Chapter Text
On the day that they meet, Bumblebee spends his morning crying.
They are angry tears that run hotly down his rounded face and he wipes them away in frustration with a growl of his taxed little engine.
He had to make camp in Harmonex’s ruins again, this time in a bombed-out spacebridge center.
The place clearly was once a hub for off-world vacationers and colony tourists, judging by the decayed remains of the shopping center surrounding the crumbling spacebridge and its entrance ramp. Smiling and happy bots are plastered all over old advertisements that are now foreign and eerie in this new era of Cybertron.
The War has taken so much in so little time.
It was an ad for a vacation package for Velocitron that broke Bumblebee, just another stupid tacky poster on a wall of stupid tacky posters.
It was a reminder of what was once his home away from home.
Bumblebee wants nothing more than to go back to Velocitron, where fully stocked pit stops, restaurants, and tacky souvenir shops were once everywhere. Where the lively colorful stretches of brightly lit city roads stretched on for what felt like forever. He wants to park himself on the edge of a floating overpass minimart overlooking the densest tangle of roads in the neon city and relax and enjoy the sounds of life in the bustling busy planet as he savors some overpriced snacks and a triple portion of energon in a silly novelty cube.
Cybertron and its horrible War would be nothing but a faraway nightmare.
But he knows that Velocitron is long gone now, even if the spacebridges weren’t all destroyed by the Decepticons. The War of the Autobots and Decepticons ravaged everything until nothing feels like home anymore.
And so here Bumblebee stands, weeping for long lost comfort and joy, forced to struggle on a rusted and crumbling Cybertron along with the rest of the dregs of survivors.
Frag everything.
“Primus, get me out of here,” Bumblebee curses under a vent as he furiously wipes away his tears.
He had been searching for a specific datapad-store in Harmonex for ages. This client wanted a complete series on the history of Cybertronian physical arts. Apparently, several stores were raffling off a preliminary set signed by the author before full publication release to drum up business. They were quickly forgotten about when the first planetwide airstrikes started. Bumblebee heard rumors that bootlegged copies existed but his upstart client wanted the real deal.
Bumblebee had managed to find functioning tomes on Metallikato and Circuit-su, complete with their prized signature, but the last one, which focused on Crystalocution, was a real glitch to find. It almost wasn’t worth scavenging these ruins of a spacebridge complex but, fragging finally, all three are in his hands.
:I got your stupid pamphlets,: he texts his client.
:Are they intact?: is the tepid response.
:Depends on if you have the slagging shanix and the energon. I’ll send you the safehouse coordinates as soon as you give me visual of my take. Don’t frag this up, otherwise I just found myself three fancy new cube coasters.:
After a moment, Bumblebee is commed a photo of the agreed payment all laid out, accompanied by his client, and a hint of a couple of his body guards, facing the camera and making a very, very rude gesture.
Bumblebee smugly chuckles under a vent at that. He sends the location and his own pic of the mint-condition datapads then transforms and heads toward the safehouse.
Nostalgia for the lost Golden Age can be quite the hot commodity for the few bots weathering out the War in relative comfort and style, usually weapon suppliers, smuggling ringleaders, high-paid mercenaries, and those few that were a mix of all three. Most of his various clientele wear a badge, however Bumblebee prefers to work with those who do not.
Unfortunately for him, those numbers are drying up rapidly. Soon, the only way to escape a badge will be by joining the Well in the afterlife.
Scavenging is a dirty and demeaning job, but Bumblebee needs the shanix and he needs the energon.
Bumblebee makes it about halfway to his destination when his hover thrusters sputter as his fuel gauge is reduced to fumes and he is sent crashing into the parking bay of a Harmonex office building. His aching body forces himself to transform and he collapses to his knees, coughing up dark exhaust as he tastes dirt in his mouth.
“Great. Perfect. Just the proverbial icing on the oil cake for the fragging day I’m having,” the yellow bot grimaces sarcastically as his tanks growl needily, “Guess I’m walking the rest of the way…”
His tanks nowadays are always so empty that it hurts to drive and it hurts to transform.
It hurts to live.
As he cautiously steps back out into the open, Bumblebee is startled by an echoing voice from above.
“It has come to my attention that there have been reports that there have been a considerable decline in numbers at Surrender Stations Cybertron wide.”
With a groan of annoyance, Bumblebee looks up to see a large billboard holoscreen drifting through the ruins of Harmonex, flanked by hover drones. He swears the Decepticons are building more and more of these reformatted propaganda drone platoons.
The screen broadcasts the unmistakably striking face of Megatron himself, the self-proclaimed savior of Cybertron. His voice his gentle yet firm, like that of a disappointed mentor. However, Bumblebee has met his share of dangerous bots so he can both see and hear the cold and calculating threat radiating from the silver mech’s idolized image.
“It seems like a good time to remind any struggling citizens that my loyal Decepticon compatriots will be ready to give you a very warm welcome and ease your pain and suffering. We also are happy to extend this offer to any Autobot reconsidering any poor choices you may have made. We are waiting with open and forgiving arms.”
Bumblebee scoffs and spits out a wad of dirt in disgust at the idea.
If one was lucky, they’d get a cerebro-sensitive bullet straight to the helm if they went to a Surrender Station. That is the preferred outcome. Bumblebee had heard his share of rumors and horror stories of the alternatives.
As the image of the handsome silver mech drones out more grim propaganda, Bumblebee keeps to the shadows in case there are more drones nearby. It is slow going but it gives him time to think.
Megatron and his Decepticons ruined Cybertron, that is the undeniable truth and no amount of strong speeches or disinformation will ever change Bumblebee’s mind on the matter. Murdering Iacon’s darling, Sentinel Prime, and a few former Senators recently also did not help matters.
Granted, Bumblebee doesn’t care much for their eternal adversaries, the Autobots, either. From what little interaction he has experienced with their members, they stubbornly seem more interested with broadcasting an image of moralized purity, righteousness, and petty revenge rather than actually helping those outcasted in this new era for Cybertron.
If the Autobots claim they stand for freedom and acceptance, why had they been so ready to kick a minibot like him to the curb?
As he slowly makes his way to the safehouse, Bumblebee is left with a spiral of thoughts teeming in his processor until he is distracted by thunder in the distance that threatens acid rain. Bumblebee hopes the composition is not too low, his plating is not shielded with the right wax if the pH dips into hazard levels. He does not need to risk rust rash on top of everything else.
Instead, light fog rolls into what is left of Harmonex and the added cover seems to be the turn of luck Bumblebee desperately needs.
But then he spots black smoke seeping into the mists.
Billowing out of the worst possible location.
“Frag…! Please be nothing. Please be nothing,” Bumblebee begs to himself as he sticks to his cover and rushes over.
He spots the compromised safehouse and the horrific sight of the body guards’ shattered corpses littered about just as a large red and blue cargo truck crashes onto the scene. The large ground alt barrels in from the fog and right into the tightest cluster of Decepticon ground troops ransacking the safehouse. The impact sends them flying and the cargo truck transforms into a large and stately mech.
“Autobots! Rally to me!” the red and blue bot shouts, his booming voice echoing through Harmonex’s ruins as he brandishes a battle ax and an impressive ion blaster.
Over half a dozen vehicles materialize from the wisps of fog and race to join the fray just as the Decepticons recalibrate their ranks for a counter attack. Within a blink of an optic the safehouse becomes another warzone.
From his hiding spot, the yellow minibot spits out a string of expletives.
A faction clash, just what Bumblebee fragging needs.
Just then, Bumblebee spots his client scrambling out from an escape hatch, away from the full skirmish.
Bumblebee tries to signal the mech to safety only for his client to be gunned down like an animal by a squad of Decepticon fliers that swoops low to rain down a hail of scattered bullets everywhere.
Bumblebee’s spark twists in pity and righteous anger as his poor client quickly bleeds out and greys, lost in the literal fog of war. He tries to creep closer in a vain attempt to help but a couple of Decepticons set upon his body like retro-rats the moment one of them sees a single shanix fall from his subspace.
It is disgusting.
“You’re not graverobbing today, you spawns of glitches…!” Bumblebee growls under a vent as he bolts closer for better cover.
From the shadows, Bumblebee takes aim with his long-ranged blaster and takes a couple potshots at the Decepticons.
Their deaths go largely unnoticed and those that don’t fall draw the attention of a pink Autobot with their cries of alarm. She signals to her blue comrade, who transforms into a turret alt and mounts themselves over her shoulders. The two chase off the Decepticons and allow Bumblebee to creep his way over.
He tenses when the big red and blue bot, clearly the Autobot squad’s boss mech, hurries over to investigate. However, he is distracted when the fliers swoop overhead again and he shields himself against the safehouse’s wall, nearby Bumblebee’s client.
Bumblebee really doesn’t want the Autobots to try to commandeer his bounty, wouldn’t be the first time, and he cringes as he has to carefully sneak closer to his poor client’s remains.
Just as Bumblebee is nearly there, he spots a stealthy Decepticon scout slink out from the fog, red optics zeroed on the squad leader.
But the big red and blue bot doesn’t notice, he is too busy talking over his comm and supporting his fellow Autobots from a distance with a volley of bullets from his ion cannon. Each ring true to their target and he is given a free moment to inspect Bumblebee’s dead client. His blue optics are saddened as he does not yet catch the shadowed Decepticon who snakes in from behind and silently draws a dagger.
Primus, these Autobots are a real pain in the aft, Bumblebee thinks to himself in annoyance.
He shoots the Decepticon anyway.
The big red and blue mech is startled when the bot behind him falls forward, stone dead. His blue helm swivels opposite of the bullet’s path and his gaze finds Bumblebee who freezes as soon as their optics meet.
“On your left!” the big red bot suddenly shouts without missing a beat.
Bumblebee doesn’t even think, he just rolls out of the way just as an electrified longsword whizzes downward and nearly misses him. The Decepticon barely has time to react before the squad leader takes them out with a couple of ion blasts.
He doesn’t know how it happens, but Bumblebee finds himself back-to-back against the big red and blue bot as the two of them blast the Decepticons within range.
The tide of battle quickly veers into the Autobots’ favor as the Decepticons’ numbers quickly dwindle. The Autobots hunt down their murderous foes until they are the victors. They stay and begin to assess the area and any injuries amongst their ranks.
It isn’t until a black and white mech shouts “Clear!” that the Autobots relax a little.
The squad leader heaves out a heavy sigh in relief and Bumblebee cringes when he realizes that his back is flush against the larger frame. He jerks himself away, as if the touch is dirty and scalding, but that only draws the large mech’s attention.
“Thanks for the assist,” the big red bot says after a moment, a grateful smile beneath his mask-plate, “I appreciate it.”
The big red and blue bot’s attention is then quickly drawn back to his dead client and as soon as the larger mech notices his client’s spilled shanix, Bumblebee has his blaster pressed against the blue helm. “Hands up,” the minibot says slowly.
A tense atmosphere blankets over the two of them but the larger and older mech is remarkably calm. “Take it easy, friend. I mean you no harm,” he says evenly, not a hint of hostility or outrage in his voice.
“I’m not your fragging friend,” Bumblebee snaps as he glares at the mech, his optics drawn to the red badge on his pauldron. “That is my client and my shanix. I earned that, and two bricks of energon, fair and square before you and your bot-scout club dragged some ‘Cons to my little hideout.”
The squad leader slowly lifts his empty hands as told, which unfortunately gets the attention of the rest of the nearby Autobots.
“Whoa there! Get the frag away from him!” the pink gunner shouts as she and the others take aim at Bumblebee.
“You heard the lady, pipsqueak,” the turret mech adds from his place on her sturdy shoulders.
Just as Bumblebee is rapidly weighing the success of a hostage attempt, the squad leader signals the other Autobots to disengage as he attempts to keep his hands in the air.
“Stand down Cog, it’s alright,” the big mech orders before addressing the pink Autobot, “Give the two of us a moment, if you will Arcee.”
“I don’t think that’s a good-”
“We are going to talk things through,” the red and blue mech says firmly, clearly not interested in rebuttal as he keeps his optics locked on Bumblebee. “Alright?”
The minibot hesitates before eventually nodding. He keeps his blaster at the ready but he makes a show of tucking away his trigger finger. “I don’t want anymore death tonight,” he says, trying to open up a dialogue. He knows Autobot commanders like to talk.
This big mech turns out to be no exception. “Neither do we,” he says before changing the subject, clearly vying for some control over the awkward and tense situation. “It’s been some time that I’ve seen someone without a badge.”
“Uh-huh. Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Bumblebee retorts sarcastically, already on to the mech’s weak game. “You have five kliks to get you and your Primacy posse out of my sight and leave my spoils. All of it.”
“We were unaware of what transpired here. We just saw smoke and came to help. Pity we couldn’t get here in time to avoid needless casualties,” the big mech replies before a thought crosses his mind, “Are you a mercenary?”
“I work for whoever can pay me to find whatever it is that they want and is not dumb enough to try to shoot me in the back.”
“Ah, a scavenger then,” the squad leader nods.
“A bot’s gotta refuel,” Bumblebee sneers.
The squad leader hums and mulls something over before saying, “The Autobots have a few volunteer-run shelters. If you’d like, you’d be welcomed to-”
“Yeah, I’ve been to them. They suck,” Bumblebee interrupts, not at all surprised by the offer. “Not exactly inviting for bots who have no interest in being preached at or don’t have squeaky clean reputations.”
But the big mech is not deterred. “The Autobots believe that freedom is the right of all-”
Bumblebee cuts him off with a mocking laugh that makes the eavesdropping bots surrounding them tense. “Stuff it up your skidplate, I’ve heard it all before,” he snaps, “Believe it or not, I actually tried to be a good little bot and tried my damnedest there. Volunteered and all that junk. But, once someone heard about my old side hustle, I was suddenly no longer welcomed at any of the shelters. Can’t say anyone was sad to see me go.”
When the masked mech’s blue optics narrow and harden, Bumblebee expects to be called a liar but the mech surprises him instead.
“I was unaware that was an issue. My apologies,” the big red and blue mech says before he shifts the subject again. “If you don’t mind me interrupting, could we possibly continue this conversation while me and my comrades clean up? We have a signal-scrambler, but there could be a Decepticon cavalry headed this way if they realize a scouting squad is missing.”
After a moment of consideration, Bumblebee lowers his weapon completely and the Autobots all relax, to varying degrees. “What kind of clean up?”
The squad leader stands and dusts himself off. “Well, for starters, we should tend to the dead. I do not like leaving the fallen to rust out in the open. It is disrespectful.”
Bumblebee takes a step back and gives the big mech a long look. “Fine,” he relents snippily, “Just don’t touch my things, Autobot.”
“There’s not much left to touch,” Arcee mumbles to Cog as the two join the others as they begin to gather up the dead guards and Decepticons.
Bumblebee doesn’t like that she is quite right.
The safehouse is completely destroyed.
Judging by a quick investigation, Bumblebee guesses that his client and his bodyguards led the Decepticons straight to the nondescript structure hidden among the other dilapidated buildings. A firefight must have quickly broke out and Decepticons and bodyguards alike must have grabbed what they could in the fray and ran if they could make it out alive. Luckily, Bumblebee’s payment of energon and shanix had made it through but a large amount of his emergency supplies were either missing or ruined.
Oh well, not like it would be the first time Bumblebee needed to start again from scratch.
However, that is not the main concern haunting him.
After Bumblebee salvages what he can, he watches the Autobots work in grim silence. He is mildly surprised when the squad leader treats the dead Decepticons with the same amount of dignity as the guards they slaughtered. All of them are laid to rest in either the safehouse or the empty basement of a nearby building.
The minibot pauses when the big red and blue mech reaches for what is left of his client.
“Let me help,” Bumblebee pipes up, setting aside his locked travel trunk and heading over. He lifts the mech’s limp legs as the bigger bot holds the rest.
“Were you two close?” the squad leader asks as they both carry the remains to lay with his bodyguards inside the safehouse.
Bumblebee scoffs. “This was our first job together and he didn’t want to be on a named basis. He was just another all-business, no-nonsense dipstick in the mud, I can tell you that much.” The minibot’s expression softens as they set the remains down and he stares sadly at the row of bodies lined up. “Even then, he didn’t deserve to fragging die like this. None of them did.”
The squad leader silently nods in agreement and Bumblebee does not notice when the mech’s optics linger on his yellow frame.
Once they are all finished, Bumblebee can feel all of the Autobots’ gazes locked on the armored trunk, no doubt focused on the two large energon brinks inside. He is unsurprised when the squad leader interrupts when the minibot begins to leave.
“How much for the energon?”
That earns a wince. “There it fragging is,” Bumblebee growls under an annoyed vent before glaring at the big red and blue bot and declares, “No deal, Autobot.”
“We need that energon,” the squad leader explains, “Desperately.”
Bumblebee feels disgust and anger prickle up his spinal strut until it reaches his faceplate and has him scowling. “So do I.”
“Surely, we can offer a trade?”
“It’s not gonna come cheap,” Bumblebee warns.
“I understand,” the squad leader says, “Name your price.”
“You give me your signal-scrambler, then maybe I’ll consider it,” Bumblebee quickly snaps, skipping his usual sweet talk bargaining and going straight for the metaphorical jugular wire. It’s a hard bargain and Bumblebee hopes it is enough to get the big overly friendly mech to back off.
“You’re stepping over a line, pipsqueak,” the pink gunner chimes in, accompanied by a few judgmental glares from the others.
“Easy, Arcee,” the squad leader says, trying to quell his team. “We’re asking the mech to give up his fuel. It is a difficult request. If we find the right equipment, we can hopefully make more scramblers if we need them.”
The other Autobots clearly don’t like the deal but defer to their leader’s judgment.
After giving his troops a grateful look, the squad leader pulls out the device from a subspace pocket. “Here,” he says as he hands it to Bumblebee, “It’s short ranged and was jerry-rigged by our head scientist, so it’s a little fiddly, but it should do it’s job.”
After thoroughly looking it over, making extra sure it is not as much of an explosive device as it looks, Bumblebee sighs in defeat. “Thanks for the tip,” he says as he opens his trunk and swaps it out for the energon, his tanks churning in protest, “but I don’t plan on keeping it on me unless I need it. When it comes to scavenging, I am pure stealth.”
In the process of yanking out the energon, Bumblebee accidentally knocks out those fragging signed datapads to the ground.
“Oh! A Brief History of Neo Arts of Cybertron, Collector’s Edition! How did you find those?” the squad leader gasps, instantly recognizing them. He stoops to pick them up and hand them back but quickly grows distracted as he looks them over. “Ah, it’s even got a foreword by Yoketron himself and… they’re signed?!”
The big mech sounds so giddy that Bumblebee can’t resist a trade opportunity when he sees it.
“Keep ‘em then, since you’re such a literary buff. They’re no good to me now that my client is dead and they’re too niche to risk myself on the blackmarket over. I’ll just take my shanix, the scrambler, aaaand…” he pauses to dig through the Autobots’ own pile of salvage, much to all but the squad leader’s disapproval, and pulls out four emptied weapons. “These deluxe fusion pistols in trade for those datapads. Ammo not included, by the by, if you have a problem with it.”
Bumblebee fully prepares for the big Autobot to argue, or to at least demand all of the weapon spoils, no doubt for security reasons, but again the mech surprises him.
“That seems like more than a fair enough deal,” the squad leader says as he holds the datapads close, “Thank you. These are real treasures.”
“If you say so,” Bumblebee quips as he secures his trunk, “They’ve given me nothing but trouble and it’s better than a fat load of zilch I’d get otherwise.” He is about to leave when he feels the big mech’s optics on him again.
“The answer is no, by the way.”
The big mech barks out a laugh at the minibot’s sudden sentence. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
The sound is warm and amused. The kind of laugh that reverberates it way deep into the spark.
Bumblebee smothers a few confusing feelings bubbling up with a dismissive sneer. “Yeah, I do. It’s written all over your faceplate, mask or no mask.” He hosts his trunk up to a makeshift wheeled wagon and starts the long walk to the nearest mercenary hub, “I work alone.”
“Wait just a klik,” the big mech calls after him, “What is your name?”
The minibot weighs his answer, almost considering not bothering before he turns back. “Bumblebee,” he calls back over his shoulder, “What’s yours, big bot?”
“Optimus.”
Bumblebee’s circuits nearly short at the response and he stops dead in his tracks. “You mean like the fragging new Prime?” he blurts out as he whirls on his heels, his vocalizer crackling embarrassingly.
The large mech turns to his troops with a playful chuckle.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Bumblebee stands there dumbstruck as he watches the Autobots transform and leave. The big red and blue cargo truck is the last to depart and he sends the minibot a flash of his headlights, in lieu of a teasing wink, before driving off into the fog.
For a long moment, Bumblebee can only find the strength and sanity to blink.
What the frag just happened?!