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Through separated digits, Bumblebee stared up at the unfamiliar Earthen night sky. The blackened ends blended into the background, making it difficult to tell where his hand ended and the world around it began. His pede bounced from where one leg propped up the other, in a nervous jitter, while the arm not currently held up fruitlessly wrapped around the back of his helm.
An altogether uncomfortable position, if you asked him. Not that, that had been his goal.
He laid against the top of some random building in Detroit—Bee hadn't actually paid attention to which. It was tall, however, and brought him closer to the open skies without running the risk of encountering his teammates or the others.
Bumblebee just needed space to himself. To process, to defrag, to feel as though he could get the cacophony of sound around him to finally quieten. Instead, he faced a disappoint he didn't even think possible with his newfound freedom.
He couldn't see the stars.
Unease coiled in his tanks at that. The golden glow from the live-wire city blocked out any and all celestial bodies from appearing in the milky darkness. One would think that after spending cycles out in space repairing abandoned space bridge transport stations that Bumblebee would tire of the inherent wonder of them, but no. He preferred to think back on those years spent bouncing between sectors with the occasional return to Cybertronian led outposts.
Staring up at nothing but blank space now, it reminded him of the bowels of the Nemesis and the long stretch of hallways in dim lighting that Bee could never outrun. By the time that they had been trusted to execute the will of Megatron, he had given up all hope of returning back to his old life.
Deploying to Earth, reuniting with Optimus and the others, that should have brought him comfort, right? Instead, it only served to prove how far away from the Commonwealth they still were.
Which— He knew this. Of all the mechs on his team, he should know more than any of them that Earth wasn't a part of their star maps or located within any measure of Autobot territory. He had studied the flight path the entire trip over and had to argue with that bolts-and-nuts 'leader' of his about it.
With that guy in charge, he considered it a miracle that they even made it to Earth at all. How Optimus could stand or even idolize that absolute showboating attention hoarder, he'd never understand…
Still, while they were here—however brief—Bee had hoped to at least look up and try to make sense out of any of it. The unfamiliar constellations, their mission, the ugly sense of betrayal leering around the corner waiting for him to rear-end Optimus and the others with his duplicity…
"This sucks," he mumbled, dropping his servo. It rest on his broad, unarmored abdomen—where thick welds that weren't smoothed over properly overlapped awkwardly. At least it gave his digits something to fiddle with as his computer drifted back to that same stagnant thread.
Should he savior the peace or dread it? Could he afford to lose himself in it? Did he even deserve to– To pretend, for even a moment that he–
A loud grunt broke through his ruminations. Turning his helm over to the fire escape, he watched as Ratchet hauled himself up and over the side of the roof with marginal assistance from his magnets.
"You couldn't have picked a smaller building to laze about on?" he groused once he stood on shaky pedes.
Bumblebee hadn't expected to remain alone for longer than a deca-cycle—hell, he'd gotten lucky with the time that he got. After a certain point, practically bid away the time between Prime sending out a minder to wrangle him back to that run-down manufacturing plant. But he had put his bets on Prowl or Optimus himself coming after him, not Ratchet.
If he had to guess, one of the humans on the ground sighted him crawling up the side of the building and probably made a call to that police officer that they all rubbed pauldrons with. Ratchet might have been the only one awake to receive the alert and, well, here he stood now.
Bumblebee didn't know they even bothered trying to help out the people of Detroit, but especially that captain. Why become buddy-buddy with someone who hated your very existence? If given the opportunity, he'd probably send them all to the chop-shop. Bumblebee didn't understand it…
He didn't understand them. Not anymore.
Gaining a little composure from his climb, Ratchet opted for settling on the side of the building ledge. He followed Bumblebee's gaze upward and clicked his glossa. "If you had wanted to see anything other than this blasted light pollution, Prowl would have been more than happy to drag into the woods."
"Yeah, I guess so," he shrugged. It didn't actually matter to Bumblebee where he went, so long as it was far away from that stuffy, overbearing team of his. "Is it just you?"
"Why? Expecting a party?" Ratchet questioned with a leer. "Yes, it's just me."
"Where are the others?"
"Which ones?"
"You know…" When it became apparent that Ratchet wanted him to elaborate, Bumblebee groaned. "Those idiots I'm currently being lumped with!"
"Oh, you mean the minibot parade," As though Bumblebee could have meant anyone else, "They're all back at the base, where you should be," with a sigh, Ratchet dragged his optics over Bee's frame again. Concern etched its way all over his facial sculpt when he lingered at… the differences in his body-construct, "If it were up to me, you wouldn't leave the med bay at all until I knew how to fix you."
As if there was anything left to fix. Hah, Bumblebee appreciated that Ratchet wanted to try, try again though. Eventually he'd get it through his helm what Bee had already come to terms with:
Bee couldn't go back. No matter how much he wanted to, the damage left inflicted upon him went spark deep.
He slid his leg off of his poleyn, pushing himself up. "Good thing it isn't up to you."
"Don't get smart with me," Ratchet warned. Right before Bee could fully stand back up, he waved him off. "Don't rush to leave so soon, we're going to sit here a while for my sake. I didn't climb all the way up here to make that same trip down not even a klik after."
Puffing air out of his side-vents, Bumblebee rolled his optics but complied. He sat back down and wrapped his arms around one of his knees. Bringing it close to his chassis so that he could lean his helm against a solid surface.
He abandoned the idea of looking at the sky and instead stared out into noisy Detroit.
"You're a lot quieter nowadays than before, kid," Ratchet commented idly. When Bee looked back over at the medic, he found that Ratchet's gaze had never strayed away from him. "Never thought I'd live to see a day where I wish you'd run your mouth, but well… Here we are."
"You can thank Lt. Strika for that." Bumblebee fiddled with his arm plating, scratching the same spot that he had been digging into for decades. Eventually, he'd peel back the metal and get at the lines beneath. Maybe, he'd find a remnant or two of his original electrical systems…
With a snap of his denta, Ratchet growled, "I won't thank a Con for nothing, but certainly not for her torturing you."
"There wasn't much 'torture' involved," he laughed, lacking all mirth. No, the torture had occurred much earlier in that blasted repair bay. "It was just… training. She wanted us to get stronger for L– for Megatron."
"In no world would beating you down until nothing of your spark remains be considered training."
"I beg to differ." He hated hearing Ratchet take that tone with him, as though he pitied Bumblebee for surviving instead of curling up to die in that jail cell. It could have so… easy. But he clung to life and now here he was, "I guess that means that there's something very wrong with me, right?"
"Nothing that I would blame you for, kid," Ratchet shook his helm, actively mourning him. Or the memory of him, more like it. "None of what she or they did to you should have happened."
His lines itched. "Whatever, I'm not there anymore, so can we just– Forget it?" Propelling himself off of the rooftop, he skulked over to Ratchet's perch. "Can we go now? You're…"
His neck cabling flexed tightly. Bumblebee could barely get the words out, a grief all his own surging forward.
"You're my ride after all."
Ratchet watched him, silent. Bumblebee could hardly look him in the optic, not wanting to face the truth—not when he didn't deserve it.
Would Ratchet still believe that none of it had been deserved or justified, when Bumblebee and the others led the Decepticons right to the Allspark?
Somber as the night, Ratchet placed a gentle servo on Bee's helm right between his contact probes. "Yeah. Let's go."