Archive of Our Own

Getting captured by the Decepticons wasn’t an…uncommon activity. 

Information was valuable, tortures were effective, and simply getting one Autobot contained means a lighter workload for an attack.

That being said, Bumblebee is the last in a short line to garner information from for one simple reason: Megatron had stolen his voicebox a long time ago. He could communicate with the other Autobots, but Decepticons were a whole other situation that he really didn’t want to explore. If he did talk to them, he was usually cursing them out (much to Ratchet’s disapproval). 

He just…couldn’t seem to remember why he hurt so much. The pain registered everywhere, so intense that he could barely move. Every time he tried to activate his optics, all he could see was an intense white light that turned into more pain. His limbs wouldn’t obey his commands. His door-wings were pinned uncomfortably against his back. His agonized buzzing echoed through an empty room, met with nothing but silence. 

Something grabs him by the back of his chestplate, pulling him along the unforgiving metal floor. Great. Now they were moving him. Maybe…maybe the torture was done. Maybe they finally realized that they couldn’t take anything more from the scout. They would leave him for scrap again, let the elements take him, and…he had no arguments for it. If he was lucky, the death would be quick. If not, he hoped to have a pleasant view as he went offline.

His optics activate only for a few seconds at a time, giving him small views that only seem to leave him confused. Purple walls, slowly moving past as if the person carrying him could not move faster. Decepticon guards, looking down at him with emotionless faces. A large metal doorframe, the plates hissing to a close behind his form.

He’s barely got a second to think before he’s suddenly flying, hitting the ground hard. Agony spikes again, metal screeches against metal as he slides to a stop, and his visor flashes a warning about severely damaged technology. He could have guessed that, but good on his systems for functioning at all.

The only thing keeping him conscious are the several worried calls of his name. His optics refuse to activate again, but he knows these voices like the back of his hand: his family. The bot who found him as a sparkling, dazed and caught in the middle of a battlefield. The medic who looked him over many times, the one who saved his life after Tiger Pax. One of the two bots he would consider his sibling, a brother who helped raise him as well as get him in and out of trouble. 

Oh. The torture wasn’t done. Now, it was going to be inflicted to hurt someone else.

—

When Bumblebee was not present with them in the holding cells, a small part of Optimus hoped that the scout had managed to escape.

Everyone knew that being a Decepticon prisoner was a fate worse than death. If you didn’t break from the torture alone, they were likely to dismantle you for spare parts. For the Prime himself, it was a painful reminder that the Cybertronian he’d once considered a brother was now the leader of this violent faction. Even more so, it was a painful reminder that his former brother had been the one to personally torture and permanently mutilate one of the last sparklings Primus had ever created. Megatron had always had a strange fascination with the scout ever since that near fatal encounter, and it filled Optimus’ spark with dread to imagine the yellow bot alone with that monster.

Of course, it wasn’t long before his initial assumption was proved incorrect. Life was never that kind, and the sparkbond between them had been assaulted with pain and distress since he awoke. Instead, Megatron had dragged Bumblebee’s dented and damaged body into the room, throwing him into a heap on the ground right in front of the cells. It appeared that in the several hours Megatron had left them alone, he had been focused on pulling the scout closer and closer to death.

“Bumblebee!” Ratchet and Bulkhead both call out at the same time, pressing against the energy fields that hold them captive. Optimus has to hold himself back from following in their examples. He’s a Prime, after all. They need to see him strong. Unyielding. Even if his spark feels like it’s bathed in ice.

Bumblebee doesn’t react to their cries. Optimus would be surprised if the bot regained consciousness, and prays to Primus that he remains in blissful unawareness. The damage was extensive, the metal plating around his body warped in many ways and the protective glass above his optics were cracked. If he woke, he would surely be in agonizing pain, and the last thing any of them want is Bumblebee awake enough to experience more.

Megatron grinned wickedly, his heavy footsteps ringing around the room. “I thought you might like to see your little cowardly friend again. Normally, I’d go to someone like him for information, but,” He kicked Bumblebee’s shoulder. “I’m afraid he doesn’t have anything to say.”

A wave of anger washes over Optimus. Megatron has always been skilled at getting under his plating, but dragging the sparkling that he’d found and raised into his interrogation attempt was a new low. 

“Considering you were the one who ripped out his voicebox, I would have assumed you knew that.” Ratchet snarled, slamming his fist into the barrier. The loss of the voicebox had always been a particularly sore topic for the medic.

“Oh, yes. I did do that.” The Decepticon smirked. “I apologize. It was so insignificant, I forgot. My mistake.”

“What do you want, Megatron?” Optimus grits his teeth, trying not to give into the well of emotions riling up inside. If it became clear that Megatron was successfully rattling the Prime, he would double down on his efforts and Bumblebee would suffer for it. Stay calm. Breathe. Pretend every gear and cog in his body wasn’t begging to smash in the silver mech’s faceplates.

“What I always want.” He cast a smug look towards the Prime he’d betrayed. “Information. You’ll give it to me, won’t you Optimus? Save your poor little scout from offlining in my hands?”

“Not to your sorry hide.” Bulkhead growled out. “Bumblebee won’t stand for it.”

“I don’t think his opinion matters much.” The Decepticon grabbed Bumblebee by his door-wing, holding him at a treacherous angle. “Now tell me where you’ve hidden the relics. Or I start taking more from him.”

The Matrix inside Optimus’s chassis was barely containing the rage pounding in his veins. “Let him go, Megatron. We do not carry any of the relics.” He felt as if he couldn’t look away. The sparkbond between them was faint, diluted thanks to the lack of consciousness, but dull thrums of pain could be felt.

Megatron hummed, disappointment carrying through the room. “A shame. Very well.”

The horrific screech of metal tearing breaks the silence as Megatron rips off one of Bumblebee’s wings, throwing the scout against a far wall. He lands hard, the sheer impact making Optimus wince. Megatron was going to pay for this. 

Bulkhead pounded his fists against the barrier, but it did not yield. “You scrap-headed son of a glitch, when I get out of here-”

“You’re going to what?” Megatron temporarily abandoned the scout (thank Primus), stomping over to Bulkhead’s cell. “From where I'm standing, you don't have a lot of options. I’m the one that's free. I'm the one that had unlimited access to your friend. I'm the one who's not trapped behind a barrier. You're in no position to make threats, little one. Or maybe you'd prefer if I took all your little ideas out on him.”

The sparkbond tugs painfully. Bumblebee is starting to wake up again, his left optic flickering back to life with a dull blue light. Optimus can't do anything but watch, hoping and praying to whatever remains that Bulkhead can keep Megatron distracted for just a bit longer. 

Bumblebee flicks his gaze to Optimus, already gathering data and analyzing the situation. They're all trapped. None of the others can reach him. He's in pain and missing a piece of himself, and he doesn't have enough strength to take Megatron in a one on one battle. The most Optimus can do is try to push strength through their sparkbond, to distract Bumblebee from the pain wracking his form. 

He hates feeling like this: a useless lump of bolts and metal who can't do anything. He's supposed to be their leader, the one who takes the pain and lays down his life to keep his team safe. He's not supposed to be forced on the sidelines, watching the bots he loved suffer for his own sins. If only he'd had the will to end Megatron when it became clear he had turned. So many lives would have been saved. So much pain would have been avoided. Cybertron might even be alive.

Bumblebee’s arm slowly and silently transformed, his classic duel stinger coming out. What was he planning? There's no way he could take on the Decepticon. Doing so would surely lead to his death. Optimus didn't understand.

Not until Bumblebee shot the control panel next to Optimus’s cell.

The energy barrier disappears, giving Optimus access to everything. No more sitting around. No more waiting. No more running.

The shock gives him enough time to run out, his fist colliding with the side of Megatron’s face. It gives him a deep satisfaction to see the metal crumple under his attack, and it has the added bonus of sending the silver mech to the ground.

Optimus turns and slams into the two remaining panels, freeing his other comrades before Megatron can even begin to get up. “Ratchet, get to Bumblebee. Bulkhead, cover me and make sure we don’t get too close to them.” The orders fly out of his mouth on nothing but instinct, his processors working overtime to formulate an adequate escape plan. Bumblebee was the priority, and he needed to get back to the silo ASAP. Ratchet had better supplies there, and they could begin the long process of putting the scout back together. 

Megatron finally stumbled to his knees, spitting out a glob of energon (Optimus won’t admit to anyone but himself that the sight is also deeply satisfying). “Fine. He’s dug his own grave. Once I have you three caged back up, you’ll have the honor of watching your scout die.”

Something in Optimus snaps. 

His body takes over, instinct and experience having taught him all the places Megatron is vulnerable at. Bumblebee will not die today. Not if the Prime has anything to say about it. He’s vaguely aware that Bulkhead is getting his own hits in, keeping Megatron off his feet and allowing Optimus to do more damage. It’s not his finest battle by far (he can’t even recall half of it), but the gratification he feels in his chest is enough to let him know that it’s working well in his favor.

Bulkhead uses his hammer to knock Megatron into one of the empty cells. For an astro-klick, Optimus amuses himself with the idea of continuing the fight in the enclosed space. Nowhere for Megatron to escape to, and no danger of getting close to their medic. The more rational side of his processor takes over, immediately vetoing the plan. Although Megatron would be trapped, he could easily knock Optimus off balance and send them both flying. It would be too close, especially if the Decepticon found enough energy to shoot his weapon. Doing this would only delay their escape and waste the precious time they had left. 

Instead of giving into the burning rage, Optimus brings the energy barrier up. At the very least, this will buy them a few hours. At best, the Decepticons will decide to leave their leader in captivity until his spark burns out. 

Bulkhead huffed, stretching out the cables in his neck. “That felt good.”

Optimus chose not to answer. There was no denying that Bulkhead was right; beating Megatron to a pulp had felt like the beginning to retribution for everything he’d done. But Bumblebee needed to get out, and Optimus couldn’t admit that he’d lost control to his emotions. “We need to leave.” He decided, working hard to keep his voice even. His feet were already moving, drawing him closer to the duo across the room. “How is he?”

Bumblebee was laying flat on his back, his functioning optic flashing as he drew in and out of consciousness. The last time Optimus had seen the scout like this had been back at Tiger Pax, when his near fatal encounter with Megatron and the Decepticons had left him without a voice of his own. It must be drawing up memories for the medic as well, whose face and shoulders are tight with tension. “He won’t last much longer here. Bulkhead, get his wing. I’ll have to try to reattach it once he’s stabilized.” Ratchet’s lips were pressed tightly together, his skilled hands covered in the slowly leaking energon coming off Bumblebee’s body as he tried his best to fix the emergent damage.

Cruel laughter echoes weakly from the cell. “You won’t…escape.” Megatron hissed. “He will die here, and it will be all your fault.”

“Ignore him,” Optimus insisted, kneeling down next to the fragile form. “Now that we are out of the cells, we should be able to contact Arcee. She can open a ground bridge for us. He will not die here.”

“Tell her I need the medical bay fully operational. Optimus, you’re most familiar with his systems, so I’ll need your help too.” Ratchet’s voice is calm and clinical, even in a way that took thousands of hours to learn. Much like the Prime, he felt he had to keep himself calm and in control to soothe the people around him. 

“Got it. Arcee, you read?” Bulkhead asked, fingers tapping nervously on the slab of yellow metal in his hands. He’s never seen Bumblebee so…fragile before.

“Bulkhead! I’ve been trying to reach you guys for hours! What happened?” Arcee’s voice is sharp and impatient, a layer of concern coating every word. Of course, she’s probably still pissed that Optimus restricted her to base thanks to her recent habit of racing, but that was a problem she brought upon herself.

“Long story short, got captured. Need you to open a ground bridge to our location and Ratchet needs the med bay full open. Bee’s in bad shape.”

Optimus carefully gathered Bumblebee’s body into his arms, lifting him off the ground. It still amazed him sometimes just how small the yellow mech was. Of course, he was tiny at one point. When the Prime had first found him as a sparkling on a deserted battlefield, he was small enough to fit in the Autobot’s subspace without any issue. While he had grown, he was still among the smallest in their group. He was fast and smart, but still so little. 

The ground bridge opens in the middle of the room. Optimus doesn’t even think twice as he begins running, the other two tight on his pedes. “Stay strong, Bumblebee. We are almost there.” He whispers, focused on the flickering optic that never leaves his face. Primes don’t falter. They offer encouraging words and an almost supernatural ability to comfort their Cybertronians. Right now, he needs to be the sturdy ground that the scout can lean on. Right now, he needs to keep Bumblebee awake and calm. Right now, he has to make sure his sparkling survives.

Optimus ignores the voices that all vie for his attention as he exits the bridge, running towards the med bay with only one goal in mind. Ratchet has already done a diagnostic scan. Some of the damage was already repaired. They had to make sure that Bumblebee’s valiant efforts were not in vain. 

Time fades into a blur. Ratchet and Optimus occupy opposing sides to the berth, communicating in short sentences when a new problem is discovered or when one is repaired. Wires are replaced and reconnected. Wounds are welded shut. Energon is wiped away to find hidden injuries. Optimus holds Bumblebee’s head still as Ratchet repairs his optic and replaces the cracked screen, praying that they will reignite with a bright blue light soon. 

The other two Autobots do whatever Ratchet requests. Bulkhead sets Bumblebee’s wing on a nearby table, waiting near the end of a long line of tasks to be repaired. Arcee brings three cubes of processed energon, allowing Optimus to tip them into the scout’s intake port. Bulkhead brings a specific tool that the medic apparently left near his habitat without crushing it. Arcee keeps the human younglings away from the med bay. Bulkhead keeps an eye on the perimeter scans, ensuring no Decepticons followed them. Arcee takes the younglings home when it gets late.

It must have been hours before Ratchet finally leaned back, sitting on his pedes heavily. “He’s stable.” The medic sighed, resting a hand on Bumblebee’s chest. He’s feeling Bee’s spark beat, mechanical fingers sensing every electrical thump. 

“Well done, Ratchet.” Optimus nods, setting his hand on Ratchet’s weary shoulder. Bumblebee will live. Megatron had failed once more.

“I couldn’t have done it alone,” Ratchet smiled. “Now he must rest. I can repair the cosmetic damage at a later time. For now, I want to focus on getting his wing reconnected. Afterwards, I’m going to put him in statis mode to ensure he rests properly.” 

“What do you need of me?” Optimus turned his attention back down to his sparkling. Bumblebee looked…marginally better, but marginally better didn’t even begin to compare to his normal state. He looked more like the tiny sparkling born into war than the capable scout Optimus had come to know.

“Just sit him up and hold him still. I can do everything else.” Ratchet pulled the wing closer, gathering the materials needed to make the scout whole again.

Optimus nodded, carefully maneuvering his sparkling to rest against his own torso, one servo cradling his helm. It reminds him of a time long ago, when Bumblebee was still B-127 and was so scared of everyone that he refused to let go of Optimus’s digits. His distressed cries were not uncommon then, especially if Optimus had something important that he could not bring the young mech to. It had taken a long time to convince the small mech that Optimus would always return to him, and even longer for Optimus to convince himself that Bumblebee would be okay alone. 

“It’s not your fault, you know.” Ratchet hummed softly, rebuilding the joint piece by piece. “Most of this was done before that scrap-faced buckethead pulled him in. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I am aware.” Optimus said quietly. He barely noticed one of his own digits slowly tracing a path on Bumblebee’s helm, trying his best to offer comfort to the young warrior. 

“You can’t be blamed for that tyrant’s actions. He made his choice a long time ago. You couldn’t have known what he’d turn into.” 

“I know. For a time, he was my friend. I wanted to believe he had the best intentions.” That was the worst part of it all: so much had happened because Optimus was just incapable of letting go. He so desperately wished things could go back to the way they were, when Cybertron was peaceful and he had his friends and he was just Orion Pax, not Optimus Prime. “Now I wonder if he was ever capable of redemption.”

“Whatever the case, it is not your responsibility nor your burden.” Ratchet secured the wing in place, carefully testing the motion. “The only thing you should be focused on right now is resting and being there for Bumblebee as he recovers.”

Ratchet was right, as always. Some days it was useless to argue with him, especially when the mech was older and just as experienced. Sometimes Optimus could triumph in disagreements simply because he was older and had already experienced these disagreements with others. That was exactly the advantage Ratchet had over him. 

He’s not in the mood to fight anyway. The last thing he wants to do is be pulled away from his sparkling. Now, if Megatron was to somehow show up soon, Optimus could be easily persuaded to engage. That was a battle he looked forward to. The silver mech had made it more than clear that he couldn’t be changed. He reached new levels of depravity every day, and it was time someone finally took him out.

It’s not long before he slips into his own recharge cycle, sitting next to his sparkling.

—

Bulkhead is trying hard not to be so worried. Bumblebee’s strong; all of them know that. He’s a real killer out on the battlefield, a Decepticon’s worst nightmare when he’s angry. He survived Tiger Pax and getting personally interrogated by Megatron not once, but twice now. He’d saved their hides when he was barely awake, which is the whole reason they’re all free and he’s alive!

But…he saw Bumblebee. How mangled his body was. How limp he had been in Optimus’s hold despite the fact that he had to be in a world of pain. He’d seen a rare kind of concentration as Ratchet and Prime had worked to repair the scout, the kind that didn’t allow for even a hint of humor because the situation was far too serious. They’d almost lost the kid. One of the last sparklings ever produced by the Well of Sparks, Optimus Prime’s most trusted scout and their own personal speed demon. Megatron nearly extinguished his spark.

It’s saturday now, which means the younglings don’t have school to attend. Instead, they were all occupying the small balcony purposefully designed to keep them corralled, kicking their feet and waiting on any news. They’re all…strangely quiet. It’s not abnormal for Raf if he absorbed in his computer or for Jack in general, but Miko is silent and it’s throwing Bulkhead for a major loop.

“Is…Is Bee going to be okay?” Raf asked, voice so quiet that Bulkhead barely picks it up. 

“He’ll be just fine.” Arcee offers. “Ratchet’s already told us that he’s stable. They’re keeping a close eye on him just to make sure he rests and doesn’t go running off somewhere.”

“Bee’s one of the strongest bots I know.” Bulkhead nodded. “If anyone can get through this, it’s him.”

“How did you guys meet Bumblebee, anyway?” Miko asked, tilting her head. “Because from what you guys have said, it sounds like he was already fighting when you joined the Autobots.”

Arcee shrugged. “You’re not wrong. When I joined, Bee was on a scouting mission and wasn’t back for a few months. We met after we joined. From the way he was moving even then, I’d say he was already in the fight for a while.”

Huh. Now that Bulkhead thought about it, Bumblebee had been involved with the Autobots longer than he’d even known the faction existed. “Same here. I never noticed that.”

“Woah. So how did Bumblebee get involved then? He would have had to be pretty young by your standards.” The human girl pressed, her eyes lighting up with the promise of a mystery to solve.

“How did Bumblebee get involved with what?” Ratchet raised an eyebrow, emerging from the tunnels. He must have recently exited his recharge cycle, if the bleary look in his optics was anything to go by.

“The Autobots! He was already fighting when both Arcee and Bulkhead met him. What about you? And Optimus Prime? When did you meet him?” Miko stood up, leaning against the yellow railing as her words tumbled out. 

Ratchet stared down at her with his classic impatience, clearly annoyed at the rapid questions when his processor was still exiting recharge. “Optimus was the one who found Bumblebee. We’d gotten a distress signal, and when we responded, the only thing he found was a little sparkling in the rubble of a fallen town. He brought the little one back to base, and he just…never left. I admit, I wasn’t fond of the idea of having him around to begin with.”

“Uh, what’s a sparkling?” Jack asked. He’d eventually joined Miko by the railing, his own curiosity piqued.

“It is…hmm.” Ratchet rubbed his chin. “I guess the best way to put it is that a sparkling would be like a human child. They were the future generations of Cybertron created by the Well of Sparks. Near the end, the Well stopped producing sparklings. Resources were beginning to grow scarce, and some said it was a sign of doom from Primus themselves. We never anticipated finding another one, and I felt we were ill-equipt to care for someone so young.”

Optimus left the med bay, coming to stand next to the medic. “Of course, I do believe some of your initial apprehension was due to the fact that he nearly stabbed one of my optics out with a pole.”

“What?!” The younglings all cried out at the same time, their expressions filled with shock. If his processor wasn’t currently overloading, Bulkhead was sure he would have exclaimed the same thing. Instead, he was standing with his jaw open like an idiot because he could barely believe it. Bumblebee? Nearly took out Optimus Prime as a sparkling?

Ratchet sighed. “Yes, there was that too.”

“I don’t think you’ve told us this story, Boss.” Arcee put her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised. 

“Well, back then, the situation was very different.” Optimus summoned a hologram, showing the surface of a war-torn city. “Cybertron was still functioning as a planet. Our resources were dwindling, but we were surviving. The Decepticons started growing desperate in their attacks and began targeting innocent villages and refugee ships. When we went to the town, I was already anticipating finding nothing but casualties.”

“On missions like those, our goal was to give the Cybertronians proper burials.” Ratchet explained. “We would gather their bodies in a centralized location and bury them once we were sure we had as many as possible.”

“I had left at one point to continue the search, and when I returned, I saw him. His name was B-127. He was stunted, so small from energon depletion that he looked like he had been newly formed.” The hologram changed, showing what was undoubtedly a young Bumblebee kneeling on top of a fallen Cybertron. His coloring was dull and his plating was tight, but nobody could mistake that face or that yellow paint. “He was rooting around inside a large warrior. At first, I was unsure what he was doing. Then, I saw it.”

The tiny Bumblebee pulled something resembling a tank out of the corpse’s torso, raising it to his intake port. “At some point, whether he innately knew it or someone taught him, he learned how to siphon processed energon from the dead.” Optimus’s voice was tight. He still remembered the sight vividly. It had broken his spark that anyone was resorting to such measures, but it was even worse knowing that it was a sparkling.

Okay. Wow. There’s so much that Bulkhead didn’t know about their scout. When the energon had first been rationed out, Bulkhead was already into his adulthood and understood why. But Bumblebee…he was so young. He must have truly been desperate.

“He was cannibalizing other bots?!” Jack’s jaw dropped. Out of all of the Autobots, Bumblebee had always been the kindest and the most laid-back. If you’d asked him who he thought had rooted through dead Cybertrons for energon to survived, he would have guessed Arcee or Bulkhead. Maybe even Ratchet if he was fixing someone up. Not Bumblebee.

Optimus nodded. “He had nothing else. Refugees often had a difficult time getting their hands on the vital substance, and as a sparkling, elders were already expecting him to die early. I believe I scared him when I first approached. He had just narrowly survived a Decepticon attack, and I was an unfamiliar stranger. He lashed out in self defense.”

“Luckily, his reflexes were slow, so Optimus was able to dodge it. Having those bodies there was like an all-you-can-eat buffet for the kid, and he just couldn’t ignore the prospect. Thankfully, he calmed down once he realized we weren’t going to hurt him.” Ratchet’s voice was…oddly tender. Everyone knew he had a soft spot for the yellow mech, but now Bulkhead had a sneaking suspicion that it was more than just his age.

“Okay, wait.” Raf shook his head. “That explains how you met him. How did he start fighting?”

“We never had any intention of letting him join the battle.” The medic shrugged. “We had planned to send him to a safe haven off world. But…he had other plans.”

“Bumblebee made it clear very quickly that he had bonded to me.” Optimus let the hologram fade away. “I was the first adult he saw after everyone else was killed, and he latched on tightly. He had severe food and separation anxiety. He panicked if I left the room. When he overheard our plans to find a haven for him, he proceeded to crawl under my berth and hide until we were minutes away from sending out a search party.”

“We couldn’t send him away after that. It would have been detrimental for his health. So we planned to keep him more as a medic. He already knew anatomy well and spent most of his time with me in the med bay when Optimus was busy. It would keep him out of the fray but it would still keep him close enough that he could be near Optimus.”

Optimus summoned another hologram. “On one of our missions, we got pinned by Decepticon forces. I was only accompanied by two others, and we were extremely outnumbered. We thought we were defeated. Starscream was there, gloating about his victory, when someone suddenly started shooting at him. Bumblebee was…perhaps ten human years old at this point, and he had already snuck out onto the battlefield. It gave us time to regroup and push the Decepticons back. After that, we realized we couldn’t keep him away from the war. We started training him as a scout instead.”

Ten. He had the mentality of a ten year old, and he was already fighting Decepticons. Bulkhead didn’t even know what war was at that age! No wonder he seemed so natural on the battlefield. He’d literally grown up fighting to survive. That was all he knew. 

What else did he not know about the kid?

—

Bumblebee didn’t expect to wake up again so soon. In truth, he’d expected to die. Whether from energon loss or Megatron inflicting a fatal wound, he didn’t expect to live through the experience. It’s a surprise when his optics come back online, both fully functioning and no warnings flashing in his vision. It’s even more of a surprise that he’s not in pain.

He can feel the exhausting press of status cables on his chest, trying their best to plunge him back into recharge mode. He’s never…broken out of stasis before. Megatron had done it before, using Bee’s own body to bring himself back to life, but Bee himself had never done it. 

A servo rests on his shoulder, large and comforting against his shaking form. Oh. He’s shaking. Why is he shaking? He’s not scared. Not when the other half of his sparkbond was there, pushing comfort through the metaphysical connection they share.

“Easy,” Optimus’s voice is calm and steady, washing over him with a warmth that he craved. “You are safe. Go back into recharge.”

He…he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay here with Optimus, wants to bask in one of the rare times he gets the Prime to himself. It has been far too long since his caregiver was able to break away from the constant battles to be alone with the sparkling he’d found so long ago. It’s one of the few times he’ll allow himself to be selfish, clutching onto the Prime’s digits with the ferocity of an abandoned sparkling.

A weak tone warbles from his makeshift voicebox. If he were stronger, he’d probably be ashamed of how he sounded. He sounded like he’d just gotten his aft handed to him, despite the fact that Ratchet had patched him back up. It had taken years to convince Optimus to let him fight. He wouldn’t let one bad run-in with the Decepticon leader ruin all of that hard work.

Optimus gently shushes him. “I have no plans of leaving any time soon. I will remain with you until you are stronger. I promise.”

That was…that was nice. Optimus staying with him even when he was asleep. Holding him. Protecting him. He wanted that.

The power of the stasis cables takes back over, and Bumblebee’s optics go dark. 

—

Ratchet is a nano-klick from kicking Optimus Prime out of the med bay. In the three solar cycles since Bumblebee was brought back and stabilized, Optimus had only gone to recharge himself once. He’s accepting the energon the medic shoves into his servos (which is one of the only reasons he’s staying by the berth at all), but other than that he’s not taking care of himself. Of course, that’s just classic Optimus Prime. Oh, I’m just going to ignore my recharge and energon needs because the soldiers need it more. Nevermind the fact that I’m barely standing on my own two pedes.

Sometimes it was hard to see where the line between Optimus and Bumblebee began and ended. Bumblebee had picked up on Optimus’s inability to rest and his inherent need to never show fear. Optimus always carried an extra energon cube specifically for Bumblebee in case the mech ever ran out of his own supply. They both thought they could hide things from the medic despite the fact that he’d known them for most of the war. Optimus preferred to use his weapons, but was equally skilled at servo to servo combat. Bumblebee preferred his servos, but was skilled at weaponry (if their escape from the Decepticons days ago proved anything). Most times it was oddly endearing.

Right now, it’s the only thing keeping his leader in the med-bay. Optimus had told him about the breach in stasis (Ratchet’s still trying to figure that out, especially since the status cables have been off for a full day and there’s been no sign of consciousness from the yellow bot) and the promise he made. As much as he wanted to kick the red and blue mech to his own berth to rest, he won’t risk Bumblebee panicking when he finally wakes. The scout has already been through enough.

Megatron. The bastard had targeted the scout not once, not twice, but three times now. If Ratchet ever saw the Decepticon ever again, he was going to tear out everything he could get his hands on. Maybe he’d start with the fucker’s voicebox, make sure he knows the torment Bumblebee had endured for years. Then again, he wouldn’t have the satisfaction of hearing the mech beg for mercy. Ratchet had medical training, and he knew exactly how he’d draw everything out without giving the mercy of death. He would make sure that nobody ever got hurt by Megatron ever again. 

On days like this, it’s easy to remember the tiny sparkling that Bumblebee had once been. The first time they met had been one of the rare missions where Ratchet had accompanied Optimus in the field, his skills needed in the case they came across a survivor. For a time, pulling out bodies from buildings and scanning every Cybertronian only for his systems to tell him they’d passed long before he arrived, he doubted they would be used. At most, he would help perform the burials and prepare the bodies. 

He and Optimus had regrouped away from the bodies at one point, sad eyes betraying a truth they both knew: they had been too late. It was likely that nearly everyone had died before they ever departed from their base. So many sparks extinguished, and for what? The desires of a madman? Simple power? This land wasn’t worth anything strategically for the Decepticons. There was no energon, aside from what had been spilled. Nothing was manufactured here. Nothing was stored here but innocent lives that no longer existed.

“I do not understand it.” Optimus had said, blue eyes raking over the destruction. “Has this war not claimed enough of our people? Have they not inflicted enough pain?”

“I’m not sure there will ever be enough pain for Megatron. This wasn’t a victory. This was just a show of power.” He turned to the crumbling city, trying his best to ignore the smell of burning metal. “Proof that they control the balance between life and death.”

“And they leave us with the difficult task of cleaning up.” Optimus sighed, shaking his head. “We must return. There will be many graves to dig.”

Ratchet had known better than to argue with his commander. He simply fell in step with the Prime, keeping his optics constantly moving. It wouldn’t be long before scrappers settled on this area, desperate to find body parts in order to sell them to both sides. Greed never claimed a creed, and no self-respecting shady businessman would allow anything to come between them and their profits. 

Somehow, Optimus had seen before Ratchet. He’d used his servo to stop the medic, standing so still that Ratchet thought he had been frozen somehow. 

“What? What is it?” Ratchet had hissed, turning his head side to side. Had the scrappers found them? Or worse, the Decepticons?

“There. On the fallen.” Optimus whispered, pointing towards the pile of corpses.

Ratchet barely believed his optics. It…was a sparkling. But that was impossible! Sparklings didn’t exist anymore; not after the Well stopped producing them. Nobody had seen one in vorns. But there one was, kneeling on top of the form of a dead Cybertronian. It was doing… something. Was this a mech it had known? Was it…grieving?

A horrible screech echoed across the desolate land. It wasn't long before the sparkling pulled, yanking out what Ratchet knew to be a fuel tank. Was this sparkling a scrapper? Claiming viable pieces for whoever cared for him? It was obviously knowledgeable about anatomy. Even from nearly a hundred yards away, it was clear that it had only removed a single panel to access the organ.

“What is it doing?” Ratchet felt the urge to run forward. This youngling, no matter how old it was, was in the process of desecrating a body! It was disgusting and dishonorable. Where was its caregiver? Who would let such a thing happen on a fresh battlefield?!

The sparkling looks around once, missing the two Autobots behind its back. It was aware of how dangerous this place was. It must have been! It was practically plating and chassis, so weak that a single blast would surely snuff out its spark. And then, finally, it focused back on the tank. But instead of shoving it into a bag or running off with the new prize, the sparkling does something that twisted Ratchet’s spark.

It starts drinking whatever remained in the tank.

Optimus holds Ratchet back again, his optics showing barely contained sorrow. “Something that no creature should ever have to do.”

“It’s…just a kid. Why does it know how to dissect a cadaver?” Everything was crumbling around him. Ratchet had been getting retrofitted with his medical equipment before he started learning about anatomy and scans. This little one was doing it all by knowledge and feel just to get to what would likely be nearly empty tanks for even a drop of energon. 

“Desperate times often call for desperate measures. We should bring it back to base.” Optimus decided, slowly walking closer to the sparkling.

Ratchet had been tempted to throw something at the Prime right then and there. What in Primus’s name would they do with a youngling? They were in the middle of a war! At best, it would be a distraction. At worst, it was a liability! Sparklings took time and resources, both of which were in short supply. And if the Decepticons learned that they had a sparkling, they’d no doubt try to use him in their evil plans!

Optimus had knelt down behind the sparkling. Ratchet wasn’t sure of what he said exactly, but whatever it was, the sparkling responded by swinging around a pole covered in dried energon towards the large mech.

That was it. Ratchet was dead. He was going to get kicked out of the Autobots because his leader had lost his life (or at the very least half his face) to a sparkling and the medic hadn’t been able to do anything to stop it. Elita was going to murder him. If she didn’t, then Ultra Magnus surely would. Farewell, future.

Optimus catches the pole before it can connect, holding his other servo out. “Excellent reflexes. You are safe now. We will not hurt you.” His voice is even and unperturbed in the classic Prime fashion. If it weren’t for the soft look in his eyes, Ratchet would have simply yanked him back and come back at a later time when the kid had eaten his fill.

The sparkling was frozen, trembling as its optics flashed between Optimus and Ratchet. What was going through its mind right now? What did it think of them? Everyone it had known before was gone, and here were two large battle hardened mechs invading its space. Had it ever encountered a Decepticon before? Did it know how to tell apart the bots who would try to kill him and the bots who would try to save him? This was definitely not in the field manual.

Nobody moves for several kliks. For whatever reason, Optimus seemed dead set on bringing this kid with them. Said sparkling is still sizing them up, optics scanning for any harmful intentions. Ratchet doesn’t dare move because with his luck, the little mech would just run away and then Optimus would insist on chasing after it, and then they’d be even farther away from their last known coordinates, and then possible rescue would take even longer. 

The sparkling is the first to move. It drops the pipe, slowly crawling closer to the Prime, small digits slowly reaching out to press along the blue plating on his arm. When it’s clear that Optimus won’t stop him from his exploration, the yellow bot continues. Servos slide up Optimus’s arm to the joint linking it to his shoulder, tracing the edges of hard panels and firm glass. Then down, following the line down towards Optimus’s chest, pressing right above where his spark lied. The Matrix of Leadership hummed with a quiet power, a beacon that Orion Pax had been bestowed a great responsibility.

Those same servos suddenly push apart Optimus’s panels, slipping into his subspace and closing it behind him.

“Did…did it just disappear into your chest?” Ratchet blinked, trying to wrack his processor for the next appropriate steps. 

“Yes, he did.” Optimus hummed, standing up. “But it is a safe place, and I can prevent him from running away. We should get him back and get more hands to take care of the deceased.”

“So what is your plan exactly?” Ratchet snapped. “Just keep the kid inside your chest until it grows too big?”

“No.” It was hard to miss the way Optimus kept one hand over the chamber. “Just until we can get to base. We can find a safe place to send him once he’s stable.”

Ratchet had believed it at first. He believed that they would just get the kid something to eat and a good recharge and then send him away.

Yet there he was, nearly fully grown and still occupying a spot in their new home. He’d fought with them for so long, had repeatedly risked his own life for them and others, and was a bright sense of optimism on days where Ratchet feared the fighting would never end. Laying out on the med berth like the tiny sparkling who had been too scared to let go of Optimus Prime’s digit the first time Ratchet scanned him over, dragged into a war that was never meant to be his to fight. 

“I can sense you staring, Ratchet.” Optimus said, drawing the medic out of the past. He looked as he always had, strong and stoic. It was hard to remember that he had been Orion Pax once instead of Optimus Prime. “Do you have something you wish to say?”

Ratchet cleared his voicebox, turning to face his leader. “You should get some rest and recharge. Bumblebee still has plenty of recovery to go through, and he will need you at your best.”

“I am fine, old friend.” Optimus said. He looked…tired. Weary to the spark. Battle took its toll on everyone in different ways, and oftentimes Optimus was forced to shoulder his debt and others. 

“You are not.” Ratchet walked over, setting a servo on his conjunx’s shoulder. “You are exhausted and running yourself into the ground. Is there anything I can assist you with?”

Optimus kept his optics focused firmly on Bumblebee, watching his vents flare and retract. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How do you handle this? Putting someone back together when they have been ripped apart? Seeing the death and destruction that we cause to each other? How do you not dream of it?” His voice betrayed no emotion, but Ratchet had learned a long time ago how to read his conjunx. 

“I wish I could say I was programmed for it. That I received an update that made it easy to do the work. But I can’t.” Ratchet turned towards Bumblebee. This scout in particular was one that Ratchet would never forget. “We all must cope somehow with what we see. For many of us, we have to stop seeing them as Cybertronians. We have to see them as patients. Case numbers. Everything is broken down to science. Energon is not our lifeblood, it is a chemically advanced compound. Injuries are breaches in anatomy that we must fix. I don’t always remember names or faces, but I remember what happened. I remember repairing and replacing wires, I remember soldering limbs back together. I remember seeing sparks lose their light, and instead of grieving or crying because I had lost another life, I simply prepared them for their funerals. It is not a life built for everyone. Many worry that they will irreparably lose a part of themselves. But it is a life I have learned to navigate.”

“You have a great strength, Ratchet, and I thank Primus for that. I cannot imagine what we would do without you.”

—

When Bumblebee wakes again, the base is dark and quiet. It's the kind of quiet that comes not with solitude, but with rest. Whether it is day or night outside, the rest of his team had elected for a peaceful atmosphere. Lights off, no TV or video games breaking the silence, nobody standing at the computer obsessing over Decepticon movements. 

For a brief second, he wonders what happened to the Decepticons. Had they freed Megatron? Did they even know he’d been locked in one of the cells by their own prisoners? Who was in control now? Starscream had proved time and time again that he was constantly looking for an excuse to lead the opposing faction, and now he had an opportunity. Had one of the other Decepticons scattered across the galaxy suddenly appeared and assumed power? There was no way they were just gone. When it came to perseverance, they were a lot like roaches. Every time he thought one was out of the way, they were suddenly showing up again with a new plan to destroy the world. 

Optimus is still there. He’s sitting on a crate and leaning against a wall with his optics closed, just shy of a recharge cycle but not by much. One servo is resting on Bumblebee’s shoulder, a constant grounding touch to remind the leader that his scout is still alive. Good old Optimus, always following through with his promises. He had sworn he would stay with Bumblebee until he awoke next, and there he was. 

Bumblebee had always been able to trust the Prime. Even when he was young, scarred from war and with a (reasonable) apprehension of strangers, something had drawn him in. Optimus was a guiding hand, a safe place to hide in the slowly dying planet they called a home. He had practically raised the scout, teaching him how to read and reinforcing his trust in the Autobots around them. 

Optimus’s optics suddenly light up, his body jolting back into awareness at a moments notice. Bumblebee isn’t exactly sure what woke him up, but he’s sort of grateful. It means he doesn’t have to be the one to pull the commander from his rest. Optimus was…unreliable when it came to taking care of himself (although it didn’t seem like many of them were), and breaking his recharge was like moving a human off your lap.

“Bumblebee.” Optimus’s voice washes over the scout like a warm blanket, filled with relief. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” The younger mech manages to rasp out. It’s times like this where he really misses his voicebox. Instead of his teammates having to listen to and translate Morse Code, he could just say the words and they’d all understand. The humans would understand him too. More than just Raf. Jack and Miko and even Fowler would all know what he was saying. 

“That is good to hear.” Optimus smiled. He must have been worried sick. If Bumblebee had been the one stuck in a cage watching the Prime get tortured, he'd be pretty worried too. Of course, Optimus probably would have escaped sooner or fought back more. He was always strong where the scout was weak, sure of himself and everything around him.

“You?” Bee asks. Anything to get the conversation away from himself right now. 

“I am fine. Megatron did not harm anyone else. He was…intent on inflicting pain to you. I still am not sure why.” His caregiver sighed. Nights like this remind Bumblebee just how close Optimus and Megatron used to be. Before the war. Before everything became a fight. Optimus had told him many stories late at night when neither of them could rest, teaching him how to be sneaky whenever Ratchet came around so he didn’t get busted for being up past his berth-time.

“When did you last recharge?” Bumblebee grabs Optimus’s servo with his own, optics stubbornly facing the Prime and demanding answers. Ratchet wouldn’t let Optimus wear himself down, not after such a close call when they needed all servos on deck. However, Bumblebee is very familiar with the self-sacrificing tendencies of the mech who raised him.

“Some time ago. I still have plenty of energy left, so do not concern yourself.” Classic Optimus, always trying to reassure and comfort Bee. It was endearing…and annoying.

“If we both recharge, it means Ratchet can’t lecture you about taking care of yourself. I’m sure we could both fit on this berth.”

Optimus blinks in surprise and then smiles. “A wise proposition.”

—

The hold is empty.

No one had come to him in several days. No energon, no visitors, no follow ups from his ever-ambitious lackeys.

He should have been mortified. Defeated. Heavy of spark. He had nearly every remaining Autobot under his control, and then lost them all thanks to the actions of one undying scout. Starscream was undoubtedly assuming control of his empire in order to fulfill his own foolish plans.

But Megatron had done it. He had finally done it.

He had found the key to destroying Optimus Prime.

This cell may have him imprisoned for now, but he will escape. He will find those pesky Autobots again.

He will make them pay.