Work Text:
Wheeljack’s presence in the dugout was a surprise if nothing else.
Bumblebee scrambled to prop himself up on the workbench the Terrans had set him on half a day ago, holding himself up as tall as he could. “Wheeljack!” He greeted as pleasantly as possible, trying not to fidget at the sight of the mechanic. “It’s so good to see you! What are you doing here?”
“What?” Wheeljack teased, optics sparkling with delight. “None of them told you I was coming?”
“No.” Bumblebee blinked at him. “Should they have? I haven’t been back for long, so if it slipped their processors– Oh, I think they’re actually with the cattle, about a league to the west.”
“They sure are,” Wheeljack said, setting down a metal tool case Bumblebee had noticed him carrying earlier, clicking it open to dig out a handful of supplies. “The Maltos are trying to keep them busy while I patch you up.”
Well, that was certainly… unexpected. The scout had been confident that Optimus wouldn’t be able to spare the bots to come and fix him after Bot Brawl. It was no different then all of the dozens of times he had gotten hurt while in hiding, after all. Bumblebee always made do. In fact, he had been so confident that he had not even reached out to request assistance for this. How had Wheeljack known?
Adjusting in his seat, Bumblebee wrapped an arm around his abdomen so he could feel the weld marks he had already done himself with his stinger. They were still holding steady, and would likely do so for another stellar-cycle before he had to redo them. “I hate that you came out here for nothing, Wheeljack, but there’s really no need. I already patched myself up.”
Wheeljack drew short, lifting his helm in order to level him with a rather suspicious looking squint. “Oh? Really?” He challenged.
“Yes.” Bumblebee said, wondering where that attitude was coming from. “I did a couple welds, made sure my wires are still connected, managed to patch together some fuel lines…”
“In that case, I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I took a look?” Wheeljack pressed, and hesitantly Bumblebee lifted an arm to gesture to the injury on his abdomen.
There was a particularly bad one hidden by his chassis plating, and another one beneath his forearm bracer. Although Bumblebee had attempted to fix the latter more thoroughly than simply stopping a leak, he still was unable to transform out his blaster.
Wheeljack tucked his servos along the welding lines, tapping digits against it and feeling the edges. Bumblebee held perfectly still, dentas clenched as pain stabbed through him, but despite himself he could feel his frame leaning into the touch, chasing after Wheeljack’s servos long after the mechanic turned away to stride back to the tool box.
“Welding like that impedes your flexibility.” Wheeljack announced, pulling the case back over to the workbench, pulling out a couple pieces of metal. “Maybe it’ll take a bit of blacksmithing, but I’ll have you patched up in no time.”
“Wheeljack…” Bumblebee began, startling when Wheeljack pulled out a scanner and jammed it towards his abdomen.
Wheeljack grabbed his shoulder to hold him steady, watching as the stream of blue light reflected back red. “Hmm,” Wheeljack said outloud, letting go.
Bumblebee nearly overbalanced as the touch disappeared, barely managing to stop himself from toppling off the berth at Wheeljack’s pedes like a particularly clumsy cyberpup.
“You said you did some interior work, too?” Wheeljack suspiciously glanced between the scanner and Bumblebee, shaking his helm before the scout had an opportunity to say a single word. “Well, either you did a poor job or you didn’t have the proper materials because wow, half of it is still slag. Don’t worry, that’ll be an easy fix, too.”
“Yeah, I… Yeah. Thanks.” Bumblebee nodded quietly, not daring to point out that there were so many more injuries Wheeljack had yet to find. The fact that Wheeljack was willing to repair even one should be enough for Bumblebee. It was more than Bumblebee would’ve expected from anyone, really.
And then Wheeljack looked up again, and his optics found the small weld on his neck, and his dermas pressed together firmly. “Hold on, Bumblebee. You didn’t tell me you were hurt in more places.”
“The…” Bumblebee could do nothing more than gesture at his own frame. “Wheeljack. If I told you everywhere I’ve been hurt, we’d be here for another half a joor. And if…” He trailed off, shaking his helm. He wasn’t going to point out how long it would take Wheeljack to even attempt fixing them, because he didn’t want the older mech to feel obligated.
Bumblebee was just lucky Wheeljack was willing to help him at all.
“Well, then, full body scan!” Wheeljack announced, pulling out his scanner to jab straight towards Bumblebee.
Bumblebee held up his servos in surrender, leaning back slightly. “Wheeljack, I’m serious. This is the worst of it.” He pointed down at his abdomen. “You don’t have to fix anything else.”
“I don’t “have to fix” even that,” Wheeljack snarked, and Bumblebee braced himself for the inevitability of Wheeljack giving up on him immediately. And then the mechanic continued, “But I will, because I care about you, and nothing you do can stop that.”
The tension undid itself from Bumblebee’s shoulders just as fast, and he paused to press his helm into his servos. “Oh,” he mumbled thickly as Wheeljack picked up the scanner again to start waving it over him. “Okay.”
“Arms out, Bumblebee.” Wheeljack advised, and the scout could do nothing but listen as Wheeljack scanned over every inch of him.
Wheeljack’s expression grew more tense the longer it went on, reaching out to start poking at him. “Some of these are old.” Wheeljack told him.
“Yeah, I know.” Bumblebee responded, wincing slightly to himself at how aggressive he sounded. “I mean… It's been a rough fifteen years. Gotten hurt plenty of times.”
Wheeljack’s jaw tightened just subtly enough that Bumblebee almost missed it. “I’m sorry,” Wheeljack said quietly. “I didn’t know.”
Bumblebee shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting you to. Optimus always said everyone was too busy. So I learned how to fix them myself. It’s basically just more advanced field repairs, right?”
Wheeljack pulled back the scanner with a shake of his helm. “No. It’s… complicated repairs. A lot tougher and more complex.” He reached up, pinching the space between his optics. “From what I can tell, you’ve already welded all of it before, but it’s broken and split apart at its seams multiple times. Each time it rips, it’s worse than the first time because the weld lines make it more brittle.”
“So I should stop doing stunts.” Bumblebee muttered, avoiding looking Wheeljack in the optics. “Got it.”
“No,” Wheeljack said, crossing the distance to set his servo on Bumblebee’s pauldron. Without meaning to, Bumblebee leaned into his touch. “Well, I mean, yes, but that won’t stop the bursts. It’ll get to the point where you move funny and they break. Vents get gummed up and they break. Get in a good morning stretch and they break. You get it?”
“Yeah.” Bumblebee agreed, optics flicking offline. “I do anything, and I end up needing to reweld.”
“Or, I repair them thoroughly now and you get to live without fear.” Wheeljack offered, waiting before Bumblebee looked back at him before gesturing backwards at his metal kit. “I might not have all the tools I need, but I sure can get a good start at it!”
Bumblebee almost wanted to cry at how nice Wheeljack was. He couldn’t believe that he was being repaired and fixed, without even being scoffed at for being a “bother” or even getting in trouble with him. He wanted to act like a kid, grabbing his arms and asking “Do you promise? Do you promise?” over and over again.
He didn’t think that’d set him up as being deserving of any of this, though, and he was long past being a little kid, anyway.
Activating a hover board to set them all on, Wheeljack began laying out his tools, setting them up perfectly in neat rows. Bumblebee had seen enough of Wheeljack’s lab to know the system would fall apart within a few kliks of Wheeljack starting the repair, but at least it started out nice. Bumblebee could appreciate a temporarily clean workstation.
“Could you turn off your pain receptors for me?” Wheeljack asked, mask sliding into place as he picked up a visor from the bag and clipped it securely over his optics. “I would like to avoid unnecessary harm, if you wouldn’t mind!”
“Right, of course,” Bumblebee agreed, rummaging through his files even as he agreed, finding the right setting in only a handful of nano-kliks. “Alright. Done.”
“Perfect!” Wheeljack praised, grabbing a scalpel as he took his place at Bumblebee’s side, carefully observing his abdomen. “Alright, give me a nano-klik to figure this out. I’m going to have to repair your plating and some parts. Might take a bit.”
“Okay.” Bumblebee agreed quietly. “Take your time.”
Wheeljack gave him a smile, and turned to start the work of picking at his plating. While nothing felt painful, Bumblebee could feel every tug of plating as Wheeljack slowly removed pieces of his plating little by little.
Bumblebee offlined his optics and let himself linger on the feeling of Wheeljack’s digits prodding him. After a while, it enveloped everything, and Bumblebee let himself be absorbed into it.
(:)
The Terrans came back home when Wheeljack was only on the third repair. They hung around for a while, unbothered by Bumblebee’s plating split open in a few places, just coming over to hug his helm quietly for a little while before filling up their cubes with cave water.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Jawbreaker said quietly to Bumblebee, digits twisting together before he headed to recharge. “Will you still be here tomorrow?”
“Still be here tomorrow,” Bumblebee promised. “Maybe even fully repaired!”
Jawbreaker’s smile was so bright, it was almost addictive.
(:)
When Wheeljack finally pulled away with a scoff, Bumblebee wasn’t expecting it at all. It was so sudden, leaving him and leaving him cold, that all he could do was blink at the mechanic in budding confusion.
Wheeljack pinched the space between his optics, groaning in exasperation. “For frag’s sake, Bumblebee–”
“–language, I don’t want the Terrans–”
“–why can’t you just hold still?!” Wheeljack finished, tumbling over Bumblebee’s own protests. He strangled the air for a nano-klik, frustration rolling off his field in waves, sharp like daggers.
His irritation was a suitable scolding, enough to feel like he was lancing the wound, and Bumblebee winced at the feeling, rotating his optics back to the ceiling. “Sorry,” he said out loud, looking back down at his servos. “I’m not trying to–”
“I know you’re not,” Wheeljack interrupted. “But you’ll have to do better to stop yourself. I thought you said you turned off your pain receptors!”
“I did.”
“Then why are you still moving?”
Bumblebee flinched again, slowly getting a servo underneath himself to push himself up to his knees again. Discomfort lurched through him, but he tried not to put too much strain on his plating. “I don’t know, Wheeljack. I don’t have this problem when it’s just me!”
Scraplets, that sounded too much like an accusation against the mechanic, even though Bumblebee hadn’t meant it like that. He sighed, offlining his optics to stew in his own discomfort for a nano-klik before onlining them again.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I just… I appreciate you trying.” Bumblebee reiterated. “But I’ve never been a good patient. I don’t know how Ratchet could stand me most days.”
Wheeljack watched him intently, not venting out a single word.
Emboldened, Bumblebee continued. “I’ll finish patching myself up. If you want to stay here for the night, I don’t think anyone would be opposed. You can head back to G.H.O.S.T. in the morning. You’ve already done more for me then–”
“No.” Wheeljack interrupted, and Bumblebee stumbled over his words and then stopped. “Sure, I’m a little annoyed, but what kind of scientist would I be if I didn’t figure out why this isn’t working? If you can hold still for yourself…”
Bumblebee fidgeted anxiously.
“Well, that could just be because you can control your own predictability," Wheeljack began to pace across the floor, servos waving thoughtfully as he strode along, contemplation thick in his shoulders. “You know what you’re going to touch and when, so it’s easier for you to control your reactions. So maybe if I narrated that would help.”
“I don’t know, maybe?”
“But! Then again!” Wheeljack twisted on his heel, and started walking back the other way. “You’re leaning into the touch, whereas, if you were caught by surprise, you would be leaning away.”
Bumblebee winced for the umpteenth time, bowing his helm against Wheeljack’s prattling. He had noticed for a while how often he leaned into bots, even without meaning to. Even during Bot Brawl, he found he would sometimes lean into blows or laserfire without meaning to. He didn’t know if that meant he was subconsciously a masochist or what, but he didn’t like it.
“I’m going to do a peek into your systems,” Wheeljack said, datapad snapping out into his servos as a cord unspooled itself. He held out the port, wiggling it enticingly. “Try to figure out what’s going on.”
“If even I don’t know–”
“It might be subconscious, or hidden under other routine protocols!” Wheeljack pressed. “I have a few suspicions, let me have a look.”
Hesitantly, Bumblebee turned enough to give Wheeljack access to the back of his neck, holding perfectly still as he felt it jack into his own port, information extending from his connection to Wheeljack’s datapad.
His processor warned him, desperately, about an intruder in his systems, but he waved it off, allowing Wheeljack full access to whatever he wanted. He could feel Wheeljack’s presence every step of the way, burrowing through lines of coding Bumblebee couldn’t begin to decipher, flipping through files curiously, uncovering memories before burying them again just as quickly.
Wheeljack didn’t care about the trivial stuff, and yet it was still hard for Bumblebee to lean back and relinquish control.
And then, finally, a twist in his systems.
“There it is,” Wheeljack drawled, bringing forth Bumblebee’s latest daily diagnostic scan. “Are you seeing what I am?”
Bumblebee scanned over it. It seemed just the same as all of the others he had compiled lately. Plenty of physical wounds, lots of injuries he couldn’t begin to categorize, low energon readings, spark condition was… fair, stress was through the roof…
But everything else seemed fine. It seemed like a normal scan.
“All of that is just me.” Bumblebee told Wheeljack, understanding how bad that sounded, but he’d been living with all of it for fifteen years now. There was nothing new there.
“Concerning!” Wheeljack brightly told him. “But at least it explains why you’ve been leaning in so much!”
Bumblebee blinked at him, confused. A nano-klik later, he realized he had crossed quite a good amount of distance between them to lean into Wheeljack, getting as close as he could without doubling over. Confused, he pulled himself back to his starting position. “What? Okay, maybe I’m not seeing it.”
“Look at that! Your touch receptors are very sensitive. Obviously, I should’ve seen this coming. You were out by yourself for fifteen years, and even after establishing yourself with the Terrans, you didn’t stay with them for nearly enough time to reverse the damage done. Touch receptors are only like this for newframes or after an extended period of no-touch.”
Bumblebee stared at him hard.
Sensing his confusion, Wheeljack continued. “Your touch receptors are specifically what deal with living-metal-to-living-metal contact. Like, this.” He set his servo on Bumblebee’s pauldron, and the scout felt himself lean into it on instinct. “But not this.” He knocked his servo against the workbench. “If you don’t use them, they start becoming more sensitive, seeking out whatever touch they can. Even if your pain receptors were still on, I bet they would still be causing you to lean towards me, no matter how much it hurt.”
“Wait– No. No, that doesn’t…” Sick horror rolled through Bumblebee, servo reaching up to set over his intake in horror. “Wheeljack, I–”
“You,” Wheeljack continued, pointing a condemning digit at Bumblebee, “are touch starved!”
Scraplets. Bumblebee was horrible.
Wheeljack took a step back, not letting Bumblebee dwell on that before he waved him on promptingly. “Turn your receptors back on, I want to see if it cancels out!”
Reluctantly, Bumblebee did so. While the flares of pain were expected, he still cringed into himself as the sudden assault of feeling. Most of these, he assumed, were because Bumblebee had been so clingy and leaning into Wheeljack’s careful cuts. Primus, he was awful.
Wheeljack shoved a servo against his most grievous, unfixed wound. Not enough to actually agitate it, but enough to cause a sharp stab of pain to spark through him. Bumblebee’s intake opened with a silent cry, but his frame was still leaning towards Wheeljack, plastering him with more agony but it just wanted more touch–
Bumblebee snapped himself away.
“Sorry,” Bumblebee blubbered, horror coating through and over everything. “I didn’t mean to– I’m so sorry. That was my mistake, I shouldn’t have–”
“No! Don’t apologize! This proves my hypothesis! It doesn’t cancel out, because your touch receptors are, to your frame, much more important than your pain ones! You react to those first, because those are more sensitive!”
“Is there any way to turn them off?” Bumblebee whined nervously.
Wheeljack’s helm jerked up to stare at him, optics wide with– Bumblebee couldn’t tell. “No? Why would you–” He shook his helm. “You don’t need to turn them off! Goodness, Bumblebee, I’m just happy we figured out this mystery!”
No way to turn them off, and Wheeljack didn’t want to fix him regardless because he… He must be annoyed. He must hate Bumblebee. Not that the scout blamed him. He knew that he had fragged up pretty significantly.
“Well, thanks anyway.” Bumblebee allowed, defeated as he withdrew his stinger. “I appreciate how much you helped. But it’s–”
“Stop doing that!” Wheeljack scolded. “I’m not going anywhere!”
“But I know I’m not doing good, Wheeljack!” Bumblebee argued back just as quickly. “This is more trouble than I’m worth, and all I’m going to do is annoy you over and over again.”
“Hmm.” Wheeljack observed him for a long beat, optic ridges pinched. “You give up on yourself too quickly. Or you think I’m going to.”
Bumblebee silently nodded. He couldn’t even argue with Wheeljack, not really. Bumblebee had learned, over and over again, that nobody really cared what he needed or he thought. Which was fine. He could take care of himself.
Even if “taking care of himself” made his plating break and snap because he didn’t really know how to do it, because he was in pain most days… He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. It didn’t really matter. Not really.
“Fifteen years must’ve been a long time to be alone.” Wheeljack said, reaching out to grab Bumblebee’s servo, and the scout struggled not to lean forward, but found himself doing it anyway. “Not touching anyone, not being able to rely on anyone…”
Bumblebee shrugged, not looking up at Wheeljack.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about that any longer, Bumblebee.” Wheeljack promised. His grip tightened little by little. “I’m not leaving you. We’ll figure out a way to adjust to everything. In fact, I think I have an idea.”
“What?” Bumblebee asked, shifting to sit up to stare at him.
“Yes!” Wheeljack pulled his servo away from Bumblebee for a nano-klik to pat his servos. “I’ll be right back.”
Bumblebee watched as he turned around to start striding towards the twins’ door, and felt his spark tighten. “No! Wait, what are you doing?! Don’t wake them up!”
“Shush shush shush,” Wheeljack whispered back at him, waving a dismissive servo before he headed for their bedroom. He disappeared within the room as Bumblebee hissed after him, contemplating getting off the workbench, even though he still had a hole in his side.
But then Wheeljack was back in a nano-klik, holding both twins in his arms. Both were still half sleeping, optics half-lidded as they murmured in his arms. “This’ll be an easy fix,” Wheeljack quietly reassured, crossing over to Bumblebee.
“They shouldn’t be up,” Bumblebee argued with him. “It’s late, and they’re just kids. They need their recharge–”
“And they’re getting it!” Wheeljack argued lightly, setting them both down against Bumblebee. “Just not in their rooms.”
“Yeah,” Twitch murmured quietly, twisting against Bumblebee’s pauldron, helm kneading against his plating. “Let us help y…” she trailed off just as quickly, optics closed with a click again as she fell asleep.
Thrash didn’t even attempt to say a word, already fast asleep from where he was curled up on Bumblebee’s other side.
“This way, you’re still touching something.” Wheeljack told him. “I can finish repairing you with them taking care of everything else! See? It works out just fine.”
Bumblebee could’ve laughed, but just let his helm lean back against the work bench as Wheeljack picked back up his scalpel.
“We’re here for you now, Bumblebee.” Wheeljack told him reassuringly. “Trust me. I’m not going to let you hurt for much longer. You’ve got my word.”
“Thanks, Wheeljack.” Bumblebee whispered back at him, something soft unspooling in his spark as he felt his kids hold onto him as tightly as they could. “I… I appreciate you being here for me. It means so much.”
Wheeljack nodded down at him. “I know I’m known for making things explode, but I don’t like leaving things hurting. That includes you. If I had known earlier…” He shook his helm, a small smile working its way onto his face. “I’m here now. If you ever get hurt again, you let me know.”
Bumblebee nodded, relief starting to unspool within his chassis. Bundled between his kids and a bot who actually cared about his health, he found something that had been tense and hurting within him for so long finally release.
He finally felt okay again. He hoped the feeling never left.