Work Text:
Bumblebee leapt away as the ground he once stood exploded in a booming, well, boom. Skidding against the ship’s floor, he nearly tripped as he hopped back to his pedes. He huffed, glad to see Bulkhead sprinting to his side, saved from Shockwave’s blast. Speaking of the bot, Bee’s optics narrowed on the fresh trail of smoke coming from his blaster.
Honestly, this was not how Bee expected the cycle to go; ever since Megatron went awol, Starscream and his two new lackeys, Shockwave and Soundwave, had been running amuck in Detroit, but recently things had calmed down. Course, their luck never lasted long, and Bee and Bulk found themselves trapped in one of Shockwave’s hidden bases just outside the city: an abandoned six story office that looked ready for demolition, but going up to the top floor they found a decked out Cybertronian lab. Bee had to hand it to the guy, he was really good at fashioning together evil lairs, quick and efficient—but when was Shockwave anything else?
Shockwave fired off another series of blasts, forcing the pair of bots to dash to opposite sides of the wide space. They were in the central room of the lab, having multiple branching halls leading to various rooms housing what? Bumblebee didn’t even wanna know.
Shifting his servos for stingers, Bee shot out a strike of electricity. Shockwave leapt back, whirling around to catch the punch Bulkhead launched. He raised his blaster, knocking Bulkhead back. Not wasting a good backshot, Bee set out another bout of lightning.
Shockwave hissed a breath and retaliated with a shot of his own. Bee hopped away, leaping up to land on Bulkhead’s paldron.
“You’d think a guy with that big of an eye would watch his back better.” Bumblebee laughed. His smirk was as sharp as the lashing claws from Shockwave’s extended arm. Bulkhead raised his arms, thankfully only earning a few nicks.
Retrieving his limb, Shockwave replied, “And who would guess such a puny bot could blabber so loud?” He ducked under Bee’s stingers and twisted around Bulkhead’s wrecking ball. “Your jests are a waste,” He shot another barrage, halting Bulkhead in his run, nearly tripping the big guy, “both in effort and humor.”
“Hey! Was that an insult?!” Bee asked—Bulkhead shook his head minutely.
Shockwave offered a lidded gaze. “Your processor seems to match your size at least.”
Bulkhead raised his arm, “Hey, lay off my little buddy.” Bee wanted to comment on the “little” comment, but focused on clinging for dear life onto Bulk as he spun and shucked his wrecking ball like a twister.
With Shockwave preoccupied, Bee decided it was time to try out a new combo move. Raising a stinger, he conducted burning energy up to its tip. It zipped along Bulk’s weapon as it gained momentum. The lightning built and built, forming a would-be armor. Bulk swung out. And momentum carried the lightning ball directly at the decepticon.
Shockwave tried to dodge, but was too late. The heavy sphere crashed down. Crushing him into the floor, it exploded in an inferno of sparks. Even Bee winced at the voltage.
As Bulkhead retracted his wrecking ball, both bots found Shockwave stumbling up from a deep crater. Bumblebee grinned at the sight of his bent antler; a flaw in the egotist’s perfect persona.
Leaping down from Bulkhead, both rushed forward. Bee charged up a large bolt of electricity as Bulkhead readied another attack. Rocketing forward, Bee said, “Let’s finish this guy.”
“You got it, Bee.” Bulk replied, leaping down towards the crater.
Shockwave’s optic glared in ruby light. Far faster than Bee expected, he transformed, zooming past Bulkhead’s attack. Instead aiming right for Bee. He yelped, scrambling to stop his run; damn inertia! Tripping over himself, he landed awkwardly on his servos—yow, yep, definite sprain.
“Bee!” Bulkhead swung around, weapon dropped.
It was then Shockwave spun his blaster back at the large bot. In less than a nano-klik, Bulkhead was shot into one of the metal doorways. His paldron shattered, burnt pieces scattering in a macabre trail.
Bee rushed forward, only to be blasted to the other side of the room. He hissed at the volcanic warping of his chassis, fighting to watch as Shockwave transformed back, lurking over to Bulkhead.
The con’s optic narrowed as it locked with the big guy’s. “I was never fond of you anyways.” He said, extending an arm and smashing it on the door-lock. What turned out to be a hangar opened to a clear blue sky, the cityscape a stupidly close yet far off dream. The usually idyllic sight churned Bee’s gut as Bulkhead, with no more support, fell through.
Bumblebee scrambled to his pedes. “Bulkhead!”
Shockwave’s stretched limb flung him back into the wall. Bee coughed, unable to recover before Shockwave descended. Claws wrapping around the ‘bot’s throat, he hissed, “But you, Bumblebee, you were annoyingly conspicuous.”
Bee gritted his denta, “Didn’t notice when we snuck in, though, huh—?” His words choked as Shockwave’s grip tightened.
He leaned in, optic blinding. “I gave you a chance back then. I let you drive off to lead a simple life as a space bridge technician, away from conflict, but you ruined it; you and your crew just had to get involved.
“Just like when you took the blame for that big buffoon, always worming your way into the center of things.”
Bee forced a smirk, “I do love attention. For being prime of special ops, you think you’d know that by now.” He shifted his wrist, only to hiss—still busted then.
Shockwave didn’t even spare the test a glance, though Bee knew he saw it, so annoyingly perceptive. He continued, seemingly growing lost in his rant, “I practically gift wrapped your dreams of being an elite guard, but you always have to be reckless, sticking your enstril where it doesn’t belong.” He cocked his helm. “Though you don’t exactly belong anywhere, do you? An autobot who helped a decepticon spy, framing one of his fellow ‘bots—you did follow my orders so well back then.”
Bee winced at the memory of Wasp, now Waspinator, still stuck with Blackarachnia’s little army of predacons wherever they were licking their wounds since their last fight. Bee had tried talking to him, despite him being a major aft, yet all he got was another murder attempt. Another failure in a list of people Bee had disappointed in his life: Sentinel, Bulkhead, Optimus, Prowl…even when held by his throat, Bumblebee couldn’t help feeling regret over Longarm despite it all being fake. Bee growled, “Who are you to talk, anyway?!”
That seemed to give Shockwave pause, cocking his head with a light vent that Bee could almost mistake for a laugh. Bumblebee swallowed, optics drifting back to where his friend had fallen, the peaceful scene mocking. That was until he caught a trio of digits clinging onto the side of the still open hangar.
Careful to hold in his internal cheering, Bee continued, fiery anger fueling him unhalted, “You talk about me being a poor a ‘bot, but you’re a crummy ‘con. And not just in the typical ‘con way of being super evil and junk—you suck at your job just as much as me! You couldn’t kill me back in camp, and you still haven’t even though you’ve had plenty of chances.” Was this smart? Primus no, but Shockwave was right that Bee never had a big-processor. So, if anything, he only got louder. “At least I wasn’t thrown out by my own leader, and now you’re working with fragging Starscream of all ‘cons. You’re no better than me; a decepticon showing mercy to an autobot!”
Backing away—thank Primus—Shockwave stiffened. His voice box flickered with clipped static once or twice only to fall silent. The reaction would be hilarious if he wasn’t still holding Bee by his throat.
Shockwave’s digits slackened before tightening. Bee’s pedes kicked out, scrambling against the wall, optics closing at the building pressure in throat and helm.
Click!
Snapping them open, Bumblebee was met with the helm of a blaster. It was already lit alive, heat licking at Bee’s plating.
Shockwave’s stare somehow turned more intense, unyielding and boiling—bubbling and ready to explode. Bee’s first instinct was to shrink away, make his already tiny frame microscopic, but he was an autobot, a member of Optimus Prime’s crew; he didn’t back down. Bee lowered his chin and narrowed his own optics. Then shoved his forehelm right into the gun’s barrel. Shockwave’s gaze widened minutely, but stood strong in their would-be stare match.
His digit twitched at the trigger of the blaster. It clicked farther and farther back. Bee continued to glower. Shockwave growled, vents puffing.
BANG!
Colliding right into Shockwave’s helm, the wrecking ball hurtled him half-way across the lair. Bee dropped, servos coming to his throat as he coughed. Drawing one back, he grimaced at the dripping energon—guy sure had a grip. He shakily got to his pedes, meeting the returned Bulkhead’s grin with his own, the big guy backlit like a hero in one of Sari’s action movies. And just like one, he had to get in one quip. Trotting over to the struggling Shockwave, he said, “I never liked you much either, Shockwave.” Then whammed him again, knocking him out cold (Bee could practically see the K.O title)
Bumblebee scuttled over, climbing Bulkhead like he were a party palace, settling in his favorite spot perched on his right paldron. Doing his best to give his giant friend a noogie, Bee cackled, “That was awesome, Bulk! Stealthed it like a true scout.”
Bulkhead rubbed at his neck guard, chuckling, “Ah, thanks, bud. Ow.” Bee’s brows raised, honing in on Bulkhead’s other paldron, looking like one of his abstract sculptures. “Right, forgot about that,” he must have noticed Bee’s alarmed look as he continued, “But it’s fine! I’m a big guy, I can take heavy hits.”
Bee shifted from the loose noogie to hugging his friend’s helm, replying, “Thanks, big guy.”
Gazing behind them, Bee frowned at the offlined Shockwave, temple caved in. A nasty helmwound that’d keep him down for a good few groons at least, until he inevitably came back to mess with them again.
Turning around, Bulkhead took them back down the elevator and into the outskirts of Detroit. As they made the long trek back, or, as Bulkhead did with Bee sitting on top, Bee’s mind wandered back to his friend’s last comment. Turning back to Bulkhead, he asked, “Did you really not like Longarm?”
Bulkhead shrugged, sheepish. “Eh, no, I just wanted a cool comeback.”
“I’d give it a nine out of ten. Only because no one can beat my quips.”
Bulkhead chuckled, before grimacing, a shiver running down his back strut. “He did kind of give me the creeps, though.” It was then Bulk’s turn with the shared braincell, growing quiet in what Bee assumed was contemplation—one thing on a long list of stuff the big guy was better at.
Finally, he asked, “What about you?”
“Gonna need some clarity on that one.”
“Did you mean what you said back there? To Shockwave?”
Hunching in on himself, Bee swiveled his vision off to the growing landscape of the city. Despite the guy being a whacko, crazed decepticreep, his words still managed to pry open his helm and burrow deep into his processor past all the firewalls he had up.
Bumblebee sighed, sagging against Bulk’s helm, resting his head in his arms on top. Voice unusually blank, he replied, “I don’t know.”
He thought Bulk might let the silence consume their trip, but was instead met with a pat on his helm, the action as gentle as any bot could be. “Well, I think you’re way better than Shockwave or any of those lousy ‘cons. Staring down that blaster was pretty cool.”
Optic’s widening, Bee felt his spark practically skip. A smile grew with warmth like a sunrise, raising up with a fist. “Y-yeah! I’d like to see that coward Starscream try that. Oh, I am so gonna brag to Prowl, see who’s cool and collected now.”
Both bots shared a laugh, backlit by the setting sun as they made their way into the city.
Then Bulkhead said, “But please don’t do that again.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bee replied, waving a lazy hand, hissing at the twinge.
Ping!
Both bots looked at their coms, instantly frozen by a frigid wave. It was Ratchet. They glanced at each other, then at their injuries, then back again.
Scrap.