Chapter Text
Nothing could have ever prepared Optimus Prime for this.
After the Well of Sparks went dark, everyone had seen it as a sign of the end. With no new Cybertronians being made, the war turned even more violent. It was little more than rabid dogs snarling over rotten meat, fighting for whatever scraps remained.
Yet here he is, sitting in the med bay and cradling the form of a sleeping sparkling in the bend of his arm. The young one is tiny, so much smaller than Optimus ever remembered sparklings being. It is clear that he's another victim of this atrocious war, plating so tight around his chassis that it's incredible he can move. But he's here. He's alive. He's living proof that Primus had not abandoned them yet. There's hope for the future. Hope for freedom. Hope for new life.
The child doesn't move as Ratchet scans him. For all the fear he'd displayed when first meeting the Prime and the medic, he doesn't think twice about leaving himself vulnerable to them. Of course, it was entirely possible that he just had no energy left at all. All Optimus can focus on is his soft venting, air silently passing through his body in an attempt to keep his spark beating. It's incredible how a single being is enough to change everything. The red and blue mech is focused in on the child's every movement in a way he's never focused on anybody.
Ratchet eventually pulls back, reading information off of the screen in his arm. “His designation is B-127. No injuries, but he is extremely malnourished. No registered sire or caregiver.” He states, his voice clinically monotone.
B-127. It could hardly be called a name. What was he designated for? What purpose would he have served if the planet was at peace? Would they have ever crossed paths if he hadn't nearly stabbed out one of Optimus's optics? “He must be a strong sparkling to have survived so long alone.” He said softly.
The sparkling groaned, pressing his face further into Optimus's chest plate. Their whispers must be disturbing him. That simply wouldn't do.
“His recovery will take a long time,” Ratchet stood up, walking over to a supply cabinet. “You don't fix nutritional deficits like this overnight. This is going to take several stellar cycles, and that’s a generous estimation.”
“Will there be long-term damage?”
“His size will be impacted.” Ratchet spiked a bag of energon with clear tubing, running the blue solution down to the very end. “He missed a lot of his vital growth periods. Best I can do for now is give him an infusion to start the process and let him sleep. Once he gets enough, his self-repair and growth factors will start working again.”
Optimus turned his gaze back down to the tiny life in his hands. “Then it seems I will be here for some time.”
The medic raised an eyebrow. “Why would you be here? You are unharmed.”
“I do not wish to disturb B-127, and moving him would certainly do so.”
Ratchet froze, looking away from the spot where he’d screwed the clear tubing into the yellow sparkling’s arm. “Are you serious?”
Optimus met Ratchet’s seething gaze. “What do you mean?”
“For Primus sake.” Ratchet took a deep breath, stepping back from the berth. “You’ve bonded! You’ve barely had this thing for three solar cycles, and you’re already attached.” He hissed, volume turned down low to prevent new ears from listening in.
Oh. That explained the strange warmth inside Optimus’s chest every time he thought about B-127. “Is that an issue?”
“An- an issue? We’re at war! None of us are guaranteed to come back alive anytime we step into the field! Not to mention a sparkling takes time and effort that we cannot easily provide. He needs a home, Optimus. Not another battle to fight.” Ratchet shook his head. “Of all the stupid, idiotic things.”
The Prime pushes down the insulted feeling bristling in his chest. He may not be the perfect mech to care for a sparkling, but he was not incompetent. “There are many of us here, Ratchet. I would not be the only one providing care. No safe haven will take him without a sire or caregiver on record. The best thing for him is to remain under our watchful eye. We can keep him safe. There’s also no better medical officer to oversee his nutritional needs.”
Ratchet eyes Optimus warily. Then looks down at B-127, still sleeping away without a care in the world, body absorbing the badly needed energon. Then back at Optimus again. He sighs. “Fine. But only because you appealed to my pride. He can stay here for now. We’re not raising him to fight in this Primus forsaken war.”
The tension bleeds away from the room like a cord had been cut. “Thank you, Ratchet. I know it is not ideal.”
“You’re damn right it’s not, but…it’s also not fair to throw him to the scrappers. He needs help. Just do me a favor and keep him under control. The last thing I need is a sparkling running around and hurting itself on my supplies.”
“If he is to say, then he needs a name. We can’t simply call him by his designation.”
“And nobody believes me when I tell them you’re a softie.” Ratchet muttered. “Just pick something for now. We can do a proper naming ritual at a later date.”
A name. It had to be important. Fitting. Whatever name Optimus chose now would be the name this little one would bear for some time, so it had to be something he would recognize as well. Something starting with a b, then. His coloring was interesting as well. It was bright and vibrant and unique (and thankfully easy to spot).
Of course! Optimus had read about a little Terran creature once with colors similar to the sparkling. It was small and fast and worked in a large group like a family. It was perfect.
“Bumblebee.” Optimus decides, carefully brushing a digit over the sparkling’s shoulder. “His name is Bumblebee.”
“Bumblebee it is, then. Now please shut your trap before you wake him up. Primus knows he’s only got so long before the other Autobots come poking their noses at him. And let Elita know you’re not hurt before she storms in here looking for your sorry aft. I’m not covering for you just because your sire protocols kicked in.” Ratchet huffed, sitting down at a desk and typing onto a datapad.
And Ratchet though Optimus was the secret softie. But he did have a point. Elita was notoriously impatient, and even the tiny adorable sparkling wouldn’t be enough to stop her if she was on the warpath. Fine. One message to her, and then nothing else. Bumblebee was the priority now.
I’ll keep you safe, little one. I promise.
—
After listening to his team try (badly) to hide outside the med bay door for the last vorn in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the rumored sparkling, Optimus is certain that the upcoming drills will now include stealth protocols.
It’s a miracle they haven’t woken Bumblebee up. The child had stirred at every noise louder than a whisper before settling back down, an instinct that he undoubtedly learned because of the war. If it weren’t for the line in his arm, Optimus would be tempted to shelter Bee in his subspace again. Perhaps that would offer him enough peace to recharge without concern.
Ratchet directed a stern glare towards the door. The medic’s fabled impatience was showing, irritation screwing over his face. “Nosy children.” He scoffed, standing up from his desk.
“It is not every solar cycle we find a sparkling. They are surely curious if the information they’ve heard is correct.” Optimus shrugged.
“Common or not, the least they could do is use some courtesy and not wake up the exhausted youngling.”
The voices outside the door freeze as it slides open, clearly caught off guard at being detected. Yes, stealth protocol practice was much needed.
Ratchet steps out of the med bay, the door closing behind him shortly before he starts ripping into the other Autobots. Optimus had been on the receiving end of the white mech’s lectures many times before, and was suddenly very grateful that he was inside the room away from Ratchet’s fury.
A soft beep emanates from his servo. Bright blue optics look down to see a pair of dull blue looking back, fatigue painfully obvious on the little yellow face. Perhaps they had not been successful in keeping Bumblebee asleep after all. Or perhaps something else had stirred him from his rest,
“It’s alright. You’re safe now.” Optimus ran a digit over Bumblebee’s helm, trying to ignore the way his spark leapt at the youngling’s happy trill. He had always wondered what it was like to care for someone so young. To hold their fragile body with your own and be so gentle you didn’t hurt them. To look into tiny optics and see the trust carried within. To shape them for the better and hope they see a better life than you had.
Someone must have done that for this sparkling before the Autobots found him. Someone taught him how to hide and stay quiet, because that silence meant a chance you might live. Someone had taught him how to invade the bodies of deceased Cybertronians, using their left-over energon as his own food source. With the way he had crawled into Optimus’s subspace like it was second nature, somebody else had carried him in theirs. Who were they? Were they still alive? If they weren’t, how long had it been since they joined the Allspark? How long had Bumblebee been on his own?
Bumblebee turned his optics away, instead focusing on the line that was connected to his arm. His faceplates morphed into confusion. What did he think about it? It must have been shocking to have something rather invasive done to his body whilst sleeping.
“Do not worry. It’s just to help you for now. We will take it off once this is done.” The Prime did his best to sound reassuring. He still was uncertain just how much Bumblebee actually trusted them. If he himself seemed nervous, that could cause unnecessary anxiety in the sparkling.
Had Bumblebee ever seen a room like this before? Pediatricians had been in short supply even when the war began, and once it started many of them were converted into emergency medics. But if the mech was as young as they thought, it was possible he hadn’t seen a doctor at all. Primus, he’d barely had access to food.
Wait a klick. The energon infusion. Bumblebee would only know it as food. That’s why he seemed so confused. The only way he knew to consume it was through an intake port. He must not know that it ran through their bodies, fueling their limbs and processors the same way it fueled their tanks.
“Are you hungry? Ratchet had some energon cubes set aside for when you woke up.” Optimus grabs one of the blue cubes, moving it closer to the youngling.
For the first time since Optimus Prime had seen the sparkling, Bumblebee’s optics lit up brightly. He’s quick to snatch the energon out of the Prime’s servo, gnawing on it like it’s the last speck of food he’ll ever see. As disheartening as it is to see someone so innocent acting like this, it makes the red and blue mech relax to see such a display of strength. This sparkling is not done yet. He is not ready to die.
Optimus Prime is not ready to give him up either.
—
Elita doesn’t take long to make her way past the (now silent) crowd outside of the med bay door, stepping inside as if the room is hers.
Bumblebee is still awake, playing with one of Optimus Prime’s digits. He has remained calm so far, which is extremely pleasing news. Perhaps the initial outburst had simply been caused by fear. He looks up as Elita walks in, eyeing the pink mech warily, but goes back to playing with the digit seconds later.
“So this is our little stow-away.” She says softly, taking a seat on the berth next to Optimus. “He certainly doesn’t look capable of pulling fully grown Cybertronians apart, but I suppose that’s why he’s so good at it.”
“I do not believe Bumblebee did it maliciously.” Optimus defended the sparkling. “He was starving, and they were a viable source of energon.”
“Bumblebee. A rather interesting name. I thought you said he didn’t have a caregiver?” Elita stretches one of her servos out towards the youngling. This is a side of her that Optimus rarely sees; a side that has to be hidden away in the harsh reality of war yet comes out so easily around the tiny figure.
Bumblebee pauses his exploration, staring at the new servo as if he has no idea what to do with it. Most sparklings would have immediately reached out, grasping the digit and holding it tightly. The yellow mech does not do that. Instead he looks, optics flicking between the limb and the face it belongs to. Younglings were programmed with inherent trust, but this one has already outgrown that early mindset.
Elita doesn’t move. She simply holds in place as if she is frozen, allowing the child to come to her. It is far from her normal routine. The Autobots do not know her as a patient woman. She is head-strong and determined, the leader of their female division when the two must split, and she is not known to take any sign of disrespect well.
“He did not. Bumblebee is the name Ratchet and I decided on when we determined he would stay here.” The Prime explained.
Bumblebee eventually relents from the tense stand-off, reaching his servos out to her larger one and conducting a thorough investigation.
“He is very adorable. And quite the little survivor.” She presses his nose with the tip of her finger, causing a smile to spread over the sparkling’s face. “I read Ratchet’s report, but I want to hear in your words what happened.”
Optimus sighed. “We were too late. The attack was finished by the time we arrived. When we were gathering the fallen, we found Bumblebee scrounging inside a corpse for energon. He was scared, and he did not know who we were, so he attacked with a rusty pipe. We were able to convince him that we would not harm him, and he came with us.”
“More loss. Perhaps Bumblebee’s previous caregiver was killed in an attack and the group they were traveling with took over. It would explain some of his trust issues.” She suggested. Bumblebee is tracking her moving digit, watching as it taps on his various limbs and trying to figure out a pattern.
Optimus shook his head. “I do not know. Much of his past is unknown, and I worry we may never have those answers for him.” Wasn’t that a shame? All Bumblebee would know is that he came from the Well of Sparks. He would never know the name of the mech who cared for him before the Autobots arrived. He would never have a city to call his own. All he would have is memories, and even those would fade over time.
“Whatever the case, he clearly trusts you. We should focus on getting him introduced to the others. That way, he’ll have a whole team that he trusts when you go out in the field.” Elita gently ran her fingers over the youngling’s sides, watching with a quiet joy as he began rolling around laughing.
“That will take time. I am not sure what exactly drew Bumblebee to me, but I am thankful he allowed us to help him.” Optimus adjusted his hold, trying his best to keep a grip on the wiggling child. He was already much more active that their first encounter. Perhaps the Matrix had something to do with it. He was a Prime, yes, but Bumblebee was far too young to even understand what a Prime was, nevermind truly comprehend just how different Optimus was. The Matrix may have conveyed a message of safety that the yellow mech was inclined to listen to.
“Well, since you’re both alright for now, I’ll keep everything running smoothly. What do you want me to say about this little one?” Elita stood up, releasing Bumblebee from her grasp.
What did Optimus want the others to know? He knew feeding their curiosity would only increase their desire to see the sparkling, but giving them nothing would increase the risk of them trying to sneak a glance. He wanted Bumblebee to rest more before meeting the others, and he was worried that they would overwhelm the young one if they all met him at once. “Tell them that he’s alright. Ratchet is observing him closely and he will stay with us for some time. We do not know who his caregiver was, but he has shown comfort with us so far. We will slowly start introducing him when he feels ready.”
“Understood.” She grinned. “You should get some rest too. Don’t they say to sleep when the sparkling sleeps?”
Optimus looked down. In the thirty seconds it had taken him to decide and relay his message, Bumblebee had fallen asleep again. He was curled into a small ball, pressing himself closely to the large mech’s chest. Perhaps he still had some recharging to do after all.
—
Fourteen hours after rescue and six energon cubes later, Ratchet is finally releasing Bumblebee from the med bay with the assurance that Optimus will be keeping a close eye on him. “He needs to take it easy,” Ratchet had instructed as he threw away the empty infusion bag. “He doesn’t have a large energy reserve, and he’ll burn through it if he gets over-excited. Make sure he eats and recharges often.”
Optimus had thanked the medic profusely before leaving, carrying Bumblebee towards his own berthroom. The little sparkling was very curious, optics flicking between every wall and doorway and light. He would occasionally tap on Optimus’s shoulder and point to something, a silent plea for an answer to his burning questions.
“That is the lab,” Optimus explained as they passed by the soot-stained door. “Wheeljack does his experiments in there. He’s very talented in pyrokinetics.”
The sparkling beeped, already turning his attention to the next thing that caught his eye. He never spoke. From meeting him in the field to speaking to him in the med bay and even now, he never spoke actual words. He conveyed his messages through the tone of his beeps and trusted that Optimus would understand it. His knowledge on sparklings was obviously limited, but he was sure that most were able to synthesize words.
“That is the engineering bay,” he said as they passed the large rolling door. “When we need upgrades, that is where we go. We also keep notes of different technologies we encounter and develop for future reference.”
Ultra Magnus rounds the corner, reading a data pad and scowling as if it had personally insulted his family. Optimus was often glad to see his brother, but he wished he could fake a bedside manner for their newest inhabitant.
“Ultra Magnus,” Optimus said, pulling the mech away from his reading. “You seem rather invested in that.”
He sighed heavily. “Recent reports about Decepticon activity. They’re getting worse…you’re carrying a sparkling.” He blinked in surprise, staring at the little form in his brother’s arms. He had heard the talk about a sparkling on base, but he figured someone else would have taken it over. Not the leader of the Autobot faction.
“This is Bumblebee. Bumblebee, this is my brother, Ultra Magnus.” Optimus made the introduction, silently praying that Magnus would get the clear message not to scare the child.
Bumblebee gave a timid wave, suddenly drawing into himself again. There it was again: that apprehension. The fear that had been instilled in him. The worry that this stranger would try to harm him. The fear that no youngling this small should have.
Ultra Magnus waved back, glancing between the Prime and the child. “So, how did you end up as caregiver?”
One didn’t have to be a genius to pick out the quiet judgement in Magnus’s question. “Bumblebee came to me when we first found him and has shown that he trusts me. It only made sense for him to remain in my care.”
“So what will you do if you get called out?” The white mech crossed his arms.
Primus above, Optimus did not feel like fighting in front of the sparkling. “He’s already shown some comfort with Elita and Ratchet. Besides, I’m sure you can imagine how impatient the others are to meet him. He’ll have a team to watch for him.”
Magnus stood in silence for a few seconds more before relenting. “Fine. Just take care of my nephew.”
Optimus can’t help but smile. “Would you like to hold him?”
“I’ll…leave that to you. I’m not the best with tiny fragile things. But once he gets bigger. See you later.” Magnus walked off, turning his attention back to the datapad.
Bumblebee watches the tall mech leave in silence, his face an usual mix of emotions. He looked concerned and curious all at the same time, trying to play the difficult mental game of figuring out whether his new uncle was a threat or not.
“Do not worry,” Optimus said calmly, re-gaining the sparkling’s attention. “He seems scary, but he is kind to those who truly know him. He will not hurt you.”
It wasn’t much longer before Optimus arrived in front of his room. “Here. This is where you will stay with me.”
The room is…nothing spectacular, in his opinion. A large berth with plenty of room for any future Prime growth spurts. A two way mirror facing out into the city so that his enemies couldn’t look in. A set of shelves against a wall that held datapads and several of the puzzles Optimus had solved. A table for the long nights where his work followed him into his residence.
It was no place for a sparkling to grow up, but it was good enough for now. They could make things like toys to keep the child occupied, and then they could worry about his education. Reading and writing would be the most imperative subjects. Whatever they decided to do, Optimus wanted to keep Bumblebee as far away from the front lines as possible.
Optimus set Bumblebee down on the berth, watching the sparkling take in his surroundings. What was all of this to him? Had he lived in a safe place like this before? The war was still a young conflict (something the mech really hoped would end soon), but the destruction had amped up in intensity almost immediately.
Bumblebee spent a few more seconds looking around before he stood up, stepping into Optimus’s lap and tapping on the glass with his hands. Of course. It must be a comforting spot for the sparkling; somewhere he can hide and trust that he’s being taken care of.
“Alright, little one.” Optimus opened his subspace, helping Bumblebee crawl inside. “It wouldn’t hurt if you rested more. Ratchet says you need to recharge often.”
Perhaps that advice was good for Optimus to follow as well. He had been awake for nearly a full solar cycle now, and he needed to be rested in case his new charge needed anything. He laid out flat on the berth, feeling the sparkling shift inside of him before settling down.
Time to rest.