Chapter Text
“Bumblebee?”
Starscream’s touch was soft, a careful tap to the scout’s shoulder. The room was early—morning quiet—just the low hum of chargers and the tiny creaks of settling metal. “I’m going to the lab with Wheeljack now. Okay my spark?” He paused, leaned in, and pressed a light kiss to Bumblebee’s cheek plates.
Bumblebee turned, optics still heavy with sleep, and his smile was slow but bright.
“Be safe,” he said with a yawn.
Starscream lingered for a moment, watching the little rise and fall of Bumblebee’s chestplate, memorizing the way the light caught the curve of his forehelm.
Then he picked up his tools and slipped down the corridor.
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“Wheeljack, I’m on my way to the lab.” Starscream moved through the long lit hallway, sensors tuned to the hum of the base. "As I am on my way, do you mind if you prepare the equipment I need?"
"Yes yes I know starscream." Wheeljack says through the comm link.
“You.”
a voice hissed from ... Somewhere..?
Starscream froze.
He turned.
...
“How the frag did you get out?!” he snapped at the spider-like shape slithering near the service bay.
The Mandroid spider will always be disgusting. Its joints clicked like teeth. The weird looking organic looked so wrong in a dozen tiny ways.
The Mandroid smiled (a smile that didn’t belong on a machine). “Join me, Starscream. You and I—”
“Nope. Nope, nope, no no no—” Starscream backed up;
the (disgusting) spider whipped forward.
He dodged, blade of movement quick and clean. “Not today. Not tomorrow, not ever—”
“Starscream??” Wheeljack’s voice crackled over the comm. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“It’s Mandroid—he’s—” Starscream dove aside as a joint launched like a pincer. “He’s trying to touch me—get away. PRIMUS—”
“He escaped?! How?! Hold on—Optimus is close to you—” Wheeljack’s voice was a static ladder of panic.
Starscream’s boot slipped.
The world tipped.
“Oh frag.”
“You’re mine, Starscream—” the creature’s voice was a rasp in metal.
The spider leaped forward.
Starscream slammed his boot leg to the creature and flew hard against the wall. “Disgusting,” he spat.
“Starscream!” someone shouted.
Relief punched hot through him.
“Thank Primus. Optimus.”
He hadn’t meant to sound grateful—he’d meant to sound proud.
Still, hearing Prime’s arrival loosened the tight, wild knot in his chassis.
Optimus was seen running.
And running
And slipping.
and with a surprised clang he fell—landing on top of Starscream for a bare second.
“Prime—”
for primus sake— "prime. With all respect I have. MOVE—"
But it was too late.
The Mandroid spider was already leaping towards them.
Seeing as he has no other options left— the seeker harshly (with all his might) pushed prime out of the way.
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.
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Bumblebee woke to blasts—shouts—metal scraping.
“What is going on?!” he asked, confused. He pushed himself upright because there was nowhere else to be and no choice against doing what his circuits told him— he moved toward noise, toward friends, toward anything that might be wrong.
He stepped out into the corridor and froze.
Starscream stood there.
but not as he should have been.
White light poured from his optics—cold and empty. A machine that should have been Starscream glared with a dead, flashing white.
Worse, the Mandroid spider clung to his chest like a parasite, limbs hooked tight and thin metal fingers pressing into his seeker’s plating.
“Oh frag,” Bumblebee breathed.
Bumblebee saw Optimus racing in, blaster lighting the hallway. “Bumblebee! Get back in!” Optimus barked, firing to keep the Mandroid from lashing further.
“What the frag is going on?!” Bumblebee choked. “What—what happened to my seeker?!”
“Elita and wheeljack — backup here!” Elita rolled into view with Wheeljack, both weapons up and fury in their shoulders.
“Bumblebee! Leave—” Elita cried, voice breaking like metal under stress.
“NO.” The word came out like a strike.
It wasn’t just fear.
“I am NOT leaving Starscream. Not like this. Not ever.” His servos moved before his helm could think.
He bypassed carrier locks—protocols meant to stop sparked mechs carrying from firing heavy weapons—and powered up his blasters.
But then came the realization.
Bumblebee could never hit starscream on purpose.
Across the chaos, someone else arrived.
“Megatron. You will NOT—” Megatron’s face was iron. “Blast through him. Make sure your blasters are at low settings.” Bumblebee’s voice shook with command and raw pleading.
“I will not hurt him again, Bumblebee. It is a promise I intend to keep.” Megatron’s voice was darker than the steel around them, but it held a strange, painful steadiness.
Bumblebee ran. He ran like someone whose very gravity had changed—no longer a patrol bot but a small, ferocious comet headed straight for his lover.
“BUMBLEBEE!” Elita’s shout cracked, but she and Wheeljack could not get between him and the thing on Starscream.
“Im so sorry for this, Star—” Bumblebee slammed into Starscream’s legs, sending the seeker crashing to the floor in a clatter of plates and startled noise. He skidded, claws scraping the deck. He forced his optics up to meet the cold white ones that stared back.
“Mandroid. It doesn’t have to be this way. We kept you to find a way to turn you back to… human,” Bumblebee pleaded, voice torn—hoping, bargaining, refusing—though every logic line told him the creature had no reason to care. He powered his blasters brighter. “Just leave... him... p.. please... just get off of my—”
“Do it,” the Mandroid whispered through the white haze, like a suggestion dipped in ice.
Bumblebee’s optics narrowed.
“Do it..." Mandroid spider was seen with a smug look. "…Do it. And your conjux will die in the process.”
The words hit like a blow.
Stupid, wrong, impossible.
True.
Bumblebee’s chest plate tightened. He looked for red—anything familiar—for the ones he dearly loved— inside Starscream’s white optics.
But here was nothing.
No warm spark light.
Only cold, sterile white flicker and the machine’s voice weaving into Starscream’s movements.
“Give me back my Starscream,” Bumblebee demanded. The line between pleading and ordering thinned until it disappeared.
The (disgusting) creature smiled with a geometry that should have meant nothing. “I’m afraid it won’t be that easy.”
Starscream’s servos twitched. His blasters started to fire, small, wrong angles against their own walls.
Bumblebee dove under the burst, shoulder taking heat as the scout ducked. He rolled, hitting the deck hard, and forced himself up again.
Starscream’s boosters on his pades engaged—something like a sob of motion—propelling the seeker away. A blast punched out a slice of wall and Starscream shot through it in a chaos of sparks and metal, a wounded comet escaping into the dark.
Bumblebee hit the deck.
Kneeling to the floor.
He folded in and could do nothing but clutch his belly, palms pressed to the hollow inside that felt like missing gears. It was a ridiculous, small gesture against the size of the hurt.
Eight months of everything.
Of quiet building, of slow recharges, of getting used to being loved and loving back—and this—this was how the world is now????
“Bumblebee… Stay here at the base. We’ll get your seeker back. I promise,” Elita said, voice frayed and hollow. She meant to be firm; she meant to be the adult in the center of the storm. But promises strung in panic feel like glass.
“I’ve already locked in his coordinates. He’s headed to the broken space bridge,” Megatron said flatly.
Bumblebee could not cry.
He will not.
He could not form anything that sounded right. He made no answers. His optics kept flashing with the memory of white light where ruby-red should be. Motion blurred. The world had angled wrong and every sound seemed louder in the wrong way—too bright, too sharp.
“please...bring him back,” Bumblebee said finally. The words were small, worn edges of a plea. He let them go because he could not do anything else.
Somewhere, Starscream flew alone, or not alone at all.
Somewhere, a terrible machine wrapped around the thing he loved.
When he gets his hands on the ridiculously disgusting spider— he will make sure he will be the last thing he will ever see—
“We’ll get him bee... We’ll get him.” Elita answered him.
He pressed his forehead to his hands and whispered into the empty air, voice tiny and full of sharp edges.
“Come back to me.”
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“OLIVE! HOAGIE! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DEALING WITH!” Mo yelled pleading.
Olive took a step back, fingers trembling. She could smell the metallic tang of the portal, hear the low warble of its unstable field under her boots. Her throat tightened.
“Don’t TALK to me!” she yelled back, the words tearing out of her. “You and your stupid Autobot family are murderers. Y... You murdered my mom!”
“You don’t understand—”
“I don’t need to!” Olive spat. Her voice shook with an ugly kind of grief that had teeth. The vial in her hand was cold and sweating. The broken ring of the portal under her feet glowed with angry, fractured light.
On the other end of the line the Mandroid’s tone slid soft and dangerous. “Olive. Focus. She’s not worth your time.” He sounded like someone putting poison on a spoon. “Just pour the pink liquid and you will see your mother—trapped on the other side. I… promise.”
Olive stared at the vial.
Her hand hurt.
Not from metal.
From wanting. From a hunger that was all edges. She thought of the way her mother’s rare presence in the kitchen tiles, of the warmth that had filled their small house before the night everything went wrong. She thought of the way the world had closed like a fist and left her knuckles raw.
“I’ll see you again, mom...”
She said it to herself more than anything.
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“Mo? Any luck getting the human down?” Thrash’s voice was urgent, tight with strain.
“They’re not listening! Just—” Mo groaned, hands over her head. "Both of them are just not listening —Get Optimus. Quick!”
“Already on it.” Twitch’s servos was already doing their job. She was already sending the request to Autobot HQ.
“Starscream…?” Jawbreaker pointed, stunned, as the silver streak cut across the fight. "Hey isn't that star.. scream..?"
“Please,” Twitch said under her breath. “Starscream shouldn't be anywhere without bumblebee” she couldn’t finish.
Twitch squinted. “Oh.” Her voice went thin.
“He has white optics.” Nightshade said.
"Wait what?!?—"
White.
The sight of it was wrong in a way that made their stomachs drop.
Starscream’s optics should flash red with anger or orange with scheming.
White... White meant something colder. Wrong. Something that wasn’t Starscream at all.
“Why does he—”
“GET DOWN!” Jawbreaker lunged and shoved his two older siblings just as Starscream slammed into the dirt where they had been standing. Rocks and dust skittered everywhere.
“Thanks, JB.” Twitch patted the dino’s flank without looking away. His servos were already shifting into weapons.
“Star…Scream…?” Nightshade asked, voice small and uncertain.
“Oh ... He’s not here right now,” a little scientist voice hissed from somewhere behind them, smug and soft. “Little pests.”
" Not again."
Nightshade shifted into his owl alt-mode and dove up, flapping to avoid the blast of controlled plasma beam.
“Little help here?!” Nightshade yelled, panic rising. The little scientist fired wing-mounted claws that chewed at the air.
Thrash opened fire from behind Starscream, and Jawbreaker pushed in to protect.
“What did you do to Starscream?!” Twitch demanded, voice raw.
"The same thing I did to your yellow scout of a freind... Except this time, much more enhanced."
"Not the first time I've heard that."
"God... You really are a monster.." twitch spat.
Nightshade’s metallic wings threw out a storm of green, razor fragments that cut at Starscream’s helm. One nicked the chip embedded near his crown.
Red flashed behind white for a single, beautiful second—
“BEE!” Starscream’s voice broke out, raw and high, and he dropped to one knee. “H…help— Mando—d he's— cont—” He choked, then went his optics white again—an empty program puppet on someone else’s strings.
The white optics came back.
“Stupid little runts,” Mandroid spat like something tasted.
“Optimus is coming. We just need to hold on till then,” Twitch said, trying to sound steady. Their breaths were sharp with fear; their weapons felt silly and thin compared to the ex- deception seeker commander.
“For some reason… I think the two humans are involved with him,” Thrash said, optics flicking back toward the portal and to the trembling figure of Olive.
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.
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“Mandroid. Give back Starscream this instant!” Optimus’s voice cut through, heavy and real, as he rolled into robot form and launched.
He and Starscream collided—two thunderclaps of polished chrome and old grudges. Blasts threw sparks — trees around the area took each blasts. Starscream slashed and dodged like someone had gone mad, and Optimus brought the weight of a hundred battles to bear.
Finally his left blaster was a melted ruin, his right one sparking like a spent star.
“It’s over, Mandroid. Give up this charade,” Optimus said in a voice that rarely held humor.
“No. I don’t believe I want to,” Mandroid said in a voice like a verdict.
Starscream’s servos shifted. Something clicked that had been hidden. The seeker’s arm folded and became a knife—sleek, sudden, hungry.
“Its been a while... but nice to see that old trick still works,” Megatron said, a grim half-smile.
“Do not take his whole arm off, Megatron,” Optimus warned. Reminding his conjux —
“I have a promise to uphold to your scout. To your son.” Megatron angled his gun. “I won’t. Not again.” He shot anyway—trying to disable, not to kill.
Starscream lunged—blade flashing—forcing Optimus to step back a few steps.
Megatron fired; Starscream rolled out of the way for the blast hit—straight for Optimus.
Optimus took the hit and slammed down onto the ground hard. The force bounced through the floor into everyone’s pedals. A grimace of shock ran through the group.
“Frag.”
The ex warlord dodged the attacks — at some point the speaker retreated—
Optimus was down and so is the Terrans.
Back up is still coming —
Megatron hissed and pushed his power up. “This will hurt Starscream. But I mean it— believe me when I say this..." he stared at those white optics— "I mean... no harm.”
Before the ex-warlord could process anything as he shot the fire—
The color yellow cut the world.
In between Megatron and starscream.
In between Megatron and the blast.
Bumblebee stumbled out of nowhere, his left part of his whole hand— now nowhere to be seen— was smoking, energon bleeding from his left side.
He crashed backwards, lying on the floor, accepting his fate.
"... S.. sta..."
“BUMBLEBEE!” Wheeljack was there like a bolt, servos immediately on the scout, pulling him to shelter. "Fragfragfragfragfragfragfragfrag—"
Mandroid’s laughter was a (stupid) knife. “HAHAHAHA! You utter FOOL.” It was a sound that wanted to crush. “Finally— Maybe that will teach you to know your place, you little bug.”
He made commands for Starscream to move.
The words were sharp; but the seeker remained still.
The command went in again.
But starscream didn't do the command.
He was just—
“dont you dare just STAND there — MOVE!” Mandroid spoder screamed, voice cracked with rage.
Something like a spark flickered, then Starscream’s servos twitched.
Then Starscream’s servos reached out, not away—towards the Mandroid’s chestplate.
Before Mandroid could process anything —
Metal screamed. The Mandroid’s body was ripped apart from the seekers chestplates.
“No! How did you get out of my control—” Mandroid gurgled, voice strangled.
He tried to look at the seeker he was controlling— but then his gaze fell towards that yellow scout once more.
Red optics sank, then steadied.
There was something like panic there before he went still.
He felt pain... But no pain at the same time.
Didn't even realize
Before he was crushed to bits.
Starscream’s optics came back to life—first a garbled flicker, then a ragged, growing red—
“Be...Bee... Bumblebee...” The seeker shoved forward, stumbling like he'd been unmoored. "BEE—"
“no...Oh no—no no no no—” Starscream crashed towards Bumblebee's side, all edges and raw noise. He grabbed the scout’s other intact servos, the one that hadn’t been shot. His own servos shook as he gently lifted bumblebee s half body slowly—
“..S...tar—” Bumblebee’s voice was tiny and bright with relief, optics leaking. The world had gone to pieces and then somehow been held together by this single, trembling shape.
"Ok sorry for this bee—" Arcee applied pressure on the big wound—
Bumblebee yelled in pain. "FFFFuck."
"Why... Why did you do it..." A thought that was said out loud by the seeker.
Bumblebee wanted to respond so badly — to simply say the words — "for you you aft." But he painfully coughed up more energon that immediately alarmed wheeljack more.
“No. No no no. Bumblebee. I— I’m so—so sorry.” Starscream’s voice broke like a winded machine.
"Don't die. Don't you dare die — no— please— please don't die Bee—" His optics stuttered and little sparks leaked out. It looked for a second like he might fall apart just speaking.
Bumblebee’s breath hitched. He tried to sit up more and the world spun like a bad joke. Screws of pain bit from his burned hand up through his elbow.
"Nope. No. No no no. That's enough —You are not moving another inch bumblebee." Wheeljack said immediately. Pushing bumblebee to the ground with a soft thud.
“Starscream,” Wheeljack said, cutting in, all business now. “If you want him to live, clear a path. Arcee will come with the med supplies I need. Move.”
"Wheelj—"
"Not now starscream. I'm sorry but not now. I need space for him. Now. Asap."
Starscream blinked, wetness flooding the optics. The question on his face was thin and raw: Please, please, please. He wanted answers that were not there. He wanted to be both forgiven and forgiven, to hold and to be held.
But he left as he was told to.
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“The... the spar...kling... will they live?” Bumblebee’s voice was a whimper, each word a struggle. “Will they live?”
“Shh.” Wheeljack’s hands were gentle where they could be. He felt like it could all fall apart if his hands shook. “Don’t talk. Not now. Your circuits are—scrap, but we can fix it. Just hold on, Bumblebee.”
“Will… they… live?” The words came out like a prayer, so small and something broke inside of wheeljack.
Wheeljack closed his optics — and looked straight at Bumblebee. “If you live, then they will live.” His voice was steady because it had to be.
He has to.
“I.... I—" wheeljack was breathless right now. " I just need to fix your energon lines. Yes. Then— then I’ll give you the extra energon lines needed and— and then I’ll do everything I can for the both of you. I promise— just...”
Bumblebee let out a breath that was almost a sob. The edges of his mouth curved. It was a thin thing, but it was a thing.
"Wheeljack — it's stabilized." Arcee says showing bumblebees monitor.
Ok. The bleeding arm is not a problem anymore.
For a while atleast...
"We need to preserve your remaining energon. I need to put you in preserve shut down." Wheeljack says. "It won't halt anything to the sparkling. But it will help your condition more."
Bumblebee let the medic pull him into darkness.
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"How's it looking doc??" Arcee came with more extra energon hooks and a heat ray.
"Not. Good." Wheeljack was sweating so badly to the point he couldn't believe he could do so much.
"But he will make it out. Both of them will. Even if it's the last thing I do."
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Wheeljack sighed. Finally. Relieved. He waited patiently for bumblebee to online again—
"... Wh... Wheeljack..?"
"It's ok. It's ok bee. Your fine. It's fine now. Everything is fine now."
"..." Bumblebee placed his servos on his belly— relieved to feel the bump intact.
Thank primus.
“…And Starscream?” he asked, glancing up at the medic.
Wheeljack looked at Starscream from a far— with a new, careful look. The seeker sat with Elita, Optimus and Megatron standing guard. His optics were salty and red. A thousand things trembled on his face. Wheeljack’s hand went to Bumblebee’s shoulder in a quick, human gesture and squeezed.
“Want me to get him here?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, please,” Bumblebee replied immediately not waiting.
“No problem, Bee.”
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Starscream paced like a small storm stuck in bottle.
His helm kept facing the floor as if anything higher might pull off the last thin thread holding him together.
There was no machineries to relieve him of his worries.
Nothing to tell or indicate if his conjux or sparkling were doing ok.
“Starscream. Bumblebee didn’t go offline. Keep your helm up. It will be okay— Now sit down— we still need to monitor you—” Elita said, voice steady but gentle. She tried to pull him up with that tone she used in the field when she needed to be strong for everyone else.
“It’s not okay!” Starscream snapped before he meant to. The words came out raw, and then he stopped, ashamed at the sound of them. “Bumblebee was badly hurt—because of me. ME— Because of what I let happen. Me. Who knows what I—what I could’ve done differently. I Could’ve stopped it—could’ve—” His voice fell apart. “Oh… oh, Bee…”
Megatron — was feeling ashamed. He had broken his only promise he kept with the scout.
Well... About to...
Wheeljack stepped in, face set to the work of fixing things. “He’s stable,” Wheeljack said. His voice was businesslike, and that small fact cut through Starscream like a wind. Not a cure, not an answer—just a fact.
Starscream froze. His servos hissed as he straightened just a fraction. “H—How is he?” He asked, though he already knew the answer he feared. "... Is... Is the sparkling..."
“See for yourself. He asked for you,” Wheeljack said, optics softening for a moment.
That tiny honesty was like a knife and a bandage all at once.
Starscream’s chest tightened. He didn’t want the sight to be what it was—half-fixed, half-broken, but alive.
"... He... He asked for me..?"
Wheeljack sensed the hesitation. The surprise.
The guilt
“For what it’s worth,” Wheeljack added quietly, “he still wants you, Starscream. He asked for you.”
The words landed hard. Starscream didn’t answer at first. He felt as if someone had taken the air from his chest. His optics burned with a cold light that matched the inside of his helm. He looked down—too afraid to touch, too scared that if he moved too fast he would break something that had only just been stitched back together.
“They... survived?” Starscream managed, his voice thin. He said the words like a question and also a plea.
“Yes. Both of them survived. Bumblebee and your sparkling.” Wheeljack spoke. Simple facts to hold to when everything else felt unreal.
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“When will you stop looking and start talking, Starscream?” Bumblebee said, a little impatient and very tired. He tried teasing a little to hide the worry. The words were small but meant to be a rope Starscream could pull on.
Starscream’s back was still a little rounded, his helm ducked. He looked down at the floor and swallowed.
He was ashamed—so ashamed he could feel the heat of it like a burn under his plating.
Bumblebee sighed and reached out for his servos. “Starscream. Come here.”
Starscream hesitated, then looked at him. For a fraction of a second their optics met. Bumblebee’s gaze was soft and steady. That steadiness did more for Starscream than a dozen orders or commands ever had.
He shuffled over, careful, unsure whether he had any right to take up space near his scout.
Bumblebee took the seeker’s servos in his. Starscream flinched—too raw for touch, too raw for the fear the touch might bring—but Bumblebee guided those hands that he loved and remembered — and placed them against his bump.
When Starscream felt movement, his posture crumpled. He cried out, a sound low and broken and human-like in its pain. It was the kind of sound a bot makes when his chest opens and something spills out.
Tears—little sparks—ran down his faceplates. He hadn’t meant to be loud; the frag had simply poured out of him.
“They’re probably mad about what just happened, that's why they kicked ..” Bumblebee said gently.
He wanted to fix the ache in Starscream’s voice the same way Wheeljack fixed wiring—carefully, patiently, and with hands that did not tremble.
Starscream stared at Bumblebee’s belly, then at Bumblebee’s face. His optics blurred. “I… I’m so sorry…” He said it like he was tasting the words for the first time, catching them on his tongue. Tears leaked from the corners of his optics and fell like tiny bright rain. "I'm so sorry..."
Bumblebee’s throat cracked, and he looked up at Starscream. His optics were begining to leak too.
“I’m sorry,” Starscream whispered once more. It was not a simple apology. It held a thousand things—anger, grief, softness, a stubborn kind of love that refused to be quiet.
"So... So sorry..."
Bumblebee tried to move his helm to disagree — shaking them —
Starscream’s shoulders shook. He pushed himself down slowly until he hovered over the bed, keeping his hands on Bumblebee’s. “I didn’t mean for any of this." His voice was honest and small." I should have—should’ve stopped it sooner. I should have been smarter. I—” He broke off, unable to finish the sentence. "But I—" The guilt gagged him.
“You tried,” Bumblebee said. His servos squeezed Starscream’s servo the way he always did when in the dark. “You stoped the control before it could—.”
“But that’s not enough!” Starscream said. The cry snapped through him. “It was not... enough. I promised I would keep you safe and I—I failed. Miserably...”
“No.” Bumblebee pushed, trying to hold the argument away from the place guilt loved to live. “You didn’t fail. You came back. You saved me. You stopped Mandroid. ”
"I don't... Who knows what I would've done.... What could've happen to you or..." He's optics looked at the bump.
Starscream’s optics continued to leak even more with fresh tears. He pressed his forehead to Bumblebee’s armored chest—an awkward human gesture that meant everything.
"You finsihed Mandroid. Something I couldn't do..." Bumblebee's says. "That's more than enough for me.."
What if he didn't.
The thought lingered.
"I'll... I'll never forgive myself... Never..."
“I forgive you starscream. It wasn't your fault."
"... Why do you forgive... So easily..."
"I only do for you my star." Bumblebee said tiredly.
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“You need to rest too,” Arcee said at one point, voice steady as she checked Starscream’s loosely twisted wiring. She was kind and practical and had that look of someone who had held people together in worse weather.
"That's what your brother said.." starscream replied back— which arcee glared at him for that.
"Not listening to your conjux I see?"
“I will,” Starscream promised, but the word wasn’t sure.
He wanted to do everything right, to never be the cause of this again.
No.
Never again.
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.
Optimus stared at the working ground bridge.
He didn’t just look at it.
He stared like if he stared long enough, it would turn into something else. Something normal. Something that didn’t shake his spark with every hum and every light that pulsed through the frame.
He still couldn’t believe it. Not really.
But he can.
The portal was glowing with life.
Megatron’s voice came from behind, calm but sharp, like steel that had been tempered too many times.
“Optimus. We can go back home.”
Optimus didn’t turn. If he turned, he might actually have to admit that he was thinking about leaving. And that would mean he was thinking about abandoning Bumblebee —
No.
The 15 years won't happen again.
Megatron stepped closer anyway, his footsteps slow and heavy on the metal deck.
“Wheeljack confirmed it.” Megatron’s optics narrowed, watching the bridge like he expected it to bite. “We may have lost contact... but It’s safe to enter.”
Megatron lowered his head a little, leaned in, and placed his servos on the leader’s shoulders like he could hold him steady just by force of will.
Optimus finally turned his head, only slightly.
“We can’t,” Optimus said, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “Not yet. Not when Bumblebee needs me here more than anything.”
Megatron looked at Optimus’ conjux. At the place where Optimus kept his worry when he didn’t want it to fall into everyone else’s servos and spread.
Megatron smiled anyway.
“I couldn’t have said it better…”
Optimus swallowed. He hated this part. Hated the part where every choice had teeth. Where doing the right thing still felt like losing something.
“I shall tell Arcee and the rest to guard the ground bridge,” Optimus said, choosing each word carefully. “Wheeljack will continue to monitor with Soundwave.”
Megatron nodded once, slow. Like agreement wasn’t something he handed out for free.
“And you?” Megatron asked.
Optimus’ chest tightened.
He forced the words out. “I need to make sure my son is in a safe place.”
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“Bumblebee—lie down—"
Bumblebee’s shoulders rose and fell as if he was trying to breathe through a wrench stuck in his chest. He didn’t fully open his servos or sit up. He just pushed himself up a little, enough to show he heard Arcee.
Then he shook his helm, stubborn.
“Arcee.” His voice was hoarse, but still stubborn. “I’ve rested long enough for the night.”
Arcee hovered closer, optics searching him like she could find the pain hiding behind the armor plates.
“The Maltos are taking the first shift with the buddy deception system,” Bumblebee continued, trying to sound official, trying to sound like a soldier and not like someone who was still one step away from breaking. “I have to debrief them before that. It's literally my job as their mentor—”
Arcee’s expression didn’t soften. It sharpened instead.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’ll get him here so you won’t have to move.”
Bumblebee groaned, like the word fine tasted like disappointment. “Dammit.” He tried to shift again. “I wanted to get out of this uncomfortable excuse of a berth—”
“Nope.” Starscream’s voice cut in, gentle in a way that didn’t match the sharpness in his tone. He appeared at Bumblebee’s side and placed a servo firmly, but carefully, on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “You lie back down.”
Bumblebee stared at him.
Starscream didn’t look away.
“May I remind you that you are still eight months in.” He spoke like he was counting the time by units that only Starscream could understand—units made of risk, and fear, and survival.
“Yeah Bee. For all we know, something could happen. You could get in early contraction—” arcee stepped in.
“Arcee,” Bumblebee interrupted, like he was correcting the record even though he was the one hurting. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be panicking here.”
That got Arcee to pause. Just for a second.
"I'm not saying I'm not— just—" Bumblebee exhaled, louder than necessary, like he could blow off the worry if he tried hard enough.
“Least I’ll be moving out this berth here again,” he muttered, pushing himself anyway. He tried to lift his shoulder higher.
He froze.
Only to feel nothing.
His helm dipped before he could stop it.
Right.
Wheeljack was supposed to give him his new whole arm.
Bumblebee stared at the space where the weight should have been. Not missing just physically—missing in a way that made his spark feel too exposed.
Arcee noticed immediately.
She always did.
“I’ll get the sparklings now,” she said, turning like she couldn’t bear to watch him stare.
When Arcee moved away, Starscream shifted closer. His posture changed too—less sharp, more careful.
“Hey…” Starscream asked, quieter. “You ok…?”
Bumblebee let out a breath that sounded like he was trying to laugh and couldn’t.
“Yeah… yeah.” He nodded, too fast. “Ill be fine.”
Starscream frowned, optics narrowed in focus.
“So you are not ok.” He said it like a fact, not an accusation. “What did I do now?”
Bumblebee’s mouth opened, then closed. Then — “Wh— no.” Bumblebee shook his helm. “You didn’t do anything. Starscream. Nothing. Just… just worried about the... surgery, I guess…”
Starscream studied him for a moment longer. Like he could find the truth in the pauses.
Then he sighed.
“So it is about me.” He sounded disappointed in himself, like that was the worst kind of failure. “I am… sorry…”
Bumblebee’s optics softened, the way they did when he didn’t want an apology to turn into punishment.
“And you apologized.” Bumblebee cut in gently. “Plenty of times now.”
Starscream looked down, servos flexing like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
Bumblebee shifted again, trying to settle back into the berth, trying to prove he could still handle this. His voice became steadier.
“Hey look at me.” Bumblebee said. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything turned out fine, star. It’s ok now.”
Starscream took Bumblebee’s servos carefully—like he was afraid Bumblebee might shatter under his touch—and then he held those servos between his own.
He didn’t kiss or tease. He just did something small, something that said I’m here.
He placed Bumblebee’s servos on his own lips.
“This time,” Starscream said, voice lower. “I swear nothing will happen to you. You. Or the sparkling…”
Before the words could fully land, a loud burst came in like a door slamming on purpose.
“BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Twitch came dashing into the room, slumping on Bumblebee’s belly with the dramatic force of a tiny disaster.
Bumblebee yelped, but it wasn’t pain exactly—it was surprise. It was warmth. It was the familiar weight of his family finding him again.
Starscream scooted a bit farther, carefully, giving Twitch space so Twitch wouldn’t feel like she was “too much.”
Gently, Starscream rubbed Twitch’s helm with one servo.
“Gently, Twitch.” His tone was soft now, like he was talking to something breakable. “The sparkling is still intact.”
Twitch’s whole body sagged with relief, like the tension had been holding her up and she’d finally been allowed to drop.
“I thought both of you were gonna die… AGAIN!” Twitch cried out, then covered her mouth like she realized she’d said it too loud. “God daym— your ar—” She stopped herself mid-sentence, like she didn’t want to hear her own words turn into something ugly.
“It’s ok, Twitch.” Bumblebee tried to smile. “I’ll get a new hand.”
Twitch nodded fast, but her optics stayed worried.
“Right…” she said, voice thin. “Right…”
More footsteps sounded—smaller ones, slower ones.
“We are so glad your ok…” Jawbreaker said.
“And the sparkling too!” Hashtag chimed in from behind, her tone bright but shaking. “#survivor!”
Bumblebee blinked at that hashtag like he wasn’t used to joy surviving in the same room as fear.
Then Bumblebee cleared his throat, trying to step back into his duty mode.
“Alright.” Bumblebee said, voice regaining that stubborn steadiness. “I’m fine. But since the ground bridge is up and—on… it means it needs to be guarded. At all times. Making sure no human gets in.”
Hashtag tilted her head, still impressed, still amazed. “Bee.” She looked at him like he was made of trouble and miracles at the same time. “You just recovered after a night and you’re still doing your scout job???”
"I thought you were in maternity leave." Dorothy says form behind the Terrans.
Bumblebee scoffed lightly, like it was obvious.
“Well technically in still in it... but— A scout’s job is never over.” He huffed. “Plus… I heard that the deception buddy system thing will be used in this specific mission. So… should be fine. Right?”
Twitch nodded, but her shoulders still looked tense.
“We know the drill, Bee.” She said it like she was trying to convince herself too. “Don’t worry.”
Bumblebee’s voice lowered a bit, more serious.
“I know you do.” He glanced down at the berth, at everything that reminded him the night had been real. “But I just want to remind you all that I will be in surgery the whole day.” He paused, letting the weight of that sink in.
“So you will be answering to…?”
“Arcee, and the big three!”. All of them answered at once, like they’d practiced it even while scared.
Bumblebee nodded.
“Right,” he said. “And I want a page report after each change of shifts. And yes. I mean every shift change.”
He didn’t let himself look away as he spoke. He didn’t let his voice turn into a request.
“After each change,” he repeated again, firmer. “A page report. Give it to arcee and she will give it to me."
"Wait what." Arcee definitely did not sign up for that.
"Gotta keep track.” Bumblebee says.
They all groaned—loud and dramatic—because even soldiers hated paperwork.
“Yes, Bumblebee,” the Terrans all said in unison.
Bumblebee let out a breath that felt like relief mixed with exhaustion. He leaned back, careful this time.
“Alright.” He said. “That should be about all of your debriefing. Rest. Now.”
"Ehem. That should be my line. Rest well. Theittle bitties is under great care. "Arcee began to walk away with the sparklings, and for a few seconds the room felt quieter in the way it did right before a storm decided what it wanted to do.
“Alright bee. It will be easier now that you will be moved back to my lab once more." Wheeljack’s voice cut through the air from somewhere close enough to be heard without him being fully present yet—like he’d been watching the whole time.
Bumblebee blinked, looking at his doctor.
“Keep you more monitored.” Wheeljack sounded almost smug about it, like he enjoyed being right.
“Yes,” Bumblebee said, even if he didn’t like the reason. Even if he hated what “monitored” meant. “Yes, doc.”
Wheeljack’s tone stayed steady, like steady was his way of protecting people.
“Good.”
Bumblebee sighed and let himself himself breathe.
Because he still had a job to do.
He has to give birth to a healthy little femme.