Chapter Text
1
Bumblebee was starting to hate his boss.
That wasn't true, not really. Optimus wasn't even his boss technically. He was just a substitute teacher after all.
The keyword there being: substitute.
For the last six months (180 days, he'd counted), Bumblebee had been all but been an official teacher at D. E. O'Neil Elementary & Junior High School. All because the teacher he was stepping in for decided to disappear. He was pretty sure they weren't dead — if they were then this whole thing might have resolved easier — but they sure weren't doing their job either. No — No instead, he was back in the same classroom going over his same introduction over how he was a substitute to a group of children who at this point knew him as their teacher longer than their actual teacher. All because he woke up at five in the morning to an email from Optimus, the principal, asking him if he could come in and cover. Again.
The worst part about it was he kept agreeing to it! A multitude of reasons contributed to that. Such as: the kids were (usually) great, the other teachers helped out often, and Optimus was just really, really hard to say no to. Every time he drove down the road, he would grumble to himself that this would be the last time.
At this point it was just as much of the routine as his introduction.
"Good morning!" He chirped with a smile that pulled slightly too much at the pistons in his jaw, "In case you don't remember, I'm Mr. Bumblebee. I'll be sub-ing for Mr. Robbins, who unfortunately could not be here today." Again, he added silently as his smile twitched.
"Let's go over attendance, shall we?"
Bumblebee taught students in junior high program. Or, he tried to. He was not trained to teach this level, he had only barely gotten his qualifications to be a substitute before he had this situation thrusted upon him. Which meant most of his time away from the school was spent studying the material ahead of time so he could do more than just plop in a movie and call it a day.
He was having them watch a movie today though.
Not every day could be a winner.
As he passed out the worksheet (which he had spent far too much time the previous night putting together, and then far too much time fighting with the printer over), he briefly wondered why he had started the day off being so angry at the principal. He shut down the lights and pressed play on the video, sitting down in the chair behind his desk and glancing at his phone on the table. The empty screen of notifications reminded him why.
Optimus was ignoring him.
For the last five months, he had been calling him to find an official replacement for Mr. Robbins. Sure, he was a busy guy! It would have just been nice if he acknowledged any of the calls he didn't answer. Or the texts. Or the anything.
His teeth ground against each other. Optimus was a good guy, he was sure! After all, he was paying him for all of this. He also was probably just as concerned about all of this. Maybe the stress overwhelmed him a bit and unfortunately Bumblebee had been the one it affected the most. It would be fine.
It would be so fine in fact that he marched all the way to his office during his lunch break and slammed the door open.
"Hey OP, you got a minute?" He asked (demanded).
Looking up from his microwaved lunch (Optimus seemed to have a new dish every month he was trying out), the principal glanced around with a spoon inches away from his mouth before nodding.
"Of course Bumblebee, how can I help you?"
"So, I, uh—" Having his undivided attention made him hesitate. It was worse that he seemed to notice, and smiled at him. As if that would make him more comfortable. It didn't, for the record.
"I'm sure you've been like, super busy," he was losing his nerve by the second, "But I was just...wondering if you had gotten any of my calls. You know, any of the...thirty-seven I've made. This month. So far."
Optimus' smile did not falter, "You've been calling me?"
"Yes. A lot, actually." A total of 329 times, last time he checked. That didn't include any of the text messages.
"I..." He squeezed his hands together, "Have not gotten...any of your calls. Which number have you been calling?"
Bumblebee felt like he was going to blow a fuse, "Pretty sure it's your number. It's on your email signature."
"My email signature..." Optimus made a hum as he turned to his computer, likely to open up his email and check. His mouth straightened as he stared at the screen for a minute. Then two. Slowly, he dragged his hands down his face until his face was pressed against his palms. A noise that resembled a strangled, muffled groan was faintly heard against the fan of his office.
"I'm sorry. That's—" He dropped his hands and the smile was gone, "I'm so sorry. It's an old number, I must have forgotten to replace it." He coughed - a strange, half-sputter of his engine. "What did you need to talk to me about?"
"The, uh, situation. You know, with the teacher. Who is not here."
"Right."
"Forgive me," Optimus let out a sigh that was heavy. He could see the way his entire frame bent to follow the slump. "I— I've allowed...personal obligations to supersede my duties as your employer."
Bumblebee winced as the shame suddenly doused him. It wasn't an open secret, not outside of the school system at least, but he knew that Optimus had been preoccupied with his kid. The teacher's lounge had a few conversations about it — if only for the sake of curiosity. It was just a little noteworthy when the principal suddenly decided to go out to a bar the same night his kid was suddenly on vacation.
The shame bubbled from jealousy. Optimus was attentive to his son, vigilant even. He always seemed involved with what he was doing, and Bumblebee was jealous of the kid. Hot Rod — he was pretty sure that was his name — never had to wonder if his dad would attend something because of work, or not see him for a few days because of project, or have to text him reminders on the very important paperwork he still hadn't sent in—
"It's...it's fine," Bumblebee managed out. "Personal stuff comes up."
"I just..." He sighed, "Look. I love these kids. It's just that I'm not trained to be a full time teacher. Not yet. They need someone who can, you know, actually teach them."
"You've been doing a fine job of it," Optimus offered, "They— I've heard some praise from parents over how their children are enjoying their class now."
That helped a little bit. It still didn't mean that he was qualified. They were already pushing it with him effectively being a long-term sub and these kids would have finals soon. They needed someone who actually knew these lessons and could help them. Not some sub who was scrambling to make a lesson work when the printer decided to jam an entire docking space.
"Do you have any, uh, teachers lined up?" Bumblebee shifted on his feet, trying to avoid his boss' gaze.
"A few. Suggestions, really." Optimus glanced down at his lunch and then back to Bumblebee, "Could you hold on another week? I know I've already asked a lot, but I should have the candidates ready for review in a few days."
He sucked in a breath and nodded.
"Yeah. Yeah I can hold on another week."
2
Bumblebee screamed into the very soft pillow in his hotel room. It wasn't the hotel's; there was no way this small town was able to afford a Cybertronian sized down pillow. He had brought it from home when he first arrived six months ago, if only because he planned to be here for a month-long substituting assignment. Which had just increased another week, because of course it had.
"You could have said no!" He mumbled to himself, "You could have said, 'No, I can not. Please get another sub.' But noooo!"
A groan sustained itself in his vocalizer as he twisted over. He needed lesson plans now. Could he do a week-long lesson plan, to stretch the material out until the replacement came in? They were on track when he checked last night, but what if the next teacher was too slow? Or worse, what if they had to speed through the remaining modules to make it in time? He rolled back over and screamed into the pillow again.
He had to do this.
On his HUD, he selected his Comm and then glanced at the contact labeled 'DAD'. No new notifications hovered over it; clicking into it also graced him with his last three messages still laying under 'UNREAD'. He planted his face back into the pillow.
He queued up a call to the contact just below it labeled 'SARI'.
"What's up Bee?" His younger sister's excited voice stabbed guilt into his spark. He hadn't called in over a week, and he certainly hadn't made time to just chat with her like he once did. Now here he was, calling for a reason that wasn't just to talk to her.
"Oh you know, saving the world. One class period at a time."
"Really?"
"Uh, yeah! I totally do!" Bumblebee pouted. "Why else would I be such a hot commodity?"
"Uh-huh, suuure. And how do you become a hot commodity at a school house?" Sari's voice was tinged with a smirk.
"Because I'm just that good!"
"At getting finger paint on your side skirts?"
"Do not call them that." Bumblebee threw a hand over his face. It was ineffective at anything other than making a loud CLANK over the line.
"Why not? That's what they are."
"Yeah, sure." He huffed, "But when you call them that, then our uncle starts saying I need to go 'get checked out' at a garage."
"Well our uncle isn't here now is he?" Sari groaned.
Praise god for small miracles, he grumbled under his breath. The last time they had gone to visit their extended family in Mumbai a disaster had only been nearly avoided. Sari had been five and he had been eighteen — thirteen years and thirteen feet apart. The whole time, Bumblebee had wanted to stow her away in his passenger seat and go home.
It wasn't that their extended family disliked him. Sure, his dad's adoration for all things robotic wasn't necessarily shared amongst them; but it was also really hard to not like a robot that transformed into a car (no matter how hard his great-grandmother tried). No, the issue came down to Sari.
Five-year old Sari had been put to task watching a pair of cousins, both of them just a year younger. They had phrased it like it was just letting her play on the balcony with the two boys. Then, just fifteen or so minutes later, one of them cried about wanting something to eat. Bumblebee (with little choice but to stand outside and lean through windows) watched as not a single adult did anything but glance over. One of them — how they were related he couldn't remember — had even glared at Sari as the boy whined.
An aunt (he thought she was an aunt) had marched over and smacked the back of Sari's head, scolding her for letting the boy suffer instead of getting him a snack. Sari had looked up at her, wide eyed and confused, rubbing at the back of her head as she was yelled at. The only sound out of her throat was a quiet breath. Bumblebee hadn't known how to react — their dad never did more than shake his finger disapprovingly as he tutted at them.
Amongst Transformers, it wasn't uncommon for the occasional slap, hit, or grab to happen amongst those around. It was inevitable with their sizes and metal frames that scraped at even the lightest touch. Humans were soft though. They were squishy and lacked an outer shell. When humans hit one another it hurt — and humans didn't like getting hurt. His processor was stuck on a loop, trying to comprehend the event.
Their father had sprinted from the kitchen, picked Sari up, and yelled at their aunt.
"How dare you!"
"You spoil her too much! She let him cry for three whole minutes, what kind of woman lets a toddler cry that long?"
"What kind of— She's five!" He turned away from her towards the mech in the window, "Bee—"
"Bumblebee!" Sari raised her voice to scream into the receiver. The feedback screamed in his audial as he jerked his head to the side in a futile attempt to get away from the noise.
"What the hell Sari?! I need my audials to work tomorrow!"
"You were ignoooring me."
"I was not 'ignoooring you'." He defended, "I was just…thinking. You know I do that sometimes, right?"
"Uhuh, sure. And what were you thinking about?"
"Well, if you must know, I was thinking about dad!"
The moment it left the queue, he wished he had denied it and let it die in his vocalizer.
"Bumblebee. If you called me, for the first time in over a week, just so I could hand the phone to dad—" He instinctively turned down his volume "—I'M GOING TO REPURPOSE YOUR ACTUATOR TO A DUMBWAITER!"
His processor screeched from the volume despite his best efforts. The static coated his mouth as he smacked his lips. It didn't help him get rid of it any faster, but it gave him a reason to not immediately respond.
"Sari—"
"A. Dumb. Waiter." She threatened with a hiss.
"Yes, okay, you can use my actuator for your mentally compromised weigher." That was not what she said. "—But I really, really need dad to make sure he's sent in the paperwork for my Temporary Residence License renewal or I am going to get arrested in two days!"
Bumblebee heard a long, loud, and laborious sigh. He withheld the urge to make his own in return. Sari wasn't his enemy here, she was just seven. She was just a first grader and she missed him. He missed her too. The last six months living alone in a hotel that was exactly one floor tall (and held an occupancy limit of six total mechs), in a small town had been…taxing to say the least. He was used to Detroit — with its high rises, busy street festivals, and Art Deco stylings that reminded him of Cybertron.
Witwicky was nothing like Cybertron.
It was covered in organic life for one. A giant forest, plants on the side of the street, moss. Moss was a big one he had to admit. Allegedly he had heard Cybertron had some form of non-mechanical life, but he had never seen any. Iacon's Great Dome District was by and large completely 'modernized' by Cybertronian standards. Bumblebee had finished his primary programming without ever having to leave the shining center of the city. The first time he had actually seen most of Iacon itself had been on the shuttle ride to the space bridge.
Nothing compared to seeing it in the air. It was a shame he had only seen it that one time. Mainly because he also learned at that point that he had a terrible fear of flying. He had to enter flights on Earth quote-unquote 'sedated'.
"Bumblebee?" His silent grumbling was interrupted by his dad's voice on the other side of the line.
"Hey Professor dad, how's it hangin'?"
"Oh, quite on edge right now." His voice was tinged with the soft anxiety he always seemed to carry, "Sari said it was an emergency. You're not dying are you? If you're dying I can replace the parts."
You'd know if I was, Bumblebee said to himself. "Nah, nah - I'm not dying."
"Thank goodness! Uh…what was the emergency again?"
"Just wanting to make sure you sent in the paperwork I asked you to send in."
"Paperwork…paperwork…no, no it wasn't a patent, was it? No. That's not an emergency…" He hemmed and hawed as he searched through his (likely recently scrambled from electricity) brain.
"The very important TRL renewal documentation? You know…that I need in order to work and live in a different house than you?"
"Aaah." Bumblebee could feel the sudden realization from beyond the line. "Yes, yes — that is very important. You sent me that yesterday…"
"I sent it three. Weeks. Ago," he corrected with a forced cheerfulness that he had recently gotten very good at thanks to the kids in his class.
"Three weeks— oh dear. How long have I been— no, don't answer that. Too long." There was a loud scrap of a chair against the floor as his dad left the laboratory properly, "I'll do that right now. I swore I set a reminder."
"It's—" Bumblebee sighed, "It's fine. Please, turn it in by tonight."
"Of course, I'll have it sent off before I get back into the laboratory…oh, I should get some dinner as well afterwards. Sari—" His voice was more distant as he turned away from the receiver, "Sari! Could you put a microwave meal on for me? Thank you sweetheart!"
It's a miracle he hasn't suffered from dehydration yet.
"But yes Bumblebee, I will have it submitted tonight."
"Great, cool, awesome. Don't forget it." He stressed the three words as much as he physically could. "I'm going to pass out now."
"Aim for the bed!"
The comm ended with a click. He would have felt worse for ending the call without saying goodnight to either of them, but he wanted to just shut everything off and let it rest for a night. At least six hours, eight if he was lucky.
A ping came from his email inbox.
He groaned and pressed his face back into the pillow.