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Bumblebee knew he wasn’t the strongest Autobot out there.
He was one of the youngest and was still growing into his frame. He couldn’t lift any of the heavier weapons, essentially stuck with hand guns and the occasional rifle. So many others had hundreds of vorns more experience than he did, finding their place on a battlefield with an ease that he could only hope to achieve one day. He wasn’t particularly gifted in endurance. All he really had was his speed, and it was hard to do meaningful damage when he was just running away all the time.
It’s not like he didn’t try to get better either. Bumblebee trained with Ironhide all the time, but accuracy didn’t mean shit if his bullets were too weak to penetrate armor. He went with Jazz on patrols and various missions, observing every move the silver mech made and incorporating it into his own style. Optimus Prime helped him with weight training, always there to act as a spotter should anything go wrong.
There was always a sting in his spark when he wasn’t selected for missions.
He knows it’s foolish. Not every bot is equipped for every scenario. Optimus would never try to shove himself into a tiny cave when someone like Bumblebee or Cliffjumper is available. Hauler would rather move the whole base than try to be stealthy. Everyone has a specialty, and everyone gets picked…except for him.
Most of the missions Bumblebee went on were all servos on deck scenarios. Instances where nobody could get left behind because sheer numbers were far too important. Jazz was special operations and had a slew of different capabilities. Prowl was a strategist and often attended as an advisor. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were strong fighters and were often called for direct attacks on the call.
Bumblebee doesn’t get picked for the fights. He gets picked for spying because his high speed allows him to run home like a coward. It’s just…he’s been working so hard! All he wants is one chance to prove himself. One chance to show that he’s not just a child who wandered onto the battlefield. One chance to demonstrate how he can hold his own against a Con.
And now it’s happening again.
Huffer had overhead the Decepticons talking about a planned assault. No specific details, but he got enough information to know it was happening soon. Optimus had decided on a pre-emptive strike to prevent any harm from befalling the humans. Jazz had been selected. Ironhide had been selected. Prowl had been selected. Huffer had been selected. Bluestreak had been selected. Wheeljack had been selected. Ratchet had been selected.
Bumblebee had not been selected.
He tries to keep the hurt hidden as he watches the others prepare. Going against the Cons on their home turf is nothing to play around with, and they all know that. Ironhide is packing more weapons into his subspace than Bumblebee has ever seen him carry. Jazz and Prowl were looking over a hologram of the Decepticon base, pointing out potential weak spots and exit routes that they would need to plan for. Ratchet is packing medical supplies. Wheeljack is giggling to himself as he grabs bomb after bomb. Huffer and Bluestreak are debating over whose weapon is better.
A pair of heavy pedesteps walks up to Bumblebee, stopping right next to his left side. The yellow mech doesn’t even have to look to know that it’s Optimus. Their commander. Their leader. The one who feels every choice on the battlefield, no matter who it’s made by, is his responsibility. For a brief second, Bumblebee considers not looking. It’s not that he’s trying to be petty or anything, but the pain he feels is so fresh that he worries it’ll come out with his words.
But doing that will just make Optimus think that Bumblebee is still too childish for any real missions. So he turns to the mech beside him, tilting his helm up enough to look into bright optics.
Optimus Prime had always been one of Bumblebee’s biggest role models. He was big and strong and smart and good. His name alone inspired hope. He made the Autobots feel safe just by being near them. Con cowards fled when they saw him. When Bumblebee saw Optimus, he saw the future of what he could be if he just worked hard enough. He could be strong too. He could be brave too.
“Bumblebee. Is something wrong?” The Prime asks. He is somehow simultaneously relaxed and tense for the upcoming assault. Always focused on what was right in front of him. Always prepared to protect his fellow Autobots.
There’s so many things Bumblebee wants to say. It’s not fair that he’s the only one left out. He’s been working so hard and training with everything in his spark for times like these. All he needs is one chance. Please, Optimus, please. Give me a chance. Let me prove myself.
But he doesn’t. “There’s really nothing I can do?” He manages to say, hoping for…something. Anything. He’ll be a spy. He’ll stand watch. He’ll even go behind the rest of them and clear their tracks from the desert ground so they can’t be followed! He can’t be the only one left behind…right? The others are all on various missions of their own. If he really doesn’t go, he’ll be the only Autobot not doing anything. He wants to pull his weight. He wants to be useful.
Optimus places a servo on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “We have everything covered from our end. As long as everyone stays focused, this will be a quick mission.”
A quick mission. Bumblebee wasn’t even good enough to go on a quick mission. All he can do is sit in the base and watch the monitors until someone contacts him to report their status. Why? Why wasn’t he enough? He could be! He was working hard to be more than enough! “It’s just…”
Just what? Not fair? Life wasn’t fair, so suck it up. Just embarrassing? He clearly hadn’t earned the right to go yet. Optimus had much more to take into consideration than the feelings of one mech who was barely out of his sparkling years. Bumblebee needed to get over it. He needed to stop being such a child.
Optimus knelt down, staring at Bumblebee with a barely concealed expression of curiosity and concern. “What is it, Bumblebee?”
He so…sincere. Bumblebee forgets sometimes just how deeply Optimus invested himself into the lives and well-being of his people. Unlike Megatron, who simply saw his soldiers as tools, Optimus saw them as friends.
Bumblebee knew Optimus was a friend. He was also a commander who had more to worry about.
“Hey Prime! Boys are good to go when you are!” Wheeljack called, waving at the large figure in the doorway.
Of course. The war took priority over Bumblebee any day of the week. “You should go. For all we know, Wheeljack could have a ticking time bomb going right now.”
Optimus turns back to the yellow mech, his optics scanning over the smaller’s face. “We will speak when I return.” He says softly, squeezing Bumblebee’s shoulder once before standing.
It takes less than a cycle for everyone to transform and go, leaving Bumblebee alone with the distant sound of revving engines and a spark that feels fit to burst.
—
Optimus can’t stop thinking about it as he drives.
Bumblebee had come a long way from the first time they met. He was small yet mighty, with courage that rivaled none. No matter how big the threat was, he faced it. No matter how scared he must have been, he pushed through it.
Bumblebee was often the mech that reminded Optimus of what exactly he was fighting for: a future of freedom. A future of peace. Those ideals took hard work to come to fruition, and Bumblebee had revealed time and time again that he was willing to put in the work. He was nowhere near fully grown yet moving objects that Optimus couldn’t move until he received the Matrix. Ironhide was always raving about his accuracy, telling the Prime he couldn’t wait for the day he got some of his bigger weapons into those skilled servos. Jazz had made mention time and time again of just how observant Bumblebee was out on their patrols. He always had an optimism deep in his spark that made everyone feel a little better when he was around.
But today, that optimism wasn’t present. He had looked downright dejected standing in the doorway of the hanger, servos clenching and unfurling around empty air repeatedly. He looked…tired. Distressed. Yet when Optimus spoke to him, he couldn’t seem to say the words he wanted to. He had been resigned when Wheeljack declared the team ready to go, disappearing back into the base as the others began to leave.
Optimus wanted to help. He wanted to make it right. But he couldn’t even fathom what he had done! And that is weighting heavily on his spark. What kind of leader is he if he hurts the people he loves? How unaware of his actions is he to not know the damage he is causing?
Jazz pulls up next to Optimus, connecting to his short-wave frequency. “Everything alright, Prime?” The race car asks, his voice as open and welcoming as ever.
“Yes, Jazz. I am just eager to get this finished.” Optimus says, turning his wheels towards the left. He was eager to prevent harm befalling the humans of this planet, and he was eager to get back to base and speak to Bumblebee properly. He was eager to mend the relationship that he had clearly strained in a recent moment.
“Everything okay with Bee?” The silver mech pushes more. “I saw you talking to him before we left.”
Optimus held in his sigh. Perhaps Jazz could clue him in to his mistake. “I am unsure. We were not able to speak much. He is distressed about something, but he could not seem to find the right words. I fear I have offended him somehow.”
“Oh. Well, to be honest, I’m surprised you didn’t bring him along. It feels like forever since I’ve gone on a good mission with him.” If Jazz were in his other form, Optimus could imagine him shrugging. It was never a custom they had on Cybertron, but it seemed to be a general motion here on Earth. Jazz had always been one for fitting in with the locals. “Any particular reason he’s not here with us?”
“Because we don’t know the specifics of the Decepticon’s plan.” Optimus begins leading the Autobots to the pre-determined clearing, using the thick trees that seem to grow sporadically to hide their presence. “For all we know, they could have begun their attack. Bumblebee will be the first to hear of it and I trust him to respond to it. Humans trust him more because he is so similar to them in size. He is also much faster than us and can be here quickly should we need him.”
Jazz turned back into his bipedal form, an optic ridge raised at the Prime. “Did you tell him that? Because I don’t recall you mentioning anything of the sorts during the meeting.”
Of course. It all makes sense now. Perhaps Bumblebee had thought he was being forgotten! “I did not get the chance to before we left.” Optimus says as he transformed, suddenly feeling a thousand pounds lighter. Now he knew what he had done. Now he could fix it. He could talk to Bumblebee, tell his scout how proud he was, remind him that he was valued for more than just his war efforts. He would make it right.
—
The base was empty. Empty, empty, empty. Empty berthrooms, empty training rooms, empty medbay, empty lab.
The only thing there was Bumblebee, haunting the halls like a ghost that wouldn’t die. A phantom in the mind of his leader, a soldier who hadn’t seen battle in weeks. So useless that even the humans who know next to nothing about their war are utilized more often.
Bumblebee had tried to find things to do in the Ark. He tried to organize the armory. Ironhide had already done it that week. He tried to clean the main room. The automated systems did it hours before. He tried to clean his berthroom. Finished within a breem. He tried to take inventory of their supplies, especially their energon. Finished two solar cycles ago and already restocked to fit into their desired range.
There’s nothing left to occupy himself with. With Gear, Hauler, and Trailbreaker out on patrol, he was stuck in base. All he can do is sit around and feel useless and wait for Optimus to get back so they can have their discussion.
What is Bumblebee even supposed to say during their conversation? Hey Prime, I know you’re focused on figuring out a way to bring Cybertron back to life while simultaneously fighting off the Decepticons and preventing them from making the entire human race extinct, but I’m really sad that you’re not sending me out to potentially die. If you wouldn’t mind setting everything aside to cater to my whim, that would be great.
If he told that to Optimus Prime, the larger mech would simply laugh and then kick him out of the Ark. It had become rather clear that Bumblebee wasn’t worth much to the cause, so losing him wouldn’t pose much of an issue. He could live in his alt form and spend the rest of his days driving people around. It would keep him from messing anything up.
He never had a chance.
—
The Decepticon base is quiet. Far too quiet.
There should have been signs of life here. Electricity powering lights, berthrooms filled with personal belongings, stocks of energon cubes or other supplies.
But there’s nothing. The base as a whole is empty. Nobody has come here for some time, and that is very concerning.
The Autobots should have known if the Decepticons were moving all of their supplies. Surprise attacks were one thing. Those could take minimal planning, and once started they would quickly unravel. But this was well planned. They had moved all of their equipment into an unknown location and were now out of the watchful optics of their enemy. They had been successful in their evasion.
“I don’t get it,” Wheeljack said, turning his head to look at every panel on the wall. “Where are they? There’s no way the Cons got off world. Why abandon this base?”
Jazz shrugged, staring at a particularly thick spiderweb in a corner. “We knew about it. Megatron must have finally realized the risk wasn’t out-weighing the benefit.”
“Stay sharp,” Optimus Prime commanded, walking over to the Decepticon’s main computer. “Just because they are gone does not mean they don’t know we are here.”
Bluestreak and Huffer had already beat him to the computer, working on attaching a power source. If the Decepticons had left any viable information there, the Autobots could use it. They might even get lucky enough to find the location of the new base.
Optimus can’t help but think of Bumblebee again. He never meant to hurt the yellow mech. The Prime had seen all of the hard work put in, even when nobody else was looking. He had watched the way Bumblebee made sure to take care of the others, talking with them and ensuring they ate.
Had he really made Bumblebee feel so undervalued? He’ll be the first to admit he’s not spending as much time with his team as he would like, but he tried to speak with all of them outside of field work at least once a week. Jazz always wanted to talk about music. Ironhide always wanted to talk weapons. Wheeljack always wanted to talk about his recent inventions.
Bumblebee had always managed to avoid talking about himself. He would talk about the weather or a recent adventure with Sam and Sparkplug Witwickey or the other Autobots. How had Optimus never noticed it before? Did his scout really think so low of himself? Did he really believe that Optimus wouldn't want to know about him as a being instead of just a soldier?
“And…we have power!” Bluestreak grinned, backing up as the screen flashed to life. It stalls for a few klicks, flashes as it reboots after disuse before finally pulling up various files.
Perfect. In their haste to get out, the Decepticons hadn't erased anything. “Well done.” Optimus says, looking over the different names to try to find anything important. Known Autobot members. Mission reports. Statistics on fuel types and efficiency. Communication logs. Everything was here.
“Remind me again how the Decepticons have functioned for thousands of years?” Ironhide huffed, kicking an empty can down a hallway.
“Spite, probably.” Wheeljack said. Ever the chatterbox.
“Hey, the computer’s receiving a voice message! Looks like it's still updating in real time.” Huffer grinned. This was huge news for the Autobots. Real time access to their enemy’s messages and information.
“Soundwave reporting in. Successful infiltration with minimal results. Pertinent files lost before acquisition. One lifeform detected. Activating hostage protocols.” The robotic voice reads, crackling through barely functioning speakers.
A hostage. The Decepticons rarely took hostages. They would rather deal with a corpse than a prisoner. So where had they struck? Who did they consider valuable enough to take alive? And what files were they speaking of? The enemy never had much interest in Earth other than what it could give them. They didn't value the humans.
This was all painting a very bad picture. “Bluestreak, Huffer, stay here and see if you can find out where their target was. We may be able to stop them before they leave.” He raised a servo to his comm link. “Bumblebee, do you read?”
“Sorry, Prime.” A smug voice comes over the comm, a Cybertronian equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. “I'm afraid Bumblebee is rather busy right now.”
No.
No.
Optimus can see the others turning to look at him. Their faceplates a mix of shock and anger as they wait for his response. Ironhide and Jazz already have their pedes pointed towards the exit, practically vibrating with the urge to transform. He has to stay calm for them. He has to stay calm for Bumblebee. He has to choose his words carefully because it won't be him who pays for any insult.
“Where is he, Starscream?” The Prime’s pedes are already leading him outside, his four soldiers and his medic tight on his heels. They still have time. If Optimus can just keep them busy, keep Starscream talking, maybe they can stop it before the Decepticons get away.
“Oh, don't worry about him. We're just hanging out together. But I have to admit, Optimus Prime, I expected you to teach him better manners. It's not polite to erase all Autobot data from the computer before someone else can download it. Such a shame.”
The Ark. The Decepticons were in the Ark. Bumblebee had managed to keep their information out of Decepticon servos, but he hadn't been able to save himself. How many were there? Soundwave and Starscream were obviously present. Wherever Soundwave went, Ravage and Laserbeak were never far. That was already a four on one fight, and if more forces were present then the odds were even bleaker.
Optimus should have brought Bumblebee along, or he should have left someone there. Someone to help in the possibility of an invasion. Primus dammit, he’d known the Decepticons were attacking something! Why didn't he consider the possibility of them invading the Autobot base? Now his scout was at their mercy, at Megatron's mercy, and it was his fault.
Bumblebee…I am sorry.
“Let him go.” Optimus tries not to growl. He's still trying to stay calm. Still trying to figure out a plan. Still hating himself for ever leaving Bumblebee vulnerable like that.
“Sorry Prime, but that's not my decision to make. Expect contact from Megatron soon. Bye bye.” The line cuts off abruptly.
No. Dammit! They're too far out. Even if they drove at their top speed, they would never make it in time.
Bumblebee was gone. And it was all Optimus's fault.
—
Bumblebee had known from the moment he came face to face with Soundwave and Shockwave that he wasn't getting out of this.
He had barely managed to avoid their first attack, running through the halls to the computer. There was only one thing they could want, and that was information. Bumblebee couldn't let them get that. If he did, the Autobots would never be able to win the war. Optimus would never look at him again. The others would just think he was a child.
He had only begun to start erasing things when the first bolt hit his left shoulder. His arm went numb immediately, the joints and metal falling listlessly at his side as energon leaked out. Frag. He could see Starscream out of the side of his optic, running closer like Bumblebee was somehow the worst person on the planet. Well, fine then. If that's what the Con believed, that's what he would become.
Bumblebee only stopped when a servo grabbed him by the neck, throwing him to the ground. He barely has a klick to breathe before more servos are grabbing him, twisting his arms behind his back and forcing him up to his knees. They forced his arms up further every time he tried to fight, pulling on his cables and the new wound on his back.
But he had done it. He'd erased the information. It would still be etched into the hard drive, but there was no way for the Decepticons to recover it now. His team was as safe as they could be. He could be satisfied in knowing he did that much, at least.
“Frag it!” Starscream yelled, kicking the console. “You smarmy little glitch!”
“What did you do now?” Thundercracker sighed, walking into the control room. Great. There were at least four Decepticons here. Bumblebee had no solid escape plan when it was just two. How was he supposed to manage four with a busted arm?
“I didn’t do anything.” The silver seeker snarled, pointing an accusatory digit towards Bumblebee. “He just ruined our plans!”
“Then maybe your plans shouldn’t involve breaking into an active enemy base.” Bumblebee huffed, biting back a yell as Shockwave pressed his thumb into the bleeding wound.
“We cannot access the files?” Soundwave asked. His voice had an uncanny ability to get on Bumblebee’s nerves faster than anyone else.
“The little scrap heap deleted them all, and we have no time to devote to recovering them! The other Autobots could be back at any second, and you can guarantee they won’t be too happy to see us here.” Starscream was practically throwing a tantrum, kicking at the base of the computer like it would magically fix everything.
Good. Bumblebee had pissed at least one Decepticon off greatly. Add that to his brag list shortly before he’ll certainly die. When the others come back to watch the cameras, they’ll probably get a kick out of that.
“We do not need the files.” Soundwave suddenly decrees.
“You want to return to Megatron empty-servo, that’s on you. I’m not going back with nothing and telling him that we failed the one objective he gave us.” Thundercracker shrugged.
Soundwave doubles down. “We do not need the Autobot files. We have an Autobot.”
Oh hell no.
“I’m not telling you fraggers scrap!” Bumblebee yelled, trying again to fight his way out of offending servos.
The blue mech ignored him. “Soundwave reporting in. Successful infiltration with minimal results. Pertinent files lost before acquisition. One lifeform detected. Activating hostage protocols.”
“Get your fragging servos off of me!” The two larger frames on either side are pulling Bumblebee up to his pedes, using their grips on his arms to force his arms even farther into an awkward position. He’s got no leverage to fight against them, nor does he have the strength to seem threatening.
“Noisy little thing.” Shockwave coos at Bumblebee as if he’s a toy.
The only thing that stops Bumblebee from firing back is the comm crackling to life on the computer. It stops the Decepticons as well, all unwelcome optics turning towards the screen.
“Bumblebee, do you read?”
It’s Optimus. Bumblebee has never been particularly big on the concept of fate, but at this moment it feels like a blessing just to hear his leader’s voice again. He can warn Optimus, tell him to stay away from the Ark and to regroup with the rest of the Autobots. He can tell him not to give into any demands for the scout’s freedom.
Thundercracker seems to know what Bumblebee is thinking. The scout is suddenly staring down the barrel of a gun, the silver and blue mech placing himself between the yellow mech and the computer. “If you try to utter so much as a word, I’ll make sure you never speak again.” He hisses.
Bumblebee can’t do anything but watch as Starscream grabs the communicator. “Sorry, Prime. I’m afraid Bumblebee is rather busy right now.”
Yeah, real busy trying to figure out how to get out of this hold and give back his treatment four times over. Busy trying to figure out how to warn Optimus to stay away. Busy trying to figure out how much time he’s got left before the Cons realize he’s worthless and kill him.
“We need to leave now.” Shockwave whispers.
“Happily.” Thundercracker grins wickedly, bringing the butt of his gun down across Bumblebee’s head before everything goes black.
—
Finding the base a mess and devoid of life had been violating in its own right. It was the home of the Autobots, the place where they were supposed to feel safe. It was not supposed to be ransacked by the Decepticons, nor was it a place where its own inhabitants were supposed to get kidnapped.
The Decepticons had disappeared long before the small team arrived, leaving no trace of where they went. Many of the walls still held scorch marks from blaster fire that missed its mark. Several of the doors had also been attacked, though they had appeared to hold under the unwelcome fire.
Much like Starscream said, the computer had been erased. The files were no longer available upon first glance. How Bumblebee had managed it while caught in the middle of a surprise attack was something Optimus didn’t know. Knowing somewhere in his soul that his scout had taken a shot had sent something akin to panic deep into the Prime’s spark. The Decepticons were not known for their hospitality with prisoners. Bumblebee was not only injured but had clearly interfered with some sort of plan. It was painting a very poor picture for his scout.
His scout. When exactly had Bumblebee changed from a scout to his scout? Optimus did not own the yellow mech, nor did he claim to be the only one who could use his skills. Everything had changed from the moment they first met on the outskirts of a crumbling city. Bumblebee had been even smaller then than he was now, yet that didn’t stop him from threatening Optimus Prime with a rusty pipe. The courage he carried in his tiny body more than made up for his size, and Optimus had been offering him a position before he could even think.
They had only gotten closer as the time passed. Bumblebee ate many meals with Optimus. They trained together. When Optimus was feeling down, his scout was the first Cybertronian he sought out. Whenever Optimus saw something interesting outside of the base, he would seek Bumblebee out to tell him the stories. Was it a wise move as a commander? Likely not. But Optimus was not just a commander nor were the people under his protection just soldiers. They were friends; comrades. He trusted them with his life and his secrets, and he hoped they could trust him with theirs.
“I’ve got good news and bad news.” Wheeljack announced, pulling himself off of the floor underneath the computer.
Primus, that was never good. “The good news?” Optimus asks.
“Good news is that none of our stuff is really gone. Bee did just enough to keep it out of the Con’s nasty servos. It can all be restored within a few breems.” He explains as he brushes dirt off his front.
Good. None of their files were lost forever. They could also add on the information they had discovered from the Decepticon computer in the abandoned base. “And the bad news?”
“Security footage kept recording, it just got stored in the cameras instead of the computer. I went ahead and pulled that through.” Their engineer looks at Optimus warily. “You’re not going to like what you see.”
Optimus already knows some of what Bumblebee went through. He knows his scout was attacked in their home. He knows he scrambled to protect the others by erasing the data. He knows that Bumblebee was shot for it. He knows that Bumblebee is now a prisoner of Megatron and will likely be used for leverage soon. He knows it, and it is terrifying.
But he cannot stop. Not when there could be clues to the Decepticon’s location. Not when Bumblebee is counting on him. “Play it.” He says, willing the Matrix to be strong enough to control his rage.
Wheeljack pauses for a klick before pulling the feed up on the screen, playing it before backing away slowly. He seems to be expecting an explosion of emotions, although whether that’s from him or one of their fellow brothers remains to be seen.
Optimus tries to keep his emotions in check. It’s a sign of a reliable leader, proof that he’s a Prime and not just a mere bot.
But watching Bumblebee get shot feels like taking the blaster wound himself. Watching Shockwave throw his scout to the ground feels like the world had been ripped out from beneath his wheels. Watching the Decepticons use the yellow mech’s wound as a way to control him made him feel as though he would purge. Watching his scout go limp after a strike across the face fills him with a rage like no other.
“I swear to Primus,” Jazz growls, his voice shaking with anger. “I’m going to rip Shockwave’s stupid fragging servo off.”
“You can have him. I’m going to make Starscream eat his own gun.” Ironhide is holding the wall so tightly that Optimus fears he will dent it.
Optimus understands the fury running through them. He wants to tear Thundercracker apart, wants to rip him to pieces for ever touching Bumblebee the way he did. He wants to find Megatron and step on his spark until it finally burns out. He wants to find that new Decepticon base and burn it to the ground.
“We must stay focused,” Optimus says. “Or we may lose Bumblebee to our anger.”
Ratchet shook his head. “Then how the hell do we find him? Our computer is basically inoperable, so we don’t have any tracking capabilities. Bumblebee is unconscious and actively bleeding out and probably doesn’t have any form of communication for us to find him with.”
“Starscream said to expect communication from Megatron. We know the exact time they left. Based on that and the time we get the communication, we can formulate the distance they must have traveled to arrive.”
Megatron. There were very few times where Optimus ever wanted to interact with the silver mech, and most of those scenarios involved beating his faceplates in. He would be confident with the knowledge that he had something valuable to the Prime, and that alone was enough to cause dread in his frame. The crazed tyrant was responsible for so many deaths and the destruction of their planet.
Optimus would not allow him to allow Bumblebee’s name to that extensive list.
In that moment, the world tilts.
There is something pulling at his chassis, a metaphysical force that is reaching deep within his frame. It is…it is warm and bright and so strong that it wraps around his spark and refuses to let go. It feels as though he has known this presence for his entire life, entwined with it in body and soul.
A fire blossoms on his shoulder, the phantom pain of melted metal and leaking energon down his back registering in his brain. He carries no wound, but this agony is so vivid it can only come from someone currently suffering.
The world tilts again. Someone calls his name. Optimus closes his optics.
When he opens them again, he is not in the Ark.
The plane he rests on exists everywhere and nowhere. It is formed entirely by this bond transcending time and space, held sturdy by trust and love and devotion. It might as well not exist, merely a ground under his wheels to hold him in place. It is everything and nothing, devoid of color and filled with life, real and fake, truth and lie, life and death.
Someone else is there too. The other half of this strange new bond, the only other one able to access this world. Standing in front of Optimus Prime, optics wide with shock, is Bumblebee.
“Bumblebee.” Optimus says, his body already moving forward. The words echo against the endless space, bouncing back and forth until they fade into nothingness. Optimus pays no attention to it. All he can focus on is his scout. He is fueled by instinct, filled with the desire to pull the young Autobot into his arms and never let him go again.
“Optimus!” Bumblebee meets Optimus halfway, throwing himself into open arms. The bond between them sings again, rejoicing for a short time because everything is finally right in this land of non-existence.
There is so much Optimus wants to say. He is so Primus damned sorry for ever leaving. He should have sent the others on without him instead of pushing his scout away. Everything will be okay. He is coming. He is here. His scout is not alone and Optimus is so proud of him that words can’t even begin to describe it.
“How are you…? Where are we?” Bumblebee asks, attempting to bury himself in the Prime’s plating.
Optimus wishes he had those answers. He wishes he could quell every uncertainty and anxiety from his scout’s processor. “I am unsure. We had arrived back at the Ark, and then everything suddenly-”
“Twisted like you were going to pass out?” Bumblebee finishes his sentence.
Precisely. Everything had twisted and turned in an almost nauseating manner. “Yes. We must be unconscious. That is allowing us to do this.”
The bond sours, distress pushing through the euphoric joy. “I…” Bumblebee sighed, pulling his servos close to his chest in tight fists. “Optimus, I’m scared. I don’t know what to do. I tried to fight the Cons off, but they were just too strong. They want information and they think I’m going to give it to them.”
Optimus reached forward, cradling the side of Bumblebee’s face with his servo. “I will not allow that. I will find you, Bumblebee. I swear to Primus I will find you and I will bring you home.”
Bumblebee leans into the touch, holding onto Optimus’s arm like he’s scared the Prime will just disappear. “I want to come home.”
The world around them flickers, a warning that they both innately know means they’re running out of time. “Stay strong, Bumblebee. I am coming for you.”
The world of everything and nothing exists one blink and is gone the next.
Instead, Optimus finds himself laying flat on the floor of the Ark, surrounded by his brothers with Ratchet near his head. They all look distressed, a mix of worry and shock as he begins to wake. Right. He did just faint on them with no explanation.
“Prime, can you hear me now?” Ratchet snaps his digits in front of the large faceplate, his face giving away nothing other than his usual impatience.
“Yes, Ratchet. I can hear you.” Optimus manages to get his servos planted against the floor, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He can still feel his left shoulder throbbing in pain, yet he knows Bumblebee is experiencing worse.
“Hey, take it easy.” Jazz insists, placing a servo on Optimus’s back. “You just about gave all of us spark attacks. One klick you’re fine, the next you’re hitting the ground hard. What happened?”
“I am unsure,” Optimus groaned, aware of the dull pain pulsing against the side of his helm. “But I somehow managed to speak to Bumblebee.”
“Bumblebee?” Prowl leaned forward. “You spoke to him?”
“The Decepticons believe they can use him to gain the information they could not steal.” Optimus managed to push himself up to his pedes. The others scrambled to stand with him, already reaching out in an attempt to somehow catch the Prime should he fall again. “They have not attempted anything yet, but it is only a manner of time.”
“Did he give you a location? Or anything we can use, really?” Wheeljack tapped his foot impatiently against the ground.
“Oh frag,” Jazz whispered, a wide grin breaking out on his face. “We don’t need it!”
“What in Primus’s name are you prattling on about?” Ratchet snapped.
“We’ve got something better: a bonafide Prime who just got himself a spanking new sparkbond!” Jazz tapped a digit against the glass panel on Optimus’s chest.
A…sparkbond? But that was impossible. Sparkbonds were for conjunxes or for sires and sparklings. Bumblebee certainly wasn’t his conjunx, and he wasn’t Bumblebee’s sire. That honor belonged to someone else.
“You’re officially cracked.” Prowl rolled his optics.
“Think about it!” Jazz flicked the back of Optimus’s left shoulder, watching the way the Prime jumped despite being clear of injuries. “Optimus got all weird and spacey, passed out and somehow talked to Bumblebee with no communication modules. You flinched when I touched an area where you aren’t wounded, but Bumblebee is. You haven’t even asked about the possibility of that being a hallucination or some weird dream because you know you spoke to the real Bee.”
“Then why did he pass out? Sparkbonds are designed to bond people together, not cause them harm.” Ratchet crossed his arms.
“Because sparkbonds aren’t meant to be formed over such large distances. This one clicked into place over miles of separation. Most caregivers will tell you that it just happened, like a switch flipping. One klick it’s not there, the next they can’t imagine ever living without it!”
“Let’s say your theory is correct and Optimus is now bound. So how does that help us in finding Bumblebee?” Wheeljack seemed interested suddenly, his optics trailing over Optimus like he was a new project.
“The sparkbond lets each half find the other should they get separated. Caregivers use it for hyperactive sparklings who run away or, like now, in cases of abduction.” Jazz turned to Optimus, his expression inspiring both fear and hope. “There’s a part of you that knows where Bumblebee is. You’ve just got to reach out and find him.”
There’s a part of Optimus that wants to believe that Jazz is saying whole-sparkedly. He wants to believe he can find Bumblebee. He wants to believe that they are bonded now, wants to believe that he can protect his scout no matter what. He does value Bumblebee deeply, and it would not be impossible for the situation to have come about.
But there’s another part of him that doesn’t want to believe it. Who would ever want to be bound to him? He is a being capable of harming others without ever realizing what he’s doing, a leader who has failed his people repeatedly. He had left Bumblebee alone. He had failed to stop the Decepticons when it mattered most. He was not someone who deserved this. He had not earned it!
Then…why was it there? It wouldn’t have formed unless they both desired it. Which meant that Bumblebee believed Optimus had earned it. In this time of great need, Optimus was the one his scout turned to for comfort. This bond could have formed just as easily with one of the other Autobots, but it formed with him. It chose him. Bumblebee chose him.
Optimus feels the bond begin to pull again, a siren song pulling him away from the Ark. That bright energy is there again, pinging in his processor insistently.
Here, it seems to call. Come here.
Here is a mix of rock and clay and dust. Here is a sea of cacti, one of the few plants able to withstand the horrid conditions. Here is a cave deep within a mountain. Here is a room lined with metal walls. Here is behind a row of bars. Here is a pair of shackles tying a limp arm to a functioning one. Here is cold, so cold that it seeps underneath his plating. Here is frame-deep exhaustion. Here is pain and wooziness making it damn near impossible to move. Here is a well of fear, hidden only by a brave face.
Jazz smirked. “Bingo.”
—
When Bumblebee wakes up again, he’s filled with a strange sense of relief.
Whatever that…dream or vision was, he knew it was real. He knew Optimus was coming for him. He just had to stay strong.
Strength sure is a lot harder to find when everything hurts. Between the agonizing pain that ripped through his body every time he even thought about moving his shoulder and the throbbing ache against the side of his face and the discomfort of dried energon sticking against his metal, he’s finding it difficult to see the positive side of the situation. Hell, it’s hard to see anything with the red alerts filling his HUD at all time.
Jazz had taught him a technique long ago for situations like this. For every bad thing you list, try to find a good thing in turn. It was supposed to help keep you calm and keep you aware of your environment.
Bad point one: he’s a prisoner in a Decepticon base.
Good point one: Optimus knows he’s a prisoner in said base.
Bad point two: he’s got a bullet wound and his processor feels scrambled.
Good point two: Ratchet was with Optimus, so he’ll hopefully be coming along.
Bad point three: Ravage is right outside of his cell, curled up napping.
Good point three: he’s not alone. Technically.
Bad point four: he’s slowly bleeding out.
Good point four:...maybe he’ll bleed out before the Decepticons decide to torture him.
Bad point five: he’s freezing. Between the energon loss and the apparent inability to heat the base, Bumblebee can’t seem to find any semblance of warmth. All he feels capable of doing is laying there and shivering.
Good point five:...he’s drawing a blank.
The bad was obviously outweighing the good in this situation. The Decepticons were about as forthcoming with bandages as they were heat, which meant he had essentially been free-bleeding since he got shot. Escape wasn’t a viable option with his condition. Fighting? Forget it. He’s got no weapons and sheer strength obviously won’t work. He’s definitely due for a torture session once Megatron finally decides to show his aft. If Starscream was involved, it was certainly going to be a very…creative endeavour.
Now came Jazz’s second lesson: if you can’t find the good, you make the good. Change your situation, even if it’s only a little. Sometimes just one thing to change the odds can change everything.
Well, Bumblebee certainly can’t do anything for the cold. That would require a kind of juice he doesn’t have, and he doubts the Cons would be kind enough to heat anything for his convenience. The pain is another thing he can’t touch. He’s going to keep hurting until he gets out of there or until he joins the Allspark. Ravage isn’t likely to go anywhere, and she’s sure as hell not going to open the cage for him.
That leaves the wound. He just needs to find something to bandage it with. At first glance, his options are pretty limited. There’s nothing inside the cell he can use. No blanket, no pillow, no nothing. He’s got nothing in his subspace.
But there is something outside of the cell. On the right wall outside of the cage is what appears to be a Decepticon banner. It seems to be in good shape from the small edge the scout can see, no obvious tears or deformities. It would be perfect! He just…had to get it off the wall and hope that Ravage didn’t bite his servo off in the process. Hell, he didn’t even need the whole thing! Just a scrap would do. Just enough to pack into the hole would be fine.
If only he had two working arms. Or a blade. A blade would be really nice. It would just make him feel better to know he has a weapon to protect himself with. He could cut the banner without Ravage knowing and defend himself in case the cat came towards him.
Optimus would be better equipped for this. He had his energon axe with him at all times, embedded into his frame. Ironhide would have weapons stored everywhere, and he probably had some sort of laser for situations just like this. Wheeljack always had bombs at the ready. He could simply blow the door down and hope it would take out the guard.
Oh well. He’s got what he’s got, and he’ll have to make do with it. That was the scout way, after all. You traveled quickly and lightly, only carrying the bare minimum. He’s made it out of worse scraps than this! He’s literally survived a cave-in caused by an explosion. He didn’t have any weapons for that, either.
Take a deep vent in. Hold it for four klicks. Breathe out.
He’ll have to be quick and careful. If he wakes Ravage up, there goes any chance of him getting this banner.
Bumblebee slowly drags himself over towards the bars, stopping every time Ravage stirs. Every move sends his spark pounding, the anxiety keeping him tense. The cat had keen senses, and one wrong move would alert her to his plan.
It feels like an accomplishment all on its own just to get a servo on the banner. It took a tremendous effort simply to cross the small cell (more than it ever should), and how he has to somehow tear down this flag. Frag it!
How was he ever supposed to be strong enough? The Decepticons were too big. The cage was too tough. Even their fragging decorations were proving to be too much! He’s got nothing let to give.
You are not done yet, Bumblebee.
The voice rings in his processor, calm and confident like always. It feels like Optimus is right there with him, the ghost of larger servos sitting next to his own.
Together. We will do this together.
One pull. That’s all he has to manage.
With Optimus’s strength, the flag pulls free of the wall. With Optimus’s functioning processor, they have the foresight to try to catch the pole. With Optimus’s speed, they manage to get it before it hits the ground.
Bumblebee wants to sob as they pull the banner into the cell. They did it. With Optimus’s help, he did it. He’s bled out half his energon and he never had much strength in the first place, but he’s got the banner in this Primus forsaken cell. All he can think of are two simple words.
Thank you thank you thank you.
A pair of imaginary arms wrap around his body, pouring bravery into his very frame. It pours warmth over his plating, giving him encouragement that he so desperately needed.
We are close. Do not give up hope yet.
Just a little bit longer. Even as he rips the first strip off, he is filled with renewed confidence.
Good point five: He has something to pack his wound with.
Good point six: he now has a makeshift blanket to fight off the chill.
The Decepticons have not broken him yet.
—
Optimus knows they are running out of time.
He knows it in the way Bumblebee was losing strength by the klick. He knows it in the phantom pain that came with rough fiber being packed into an open wound. He knows it in the desperation his scout feels.
He still isn’t entirely sure how he managed to push his power through their bond, but he’s thankful. Without it, Bumblebee never would have gotten the flag. He would have felt lost and alone and defeated. He might have even bled out before Optimus could get to him.
On first glance, the base doesn’t look like much. The entrance is hidden in a valley leading up to the mountain itself, far enough down that most humans wouldn’t bother approaching it.
“Well, that certainly looks like the entrance to a secret base.” Jazz hummed. “What’s the plan?”
“We need to identify all possible entrances and exits,” Prowl says. “Otherwise they may simply take Bumblebee again.”
“Don’t count Bumblebee out so easily, old friend. He’s tough and determined. At the very least, he’ll buy us some time if we’re discovered.” Optimus says, silently running through the other options. They had no knowledge of this base’s layout, but if it was anything like their others, it would be geometric and the prisoners would be kept in the darkest depths.
“He’ll also dealing with a bleeding wound, a paralyzed arm, and likely helm damage. He isn’t exactly at his full capability.” Ratchet pointed out.
“If we won’t minimize escape points, then we need to be prepared for a quick attack. We will either corner the Decepticons or drive them out of the base while you retrieve Bumblebee. An equally fast escape will be imperative.” Prowl nods to himself. Ever the strategist, always forming new plans in his head when the need arises.
“Sounds fun,” Wheeljack pulled out a small bomb. “So when do I get to detonate this thing?”
“You don’t,” Ironhide swiped the explosive out of Wheeljack’s servo, throwing him a servo gun instead. “You get this so you don’t take the whole base down on us and Bee.”
Wheeljack pouted for a klick. “Do I get to detonate it afterwards?”
“For the love of Primus.” Prowl rolled his optics.
“Let’s keep that plan on the backburner. For now, we prioritize Bumblebee’s retrieval. Megatron will certainly be expecting an attack, so we must be careful.” Optimus stood up, pulling his ion blaster from his subspace. If he could get past the majority of the Decepticon forces, then he could get to Bumblebee and get him out.
“Alright fellas, let’s go show these cons what happens when you mess with an Autobot.” Jazz smirked, brandishing his own rifle.
Jazz was right. It was finally time to show the Decepticons just how much their mistake would cost them.
—
Optimus is close.
Bumblebee can feel in deep in his frame, curled up in his cell with nothing but the flag to keep him warm.
Good point seven: Optimus would be there any astro klick.
Bad point six: the Decepticons would definitely know
Bad point seven: the Decepticons could take their anger out on Bumblebee
Good point eight: Bumblebee has a weapon in the form of the pole.
Bad point eight: it was a pretty shitty weapon for someone who could barely stand.
Good point nine: Bumblebee had not only packed his wound, but had also managed to wrap more of the cloth around his body as a sling using his functioning servo and his denta.
The sling left much to be desired, especially considering it left his right arm in a strange position at all times, but it kept some of the weight off of his shoulder. It’ll basically be useless fabric if Bumblebee needs to fight, but it works for now.
A heavy pair of pedesteps echoes against the walls, slowly making their way towards Bumblebee’s cell. That is definitely not Optimus, rather someone that rivals him in sheer size. There’s only one mech on Earth that big, and Bumblebee knows exactly who that is.
Bad point nine: he’s fragged.
Megatron finally comes into view, scowling down at the scout. He always seems displeased, but he seems particularly upset by the way Bumblebee had ruined his precious flag. “It is rather rude to destroy something that isn’t yours, little bitlet.”
Bitlet. Of course Megatron would try to rile him up with bitlet. “It’s also rather rude to send your lackeys into someone else’s home and kidnap one of the residents. It’s also really fragging rude to shoot said resident in the shoulder. If you people knew anything about hospitality, I wouldn’t have had to rip down your banner and use it as a blanket.” The sarcasm rolls out of his voicebox in waves. Bark can be worse than a bite, after all.
Megatron sneered at the scout’s response. “You will give me answers,” he says, pulling the cell door open. “Or you will pay with your body.”
Bumblebee’s servo tightens around the pole hidden under the banner. “I already told you guys, I’m not saying anything. Do whatever you want to me. It won’t work.”
“We’ll see about that.” The silver mech takes a step into the cell. This must be what a cornered animal feels like; afraid and feral and willing to do whatever it took to get out alive. Megatron is a threat that Bumblebee on his own cannot handle. But he can fight. He can cause trouble. He can distract the warlord until help arrives.
He’s not the scared sparkling who watched his first caregiver die. He’s not the tiny bitlet who could barely lift a gun. He’s not the child who sobbed in his berth, knowing he’d lost far too much in the first few vorns of his life.
He is Bumblebee: an Autobot scout. Known for a personality that was too big to bottle up. An up-and-coming terror on the battlefield. The only mech bound to Optimus Prime in ways he didn’t even understand yet. He was the last child of Primus, the one thing the Well of Sparks deemed worthy to create with its remaining materials.
Courage was his middle name. Determination was his last.
Strength courses through his body again as Megatron reaches forward. There’s no way in hell Megatron is laying a digit on him.
The blade sinks into Megatron’s palm. The silver plating crumples under Bumblebee’s attack like it was butter, slicing through cables and wires. It feels like…vindication. Anything that damages the tyrant is great in the scout’s book, and knowing it was him with his brand new weapon feels all the better.
He was always meant for more.
The blade is proof of that. Imbedded into his very frame and hidden under his plating for hundreds of stellar cycles, it was more than razor sharp and it was tough. He probably had a second one in his left arm too, just inaccessible due to his condition.
Megatron screams, yanking his arm back towards his chest and cradling his now damaged hand. It feels good to know that Bumblebee is not the only one injured anymore. But he can’t stop. Ravage is already gone, presumably to warn the others about their captive’s unruly behavior and the injury of their leader. No time to waste.
Bumblebee manages to get out of the cell, kicking the door shut as Megatron lunges for him again. Good. One Con down. Only…eleven more possibilities. He can do this. He can-
“Bumblebee!”
Oh thank Primus.
It’s Optimus. He’s running towards Bumblebee like nothing else in this world matters, his face obscured by his battle mask but his emotions running wild. Bumblebee can feel it through their new bond. The relief. The horror. The guilt. The concern.
Bumblebee tries to take a step forward. His knee buckles out from underneath him, and the only thing that keeps him from hitting the ground are the arms that catch him. Optimus is here, just like he said he would be. He doesn’t feel scared anymore. He’s so tired of feeling scared.
“I have you,” Optimus says softly, pulling the scout into his arms. “I have you.”
There’s so much to say and not enough time to say it. Bumblebee always knew Optimus was coming. He never doubted the Prime for a klick, no matter how bad things seemed. The pain is terrible, but just being around the older mech is making it better. He fought hard. He’s so tired. He just wants to go home.
Bumblebee simply lays his helm down against Optimus’s shoulder, willing the bond to do most of the communication for him. He wants to leave. He wants to stop hurting. He knows that no matter what, Optimus will keep him safe because they’re together again.
—
Bumblebee is so cold in his arms.
Optimus is trying his best to keep calm, pushing warmth and comfort through the bond and pulling some of the pain away. Ratchet. He has to get to Ratchet now.
His scout’s optics are so dark. He’s got no energon left to power them, nothing to keep his systems running as they should. Even the cloth he used to pack the wound is drenched, stained blue with the blood of his friend. In another circumstance, it would be oddly poetic. A visual representation of the Decepticon efforts. Right now, it’s a sign that his scout is approaching death.
“All Autobots, retreat from the base. Bumblebee is acquired.” Optimus commands, running up the stairs to the outside. Good. The plan was going smoothly. After all of the recent shenanigans the Decepticons had caused, it was reassuring to know that things could still go smoothly. In addition, Megatron was now locked in the very cell he’d held the scout in. Starscream wasn’t likely to let him out any time soon, although depending on how he led the Decepticons it was possible the others would.
He was so proud of his scout and so damn terrified for him at the same time. He had fought so valiantly and risked everything to protect them with no guarantee that they could find him. He had done it at the sacrifice of his body, and now he was starting to reap what he sowed.
Optimus could not fail Bumblebee again. Not when the pain he caused was still so fresh. Not when Bumblebee had been taken because of his foolish oversight. Not before he got to beg for the little mech’s forgiveness, hoping and praying that Bumblebee would accept it.
The sun on his faceplate is a welcome sensation. He has often heard the humans say the desert heat can be brutal, but to Optimus it is a reminder of home. Cybertron often ran hotter near the forges. For many sparklings, the first thing they ever knew was the warmth of flame. It is also a sign of freedom. They have escaped. His scout was out of Decepticon servos and back where he belonged.
It was time to get Bumblebee home.
—
When Bumblebee wakes next, it is not to the freezing chill of a cell or the all-consuming pain of a blaster wound. It is to the warmth of a repair bay, the place they all go when the damage is severe. It is to the sound of hushed voiceboxes, volumes lowered to respect his rest. It is to the quiet hum of the new bond that settles in his soul, singing happily because Optimus is there and Bumblebee is awake and things are finally right.
For the first time in breems, he’s able to open his optics and not have the world try to escape from underneath him. His internal systems are already running checks, declaring his energon levels up to satisfaction and most of the damage already mended. The orange ceiling of the Ark is a comforting sight, especially after being surrounded by the purple walls of the Decepticons.
Home. He’s back home.
Home in the Ark. Home with the brothers he chose. Home with the one who has been the closest thing Bumblebee ever really had to a caregiver since the war.
Bumblebee pushes himself up, delighted at the fact that he had the use of both arms again and that it’s as easy as normal. He doesn’t feel weak or woozy, and the pain is completely gone. He almost forgot how it felt to just be…normal. He felt like he could go out and win a race right now! Although…Ratchet would not be happy with him if he left before getting clearance.
A servo comes to rest on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “Easy,” Optimus says, kneeling down by the bay. “You are still recovering.”
The words alone are comforting, but for the first time in a long time, Optimus Prime doesn’t have his battle mask on. His face is completely exposed, emotions readable to anyone in the room. And he is smiling, like Bumblebee finally waking up was the only thing he ever needed to make his life right. And, well…
That’s all Bumblebee ever wanted: to make Optimus smile. To make him proud. To be someone their leader could rely on not just on the field, but off of it. To be someone worth rescuing.
“Hey, you’re awake! Good to see you up, kid.” Jazz’s voice cuts through the room, his servo clapping against Bumblebee’s back. It gathers the attention of the other Autobots, who slowly start making their way around the berth.
Wait a klick. “How long have I been out?” Bumblebee asked. It certainly didn’t…feel like he’d been out long. But based on the reactions of the others, he was going to guess that it was longer than he thought.
“Three solar cycles.” Ratchet says as he pushes Prowl and Wheeljack out of the way, looking at Bumblebee’s previously injured shoulder. “If Optimus had been even an astro klick later, you wouldn’t be waking up at all. I cannot even begin to stress how close you were to joining the Allspark.”
Three solar cycles. Bumblebee had been unconscious for three solar cycles. Primus, he must have scared the others really badly. He’d been asleep for all of it, but they had to witness it.
Oh scrap. Had Optimus felt it? Had he been able to sense just how close he was to losing the yellow mech forever? Was that why he had seemed so desperate to get Bumblebee out? The scout had been clinging on to the idea of holding out until Optimus found him. Apparently his body had the same idea.
“You’re kidding.”
Jazz shook his head. “Nope. Three solid solar cycles. Couldn’t wake you up at all.”
“I volunteered to see if I could scare you awake.” Wheeljack shrugged.
“And I vetoed it because I don’t want the med bay to look like the lab.” The medic shot daggers at the inventor.
“I said I would only use a smoke bomb, but Doc didn’t believe me.”
“Don’t call me Doc.”
“Actually,” Prowl leaned forward. “I did have a question now that you are awake.”
Oh boy. The strategist was curious in many ways, and some of them sent shivers down Bumblebee’s frame. “Go for it.”
“How in Primus’s name did you get Megatron inside the cell in your condition?” He raised an optic ridge.
Oh. That wasn’t bad. “With this.” Bumblebee grinned, bringing out the blade on his right hand.
The expressions on the others faces? Totally worth it.