity coloring his tone. "It was shortly after the Orion, your...ship disappeared." The Prime turned his attention to Bumblebee, who averted his optics at the stare.

"Blaster always has been stubborn," Bumblebee said with a sigh.

"No wonder you two got along splendidly," Longarm said flatly.

He shot Longarm a look of surprise. He was offended but also impressed by the snarky comment. Working around Sentinel so often would bring out the snark in anybot. "Yeah...thanks for trying. Just let Blaster know I'm still around?" He requested.

Longarm nodded, a more confident smile on his faceplate. "Certainly. Perhaps he will be...motivated to return to duty. Have a good solar cycle, Bumblebee." He logged off before Bumblebee could argue.

Bumblebee was left to stare at a blank screen. He was snapped out of his daze by Optimus clearing his vocalizer. He glanced at his leader curiously.

"So...who's Blaster?"

Chapter Text

"I am unsure of why you sent this application to me, Longarm Prime," Ultra Magnus said. He shifted, relaxing, an indication of his ease with the mech he was communicating with. "I already signed off on it. Permission to grant him security clearance to his station again."

If only he knew. Longarm replied, "I am aware. However, Blaster was the mech who fought you fifty stellar cycles ago." The only response was a wordless moment of thought before the Autobot leader nodded. He continued, "I-I was unsure of whether or not to allow him security clearance to communicate with Earth."

"Ah..." Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. Then he looked at the datapad. "It is only the Orion, Longarm. When I evaluated the application, he made no mention of speaking to the inhabitants of Earth itself."

"Security clearance to speak to the members of the Orion," he repeated. "Though he also mentioned that if the chance to visit arrived and he was allowed, he wanted to be informed. May I tell you my thoughts on this matter?"

"You don't have to ask for permission, Longarm?" Ultra Magnus said, a hint of amusement in the statement.

Longarm straightened up, impossibly so. "I believe he is seeking to speak with a specific member of the Orion. I believe it is possibly Bumblebee." Ultra Magnus stared at him for a moment. "Given my last conversation with Bumblebee, he was hoping that Blaster would be able to communicate with them."

"Bumblebee? I fail to see how that is important," he replied. "Is there a problem I should be aware of, Longarm?"

He shook his helm. "No, sir, I just find it odd. Looking at his application, he comes across as...volatile and rebellious." He chuckled and added, "No one fights the leader of the Autobots with a sound, functioning processor."

Ultra Magnus glanced to the side, something rare, sympathy if Longarm was correct. "Reports say he wasn't of sound mind, Longarm. Shortly after the incident, he was placed in a medical facility for energon deprivation and engex poisoning." He sighed, somber. "None of us, but Blaster, know the full extent of his situation. Alpha Trion advised us to give him a light sentence based on medical evidence."

Longarm nodded. "The report did indicate emotional processing issues as well as nervous system dysfunction." He clicked his digits on the dashboard. "Given the possibility of Blaster's and Bumblebee's relationship as well as the time frame of the incident and the Orion's disappearance...it is only natural to conclude that Blaster fought you out of grief, rather than treachery."

Ultra Magnus nodded, a smile forming on his faceplate. "Excellent deduction skills, Longarm Prime. That is what was concluded between Alpha Trion and Perceptor. I put him on probationary service in Trypticon Prison, and when he didn't take the offer of community service, we rescinded access to his communication station."

"Why?

"He was one of the top communications officers. It was a shame to lose him. Additionally, there was no evidence of a planned coup. The attack wasn't premeditated, and the damage done..." his optics dimmed slightly before he shook his helm. "In summary, we took pity on Blaster but made sure he had the chance to recompense his behavior."

"I apologize for questioning your decisions. My processor does not comprehend emotions and did not comprehend the nuance of the situation."

The Autobot leader held up a hand. "No need for apologies. You're an intelligence officer. Logic and facts are more important than emotion and...subjectivity." He smiled, it was a rare expression on his faceplate. "That's why you're one of the best members in this position."

If only it were a different mech, then perhaps he would explode with joy. Instead, he hesitantly smiled. "Thank you, sir. With all that said, I will message him that he has clearance to communicate with Earth."

Ultra Magnus' smile grew only a smidge wider. "Thank you, Longarm. Enjoy the rest of your solar cycle."

Chapter Text

After the Orion's disappearance and status as KIA

Sideswipe sighed as he heard arguments from up ahead. With a whistle, he gestured for Cheetor to stay behind. There wasn't a good reason for a young bot like himself to witness this. The Decepticon raised an eyebrow quizzically before shrugging.

"M'fine," one bot was saying. His words were too slurred for the mech not to be intoxicated. There was a clang against the front desk. "Lemme do this!"

"No, you're not," beeped Reachout, one of the prison guards. His pedes hit the counter as he bounced. "You can't." He poked the red and yellow mech, Blaster, and declared, "You're drunk half the time and threaten the Cons the other half."

Blaster scoffed, his optics changing colors and brightness rapidly. Sideswipe, having known his cohort for centuries, could tell he was intoxicated. (He would have to talk to him about that later.) "What'sa matter wit' that? Zey should all go offline, they...they deserve it." He leaned all his weight on the front desk. "In fact, lemme go tell em that."

He waved his arms wildly, beeping and whistling, "My motto's rehab, not self-deactivate!"

"Then maybe ya-ya should change it," Blaster slurred, lowly, with a growl in his vocalizer.

Sideswipe whistled once, making Blaster cover his audio receptors and Reachout jump. "What's going on here?"

Reachout pointed at Blaster. "He's a horrible prison guard!" Before Sideswipe could even reply, Reachout continued, "The Decepticons are saying, 'please don't let Blaster near me'!" Reachout beeped loudly, making Blaster groan and hold his helm in his servos. Reachout continued beeping and whistling, making Sideswipe pick up the minicon and gently set him down.

When the minicon threw a fit, Sideswipe whispered, "Let me handle this. Go calm the Cons down." Reachout put his fists on his hips, then glared at Blaster. His visor glowed brightly before he hmphed and stamped away.

Blaster stared at him a moment before he pushed past him, muttering obscenities and homicidal threats under his breath. This was going to be a long groon. Pulling the recently captured Decepticon away from the walkway, he said, "Watch it, Blaster. We don't have time for your attitude."

Blaster threw up a quick, inappropriate gesture towards him before stomping into step beside them.

The Decepticon whistled. "Sheeeesh...what crawled and died up his exhaust pipe?" he asked. Blaster stopped, grabbing the Decepticon's wrist with a firm, tight, vice-like grip. "Ow!" He shot a glare down at Blaster, only to freeze. He swallowed thickly and focused on the catwalk. Dropping his visor back over his optics, Blaster tsked and pulled at the Decepticon's arm roughly, stumbling slightly.

"Quit scaring the Cons," Reachout beeped from the other room.

"A friend of his just died," Sideswipe said in response to the Decepticon's question. The Decepticon was tugged down when Blaster leaned dangerously forward. Sideswipe pulled them up again and began marching them all past the security guards. "So, ixnay on the alkingtay."

"Ahh..." the Decepticon said, sympathetically in voice. His voice trembled. "Wh...Wh...What happened?" Blaster stiffened, glaring up at the mech.

Clicking his vocalizer a few times, Sideswipe answered, "Spacebridge accident." He ignored the way Blaster's vocalizer staticed. "That's what I heard from my interns. The team was cleaning up spacebridges...and one of them activated."

"And they call it the safest method of transportation," he deadpanned. Shaking his helm, he asked, "Does that mean we gotta deal with a grumpy, grieving, homicidal maniac?" Sideswipe chuckled humorlessly, his servos tightening on the Con's wrist. (He really didn't appreciate the casual the Con talked about it.) "Oh well, won't be the first time. Motormaster's worse."

Sideswipe rolled his optics.

They threw the Decepticon into the cell. Grabbing Blaster's servo, he began to drag the drunk mech out into the hall, probably into the breakroom. Still wordless and fuming, Blaster let him. Sideswipe narrowed his optics and jabbed a finger into the mech's chassis. "You're drunk outta your processor, aren't you?" The mech averted his gaze. "Blaster. Pull yourself together," he said, shaking him. "You're acting worse than Huffer."

Blaster spat, "I'm fine."

"You're making Huffer and Gears seem cheerful in comparison to you," Sideswipe huffed. He laughed a little at the thought. "And Huffer was once so depressing he made a Con knock himself out."

"We should do that more often." Blaster released the table, revealing a servo-shaped indentation. Oh, Primus, it was bad. "Heh," he grinned sharply, moving to stand. "In fact, I think I'll go try it out myself."

He grabbed Blaster by the shoulder. Pulling him back into his seat, Sideswipe said, "No. There is literally no need. You're scaring the Decepticons with your...dark and ominous mutterings that would make Tarn proud."

"Serves them right."

"Maybe so," Sideswipe conceded. "But Blaster, please. Take this seriously." With his servo, he grabbed Blaster by the neck and turned him to face him. "You're lucky, you aren't in here with the rest of the Cons with the stunt you pulled. Take this seriously."

"What's the point?" Blaster asked flatly.

He took a deep vent in and let it out slowly, some of it came out as steam. "You...have a great life. You can't just throw it away like that."

Blaster held up a digit. "Correction. I had a great life till my amica was declared dead." He batted away Sideswipe's servo and stood. "There ain't a thing you can say or do that will make this situation better. I told Tracks that myself."

"Blaster-!" Blaster ignored him, stomping out of the hallway. "Ugh!" Sideswipe groaned. He hit his forehelm with a satisfying clang. "The mech should just get an emotion remover if he's gonna be like this."

After the Orion's Reappearance and status as Found

Reachout was suspicious. He was waiting for...something to happen as Blaster patrolled Trypticon Prison. Nothing did. It was...frightening, even the prisoners were terrified, which made them quieter than usual. Because Blaster wasn't known for being cheerful. He was known for being grumpy, cynical, and violent...

"Hey, Deceps! How ya doin'?"

Not this.

Every Decepticon on this floor in the prison was frozen. Reachout recognized it as a 'what the scrap?' moment. Blaster explained it to him, apparently his dead amica had coined the term, and his amica's mentor had said the phrase often enough for it to be a casual usage in his vernacular.

Only one Decepticon was brave (or perhaps stupid) enough to answer, "Good?"

"That's great to hear!" Blaster said happily. Uncharacteristically so. "Glad to hear it." With that reply, several Decepticons pressed themselves against the walls of their cells as much as they could. Was this a sadistic trick by the Autobots? Reachout had to wonder. Were they trying to reveal some plan that not even the Decepticons knew about?

There was a clatter in one of the cells. The Autobot hurried over. "Aww scrap. Hold on, let me get you another one." He fished out one from his subspace and put it on the tray that slid the Decepticons' necessities.

The Decepticon shook in fear.

"Don't do it, Clampdown," one mech yelled. "The cube's poisoned!" That was Thunderhoof. Thunderhoof of all Decepticons said that. Reachout needed to intervene cause that was also insane. Thunderhoof loathed Clampdown with a vengeance. He found himself frozen.

Blaster had a bounce in his step. He was even smiling. Reachout should be glad. But...What in the scrap pile was going on inside Blaster's helm?!

Everyone was on their toes. Because who knew what was going on in Blaster's helm?

Something had happened.

It was driving Reachout insane. He needed to know the truth. He needed to know-

"Blaster," Leader-1 buzzed. "Did something good happen?" Oh, thank Primus for Leader-1! He was always so brave to ask violent and volatile mechs important questions.

Blaster smiled, his optics brightened behind his visor. "Sure did, L-1. It's the best thing that's happened to me in the past couple of stellar cycles," he said with a genuine cheerfulness. It was an open-intake smile.

"What are you doing with your face?" One Decepticon, Clampdown, asked, trembling in his cell. His claws did that clacking thing they did when he was nervous.

Leader-1 studied Blaster's face for a moment. Then he buzzed happily. "Hurrah! Blaster had finally undergone the emotion remover surgery!" He spun around happily. At that, Blaster's smile fell. He lifted his visor, raising an optic. Reachout got the feeling that wasn't the good thing that had happened.

It had to do with something else.

"Uh, no, actually L-1," Blaster said. He leaned against the catwalk railing and explained, "My amica's alive. And I..." he sounded so proud of himself. Despite their arguments and differences, Reachout was happy for him. "Got the clearance to begin training to get back to my old position."

"Oh." Leader-1 was silent for a moment. That wasn't a common occurrence. Then he buzzed happily, "That's even better news! Congratulations, Blaster!" Said mech finger gunned and grinned sharply.

"Thanks," he sighed happily. "I can't wait to see what the pest has been up to lately." He tilted his head to glance at Leader-1. "Of course, that means I'll be leaving soon."

"Oh, thank the AllSpark!" A Decepticon exclaimed. Reachout whole-sparkedly agreed.

Blaster's smile fell again. Then it returned, only more bitter and vicious. Oh, there was the Blaster he knew. "Of course, training takes a while..." he began absently, "And then who knows how long the paperwork will take. So that means I'll be terrorizing the Cons for just a bit longer."

"Primus, take me now!" The same Decepticon sobbed. Reachout was joining him in spirit.

Chapter Text

The silence between them was making Bumblebee fidget. He had thought about this moment for many cycles. Now he had no words. He inwardly chuckled at the thought. How often had his teammates said he needed to use his processor more than his vocalizer?

Lifting his optics, he smiled at his amica. His servos and digits squeezed together. "Hey, Blaster. Long time no see."

His amica scoffed and crossed his arms. "That's how you greet me after fifty stellar cycles, seven orbital cycles, two deca-cycles, and a groon?"

Bumblebee raised an optic ridge, but a smile was pulling at his faceplate. "You've been counting?" Blaster tensed, then he relaxed and shrugged.
He snorted, his amica was such a... "Tsundere," he declared.

"Huh?" At Bumblebee's laughter, Blaster snorted and lifted his visor. "Is that some sort of Earth term?"

He nodded. "Yeah. It's a Japanese term," he said, raising an index finger (a habit he had picked up from Sari). "It basically means that someone secretly loves someone else but acts grumpy and mean to hide it." He brightened his optics, his smile growing wider as he pointed at Blaster. "I think the term suits you."

Blaster nodded. "I can see it," he said. He studied Bumblebee for a moment. "Do you like Earth?"

Did he like Earth? "I love Earth!" Bumblebee exclaimed. He began gesturing wildly. "It's so cool and pretty! The humans are all different shapes and colors," he said. "Like some humans are," he began motioning with his hands, the different sizes, "Are super tiny. Like tinier than protoforms. Then others are tall. Think uhh...minicon size." He said, widening the distance between his servos.

"Oh, so humans are tiny tiny."

"Uh-huh," Bumblebee grinned. "Although, according to Sari, she's my best friend and I can't wait for you to meet her, oh-! And Bulkhead, too. They're the best. Like Sari's a human, and she is hilarious. One time we went to the forest with Prowl, he's annoying, but," he huffed and averted his eyes, optics dimming, "Cool. Not nearly as cool as you, though." Blaster huffed at that.

"Anyways...we went to the forest to camp. I hate camping, it is the worst!" Bumblebee began. "But then, just wait for it. All of a sudden, we were attacked by a crazy barnacle monster! It was trying to eat us and then control us so it could infect and eat all machines." He made a face and wiggled his servos. "We would have become zombies if we didn't have Sari."

"'Zombies'?"

"Yup, zombies," he repeated. (Blaster had an extremely confused look on his face.) "Anyway, that's why I hate camping and organic stuff. Except humans...and cats. They're adorable," he cooed. "I'll have to send you pics one day."

"'Pics'." Blaster said flatly. "And 'cats'? Bee?"

"Yeah." He finally noticed Blaster's confused face. "What's wrong?"

"What are 'pics' and uh 'cats' for that matter?" Blaster asked.

Bumblebee realized. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "Pics are like holograph images. Cats are...umm think felicons, but more friendlier...or maybe more savage."

"Oh," his mouth quirked upwards and his optics dimmed, "so they're just like felicons then." Bumblebee snorted and nodded.

"Yeah..."

Blaster leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "I think you were telling me about humans?"

Bumblebee perked up. This was probably a favorite topic of his. "Right! They're so cool and varied. So Cybertronians have similar frames, right?" His amica nodded. "Well, humans are so varied that something called genetics can get them to look entirely different from their parents! Sari said that can mean they have different skin tones, hair color, and even optic-I mean eye color."

"That's cool," Blaster breathed out. "So can humans look alike. Like us." Bumblebee's optics dimmed and narrowed in confusion. He raised a servo. "Not to bring up bad memories, but like you and Wasp."

Bumblebee's face turned guilty for a second, but then he smiled and nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes, humans come out as twins. There's fraternal, then identical. Identical twins are nearly impossible to tell apart." He hid his mouth as he giggled. "Sometimes we watch human soap operas that are all like 'Who have you been cheating on me with? My twin brother?!'" He even said it in a pretty accurate accent.

Blaster laughed at Bumblebee's fake accent. "Kinda reminds me of the old Pre-war dramas. I think you'd like them. Or at least have a blast making fun of them." He asked, "I don't suppose human reproducing is the same as Cybertronian reproducing."

He shrugged in response, "I don't know. I wasn't paying attention." He pouted at Blaster's knowing look. "What? It's rude to ask other species about their gross interface habits!"

Turning his head, his amica covered his mouth as his shoulders shook. A small wheeze came from his vocalizer, but it was muffled. Bumblebee pouted. "What? Listen, I may be a jerk who runs my vocalizer, but I know how to stop using it."

His amica settled down. He smiled more honestly now. "Of course you do." There was a moment of silence between them, still awkward, but- "Ah, let's see...speaking of vocalizers, any funky music on Earth?"

Bumblebee grinned and leaned on the dashboard. "Blaster, you would love, love, love the music here." Actually, now that he thought about it. "Hold on, I got a playlist," he spun the seat around and typed in a few commands, ignoring Blaster's questioning 'playlist?'. Then he downloaded something before sending it over the lines. He glanced behind him, "Did ya get it?"

Blaster paused and typed a few things. Then his optics widened in surprise before his lips grew into a small smile. "I'll give it a listen," he promised, before resting his helm on his servo. "Tell me more about Earth...or your teammates. You were complaining about them last time we talked."

"Ugh! My teammates are so annoying!" Bumblebee whined, knocking his face against the dashboard. "But...I care about them."

"Do they care about you?" his amica asked in an odd tone.

"Obviously!" Bumblebee exclaimed with a grin. Then he sighed, "They're always like 'Bumblebee, don't run off!' or 'for the last time, use your processor before your vocalizer!'" He smiled helplessly, his optics brightening just at the thought of them, "They're good teammates."

Snorting, Blaster slowly relaxed. "Good. I know you don't have much experience with a good team, but it ain't all bad to have someone watch your back."

Shooting Blaster a smug look, Bumblebee plopped his chin on his fist. "Ohhh...I see. You know..." he wagged his digit with a casual drawl, "I seem to recall our...stances on teams being switched last time."

"Sure was," Blaster said. "Then slag happened, and I hated being alone again."

Bumblebee stiffened, struck silent by the small bit of vulnerability. Blaster froze in response, but before he could fully retreat into himself once more, Bee quickly said, "Yeah, I don't think I could be alone again. It's soooo boring."

That seemed to be the right thing to say because Blaster grinned, his optics brightening. "Yeah. It is. I missed being able to complain to you about Tracks' beauty sleep and Sentinel's chin that..." He paused and hummed, trying to remember. "You put it so well..." He snapped his fingers with a satisfied grin. "His chin was only matched by the size of his ego." His optics softened as Bumblebee snorted, covering his mouth.

"Don't tell him I said that," he whispered in between giggles. Blaster pressed a digit to his mouth with that same teasing smile.

"You can count on me not to tell a spark."

Chapter Text

Spacebridges were a luxury afforded or authorized for very few Cybertronians. Mainly those who were well-off, Elite Guard members, and politicians. Many Cybertronians paid the privilege no mind; they were happy with their places on Cybertron. Another group envied them, tired of the same old roads on Cybertron, many of which were still damaged from the war.

B-127 was one of the latter group. Thank Primus, he was small enough to get past the broken, torn-up roads, but his taller comrades weren't so lucky. It was one of the few instances that Bumblebee was grateful for his minibot size. And he was one of the smallest minibots around. Which he was reminded of. Constantly.

Even though Bumblebee could go virtually anywhere. Thanks to his size, speed, and agility, he wanted to leave Cybertron. It was...stifling. If anyone asked him, he wouldn't be able to explain it. It just was.

On the other hand, if anyone asked if he wanted to leave Cybertron, it was a hard and enthusiastic 'YES!'. He wanted to leave this planet. It was so dark and depressing. It felt dark and depressing. He needed to set off and out of here, because, no matter where he turned, it felt wrong to smile or laugh.

He was tired of Cybertron.

Remember one of the perks of the Elite Guard? The privilege of traveling across the cosmos? Yeah, that might be the biggest reason he wanted to be an Elite Guard warrior. (Though being considered a cool and awesome hero was a close second.)

+----------------------+

+----------------------+

Autoboot Camp was nothing like what he'd thought it'd be. Maybe drill sergeants weren't supposed to be nice, but he was pretty sure making your recruits declare they were "worthless pieces of scrap" was the opposite of confidence-building. But who was he to say? He had been expelled.

But apparently Primus had a sense of humor. More specifically, he loved to indulge in irony.

On the bright side, he got to travel now. As a spacebridge technician. In other words, he and his team would travel to the far reaches of the galaxy and repair the spacebridges and clear up the debris around them. (Weren't they all heroes? He had drawled to Bulkhead when they landed on their first asteroid.)

"Without these space bridges," Optimus began to pretty it up, "The Elite Guard wouldn't be able to capture the vicious criminals that escape or be able to save the countless colonies that fall under tyrannical command. That is our role as cogs in the Great Autobot Machine."

They were all silent for a moment. Then Bumblebee said, "You know, boss-bot, you should totally be the one voicing those promotional vids. You make what we do actually sound important." He finished with a drawl.

"You're really reaching, aren't you, kid?" Optimus sighed and covered his face as he slouched forward. To soften the blow, Ratchet came up to him and patted his shoulder. "Relax, kid, we've all accepted that we ain't programmed to be heroes. You don't have to spout off that crap they made you memorize back at the Academy."

Letting out some steam, Optimus finally peeked his optics down at them. "I-"

"Optimus," Bumblebee said, in his most gentle tone. It was the tone he often used to soothe Bulkhead's homesickness. "We're fine. Being a hero is overrated. Haven't you ever heard the saying 'Don't meet your heroes'?"

It was a hard truth to accept. You're not a hero, said a green minibot as he shoved you into a closet. You're not a hero, said a guy with an ego larger than his chin. You're not a hero, said the leader of the Autobots.

It's not in your programming.

Optimus chuckled, but there wasn't any joy in it. Slowly, he picked up his ax. "I thought you'd understand." Primus did he, they all did, intimately even, but he didn't want to bring up the hurts right now. (He wasn't good enough. He never had been.)

Primus did have a sense of irony. Who was to say this wasn't his will? If it was, Bumblebee wanted to have a talk with him about being more direct. Because well...

"Consider this an upgrade!" With what? His downgraded stingers meant for small bounders and tiny repairs in spacebridge circuitry?

Finding the AllSpark, fighting the Decepticons, and being forced into stasis to avoid damage from crashing on another planet?

He had seen the holofilms. This was something only heroes experienced. Something, every other bot has declared they very much weren't.

Bumblebee wasn't prepared for this. Sure, he had fantasized and dreamed about these situations for cycles, but none had been as terrifying, amazing, and cool as this. It was...fun.

Also, he wasn't prepared for how fun it would be to fight with a team. Yeah, yeah, he went off on his own half the time, but there was something special about trying to protect the people you lov-cared about. People you cared about.

Back at Bootcamp, there had been no semblance of teamwork. All of them hated each other, or well, they each had their own groups they kept to. Sentinel had never taught them how to work together. He had certainly taught them how to hate each other and hate him.

(Ugh...just thinking about it was going to make his recharge uneasy.)

There was one person who may have tied the whole experience together. Sari Sumdac, a small human girl who fit in among them. Scarily so that he was certain he could convince Ratchet of Primus' existence with it.

"OMG! You guys were so cool!"

("We were so cold?" Prowl questioned.)

"You were like 'whoosh'!" She mimicked...one of them with a downward swing. "And then 'pew, pachoo'!" Her body had done a weird shooting motion as her feet shuffled across the floor. "And then! 'reee, blam, crash'!" She twirled a hand, then made a fist and swung it down to hit the concrete. With that hit, she paused, glanced at her servo, then whined and sniffled. "Ow..."

Bumblebee gently pulled her up, tenderly, lightly taking her servo as he examined it. He smiled reassuringly at her. "Don't worry, you're not bleeding energon."

Her wide eyes stared at him in confusion and suspicion. "What's energon?"

(Somehow, despite all their cultural differences and dissonances, she fit in right with them, she fit in right with them. As if she had been with them from the beginning. Nobody pointed it out.)

+----------------------+

+----------------------+

Despite what Prowl said, Bumblebee and Sari did not sit in front of the TV all day. When Optimus allowed (and sometimes when he didn't), they would sit up all night on the edge of the harbor boardwalk. It was their spot, and the workers knew that. It was best when the sky was clear and the city was just far enough away. They weren't alone, but the stars made them feel like they were.

Funny enough, they were all used to painstakingly hard loneliness.

While Bumblebee enjoyed talking his head off till his processor fell out. He liked listening to Sari. Sari had good ideas; they were fresh and creative, beautiful and personal. Humans were such fascinating creatures. His best friend? Most of all.

"Do you ever think-"

"Nope."

She giggled. "Shh," she said, reaching up to cover his intake. He snorted, nudging her to continue. "Do you ever think about how...like--" she moved her arms in a circle in front of her, racking her process-brain to find the words.

Bumblebee swung his legs, waiting. He had all the time in the world. Sari didn't, but he did. (What a strange, sombering thought.)

Twisting in his arms, Sari lifted up her head to stare at him curiously, "Like if things had changed, we might have never met?" He narrowed his optics in confusion, then he tilted his head down towards her, mouthing 'huh?'.

The human girl pouted before turning fully in his arms. "We met each other, right?"

"Uhh, yeah?" Bumblebee brushed a servo against her forehead. This specific thing was oddly important to her; he wondered why. Her temperature was fine, though it was getting a little colder. They would have to go in soon. (Such a shame that "winter" was approaching.)

"Different events had to happen for us to meet," Sari said. "Like, imagine if y'all hadn't crash-landed on Earth. Or you guys never woke up from stasis." She threw out her hands, falling backwards, "We would have never met!" He shifted his servo to catch her. "Plus, we wouldn't have become the best friends we were destined to be!"

Sari dramatically sighed, her tiny hand draped over her forehead, "I feel sorry for the alternate universe me that doesn't have you as a best friend."

The last part of her statement brought out a hurt he never quite healed. Not in a bad way, but just some way that he couldn't understand or name. "So, without all the events that happened to us, we never would have become best friends? Like we were programmed to be?" Oh, wait, no, that wasn't the word she used.

Her eyes brightened in the way they did when someone got it. "Yeah! Exactly," she said, bouncing back to sit up. "The AllSpark, the Decepticreeps, the crazy lab experiment, the stasis pods," she drawled, counting off the events with her fingers. "It kind of led to us meeting each other." Her tiny servos rested on her lap as she beamed. "Isn't that cool?"

It took him less than a nanoklick to answer. "The most extremely coolest thing ever!" He cheered. She laughed as he gently threw her into the air and caught her. It wasn't even that high, but she loved the thrills of any kind. (In an alternate universe, they were siblings down to their very lifeblood and sparks. No matter what anyone said, that was no lie.)

"I know!" Sari hugged his neck before balancing herself on his arm. Her eyes squeezed shut as she squealed happily. (Human girls were much prone to doing that; he lowered his audio receptor sensitivity.) "If things had changed just a little bit," she said, pinching her fingers together as she closed one eye. "We never would have met!"

They were silent for a moment at that. Sari plopped down onto his arm. "I don't want to think about that," she said quietly, shaking her head. (The thought of a world without her was impossible, but entirely plausible. Perhaps all it took was...not taking the fall for Bulkhead or...maybe giving up and never going to Bootcamp in the first place.)

"Yeah," Bumblebee said. He cradled her closer to his spark. (Right where he held his most loved ones.) "Let's not think about that." She shivered, curling in on herself. He frowned and spun to face the city, careful not to jostle her as he stood up. "I'll take you home."

"Home," Sari repeated. She smiled and tiredly waved to some of the workers. "Yeah, do that, Bee. Can we play some music and turn up the heater?"

"Sure," he agreed without a moment's thought. (Ratchet always said that Optimus was the softest on Sari. Bumblebee would secretly beg to differ.) Gently, he set her down and transformed, waiting for her to climb into the seat. They had barely made it through the first song before she fell fast asleep, snuggling into a ball.

(Maybe he wasn't programmed to be a cool hero of Cybertron, but he could be a cool, awesome hero for her. For some reason, despite all of his big dreams? That was enough for him.)

Chapter Text

Slowly, Bumblebee woke up to the sound of very creative cussing and pacing. He attempted to lift his head but groaned as a sharp shock ran through his circuitry. "Oh, Primus," he sighed, dropping his head onto the ground.

His enemy whirled to face him. Within the blink of an eye, he was pinning Bumblebee to the ground. Not that it was necessary, Bumblebee would not be getting up anytime soon. "This is all your fault," he snarled.

"It is?" He asked with some amusement. "Last I checked, you and your team wanted to steal supplies from the power plant, not us," he snarked.

Steeljaw growled, his tail tensing. Then it slowly uncoiled and swished against the ground with a forced, slow, consistent motion. "If only things were that simple between us, Lieutenant."

"They can be," Bumblebee said. "But let's be honest, neither of us wants to admit when we're wrong. And only one of us will ever admit it." He grinned and pointed at Steeljaw with his pinned servo. "It's not you."

The ex-Decepticon maneuvered his claws into the seams of Bumblebee's wrists. His vocalizer staticed, and he kicked grooves into the ground to struggle away. "Steel-!" he winced and reset his ventilation system before transforming his servo into an old weapon of his.

Screaming, Steeljaw jumped away and curled away from him, panting. Steam rose out of his frame, a way that Bumblebee dealt with pain during torture. (It was a great preventative for overheating.) His yellow optics bore into Bumblebee's. "That's not something you've used before, Lieutenant." It was a statement, but Steeljaw wanted an answer.

Unfortunately for Steeljaw, Bumblebee was not prone to giving his enemies information. Ask Megatron.

He let a smile form on his face as he finally pushed through the pain to sit up. If electricity danced on his frame a moment longer before finally settling, he would ignore the question. Primus had he missed using his stinger.

"No," he agreed. "I don't use it often. Why? Because Ratchet swore to kill me if I used it again." Granted, it was an empty threat; Bumblebee had already died a couple of times. What was once more? "Sooo," he winked and pressed a digit to his mouth, "Let's keep this between us, okay?"

"Ahh, of course," Steeljaw said. He glanced at his servos, optics narrowing as he studied the marks on his hands.

Pushing himself to stand on shaky pedes, he said, "I wouldn't be too worried. My bioweapons are disorienting, not damaging unless used for long periods of time." With a pained sigh, he leaned against the wall, rubbing his leg. "How are we getting out of here?"

"'We'?" His enemy repeated incredulously.

He shot Steeljaw a weary, fond look. "Yes, 'we'. We're enemies, but we're not each other's greatest enemies." The mech made an offended warble. Bee stared at him, then added cautiously, "Unless we are?"

"Well, I assumed we were," Steeljaw said, stomping over to Bumblebee. "But apparently, I'm not competent or malicious enough to be considered your priority." He sighed dramatically, pressing a servo to his spark. "You've broken my spark, Lieutenant."

Bumblebee flashed his optics. Then his face relaxed into a look of boredom and disbelief. "To be considered my greatest enemy, you would have to hurt my loved ones, tear out my voice box, mind control me, and kill me." Before Steeljaw could answer, he spun on his good leg, leaning up and grabbing Steeljaw's elbow to balance himself. Raising his servo, one of his digits tapped the plating in front of where Steeljaw's spark lay.

"Are you willing to do those things, Steeljaw?" he asked quietly. Struck silent, (a victory for Bumblebee), the ex-Con shook his helm.

Bumblebee smiled gently and shoved himself away. Returning to his position against the wall, he said, "I knew you were going to say that. You have a spark and a processor."

Steeljaw shivered. Then he averted his gaze, clearing his voice box. "No, no, I don't. Personally, I don't hate you that much."

(Neither did Megatron.)

Ignoring that thought, Bumblebee stepped away from his brace to look at the hole they had fallen through. "I know," he replied. "I don't hate you either. Primus knows exactly how many enemies I've made friends."

"I can believe that," Steeljaw said absently. He seemed to appreciate the change in conversation: "You're infuriating in that aspect." The mech lamented, "No matter where we turn to, you have a friend there. It's an outrage."

"An outrage?" Bumblebee questioned with a snicker.

Steeljaw snorted. "It's the wrong word, perhaps, but it is frustrating. When all you do is smile and Autobots and Decepticons fall over themselves to help you." He let out a sigh, his mouth twisting into a grimace, and his optics narrowing into a glare towards Bumblebee. "Even now, I find myself unwilling to fight you."

Bumblebee shifted to lean on his left leg, a servo on his hip as he asked, "Is it because I could totally beat you?"

"Hah. No."

"Is it because I'm cute?"

His enemy snorted. "You're not that cute," Steeljaw deadpanned, though a smile tugged at his mouth.

One more try before Steeljaw would break. "Jealousy?"

He shook his head and stated flatly, "No. It is in the event that if we do become stuck down here for ages, I will survive by feeding on your energon."

"Ohh...of course," he grinned. "You should have just said something," he unsubspaced a knife and held it to his wrist. "How much do you need?"

"What in the-No!" Steeljaw grabbed Bumblebee's servos and held them above his helm, lifting him up slightly as he pried the knife from his digits. "For Primus' sake, no." He sighed. "So self-sacrificial. I was kidding," he said, gently putting Bumblebee down and rubbing two digits against his temple. "You-You didn't even hesitate," the mech murmured. The tone was low and quiet, which made it hard to tell if he was aggravated or incredulous.

Quickly, Bumblebee took the knife back. "Well, of course, I know Predacons and their descendants have different dietary needs. I fought a couple during the war." He smiled fondly. "One of my closest friends is from one of Onyx's colonies. I wonder how he's doing."

"Huh. Exactly how...never mind. Don't answer that," Steeljaw cut himself off. He crouched down, pulling Bumblebee onto his back. "I have to get out of here or else I'm going to start being self-sacrificial."

"I don't think that's how it works," Bumblebee remarked.

Steeljaw hummed as he stood. "I beg to differ."

"Then beg."

"What?"

"What?" Steeljaw gave him a look. Then he realized. "Ohhh, scrap..." His optics brightened, and he waved his servos frantically. "S...S-Sorry! It's a human meme," he said weakly. Ducking his helm, he mumbled, "Go on."

For both of their sakes, Steeljaw moved on as he began climbing. "Every single story I've ever heard about Optimus Prime involves him being a self-sacrificial idiot. And you were under Optimus, yes?" Bumblebee, hanging on, nodded against his neck.

They were silent for a moment longer before it hit Bumblebee. "Hey, wait a minute. I was self-sacrificial even before I met Optimus. Ask anyone."

"Then in that case, his actions only encouraged yours," he retorted with a scoff. "How long have I known you? For only a few years. That facet of yourself is distressingly evident to anyone who knows you." He chuckled. "I love to use it to get an advantage over you. Even more so, since your teammates are not as wise to your nature.

Steeljaw reached for a ledge and grasped it. With a frustrated groan, he turned the direction of his grip. Venting hard, he grunted a "Hang on," and swung upwards, landing on the above floor. Oh, wait, it was a few more floors, back up to the now empty entrance. Their teammates must have left for repairs.

"Wow," Bumblebee breathed out. He smiled helplessly. "Nice Steel," he said, sliding off. Stumbling, he wobbled on shaky legs and forced himself to hang onto Steeljaw until his stabilizers adjusted. "Eugh, I can't wait to get into recharge." The taller mech chuckled and held him steady until Bumblebee broke away. "Thanks."

"So now what?" Steeljaw questioned, crossing his arms. What usually happened after situations like these? He really should know the answer off the top of his head. How many times has he done this?

The answer came to him eventually, "We go our separate ways, you to go beat up Thunderhoof, who is trying to take over your team, and I, who needs to go take care of my team or else they'll literally destroy each other." He smiled. "Nothing personal if you were hoping for a fight."

Huffing, Steeljaw relaxed. "No, no, I am content with the end of this night. I failed, but now I know more about you, Lieutenant," he said. His claws tapped against his optic. "So many more things to ponder about you, Lieutenant."

"You ponder about me?" Bumblebee asked. Brushing away Steeljaw's servo, he said, "Careful there. You're starting to sound like Megatron." At that, his enemy's fist clenched. The infuriating, constant smile stayed on, though. (He was just as bad, according to Starscream.) "In favor of the temporary truce we have, until next time?" he suggested.

The mech was forced to reset his ventilation system to maintain his smile. "Until next time," he said, his voice gravelly and low. Steeljaw pushed past him, making Bumblebee stumble but not fall.

Pushing down the agitation that came from the action, he vented. "Goodnight, Steeljaw," Bumblebee called out.

Steeljaw stopped, then returned, walking away.

Even so, Bumblebee did hear a quiet "Goodnight, Bumblebee."

Hey, if he could become friends with Starscream, he could become friends with anyone.

Chapter Text

Cybertron was a world of metal, glass, and oil. It was beautifully broken for sure, and it was their home planet. But there was something about the fragility of Earth that made him want to sit down and just be, in the inspiring, awe-enduring, existing sense of the word.

When Earth was fragile and soft and unachingly still, Cybertron was robust, sharp, painfully loud, even in pitch-black silence. Even their war recognized that there was something to be protected here. None of them could name it, but even Starscream was hesitant and loathed the idea of destroying such a planet. In the increasingly frequent, quiet, and tranquil moments, Starscream was a scientist. A scientist who lived in wonder and sometimes looked up with a smile, only to realize and mourn the spark of his closest friend.

In Thundercracker's own moments of tranquility, he was lulled into silence by the utter stillness of this world. A world that was slowly growing dear to his spark. A world that he would mourn the loss of and cherish the memory with all of his being.

Cybertron was a world of living metal. It was cold and hard, but malleable under their servos. The sky couldn't let in light as it once did, and their world, the very ground they once stood on, never glowed golden anymore. The architecture that was once the pinnacle of their creativity and marvel was decrepit and broken, with shattered glass, dusty walls, and murals. It would surprise many that Cybertron, before the war, even during the corrupted, slowly dying culture...

It had once been beautiful.

Here, Earth was beautiful. When war tore it apart, which was often, it recovered. How strange it was: a world that could heal. Trees grew back, water flowed again, flowers bloomed once more, and the cycle of humanity continued once more. The cycle would begin again and again, end in the same way it always did. Perhaps it was the romantic in him or his love for the mundane after millennia of chaos and sparkache, but he could value the consistent predictability of this tiny world.

Without fail, the grass would be soft underneath his servos. For hours, he could spend his days gingerly running his digits over each line of dark green grass or the white flowered weeds that human children loved to pick up. His personal favorites would always be the feathery, wispy flowers. They were delicate. When the wind blew or he vented too hard, the weed pulled apart with the feathery petals drifting away into the wind, sometimes falling on his outstretched servo.

He would observe the petals in his palms. Twisting his hand around, he let them fall into the seams of his servos. Pleasantly soft, they brushed against his wires. However, when they stuck under his plating, he forced himself to shake them out before they burned underneath his armor. The smell of burning plants was highly unpleasant.

Then, in the creek nearby, he would find his way there. Keeping his space from the animals, he would dip his servos into the water. Water in all its forms was such a beautiful concept to him. There was an undefined and undenied philosophy concerning its ever-changing form.

Sometimes, his mind would wander, and he would just stare at the water or into the distance. It depended on the kind of solar cycle he had. There would be no thought of such intentional dissociation. There would be no thoughts at all. The absence of thought and echoes of emotions was soothing to him. They made for lonely moments. But sometimes, when he slowly returned from his daze, he would feel tiny claws and the brushed tips of feathers as they chirped and flapped unsteadily when he forced himself to stand. Despite their easily startled nature, they would peck at the seeds on his wings (he did his best to stay as still as a statue), then warble and fly away.

It always drew a rare laugh from him. They were cute creatures.

Then he would dawdle and meander out of the quiet, free woods. While he loved the silent moments alone in the woods, departing was perhaps his favorite part. There was an empty, light-headed joy that came with leaving. It was easier and he was willing to ground himself in the moment, and be more prone to wonder and fondness.

The world would be still. If only for a few moments.

It was enough for his fragile spark.

Chapter Text

It's not hard to miss the way Starscream flinches around Megatron. Never does he let himself be alone with him. Strangely, despite the Seeker's paranoid and irritable disposition, nobody objects. Swindle, Knock Out, Bumblebee, Wheeljack. They never leave him alone with Megatron.

Dot doesn't know how to feel about that.

She doesn't know who to believe or who to team up with. Or even if she should team up with someone. Her understanding of the situation only goes so far. There are millions of years of pain and war. And there was...so much that had been done during the war. It was millions of years long. Time could heal wounds, but scars would be left behind. She knew that from personal experience.

The idea of Megatron being a tyrant, abusive not just to his enemies but to his own allies, makes her sick. That doesn't sit right with her. She isn't denying the idea. It is entirely possible. Having seen him be ruthless, ambitious, and careless of his own men, there's no doubt in her mind.

She knows she hasn't seen him at his worst. Never does Dot want to.

Dot knows him. She is his friend. Awkward, sarcastic, prideful, but also polite, intelligent, and sentimental. Sometimes he's poetic, other times he's angry and sputtering. He's a walking contradiction. A rediscovery of his identity.

Never does she want to see him rip out Bumblebee's voicebox, tear into Starscream for failure, or rip his victims apart with his bare hands. Those thoughts make her shudder, her heart race, and her fists clench until her fingers go stiff. She doesn't want to think about it. Because she knows that when she does, it will be hard to stare him in the face again.

That abusive and monstrous side of Megatron is as much a part of his history as her cold, unfeeling status as a soldier. Only she has learned to let go of the pain that comes with that, and her family has accepted her, warts and all. Megatron still feels the need to atone, but has no support to compensate.

Very few people accept the new Megatron. Herself, Optimus, the children, Alex, and possibly Elita-1. She can't read the Cybertronian well.

Megatron was a monster. Possibly he still is, but is hiding it behind a very good, near-perfect facade. Or maybe he shows it, but is now on their side. There's blood on his servos, both his enemies' and his allies' blood runs down them.

Still, Dot knows that he's changed, even if people don't want to see it.

Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly and intentionally. Her fault, though not in a malicious, purposeful way. She prided herself on her loyalty to her family and friends. Never did she let someone talk "smack" about them (as her daughter would say). And it was well known she didn't care about bullies to either her husband or her children.

When loving someone, you acknowledge their mistakes and encourage them to change. A hard truth needed be said and accepted. People changed, but what they did in the past didn't; those they hurt in the past have scars.

As much as she wanted people to forgive her friend or even notice the progress he made, they didn't have to. He hurt them, others in more ways than one. They didn't have to be comfortable around him, or smile at him, or be alone with him. What he did to them was hard to forgive.

It's not hard to miss the way Megatron retracted his hand when someone flinched. Or the way he had to stop himself when people glared at him when he walked into a room. Or when even a more violent Cybertronian subtly shifted to cover the view of one of her children. Never did anyone let him forget who he had been in the past.

Dot knows how to feel about that. Anger. It's hypocritical and selfish. How many people have they killed? Tortured? Hurt? It was a war. That was what happened in wars. She knew that personally. Yet...

She didn't know the whole story. Perhaps she never would. It was a million-year-long war. One full of rage and hatred. Humans could grasp wars, but they couldn't understand millions of years of it. They would only live for a fraction of it.

No. She would never understand it, or see what the Autobots and Decepticons saw in Megatron. But she would empathize with their anger. The unfairness of it all.

Despite everything, it was still Megatron, someone who had hurt people in the past. He had damaged people beyond repair, and he broke people beyond recovery. She saw the effects of that firsthand. To the people he had hurt, he was still the same abusive tyrant. And he was being treated as a friend and trusted ally.

Was it wrong for her to be his friend?

...Maybe, there was no right answer to that question.

No matter what, one couldn't force others to forgive someone else. Nobody would ever truly comprehend someone else's pain. She forgave him for the pain he had caused her. That didn't mean others had to forgive him for the pain he caused them.

Megatron knew that. Dot knew that.

The thought of never being forgiven still hurt.

Chapter Text

With ragged breathing, he had slowed the car down. He needed to catch his breath. Slow was faster, effective. His hands trembled as he raised the water bottle to his dry mouth. He had drunk greedily, throwing his head back and his usual disgust for Pennsylvanian water. Heart racing and head spinning, letting his foot off the brake, he tore into some jerky. Something in him said he would die for his, for this error. Another part of him said that the Autobot hunting him was too soft on humans.

They were both wrong.

He screamed when his vehicle was lifted up, then dropped like it was nothing, by a bot he had never seen before. In vain, he kept his eyes open, trying to recognize him. red optics, oddly shaped face, purple? Who...only to let them droop until he knew no more.

Meridian opened his eyes with a groan. He was strapped to a table. Like he was one of those lifeless, cursed machines. There were voices. No, not voices, sounds. Considering, though, who had been after him, it could only be Cybertronian in nature, whether it was his stalker or someone else, he couldn't tell. Those robots' language was something no human had been able to understand yet, in contrast to how easily they could use human languages.

The second set of sounds was smooth, filled with whistles, warbles, and the mechanical moving of joints. Specifically, fingers or digits, if he recalled the noise correctly. They were scratching against metal. Possibly an affectionate gesture to its conversational partner. He had noticed in his study of Cybertronians that they were more touchy-feely than humans.

Forcing his eyes to open, he looked around the room. It was a small room, one with a myriad of lab equipment that seemed rather primitive and clunkily put together. Some of it was new, and things he recognized when his Arachnamechs raided Wheeljack's lab. Was this person also a thief?

The first Cybertronian began clicking frantically, beeps and clacks dotting its words. There were a few human-sounding words he could recognize. Again, there was more mechanical movement in its digits. Though from the clinking, it was obvious that it was signing in that ugly way the terrors did.

Then they began speaking in English again.

"I hope you're grateful, doctor," said the smooth voice. He didn't recognize it at all. "I'm keeping my dear lieutenant from killing you." Something swished against the ground.

"'Lieutenant?'" Meridian questioned. Realization hit him, and he scowled. "Bumblebee...you'll regret this."

"Will he, though?" the new mech asked. It stepped closer, long claws tapping against the metal slab he was restrained against. "I think not. No. Bumblebee is quite protective of those he loves. It's a very lovable feature of his."

"Steeljaw," Bumblebee said quietly. It stepped forward. Servos resting on the sides of Meridian's head, it shot the other Cybertronian a small smile. "Shush. You should be grateful," it said softly. "I nearly killed you. You're lucky Steeljaw is so obsessed with killing me."

Steeljaw whistled and beeped something that made Bumblebee's optics brightly glow. Whatever Bumblebee said in response, it was clearly a scolding that was empty to Steeljaw. Because the monster only laughed in response, resting a servo on Bumblebee's before moving it away.

Returning its gaze to Meridian, Bumblebee said, "You hurt those kids, my students. I hate you for that." The metal slab dented slightly. "I won't let you hurt anyone again."

"How?" Meridian asked. He felt himself grin. "How could you look those kids or your human family in the face again?"

With Bumblebee's silence, he felt a spark of triumph, hope even. The feeling faded fast at Bumblebee's slow smile.

"Do you know how many people I've killed? Just as many as every other survivor of the War. Do you know when my first kill was?" It tilted its head, smiling cheerfully. "Give it your best guess."

He swallowed. "During the first stages of the war?" That was the most hopeful answer.

"Wrong." Its smile fell away. "It was before the war, shortly before the official formation of the Decepticons. To make a long story short, because...well, you won't be alive much longer to tell it, my first ever student died." Of all things, its vocalizer staticed. "Murdered."

"So you killed the murderer," Meridian realized. He arched his neck, glaring at Bumblebee, who nodded wordlessly. "But I never killed any of your students. Your motive is flawed." He grinned sickly. "What would Optimus-"

"What Optimus says doesn't matter." Strangely, Bumblebee's words terrify him. He remembers when the Autobots cited Optimus' word as law. "I have people to protect."

Steeljaw laughed quietly. It leaned over Meridian. "I'll be the one killing you. Bumblebee is...far too fond of humans."

"Someone will figure it out," Meridian protested. He squirmed only for a heavy servo to land on his chest and neck and press.

"But will anyone care?"

"Bumblebee! Do something! Please! I beg of you! I'll give you back anything, just don-

Chapter Text

There was a gross squelching sound as his allyenemyfriend lifted up his servo. Bumblebee watched as blood dripped, dripped, dropped onto the metal slab. Claws peeled away at the flesh and cloth still clinging to his palm. Then they cast them onto what remained of Dr. Meridian. "There was no reason for you to watch, Lieutenant."

"Bumblebee!" a very orange Terran yelled. He groaned and buried further into his makeshift bed. "It's almost the afternoon! You need to wake up!" She began shaking him, groaning. "Beeeee..."

He shifted, making sure she hovered away before turning over with a groan. "I'm awake," he said, letting his servo flop lazily beside him. "Happy now?" He shot her a disgruntled look and pushed himself up to sit up.

"Very," Twitch said, her hands on her hips. "You were really tired. But don't worry!" She spun in place as she said proudly, "Our chores are done, and we've been doing our warmups. Also-Also! We've been practicing the basics." She pointed at him. "Just like you told us!"

Bumblebee smiled slightly. "Good job," he said, forcing cheer into his voice. That was good. Encourage behaviors you want to see. He turned, slipping off the bed. "I'll get started on the lessons."

Tilting her helm, she asked, "Don't you need energon?"

Focusing his optics elsewhere, he said softly, "This is making me sick." It was nauseating. While he had killed humans before, it wasn't strictly personal. M.E.C.H. and Cobra were attacking his teammates and enemies. (Millions of years of war, and there were some things Autobots and Decepticons agreed upon.)

He shook himself out of the memory. "I'm not hungry right now," he said gently. At her concerned gaze, he insisted, "I'll eat later. Promise." He patted her helm. "Let's go check on your siblings."

She looked unconvinced but followed him anyway. "If you say so," she mumbled. Then she brightened at the sight of her brother and sped forward. "Guys! Bee's finally awake."

"Finally," Hashtag declared. She was doing a handstand on Jawbreaker's shoulders. "Mom said not to wake you up cause you had a hard mission yesterday." Bumblebee stepped forward, keeping his hands ready to catch her if necessary. "Do you feel better?"

"I feel great," he said with a grin. "Thanks." In his peripheral vision, Twitch and Nightshade murmured something to each other while Thrash raised an optic ridge.

"Oh?" Steeljaw's optics moved from his servo to Bumblebee. Yellow optics studied him, then turned back to the sink, making sure his movements were distracting and loud. "Your systems are about to crash, darling." He turned the water off and flung it from his hands with a satisfied sigh. "You really should see a physician about your trauma responses."

He didn't answer immediately. But he sighed and forced himself to look towards Steeljaw, careful not to eye the human blood and flesh. (How many? How many? He could never get used to humanity's biology and what they left behind.) "I'm working on it."

"How are you kids feeling?" Bumblebee asked. The 'Mandroid' incident had shaken them. He knew that. They were still fearful of him coming back or him taking control of one of them. Alex told him about Nightshade's schematics for a 'mind control chip sensor'. He might need to find healthy coping mechanisms. (Definitely don't talk about his own, unhealthy ones. The kids looked up to him.)

Oh, he had dazed out for a moment because Thrash was tapping his shoulder. "Bee. Bee. Bee. Be-" He gently grabbed Thrash's servo. "He's back, guys!" The kid called out.

"I suppose none of us are doing well," Nightshade said thoughtfully. "Hashtag is having nightmares, Bumblebee is disassociating..." Hesitantly, the kid added, "And...Robby and Twitch are having trouble sleeping."

As he helped Hashtag down, he stared at Twitch, who fidgeted nervously. "You two need to wake up an adult when you have trouble sleeping," he said firmly. As she slowly lowered her head and herself to the ground, he felt a pang of guilt. "If we don't know where you are, how can we help you if you're in danger?"

"I-" Twitch landed on the ground. Thrash patted her shoulder. "Sorry, Bee. We'll remember to," she promised.

"Good," he grinned and said. After a moment, he pointed at the rest of the Terrans. "That goes for the rest of you. No sneaking off without telling an adult. By adult, I mean Dorothy, Alex, and me."

"What about Optimus? Or Elita?"

"Those are adults. But if you tell Optimus, tell someone else," Bumblebee said. He huffed and crossed his arms with an annoyed look. "Optimus forgets to check his comm."

"What about Megatron?" Twitch asked excitedly.

Sucking in a breath, he muttered, "Yes. I guess Megatron counts as well."

"What about Arcee?" Jawbreaker asked, raising his servo.

"No!"

Thrash waved his arms wildly, "Nope, no, nuh-uh. Not happening. Arcee is not an adult." Twitch nodded rapidly.

"Exactly," Bumblebee said, raising a digit. "Learning point: Not every adult in our lives can be trusted. Sometimes because they are immature manchildren -like Arcee- and sometimes because they don't have good intentions."

"Like Swindle," Thrash said, holding up one digit as he glanced at his siblings. Oh, Primus, how often did Bee do it? Was that how Bumblebee did it? He could laugh. "Bad intentions. Don't trust the guy. It's literally in his name." Bumblebee snorted.

"Lieutenant," Steeljaw said, hooking a claw into the seams of his armor. "That doesn't explain why I needed to stop you from killing a human," he purred. "If you're going to enforce rules on me and my pack. You should be held accountable as well."

Bumblebee took in a deep breath. For his help, he supposed Steeljaw deserved an explanation. "He hurt my students," he said softly. "It's not the first. It won't be the last." His servos shook. He stared at Meridian's remains until Steeljaw took his chin between his digits and forcibly turned him away. "The scene reminded me of something that happened to my mentee. Murdered by someone who shouldn't have been allowed to run around."

"Mmh," Steeljaw said. "Concerning, but understandable. What was your mentee's name? I suppose that's who you were referring to during the human's last moments." Bumblebee nodded.

Taking another deep breath, he dimmed his optics. "Rubble. The kid's name was Rubble. Funny enough-" He forced a laugh. It released some of the stiff tension in his shoulders. "He's a very similar shade of purple to one of my students."

His allyenemyfriend smirked and walked around the slab. His clean servo hooked into the seams of Bumblebee's armor and gently ushered him to the sink. "Hilarious. By that, I mean, you have a horrible sense of humor."

Bumblebee stumbled but let himself be dragged towards the sink. "What?"

"Now run some water over your servos. Ground yourself in reality for those very students you hold dear." He let Steeljaw lead him, like a puppet. (He felt like one.) "They need you to be you, Bumblebee," Steeljaw said, moving Bumblebee's servos under the water. "I'm sure you can handle whatever is thrown at the children."

"And the body?"

"I'll deal with it," Steeljaw said with a sharp smile. "You know you can count on me for that."

"Now, on with the actual lesson," Bumblebee said. Chuckling a little when they straightened, he shifted to lean on his left leg. "We're going to some biosystem lessons and work on situational awareness. It goes hand-in-hand with my previous lesson point. Emergency calls, GPS, how to work with things without a signal...all that good stuff."

They smiled up at him, so trusting, unaware of the amount of blood on his hands.

Chapter Text

Shockwave's experiments ranged from recreating an entire species, multiverse-destroying devices, and mutating his enemies and various allies. If the humans had Silas, the Cybertronians had Shockwave. He was bad news for anyone who was involved with him; even Megatron had to slow him down sometimes, and Starscream and Soundwave were wary of him.

With the mech's disappearance, his experiments roamed free. Rarely were any of them of sound mind when encountered by the remnants of Cybertron.

Take, for example, Nightstrike. A vampire created by Shockwave to reduce the energon crisis by allowing Decepticons to consume energon from their dead enemies and allies until the crisis was solved.

Every day, Bumblebee wishes he had shot Shockwave in his optic when he had the chance. There weren't many, but still. The guy was crazy and needed to go down. (Heh. Avatar reference.)

At present, though, he needed to focus on Shockwave's former experiment, Nightstrike. The mech had terrified his teammates and drained them of their energon. Thankfully, they didn't turn, as Bumblebee did not have the time to deal with vampiric teammates.

"Stay away from me," the Decepticon snarled and lunged. Bumblebee swerved, transforming to avoid slamming into the ditch. He flipped backwards when Nightstrike swung his clawed servos at him. It was weaker than his earlier attacks, with his paint job dimming more with each minute.

Grimlock slammed into him, knocking him away into the cliffside. Chancing a glance at Bumlebee, he asked, "You good, Bee?"

Before he could answer, Grimlock was kicked into the woods. The Dinobot grunted before jumping up and shaking his head. The former Decepticons glared at each other, then pounced at each other. Immediately, Nightstrike was pushed to the ground. He was dazed but kept clawing at Grimlock's armor.

Jumping away from the fray, he dodged the volley of rocks and branches flung at him by the sheer force of the fight. Grimlock pinned Nightstrike to the ground, digging his claws into the vampire's wings. Nightstrike screamed before it slowly turned into his-

Oh, scrap.

Launching himself between them, he dug his digits into the seams of Nightstrike's neck, right into a very familiar organ. The Decepticon scowled and weakly struggled. "Easy," he ordered. "Calm down. You-" he hit his helm against Grimlock's armor. "Stop! I'll activate your voice box if you hear me out."

"Careful, Bee," Grimlock said. He put his whole weight onto the vampire. "He's smart. Not as smart as you but still pretty decently smart," he said. Nightstrike huffed in response. He vented heavily, struggling a little more before finally flopping against the ground.

Raising an optic ridge, Bumblebee waited a moment more. With a drawn-out sigh, the Decepticon nodded in agreement, gasping when Bumblebee's digits flicked the wires back into place. Tugging his servo from Bumblebee's grasp, he rubbed his neck. "Was that necessary?" he asked, shooting a glare towards Bumblebee.

He shrugged. "I needed to shut you up. It worked in my experience, temporarily, I mean." Gently pulling his servos out of Nightstrike's neck, he added, "In the words of Swindle, 'let's talk business'. I don't want to fight you. I know you don't want to be arrested and that you're running low on energon."

"I can't consume it normally," he hissed in response. "Shockwave's, he's a...a..."

"A piston-headed, scraplet fragging, son of a malfunction who deserves to be shot in the spark, processor, and T-Cog?" Bumblebee deadpanned. "We're aware." After a moment of speechlessness from Nightstrike, he added, "Yeah. I guess you're right. Shockwave doesn't have a spark."

Grimlock snorted, covering his mouth. Nightstrike's mouth almost pulled up into a smile. "If you don't mind a compliment from your enemy, may I say that was a splendid description of him?"

"I don't," Bumblebee said honestly. "Thank you. Now, back to business. How do you need to consume it? Liquid? Steam? Solid? Plasma?"

Nightstrike was silent for a moment, then he said, albeit hesitantly, "Liquid's fine. Not energon cubes. Shockwave wanted us and others to rely on energon from enemies or traitors."

"That sounds like something he'd do," Bumblebee said easily. He took out his Decepticon hunter. "Considering Autobots are the Decepticons', I'd be the best bet." He slowly transformed it into a knife. Grimlock facepalmed, drawing Nightstrike's attention to him. 'Oh, no,' he whispered.

"You don't even know where I'm going with this. I'll give you a hint, though. Ratchet is so going to kill me."

He pulled away some of his plating and cut one line. "Forget Ratchet, Fix-It's not going to let me leave the scrapyard for a week." Nightstrike froze.

Everyone stilled when one drop of energon fell.

"Bee," Grimlock whispered. His optics were wide. His servo reached out before retracting at Bumblebee's smile. Then he narrowed his optics at Nightstrike.

"I have good fuel efficiency," Bumblebee said. "This isn't the first, and it won't be the last time I do this."

But Nightstrike wasn't paying attention to Grimlock. His focus was on Bumblebee, or rather, the energon dripping out of the cut onto his servo. His pede slipped, digging into the dirt once and bumping a rock hidden under the topsoil. Snapped out of his daze, he said, "Please. You're Bumblebee. Do you believe that I am desperate enough to even ponder the idea of you having nothing but a self-sacrificial plan?"

"You don't know me very well, do you?" Bumblebee laughed. "Drink. I'll be fine. I'll get an energon transfusion once Fix-It stops lecturing me. Hold onto this for me," Bumblebee whispered. He handed off his Decepticon hunter. Grimlock, ever eager to please, gently held it in his fingers, looking between them with wide optics. "Nightstrike, I know you don't want to hurt anyone."

Nightstrike lunged forward, making Bumblebee gasp and stumble forward, but Grimlock was stronger, even with only one servo holding the vampire down. He sighed in relief when he realized the Decepticon was balancing on the ledge for dramatics' sake. Finally, he said, "I will if I have to. Which, considering who you are. It is undoubtedly something I determine to do."

Smiling wearily, Bumblebee said, "I'll win and give you the energon myself," he replied. "Listen, you need life energon. We need you to stop draining Cybertronians." Hesitantly, he smiled, "I think you can guess where I'm going with this."

"You'll arrest me," Nightstrike said simply. "Rightfully so. I am one of Shockwave's experiments." There was an attempted posturing as he declared that. It wasn't necessarily something to be proud of.

"We know. But...let us try to help you. You think you're the first experiment we've had to help rehabilitate?"

"How? By giving me to the High Council?" Nightstrike demanded with a growl. Bumblebee waved his energon-soaked arm, making the Decepticon's optic fixate on it.

Snorting once, Bumblebee said, "No. Even more illegal. Ratchet. I think you've heard of him." Holding his arm over Nightstrike's mouth. "We're definitely putting you in stasis. It'll keep your energy levels stable until we see him again."

"Do we have a deal?"

Nightstrike swallowed thickly. Then he nodded. Bumblebee smiled and let the vampire feed on his energon. Grimlock kept his servos firmly on the mech's wrists and kept a careful optic on Bumblebee.

------------------------------------------------------------

Of course, all that to say, but Bumblebee got the scolding that matched Ratchet's and Ironhide's scoldings. It didn't help that Fix-It had puppy-dog eyes that matched Optimus' disappointed stares.

He felt guilty, but oh well. What's done is done.

Nightstrike and Grimlock had backed away to the other side of the makeshift med-bay, shifting awkwardly. Which: traitors.

It must have been even more awkward for Strongarm and Sideswipe, who were waking up and hearing Fix-It's personal and detailed lecture. They, perhaps, wisely laid back down.

With all that said, Bumblebee eventually was able to stop Fix-It's lecture long enough to put Nightstrike in a stasis pod and send Ratchet a message.

Nightstrike cautiously stepped into the stasis pod before letting it put him to a nice, long recharge.

Primus, he wished that were him.

Chapter Text

It was the usual fight. The Decepticons had a convoluted plan to create and use energon, and the Autobots were sent to stop them. It was just another Tuesday. That was precisely the problem.

The Great War had been waged for millions of years. Considering the origin of their species, it wasn't surprising that Cybertronians and their distant cousins could fight for years over...whatever it was the war had been about. They really needed to reassess the end goals of this war.

Just like they needed to reassess the ultimate goals of today.

At some point, the soldiers were done fighting. It had been hours. They were ready to finish this and go home. The only thing stopping them? Their leaders.

It was a known fact among them that Optimus and Megatron had a long history. Only a few were privy to the details, but generally, people realized that it went far beyond simple hatred of an enemy faction. This made them more hesitant to stop the fight between the leaders. Maybe one day they would work out allll the frustration between them and call for a truce. That would be amazing.

It wouldn't happen today. It was a pipe dream.

"How much longer do you think we should stick around?" Rumble asked. He was curled into a sleeping Thundercracker's side, tapping on a datapad. A few video game noises were coming from it.

"I don't know," Blaster deadpanned. He was sprawled on the ground, Tracks and Bumblebee next to him. The battle had gone on for so long, Tracks didn't even care that he was sitting in dust and energon. The datapad he was reading helped.

Ravage purred in Bumblebee's lap as he petted the cassette. "Let's give it about thirty more minutes," Bumblebee said thoughtfully. "They've been at this for what? Hours? They'll collapse soon."

"Bee, sweetspark, that's what you said thirty minutes ago," Swindle drawled. He dropped a few more credits onto the pile. "I raise it by two credits," he said. Then he winked at his fellow Combaticons, "For your sakes." Brawl and Blastoff scowled with the former cursing under his breath, but they didn't argue, already close to being forced to fold.

"I'm saying it for your sakes," Bumblebee replied with a weary fondness. A fondness that only came from fighting your fellow Cybertronians for millions of years. His smile fell as he pointed out, "Megatron's less likely to declare you traitors if you stick around till they finally call it a day."

Ravage nipped at his fingers for the comment, even though some of the Cons laughed or groaned in agreement. Blaster flicked Ravage's snout for the bite, which made the cassette yowl. The communication specialist wagged his finger with a satisfied hum in response.

"You can say that again," Blast-Off grumbled. Swindle averted his optics wordlessly. He put his last cards down with more force than necessary. "I fold."

Brawl glanced at the fight and whistled. "Nice suplex, Prime," he muttered under his breath.

Swindle flicked a few energon treats towards Rumble and Ravage. "Don't tell Soundwave, yeah?" He shot a glare toward Brawl and grabbed him by the neck to hiss something in his ear. Blast-Off leaned over to peek at Swindle's cards. Whatever he saw made him scowl and cross his arms in frustration.

Rumble pounced on the treats. "Mine!" he yelled. Then he grinned up at Swindle and raised his thumb. "You live. For now." After a moment, he glanced at Ravage in confusion. "Wait, what did we agree to?"

They winced as a boulder broke in half. Optimus groaned as he got up. Megatron cackled until it was cut off when Optimus lunged at him. They wrestled for a few minutes longer before the Autobot leader threw him into the boulder he had been thrown into a few minutes prior, utterly smashing it to pieces.

It was silent for a moment before Optimus jumped up and threw himself down, elbowing Megatron in the chest.

"Ooh, sheesh," Swindle said, shaking his helm. "That's gonna leave a mark."

"Who's winning?" Thundercracker asked tiredly. He stretched and leaned on his knee, awaiting an answer.

Megatron kicked Optimus off of him.

"It's still up in the air," Blaster replied.

"Ah."

"How much longer?" Rumble asked Bumblebee.

"I have no idea," he sighed in response. Stroking Ravage's back, he said, "Think we can sneak away?"

Swindle sounded unconvinced. "Best way to head out is by flying. And Onslaught'll kill us if he's gotta take us to Hook again cause we got shot by Megatron."

Leaning back against Blast-Off, Brawl commented, "He'd kill us anyway." His fellow Combaticons snorted.

"What if we take a page out of Starscream's book?" Swindle suggested. Everyone gave him an odd look. "Hear me out." He grinned and dropped his cards. Brawl groaned as he slammed his own cards down. Swindle smiled wider and continued on, "One of us, lucky, dumb, malfunctions, declares we're the leader of the Decepticons. Megatron gets mad. Optimus gets wise. We all go home."

"How are we to decide the lucky, dumb, malfunction?" Tracks asked. He shook his head, flabbergasted by the fact that he was even entertaining this. "By drawing straws? I highly doubt anyone other than Bumblebee (out of the sheer kindness of his spark) would volunteer." Bumblebee sputtered in protest while Blaster coughed a laugh in surprise.

"Rumble might," Thundercracker said absently. "Skywarp once dared him to jump out of an eight-story building." Rumble kicked at Thundercracker's pede, but the Seeker barely felt it.

"I ain't that stupid, Thundercracker!" Rumble yelled. "That was one time!" In his peripheral vision, he saw Ravage stare at him, unimpressed. "Back me up here, Ravage!" His fellow cassette blinked slowly at him before curling in Bumblebee's arms. "Oh, come on!" He slid against Thundercracker's leg, crossing his arms as he pouted.

Bumblebee sighed. "Well, someone has to do it," he said. "Relax," he held up a servo to prevent Tracks and Blaster's protests. Keeping Ravage in his arms, he smiled at them. "I wasn't suggesting I do it."

"You better not be," Blaster warned. Pulling Bumblebee closer, he muttered to Tracks, "Help me keep an eye on him." His teammate nodded and put away his datapad. Bumblebee sighed as he felt their optics trained on him. His teammates knew him too well. Ravage snickered.

"Relax," Swindle drawled as he subspaced his earnings. "I'll get the big guys' attention. My friends-"

"None of us here are your friends," Tracks deadpanned. Rumble and Blast-Off cackled at the comment.

Thundercracker shook his helm. Why him? "Every single person in this area needs therapeutic help," he muttered.

"-You mechs just sit tight and look like my handsome customers, I know you to be." Everyone looked at him suspiciously.

Brawl began lowly, "What are you up to?" Swindle waved him off with his signature infuriating smile. He leaned back, inching closer behind the rock. "Primus, all he sees us as are walking ATMs." Blast-Off nodded in agreement.

Swindle waited a moment, watching as Optimus and Megatron wrestled. He needed to time this perfectly. Then it came.

Optimus grunted as he heaved Megatron over his shoulders onto the ground. Raising his foot, he stomped on Megatron's chest plating, right above where his ventilation system was. The Decepticon leader choked and coughed out a Cybertronian swear phrase.

Megatron was thrown onto the ground. It took him .567 milliseconds to get up. Stifling a laugh, Swindle cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Optimus has fallen! Bumblebee is now leader of the Decepticons!"

"Excuse me, what?!"

Megatron whirled on him so quickly, red optics narrowing at him. Then they narrowed in confusion. Even Optimus stared at him, bewildered. Wait...that didn't come out right. There was a long moment of silence, then someone shot him in the back. He face-planted to the ground with a groan. "That's fair."

Throwing Optimus aside, Megatron stalked forward. "Bumblebee? Do you take me for a mad fool?" Blaster made a so-so gesture as he walked away. "Hah! Not a chance, puny Autobot," Megatron cackled. Pushing himself up, he shoved past a bewildered Prime. "You may have the guts and stupidity, but not the power to challenge me as leader of the Decepticons." He aimed his cannon at Tracks. "Any last words, bug?"

Tracks raised his servos, gaze flitting between Megatron and the cannon. "Bumblebee is not my designation," he said, in rare awkwardness. His optics darted to Blaster, who had tackled Swindle and was currently slamming his helm into the ground with Blast-Off and Brawl cheering him on. They were so dysfunctional. He shot an apologetic look at the mech behind him and pointed at Thundercracker. "That's Bumblebee."

"Leave me out of this," the Decepticon called out.

The yellow minibot stepped in front of Tracks, much to the taller mech's dismay. "I'm Bumblebee, and you know?" He grinned sharply, scratching Ravage's chin. "From this angle, your face is-mph!" Tracks covered his mouth, and he shook his head. Megatron aimed his cannon at Bumblebee. Optimus knocked him aside, and Megatron finally declared.

"Decepticons! Retreat!"

Only he flew up into the air by himself. Like, there had been a bad animation error somewhere.

The Autobot leader stumbled forward. Looking at him with puppy-dog optics, he asked, "Bumblebee, you're joining the Decepticons?" Tracks sucked in a breath and, slamming his hands on Bumblebee's shoulders, hid a laugh, though his shoulders shook.

"Nonono, Optimus," Bumblebee assured, waving his hands. "Just..." he sighed and let his shoulders droop. "I'll explain later." He sighed. "Swindle really threw me under a bridge here, didn't he?"

Patting his shoulder, Tracks whispered, "It wouldn't be the first time." Then he straightened. "Time to go home, Optimus?"

"It appears so," Optimus said awkwardly. "Are the Decepticons..." he trailed off as he saw Ravage playfully nip Bumblebee's horn before jumping into Thundercracker's arms.

"Have a good night, Thundercracker," Bumblebee cheerfully said. The Decepticon just grunted in response and flew off, along with Rumble, who yelled out, 'Finally!'

Optimus turned to Blaster. "Blaster. You can get off of Swindle now," he said. "The Decepticons are retreating."

Tracks hummed. "I think not, Prime. Swindle does deserve it."

"And his allies agree, Tracks," Optimus said. "However, we live for millions of years. Swindle will soon learn his lesson." After a moment's pause, he smiled behind his mask at his soldiers' disbelieving expressions. "Give or take a couple more million years." They snorted at their leader's rare snark.

"Blaster," Optimus demanded. "Off of Swindle. You can fight him another day." Blaster sighed and got off the Combaticon, but not before slamming the mech's head into the ground with a satisfied smile.

Swindle moved to stand up. His knees wobbled, but Brawl grabbed his arm, keeping him from falling. He shot a glare towards his partners. "Some help you jerks were." The two shrugged in response.

"Eh, you deserved it," Bumblebee said. He jabbed a thumb toward the Combaticons. "Remember what you did a couple of years ago?" Swindle's frame froze, and he made a desperate cut-off gesture.

"What did you do?" Brawl and Blast-Off asked in unison. They didn't even sound surprised, just suspicious and disappointed.

"N-Nothing," Swindle smiled shakily, raising his servos. "We should get back to base. I have some...uh...dents to pound out. And a business to run." He turned on his heel and stumbled into flight. "Gotta go! See you in a couple of quarters!"

"Nu-huh."
"Not a chance. Get back here!" Brawl and Blast-Off chased after him.

With the Decepticons having retreated, the Autobots glanced at each other, bemused.

"Finally, I can go wash my frame," Tracks said, relief evident in his voice. "This was absolutely disgusting."

"At least it wasn't a swamp," Bumblebee pointed out, making Tracks shudder in response.

Blaster slung an arm around Track's neck. Warningly, he said, "Just don't use up all the hot water. Capisce?" Tracks nodded with a small smile. Then they caught the fond chuckle of their dear leader, who, based on the motion of his mask, probably wore a soft smile. But Optimus quickly turned around and declared,

"Autobots, transform and roll out!"

Chapter Text

According to ancient texts, Primus had methods of communication beyond prophecy or through the Primes. The first time he communicated with his creations was through acid rain, when the strange, five-faced creatures came to visit, under the guise of hospitality and familial affection.

Five-faced. Five liars.

Musicians and dancers, familiar with the language of their ancestors, heard the tap, toip, tip, tatap.. They didn't know what to make of it, except to write the lyrics the rhythm inspired. Was it any surprise that they were the first to go? That the five-faced enslavers chained them down first?

Centuries later, reminiscent of their musicians and dancers, the slaves, prisoners of their own planet, had developed a series of rhythms. It drew attention, but their masters had made it so their vocalizers were useless. It was primitive. They had settled for tapping each other's arms to warn and protect each other.

In one moment, it was beautiful. The message was clinking, clanking, clunking against their arms.

Take up arms. Take each other's arm. Take their arms off.

It was a story told to the young and gullible. Less often now, with very little evidence of five-faced creatures.

It was a cool story. Bumblebee loved hearing it from his mentor. The idea of music? Or anything with a rhythm, holding hidden messages? That was sick. When he was still a few cycles old, he would drive his mentor mad (sometimes literally) as he would ignore her in favor of listening to everything around them. With a fond and exasperated smile, she would tap his arm. Clink, clink. Clank, clunk, clunk.

Later, he learned it was "Love. My spark, yours."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Bumbler!"

He let out a small gasp, snapped out of his daze.

"Stop tapping," Wasp hissed, gripping Bumblebee's servos tightly. "What is so important about your insignificant presence that you must make noise every nanoclick of your waking moments?"

He leaned backwards, away from Wasp's face, which was closer than he wanted it to be. His servos were released. Bumblebee yelped, falling onto the ground. "Ow. If I told you, you guys would laugh at me."

"We laugh at you anyway," Wasp snarked.

True. Did he have to admit it? No, no, he didn't.

A heavy servo landed on his shoulder, making Bumblebee and Wasp jump in surprise. It was only Bulkhead. "I won't laugh at you, little-" he cut himself when Bumblebee averted his optics, "Bumblebee." He grinned.

Feeling his spark soften, Bumblebee sighed and pulled his knees closer to his chest as he focused on the rain. "You're going to laugh. You know the old newspark story? About the five-faced creatures?" Wasp and Ironhide were silent for a moment, in disbelief, then they laughed.

Ignoring the two's laughter, Longarm asked incredulously, "The Quintessons?" They gave him varying, questioning looks. "Ah...uh...I'm from a different colony. I suppose that's just what we called them in our stories." At their continuing stares, his optics darted to Bumblebee. "Go on." After a moment, he added, "Please."

Bumblebee shrugged. "I like the name. Quintessons. It fits them, I think. Anyway," he shrugged, when he noticed Longarm squirming, his servos drumming against each other. Clank, zzsh, cluclunk, zzsh. It distracted him for a moment. Guilty. "I liked the story so much that I like to see if there are messages in the rain."

Bulkhead leaned forward, blocking his view of the rain. "Are there?"

"Sometimes," he replied. He gestured with his index digit to the window. "Right now, the rain's talking about tentacles. Or at least, that's how it's tapping against the window." Grabbing Bulkhead's chin, he gently pulled the larger bot's face out of the way.

"Weird," Wasp said. He jabbed a thumb towards Longarm. "He's the only guy here close to having tentacles."

Bumblebee snorted and rested his head on his arms, which rested along his knees.

Tatip, tap. Tatip, tap. Tip tip tip, taop.

He tilted his head, face twisting in confusion. Had he misheard? That was singular, not plural. The rhythm repeated.

Tatip, tap. Tatip, tap. Tip tip tip, taop.

Liar, liar, with three eye.

What the...?

Leaning back on his hands, Wasp crossed his legs at the pedes. "I suppose it's a hobby that suits you, Bumbler," he said with a sigh. He chuckled and shot Bumblebee a sharp look. "At least it keeps your mouth shut." His servo hit Bumblebee's arm more roughly than necessary. He leaned his head in when Ironhide began whispering something. His servo Clank, zzsh.

Innocent.

"I give up," Buklhead sighed, his digits tapped against his knee, one last time before he gave up. It was out of beat with the rain's rhythm. Clink, clink, clunk. "What's it saying?"

His mouth quirked upwards. "Sentinel's a jerk," he offered.

"I didn't know 'jerk' was in the ancient tap-code," Longarm said. It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine.

Bumblebee shrugged, sitting up straighter as the rain pittered slower, dying off. "It's a rough translation," he said with a shy smile. "There might not have been a message at all."

"I think I prefer to just listen," Ironhide said. He had decided to lie back on the ground, servos acting as a pillow for his head. "Beats listening to Sentinel all day." In that, everyone could agree.

"True."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sound came slowly. Bumblebee didn't recognize it at first. It had been ages since he last heard such a sweet, wonderous sound.

Then thunder cracked, flickering the lights. Sari squealed and grabbed Bumblebee's wrist tightly. When the roll of thunder faded, she let out a sigh of relief and peeked up at Bumblebee. Who had his servo settled protectively in front of her. "Uhh..." She looked around the room and saw the rest of their guardians with their weapons raised.

"Sari," Optimus began. He crossed the room in three large steps and knelt in front of her. "Are storms dangerous here?"

"Oh. Not really. So long as you stay inside or when it doesn't rain too much," she answered. Climbing to Bumblebee's servo, she pointed at the door. "I'll show you guys."

Carefully, Bumblebee stood and followed the direction of her finger. "Alright, alright," he said. "What are Earth storms like?" Propping himself against the doorway, he watched the rain, feeling excitement in his joints. Oh, Primus, he missed storms.

Tasp, tap. Tisp, tap. Huh. He needed to look in his codex for those words. Never had he heard them on Cybertron.

She grinned up at him, hands already beginning to motion wildly. "Okay, so cool thing about Earth, we have a bunch of different storms. Like sandstorms and snowstorms."

"I've seen documentaries about those," Prowl said, leaning over Bumblebee's shoulder to stare at her. He rolled his optics with a huff, moving his head. If Prowl wanted to speak to Sari, he should have just grabbed her. "Does Michigan receive those?"

Tasp, tap. Tisp, tap.

Shaking her head, Sari caught Prowl's look of disappointment. "Only snow and rainstorms. Sandstorms are usually in desert places." She hummed, placing a finger on her chin. "I'll see if my dad can make a simulation for you when we find him."

A rare smile crossed Prowl's face. "Thank you, Sari. That's very kind of you."

Her little face beamed. "Pshaw," she waved off. Optimus and Bulkhead gave her looks of confusion. "You're my friends. And aliens. Y'all gotta experience all the cool things Earth has to offer."

"Again, thank you, Sari," Optimus repeated. "What is the liquid falling from the sky?"

"Oh, that's just water," Sari said, flicking a hand downwards sassily. Looking up Bumblebee, with a question on her tongue, but then she closed it, frowning. "Hey, Earth to Bee, you up there?"

Bulkhead hid a snort and whispered as he pointed at his friend. "He loves storms. I won't tell you why cause he gets embarrassed."

He stiffened and turned, hissed, "Bulkhead! Keep that on the downlow." At his teammates' curious glances, he clamped up further, moving his optics to the rain. His processor finally found the words for this rain's rhythm.

Tasp, tap. Tosp, tap.

Hope. Honest.

Prowl refocused his gaze elsewhere. "I suppose the rain is a sight to behold. It sounds...soothing." He waited a moment for the other shoe to drop, a crack about his talkative self. Prowl definitely had the words on his tongue.

He never said them.

It was a nice change of pace.

Bumblebee rolled his shoulders. He braced himself. "You guys are familiar with the newspark story, the one with the five-faced creatures?"

"You mean the Quintessons?" Ratchet drawled. It seemed to dawn on him. "Oh, I see. You're talking about the part with the messages in the acid rain?" Bumblebee nodded, hunching in on himself. But Optimus' mouth made an 'oh' shape as he realized. The medic went on. "I never understood it. It's rain. What's so special about it? But glad we found something that ain't rotting your processor."

Bulkhead nudged him. "And you thought they would laugh," he whispered.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thud, whir, thud whir. Zsh

The rhythm made Bumblee stiffen and pivot on his heel. Surprisingly, Prowl was already facing him. The ninjabot studied Bumblebee for a moment. (Why did it feel like his spark was being peered right into?)

The last words Prowl had said to them were. "Use your helms. And..." he looked away, to the sky, where the Lugnut clones closed in. "And take care of each other."

His shoulders tensed even further. That sounded so wrong. So unProwl-like. He had been struck silent, and the last words he had said to Prowl were a smile and a "Sure thing, ninjabot!" Heck, he had even saluted playfully and with a wink.

How stupid was he?

But Prowl huffed a laugh anyway and turned to follow Optimus.

Thud, thud, whir. Zsh. Zsh

"Bumblebee," Bulkhead said quietly. He gently nudged him. Bumblebee shook his head before climbing onto his best friend's shoulder.

Love you all. Goodbye.

When the battle was over, Bumblebee understood.

They were standing, alive and celebrating.

All of a sudden, they heard Jazz's footsteps. Bumblebee spun on one pede, excited, and his mouth stretched into a grin.

Then it fell at the sight of the greyed body in Jazz's arms.

Thud, zzsh, fsh, thud, zzsh, fsh.

Oh, Primus, no...

Why?

Lost. Death. Mourn.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pain of Prowl's death had faded into a dull ache. With him joining the Elite Guard, he didn't have time to mourn his death.

Too often, though, he wished for a different outcome. Perhaps he didn't join the Elite Guard, or maybe Prowl was still here, or maybe he was alongside all of his old teammates. On Earth or whatever planet they wanted to be on. He didn't care, he just...missed them.

He tapped a rhythm on his arm. Clink, clink, clonk. Cliclink.

Love. Yearn.

The rain was a helpful distraction. It drummed against the ground. Totip, ssh. Tap, tap, tata, ssh.

Go. Home.

He swallowed thickly. Wasn't he already home? He began thumping another rhythm against his arm, which made every Autobot guard and Decepticon prisoner near him hiss. Three of them yelled in unison, directly in his audio receptors. "Knock it off!" They were probably about to push him out of their already cramped shelter into the acid rain.

Raising his hands in surrender, Bumblebee smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Sorry. Just watching the rain."

"Watch it in silence," Blurr hissed. "As the rain will only last for approximately seven-point-three-three-three-five astrocycles, we will soon be able to finish transporting the prisoners into their proper cells in Trypticon Prison. Therefore, shut up."

Bumblebee kept his hands raised, nodding quickly. Though he only understood like every sixth word. He offlined his optics briefly and sighed. The company present growled lowly. He ignored them in favor of listening to the rain.

Tip, tip, tip, tip, ssh. Tip, tip, tip, tip, ssh. Tip, tip, tip, tip, ssh.

Run. Run. Run.

His spark ran cold and he hyperventilated.

A few moments later, Blurr sighed. He tapped Bumblebee's shoulder. Clack, clack.

Snapping out of his daze, he glanced at Blurr and answered by echoing the action. Hello. The blue scout's face twisted into confusion. They stared at each other for a moment. "Hi," he said, resetting his vocalizer. It was still shaky. "What's up?"

"I really don't want to inspire conversation with you, but seeing as you are doing something very curious and odd, I can't help but wonder what in the name of the Primes is so interesting about the rain. These seven cycles, or Earth minutes, have been the longest I've ever heard you not speak. Now, enlighten me or us, if you want to count our fellow Autobots and our enemy, Decepticons. Why are you watching the rain?"

Bumblebee blinked slowly. "Uhh...?"

"He asked, 'Why are you watching the rain?'" Smokescreen said helpfully. Honestly, Bumblebee hadn't even met this guy's optics, and it would take him a while to do so.

"It's a stupid reason," he replied. "It's just...soothing." His servo clenched tighter into his elbow joint. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Do not cry in front of the Decepticons. Quickly, he tapped a small rhythm. Clink, clink, cluonk.

Tip, tip, tip, tip, ssh. Tap, tap, tata, ssh.

His venting grew worse.

"What do you want to do?" Blurr asked.

"Run home," he whispered faintly.

Blurr whirled on him. "What?" He flicked the other minibot's face. "We still have a job to do. I was asking what we should do with the prisoners before they get bo-WHATINTHEPITAREYOUDOING!?!?!?"

-

Blurr pulled him out of the rain and began scolding him. It was somehow even more indiscernible than before. Bumblebee carefully inched his foot into the rain.

Plip, plip, plip, plip, slish. Clink, clink, clish.

Run. Home.

Chapter Text

When an explosion shook the base early in the morning, Optimus knew it was going to be a day. Whether it would be a good day or a bad day was yet to be determined, but it would be a day.

"WHEELJACK!"

He winced in sympathy for the scientist. Ratchet was generally a cheerful mech, even a 'party animal', as the humans would say. However, he, like every other person in the world, did not want to be scared out of his recharge by a mech with too much access to chemicals and circuitry. Unlike most mechs, Ratchet was familiar with mecha biology, and if it weren't a war crime worthy of Shockwave, he would demonstrate it in terrifying ways. Silently, he prayed for the medic to show mercy.

"It wasn't me this time!"

Oh, well, that was a surprise. Optimus sighed in relief. Standing up, he realigned his joints with a satisfying clatter of his frame and a pleased sigh. He dearly loved his soldiers and comrades, no matter how often they...

That explosion wasn't Wheeljack's work?

With a silent swear, he sprinted out of the room. Turning a corner, he slid, slowing himself down, and braced himself against the wall before pushing off. Pressing a digit to his comm, he asked, :: Autobots, status report. ::

Jazz was the first to answer. He had stepped out of his room shortly after Optimus ran past his door. :: All clear here, Prime. Checking out our halls now. Monitor duty mechs, give us a rundown of the situation.::

Sideswipe's voice crackled across the comm. :: Sideswipe here. Being responsible for once.:: Optimus huffed a laugh over the comms. He could hear the smile in his voice as Sideswipe said, :: Y'all proud?::

:: Very.:: Prowl deadpanned. He nodded at Optimus before heading in the direction of the bridge. Jazz patted his arm before following Prowl to the bridge, mouthing 'Catch ya later'.

Not sure where the explosion came from, but someone should check out bunk rooms 201 through 208...Scrap-!:: Sideswipe logged off, presumably to check on Sunstreaker.

:: Brawn here. We've got 201 and 203 accounted for. Hallways blocked. Huffer, Hauler, and I are going to get the debris out of the way of the rooms.:: After a beat of silence, Brawn added quickly, :: Charger, or Bee, one of you give them a rundown of the situation.::

:: Sunstreaker's about to blow a gasket.:: Trailbreaker elaborated. A variety of 'ahs' came over the comms. For a few moments, Optimus turned off his comm. They were very entertaining, which led to him being distracted.

Optimus stopped in front of the remains of a...device. He didn't pretend to understand technology. Considering it was in front of the door to this set of bunkers, it was the most likely culprit of the exploding alarm clock. Carefully, he scooped it up, noting the rust and burn marks. :: Wheeljack, I found something near the door.::

"Right behind ya, Prime," Wheeljack said. He handed Optimus an energon cube before sweeping the exploding device into his arms, like one of those cleaning things Sparkplug used. "You can have the rest of that by the way," he pointed distractedly at the energon. "I gotta go see if Huffer has a nanocalibrator and....Ironhide, can I have one of your triple power cells?"

"What do ya need it for?" Ironhide asked slowly and suspiciously.

Wheeljack's fins flashed as he displayed the broken device in his arms. "This thingamabob-"

"Please tell me ya know what t'at t'ing is," Ironhide.

"It's a power box," the scientist said. "This thingy manually controls the electricity. But-" he held up a finger, "I programmed Teletran to take over the electricity if it's not working." Ironhide nodded, humming appreciatively. "But it needs a good power cell to control..." he trailed off and examined the broken power cell.

Optimus glanced at the cube and handed it to Ironhide. He stared at the door for a moment before pressing his hands against it. Pushing his servos into the crevice, he attempted to pry it open. The door had locked, an emergency protocol that was both a blessing in battles but a curse outside of battles.

"You know what?" When that was said, they shot an alarmed glance towards Wheeljack. "A triple cell probably caused the explosion in the first place. I'll see if Bluestreak has a klikowatt power cell. That should do the trick."

He sighed. How he loved his crewmates. However, sometimes, they terrified him.

"Get Ratchet and Skyfire to help you," Optimus requested. Gently, he took the cube from Ironhide and hooked it into his arm, brushing off any dust.

Wheeljack waved him off. "Nah, he's already stressing himself out silly with creating replacement parts for Mirage and Gears. 'Sides, I got this Prime. Can't you trust a face like this?" He pivoted and pointed at his face, optics brightening jovially.

"Wheeljack."

"Yes, Prime?"

"That's an order." Wheeljack's fins flashed, then he flashed a thumbs up. "Thank you, Wheeljack." Redirecting his attention to the door, he sighed. He was no help if he got injured. Pressing his comm back on, he asked, :: I cannot access the door to the hall. Requesting a status report.::

Bumblebee replied first, :: Door's blocked, Optimus. There are a bunch of rocks and some damaged equipment. We're trying to get everyone out of the rooms first before attempting to clear the door.::

:: What's being done with the damaged equipment?:: Skyfire asked.

:: Gears has a box that blocks EM signals. Windcharger is using his magnets to put them in the uh...what'd he call it, Bee? Oh, an insulting polyferrite foam box.:: Cliffjumper finished.

Skyfire's voice sputtered over the comms, :: How did he get an insulating polyferrite foam-coated box?::

Cliffjumper was silent for a moment, then he answered, :: I don't know. Gears said it helps with joint aches.:: He took Skyfire's and Ratchet's choked, confused whirrs as a hint to go on. :: He just drops himself into the box and stays there until Brawn or Huffer drag him out.::

:: How do people come up with this stuff?:: Ratchet asked incredulously. :: What goes through you people's processors to even consider that?:: It was easy to imagine him cradling his head in his hands, assuming he's not breaking Wheeljack's servos for using a triple power cell instead of a klikowatt.

A cautious hum sounded over the comms. There was a hint of laughter in Bluestreak's voice. :: So long as it works, I guess?::

:: I don't know, Blue. He complains just about the same to me.:: Sideswipe's voice came over. A few statics of laughter.

"I say, don't knock it till you try it," a voice said. Optimus jumped, hitting his head against the ceiling as he scrambled to catch the energon cube. Ironhide had turned, aiming his gun at the source. Jazz muffled his snickers. "Ooh, sorry I startled ya, boss-bot and old-timer." He hunched over, covering his mouth with both hands as he wheezed. "Ha...Ha-Ha-Having surveyed the damage, it's safe to say this is the most uhh damaged place." He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth tugging upward sharply in a failing attempt to hide the remains of his laughter. "A-Aside from some electricity issues with connected circuitry, we're all good and well, Prime."

Optimus sighed. His spark rate went down as his battle subroutines were dismissed. "Thanks, Jazz. Any other way to get in there?" He pointed at the door.

Jazz shot him a knowing look, and even Ironhide shook his head and chuckled. "Prime, 'lax. They can take care of themselves."

Averting his optics, Optimus awkwardly said, "I am aware."

"Mmhmm."

He looked back at Jazz with a betrayed expression. Ironhide snorted, his shoulders shaking.

The comm crackled to life. :: Sideswipe, help me! I'm surrounded by people who don't know how wax or polish works! The yellow bug doesn't even care! And Hound...Hound is even worse than I imagined...:: There was a brief static over the comms, but it was quickly cut off.

"Ooh, this is gonna be good," Ironhide said, his optics lighting up. Jazz nodded, leaning against the weapons specialist. "When should we tell them?"

Jazz crossed one leg over the other, balancing on his heel. "Let's wait, 'Hide. This is gonna get funky real fast." Optimus looked at them in disappointment, to which they ignored because they knew they'd follow his commands in less than a spark beat.

:: It's okay, Sunny-::

:: Don't call me that!:: Sunstreaker sighed. :: I'm gonna need an extra-long shower after this. There's so much mud and bugs.::

:: Bugs meaning minibot?:: Sideswipe joked. Sunstreaker snorted, humming an affirmative.

Mirage, in a rare form of even communicating over the comms, said, :: Bugs meaning the glitches that completely make you miss that you're on the public comm.:: Optimus and Jazz exchanged a glance. While Mirage was distant and sometimes

The twins went silent for a moment. Then Sunstreaker screamed. Optimus and Jazz winced at the loud thud against the wall. "My paint job! Get off of me, you tiny glitch-headed malfunctions! I will rip you to pieces with my bare teeth."

Gears said helpfully, "We don't even have teeth." He grunted as, presumably, something hit him. Huffer yelped.

There were multiple groans over the comm. :: This is gonna be a long day, isn't it?:: Trailbreaker said. :: Oh, well. At least we can't say we did nothing.::

Sunstreaker yelped. "Brawn, put me down!"

"No, Brawn! Don't put him down!" Cliffjumper egged on. Bumblebee scolded his brother while Windcharger laughed.

:: Utter sociopaths, the lot of you.:: Mirage droned in a casual, a smidge cheerful tone.

:: Yeah, what's going on over there?:: Ratchet asked. :: We can hear you from here. Where the Dinobots are throwing a tantrum.::

:: For those of you wondering, it's about opening a paint can.:: Wheeljack said. His voice staticed with frustration. :: I opened up a paint can for Swoop. He got into painting, and he wanted to open the paint can. But I did instead. So he got upset. Which made Grimlock tease him.::

:: Long story short.:: Ratchet interjected. :: The Dinobots started fighting.::

There was a clamorous series of clangs, thuds, and screams.

:: And we can still hear you over this racket! The scrap is going on over there?!?::

Jazz chuckled and pressed a finger to his comm. :: Yo, my fave mechs, give us a sportscaster's view of the situation. I know some of y'all aren't moving those rocks.:: He flickered his visor at Optimus, a form of winking.

Ever the people-pleaser, Trailbreaker was all too happy to provide. :: You got it, Jazz. Brawn is throwing Sunny like a human throwing the pigskin around. Charger and Cliffjumper are cheering him on. Huffer's sobbing in the corner-::

"I am not!"

:: Like a human doing what?:: Prowl asked. It was messaged in his usual polite tone, but knowing Prowl...someone needed to correct him before he ran his logic processing center too much and too fast.

Bluestreak interjected, Like a football, Prowl. You know, the games Sparkplug likes to watch?:: Prowl sent back an affirmative, then an 'I am relieved it wasn't actual pigskin'. Optimus sent a quick message to Sideswipe not to reveal the truth.

:: Gears has Hauler by the legs as Sunstreaker attempts to drag him away. He's not doing anything; he's just there as Hauler tries to move the rocks.:: He was quiet for a moment. :: Sorry, I'm not good at this. I feel bad, so I'm going to go help Hauler.:: He logged off.

Gears groaned over the comm. :: My backstruts are all shot.:: He made a choked yell before a loud clang followed. "For crying out loud, what crawled up your exhaust pipe and died of misery?!"

"Maybe it was happy it died," Hauler suggested.

"In Sunstreaker? I'd be happier dying with my head up my exhaust pipe," Cliffjumper proclaimed.

"Your head's already up your exhaust pipe!"

There was a long beat of silence. Optimus' optics widened while Jazz looked amused.

Ironhide stomped forward, unbalancing Jazz, who fell to the floor. Banging on the door, he called out, "Watch your language! What would Spike say?" There was a nervous buzz from the other side. Hauler wheezed out 'Hypocrite'.

The comms went silent aside from a few questioning messages. The fighting had stopped, but Brawn and Trailbreaker were snickering, trying not to laugh. Then Cliffjumper yelled, sounding betrayed,

"Bumblebee?!"

At that, the mechs inside broke, cackling and wheezing as Bumblebee rapidly apologized.

"I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"You really shouldn't have!"

"I know!"

:: Y'all.:: Jazz messaged over the comms. :: Guess what Bee just did!:: Several questioning responded in interest.

"Jazz, don't tell them!" Bumblebee screeched. "Cliffjumper, please!"

Optimus sighed and raised a servo to cover his optics. He really didn't want to laugh at one of the youngest of his crew, but Primus...forgive him. Jazz was going to embarrass the minibot for weeks. He chuckled. "Autobots," he said, "For future reference, let's watch our language. We don't want to negatively influence Spike or Chip."

"Sorry, Prime," said the trapped mechs in unison. They were silent for a moment. Was it a guilty silence?

Chuckling, Jazz said, "We should probably get them out before they pull a Lord of the Flies." At Optimus' curious look, he waved dismissively, "Earth book. Gorey, violent, tragic. It wouldn't be your style."

Nodding, Optimus dropped the subject. Sometimes, humans wrote horrifying things.

:: My backstruts hurt even worse now.:: Gears messaged.

Bluestreak, either mischievously or innocently, asked, :: Did you try throwing yourself into the insulating polyferret foam coat box?:: Many of the mechs gave inquisitive, flabbergasted messages. :: Was that not right? Oh, wait, autocorrect.::

:: This is a verbal conversation.:: Prowl sent. Bluestreak replied with a shrug emoticon, making Jazz snort. :: How??? His answer was another emoticon.

Skyfire whistled over the comms. :: Gears, in the event you do consider Bluestreak's advice. Please don't.::

:: No, promises.::

Poor Skyfire sent a sad emoticon. Jazz sent a pat-pat emoticon. Prowl sent a confused emoticon, then an even more confused one.

Chuckling, Optimus shifted, feeling a fond, loving smile form behind his facemask. Then the three of them looked up when the door finally unlocked. Handing the energon cube to Jazz, he took three large steps and pried it open, causing Trailbreaker and Brawn to shout in surprise as they were thrown with the force of the door. "Brawn, Trailbreaker!"

"We're good, Prime," Brawn said, holding a thumbs-up. Trailbreaker mumbled an agreement.

Jazz huffed and leaned over Trailbreak, sloshing the energon cube. "Ya want some?"

"If ya don't mind," the mech in question replied.

Clicking, Jazz shook his head. "We have gotta work on your self-esteem." He leaned down and with strength that surprised Trailbreaker, he yanked the larger mech to his feet. "There ya go, Breaker."

"Thank you," he said, gratefulness evident in his tone. Cupping Jazz's servo (because his own were trembling), he drank half of it. Then he hunched over to place it in Windcharger's shaking servos. "Here ya go, little buddy," he said.

The minibot grinned. Tipping his head back, he gulped back the rest of it. Wiping his mouth, he said, "Thanks. Did you want the rest?"

Trailbreaker peeked down at it and pointed. "There's nothing left." Glancing down at it, Windcharger made a 'huh' sound.

Hauler began pushing them along. "Come on, up, up. We're getting you two some energon." They only mildly protested, mainly because they didn't want to be shoved around.

"Is anyone injured?" Optimus asked.

Bumblebee and Huffer gestured to their fellow Autobots with annoyed looks. Sunstreaker was glaring at the scratches on his paint job, Gears was sporting a few dents, and Brawn had a few dents and scratches but was smiling widely.

Crossing his arms, Ironhide clicked his vocalizer. "Y'all, it ain't even seven am an' you're already gonna give Ratchet a hard time?" They stayed silent. "Prime?"

"Get yourselves to the repair bay," Optimus ordered. They sighed and nodded, though a few of them mentioned a trip to the wash racks. "We'll clean this up...later. It's...It's way too early for this." He placed his fingers on the temple of his head and sighed. Bumblebee patted his hand before walking off alongside Huffer.

"Y'all should be ashamed of yourselves," Jazz said with a grin. He wagged his finger and shimmied. "This calls for some jazz fusion."

"No!" Jazz glanced at him with that same smile. Optimus still felt guilty; he lowered his voice. "No, it doesn't, Jazz," Optimus said, pushing Jazz's already waving arm down. "It's too early for that." He let out a heavy vent. "Way too early."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Jazz said, rubbing the back of his neck. "How about after nine?"

"Sure," Optimus agreed. He dreaded when the time would come. "That would be a good alarm, actually. Remind me to take that up with Prowl and Ratchet," he said. Jazz lazily saluted.

Finger gunning, Jazz grinned, "I'll put it on the itinerary for the next meeting! I gotta get to patrol now, boss-bot. Love y'all!"

"Love you too, Jazz," they replied in unison. Then they realized. Ironhide whirled around, glaring, but Jazz performed one of the quickest transformations ever and raced away, cackling. "Gosh dang it, Jazz!" He felt Optimus' amused gaze on him. He gestured towards the direction Jazz had sped off in and placed a hand on his hip. "Well, just because it's true doesn't mean I gotta admit it. The day's only just begun."

Optimus laughed quietly as Ironhide stomped away. "Of course, old friend," he said. "Of course."

Chapter Text

Begin communication.

We should have known.

It's happened before. We should have known that the next time we arrived, our distant cousins wouldn't let it happen again. They wouldn't fall for our deceptions and mockery of their creator, once more. They wouldn't let their freedoms be stolen or, rather, given away so carelessly. It's easier to value something once it's no longer within your grasp.

What did they fight for over the course of several million stellar cycles?

For freedom. In varying shades, but nonetheless, freedom.

Our cousins were more protective of their freedom. They would not let their old masters take it from them.

The mistake we made was that we initially tried to reason with them. With the offer of technological advancements, energy sustainability, and resources to restore their dying world, a truce could have been drafted within months. There should be an emphasis on 'could have'. They refused as soon as they realized who we were.

They were quite creative with their insults and made it clear they would never work with us. Their planet and colonies were off-limits to the likes of us.

Knowing the stubbornness of our cousins, we began barrages on Cybertron. Nobody stopped us. Nobody would. The Cybertronians were hated throughout the universe and even by their own colonies. The Galactic Council? It is laughable to think that they would ever come to their aid.

They didn't. Because they didn't need it.

love

The hatred, the grudge they held against us for something that happened millions of years ago...they never let it go.

The probability of winning a war against our dear cousins, the Cybertronians, was high at first. An 88.589 percent chance. In alignment with those odds, we sent out our Sharkticons and Allicons to weaken them. As they were fought off, we bombarded them with missiles and energy weapons. We took into account their ability to start wars over petty things and stab each other in the back.

We did not expect their shared hatred against us to unite them.

It is not hard to forget that the Cybertronians fought a war. In fact, every species across the galaxy looked at the "Great War," as the Cybertronians called it, as nothing more than a petty squabble fought by practically immortal beings. It was a civil war, one that split factions into factions into factions. They didn't know the meaning of words "alliances", "common ground", or "unity".

Supposedly. That was supposed to be a joke, hyperbole. Something to use in casual conversation in place of silence during platonic conversation, and the tension that underlies every diplomatic matter.

In response to our barrage, they fought. Of course they did. War was still at the forefront of their primitive processors. Another mistake was perhaps not giving them time to heal from the war. They would have been less war-worthy and more like the slaves they once were. Like we wanted them to return to.

It started with the ships. Half of the fleet landed on Cybertron, while the other half attacked from the air. To retaliate, the Titans rose again, disturbed from their slumber, and tore them in half before transforming into cities that the people of Cybertron retreated into. The Sharkticons and Allicons, our army, battled against them, only for the Monsterbots and Predacons to appear. In some sort of ironic, deus ex machina. They were hated by all, but for one small moment, they were considered the cavalry. Even when they ripped our trapped army to shreds, even when they choked on the rust, and even when they were thrown into the depths of the Acid Wastes...our enemies cheered.

The battles for the Cybertronian skies were full of casualties. Not on Cybertron's side, but on our side. If they were abhorrent, cruel animals on the ground, they were monstrous nightmares in the air. The fliers would drop their spies onto our ships, without our knowing. We never found them, only the bombs that blew apart our ships.

Our army was trapped.

Frantically, we sent for reinforcements. We asked our few but loyal group of allies to get involved, but they were stopped by the Cybertronian few, but overly foolishly loyal allies. The colonies stayed out of our conflict, but they seemed to know who the true victor was.

As did New Quintessa, but there was no going back. Not when New Quintessa was destroyed, along with any factories and resources to even survive the journey to another planet to Cyberform. And certainly not when bounty hunters involved themselves in the destruction of our home and base. At that point, we felt there was no choice but to completely and utterly annihilate the planet of Cybertron.

If you are watching this, there is a certainty that you are watching the history of our destruction. The probability of our survival was reduced to 34.72 percent at this point. There came a point where we were so desperate to survive, we begged for the Galactic Council's aid.

They laughed in our faces and declared that this conflict would resolve itself. Even if it took a million years or even more. They had no desire to raise conflict against the Cybertronians or, frankly, any other mechanical being or race. Our species and relatives were violent and prone to war, enslavement, and colonization. They particularly emphasized the second reason as the main ground on which they wouldn't help us.

We don't blame them.

Not.

At.

All.

Meanwhile, the remainder of our forces trapped on Cybertron were slaughtered. What was once the Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals became the army of Cybertron. Their tacticians drafted plans, terrifyingly effective plans, their snipers shot from a distance, and their soldiers fought and fought and fought until there was nothing left but scrapheaps.

Truly, it came as no surprise when they entered our last ship, housing us, the remnants of the Quintessons. We had underestimated them. No, not them, but rather, their hatred of us. It was a true marvel of their species, how they had recovered from our shared history together, only to define themselves on the very things we took from them. And to never let go of what our history entailed.

How tragic, how tragically impressive. We had so much more to learn from them. If only things had played out differently. Unfortunately, that dream would stay a dream, and it was the last time we would ever lay eyes on anyone...

This was the end of the Quintessons.

End communication.

Chapter Text

Darkness had fallen by the time they returned to the Ark. The exhaustion was evident in their forms, even more apparent when they slowly transformed, standing on wobbly legs.

Optimus found himself turning to them, taking in their fatigue and pain. They were alive, which was all that mattered to him; they're well-being mattered even more. Despite the dread he felt when he ordered them, "Go see Ratchet, all of you. I'll be joining you shortly for a check-up." Several of them glanced at his shoulders. "You can debrief after a night's rest." When they nodded and began to make sluggish steps towards the medbay, he added, "All of you did well today, good job, on all of you, for not faltering in the face of an enemy. I say it often enough, but I'll say it again, I'm proud of all of you."

A few of them smiled at him, Bumblebee's and Jazz's most pronounced, but even Tracks hid a smile as Blaster led him away. Inferno helped Bumblebee and Beachcomber stay steady on their feet, while Jazz pulled Grappel behind him, playing some actual music.

When they had left, he let the tension fall from his shoulders. His ventilation system reset, and he slowly shut down the battle subroutines he kept activated even after rescuing his soldiers. Forcing his joints to relax, he let out one last vent before stepping into the Ark, where he was joined by Ironhide.

"Rough day?" Ironhide asked, stumbling into step beside him. There was a smile on his face, but his gun whirred, idle, but not deactivated. "Ah saw 'em headin' to te medbay. "Were injuries really t'at bad?" His gun whirred just a bit faster and louder.

"The torture devices were designed to exhaust them. So there are fewer injuries and more fatigue," Optimus replied in an academic tone. It had been on his processor all throughout the drive home.

"Disgusting," Ironhide growled. "Reminds me of the likes of Tarn and..." he must have noticed Optimus' flinch. "And...those maniacs. Anyway..." the weapon's specialist changed subjects quickly, "Glad ya didn't bring him 'ere, Prime. We would've lost any trust from the humans in less t'an a nanoclick." At that, Optimus laughed, and Ironhide's shoulders relaxed.

"It was a rough day," Optimus finally answered quietly. "Is it obvious?" While he already knew the answer (yes), it would be nice to hear otherwise. But Ironhide was as honest as they came. It was a trait of his that Optimus appreciated.

Ironhide shrugged. "Yeah, but it's not like anyone will call it out unless t'ey're an idiot." He tilted his head, his mouth upturned sharply. Optimus waited. "Unfortunately, we've got too many of those."

Chuckling softly, Optimus shook his head. "I like to think it is less processor power and more concussions that have led to our crew not having common sense." He smiled when Ironhide let out a short laugh. "Speaking of, where are they? It's quiet here."

"Oh," his weapon specialist waved him off. "T'ey're in the common area. Most of t'em are waiting for Red Alert an' Cosmos' updates on the situation. Mostly to see whether they should clean their guns or not. The minibots are all trigger-happy, but t'at ain't unusual. Prowl is t'inking of the logistics and ah t'ink Wheeljack started designing a bomb. Facing his leader, Ironhide finished, "So before you go do some paperwork, mind going to brief them on the situation?"

"You can't?" Optimus questioned.

"Oh, Ah would, but Ah'm curious, Prime. The Chumpley fellow got my circuitry a-frizzin'."

Sending an amused look to Ironhide, Optimus said, "His name was 'Chumley'." Ironhide shrugged, uncaring. "I'll debrief them on what transpired later," he said. Gesturing to his shoulders, he said, "I need to get to the medbay."

Ironhide raised an optic ridge. "Prime," he began, his mouth twitching in an unmistakable attempt to hide his laughter. "Have you been cloned again?"

"No." Optimus turned his head to hide his laughter. "I have not. But I cannot defend my Autobots if I have injuries." He started to walk towards the medbay and waved one hand. "Tell the crew that all the Autobots have been rescued and are currently being treated. I'll debrief them soon enough."

"You got it, Prime."

-------------------------------------

The door to the medbay opened with a small swish.

Ratchet and Hoist immediately turned to him. The former's optics narrowed at his shoulders, then he snapped his fingers and gestured to a nearby berth.

Quietness was rare in the medbay. Many factors contributed to this. For example, Ratchet's stressed, concerned anger, the Dinobots throwing a tantrum, or because an Autobot had to be dragged in kicking and screaming. It was loud in here. It felt dead. The ticking spark and circuit monitors weren't helping his anxiety.

At least his men were resting or relaxing quietly. They only smiled or gave a short wave to him when he walked in before returning to whatever they were doing.

Blaster was wiping off the dirt and dust from Tracks' frame, with the latter falling in and out of sleep as he tentatively rubbed the Jazz's shoulders. Eventually, he would fall asleep and would probably freak out about the dirt in his servos. He was easy to manipulate when he was sleep-deprived.

Jazz sighed into the touch, stretching out his legs. He hadn't been trapped in one of Chumley's machines, but he still had to watch. Arguably, that was worse for Jazz. He was used to being the one tortured, not the spectator. The feeling of helplessness was strong in Jazz, and something Optimus would need to have Prowl or Bluestreak pry out of him later.

Turning his helm, it was harder to see Beachcomber sprawled out on the berth. He just lay there. Considered the oddball of the Ark, he was both an enigma and entirely predictable. Right now, he was just exhausted. Optimus could name several of the drugs Prowl had confiscated, and Beachcomber still wouldn't wake up. If he was still asleep tomorrow, it would be an entertaining prank to play.

Grapple was talking to Hoist about something about a rattrap, steel beams, and either South Kibolaroo or Songtanka. Personally, Optimus had never heard of either of those countries. Hoist was letting him talk, patting his servo, and listening intently as Grapple ranted. Forcing his helm away from the private conversation, Optimus' optics landed on Ratchet and Bumblebee.

Bumblebee was not allowed to transform until his T-Cog was healed. Therefore, he was not leaving the Ark for some time. Optimus would call Spike or Carly tomorrow to see if they could spend time with his scout. It was truly impossible to look at Bumblebee's sad reaction and hear his resigned sighs.

Forcibly, he turned his head away to glance at Inferno to see him getting scolded by Red Alert. His observations were interrupted by Ratchet's coughing. A habit he picked up from Sparkplug. It was an effective way to gain attention.

"Alrighty Prime, I'm going to be flabbergasted by your answer, but," he pointed at Optimus' injuries, "What happened?"

"The beast of Borneo," Optimus answered honestly. He chuckled quietly at Ratchet's stunned, confused silence.

"A what?" Ratchet asked. Then he waved his hands. "Never mind. Lay down. Now," he ordered at Optimus' hesitation. "These poor Autobots of yours will be safe and sound in my medbay." He pushed Optimus down onto the berth and began to work on his shoulders.

Optimus sighed and let Ratchet work on him. The medic didn't try to pry anything out of him. Yet. He would eventually, but for now, he could focus on Ratchet's hands, rather than the monitors. "What's the status on everybot?"

Ratchet hummed, pausing in his work, before he returned to rewiring the shoulder joints and replacing the caps on the joints. "Jazz and Inferno are fine for the most part. Jazz just needed a tune-up in his gyro-stabilizers. I cleared out Inferno's ventilation system and reset his nerve-joint system. I had to unlock Blaster's transformation. Somehow Chumley deactivated it. They'll be out of here by tomorrow morning."

Using a strange scapel tool, Ratchet, perplexed, plucked out teeth from Optimus' armor. "What in the-" Then he shook his head, deciding that even his millions of years of experience wouldn't explain it.

"Beachcomber is exhausted. Plucky little fella isn't he? Barely a scratch on him," Ratchet said proudly. "Tracks needed a circuitry refinement. They were on the fritz. Grapple's frame was exhausted. Bumblebee's T-Cog is worn out. Those three I'm keeping in here to monitor. Though Blaster, Jazz, and Inferno have strict orders to visit me." He gave Optimus a pointed look.

Understanding the silent message, Optimus nodded. "I will be sure that they visit you."

"Good." He sighed. "Well, I didn't see anything. The nanites will do their thing so long as you rest and keep your frame clean. I'll get Hoist to close up the wounds."

"Thank you, Ratchet," Optimus said. His old friend just patted his arm and smiled. With a long sigh, he stared at the ceiling. It had been a long day. He needed to take a page out of Beachcomber's book and sleep. It would be nice, healthy even. Ratchet and Ironhide would be proud of him.

How pleasant was the thought of just falling asleep...

---------------------------------

Hoist stared at his leader. Then he smiled and began closing the wounds on Optimus' shoulder. When he finished, Ratchet came to study the work, raising an optic ridge at Optimus' prone, peaceful sleep.

Holding a finger to his mouthplate, he shushed softly. (An adorable habit he picked up from human children.) The head medic snorted once and shut off the lights before settling down in a chair. According to Wheeljack, it had the best view of the whole medbay, perfect for watching over his patients. Hoist would join him after soothing his dear friend Grapple's worries.

Optimus needed his rest. It was nighttime and even evil had to sleep. He could let them worry for once.

Chapter Text

The halls were loud and crowded. Officers and cadets swarmed, trying and failing to find answers. The energon and blood everywhere caused many to have to step outside. With armor and skin smashed and coating the halls, it was a nauseating affair. Arguably worse when you knew who the remains belonged to.

Bumblebee hadn't stopped purging; the anxious, dry heaves and staticed sobs that shook the minibot's frame hadn't stopped. It had been over an hour, and he still hadn't stopped crying. He was trying to, truly, but it was an impossible feat.

Wheeljack held him close, an arm around his tanks and the other draped over his shoulders. (But even his arms were shaking, gripping him tightly.) Soft shushes had slipped out of the inventor's vocalizer, and gentle squeezes from Windblade kept him grounded. However long it took, his system started to quiet down, recognizing that there was little to nothing left to force out.

Eventually, Bumblebee was forced to stand up. They needed to investigate, question, and interrogate. (What was there to investigate? The broken, bloody, dismembered remains of a newspark? His mentee?) Wheeljack steadied him, even when his wobbling knees threatened to give out on him with each step. Windblade left for a moment, only to return with an energon cube and a microfibre.

Finally, he forced himself to ventilate. Primus, it hurt. It hurt so much to vent, to force dust and oil from his system and intake. Coughing the rest out, his whole frame shuddered. Wheeljack gently nudged him, gesturing upwards. Lifting his optics, he choked at the sight of Prowl. (Prowl, whose optics held horror and sorrow.) This...This couldn't be dealt with by logic and numbers. He couldn't deal with Prowl or just a simple 'he died. I'm sorry.' He needed time. Time that he didn't have.

It took him several long, disorienting minutes to meet Prowl's optics, everything the officer said heard, but not processed. Servos shaking, he was finally able to uncurl his fingers. A cold, glass cube was set in his palm, and a servo cupped his, steadying them enough for him to at least sip it. His ventilation systems paused abruptly, causing his friends to glance at him in concern. His frame shuddered again, forcing his system to restart.

Prowl went quiet, studying him. Bumblebee could practically hear the subroutines and numbers playing out in his processor. Then the officer's optics softened, his expression becoming one of sympathy as he quietly said, "I took the liberty of alerting your brother of the situation. You are also dismissed for the week, and half a week if necessary. I'll deal with any complaints and questions that arise."

Cliffjumper? He stumbled forward in surprise. "But he-I-"

"No," Prowl said sternly, raising his hand to cut off Bumblebee's protests. "You are not fit for duty at the moment." He knelt down, his servo prying Bumblebee's servo from his hip, which had left a dent. His other hand had caught the cube that had slipped from his fingers and placed it on the ground. "You need..." he hesitated, narrowing his optics. "You need...time..." Prowl said slowly. "I need you to take the time to recover."

Bumblebee waved his hands sharply and leaned forward. "I don't need time," he insisted. "Rubble...Rubble..." he vented heavily, shaking his head before he dropped back down, covering his audials. "Please," he begged. "I can't just do nothing."

"Bee, please," Windblade began softly. Her arms wrapped around him. She didn't say anything more than that, for once, wordless on how to convince him.

Crouching beside him, Wheeljack gently gripped Bumblebee's cheek and turned his helm. His optics were a dimmed, dark blue, and his vents stuttered. "Decide tomorrow," he rasped. "Get some rest tonight," he said after clearing his vocalizer. "Comm Prowl tomorrow. Please, don't rush into this and make a bad decision."

He staticed once, another sob. Then he let his head drop and nodded, his protests dying.

Prowl looked relieved when he finally glanced up. "Thank you, Bumblebee." He pressed their helms together once, for less than a second, before standing. "I trust you two will take him home?" He asked Windblade and Wheeljack. After a moment, he added, "Take care of yourselves as well. Comm me if you need something."

"Of course," Windblade said. She saluted him once, lazily. Wheeljack nodded, flicking his digits once as an affirmative. They lifted him to his feet. Wheeljack slung one of Bumblebee's arms over his shoulder, making the inventor have to hunch over awkwardly. Windblade hooked her arm in his, taking the cube Prowl had picked up.

His system started to wind down, but his frame was exhausted. He rested his helm against Wheeljack's chest, his spark. "I failed," he whispered. "He's gone."

"Shh..." Wheeljack soothed. Any joy from the inventor was drained by the events of today. "It's not your fault. It's not your fault," he repeated.

"I loved him," he added, voice strained.

"So did we."

"I know. I-I-" His vocalizer staticed, drawling the 'I' out in a warbled echo, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been there, done something."

"Don't blame yourself," Windblade said. She shook her head and buried her face in his neck. "Please don't. Not tonight, Bee. Please."

"Okay...okay..." he took a few more vents. "I'm sorry." She shook her head, a muffled cry of frustration. His vocalizer fell silent, no words else to say, but apologies and self-blame. It only made the silence colder, and in return, the words sharper and louder, hammering into his processor.

I failed.

Chapter Text

When the door creaked long and loud as it was opened, Starscream could only assume that it was opened by one of his more considerate companions. Ironically, it would have been more polite to just kick the door open with its rusty hinges. He didn't bother turning from washing his equipment and instead said, "Windblade, you're allowed in here at this time. I swear." He looked behind him as he said, "I'm following your schedule..." The words died in his throat. "Oh," he whispered, suddenly shy, suddenly anxious. "You."

Smiling at him (sadly, he noted), his old friend closed the door behind him. With easy, hesitant steps, he walked to the side of Starscream's work table. (Primus, how did this mech make him feel safe? Always and without fail, this mech's presence calmed the voices in his head.) "Me," he finally said. There was a tease in it, one that Starscream recognized with fondnessaffectionlove.

Well, Skyfire had never been good with words.

Starscream felt himself smiling, timidly, but with Skyfire in front of him, it was a start. "Skyfire," he began, searching for the words, "How can I help?" The search was unnecessary. The words fell from his lips with far more ease than he wanted. "Did you need clearance for an exploration? Resources for a project of yours?"

"No," Skyfire said, shaking his head. "That's not necessary." He stayed silent for a moment longer. It was a blessing. They both needed to gather their thoughts. Starscream reveled in the stillness for a moment longer. His dread was growing, but this conversation was needed for both of their sakes. Truly, he wanted Skyfire to have the first word.

Busying his servos, he began drying his equipment. Scrubbing the water from them, placing them on the rack, repeat. The monotony of it did little to soothe his nerves, but it kept his servos from anxious, sharp movements like ripping apart his notes or throwing glass. Huh. It was actually helping. Note to self: cleaning before raging.

(Ha. He'd have to tell Megatron that one.)

Starscream shook himself out of it. It was obvious this was important to Skyfire. His old friend had waited until he knew Starscream would be wrapping up. Should he change his schedule? Was it too predictable? He liked this schedule, though.

"Starscream?"

His optics refocused again, the tunnel vision fading. (Did he mean that physically or mentally?) The world sounded clearer. (His auditory receptors were fine.) Skyfire, bless his spark, looked at him in concern. (Why?) In his servos, the beaker was clean. He placed it on the rack. The threads of the towel felt soft to his sensory system. The strings were fun to play with. Hanging the towel on the hook, he leaned against the sink.

"Hm?" It took him a moment to reset his vocalizer. He finally found his voice again. "Yes?"

Skyfire smiled, though his optics were dimmed in concern. "Sorry," he said. "I tried calling your name, but you didn't answer." Before Starscream could protest, he asked, "Is this a bad time?"

"No, of course, not," Starscream said, biting back the words, 'Nothing with you is a bad time.' (The words hammered in his processor.) He ignored them. "What is it?"

"I wanted to talk," Skyfire said.

"We are," Starscream snarked. Skyfire's mouth quirked upward once.

He didn't step any closer. Starscream's optics had darted straight to the movement of his pedes. "Starscream," he tried again. "I need you to face me. I want to make sure I don't cross any lines." There was a beat of silence. "And I want you to make sure you don't cross a line. We need to talk."

"We do, don't we?" asked Starscream. He sighed, forcing the tension from his shoulders. It was rhetorical. He certainly didn't want to talk. "I hope Bumblebee or Windblade didn't put you up to this."

Skyfire shook his head. "I decided this of my own volition. We should sit," he said. He was clearly referring to the table in the corner of his lab. Wheeljack had made it for him. It even had a hidden compartment for a gun or energon cube if he so wished. (Though Bumblebee snuck in treats, while Windblade snuck in notes that read 'TAKE A BREAK!!!!'.)

"Why can't we stand?"

"Starscream."

Starscream groaned, slouching, and didn't even bother replying for a moment. He crossed his arms. "Fine," he mumbled. He gestured sharply to the table, but sat down with grace and dignity. "Sit." He ordered with a snap of his fingers and a point.

His old friend saw right through the posturing and turned his head to hide a laugh. Skyfire carefully placed down two energon cubes. One for each of them. How thoughtful, even if his friend knew that he wouldn't take a sip from either of them.

"Thank you," Skyfire said, a hint of relief in his voice. (The thought of Skyfire wondering about Starscream's decision might have weighed heavily on his mind.) "Let's start with, we shot at each other. A lot. We were enemies. Old friends, but on opposite sides."

"Enemies," Starscream repeated dumbly. "We're not anymore, though."

His old friend pulled one of the cubes closer to him, playing with the rim as he looked down at it. The expression was hidden by his helmet. "I know." Suddenly, his fingers paused and returned his gaze to Starscream's. "I didn't hate fighting you."

Shrugging, Starscream agreed. "I feel the same. I was all too happy to shoot you. Though," he paused, looking at a scorch mark on the wall, "I'm glad we don't have to fight anymore. Absently, he added, "I felt betrayed by you." Skyfire frowned. Before he could say anything, Starscream said, louder and with emphasis, "I know now, that I also betrayed you." He smiled wryly. "It's in my programming."

"Really?" The question was asked with disbelief, incredulity. "I don't think so," Skyfire said. He rested his chin on his hand as he smiled. "I don't remember much from my awakening, but according to Skywarp, you searched the entire globe for me?" That part was stated with a fond, wistful, dreamy tone.

He stiffened. Steam began rising out of his seams as he scowled, hunching in on himself as he gripped his knees. "Skywarp..."

"Don't blame him," his old lab partner scolded playfully. "I thought you two were friends again."

He slid in his chair a little, anger withering away. "We are..."

At that, Skyfire's eyes flickered in that way they did when he remembered something. "Yeah." He sat up straighter and sipped his cube. "I'm happy that you have friends. You mentioned Windblade earlier." He shot Starscream a knowing look, chuckling when he turned his head with a pout. "But I also know Wheeljack, Bumblebee, and Ironhide...?" Starscream nodded. "I know you've become friends with them."

Skyfire studied Starscream for a moment, optics darting between the points of his face. He was hesitating, and Starscream wanted to scream at him to be honest. "About Thundercracker."

His wings tensed, rising slightly. "What about him?" was the careful, neutral-toned response.

"Have you and Thundercracker made up?"

Any words he could say disappeared in an instant. He could be honest. Skyfire didn't have a manipulative (not maliciously so anyway) circuit board in his body. "I'm not sure," he confessed. "He and Bumblebee are good friends. Yet, I don't know where I stand with him."

"You should find out," his old friend said gently. "Even if he's moved on, I think he still holds you close to his spark." His digits grazed Starscream's hand. "I've moved on, in case you needed a verbal closure." When Starscream didn't reply or move away, he continued, "I hold you close to my spark. If you ever needed me, you could call on me."

"Don't tempt me," Starscream said. "I'd abuse that. You know me." Inwardly, he raged at himself. ("I would do the same for you," he could have said.) Outwardly, his shoulders drew tight to him, and digits found their way to squeeze at his arms. (Why must he be so self-deprecating?) Not hard enough to dent but enough to keep him in the present.

So he thought anyway.

"Starscream," that same tone, that same voice. He looked up. That same expression. Oh. That was right. Skyfire did know him. And he could dissect him mentally or physically. It felt odd to be truly seen by someone again. Or at least by someone who could compare the old him and the new him. "You need to see someone," he said, in that tone he used that threatened revealing it to someone Starscream would actually listen to. "That's not healthy."

When Skyfire's servos moved away, Starscream realized they had pulled his own away from his arms. He kept them on the table. "When did you become a psychologist?" he asked snarkily. The snide remark came easily. Usually, it worked like a charm, discouraging people from returning. (Emphasis on 'usually'. Nowadays, nobody fell for it.)

"I didn't and I'm not," he said in a tone of amusement. "People are too complicated." He pointed at Starscream with a cheeky smile. "I know from experience."

Starscream let out a short, one-syllable laugh. "Skyfire," he said. "If you can handle me, there are very few mechs you couldn't handle." Skyfire ducked his head as he chuckled, shoulders shaking.

"True."

They were silent for a few minutes. Something that turned out to be beneficial and needed. They were both hurt individuals. They needed to breathe. Starscream needed to gather his thoughts, weave them into something honest, but guarded.

"I still love you," Skyfire said, snapping the tension that was beginning to grow. And coincidentally, also making him lose the words he would have said. (Who restarted a conversation like that?!) Starscream's optics glanced up before returning to the energon cube he had been playing with. "You know that, right?" His friend was pleading with him, hoping that what? Starscream knew?

He cleared his vocalizer. "Skyfire," he said softly. "You know I don't believe that. Not anymore."

His old friend's mouth twisted. He didn't like the answer. But it was Starscream's most honest one all day. "I do," he finally said. "I just...I remember who you used to be." A smile formed on his face, soft and hesitant. "Excitable about your interests, joyful at every discovery, proud of your achievements. I loved that about you. I still do. I love the person you were."

"Why don't you love me now?" Starscream asked. He leaned forward, his hand splaying on the table with a sharp whizz through the air. The energon sloshed a little in the glass cube. "Why, Skyfire? Why is the old me so...so...so important to you?"

"You're not happy," Skyfire said. He motioned to Starscream, tone incredulous, "You want to look me in the eyes and tell me that this paranoia, spitefulness, and self-hatred is a result of your happiness?"

"Yes!" Starscream shrilled. To show his honesty, he forced his optics to meet Skyfire's. (A big mistake on his part. It was easier to make eye contact with his hallucinations. Or rather ghosts, he thought, were hallucinations.) "I am happy," he declared with the same confidence he had when declaring his superiority over Megatron. "In fact, I've never been happier in my entire life!" he screeched.

Skyfire didn't rise to the bait. (Oh, who told him?!) He just stood, servos braced against the table. "You're a good liar. Anyone else would have fallen for it. But you forgot one thing, Starscream."

"And what's that?" He demanded, grin sharp, and his wings hiked up.

"You're a liar," Skyfire said. He tapped a rhythm on the table. "I don't have to believe you just like that," he finished with a snap of his fingers. "Booyah! 'Boy Who Cried Wolf. ' It's an Earth story. Read it sometime." All of a sudden, he looked very embarrassed and let his hands fall back onto his lap.

For Skyfire's sake, he wouldn't dwell on...whatever it was that mortified him. Scowling, he lowered his wings. "I hate you," he hissed.

"No, you don't," was the reply.

Starscream groaned and let his helm fall against the table. Why, oh why, had his tricks stopped working? "Don't talk for a few minutes," he said, voice muffled by the table. Skyfire hummed agreeably.

With that, the conversation stopped. It was necessary, before either of them said something they would regret.

Finally, Starscream lifted his head and sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. And shot at you. And betrayed you. I...I..." he pressed his mouth into a tight line. "I hurt you," he said, forcing himself to meet Skyfire's optics. "For that, I'm sorry."

"I know," Skyfire said. Then he flickered his optics off once, before they dimmed to a dull blue. "I know you are. I'm sorry I shot at you and yelled at you. I'm sorry I left you for the Autobots."

"Don't be," Starscream said quickly. "I don't blame you for that. I used to," he muttered to himself, "But I don't now. You wouldn't have survived with those psychopaths. And don't even get me started on Megatron." The corner of his mouth turned upward, but his optics were darker. "If the Decepticons had stayed to their cause, you would have joined me. You would have made the perfect Decepticon."

Skyfire huffed. "Yeah? You think so?" He snorted at his old friend's nod. "Yeah...maybe so."

The silence was awkward, something that Starscream couldn't stand. There were too many unsaid things between them. "Do you-" he stopped when Skyfire glanced at him. "Do you really think there's something the matter with me now? That I've changed so much you can barely recognize me?" A nod was his answer. "Do you ha-hate it?" (Ugh, why had his voice cracked right there?)

Skyfire squirmed in his seat. (Caught between answers.) "I do," he said quietly. Somehow, blessedly, he spoke before Starscream's composure could unravel and twist, "I don't blame you. Many factors contributed to you changing." He stated it like he was presenting one of their reports at the academy. One of his servos went up, going down as he counted off, "War, abuse, grief, hatred. Not all of those are your fault."

"I was lucky, I think," he continued. "I crash-landed on Earth when the political tensions rose. And I awoke during the tail-end of the war. I didn't have to deal with starvation, death, or trauma." He leaned over (Starscream kept his servo carefully still.), placed his hand over Starscream's and squeezed. "I wish I had been there with you. Perhaps, you would have been happier."

Venting slowly, Starscream flickered his optics off once. "I am...slowly growing happier," he said dumbly. Skyfire hummed, unconvinced. "I am," he sputtered out insistently. "I have..." he waved his servo around.

"Friends?" Skyfire suggested.

"Healthy conversation partners," Starscream corrected. "Plus, I have a sleep and energon schedule now." He waited a moment; his slowly forming smile dropped as he took in Skyfire's reaction. "You're not proud of me. Why aren't you proud?" Skyfire had buried his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking while some statics of laughter slipped out. "Skyfire! This isn't a laughing matter," he whined.

His friend began wheezing.

"Skyfire, please!"

Finally, his old friend calmed down, lifting his head to smile at Starscream (Primus, it had been ages since Skyfire smiled at him like that.) "I am proud," he said. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. I forget that for you, even back at the Academy, that is an accomplishment."

Hesitantly, Starscream smiled back, uncurling his fingers coiled around the chair's armrests. "I am healing," he said. "You might not have noticed, but...I've gotten better." He studied Skyfire's reaction.

"Admittedly, I haven't," Skyfire answered honestly. "This is the first time in years we've talked, Star...scream," he said. Tapping his fingers against the table. "We've moved on from each other. Right?" Starscream looked away and shrugged. "Or maybe not," he sighed.

"I'm okay with that," Starscream said. (Ohhh...they both still cared for each other.) He kicked on his pedes against the floor, barely missing the table leg. "You, I don't mind. I hate myself for not moving on from Megatron even more. He's always in my head."

"If I've moved on from you, would it matter?" Skyfire asked. "We were friends, partners, in the lab and exploration. One of the people I held dearest to my spark, even while we were enemies." Starscream looked surprised at that. "Truly, I still love you. But I won't let you hurt me again."

Starscream shot him a look. "I don't want to hurt you again. Or any of my...friends again. I love you, Skyfire, but we've hurt each other a lot."

"We have," his friend agreed. "The good news is," he began, trailing off. Starscream looked up at him, wondering why he stopped. Skyfire looked him in the optics, and continued, "The good news is that we have time. Time heals all wounds, as the humans say."

Covering his mouth, Starscream snorted. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. How would they know? They only live -on average- about seventy-two years."

Skyfire shook his head, rolling his optics. "They value their time much more than we do. It only makes sense they would know what could be done in their short lives," he said. Starscream mumbled something that vaguely sounded like agreement. "I think that you and I could learn to be around each other again."

"You're making a mistake," was the sung reply.

"Really? I don't think so."

"You're making a mistake," Starscream said more firmly, without the previous cheer. "You're happy now, aren't you? You don't need me to be happy or to...to heal. I'll..." Honesty, without a bite, had stopped coming easily to him millennia ago. "I'll weigh you down," he finished.

The lack of a response was loud. Either Starscream had won this argument. (No, that's...that's not the goal. Not anymore.) Or he had just crossed a line. What did he say wrong? Analyzing Skyfire's expression, which was also a searching one, made his frame tense. There wasn't anger or sorrow, just a resigned acceptance. Perhaps, he had lost his old friend. (Forever.)

Surprisingly, Skyfire didn't leave; instead, he smiled. "How about," he suggested slowly. "We try just being friends. Not confidantes or guiders. Just...friends," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm done trying to be someone you rely on for...whatever issues you have going on. But I'm not done being your friend."

"I-" his face twisted into confusion. "Pardon?" His servo twitched at his side. It was tempting, very tempting.

Skyfire was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Patiently, he waited. "Friendships can be surface-level," he said, meeting Starscream's optics. "You and Bumblebee are confidantes. You trust Wheeljack to support your crazy ideas. Following me?"

"Yes."

"Our friendship can return to that surface-level. Maybe, it will grow again to what it was once, but for now, we can trust each other that we will never hurt the other or leave each other behind."

"Oh." He understood now. "We would engage in small talk?" Starscream asked. "But never would I entrust you with my drama? And you, I?" Skyfire nodded. "That...that sounds like something I need to think about," he answered, hesitant. (He was the type to use any resource to his full advantage. And sometimes, his processor categorized his alli-friends as resources.)

It must have been the right answer, for Skyfire's smile grew bigger. "Take your time," he said. Standing up, he stretched and gathered his finished energon cube and Starscream's full one. "Please. Work through all the scenarios you need to, and figure out how you want this to work."

"Is that what Soundwave does?"

"And Perceptor," he said. "They're," his expression turned into something amused, "Good conversation partners."

"Please don't tell Bumblebee or Windblade I said that," he begged. "I'd never hear the end of it." He could hear it now. ("I haunted you for years and all I am is a 'conversation partner'?" Bee would even do air quotes; he was positive.) "Just call them acquaintances."

Skyfire grinned, genuine and open. (Like how they used to be.) "We're almost friends, though." Starscream snorted. (There was so much more that needed to be said between them. There would never be enough time for that.) "Have a good night, Star."

"Good night, Skyfire."

(Perhaps, perhaps Skyfire knew that. And that was why he had visited tonight. To take advantage of the time they had and talk.)

Perhaps, perhaps he should do the same.

Chapter Text

Megatron trusted very few people with the secrets of the Decepticon empire. He could count them on servo. Soundwave was proud to say that he was one of the named Decepticons privy to every bit of Megatron's machinations.

As the appointed head of surveillance and communications of the Decepticons, Soundwave saw and heard everything.

From Starscream's not-so-secret machinations, to Skywarp's increasingly ridiculous arguments over television shows, to the Constructions' trying and failing to diminish Scrapper's "creativity", all of that he heard and more.

On a good day, when the war had paused for recuperation and his cassettes were off blackmailing specific Decepticons into helping them with their pranks and chores, he considered his job to be a blessing. He knew which people to avoid and which people to point Starscream to, so he could deal with their "issues". (An understatement he would declare to anyone who asked.)

On a bad day, with his status as someone who kept up with the comings and goings of the Decepticons, his patience and sanity would be worn thin. It was on those days that he would nearly beg for the Autobots to do something, anything, to get away from the madness of the Nemesis

Today was more of a neutral day, he decided. The base had been quiet, too quiet, as Starscream was working on something in his lab with Thundercracker rushing to get out of the base as fast as he could. Soundwave didn't ask why. His cassettes had run to him, with a furious Bonecrusher and Motormaster chasing them. They seethed when they realized they had been led to Soundwave and skulked away.

It was days like this where he would truly question his life. Especially, when some Decepticon (or Decepticons) did something so ridiculous, he wondered if they had suffered from too many concussive forces.

Such as right now.

What in the name of the Primes? How had his life devolved into this? What was he even looking at?

The Combaticons were soldiers. Some of the best the Decepticons had to offer. By nature of the Decepticon empire, they were rife with problems, violent, manipulative, egotistical...they came with issues no one was going to address. Such as building their own headquarters by employing the Constructicons through blackmail and bribery. Without Megatron's permission? Considering who restored them (coughStarscreamcough), it wasn't surprising.

What was surprising was their current disheveled state in which they had entered the Nemesis. It wasn't their usual cover after a mission, which meant they needed Hook for medical problems. (Those thankfully, could be dealt with. Usually.)

However, Soundwave was beginning to think that letting them inside was a mistake on his part.

Letting them in, at this time of night, was perhaps a huge mistake on his part. The Combaticons had gone down south, to Louisiana. One of Swindle's contacts was lying low there but was offering some weaponry. It was March, on a Tuesday. Even the Decepticons and Autobots knew not to even bother going out during parade time. (The humans were very protective of their holidays.) Unfortunately, the Combaticons were easily swayed by the idea of more weapons, even though they could hold their own in hand-to-hand.

"Query: Was the mission a success?" Soundwave asked. The three awake Combaticons glared at him. It was a foolish question based on their laughable appearances. But he couldn't tell. They were a mess, which meant they won but at a cost, or they lost both the battle and their pride.

The Combaticons were covered in energon. Or perhaps glitter, that human substance was notoriously hard to clean off. Feathers and beads also stuck to their frames. Brawl had yellow, green, and purple paint on his faceplate. Surprisingly, the colors weren't horrible on him. Swindle looked sick, though, and Vortex somehow looked worse. Those two were slung over Blast-Off and Brawl's shoulders, respectively.

"We got what we wanted," Onslaught deadpanned. He shoved a datapad into Soundwave's hand. "Here's some context. Think of it like a draft for my report." Waving dismissively, or perhaps to signal his teammates to walk to their quarters, he added, "I'll do it tomorrow."

Soundwave stared at the usually unflappable leader of the Combaticons. He wasn't sure what he was looking for from Onslaught, but he did need elaboration. He wasn't entirely sure Onslaught could provide. "Sure."

"That's it?" Blast-Off asked in disbelief. Soundwave stared at him, every processing chip saying Don't tempt me. "You're letting us off the hook just like that?" Brawl elbowed him, making the two bicker in whispered outbursts for a moment. Somehow, they argued even quieter when Vortex mumbled incoherently.

Creeping behind them, Onslaught knocked their helms together, catching Swindle and Vortex as his teammates fell. "We're going to go clean up. Thank you, Soundwave," he said with emphasis on the last part. It was slightly sarcastic, but Soundwave wasn't the type to be offended easily. (Hurt his cassettes? Or Megatron? That was another story.) Onslaught hefted one of his teammates onto his shoulder, while the other hung loosely draped over his arm. Brawl and Vortex trudged behind him, dazed and scowling at each other.

When they left, Soundwave glanced down at the datapad. He focused on the contents of the mission. Onslaught was usually straightforward with his reports.

----Mardi Gras parade. Energon poisoning. Attempted blackmail. Attempted murder of teammates. Attempted murder of attempted blackmailers. Request for week off to rest as they were attacked by humans in costumes, painters, and children using bead necklaces as slingshots.----

This...this sorry excuse for a report lent no real explanation to the situation.

(Soundwave gave himself hope. This was a draft. It was only a draft.)

With a long-suffering sigh, he leaned against the wall and slid down till he was sitting. He pulled his legs to his chest and shuddered. He had earned this. He could dramatically sigh and weep for his slowly dying sanity, patience, and trust in his fellow Decepticons.

Even so-

Why was he even surprised?

Chapter Text

This wasn't what any of them signed up for. For one, none of them had signed up for this job. It was forced on them and looked down upon, despite its importance. (Sentinel had thought it was a punishment. For Optimus, it was a vacation away from his pompous, lying aft.) And two: they had expected broken spacebridges, possibly space creatures, and more rarely, a lone Decepticon or two.

They didn't expect the Decepticon warship, the Nemesis, to be what they encountered in space. (Take that, Sentinel. There are Decepticons.)

His team, untrained and inexperienced as they were, had put up a good fight. But there was a reason the Decepticons were feared.

Bumblebee and Ratchet were already unconscious, having been thrown into the crates of the storage room. Prowl was thrown into Bulkhead and was dazed. Optimus rushed to block the fist aimed at the ninjabot, only to be caught and pinned to the wall while Megatron activated his cannon.

Thankfully, that wasn't Prowl. He was actually in the rafters and threw three shuriken, distracting Megatron, who was flung across the room. Buklhead's mace lay on the Decepticon warlord's back.

"Good work, Bulkhead," Optimus said. He straightened only to hunch over in pain. His good mood was abruptly gone when Megatron grabbed the mace and hurled it at Bulkhead. Prowl hissed in sympathy and dodged a few blasts from the Decepticon's cannon.

Optimus threw his axe at Megatron who sidestepped and lunged forward, arm poised to strike.

He braced himself, holding up his arms, only to be hit against the wall. His vision staticed before blacking out, barely registering Prowl's concerned shout.

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"Yeah...this situation can't get any worse than it already has," a voice said with a very dry, done tone.

"Can't you keep your big mouth shut?" was the hissed response.

A cheeky, "No," from someone to Optimus' left was the reply. Bumblebee squawked and indignantly protested otherwise. Further proving his teammates' point.

It was almost a reassurance that he woke up to arguing. The voices were familiar (Bumblebee and Prowl). While not a pleasant way to wake up, it let him know that at least two of his teammates were alive. He offlined his optics, humming at the pleasantly dimmed lighting.

"Boss-bot's awake," announced Bulkhead. Make that three. He turned his head and sighed in relief when he realized all of his teammates were accounted for. Ratchet was shaking his head as he

"Morning, boss-bot," Bumblebee greeted, pausing his and Prowl's argument. Prowl nodded at him before returning his attention to Bumblebee. "What? Scraplets, space barnacles, energon loss, realizing the Elite guard isn't coming for us? How could this situation get worse? Let's see Unicron pop up next."

Prowl took a deep, long, seething breath. One that indicated he was close to strangling Bumblebee. With a very thin veneer of forced calmness, he said slowly, "We have been captured by Decepticons."

Placing his hands on his hips, Bumblebee said, "It could be worse. You'd rather be eaten by scraplets than a Decepticon?"

"Bumblebee," Optimus began tiredly. "I'd rather not be eaten at all." He received various responses of agreement. "Where are we?"

"The Nemesis," Ratchet answered. He sighed wistfully. "It's making me wish for the good ole days when I could drink to my spark's content and no one would think twice about a drunk, decrepit bot."

"But isn't drinking bad for you?" Bulkhead asked. Ratchet shrugged. "But that's what you said...?"

Leaning forward, Bumblebee said gently, "Ratch is senile, Bulky. Give him some grace." He yelped when Ratchet slapped him on the back of the head. "OWww! Well, it's the truth, you old coot!"

"I ain't that old!" Ratchet replied. "With how much I use my processor, I'll live longer than you." He lightly hit the minibot a few more times. Bumblebee pouted and scooted behind Optimus.

"SILENCE!"

They fell silent, but only to send the big, bulky Decepticon an unimpressed look. The three youngest turned back to each other, squabbling quietly.

"Enough!" a big, bulky Decepticon yelled. "Our glorious leader Lord Megatron does not care for your petty squabbles! He is far above mortal arguments!" He gestured to the door. "Behold! Our magnificent leader Megatron approaches."

"Lugnut, jou're being quite loud," a very annoyed mech sitting on the stairs said. He had a thick, unexplainable accent.

Lugnut threw his hands in the hair. "What does it matter, Blitzwing! He deserves it!" He continued. "Kiss the very ground he walks on! Fall to his knees in worship!"

Bumblebee's confused expression twisted into disgust. "No. I don't think I will." At Lugnut's glare, he added quickly, "You don't know what's been on the floor. So I don't want to get sick."

"Plus," Prowl said, turning Lugnut's attention towards him. He motioned to himself and his teammates. "We are already on our knees."

Lugnut hummed, narrowing his optic. "You have a point." Then the door opened. "My magnificent leader, I-" he paused. "Oh, Starscream. It's just you." Starscream scowled. Another door opened, "Lord Megatron-"

"Can it, cyclops," she deadpanned, raising a servo sharply. "What's going on? He's driving me mad." She asked, placing a hand on her hip as she turned to Blitzwing.

Blitzwing leaned forward, pointing with one finger to them. "Ve captured Autobots." Her eyes drifted towards where his focus was. Her eyes landed on Optimus. Her fangs bared into a snarl.

"Joy."

The door opened.

The Decepticons stood, straightening. (Ironically, Lugnut did not go into his speeches and praises about Megatron's gloriousness and might.) The Autobots turned to see the not-so-mythical leader of the Decepticons, lord Megatron.

Optimus temporarily offlined his optics. Then sighed. When he opened them again, Megatron was wearing a menacing, dark smile. When Optimus only shook his head with an annoyed huff, the smile fell.

"Do you not fear me, Autobot?"

There was only one response necessary. Optimus used his most done tone of voice, not even sure if he was actually responding to the warlord.

"It could be worse."

Chapter Text

When Bumblebee flicked the light on in his room, he wasn't surprised by the sight of his amica in the room. If it were anyone else, he would have been creeped out, buuut--this was his amica. His dear amica, who hoarded energon, kept blasters in secret wall and floor panels, and had an alarm system that was directly linked to his HUD.

His dear amica, Starscream.

Rolling his optics, he stepped inside, letting the door close and lock behind him. "Do you make it a habit to dig through people's things?" Bumblebee asked. Starscream had barely reacted to his presence and instead waved him off. He was searching for something underneath Bumblebee's berth.

He did hope nothing happened or had been said to set this off.

"I'm only trying to protect you," Starscream said. There was no guilt in his voice, but there was an annoying know-it-all tone. He pushed himself up and off the floor, brushing the dirt off his frame. With a smooth turn to face him, he bowed slightly to meet his optics with an infuriating smile. "You're so well-liked that those who hate you have such good reasons to."

Bumblebee snorted and tapped Starscream's chest with his cane. "May I remind you that you have the opposite dilemma?" His amica huffed, sulking. That was a 'no'. His smile grew fond. Setting his cane down, he asked in his third-most gentle voice, "So hated that those who love you have such good reasons to?" He reached out to grip Starscream's elbow. Squeezing, he continued, "What happened today?"

"Nothing."

"You're lying is getting worse," he lilted.

"It's because I'm around you all the time," Starscream retorted. A grin reappeared on his face at Bumblebee's pout. "Oh, don't be like that, Goldenrod. You're a much better liar than Optimus," he said, tapping Bee's nose. As expected, his wings hiked up in glee at Bumblebee's incredulous expression.

He waved his servos wildly through the air as he cried out, "That's a horrible, horrible comparison. Remember-?" He watched as Starscream covered his mouth, shoulders shaking. "You're such a jerk," he mumbled, pivoting to go and sit on his berth, resting his cane against the nightstand. His amica shrugged, a few hitches of laughter as he said,

"You knew what you were getting into."

Flopping onto the berth, he waved his servo absently. "Just get back to the room inspection." So what? He didn't want to admit Starscream was right. "So long as you don't rip apart my room, have at it."

Starscream perked up and began pressing his audio receptor to the wall.

"The Ark is surrounded by rock and an inactive volcano," Bumblebee drawled. "I highly doubt anyone could dig through." He could already hear the snarky remark coming as soon as Starscream opened his mouth. "And we would definitely know. Ark's a sweetheart, but he overshares and tells Red Alert -or well, any Autobot who would listen- everything."

His amica hummed in interest at that. Bumblebee sighed. "Starscream, for your sake, please do not attempt to manipulate Ark for your own gain," he said. At Starscream's questioning look, he added, "Pretty much every Autobot here would destroy you."

"Ugh," Starscream rolled his optics. "When I was a Decepticon, we never bothered with sentimental protection. You Autobots get attached too quickly." Bee's response was only a hum. "What's that supposed to mean, Goldenrod?" More defensive than usual, entirely Starscream.

"You like our sentimental protection," Bumblebee pointed out. He hooked his pede onto the end of the berth and pulled him to sit up. His amica was glaring at him. "Don't deny it. You absolutely adored it when Windblade threatened that ambassador on your behalf," he said. He was about to tease, but...nah. Starscream would easily get flustered by that.

"Well," he floundered for his words. "Who wouldn't? People like Windblade." He held his servos out. "It's nice to know that someone like Windblade would fight for you."

Resting his elbow on his knee, then his cheek on his servo, Bumblebee nodded. "Yeah. She's a good person." He studied Starscream for a moment longer. "Do you hang out with her in hopes that her kindness will rub off on you?"

The seeker's wings stiffened. Then he sighed. "No. Okay, well, maybe a little. You're a little broken." He shifted, glancing at Bumblebee. "I hope you don't mind me saying that. I know how you get."

His frame did press against him a little tighter when Starscream said that. It wasn't stated out of malice, but still. Bumblebee restarted his ventilation system. "It's fine," he mumbled, averting Starscream's gaze. "You're not wrong."

Starscream grunted. "Eugh. I knew I shouldn't have said that. Now you'll be in a bad mood." He slid against the berth down to the ground.

Crawling forward, Bumblebee leaned over to look Starscream in the optics. "Why did you come here, Star?" Why would his amica be worried about him being in a bad...ohhh. He glanced at the door, trying not to smile in amusement. He'd let his amica squirm a bit more.

"I had a question," he said slowly. He met Bumblebee's eyes expectantly, but he only waited. Starscream scowled, realizing. "Fine," he gritted out. "I want to sleep in your room."

"Why don't you reword that?"

"Oh my dearest, sweetest golden Bumblebee, could you please grant me the honor of resting in your quarters tonight?"

Bumblebee stared at him unimpressed, making Starscream bite his lip to hold back his laughter. When he calmed, he turned around to pull a moving Bumblebee back to him. "Come on. I'm only teasing. I'll be serious about this," he promised. It took him a moment, but Bumblebee turned back to him. "Can you let me sleep in your room?"

"Ugh. Fine," he allowed, crossing his arms. "You can sleep in my room. Just for tonight, though. I'll help you..." he searched for the words, "Through whatever problems you're having with your room tomorrow." Patting his amica's shoulder, he lay back on the bed.

"Rumble and Frenzy pranked me!"

"Oh, the horror."

Starscream swatted his arm. "It was!" he insisted. "There was this horrible, sticky cream, and even worse was the pink sparkly stuff I woke up with this morning. I couldn't even get it off. I'm absolutely certain I'll be blackmailed in the future."

All of a sudden, Bumblebee felt sorry for him. He winced. "The twins used glitter and shaving cream? They should be sent to the stockades. I'll help you clean your room tomorrow."

Starscream shot him a smile, but just as quickly it fell. He twisted around to face him, propping himself up on the berth with a suspicious look. "How'd you know?"

Turning onto his side, Bumblebee propped his head on his servo, raising an optic ridge. "You think the Autobots didn't prank each other?" He pointed at Starscream. "We were just as dysfunctional as you guys."

His amica thought about that for a moment, then he nodded in agreement. "True." Pushing himself up, he suddenly announced, "I'm going to finish digging through your things." Realizing what that sounded like (he had caught Bumblebee's eyebrow raise), he added defensively, "For bombs or..." his voice turned murderously low, "Prank devices..." Then his tone turned relatively cheerful again. "You really should take better care of yourself. People might be after you, my dear."

"My stuff being dug through," Bumblebee said with a slow whir of his vocalizer. "At this time of night?"

Starscream's wing twitched, amused. "Is that your main concern, Goldenrod?" He was playing around with...whatever knick-knacks Bumblebee had found on Earth and decided to keep. "Fret not. I will be quiet. You can sleep easy."

"Can you?"

His response was a brief silence, then a quiet, "I'll sleep in a little bit." Bumblebee smiled at him, though Starscream had shifted towards his desk, rifling through his drawer.

"You better."

Chapter Text

The middle of the night, he knows, is the best time for sneaking around. Bumblebee knows that personally from first-hand and second-hand experience.

When he's woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of footsteps, mechanical, muffled, he shoots up, servo already transforming before he thinks better of it. The only reason he calms is the soft whirrs of his students, still sleeping, none the wiser to his apprehension or the possible intruder. (His processor supplies that 'possible' will turn to 'definitely', and it's impossible to tell if that's instinct or anxiety.)

There's no easy, silent way to leave the barn. So when the mech's footsteps sound farther, Bumblebee steps out. Carefully, closing the door, he feels the dread return, only it's followed by an ease that's only come from millions of years of war. There will be a fight. His energon rushes into the proper systems. His subroutines began analyzing, encoding, and increasing his sensory input.

Earth is almost calming at this time of night. The air is cool, the leaves rustle with the wind, and sometimes it seems even the animals recognize that this period is for quiet.

Something whizzes in front of him, a rattling chain, with a bludgeoning weapon if the way it impacts the ground is any indication. It scratches his frame as it returns to the owner, but he grabs it and lets the mech pull him along with it.

Both of them brace for the impact, Bumblebee's pedes meet the mech's arms. He releases the chain and pushes himself, landing on his servos before flipping back onto solid ground in a crouch. The weapon whizzes past him with a chuckle, and he twists, nearly grazed.

Grabbing the chain once more, he stands and slams his pede onto the chain. Nothing more than a frustrated grunt comes out of the mech. (That worries him.) He tugs at the chain, and Bumblebee is sent sprawling to the ground with an (embarassing) yelp by the sheer force with which the chain returns.

The mech snickers. His servo transforms into something that definitely doesn't suit him. The whizz of an EMP generator is loud and nerve-racking. "Six bots?" asks the familiar voice. "My employers would be happy with just the five, but..."

Oh, Pit no

Before Bumblebee thinks too hard, he finds himself gripping the ground, bending his arm at the elbow as he pushes himself to kick out the mech's knee. (It's reinforced with a steel cap, but it buckles on the mech.) Both of them stand up pretty quickly, but he lunges first-

The next actions come easily to him.

(Grab the wrist, sidestep behind him, twist the arm, turn on your heel, bend, and throw him forward with the momentum developed.)

Bumblebee kicked him in the helm for good measure.

Most mechs would agree that Lockdown deserved it.

The knife comes out of his subspace easily, too. His fingers curl around the handle as he straddles the bounty hunter, locking his elbows with the bend of his legs and digging the heels of his pedes into the transformation seams. When the mech finally snaps out of his daze, his left optic (his only optic left) is staring at the glowing tip of his knife.

The bounty hunter, Lockdown, only chuckles. "Well, would ya look at that?" He pauses, vocalizer forced to reset when the knife presses against his optic. "Little bee's got a sting." His head lifts slightly, careful not to bare his neck. (Which is good, because Bumblebee knows the pain receptors of the neck better than anyone.)

Carefully, Bumblebee asks, "What do you want with the kids?" The words sound forced even to his receptors. And he doesn't know why. Lockdown raises an optic ridge. "Also, who're your employers?"

"You think I would be a great bounty hunter if I told the details of my work that easily?" is the response. Lockdown chuckles. "You're either getting stupider or more naive. I don't think I can tell."

Reading Lockdown is near impossible. His only goals are money and honor; beyond that, he's an enigma. Only a few people understand him so easily: Arcee, Prowl, and Ratchet.

His servos tremble before he stills them. Lockdown is struggling underneath him. Bumblebee slams his head into the ground. The mech chokes at the blow. He hears the lull of his ventilation system before it starts again.

"You changed," the bounty hunter notes with a strained tone. His optic flickers in confusion, or he's dazed.

"I have people to protect, Lockdown. Aka? Those kids you're trying to capture," his voice is low, no-nonsense. "They're sleeping by the way and need their rest. Just had to deal with saving the world again and all that." (His knife trails to where Bumblebee can see the pattern of a stolen hardwire set. His mouth pulls into a grin as he presses his knife against it. "So if you could keep your screams to a minimum, that'd be great. I really don't want to have to tear out your voice box."

"Wait, slag, wha-"

"Speaking from experience," Bumblebee continued as if he hadn't said a word, "That hurts like the Pit." He only meant to pause. "And I still need you to give me information. So tell me whenever you're ready," he said, beginning to cut a long line into the helm. A surface wound, non-fatal, but enough to send the hardwire set glitching, drawing static from Lockdown's vocalizer.

He's able to ignore the frantic, pained protests of the bounty hunter, but not the frenzied messages that appear in his HUD.

"Lucky you," he says. He reads them. "The Autobots are on their way." He sends a quick text to Alex and Dorothy, alerting them to their arrival. "Why don't you start praying that they arrive soon?"

Lockdown digs his pedes into the ground as Bumblebee taps the knife to his optic, making a high-pitched clinking sound. His voice went softer, lower. (Oh, he recognizes this feeling. Spike, Chip, Carly. He would have killed anyone in defense of them.)

"Because, by the time I'll be done with you, you might not have anything left of you to be stolen."

Chapter Text

"This is not what I thought I was signing up for!"

Sentinel's outburst was ignored in favor of the Jettwins; inaction in even trying to complete their exercise.

"Jetfire, Jetstorm, I must insist on you at the very least trying to save Sentinel in this exercise."

The twins pouted. Jetstorm said, "But Perceptor, Sentinel Prime does not want us to save him. He said he does not need saving." His brother, Jetfire, nodded in agreement. "And you told us you cannot save someone who does not want to be saved."

Perceptor studied them for a moment. Then he nodded in agreement, much to Sentinel Prime's (ignored) distress. "True. The Prime should not need saving. Wheeljack?" He turned to his associate, who perked up. "Could you go fetch us some willing participants for the twins to save?"

Wheeljack saluted. "Sure thing, Percy," he said excitedly. Ignoring the 'Please don't call me that', he transformed and raced out of the room. Jetfire and Jetstorm 'oohed' at the speed.

"Help me down from here, twins or so help me-!"

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"Oh, no. Ohnonononono! Wegottahidewegottahidewegottahi-mmph!" Blurr's mouth was clamped down by Hardhead's hand, who gave him an unimpressed stare. "Sorry," he muffled out.

"You all know the drill," Kup announced with a sharp wave of his fist. "Hide. That mad coot will leave eventually." The other, more experienced with Wheeljack Autobots, followed the orders and hid or ran away.

"Aren't you also a mad coot, old timer?" Rodimus asked, peeking out from his hiding spot behind some crates. He ducked his head to hide a laugh at Kup's disappointed head shake.

"Please," Kup popped the 'p'. "I may not have as much processing power as I used to, but I have more common sense than you or that madmech." He slid into a room with Pipes and Huffer. "Keep your mouths shut. Legally speaking, he can't drag us into whatever experiment he and Perceptor've got going."

Huffer snarked, brilliantly perceptive, "You say that like Wheeljack and Perceptor actually do legal things." Kup chuckled.

Mirage walked in, saw their (remarkably) bad hiding spots, then turned invisible and walked on through, leaving behind only a floating datapad as an indication of his appearance.

"Lucky mech," Sunstreaker piped up jealously. Tracks nodded in agreement.

"Indeed, he truly never has a bad wax day," Tracks sighed.

A few more bots came in and, seeing that most of the hiding spots were taken, clamored into the room offered by Kup, who hissed, "Hide."

"Softie," Rodimus whispered to Ironhide, who hid a laugh before sobering, pretending to be a statue.

There was a transforming sound and a very familiar set of food steps. "Hey, guys," greeted a raspy voice. "Listen, I know what you're all thinking. 'This guy's a mad, crazy, eccentric mech if he thinks he's about to drag one of us to one of his experiments.'" Wheeljack was absolutely right.

There was a long, dramatic pause.

"Well, you, my friends, are wrong," the mad scientist said jovially. "Because I'm about to ask for two lucky mechs to come help with the Jettwins' exercise." He walked around, turning to mark where some of them were. "You know, just in case our first participant gets injured."

How encouraging.

"Any takers?"

Nobody responded.

"Oh, come on, guys, it's completely safe," Wheeljack insisted. "Think about it. It's just a rescue simulation. The guy who was captured is being hung over a pit of spinning blades that can grind your plating into scrap metal. But," he said, holding up a finger. "It's all a simulation."

"You really need to work on your marketing skills," Mirage said.

Wheeljack sighed. "I know..."

The door opened.

"Brawn! Just the mech I wanted to see," the mad scientist greeted.

"Brawn, get outta here!" Rodimus yelled. He shifted out of his hiding spot and pointed at Wheeljack. "It's an experiment."

At that, Brawn turned and ran. "Not today, Unicron!"

Wheeljack chased after him. "It's an exercise! Not an experiment!" The door closed behind them, and he yelled, "WHOoo! In the name of science!"

A few minutes later, there was a loud clang followed by Brawn's yell and screams of "HELP! HEEEEELLLP!!!"

Huffer piped up, "It's okay. I have his last will and testament."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Perceptor glanced between the two. Then he nodded. "Excellent work, Wheeljack. Brawn, if you take your place above the pit of spinning blades that could possibly grind you into scrap metal?"

"The what!?"

Chapter Text

Like something out of one of those clichéd Earth movies, it was raining, and Rodimus was disturbed by a knock on his door.

He groaned, making sure the knocker was aware of his irritation at being bothered. Forcing himself to get up, he stalked to the door and unlocked it. No one met him at eye level, so that meant he should look down.

Goldbug.

"What do you want?" He demanded, voice hoarse. Goldbug's visor flickered, disbelieving. He scoffed and reset his vocalizer with a satisfying clink.

"My knee needs to be replaced," he said quietly. Shifting to his left side, the damage was obvious now. A large dent was visible in the knee hinge, with some wires clearly frayed from their overextension in response to pain warnings. The dent was bent inward, a specialty move of Jazz's.

Rodimus wrinkled his face in distaste. About to close the door, he snorted and said, "Go see Ratchet." The doors slid to close, only to open again with a beep, signaling an obstruction. He crossed his arms, glaring at Goldbug.

Goldbug removed his pede from the door's path. Crossing his arms, his visor brightened in amusement, turning the blue into a light green. "Do you really believe I'm that crazy?" asked Goldbug. There were very few bots that could claim that.

"What about Cliffjumper?" Rodimus deadpanned. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking his room's entrance. Surprisingly, (or perhaps it wasn't), Goldbug's amusement disappeared in an instant.

"Dead." After a moment, he added absently. (Rodimus could almost imagine the gold optics flitting to the side to avert people's gazes.) "Optronix's throne room, right side, fifth pod, turned 38 degrees to catch the light of the Decepticons' observatory. It's a nice view in the morning."

The words were said with such a conversational, cheery tone that Rodimus was almost convinced that Goldbug was unaffected by his brother's death and macabre display. Almost. But Goldbug barely spoke, and he rarely spoke with such a friendly tone.

"I see," Rodimus finally said. Already regretting his response, he glanced out into the hallway, turning his helm left then right, repeating. Then he sighed and stepped aside with a smooth heel turn. "Fine."

"That was easier than I thought it'd be," Goldbug murmured. He limped in, grabbing the doorframe for support, before using it to push himself further into the room. Stumbling to the floor, he let out a quiet hum of relief. He stretched out his leg and leaned back.

Rodimus closed and locked the door. Pushing Goldbug out of the way with his foot, he moved the tarp, opened a secret compartment, and pulled out a med kit. Goldbug flipped up his visor, optics whirring in surprise.

"Don't say a word," he hissed, holding a digit to his mouth. "You're not the only crazy prepared mech here." Unlatching it, he flicked it open as he grabbed Goldbug's leg. "What'd you do anyway?"

"Nothing," Goldbug said. After a moment's silence, he added, "Nothing I know of anyway." He dug a relatively unharmed knee joint out of his subspace. "Cliffjumper was killed for being a Decepticon sympathizer."

Rodimus took it and set it aside. "Not surprised, honestly. Optronix was suspicious of him when we captured Knock Out. Apparently, the two got all buddy-buddy with each other." Goldbug made a quiet hum, evidently neutral on the matter. Unscrewing the leg from the knee down, he winced at the damage. "How were you not screaming?"

"The feeling in that leg is almost gone," Goldbug replied. Avoiding Rodimus' gaze, he began replacing the wires in his leg so they could reconnect to his knee. "Fix-It said he'd look into it. Cost me half my credits just for a diagnosis, though."

"That's not too bad."

"Yeah, I can't believe he gave me a discount."

"Right," Rodimus agreed, distracted by the spark in Goldbug's knee. He sighed. "You owe me big time for this," he muttered in frustration as he pulled out a spare circuit board he had.

A nod was his answer. (Goldbug was from the streets and understood give-and-take.) "I'll replace the parts on my next scouting mission. Anything else you want?"

Sliding the cracked circuit board out, he flicked it into his med kit before slipping the whole one in. "Wax and polish. The good stuff." Goldbug groaned and fell backwards. Rodimus chuckled quietly. "No skimping out either."

"Screw you," was the answer. "You're killing me here."

Rodimus grinned shamelessly. "I wish. I wouldn't have to repair you nearly as often." Goldbug kicked him with his good leg in response to that comment. He was handed the rest of the minibot's leg, which he placed aside, and prepped the knee hinge. "Whose is this anyway?"

"Cliffjumper's."

"Oh."

With narrowed optics, Rodimus situated the pieces together and began welding and screwing the leg back together. "Nothing feels off?"

"No," said Goldbug. "But...you're asking the wrong person." He propped himself up on his elbows, watching with a dimmed visor. Rodimus let out an agitated huff. Goldbug let his head fall back with a strained chuckle.

Rodimus dropped Goldbug's leg onto the ground, awaiting a wince, but none came. "There. Done," he said awkwardly and shoved the kit back into the secret compartment. "How does it feel?"

"I can't feel a thing," was the deadpan response. Goldbug shifted his leg, but didn't move it further. When Rodimus stared at him, he murmured, "I can't move it either."

"Joy," was Rodimus' own deadpan response. "You're sleeping in here tonight. That way, your screams don't wake me up from my beauty sleep." Goldbug's vocalizer hummed in that it did when he had a snarky remark in his vocalizer. He stood clicking off the light. "Try not to scream in your recharge."

"Wow, I didn't even have to try to persuade you. But same regards to you."

"Don't push it, bug."

Chapter Text

"It's over."

Ironhide found himself kneeling beside his leader, squeezing his servo tightly. It was cold, grey, lifeless. Someone (Spike, he was sure, it was too human a cry) was in the background, was sobbing. He shuttered his optics, wishing to the Primes that he could comfort the mourner. But he couldn't move his optics away from his leader, could barely force his legs to even shift.

"It is," Prowl said. He didn't look at the Decepticon who said it, but rather Optimus' prone body. Kneeling, he let out a small, shaky breath, his frame shivering. With his free servo, Ironhide pulled Prowl into a side hug. "It's over," he murmured again.

Jazz knelt beside them both, burying his face into Prowl's back as his servos rested on their shoulders. "What do we do now?" he asked. There was certainly sorrow in his tone, but Jazz knew it was a necessary question.

"A truce."

The silence was overwhelming.

"Soundwave?" was the confused, uncertain response.

The communications officer was silent for a moment. Ravage curled around his neck, red optics dimming, before leaping, landing next to Rumble. Finally, Soundwave began, "Statement: war is no longer between ideals, but was between two leaders. Cybertron is tired. Earth is tired. Let us rest."

"I second that," said Starscream. He even raised his hand. Turning to them (the first time he had forced his optics from Megatron's corpse), he said, "Anyone object?" A few Decepticons and Autobots raised their servos. "Put your hands down," he ordered absently, "You people just want to crack an optic for whoever scratched your paint jobs." Nobody denied it, awkwardly lowering their hands.

"Agreed," Prowl spoke up. He moved to stand, then decided against it, settling further against Ironhide. "We need to start peace talks, command reorganization, repairs, funerals..." Jazz gently covered his mouth. Prowl looked away, falling silent. It wasn't the right time.

Shifting awkwardly, Ironhide said, "I don't believe any of us are in the right state of mind to start peace talks."

Starscream lowered himself to sit down. Pulling his leg to his chest, he asked wryly, "Will we ever be?" Thundercracker crouched behind him, one knee resting in the pool of energon that once flowed through Megatron's circuitry. "This war should have ended a long time ago." He leaned against Thundercracker, head dropping back as he whispered something into Thundercracker's audio receptor.

"It's over now," Ratchet emphasized gently. He nudged Starscream's leg. "I imagine that's more than we ever thought would happen." He straightened, his optics drifting to Optimus' body. It was hard not to look at an old friend.

"We need to reorganize ourselves," Prowl said. Several Autobots glowered at him. Though he ignored the glares and glanced at Jazz. "We need to grant Optimus the funeral he wished for. I suspect Ironhide or Ratchet knows." Jazz squeezed his shoulder, chancing a glance at the two bots who nodded. The other Autobots calmed and nodded. "And...I suspect, like the Decepticons, we need to reorganize the chain of command."

"We do," Starscream murmured. Sitting up, he looked up at Soundwave. "I suppose you're the leader now?" Soundwave shrugged. "Oh, well, you're not nearly as fun as Megatron." Thundercracker's digits dug into his side in warning. "Ow! Okay, fine," he shuddered, pouting. "I'll be good," he insisted to Thundercracker's frown.

Soudwave sighed. "We will do so. Later," he said. To his allies, present and potential, he said, "I am tired. Ceasefire starts now?" To no one's surprise, nobody argued.

War was exhausting, but for them, at least it was over.

Chapter Text

"It feels like an era is gone."

The Ark had already started feeling empty. The crew had started transferring to Autobot City or back to Cybertron. And someone would be forced to mention that half of the original Earth crew was in the Well of the AllSpark. (May their sparks rest in peace.)

Now it was gone. And it would remain in ruins and rubble until they gathered the strength to clear it out and pull their dear ship out to bring it to Cybertron, their true home. But the Ark was their home, just as much as Cybertron was. (This was where they had spent who knew how many years wrestling, arguing, drinking, watching soap operas.)

"An era is gone, Bee," Powerglide stated wearily. It was nothing like his usual pizazz. No one blamed him. The words still hurt.

All those years, all those halls and memories of scorchmarks from target practice or dents from fights with the Dinobots, or the remnants of pranks like paint and glitter...they were gone.

Bumblebee had broken the silence that had formed when they first arrived. It returned, only heavier than the first silence. The yellow minibot lowered himself to the ground. Pulling his legs to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them and rested his head on his knees. Beachcomber followed, resting a hand on Bumblebee's back, rubbing gentle circles. "It feels wrong."

"It does," Powerglide admitted. Feeling a little guilty, he knelt down, folding his wings back as he decided to stretch his legs, resting his head on a rock. He held out a hand, snorting when Bumblebee managed to intertwine both his and Beachcomber's with Powerglide's.

"I miss it already," Seaspray said. After a moment, he hummed softly before saying, "I miss-" he cut himself off. "It will be okay, though," he murmured instead. When nobody responded, he added, somehow even more quietly, "It just might take a while."

Slinging a heavy arm around his fellow minibot, Warpath pulled him into a tight side hug. "Good thing we've got millions of years ahead of us! BLAM!" Seaspray nodded, still saddened.

"Doesn't mean it won't hurt, though," Beachcomber spoke up. Those were his first words since they got here. "It's...it's going to hurt for a while." Unconsciously, he squeezed the hands of his friends, tightly enough for it to feel clunky and uncomfortable. He didn't seem to be in the present at the moment. Powerglide sat up, casting a concerned look before recognizing it as Beachcomber's dazed gaze. (Though, this time it wasn't from his usual "activities".)

Bumblebee squeezed back. "Yeah, but we have each other, don't we?"

"Course-ZING- we do," Warpath replied with a hint of his usual eagerness, giving him a thumbs-up.

"It's not like anybody else would understand," a familiar, quiet, soothing voice said.

They whirled around. Their mournful mood alleviated, if just for a little bit.

"Cosmos!" Bumblebee cheered. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling when Beachcomber and Powerglide tugged him back down, without meaning to. They attempted to untangle their hands, but Cosmos was already there, giving him and those others who offered a hug in greeting. "You made it," Bumblebee said excitedly. "When did you get here?"

"An hour ago," he replied, his tone apologetic. "I had to debrief." They nodded in understanding. Those were the worst.

"But you're here -KAPOW- now!" Warpath declared and squeezed his shoulder heartily. "Staying awhile?" Cosmos nodded, moving to sit next to Powerglide.

"Good, we could use the company."

Chapter Text

The middle of the night, Prowl finds, is Lockdown's prime time to complete his jobs. Before the war, he could remember finding the remains of bots, their mods stolen, or nothing left of them entirely. The latter group haunts him more than any death in the war. (At least he knows what happened to his fellow soldiers.)

The movements come easily to him, rushed by a rage that's been simmering for far too long. Or maybe it's loneliness and heartbreak, or insecurity. Either way, it's easy to dig his bare digits into the transformation seams of Lockdown's armor, twist until they're forced to bend. The curved bend of the metal makes it easier to pull it off and drop it to the side. The joints were the first to go.

In the quietness of the Malto property, Prowl fears the worst. He's tense and hunched over in a way that will make his shoulder struts stiff, come the morning. All of his processor is working through the simulations, designed after everything he knows about Lockdown. He's dangerous, and when he's around, situations tend to become more prone to death. He has to force away the more morbid results, dismiss them from his processor, which claims that he will find only the remains of what used to be the Maltos and Bumblebee.

There's only so much he can do in fifteen minutes, Bumblebee absently thinks as he begins tearing the wires apart with his bare digits. The metal of the wire is rapidly overheating, leaving behind scorch marks. The individual copper seethes as it's peeled apart, making Lockdown dig his pedes into the ground and clamp his voice box off himself. Good, saved Bumblebee the trouble of doing it himself.

The rest of the Autobots arrive on the scene moments later. Prowl admits he may have sped ahead just at the mention of Lockdown. (They have a history, somehow just as messy as his one with Tarantulas.)

"None of the Maltos are awake," Megatron notes quietly. Prowl sighs in relief at that. Wheeljack reaches to squeeze his elbow, and he allows it, needing the comfort. "They're alive is what I'm saying."

"There was a fight," Arcee calls out. She's kneeling down, her servos gently running over some scuffs in the ground. 'Scuffs' is an understatement; the scratches in the ground are deep and messy, with some roots sticking out. The ground is full of dents and holes. There was a fight.

Prowl runs past her and looks around, analyzing. The scenarios are more hopeful now. (Bumblebee and Lockdown are both knocked out, Bumblebee is being held hostage...) He scowls, dismissing the scenarios as he turns his optics away from the barn to survey the area. Any sign of Bumblebee.

This whole...torture session should scare him. He's behaving no better than Lockdown or Swindle, or even Mandroid. At least he's not stealing the parts he's tearing off. It's not as if he enjoys torturing people. It's just, if this mech were anyone else, he would feel the slightest bit of pity. But this is the same mech who hurt Ratchet, Prowl, Drift, and many, many more people that Bumblebee cared about.

Arcee stands, straightening. Clicking her vocalizer, she narrowed her optics afar off. "I think I see him. He's not too far away." At her words, he sprints forward. "Prowl!" A few seconds later, she's right behind him. He nearly trips over a hole, one that was obviously formed by Lockdown's hook, but he runs on and finally finds them.

Prowl skids to a stop. It took him a moment to even realize the true situation, his focus on Bumblebee. He lunges, wrapping his arms around Bumblebee. Oh. Oh. He had been worried. A few subroutines he had ignored were dismissed. He was worried.

Arcee gasps sharply. "Bumblebee..."

The way she says his name is in horror. Prowl pulls away from him and stares at him in confusion, then he notices Lockdown. Lockdown, who is trapped beneath Bumblebee, and now Prowl. The bounty hunter is dazed and in pain, barely conscious and aware. Bumblebee took off the pain dampeners in the first few minutes.

"Yeah," Bumblebee asks. The minbot answers with such casualness for the situation at hand. Guilty, not guilty. Prowl finds himself satisfied rather than horrified. There are two piles forming, one for Lockdown's armor, the other for various mod pieces that were stolen long ago. Lockdown really wasn't one for honor.

"Bumblebee..." Her voice trails off.

"What?" Bumblebee turned his optics away from the bounty hunter to Prowl. "He was after the kids," he said faintly. "I had to do something."

Prowl forces his optics away from Bumblebee's, glancing down at Lockdown. He twitched and whirred softly but made no further pained noises than that. "I suspected as much," Prowl admits with a sigh. "I'll have to put this in a report. It will be redacted, rest assured, but please don't make it a habit of doing this." Arcee scolds him softly. Then she stiffens in his peripheral vision.

Bumblebee must be quite the sight. His legs locked around Lockdown's now useless arm. What was once a struggle is now a bleeding, pained mess under him. Energon stains his servos, with one servo scratching at the exposed protoform. He doesn't smile, averting Optimus' gaze, which probably helps his leader's opinion of him.

"This is different," Optimus says faintly. The sight of his scout, who was known to be the friendliest and kindest mech, was on top of the remains of Lockdown. No, the mech was still alive, but still. "Bumblebee-"

The scout held up a hand to stop him. "Not right now, Optimus. Lockdown needs medical attention," he says. Lockdown startles at his voice, then sighs, surrendering, his voice box unclamping with a resounding clank. With Prowl's help, he slides off of Lockdown, his legs wobbly from the rigid position.

"You're soaked in energon," Megatron notes. He's glancing between Bumblebee and Lockdown, confusion and some fear rife on his faceplate. "Not yours, I suspect?" Bumblebee wordlessly shook his helm. Prowl sighs in relief, pulling him closer. He, with the help of Wheeljack, brings Bumblebee off to the side so Grimlock can better carry Lockdown. The Dinobot doesn't seem to have a personal opinion on the bounty hunter's fate. "That's good," Megatron says awkwardly.

Elita sighed and patted Optimus' arm. She held out her hand. "Come on, soldier. We'll take it from here. You need to get cleaned up. The Maltos shouldn't see you like this." Bumblebee reaches for her servo only to let it drop to his side. Exhaustion was taking hold of him. Prowl and Wheeljack kept him upright and on his pedes. Wheeljack seemed disturbed, but overall relieved by the outcome.

"Sure," he said. There didn't seem to be any joy that came out of the torture session, which was interesting, but not something Elita would question, feeling a sense of relief.

They didn't realize something about Bumblebee.

There wasn't enjoyment in the torture session because Bumblebee didn't torture for his own enjoyment, but for the safety of his students.

There was a big difference.

Chapter Text

Cybertron truly was beautiful.

The planet was scarred and bloodied and in ruins. There were marks of fights between factions, of acid and lasers that melted and scorched the surface they walked on. Whole rivers of energon had dried up, the remains of the poor sparks leaving behind scraps of metal and wires that needed to be pried out to clear the area. There was rubble, the remnants of wondrous architecture that was now nothing more than a monument. An example of what the war had brought upon Cybertron. The true recovery of Cybertron would be set back for years.

The war-torn beauty of Cybertron was akin to how painters found beauty in fires that burned down years of history, depicted it in orange supernovas and curved red outlines. How often had sculptors shaped stone and clay to twist faces with grief and hands that clutched hearts in pain? All to display a wound that would heal but scar. Or when rage was portrayed as its most utterly animalistic nightmare, eyes narrowed to slits and mouth in a snarl, with teeth bared, bloodied and sharp?

Sometimes, it feels as if artists are the most honest of ourselves.

So it was with Cybertron.

Cybertron had a strange beauty in its war and bloodshed. Desperation forced those unalike to join together and survive. Connections brought about tragedy and vengeance. Where before, people would have walked on, as bystanders to violence and torture, there was now cooperation and a purpose, a reason, to fight for those who couldn't defend themselves. Because death was in all of their hands, and they couldn't stand to see another innocent spark flicker and fade into oblivion.

What mustn't be forgotten is the beauty during life, during peace. They had nearly forgotten, as it had been so long ago.

People could walk the streets that glowed gold, their reflections and shadows no longer needing to be hidden. They could peer into shops through windows and laugh excitedly at new treats created. Stopping at the sound of music, they could clap along as someone danced.

Truly, we forget that there is beauty in life. How often have we forgotten the lines of laughter and the crinkling of eyes as we smile fondly in the direction of our friend? The wonder that can be seen when we look upon something marvelous? How dare we forget things that are so awe-inspiring.

During the war, survival had been the goal, not this living. No, living had been beyond their reach.

Now? The idea of peace, life, joy, maybe even love? It was within their reach. All they had to do was grasp it and ensure that it wasn't taken away from them as easily.

Hope lingered in the air, but people were still guarded, on their toes. Could anyone blame them? Years of betrayal, bloodshed, trauma, and misery, it could all come back with a wrong word, with one person just snuffing a spark out.

When the peace treaties were finally agreed upon, signed, and placed into motion, there was a shift in the air. The shift was quicker than any of them expected, not wanting to ruin this fragile peace that was slowly, ever so hesitantly blooming. But it was quickly becoming clear that a strange, wondrous, loving phenomenon was quickly overtaking Cybertron. The atmosphere was clearing, allowing the stars to shine on them once more.

With all that, they needed to begin rebuilding. People walked the streets for inspiration. It was possible now that there was little fear of being shot or betrayed. When people began building, they impressed upon each other and influenced each other through what they had seen throughout the war.

Barely hitting the first festival after Cybertron was revived and halfway rebuilt, the Wells reopened. It was as if Primus himself forgave them and gave them permission to live on and move on from this war and trauma that had settled into the frames and broken their processors.

Perhaps it was biased to say Cybertron was beautiful.

But when their world glowed, just as it once had thousands of millennia ago, was it truly a crime to say so?