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As the cacophony of rising voices filtered through his audials, Bumblebee turned his head slightly to the left—intending to obscure that side of his facial sculpt in shadow. None of the kids noticed the odd movement, thankfully, as they were all too absorbed in trying to work things out and find a way home with the help of those really, really tiny Autobots.
By Solus, he still didn't know what to make of them. For one, Bumblebee had never been at optic level with Optimus Prime a day in his run cycle, so to finally rub shoulders with him didn't seem right in the slightest. Not to mention the fact that their definition of Prime was so much different than their own… Knowing that a world out there existed where the Autobots won the war and decided to up the ante on their militarism was… something else entirely.
Ratchet looked an absolute mess, to call him merely run-down was generous at best. His magnets were on odd choice for a personal mod, but he understood the application of them in warfare and healing all the same.
If his Prowl had been around still, he'd probably develop a pinched circuit from the fact that the version of him here had zero interest in doing things by the books. Or the fact that he was apparently a… ninja? Bumblebee didn't know precisely how that worked, but didn't have the bandwidth to question it.
He didn't even wanna touch his alternate-self at the moment, not when he felt the pressure building in his helm. He'd put a pin in it and circle back eventually.
As for the last Autobot member of this other world, well, Bumblebee didn't really know this Bulkhead guy. He refrained from voicing the theory that he… likely didn't exist in their reality… as that was the sort of existential crisis they did not have the time for on their agenda. But if out of all of them he claimed the title of a top space bridge engineer then by all means, let him lead the conversation.
The sooner they figured out how to reverse the transwarp field that brought them here, the faster they could return to their reality and jump right back into the fray.
Everyone was counting on them making it back in time. The Maltos, the Autobots, Optimus, every single Transformer left stranded on Earth and simply trying to live as meaningful of a life as they could with their circumstances. None of them could afford to waste time, to dawdle, or stall and that included Bumblebee too.
He grit his denta, holding back a grimace as his shutters lagged for the briefest of moments.
Bumblebee shifted, crossing his arms and gripping them tight. Nightshade threw him a worried glance, but he waved them off. They should focus on comforting their sister—Twitch's nerves were nearly at the breaking point from the stress of abandoning Robby, Mo, and her parents to Mandroid's machinations. Bee didn't need to add on his own problems to her plate, refused to in fact.
Especially not over old injuries that she, nor anyone else, could help him with. Such a little thing, with lifelong ramifications. In all his time teaching the Terrans, Bumblebee made certain that none of them noticed the scar marring the metal over his left optic, keeping it hidden from notice… or at the very least an unspoken topic of discussion.
Bumblebee was their teacher, guide, mentor, and the sole adult left in charge of them at the moment. Which meant that he couldn't afford to go out of commission.
Normally, if he felt as though his optic malfunction were about to flare up he'd simply walk away for a moment, feigning a call from Optimus. But none of the alternate Autobot's trusted him—a sentiment drudged up by the fact that he had built in weaponry or some such nonsense—to do so and the kids would call him out on the obvious lie.
Tilting his helm away from the group and… riding the waves until they ebbed was his best bet at the moment.
It started as it always did: a growing soreness at the top of his cheek, just below his optical socket. In a human, he supposed it might have felt like the muscles located there were suddenly swelling or as though it displayed the start of a developing bruise. Tender and stiff, puffy enough to cast the illusion that the eyes were sinking in.
But in a Transformer, the firmness of his facial construction prevented that visual from displaying. After all, his face had been dented decades ago now—dented and popped without much of a scuff mark to remain. No, instead the facial sculpt sensors beneath the surface metal pinged at his HUD. Noting a mounting tension in that area as a sign of what would occur next within a few moment–
A warning issued far too late.
And sure enough, his bottom shutter started to spasm. He grunted, writing off the sound as clearing his neck cabling, but continued looking off to the side. It didn't hurt, per se. But the loss of control was both uncomfortable physically and mentally taxing.
If the involuntary movement stopped at just that, then Bumblebee could let out a sigh of relief and gladly rejoin the conversation. But it rarely ever was just the one twitch so he continued to look away.
It didn't feel right to keep quiet when the matter of the safety of the Malto's and the world was on the line, but keeping the attention off of him took priority. Bumblebee wanted desperately to return back to their own dimension as soon as possible too—but he needed a moment. Just the one. And then he'd bounce back as always.
The spasm in his lower shutter continued, coming and going in waves. From his periphery cameras, he watched as that little girl that the Autobot's allied themselves with gestured toward her neck where what looked… suspiciously like the Spark Regenerator Key hung from a lanyard. Bumblebee tried to pay attention to the conversation but failed miserably.
It kept going, proving persistent and distracting. Worse yet, he resigned himself to the fact that it would only get worse.
Sometimes the shutter just twinged with an acknowledgment of, 'Yup, still here and still doing this bullslag', like a weak knock against the sensor. But he tracked as it gradually progressed past that to full-on repetitive twitching.
His orbital socket felt raw.
Bumblebee heaved as subtly as he could. A hiss emitted from underneath his plating and even though it had been explained otherwise to him by Wheeljack many times before, he felt the sensation migrate up—no longer contained to the lower shutter.
Even though it would definitely draw attention, Bumblebee jerked his helm away fully. He swung in place right as his upper shutter slammed close. His wings informed him that his alternate self jumped back at the sudden movement, hiding behind Bulkhead. Little him got… twitchy whenever he saw the sensory organ protrusions.
"Everything alright, Bumblebee?" Optimus asked, terse. "Or are we boring you?"
"Dandy." Bumblebee waved him off, flapping his servo behind him. "I'm just… frustrated. Ignore me."
"Join the club," Ratchet groused. "And I don't know if you've noticed, but we can't exactly do the latter when for the time being we're stuck with you."
"Hey!" Twitch exclaimed, his wings transmitting a shadow of her flying up and into Ratchet's face directly to his vis-feed. "We don't need this from you right now, not when–!"
"Whirlybird," his upper shutter twitched up and down in micrometers, blocking off his vision. Almost as though someone were holding it down with a digit, refusing to let up. "Focus. I know you want to get back to Witwicky, we all do, but we can't do that if you alienate our only allies."
"But–!"
"Center yourself." He turned to the right ever so slightly, still hiding the left side of his face from her. "You remember all those lessons about keeping a cool helm during a crisis? No situation is made better by losing control over our emotions. Even Megatron has learned this by now."
What a hypocrite… Lessons for thee, but not for me.
"You're right," her helm lowered as she sunk back down onto the ground. Nightshade moved close and laid a hand on her pauldrons. Twitch smiled up appreciatively, before turning back to Ratchet. She mumbled, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you. Even if you were being objectively rude."
Normally, Bumblebee would have tuned back into the conversation here. If Twitch was running on a hair-trigger temper, then he'd have to run interference. But that damn spasm kept going and he couldn't face her or Nightshade like this.
Even though he knew that doing so would only prolong the episode, Bumblebee fought against the malfunction.
The nano-klik it halted all involuntary action for just a moment, Bumblebee squeezed both optic shutters. He blinked rapidly, and then harshly, before blinking in quick bursts again. Once he started that, he really couldn't stop to his mounting irritation.
Bringing the heel of his palms up, he dug the metal into his sockets. It didn't do anything, because why would it? The metal of a Transformer was unyielding, at the best of times, and absolutely impossible at the worst. No, it served no specific purpose other than Bumblebee having seen the gesture done by humans many times before and sought to mimic them now, seeking a relief that wouldn't come soon.
"Bumblebee?" Nightshade attempted to approach. "Are you sure that you're okay?"
"I'm fine." He needed the subject to change away from him. "Nightshade, have you shown Bullhead–"
"Bulkhead," said mech corrected.
"Bulkhead," he amended, cursing himself. "Sorry. Have you shown Bulkhead the Cyber Slayer yet? Maybe that's the key for getting home. Or at least, the reason why we're here and not back in Witwicky."
"Well, no, I haven't yet." Nightshade looked down at the staff that they had been the designated safe-keeper of. "But I am more concerned about you. It wasn't long ago that you and Twitch both were attacked by Mandroid. Perhaps you were injured more than previously thought?"
"He doesn't look injured," their Bee spoke up. Bumblebee genuinely hadn't expected it, which only made his attempt at discretion all the worse. His mini-me oscillated between giving him envious looks and unsettled glances as though he couldn't decide whether to fear or admire a version of himself who actually fought in the war— If even he was growing concerned then clearly Bumblebee hadn't been playing this off as well as he hoped.
"Maybe Ratchet should give you a scan, just be sure," Optimus offered, stepping forward.
"Or I can use my key!" The little girl exclaimed, holding it up high.
In any other moment, Bumblebee would have managed to scrounge up enough humility to find comfort in their care. But, unfortunately for him, the amount of voices washing over his overwhelmed audials nailed straight through his main computer and amped everything up to an eleven.
He lost the ability to see out of his left optic entirely, as the shutters closed nearly permanently. The stress of which caused his right optic—which only ever bothered him when everything became too much—rolled right into the back of his socket.
When this happened, it uncontrollably went up as far as it could go before disconnecting. Then it would settle back into place just so his shutters could spasm some more. And if that were only the extent of it, then he wouldn't have to deal with his left optic following suit. Because the next thing he'd know was that both optics were effectively out of commission.
"I'm fine," he grit out. "How many times do I have to say it? We're wasting time focusing on me when Mandroid is out there threatening to kill everyone we love!"
Twitch gasped, a little shriek. Frag, he shouldn't have said that or alluded to it. Even Nightshade looked rattled at the exclamation, but their concern stayed true as their wide eyes roamed over Bumblebee as though they could diagnose and fix whatever afflicted him.
And as if the world was out to get him personally, Bumblebee forgot entirely that Schloder was still present. Quietly reeling from the—truthfully?—visceral death of his sister, he went unnoticed. Bumblebee had no lost love there, but a sight like that would have disturbed anyone let alone a direct family member.
And although he hadn't volunteered anything up till now, only one thing could capture Jon's attention through his grief: the well-being of his most favorite Autobot.
Sure enough, the man quickly noticed that Bumblebee very intentionally had backed out of the argumentation to hide his face. Walking around him and looking up, the man blinked behind his tinted glasses. "Bumblebee, your eyes–"
"Don't." He snapped, throwing up his servos and whirling around. No need to stretch out this nonsense any longer than they already had. The metaphorical cat was out of the equally as imaginary bag. In the brief flashes of vision his infuriating optics granted him, he watched the worry crescendo across all of their faces and promptly decided that getting thrown to the Pits would have been kinder. "I already know. I'll save everyone the energy— It's old news, no you can't fix it, yes it will go away on it's own. Got it? Great! Let's hear a little less about me and a little more about what we can do to recreate a cross-dimensional space bridge."
"Bee!" Twitch and Nightshade clamored, running toward him from their spot saddled between Bulkhead and the little girl. Despite her earlier aggression toward him, Twitch turned toward Ratchet and fretted at him, "What do we do? How can we help him?"
In good news: the spasm in his shutters let up. But the bad news followed right behind as his cranial matrix more interested in repeating blinks and straining the limits of his optical nerve. A red and white smear approached, but kept his distance. Visual snow grew in the corners of Bumblebee's main vis-feed and he felt his facial sculpt heat up out of mortification.
Pensively, Ratchet observed. To Twitch he said, "We listen to the mech and do nothing. I trust that he knows his own frame better than the rest of us could ever hope to." Tilting his helm in consideration, he asked Bumblebee, "Does it hurt?"
"No." Bumblebee told the truth, or the closest to it. The action of the shutters malfunctioning didn't necessarily cause any sort of pain, but the prolonged duration put a strain on his systems that he didn't need. Optical fluid welled at the corners of his sockets as a natural response to the movement occurring internally, cresting over the edge and leaking down the sides of his face.
"You're a terrible liar," Prowl commented. "Like a certain someone we know."
"Hey," the other Bee whined. "I resent that… But you're right. You look like you're not doing too hot."
"I'm stressed. And when I'm stressed I get flare ups." He directed his helm so that he could glare between all of them. It probably didn't look all that much impressive with his optics freaking out the way they currently were. "Anybody would deal with the same in this scenario, so again, let's move forward with figuring out a way home. Chop, chop."
The alternate Autobots frowned, but turned toward Ratchet—who shrugged—and then to Optimus.
"Alright," Bumblebee couldn't exactly parse his expression through the blinks, but Optimus acquiesced nonetheless. "If he says he's good to continue, then we should."
"Great!" He moved away from Jon and the kids, not able to handle their smothering. His optics continued their little tantrum, to which Bumblebee found he was entirely over it. "Happy to hear it!"
And they returned to their deliberations, with Bumblebee having to rely entirely on the cameras adorned across his body for visual input. Slowly, as they all calmed down and the others realized that he really wasn't in any agonizing pain, the spasm started to ease.
It reversed gears and went away bit by bit. His optics stopped rolling every few nano-kliks, for one, and Bumblebee let them laze about in rest instead of jumping right into re-calibration. He still uncontrollably blinked in successive bursts, but even that petered off into an off-chance twinge. The area around his sockets felt heavy, but he had a sinking feeling that until they solved everything—including defeating Mandroid—that he could expect another episode in the future, if not a perpetual twitch.
Nobody verbally acknowledged that the malfunction had ceased, but Twitch and Nightshade tentatively wandered closer so that they could both reach out to grasp his servos.
Apologetically, Bumblebee squeezed them gently, looking at both kids. When they had a moment of privacy he would need to give them a proper explanation and amend his treatment to them today, but for now this would do.
His malfunction really knew when to pick the worst possible time to rear its head. And he couldn't help but think about what awful luck his kids had, getting stuck in this dimension with only Bumblebee for help.