Work Text:
“Well, that’s interesting.” Ratchet mused, looking up as the computer pinged. “Something like that doesn’t just… Pop up.”
Bumblebee looked over, curious. He didn’t see what the big deal was. It looked like any other notification of Decepticon activity; a bunch of numbers slammed together in messy code.
“What is it, Ratchet?” Optimus asked, peering over their medic’s shoulder. Despite his cautiously blank expression, Bumblebee could tell he was just as confused as the rest of them.
“Well, ordinarily, when we get reports like this, they are paired with specific coordinates, making it obvious where the signal is originating from. Likewise, even from a glance it’s easy to tell what it is. What kind of material is sending out the signal, whether it be energon or a relic, or…” Ratchet paused, taking a deep breath. He shook his helm in defeat.
“It’s a broad range?” Optimus guessed, narrowed optics staring at the computer.
“In a sense?” Ratchet shrugged. “It’s more of… I can’t pinpoint the coordinates. Primitive as these human computers are, they’re usually able to narrow it down without help.”
“Oh no,” Bulkhead teased, standing up from where he was lounging against the wall to thump over to Ratchet. “Our good doctor is going to have to get his servos dirty?”
“Easy now, Bulk.” Arcee returned right back, striding over to Ratchet’s other side, hovering behind him and Optimus. “If you’re not careful, Ratchet is going to blow a fuse.”
“Will you two be quiet?” Ratchet scoffed over his shoulder. “I do plenty of work, but I usually have to do it when you’re out of the base! Because guess whose bickering makes it impossible to work!”
“Sorry, Ratchet.” Bulkhead whined, subdued.
Arcee crossed her arms, jutting out her chin. “Bicker? I don’t bicker.”
“Yes, yes, bickering is childish.” Ratchet waved a servo in her face without turning around, and Arcee backed off a step or two. “Why can’t you two be more quiet? Like Bumblebee.”
– Down – hit – Medic – Bumblebee beeped, squinting at Ratchet in fake offense. ( Low blow, Ratchet.) There was no direct translation for the things he wanted to say, but he made do.
Not to mention, everyone made the effort to understand him. It made him feel so lucky to have them. Any other team, after all, would not know how to turn beeping into a language. Optimus, however, with his knowledge of dead Cybertronian languages…
It made things a lot easier.
“I don’t know how you do it, Bee.” Arcee grumbled as she sat down beside him, too quiet for Ratchet to hear. She pushed her back against his arm, and leaned back. “I wouldn’t be able to stand… Especially with how blunt Ratchet can be sometimes.”
– Medic – think – good – Bumblebee shrugged. (He has good intentions.)
“Why, thank you, Bumblebee!” Ratchet said, overhearing him and missing the context. It didn’t matter much, especially since it made Ratchet happy. His typing even got a little faster.
Bumblebee didn’t always work at his best without compliments, just like Ratchet. Sometimes it was hard for Bumblebee to remember to tell people things. Especially when it was so hard to speak at all.
“Miracle worker.” Arcee muttered under her breath, but her voice was thick with affection as she patted his arm.
“Be at the ready, Autobots.” Optimus warned, turning away from Ratchet to face the rest of them. “Whatever the Decepticons are planning, it is likely dangerous. We should be prepared to roll out the moment Ratchet narrows down the coordinates.”
“Yes sir, Optimus!” Bulkhead saluted.
“You’ve got it.”
– Prime – good – Bumblebee agreed wholeheartedly. (Yes sir. I would do anything for you. You’re my captain, my good captain. I would die if you asked me to. I would follow you to the depths of Cybertron itself, I would offline anyone you requested. I am an extension of your own servo – Just point me where you will.)
They couldn’t understand any of that from two words. It hurt, but it was manageable.
Optimus gave them a simple nod, and turned to walk away. His quiet solitude continued, extending into infinity. Bumblebee watched him go.
As commanded, he waited. It wouldn’t be too much longer until the call of action pulled them back in again.
(:)
“I’ve got it!” Ratchet cried no less than twenty minutes later, whirling around, servos clenched together with giddy enthrallment. “It's in some desert in Asia! One of you, go get Optimus!”
“I am right here, old friend.” Optimus announced, standing in the doorway, a quiet, gentle titan. Even at his best and most quiet, Bumblebee found himself envying him.
Just another thing he could never put into words if he wanted. There was no word for jealousy in his language.
“Have you discovered what caused the spike?” Optimus asked, crossing the foyer to stand at Ratchet’s side once again. Bumblebee stood to join them, beating both Arcee and Bulkhead to the punch.
He could tell, at least, when Ratchet’s tone meant he was annoyed or when there was actual data. And when there was actual data, he was good at being the first to the terminal.
Sometimes, he missed when it was just the three of them.
“Not precisely,” Ratchet replied, “but it seems like there was a sudden surge of energon around this area. It’s near a mine we seized two centuries ago. So either the Decepticons returned to it and uncovered a new strain of energon, or there’s something else going on.”
“They could’ve accidentally dumped energon right there?” Bulkhead suggested, not seeming bothered when both Arcee and Ratchet rolled their optics.
“More likely, it’s a trap.” Arcee put in. “They’ll probably try to corner us in the mines. But Ratchet has a map, don’t you?”
“Of course I do! This Autobot doesn’t scrap information!” Ratchet bragged, hitting a couple choice buttons. “The map should be downloaded into your servers. If anything goes wrong, get out of there immediately. I’ll be on standby. Just… Try to make it back before four earth hours have passed.”
Arcee frowned. “Right, the kids. Maybe we can get Wheeljack to–”
“Out of the question.”
“Relax. I’m teasing, Ratchet.”
Ratchet regarded her suspiciously for another minute, and then turned back to his computers. “I’ve set the coordinates. You’re clear whenever you’re ready, Optimus.”
“We’ll take the usual formation,” Optimus ordered. Bumblebee silently cheered; that meant he was in front. “Remember, proceed with caution. We don’t know what the Decepticons are planning.”
– All – time – careful – Bumblebee rolled his optics. (I’m always careful.) At this point, Optimus should just say he didn’t trust them. It would make everything so much easier, all cards on the table, or whatever Raf liked to say.
Optimus didn’t smile, but Bumblebee could see the sparkle in his optics regardless. “Indeed.” He looked over Bumblebee’s helm at the others, lifting his jaw authoritatively. “Autobots, roll out!”
Bumblebee was in his form first, barely missing clipping Optimus’ leg to get in front.
He could practically see the Start! screen flash up in front of him, using every cheat in the game to get a boost, charging though the groundbridge.
They’d take around seven seconds to catch up, if he had to guess. That would give Bumblebee enough time to scout the way and change trajectory depending on the landscape. They’d follow his lead, just like they always–
Except. Bumblebee found hundreds of arm cannons pointing at him the moment the nose of his vehicle emerged from the groundbridge. Ah. That kind of trap.
There could’ve been even thousands of Decepticons, their ranks going so far back he couldn’t even see the entrance to the mine between their legs. The hum of energy, preparing to kill him on the spot, sent a jolt through all his sensors.
They were waiting for them.
Bumblebee almost crashed on his breaks, to begin reversing through the groundbridge, but. Everyone was still behind him.
They’d come through as well, unaware that they were beelining straight into a trap.
There was one thing to do, and Bumblebee didn’t like it. But if it was one or all of them, he knew what he’d choose no matter what. What any of them would choose.
Bumblebee didn’t so much as tap his breaks, instead pushing himself to go faster and faster. He spun his wheel as fast as possible, feeling the sting of energy on his hood as the first laser hit its mark.
Another hit his tire, but Bumblebee couldn’t afford to flinch or skid.
Bumblebee locked his wheels as far to the side as possible to keep himself on course, shifting his weight backwards a bit. He felt himself start to drift, his control holding steady even as the burn of lasers hit his panelling.
He hit the groundbridge not a moment too soon, shooting through it. Lasers followed him in, but for a brief moment, they couldn’t keep up. The bliss landed until he made it halfway through the groundbridge.
Bumblebee heard the telltale rumbles of his team’s engines off to his side, followed by a “What the–?!” from Arcee before Bulkhead’s tires hit him.
Bumblebee could feel his lower frame crunch under the force of the truck’s tires grinding into his hood. His glass shattered from the force of it, burning agony surging through his circuits. It took every part of him not to scream.
A moment later, Arcee’s front tire bore against Bumblebee’s car door. The force of it sent her flying over and above him, detransforming as she went.
Bumblebee could feel his energon spurting out of him, painting both the ground and Bulkhead’s undercarriage. His spark was wailing in his audials, fizzling just as fiercely and painfully as when Megatron had ripped him to pieces.
He was fine he was fine he was–
Optimus slammed into his front a moment later. The screeching of brakes and wheels followed by Bumblebee’s metal casing splintering apart were the last things he heard before everything went dark.
(:)
Bumblebee had swerved in front of them.
It was about the only thing Optimus could comprehend, picking himself off of the mangled form of his ward. Had it been on purpose, or a panic response? Had he remembered they’d be right behind him, or had he thought he had extra time to get out of the way?
Most importantly, was he even alive?
Optimus reached out a tentative servo to touch Bumblebee’s hub. It didn’t crumble to ashes underneath him, like he had half expected. But it was also far more crushed than he would ever want. Lifeless, too. Bumblebee did not lean into the touch like he normally would.
Optimus stared at the destroyed yellow paint. Wires, gears, siphons, and circuits alike were crushed into a messy canopy below him. Glass and energon were spewing across the floor, the gurgling coming from Bumblebee’s back pipes starting to slow.
“Oh no,” Bulkhead groaned, voice tight, picking himself up and off of the floor of the groundbridge. He sounded far, far away. “Bee…”
Optimus didn’t look at Bulkhead or Arcee. His optics were only for his scout, ripped to shreds by his own tires.
Something hit Optimus’s back, leaving a dull sting. It attracted his attention for only a moment, and then it was fixed right back on Bumblebee. Would his last words forever be a promise of caution, unheeded in the end?
Arcee’s servo suddenly grabbed Optimus’ shoulder, dragging him away from Bumblebee. “Optimus, they’re firing on us, we have to get out of the groundbridge.” She pleaded. “Please, can you just– Optimus!”
Optimus knew he should be listening to Arcee, logically. But he couldn’t tear his optics off of Bumblebee. Shattered across the floor.
His spark ached.
“Ugh, We– We don’t have time for this! Bulk, grab Bumblebee. We have to move!” Arcee snapped, her free servo pushing itself onto Optimus’ back.
Bulkhead scooped Bumblebee up, causing a flash of panic making Optimus’ spark flair. He lurched forward on unsteady pedes, trying to chase after his fallen scout, where were they taking him–
“Ratchet,” Arcee yelled as they began to move, hazarding a glance over her shoulder, “Close the groundbridge! They’re going to start coming through!”
“Closing the groundbridge!” Ratchet agreed, already pushing up the lever before they were all the way to the end. It didn’t matter either way, because they were rooted in the half that was still their homebase, so as the groundbridge dulled down around them, they stayed where they were.
Ratchet’s posture said he had seen what had happened before he even looked at them. And when he did, his optics were reserved only for Bumblebee.
“Oh sweet Primus…” he whispered, sounding nauseous.
“Ratchet, I–” Bulkhead began, and then swallowed thickly. “I–I dunno what to do. Help him? Please?”
“I will,” Ratchet promised, his own voice quaking as he reached out trained servos towards Bumblebee. There was a sharp flicker in his optics, and he entered doctor mode fast. “Set him down on the berth!”
Bulkhead pivoted as Ratchet snapped his servos back to his chassis, the two going their separate ways to help Bumblebee. Ratchet kneeled to pull his medical kit from underneath his computers and monitors, and the tank hovered over the berth, the crumpled frame still in servo.
“Hey, Ratchet?” Bulkhead asked, voice trembling. “Which way? He’s… He’s still a car.”
“Wheels up!”
“Okay.” Bulkhead set Bumblebee down, wheels up. “We’re gonna take care of you, Bee. Ratchet’s gotcha. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
At least Bumblebee’s undercarriage looked a whole lot better than the rest of him, protected from being bent and twisted by everything vital. His face was visible between his two front tires, but his optics were blank. Dead.
Bulkhead smoothed a servo over his cold, cold forehead. His smile was frail and faulty.
“Is...” Optimus tried to ask, but the question got stuck in his throat.
Ratchet heard him anyway. “His vitals are still online,” He promised, pointing up at their vitals, still on screen from the bailed mission.
Bumblebee’s were barely there. His energon levels were so low, he’d start going through energon deficiency at any moment. His venting systems were so slow functioning, that they barely even flickered on screen. But at least his spark remained powered on.
Optimus found it barely comforting, to see Bumblebee’s systems displayed for all to see. His scout was in trouble. And he couldn’t do a thing to help.
It was like Tyger Pax all over again.
“I’ll need to reach his t-cog if I’ll have any hope of fixing this.” Ratchet said, pushing them all to get to Bumblebee.
The medic sounded and looked strained. Worried. A perfect match to how Optimus’ raging spark felt. But Ratchet was Bumblebee’s only hope; he could not afford to panic.
Optimus was supposed to be a Prime, and he wasn’t supposed to have the luxury of fear, either. But here he was, unable to wrangle himself together, because Bumblebee lay there, shattered. As long as his optics were set on Bumblebee, he could not get his mind together, but he could not look away.
“What can we do to help?” Arcee asked, still holding Optimus’ elbow. Much more loosely, now.
“Stay out of my way.” Ratchet ordered.
Leaning over to peer behind Bumblebee’s tires, Ratchet stared straight into his shattered form. “There you are…”
Everyone glanced at each other, nervous, as Ratchet shoved a servo deep into Bumblebee’s circuits. He fiddled around for a moment, and then the scout’s whole frame shifted. Bumblebee expanded back into himself, holding together for only a moment before all his limbs crumpled once again. His helm lolled back, thumping against the berth.
Immediately, energon was starting to pool around him again, the transformation straining his already crippled systems.
“Actually, Bulkhead,” Ratchet ordered, without removing his gaze from Bumblebee, “if you could start grabbing together our energon cubes and start transferring them to liquid, that would be ideal. I may need to start pumping energon into him to keep him alive long enough for me to operate. Arcee, ready my defibrillators in case of emergency. And prepare my soldering iron while you’re at it. Optimus, for goodness sake, stop hovering and sit down.”
Optimus sat down on Bumblebee’s other side. He managed to locate a servo, broken and crippled as it was, and held it tight, like he could pour his spark into Bumblebee instead. Like his love alone could keep his ward alive.
“I don’t even know how to begin,” Ratchet admitted, helpless and confused. “At least when he– At least I could make some sense of what I was seeing–! But this… none of us have ever… No Autobot has ever been…”
“Involved in a pileup?” Arcee asked, voice thin as she began to collect the necessary tools. “Closest we’ve got is when Nemesis clipped me. But that doesn’t really count.”
She paused, thinking carefully over her words in the resulting silence. Optimus sent a quiet thank you to Primus for that. He wouldn’t be able to hear all her blunt thoughts spoken into being.
“None of us have ever been… spooked that badly.” Arcee continued. “Whatever was on the other end…”
“We knew a trap was there, but clearly it was worse than we thought.” Ratchet agreed, voice thick. He looked up at Optimus. “I swear that I will not pry into Bumblebee’s servers until his body is repaired. Obviously.”
“We sent Bumblebee in first,” Optimus whispered, sick from the thought of it. If they had all gone in together, perhaps they would’ve fought their way out of it. Bumblebee wouldn’t have been so scared.
Perhaps… Perhaps Megatron had been on the other end.
“Got a couple cubes,” Bulkhead announced, walking in with three large cubes that he gently put down on the floor. “I’ll get the liquid thingy ready.”
“Thank you, Bulkhead. That will be paramount to his recovery. I will… begin cutting away his plating. That will make it easier to access the rest of his systems. I think his leaks should be repaired first.”
“Cutting away his metal? Isn’t that… Bad?”
“Bumblebee can get new armor. We cannot get a new Bumblebee.”
The last of a massacred generation. The last sparkling born of the Allspark. There truly was no replacing Bumblebee.
“Okay,” Bulkhead said, taking a deep breath. “I’m great at taking things apart. Do you need help with that, Ratchet? I know it’s usually to break stuff, but I can be careful. ‘Specially if it comes to Bee.”
Ratchet hesitated for only a moment. “Yes. That will be excellent. Arcee, grab the diffuser instead. Bulkhead, grab his plating and pull it as far from Bumblebee as you can without hurting him. It’ll give me a clear cut.”
“On it,” Bulkhead said, swinging around Optimus to grab hold of Bumblebee’s left chassis plate, prying it up.
Arcee didn’t grab the diffuser. Instead, she rounded on Optimus’ other side. “Come on, Optimus.” She invited, knocking his helm with her elbow. “You shouldn’t have to see that. Let’s go get Ratchet’s tools, okay?”
“I can’t leave him,” Optimus insisted helplessly.
He hadn’t left Bumblebee alone in the aftermath of Tyger Pax. Ratchet had done all he could to stabilize Bumblebee, and Optimus had held his servo. The work was not equal, but Optimus had been desperate to not leave his young scout. Those feelings returned tenfold now.
How could he leave his scout to the mercy of nature? What if Optimus let go, and Primus decided that meant Bumblebee no longer held favor in his optics? What if the only reason Bumblebee still vented was because his palm was in Optimus’?
“You’re hurting more than helping right now.” Arcee said, holding up a servo to block Ratchet’s servos forming into knives to start sawing at Bumblebee’s chassis. “You really shouldn’t be here.”
“Listen to Arcee, Optimus. I cannot be here worrying about you both,” Ratchet agreed, voice only a slight inflection away from demanding.
An order from his medical officer was not one to be ignored. Optimus always put his all into making sure Ratchet was never upset with him. He tried to be a good patient, to set a good example to everyone around him. But he wasn’t a patient. Bumblebee was the patient, and his spark was barely a flicker. If even one thing went wrong…
“Come on.” Arcee coaxed one more time.
Optimus, despite everything in him screaming, demanding him not to leave, the what-ifs at an all time high, did the hardest thing of his life. He trusted Ratchet.
He let go of Bumblebee’s servo.
(:)
Optimus wasn’t kicked out of the room, thankfully. He just wasn’t allowed near the warzone of a medical berth.
Gold metal plating was slowly building up in a pile as Ratchet and Bulkhead threw thunk after thunk onto it, revealing Bumblebee’s bare, mangled frame. He was nothing more than a pile of scrap underneath it.
Optimus had seen his fair share of gruesome demises. He remembered one time, while sneaking through a military base, he had witnessed a group of Decepticons tear a newframe to shreds, stripping them for parts. It had still been venting when the Decepticons had laid their claws upon them, but Optimus couldn’t get to them fast enough to stop the slaughter.
The memory of the newframe's scream cutting out still echoed in his audials. Sometimes, he wondered if Bumblebee had sounded the same way when Megatron got his claws on him. Now, though, he wasn’t so sure.
Perhaps Bumblebee had been just as silent and still as he had been today.
Optimus couldn’t stand the thought.
The thing was, Bumblebee looked close to how that newframe had been when Optimus had gotten to them. Nothing more than a metal frame, a jagged mess of parts and wires pouring out of his chassis and limbs. It hadn’t even been the Decepticons who did this to him.
His own team had done it. The people he trusted.
“First batch of liquid energon is ready.” Arcee announced from Optimus’ side, standing up with a energon-filled jar.
Ratchet gestured her over with one of his still-transformed knife servos, going back to sawing at one of Bumblebee’s legs. By the time he took off his knee plate, Arcee was there, and he did away with the scalpels in favour of taking the jar from her.
“This is excellent Arcee, thank you.” He encouraged, plugging a tube into the lid and sliding it into a slot on the workbench so that gravity would steadily drain the jar. The other end of the tube was slotted into Bumblebee’s neck.
The scout didn’t even jerk at the rough insert, and after a moment, more energon began leaking onto the table.
“This is fine,” Ratchet assured at everyone’s horrified looks. “This will help me inspect his fuel lines. Check for leaks and all. Once I patch those up, everything else should come naturally.”
“He is going to make a full recovery?” Optimus asked, desperate for some news.
Ratchet hesitated for a long moment. Too long, as Bulkhead stumbled back from Bumblebee’s bedside like he had been shot.
Spurred into a response, Ratchet said “Yes! Of course he is, he just– I’m doing my best. I don’t know how long it will take but– He is just… He’s…” He paused and cleared his throat. “Everyone’s help is essential to how this goes. Stay close.”
Close enough to help, but not close enough to hold Bumblebee’s servo. All of a sudden, Optimus’ servo felt cold. He tightened it into a fist, and pretended like he could feel Bumblebee’s digits nestled there.
It was still cold.
(:)
Ratchet had to resuscitate Bumblebee once while he was patching the leaks.
The metal paddles, the size of a human each, were brought out with such sudden fever that everyone startled out of the middle zone they were hovering in. Ratchet didn’t say a word, plunging them into the scout’s chassis without pause.
“Scrap,” Arcee cursed, breaking away from where she had been melting the third cube to dash to Bumblebee’s other side.
Optimus became acutely aware of how empty his servos felt. Bumblebee’s stubby little digits were not resting merrily in his grip. There was nothing there. Bumblebee’s spark was nonexistent.
“Stay back, Arcee!” Ratchet snapped. “Keep an optic on his vitals, tell me if anything changes.”
Arcee twisted her helm around to stare, and Bulkhead and Optimus followed suit.
“Clear,” Ratchet muttered to himself and stabbed the paddles into Bumblebee’s chassis once again. The shrill beep that Bumblebee let out could’ve been electricity rushing through what remained of his voice box. But Optimus could not help but feel as though it was a scream, a desperate plea for help. Was Bumblebee always quiet when he was in pain?
Optimus struggled to quivering pedes, making his way across the room to Bumblebee’s still form. The energon splattered across him made him look more blue than yellow, dried to his wire frame and gears. Nothing was spluttering, because there was no spark to their fuel through his lines.
Bumblebee was gone–
Ratchet brough the paddles back down, and a second later Bumblebee’s systems flared back online. His optics flickered, and Optimus felt the relief crash into him.
“Thank Primus,” Ratchet said unsteadily, barely remembering to put the paddles back on the defibrillator before burying his face in his servos. “Oh, thank Primus.”
Bumblebee, ever since he lost his voice, had been adjusting to talking with his new language. Five hundred years of struggle, and he still was spending every conversation looking up the right word to use. And so many times, all he could use were synonyms. The things he wanted to say were impossible without making leaps and bounds.
But now, oozing out on the table, Bumblebee chirped out a noise that needed no context, that had no alternate meanings. – Hurt – He told the ceiling, like it would listen. His optics flashed in and out of focus dangerously, flickering between being on and off.
Ratchet’s face pulled, like he was noticing something else to be fixed.
That was all of Bumblebee. All of Bumblebee had to be repaired.
– Hurt – Bumblebee repeated, voice box starting to give out with the word. Optimus finally startled back into himself and hurried to his side, reaching for his ward’s limp servos. – Hurt – Hurt – He whirred twice more before Optimus grabbed him, holding him tight and steady.
The energon was beginning to spurt again, and Ratchet was on Bumblebee’s other side in the next beat.
“Hold on, Bumblebee.” Ratchet said, almost equally covered in energon as their youngest was. “I’m going to turn off your pain receptors. Hold on for a little while longer.”
– Prime – [question] – hurt – hurt – hurt – Bumblebee begged while Ratchet plunged his digits into Bumblebee’s ripped apart frame to start fiddling with his inner mechanisms. Optimus cradled his face with his free servo, if only to stop Bumblebee from moving and injuring himself further.
Bumblebee practically melted into Optimus’ touch, and a beat later Ratchet hit the appropriate flip to presumably turn off all of Bumblebee’s pain receptors. The tension in the scout’s being rolled away, and his optics fully shut off again.
There was silence for a moment, and then Bumblebee chirped out a gentle – Prime – good –
He didn’t say anything else after that. And for the life of him, Optimus could not figure out why Bumblebee had said that. Maybe because Ratchet had brought him relief just when Optimus touched him.
Somehow, though, Optimus thought it was more than that.
(:)
“We need to pick up the kids,” Arcee said sometime after an eternity and no time at all. “Or else they’re going to suspect something is up. And we… we sure can’t take them back here.”
It wasn’t a question. Nobody treated it like such.
“Don’t let them wear you down,” Optimus ordered, staring into Bumblebee’s empty optics. “I know how… persuasive they can be. Do not let them wear you down, no matter what.”
Both of his Autobot understudies exchanged a look.
“I won't,” Bulkhead promised, instead of saying “I’ll try,” because that meant he definitely wouldn’t try at all.
They remained there for a while longer. Watching Optimus or Bumblebee, the older didn’t know.
It was with a trickle of relief that he acknowledged that nobody had tried to pull him away from Bumblebee a second time. Even though Ratchet had to keep gesturing for him to lean backwards so that he could mess with Bumblebee’s innerworkings, he had been allowed to stay.
Of course, his luck was changing, because Ratchet leveled him with a glare. “Why don’t you go pick up Rafael, Optimus? Make yourself useful?”
Optimus shook his helm. “No. I will not leave Bumblebee.”
“I’ve finished patching and replacing his tubing, Optimus. He’s not going to leak out while you’re all gone.”
“It wasn’t the energon leaks that made him go offline the first time.” Optimus said thickly. Ratchet hadn’t said a thing about Bumblebee flatlining, but Optimus could deduct that much. There were so many more complications than just the leaks.
Bumblebee’s spark could be extinguished at any moment.
Optimus had never felt so helpless.
“I– Very well. Bulkhead, pick up Raf as well.” Ratchet said, equally as helpless, but not about Bumblebee. “Take him home, but tell him the bare minimum. He doesn’t… He doesn’t have to know what happened here.”
“I hate to admit it,” Arcee said, her very presence encouraging enough attention that all three helms snapped around to stare at her. Ratchet almost immediately turned back to Bumblebee, listening but focused on his charge instead. “But we can’t exactly keep them away forever. Miko will probably sneak in, even if we don’t bring them back.”
“Tell them the bare minimum.” Optimus said. “As much as you need to, and no more. But… If Miko comes, regardless, then we’ll take care of it.”
“Can…” Bulkhead hesitated. “Can I warn Raf, at least? Tell him it’s Bumblebee?”
“Raf’ll figure it out. Especially if Bee’s the only one who doesn’t show up to pickup.” Arcee sighed. “Drop off Miko first. That way you can explain it to Raf without interference.”
“Right. Dropping off my human first, so I can spend more time with Bumblebee’s human.” Bulkhead nodded. “That’s not going to be weird at all. Look, Arcee, I get it, but Miko’s a wild card. She’s going to lose it if she’s left behind!”
“Optimus, back me up here!” Arcee practically begged, whirling over to stare at him.
“Bulkhead, do what you must to calm our friends’ nerves.” Optimus commanded. “But, you are right. No matter how gently we try to approach the subject, the humans are smarter than their age may warrant. As Arcee said, we cannot hide this from them forever. I… am not certain Bumblebee will look like himself again very quickly. There is much to replace.”
“Like his optic bulbs.” Ratchet grumbled, wrestling with Bumblebee’s face plate. “I think a fuse is damaged. They shouldn’t have been flickering like that.”
Ah. So that was what Ratchet had been ruminating over earlier.
“And his plating.” Bulkhead muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine, fine. I guess I just… I’m worried for the little guy. I don’t know what I’ll do if… What any of us will do if it turns out…”
“Bumblebee will make a quick recovery.” Ratchet spat, his voice leaving little room for disagreement. “He was born a fighter, after all. Any other sparkling would not have survived long enough to stumble his way to the Autobots. But Bumblebee…”
But Bumblebee was stronger than he seemed. Braver and brighter, too.
Optimus couldn’t help but think that his scout’s chosen name fit. Something small and inconspicuous, cute at the first glance, but could pack a painful punch. In some instances, even lethal. It was always the small ones overlooked.
Optimus had the feeling that Bumblebee would punch death in the face if provided the opportunity. Perhaps, even, he already had.
(:)
Ratchet was gradually falling back into a blind panic. Optimus could see it clear as day, the way Ratchet switched between areas he was working on. He started messing with Bumblebee’s optics, and then abruptly shifted to start repairing Bumblebee’s joints. A few kliks later, he was trying to reconnect the wiring in Bumblebee’s digits.
Over and over he went, bouncing between projects, wanting to fix Bumblebee entirely but having no clue where to start.
“Perhaps,” Optimus offered, unsure if his council would be welcome, “You should focus on Bumblebee’s spark chamber.”
“Yes, yes,” Ratchet spat. “It’s on the list. I’ll get to it when–” He paused, thought about it. “Focusing on his spark chamber,” he muttered under his breath, “what a novel idea. Of course, why didn’t I think about that? Focus on the lethal things first. Everything else can come later. What a foolish bot… Thank you, Optimus.”
With that, he brought out a blow torch, bringing it against the frail inner workings of Bumblebee’s chassis. Optimus flinched, but did not complain. No matter how dangerous it appeared, he knew Ratchet was certain in what he was doing. Things were simply slipping through the cracks.
Optimus could relate; they didn’t have built-in scout systems like Bumblebee did, capable of turning off his emotions with a simple switch. They were forced, even in precarious moments such as these, to endure the brunt of their fear.
Such was the way of war.
“Permission to speak my mind?” Ratchet said, breaking the silent stretch.
Optimus’ fear doubled. Ratchet had only ever bothered with asking permission for about a cycle, back when Optimus first became a Prime. And even then, Optimust thought it was just because Ratchet was trying to show everyone else how to respect him.
But he never asked in private, and even his public requests dulled to be nonexistent as Optimus proved, over and over, that he did not mind his friends and allies sharing their opinions. If Ratchet was doing it here, something had to be wrong. Bumblebee was withering away under their servos, wasn’t he?
“Of course, my friend.” Optimus agreed, carefully, calmly. Like he didn’t understand how awful this was going to be.
“This,” Ratchet said, pointing a condemning digit at Bumblebee, “was no accident.”
“Of course it’s not.” Optimus agreed, confused. “The Decepticons laid a trap for us.”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Ratchet scowled. “Of course he– Of course that part wasn’t an accident. I mean the fact that you all hit Bumblebee. That part. That part was not a mistake. It was a calculated decision.”
“I am going to need you to explain what you mean, Ratchet.”
His oldest friend sighed, closing his optics for only a moment. His processor audibly whirred. When he blinked them open again, he looked tired. “Bumblebee meant to be hit, Optimus.”
Optimus felt his own processor begin to reload files, clips of memories from the moment. Those two nano-kliks, where it was Bulkhead and Arcee slamming into the yellow car that suddenly appeared before them. Optimus, trying to spin his tires in any other direction than straight ahead. Desperate not to hit Bumblebee.
The memory of metal crunching under his wheels replayed, over and over.
There was no possibility that Bumblebee wanted that.
“Please, Ratchet.” Optimus insisted, unable to logic it out. Ratchet’s optics burned with truth, yet Optimus could not allow himself to believe a moment of it. “You must be mistaken. Bumblebee would not… do that.”
“I don’t want to believe it either, Optimus.” Ratchet said. He grabbed a suction in either servo and pressed them against Bumblebee’s spark chamber, pulling it to the proper shape again. “But be honest with yourself, when is the last time you’ve seen Bumblebee become so scared that he’s left behind all reason? Even when he and Megatron shared the psychic patch, Bumblebee kept his helm on his shoulders, and came through.”
Optimus hadn’t been there for that, but he had heard plenty about it. Especially from Ratchet, who had gushed about Bumblebee for groons, bursting with pride. Arcee had told Optimus that Bumblebee was braver than she was, and Bulkhead had said Bumblebee was probably the smartest one in their group.
Optimus was inclined to agree with all of them.
“I would expect nothing else,” Optimus told Ratchet, carefully, weighing his words carefully. “Bumblebee is…” He looked down at his ward. And then back up at Ratchet. “Bumblebee is wise beyond his years, Ratchet. Endangering himself is quite the opposite. He would not do such a thing.”
“Even if it means saving all of you at the cost of himself? He’s done that before, Optimus. We both know he let Megatron take him, back during Tyger Pax. To give you enough of a chance to get to the launch site.” Ratchet servos clenched into fists, resting against Bumblebee’s left arm pistons. “Of course he would do it again.”
Optimus wished he could say that it was different. That Tyger Pax was the exception, and not necessarily the rule. But Bumblebee was always willing to do the tasks nobody else would. The grim, the gritty, if it meant they would win.
Sometimes, it was hard to remember that Bumblebee wasn’t even to the age of maturity. He put full-grown warriors to shame with his quick thinking, with his courage, with his tenacity.
“You’re not wrong, Optimus.” Ratchet continued. “Bumblebee is smart. I don’t have any doubts about that. He can do anything he puts his mind to, even to his own detriment. It’s hard for me to grasp, too. Would he really risk his own spark, if he believed it would let us come out unscathed?”
“I do not understand why it would not scare him,” Optimus admitted. “How he could turn back around, and allow us to crush him? Ratchet, he did not even scream.”
“I know,” Ratchet scowled. “I heard. Or, rather, I didn’t hear.”
“Whatever the trap was, it spurned him into action. Foolish action, that put his own spark at risk.” Optimus mourned, pressing Bumblebee’s broken and snapped knuckles to his own forehead. He wished Bumblebee could leech off of his warmth, if only so that he could feel like there was still a light inside him. “I do not know how we can prevent this in the future.”
“I do not know either, Optimus.” Ratchet agreed, starting his work again. His digits grazed against the major fuel lines and cables running through his spark chamber, checking the connection carefully. One cable fizzled when it met the metal of Ratchet’s digits. “For now, I need to make sure there will even be a Bumblebee in the future. If something happened to him…”
“Ratchet, you are a good medic.” Optimus told him, able to hear the doubt in his friend’s voice. It didn’t do much to inspire confidence, and Optimus felt his own resolve waver the slightest bit. “I do not know what we would do without you, my friend.”
“Fall down a cliff and die.”
Despite himself, Optimus laughed. It was a worn out thing, pulling itself out of his intake like a rough cord. It felt both good and bad. “Bumblebee has mentioned the possibility of spontaneous combustion.”
“No, no, for spontaneous combustion there has to be underlying, long-standing problems.” Ratchet chuckled, dry. “You wouldn’t survive long enough for an issue to become critical like that."
“Your optimism is inspiring, Ratchet.”
Ratchet gave Optimus a wry smile, tired beyond even his years. “Yes, well… With your current state of mind, someone has to do it.”
Optimus didn’t flinch, but it was a near thing. He knew he wasn’t acting optimally, but it was difficult to maintain his typical calmness, what with Bumblebee being so injured. Ratchet had yet to even announce that he was stable yet. What was he supposed to do?
“My apologies, Ratchet.” Optimus told his friend, shaking his helm. “I… am terrified for Bumblebee, and I have allowed that to disrupt my processor.”
Ratchet’s shoulders slumped, and he shook his helm. At the same time he pulled a cable fully out of Bumblebee’s spark chamber, he huffed, “Well of course you’re upset, Optimus. You’re Bumblebee’s caregiver. You’ve known him longer than all of us; practically his entire life.”
Optimus knew that. Obviously, he knew that.
But even so, he was a Prime. He was never supposed to become an empty husk, even when someone so near to him was injured. His ward, his scout, his sparkling, and so much more besides.
Megatron knew what he was doing when he ripped out Bumblebee’s voice box, and he knew what he was doing now. Whatever the trap had been, and whether it was meant for Bumblebee or not, it had been a good one.
Because whatever it was, it had taken Bumblebee away.
(:)
“We’re back,” Arcee announced, unnecessarily, a groon later. She stretched as she walked in, Bulkhead tight behind her. “The kids have been dropped off, and Miko didn’t even sneak a ride back. How’s the patient doing?”
“Bumblebee’s fine,” Ratchet replied, having moved on from Bumblebee’s spark chamber to his throat and helm. “I don’t think he’s at risk of going offline, but there are a few more repairs to focus on before I can be sure… How’s Rafael?”
“He figured out it was Bumblebee right away.” Bulkhead sighed. “But we knew he would. Not too much of a surprise there.”
“Jack started asking questions, too.” Arcee agreed. “Kid’s also pretty smart. But he didn’t try to pressure me to take him here anyway, thank Primus.”
“Miko though…”
“Also not a surprise.”
“Thank you, Arcee and Bulkhead.” Optimus said, trying to summon all his trademark leadership back. If Bumblebee were online, he would be laughing at Optimus’ blatant failure. “You two did admirably. When Bumblebee is stable, we shall call Rafael with an update.”
“Can’t even imagine how the little guy might be feeling.” Bulkhead sighed.
“I can.” Arcee deadpanned. “But I still don’t know what to say, or what to do. I’ve never had to explain to someone else what happened to their partner. That was usually Ironhide’s job. Or Jazz’.”
Optimus could still remember the report coming through, Jazz’ steady but clearly nervous voice coming over the comms. “They found him, Optimus. He isn’t doin’ too hot. Ratch says that when you come by… Well, you know. Have a speech ready.”
Optimus found himself missing his special operations commander. He knew how to talk to people, how to be gentle when the situation called for it. He’d know how to handle Rafael. Maybe even how to talk down Optimus himself from the stupor he kept finding himself in.
“I’ll handle it,” Ratchet told them. “I only need a few kliks.”
“No,” Optimus reprimanded, “I’ll take care of it. It is my duty, and you have done plenty already. And you still have much more to do.”
Ratchet relaxed. “Thank you, Optimus. I’ll just be thankful when Bumblebee is pieced together enough to go into the medtank and start repairing himself. Primus knows I need a break.”
“Anything we can do to help, Ratchet?” Bulkhead inquired, nervously trailing up.
“Get some spare parts from our storage house,” Ratchet requested. “Some of Bumblebee’s inner wiring is frayed enough to need to be replaced fully, and his joints are bent out of shape. He’s a B-model, so if you can find anything compatible with that…”
“Uh, and that would be–?”
“Anything for B, J, or S models. And some of the warframes have unique parts that are even more specific.” Arcee reported, getting a nod from Ratchet. “Ratchet’s labeled everything. I’ll help you look.”
“Thanks, Arcee.” Bulkhead beamed at her, reaching over for just a moment to pat Bumblebee’s knee. “I’ll see you again soon, little guy, okay?”
Predictably, Bumblebee did not answer.
(:)
It was late into the lunar-cycle when Ratchet finally pulled away from Bumblebee. Valves were turned back on, allowing energon to flow back through what lines he had plugged off. His spark chamber was secure, and his joints had all been replaced. Digits were secured back onto his servos, and his optics were repaired.
Bumblebee still didn’t look like himself.
Perhaps it was just the lack of gold plating, or the fact that half of him was still sparking. But Optimus looked down at him and felt nothing but gnawing horror.
“Someone help me get him into the medtank,” Ratchet ordered, one servo pressed to Bumblebee’s upper frame as he wormed his way underneath Bumblebee’s left arm, pushing the younger bot into a sitting position.
Before Bulkhead could come and help, Optimus grabbed Bumblebee’s other arm and gently pushed his scout’s legs over the side of the berth. Bumblebee was his charge, and he was so tired of doing nothing.
“He should recover quickly on his own without complications,” Ratchet told Optimus as they lifted Bumblebee up between them to start gingerly carrying him towards the medtank. “But perhaps we should maintain having someone on watch at all times.”
“What’s your estimate for his recovery?” Optimus asked. Replaying in his processor was Ratchet’s private prediction. That Bumblebee had stopped them all from going through the groundbridge with his stunt. Optimus was not sure how much longer he could keep it close to his chassis without confirmation.
“Probably about two more solar-cycles, if I had to guess.” Ratchet forecasted.
“The kids are going to get really worried.” Arcee warned, looking Bumblebee up and down, and then her optics slid over to stare at his metal sheeting, still in a messy pile. Nobody had bothered to pick it up. “And without his armor… I don’t even know. It makes us look appealing to humans. I can’t imagine how any of them would react if they saw him… like this.”
Bulkhead nodded over her shoulder. “Miko might think it’s kinda metal, but Jack and Raf…”
“You can go on patrol with the children,” Optimus readily offered, “but you cannot bring them back here. For however long it takes for Bumblebee to recover and feel up to visitors.”
“You know that as soon as Ratchet lets him up, he’s going to be begging to go out, you know that, right?” Bulkhead asked, optics shining with a teasing gleam. “Bee’s never let anything hold him down.”
“I’ll strap him down if I must,” Ratchet joked.
Or, at least, he partially joked. Optimus couldn’t tell how much of it he meant or not. He supposed it hinged on what Bumblebee would say once they confronted him.
(:)
Bumblebee felt his systems turn on one by one.
His optics and audials turned on within a fraction of a second of each other, his optics blinking open first. By the time his audials turned on, everything had sharpened into perfect contrast.
His processor whirred as it finished its reboot. He got a moment of relief, and then it started pinging him with updates of over a dozen injuries. Bumblebee felt a stab of fear, and then saw that one of the things unconnected was his pain receptors. He didn’t know if that was worse or not.
Energon pushed through his hosing and tubes, flaring fast as his engine began to rumble. His vents flared to life last, expelling the buildup all at once.
Something to the side began to beep, and Bumblebee turned his helm to look.
Almost immediately, Ratchet burst into sight, reaching out and seizing his shoulders all at once. “Bumblebee!” He cried, giving Bumblebee a quick shake. “You’re online again! Thank goodness! I’ll alert the others!”
– Hurt – search – Bumblebee informed him, taking his injury reports and organizing them into a file. (I have a report of all my injuries.)
He sent a request to Ratchet, which the medic immediately confirmed, and sent him the stack of injuries, categorized from most important to least. He made sure the pain receptor disconnect was at the top.
“Good,” Ratchet nodded, hesitating for only a moment in his rush back to the computer terminals, “That’s what my scans have been saying, too. At least your processor wasn’t damaged, then.”
– [question] – (What? Why would it be damaged?)
“Search your memory banks, Bumblebee.” Ratchet advised before hitting a button on the console and announcing, “Bumblebee is awake.” And then he whirled back around, servos collapsed firmly behind his back. “They should tell you exactly what happened.”
Oh, boy. That could mean two things. Either Bumblebee was in trouble, or Ratchet didn’t know what happened. And from Ratchet’s tone, he definitely knew and wanted Bumblebee to face the consequences of his actions.
This was the worst.
– Good – Medic – Bumblebee sighed. (Yes sir.)
Ratchet didn’t pat his head. Which definitely stung more than it should’ve.
Bumblebee searched through his processor for his last recorded memory. What he got wasn’t right at all; vision flashing in and out of view. Half of it was interrupted by a hundred warnings, popping up before his optics, shrieking about danger and critical system failure.
There was a beeping shriek in the background that Bumblebee took a moment to piece together as his own, and then a nano-klik more to run through his dictionary and find the proper word to accompany it. “Hurt,” over and over again.
Scrap. That was embarrassing, but not what he was looking for. From Ratchet’s expectant look in the corners of Bumblebee’s vision, he wasn’t thinking of that, either.
Bumblebee went into his second most recent memory, and brought that up instead. Immediately, he knew exactly what Ratchet was talking about. The sound of tires grinding against the ground, of screeching in his audials. The burn of rubber in his olfactory sensor, and he could recall the utter fear that had gripped his module.
But there had been peace, too. Knowing he was going to save them from driving into certain death.
He kept that off his face as he turned off that memory, turning to Ratchet. – Bad – careful – bad – think – He apologized, guiltily. (I shouldn’t have done that, I wasn’t careful. That was a bad memory.) As an afterthought, he added – Sorry –
Ratchet sighed. “No, Bumblebee, you’re really not.”
Bumblebee’s optics narrowed, squinting at Ratchet. The medic wasn’t wrong by any means, but. Wow. He didn’t need to be called out like that
– [question] – He demanded, crossing his arms.
Ratchet scoffed at the wordless inquiry. “Don’t play coy, Bumblebee. I know you did that on purpose. You are not that easily frightened!” He pressed a digit to Bumblebee’s forehelm, pushing him back a step, right back into the medtank.
Bumblebee huffed.
“I don’t know what utter stupidity was going through your head,” Ratchet growled, lowering his voice considerably when Arcee entered the room, bouncing off the door frame to redirect to come straight at them. “But we’re going to talk about it. That’s a threat.”
“I’m so glad to see you awake,” Arcee said, not nearly as irate as Ratchet as she rounded around the medic to set a servo on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “Though we’ve really got to get you new plating.”
Bumblebee chirped in surprise, looking down at himself. He hadn’t registered the lack of armor, yet. There were only splotches of gold in some places, but most of it was torn right off. Most of him was just his frame, his inner workings were on full display.
He hadn’t seen a damage report for the lack of plating come through, but that made sense. It was only welded on, after all, so it wasn’t truly attached to his systems. Still. Now that Bumblebee was aware of the lack, he felt much lighter. It wasn’t in a good way, either.
– Hurt – Bumblebee mused, much quieter. He pressed his servo against his bare chassis.
Bulkhead and Optimus came through the door a moment later, following through at a slightly slower speed. Bulkhead split into a bright grin, but Optimus watched Bumblebee, quiet, calculating.
He knows too, Bumblebee realized, optics flickering between Bulkhead and Arcee. Do they know? I was doing the right thing, they can’t get mad at me! And yet they would. He knew they would.
“Bee, how you feelin’?” Bulkhead asked, servos hovering nearby Bumblebee. Reaching, but not connecting. “I– You were hit pretty bad–”
Bulkhead doesn’t know, Bumblebee summarized, reaching out his servos for Bulkhead. But he’s still blaming himself. Frag.
Bulkhead pulled Bumblebee straight into his arms, lifting him straight off the ground and into his arms. Another warning popped up in Bumblebee’s vision, but he dismissed it. He didn’t care that Bulkhead was holding him too tight; it just felt good to be held.
“Optimus will never say it,” Bulkhead murmured into Bumblebee’s audial, “but he’s been worried outta his mind. We’ve all missed you pretty bad, little guy.”
Bumblebee felt his spark wane. His defensive measures were crumpling one by one.
It was the Bulkhead touch, he supposed.
“Okay, that is enough!” Ratchet scoffed, pushing them back. “Just because Bumblebee is online does not mean he’s completely healed! His wiring is still exposed! Do you want to send him back into remission?!”
“Aw, scrap.” Bulkhead groaned, setting down Bumblebee and guiltily rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, Bee, I didn’t mean to–”
– Good – Bumblebee reassured, patting his arm. (I’m fine. You’re fine. I don’t care.) After all, the hug hadn’t hurt, for obvious reasons. He was just glad to bring Bulkhead some degree of comfort. He looked past his friend at Optimus, still standing in the back, making no move to approach.
Bumblebee winced. – Sorry – Prime – He said, lamely. – Sorry –
Optimus’s optics flickered over him, studying him. They lingered on the pieces that were missing before moving back to his face. He must have seen the lie there, because his optic ridges squished together. “Bumblebee, please. Do not lie.”
That felt like a slap in the face. Right in front of Arcee and Bulkhead, too.
– Sorry – Bumblebee repeated, looking desperately over at Ratchet.
There was no sympathy held there.
“Why did you do it?” Ratchet demanded, hot aggression pouring out of his outtake. His servos were balled into fists, subtly shaking. “Why would you put yourself in danger like that?!”
“Huh?” Bulkhead blinked, reaching out a servo back towards Bumblebee’s shoulder.
“He panicked, Ratchet.” Arcee said. “What else is there?”
“Bumblebee’s little stunt was not panic.” Ratchet spat. “It was a strategy. A plan put in motion, foolishly, to put the needs of the many above the few, without thinking to communicate it with us!”
What would Bumblebee have even said? “Stop?” Yeah, sure. In the time it would’ve taken them to receive that comm and react to it, they would’ve already been in the middle of the trap and being blasted by a thousand blasters.
– Time – small – think – fast – Bumblebee scowled. – Danger – hurt – bad –
“That doesn’t excuse anything!” Ratchet spat. “Bumblebee, if that was truly your first instinct–!”
“I’m sorry,” Arcee interrupted, holding up a servo. Ratchet, surprisingly, came to a screeching halt, glaring at her. “Is anyone going to catch us up to speed? You think Bumblebee meant to get hit?”
“It’s less of a guess, now.” Optimus announced, peering down at Bumblebee. “It, unfortunately, appears to have a merit of truth. Our scout made the decision to allow himself to be hurt, in order that we would not.”
Bumblebee beeped three times, a sound that had no meaning, emulating the human blah-blah-blah noise. Optimus looked like he would rather die than continue this conversation.
So. Mission accomplished.
“No, Bumblebee.” Optimus said, instead of giving up. But then again, he annoyingly never gave up. It came with the territory of being a Prime. “You cannot shrug this off.”
Bumblebee tried anyway, turning to walk off. Optimus grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn back around, sharp optics boring into his own.
“You got injured,” Optimus scolded, “and you scared us all. Every plan comes with a certain degree of danger, that is true. But when your plan is specifically to allow yourself harm…”
– Prime – bad – see – Bumblebee returned, flicking off Optimus’s servo. He tried to ignore the hurt look his Prime gave him. – Danger – big – (You didn’t see it. It was very dangerous.)
“Then show us,” Ratchet challenged. “Let us see what was so dangerous that getting yourself killed was the only way out.”
“I feel like we’ve got bigger problems,” Bulkhead grumbled. “Less “what made Bumblebee do that” and more “why is Bumblebee okay with doing that”.”
– Quiet – Armor – Bumblebee scoffed, punching Bulkhead’s arm. (Shut up, Bulkhead.)
The former Wrecker didn’t even react aside from a pitying look. Bumblebee felt himself deflate under that look. He didn’t know if it was because of the lack of plating, or the fact that Bulkhead was seeing the darkest depths of his spark for the first time, but Bumblebee felt utterly exposed.
“He’s right,” Ratchet agreed, pivoting around to march towards the computer console. “But we’ll start small. Seeing the trap for ourselves will explain it, because Bumblebee can’t exactly describe it himself.”
– All – bad – all – gun – over – fast – Bumblebee made an attempt anyway, one last desperate reach so that they wouldn’t have to reach into his mind. – Prime – Medic – Armor – Gun – all – scrap –
“There were a lot of guns.” Arcee sighed, pinching her olfactory sensor. “That’s all I’m getting out of this. Sorry, Bee.”
“And,” Ratchet announced, voice thin, “that apparently the trap would’ve turned all of us to scrap… Except for our scout, here.”
Bumblebee scowled. – Bad –
“Yes!” Ratchet said, purposefully misunderstanding. “It’s very bad! How utterly tragic!”
Bumblebee was torn between keeping his arms crossed and giving Ratchet a dirty human gesture. He didn’t think Ratchet would understand what it meant, so he kept his arms clamped against his chassis.
“Come along, Bumblebee,” Optimus said, putting a servo on his shoulder and guiding the younger bot along. “Let us see what trap the Decepticons set for us.”
– [question] – Bumblebee demanded. (You already know it’s bad. Don’t you trust me? Why do you need to see for yourself? It’s not even that big of a deal.)
“We need to know what we’re up against. Obviously.” Ratchet scoffed. “And I am quite interested to find out what “scared” you so much, if that’s still the story you want us to go with.”
“You have to understand, Bumblebee.” Optimus explained, leading Bumblebee towards the main terminal, where Ratchet was digging out a cord to plug into his memory circuits. “That we are not angry at you. We are scared for you.”
How ridiculous. Did Optimus really think Bumblebee would fall for that? He wasn’t a little sparkling anymore, able to be twisted around Optimus’ smallest digit. He was smarter than that, and he could read how stiff they all were. No matter what Optimus claimed, they were angry.
Wait.
Freeze, rewind, go back.
The servo on Bumblebee’s shoulder was shaking. It was so subtle that it was mostly hidden in their gaits, but its movements didn’t quite fit. “Worried out of his mind,” Bulkhead had said. Suddenly, it felt way too true for Bumblebee.
– Sorry – Bumblebee said for the umpteenth time, defensiveness falling away.
He knew the whole situation would be awful to be on the other side of, but he hadn’t realized just how awful. He knew they’d either grieve or string him back together, but he hadn’t thought they’d think about it more than surface level.
That was Bumblebee, always rushing in with half a plan but no clue how the other half would actually pan out.
Optimus, towering over him, sighed under his vents. But he didn’t say anything else. He just had Bumblebee sit down on a few crates while Ratchet took the cable and shoved it into the back of Bumblebee’s neck.
Bumblebee didn’t turn to look at the monitor as his memory files popped up on screen. He kept his gaze focused solely on his intertwined digits. He felt like he was being judged for a crime he did not commit, but that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Because he did it on purpose.
“Let’s see,” Ratchet hummed at his side, scanning the files.
After a small moment, his free servo came to rest on Bumblebee’s unoccupied shoulder. Both older bots kept a tight hold of him, and did not dare let go. Any time else, it would’ve been a comfort.
“Ah, here it is.” Ratchet announced, clicking onto something.
Bumblebee didn’t watch the memory, but he could hear it. The wind in his ears, his tires skidding as hundreds of laser guns leveled at him and powered on.
Bulkhead grunted quietly in front of him as he gauged just how many Decepticons were in front of Bumblebee. Arcee walked away, taking two pedesteps, and then paced back, anger simmering off her.
Ratchet and Optimus did not move or make a sound.
The groundbridge, on screen, made a whirring noise as Bumblebee hit it, the sound of lasers whizzing through the air. And then. Bumblebee hit his breaks. Less than a second later, the sound of shattering glass and shrieking metal hit his ears.
Bumblebee winced, and the sound cut off abruptly.
“And you’re sure it wasn’t just him freaking out?!” Arcee demanded, “Because no offense, Ratchet and Optimus, but I would’ve done that, too. That’s fragging terrifying.”
“Bumblebee, be honest, now.” Ratchet said, grip tightening. “Did that scare you?”
– Little –
“Was that a panic response?”
Bumblebee honestly shook his head. He was pretty sure Ratchet had processor-reading abilities and would be able to tell if he lied. Or perhaps the cable plugged into Bumblebee’s neck told him his vitals, serving as a lie detector.
“Well, then.” Ratchet sniffed. “That settles it. Bumblebee knew what he was doing. He made the choice to endanger himself, and we were all fools for thinking he wouldn’t.”
The silence was loud.
Bumblebee didn’t exactly regret it, but even so he found himself shrinking into himself under the weight of their gazes. Of course there was mad, but there was nothing else to be done. He’d take one life over all of theirs any day, even if it was his own spark that went.
I don’t regret it, he wished he could say. But he couldn’t, so he settled for looking back up and jutting out his chin.
Optimus sighed. “We know you don’t regret it, Bumblebee. And there is not much we can do to argue it, or get you in trouble for a genuine attempt at our salvation. But, you must understand that it nearly killed you.”
“Your spark burned out,” Ratchet agreed, almost yelling before Optimus held up a servo to cut him off.
Optimus held the silence for a couple kliks, and then continued. “I do not believe there was any reason to put yourself in any danger. If you turned around, kept to the edges, we would’ve seen you, and it would’ve been enough to have us stop.”
– Bad – time – slow – stop – Bumblebee shook his head. (Not enough time. You wouldn’t have come to a fast enough stop.)
“At very least, we also would have been able to flee. Reversing back through the ground bridge fast enough that, perhaps, we would have escaped harm.”
Perhaps. Bumblebee pointed at Optimus, craving the word with all his spark. “Perhaps”, that was the kicker, wasn’t it? Anything else he would have done was just a gamble. A chance that everyone would survive.
If Bumblebee was a klik slower, he would’ve been blasted to pieces.
But he saved everyone, so Ratchet saved him. The trade-off seemed fair.
Optimus must’ve seen his resolve strengthen, because he sighed, taking a knee before Bumblebee. Both servos reached up, cupping his face in something kind and gentle, making sure Bumblebee was looking straight at him.
“Bumblebee,” he rumbled. “For as long as I have known you, your spark has burned fiercely. It drives you to protect those you love, and as a result I have always known that I could rely on you to fight by my side. But it also helps you to handle those you hate with fierce efficiency. I never imagined I would see the day that you would use that against yourself.”
Oh.
Suddenly, Bumblebee got it. – Bad – He strained, desperate. (Not what I meant.) Reaching up to hold Optimus’ servos back, Bumblebee kept them flush against his cheeks. – Sorry –
Optimus did not accept his apology. Again. He pressed his foreheads against Bumblebee’s. “You are a strong soul. And I knew you were scared for us more than yourself, but please, Bumblebee. Your mind has already been quick, and I hate to burden you with more weight, but. You must consider that we – I – cannot continue this battle without you.”
– Sorry – think – good – time – (I’m sorry. I’ll think about that next time.)
Optimus sighed, pulling his servos out of Bumblebee’s and moving them to wrap the younger one into a hug. “That is all I ask, Bumblebee. Thank you.”
Arcee crossed the distance, setting a servo on the top of Bumblebee’s helm but did not close in for a hug. “Don’t try that again. It was awful to see and be a part of. And I didn’t even do much.”
– Slow – down –
“Not on your life, you pile of scrap.”
Bulkhead actually joined in the hug when he came, grunting under his breath as he wrapped Bumblebee and Optimus into a tight squeeze. “Still think we’ve gotta talk a bit more about this,” he grumbled, “but for now, I’m glad you’re okay, Bee.”
“If you want more incentive never to do that again,” Ratchet chimed in, hovering off to the side and glaring down at Bumblebee. “I’m almost out of spare parts. And I can’t get those very easily. Can’t get a new Bumblebee if that runs out, and we need our Bumblebee.”
– Bad – Medic – leak – Bumblebee reprimanded. (Stop it, Ratchet. You’re going to make me cry.)
Ratchet scoffed, arms crossed for a moment, firmly clamped over his chassis. And then he gave up with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and joined in, tugging Arcee into the group hug.
There’d be more to do tomorrow. Check in with Rafael, get new armor plating so he could actually see his friends again without looking like a creepy metal skeleton.
He’d talk to Bulkhead so the former Wrecker didn’t freak out too much. Try to wipe that permanent sad look off of Optimus’ face, he’d check on Arcee’s front tire. Check in with Ratchet to get those final repairs underway so they could turn back on his pain receptors, not that Bumblebee was looking forward to that.
But for now it was okay.
It was okay, because Bumblebee was held tight between kind and strong arms. It didn’t really get better than that.