Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So I hit him with a left hook, right?” Bumblebee said excitedly, swinging his fist as much as the two large arms tucked around him would allow. “And then he dodges and starts coming at me, so I dip down really fast and slide right between his legs! All the way under, and then I was behind him, so I pulled my stingers out and hit right on one of his blasters! And then he—”

“Bumblebee, I was there,” Blitzwing said, cold as ever. Bumblebee would have been upset with the tone if not for the single digit swirling ever so delicately around one of his horns, the press of warm metal against warm metal keeping a smile curled on Bumblebee’s lips. Though blue optics did snap open, playfully narrowing as they fell on their amused crimson counterparts.

“Yeah, but you didn’t see the whole thing!” Bumblebee argued, squirming deeper into Blitzwing’s lap so he could fully dig an elbow into his massive partner’s stomach. “It’s better to tell the story anyway! You get all the details that way!”

“Oh, trust me, I’m aware of your affinity for useless storytelling,” Blitzwing said, his face spinning and a scarlet grin splitting his face practically in two. “But I didn’t tell you to stop! Keep going!”

Bumblebee rolled his optics as Blitzwing’s chin dropped onto the top of his helm, the sharp tip digging into the yellow plating. He worried for only a brief moment that being squeezed like this might scuff his paint—though it had only happened once, the questions he’d gotten from the Autobots were enough to put him on edge any time Blitzwing cuddled him too aggressively.

These were risky moments, ones like these. But they were always worth it, Blitzwing’s presence alone providing an escape back to some of the strangest and best months of Bumblebee’s life. He closed his optics once again, leaning back against Blitzwing’s chest, fully inviting the suffocating grip he was tangled in.

“Lugnut is so fragging annoying,” Bumblebee continued, nuzzling his helm into Blitzwing’s chin. “But yeah—so, I knocked one of his blasters completely offline, and he was so mad. And he started coming for me, but then Ratchet did his magnet thing and whipped me to the side, and Lugnut slammed into a lamppost, full speed, total attack mode. I think even Megatron laughed a bit.”

Whirr. “He did,” Blitzwing said, his voice slow and calm, a thin hint of levity clinging to the edge of each word. “Though it was more mocking than anything. Lugnut was disciplined quite heavily for losing his composure like that.”

“Yikes,” Bumblebee muttered. “Does Megatron flip out on you guys every time you don’t do the exact right thing? I mean, Prime yells at us sometimes, but nothing really bad.”

“That would depend on your definition of ‘flip out,’” Blitzwing said, his frame shifting as he shrugged, the tips of his pedes fidgeting uncomfortably. “Tire treads.”

Bumblebee bit his lip and nodded, silently scrambling for something new to talk about. He hated that phrase, despite being the one to come up with it in the first place. It was a hard-stop phrase, the subtle warning that a conversation was getting too close to something they shouldn’t talk about.

Bumblebee opted to let the conversation cease for a moment as he turned around in Blitzwing’s arms, pulling their frames chest to chest and planting a firm kiss on the curved black glass that comprised Blitzwing’s cockpit. The triple changer chuckled, leaning down to peck the top of Bumblebee’s helm.

“Kissing the cockpit because you can’t reach my lips, I presume?” Blitzwing murmured.

Bumblebee scowled, craning his neck to meet Blitzwing’s smirking gaze. “Shut up,” he said, trying quite fruitlessly to look angry. “I’m not short. You’re… you’re short.”

“Of course I am,” Blitzwing said dryly, his face spinning with a whirr and his crimson grin growing exponentially as he hunched his back. Bumblebee’s frown deepened as they came face to face, a giggle hanging nonstop in the air.

“Hm. Yes. You’re short,” Blitzwing reaffirmed gleefully, plopping a sharp kiss on Bumblebee’s forehead and cackling to himself. Bumblebee rolled his optics, wrapping his arms around Blitzwing’s waist as much as he possibly could, wiggling his fingertips as he tried to get them to touch.

Dammit. Almost. Maybe I am kinda short…

“What time is it?” Bumblebee asked, nudging his face into Blitzwing’s chest, smiling widely when Blitzwing squished him into a tight four-limbed hug.

“Late,” Blitzwing said brightly, chewing on the tip of one of Bumblebee’s horns as he so often did. “Or early, depending on when morning starts. No sun, though! So we still have some time for cuddles!”

His face spun with a whirr, and Bumblebee snickered as soon as he heard the low, irritated growl rumbling in Blitzwing’s chassis. “Though it would be a lot easier to cuddle if you didn’t have such tiny little arms.”

“Hey!” Bumblebee snapped, stretching his arms harder, trying desperately to interlock his fingers and deliver a proper hug. “Not my fault you’re, like, three times my size! I can almost touch my fingers, look!”

Bumblebee flapped his hands on Blitzwing’s back, and Blitzwing’s frame grew a few degrees warmer as he grumbled something incomprehensible. Probably a compliment that he didn’t want to fully vocalize, Bumblebee supposed. He chuckled, kissing Blitzwing’s cockpit a few more times, wishing he wasn’t wearing such a cheesy grin.

“It’s been, what, five months now that we’ve been doing this, Blitzbrain? You’re allowed to say nice things to me,” Bumblebee said snidely.

Whirr. “Five months and two weeks,” Blitzwing said, sounding rather bored.

“Gee, and you sound so thrilled about it,” Bumblebee teased.

“It’s dangerous,” Blitzwing said, though the slow circles he was rubbing into Bumblebee’s back betrayed his flat tone. “Extremely so. And we only get to see each other once a month at best, which is—”

“We saw each other twice in February!” Bumblebee interjected.

“And quite nearly got caught because someone fell asleep on my lap.”

“You could have woken me up, but no, you just left me there until sunrise! I take no blame for that. I refuse.”

Blitzwing sighed, and Bumblebee could practically hear the roll of his optics.

“Perhaps we could try to spend just one of our nights together doing something other than arguing?” Blitzwing said, hooking his hands under Bumblebee’s arms and lifting him up gently. Bumblebee squirmed a little bit, loving how easily Blitzwing could carry him but content on vehemently denying such a fact.

“We could try, if you really wanted to, but I like to think that it’s tradition at this point,” Bumblebee said with a smug grin, kicking his pedes a little, aiming just shy of Blitzwing’s stomach. “And it’s not really arguing. More like bickering. Kinda like me and Bulkhead, we bicker, but we don’t really fight all that often.”

“Please never compare me to that bumbling moron ever again,” Blitzwing said.

Bumblebee snickered and stuck his servos forward, wiggling his fingers in a blatant invitation for affection. “Hey, now, don’t mock the bumblers. I was named for my bumbling,” he said.

“Ever so appropriately,” Blitzwing said snidely as he set Bumblebee back down, the tree serving as a makeshift backrest groaning as he leaned against it more heavily.

Bumblebee smiled and took hold on Blitzwing’s cheeks, pulling the triple changer with him as he sat down comfortably in his lap. There was no resistance as Bumblebee dragged Blitzwing in for a kiss, sighing with content, cherishing the feeling of Blitzwing’s warm faceplates in his grip.

These visits never had any agenda, no rules, nor were they particularly well planned. Blitzwing had figured out a way to register Bumblebee’s comm-link frequency in his system, so they were able to contact each other easily enough, but they had yet to arrange a meeting more than ten minutes before it occurred. Bumblebee chuckled lightly, making Blitzwing recoil, a small frown on his face, his face significantly warmer than it had been a few moments ago.

“What are you laughing at?” Blitzwing asked shortly.

“I’m not,” Bumblebee said, still giggling. “Just thinking about—you messaged me, and I practically flung myself out of the base. Dunno. I just wish I had more time with you.”

Blitzwing looked almost sad for a moment before his expression hardened. “Admittedly, it would be nice to see you more,” he said, which was potentially the most romantic thing he had ever said. “But safety has to be a priority. You know that as well as I do.”

“I know,” Bumblebee said, as was routine. This conversation always started just before the sun came up and they were forced to part ways—Bumblebee saying that he didn’t want to go, Blitzwing quietly agreeing but reminding Bumblebee for the millionth time of the danger they were putting themselves in by being together.

Not that Bumblebee particularly minded. It had been five months—or, rather, five months and two weeks—and they’d only come close to being caught once. And even then, all Bumblebee had gotten were a few easily dodged questions from a curious Ratchet. So they had been forced to limit their visits to once a month, despite the ache Bumblebee felt to spend a night next to Blitzwing somewhere other than on the ground, tucked away in the woods, hidden on an island that sectioned the Detroit River into two.

They’d agreed that they’d both grown quite an affinity for the forest, not that Bumblebee would ever admit it around Prowl. The last thing he wanted to do was be woken up early for Prowl’s useless nature walks. Trees were only worth admiring when they were lit by the sharp red glow of Blitzwing’s optics, and moonlight only shone brightly when it clung to the edges of Blitzwing’s frame, casting a hazy white glow across his polished paint.

Bumblebee realized he’d been smiling like a dork again and quickly rearranged his expression, trying to ignore the whirr of Blitzwing’s face and the giggle that danced through the air.

“Smiling little bug,” Blitzwing said merrily, burying Bumblebee in a series of sharp crimson kisses. “Silly, smiley, happy little bug.”

“Sorry for liking you,” Bumblebee said grumpily.

“Adorable little in-denial bug,” Blitzwing continued.

“Stop saying little.”

“Itsy bitsy, teeny weenie, itty bitty Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said, taking one of Bumblebee’s horns between his dentae. Bumblebee scoffed, faking a pout.

“Yeah, well, you’re—you’re—big,” Bumblebee muttered.

“Oh!” Blitzwing gasped, dramatically draping a hand over his face, a falsely stricken expression on his face. “My spark, little Bee! You’ve damaged it! Please, take that back, I can’t stand such insults. I may never fully recover!”

“You’re the worst.”

Blitzwing cackled, his face spinning back to blue, a kiss landing on Bumblebee’s helm—a gentle one, soft, warm, the kind of kiss that could only signify one thing.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Time to go,” Bumblebee droned before Blitzwing could even open his mouth. The triple changer chuckled lightly, nodding, his helm bonking against Bumblebee’s.

“I’ll see you soon, little Bee,” Blitzwing said, an odd sincerity lacing his tone. Bumblebee perked up a little, his spark fluttering.

“You’re sure? How do you know?”

“Tire treads.”

“Aw, come on! I’m not gonna steal your plans or anything! I just wanna know when I’m gonna see you!” Bumblebee stuck a more genuine pout on his face, hoping that it would successfully get him what he wanted—not that it ever did, but one of these days, he was sure to get it right.

“Tire treads,” Blitzwing said, much more firmly, confirming Bumblebee’s failure. He shifted slightly, large servos trailing up Bumblebee’s waist in deceptively tender manner given that Bumblebee was being pushed away. “I do very much enjoy these nights with you, know that. But—”

“We need to be safe, yeah, I know,” Bumblebee grumbled, crawling out of Blitzwing’s lap and clambering onto the ground. “It’s fine. I just miss you, like, all the time, that’s all.”

“Then get off your aft off of your couch and get out in the field for once,” Blitzwing hissed, his face spinning to crimson. “You could use the exercise. I don’t know how you have all that weight crammed into such a puny little frame.”

Bumblebee snickered and brushed off the insult, very much used to being tormented at the end of their visits. Bumblebee pouted and Blitzwing made fun of him: two very different and equally strange coping mechanisms, but they worked. He stretched his limbs out with a sigh, glancing beyond the trees, noting how much dimmer the moon had gotten as the sun climbed closer and closer to the horizon.

“Bye, then,” Bumblebee said, holding his servos forward with a smile. “One more for the road?”

Blitzwing’s visor flickered irritably, but he knelt down regardless, gathering Bumblebee into his arms and connecting their lips in a brief kiss. Bumblebee tried to hang onto it for as long as he could, but he could tell that Blitzwing was already getting twitchy, so he didn’t force it to linger.

Bumblebee was certain that Blitzwing’s punishment for sneaking out at night would be far more severe than his own. So as disappointing as it was to let go of the towering triple changer, Bumblebee set him free, albeit rather regretfully.

“See ya,” he said lamely.

Blitzwing’s face spun to blue with a whirr, and he nodded curtly. “Until next time,” he agreed quietly.

Bumblebee was at least glad that he caught a glimpse of a smile on Blitzwing’s face as he took a running start and leaped into the air, transforming as his thrusters kicked into gear and rocketing crookedly into the distance. Bumblebee smiled to himself as he watched his boyfriend—Primus, the word boyfriend still felt so strange in his processor—vanish into the clouds, thin stripes of pink and orange clouds obscuring him in seconds.

He felt his shoulders slump ever so slightly as Blitzwing’s frame disappeared, and he rubbed his optics as if trying to massage his frustrations away. He couldn’t deny that this relationship was insanely tedious and nothing short of completely mentally exhausting, and Bumblebee really, really hated feeling tired. But he’d persisted thus far, and he intended to keep going, no matter what it took.

“Stupid,” he grumbled to himself, his frame collapsing and his engine roaring as he took on his alt mode and spun his tires a few times. “‘See ya’? What kind of loser says ‘see ya’? You have to get better at goodbyes. Man, that was so stupid. Ugh.”

Stupid Blitzwing, getting him all flustered, leaving him void of the words he wanted to say. Sure, Bumblebee said lots of words, but he had plenty more that he could say instead. Yet they all dissolved into a mass of butterflies in his tanks as soon as he heard the whine of Blitzwing’s turbines and saw the glimmer of his frame in the moonlight.

Stupid. So fragging stupid.

Bumblebee’s tires squealed as he zipped through the forest, dodging trees and revving hard as he made his way toward the shore. At least the water would be warmer now than it was back in December, their first real visit in a secluded place. Willingly plunging himself into a river in April was palatable—cracking through ice in the dead of winter was only barely worth it.

Bumblebee took a deep breath as the rippling edge of the water came into view, transforming as quickly as he could and sealing his vents before hurling himself feet-first into the chilly water. He gritted his dentae as he sank, beginning the trek back, watching for the familiar path of mossy rocks that he’d laid as trail markers.

If six months in the wilderness had taught him one thing, it was to always, always make sure there was an easy way to get home.

Blitzwing landed a few hundred yards from the mine, waiting patiently for the panicked birds around him to scatter before making his way to the entrance as quietly as possible. His footfalls were loud, heavy, practically thundering against the silence of early morning, but he doubted anyone would notice.

Or, rather, he hoped they wouldn’t.

He ducked through the small opening in the side of the mountain, the thin light of day immediately giving way to the dank grey of the rocky corridor. Pale strings of light bulbs dangled above his helm, and he avoided them all with ease, rolling his optics as the thick shades of grey morphed into purple. Megatron and his aesthetics, he thought with a quiet sigh.

The command area was, fortunately, barren, save for the human sealed behind a tube of glowing green glass. Blitzwing’s monocular easily located the snoozing organic as it lounged in its chair, monitors blinking with some sort of error that Blitzwing didn’t care to investigate.

Megatron must have kept the pitiful thing up all night. Blitzwing chuckled in spite of himself, and the human jolted with a strange snorting sound, its—or his, Blitzwing supposed—eyes darting around in a weak attempt to locate whatever had disturbed him.

Blitzwing leered briefly at the human, their gazes locking. Filthy little thing. How did Bumblebee tolerate these little pests? He was quite close with some sparkling-aged human, wasn’t he? The one with the Allspark key, Sari. Not that Blitzwing particularly cared about her name, but since Bumblebee did, Blitzwing made an effort to do the same.

Fortunately, he could be as rude to this human as he wanted. And he fully intended to.

Irritation blurred Blitzwing’s vision with scarlet. The human jumped in surprise.

Blitzwing snarled. The human spun his chair around, unsuccessfully attempting to conceal the fear that shook him to the very tips of his fingers.

Blitzwing snickered darkly and made his way back to his quarters. Next time he saw his little Autobot, he’d be sure to ask about the appeal of such primitive creatures. Only Bumblebee could make such a bland topic worth listening to.

It was true that Bumblebee despised being mocked about his height, but it did come in handy sometimes. Like the fact that he could squeeze—barely—through the side entrance of the plant, avoiding the racket that would inevitably be caused by the sliding garage door. It was a tight fit, but a manageable one, and the silent entrance bought Bumblebee enough time to quickly wipe himself free of river water and mop the remaining evidence from the floor.

He grinned once the job was done and slipped the sopping towels into his subspace, dusting himself free of the the flecks of dirt lingering in the seams of his armor. Good enough, he thought with a shrug, tiptoeing over the Autobot symbol emblazoned on the floor as he crept toward his quarters. A good night of sleep seemed to be in order, and with any luck, he’d have dreams about Blitzwing. He’d stored up plenty of memories to pull from, all of their autumn adventures and the kisses they’d shared afterwards, the laughter, the arguments, the everything. He sighed and turned the corner, rubbing his optics sleepily as he tried to pick a single memory from the stash to focus on.

And he nearly plowed right into Ratchet, who had somehow appeared in the doorway without Bumblebee even noticing. Bumblebee yelped and shielded himself instinctively, peering through his fingers into the curious, narrowed optics of the medic.

“You’re up early,” Ratchet noted.

“Y-yeah, well, not really,” Bumblebee lied. “I, uh, sorta lost track of time playing games last night. I didn’t even realize it was morning until the sun came up, heh… whoopsies. So I’m just gonna go nap now.”

“Come on, now, kid,” Ratchet said exasperatedly, folding his arms. “You can’t be staying up late like this, not with Megatron on the loose and Professor Sumdac still missing. We need you alert and ready for anything.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Bumblebee grumbled. “It’s been a stressful couple of days, okay?”

“Doing… what?” Ratchet said, raising a brow. “All we’ve done is chase some petty criminals around.”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard on me!” Bumblebee said, slipping under Ratchet’s arm and toward his room. “You know I hate working! Naptime, okay, bye!”

He slammed the door behind him as he practically threw himself into his room, sighing in relief and clicking the locks into place. I am so getting a lecture later, he thought bitterly, swaying as he walked toward his berth, not realizing just how tired he had been. Though a grin lifted on his face as he flopped down and closed his optics, pretending that Blitzwing’s hefty arms were wrapping around him as he curled into a cozy little ball.

Lectures sucked, but man, was it worth it.

Chapter Text

Blitzwing grunted quietly under his breath as he hoisted another barrel of oil onto a large sheet of metal, scowling and shooting Lugnut a frustrated look.

“This is going to be too much,” he snapped for the millionth time, nudging the pile with his pede, irritation bubbling through his plating. “We’re not going to be able to fly back to the base.”

“Lord Megatron needs all of this,” Lugnut said, also for the millionth time, chucking a large crate full of sheet metal onto his own pile. “Do not disobey the needs of our great leader.”

Blitzwing growled and kicked at one of the boxes, giggling when the wood splintered and caved. “Well, I hope Megatron has a plan for using earth goodies on a space bridge,” Blitzwing said, rather entertained by the idea.

He kicked at the boxes a few more times. Lugnut’s optic darkened as he glared in Blitzwing’s direction.

“Do not damage the goods,” he snarled.

“I’m not! Just the boxes! See?”

Blitzwing kicked a few more times, grinning audial to audial, and Lugnut sighed as he placed another barrel onto his stack.

“Enough of that,” Lugnut rumbled. “Quickly. Before the Autobots hear us.”

Blitzwing glanced up, focusing intently on the oblivious Autobots walking along the bridge above, most likely arguing amongst themselves. Bumblebee was surely going to complain about having to clean up the city later, Blitzwing surmised, his monocular spinning to focus on the bright yellow minibot, his little arms waving around angrily as he yelled something indecipherable at their colorful leader. Blitzwing forced himself not to grin as he watched Bumblebee huff and shovel some sort of grey sludge into a large hole in the road, clearly muttering something petty under his breath.

It was almost upsetting, having to fight the very mech Blitzwing had dedicated his spark to, to watch him clean up the mess they’d made of the city. But he knew it was the only choice they had if they intended to be together at all, frustrating as that fact was. Blitzwing watched Bumblebee for a few more moments, enjoying the chance to see him amongst his team in what could be considered his natural habitat. It was a side of Bumblebee that Blitzwing rarely saw—a simple repair bot, surrounded by comrades that he both cared about and was unendingly annoyed by.

Bumblebee’s helm turned toward the large green Autobot—Bulkhead, Blitzwing recalled—and a smile lifted on his face, laughing at something Bulkhead had said. There was a light in his optics that Blitzwing hadn’t seen before, a carefree glow to his expression, a heightened twitch in his lips. The sight made Blitzwing’s spark tremble ever so slightly, partially with fondness for the moronic bug, but laced with an odd sense of longing.

Every moment they spent together was a stressful one, despite how hard they strived to achieve otherwise. They had little choice but to check the sun frequently, ensuring that they were back at their bases before dawn, locking their comm-links, triple checking that their locators were off. Blitzwing felt himself frown as he thought about it.

It was worth it, certainly, but a large part of him wished things could be different.

“Blitzwing!”

Blitzwing jumped, angry shades of red blurring his vision, fiercely angry at having his gaze removed from his little Autobot. “What?” he spat, his servos tightening into fists.

“It’s time to go,” Lugnut said, seeming to overlook the fact that Blitzwing had been staring at the Autobots for at least a minute now. “Hurry.”

Blitzwing sighed and leaned down, gathering his composure as he loaded the heavy pallet of supplies onto his back. He glared daggers at Lugnut almost immediately as his sensors fired off warnings, the weight of the goods threatening to snap his back in two.

“This is going to be too much,” he said shortly.

“Stop complaining,” Lugnut said. “Hurry.

Blitzwing rolled his optics and scanned out a good route for escape before struggling to lift a pede, starting off at a slow walk and eventually managing to break out in a run. Lugnut overtook him quite easily, his brawn outdoing even Blitzwing’s, though his back was still pressed into a nearly impossible arc from the weight.

Blitzwing gritted his dentae as he ran after Lugnut, aching for a glance back at Bumblebee but ignoring the urge. He tried his thrusters a few times, hoping that maybe some added speed would get them back to the mine more efficiently, but they refused to lift him more than an inch from the ground, staunchly opposed to the idea of flight.

“These construction materials are severely hampering our ability to fly,” Blitzwing said pointedly, his voice strained. “Perhaps we should not have taken quite so much.”

Lugnut ignored him, charging forward without pause, apparently too dedicated to his leader to think even slightly rationally. Blitzwing wondered if he could roll his optics harder and deemed the act fruitless, opting to instead lower his helm and hope that none of the humans lurking about would call the authorities. Running from the police was not one of Blitzwing’s favorite hobbies, that was certain.

Though, apparently, something that was both much better and much worse than the cops was chasing after them. Blitzwing’s tanks jumped inside of his chassis as a streak of yellow slashed through his HUD, wearing the classic cocky grin that practically screamed “I’m about to do something stupid.”

Blitzwing almost grinned as Bumblebee drew his stingers, standing directly in front of Lugnut with a broad smile, silently wondering if Lugnut would even slow down to avoid the minibot. Most likely not, it seemed, given that Lugnut was continuing to barrel forward as if his life depended on it.

“What’s the matter?” Bumblebee yelled, his optics flashing as his stingers sparked with electricity. “Got something that doesn’t belong to you?”

Oh, Bumblebee, Blitzwing thought amusedly. You’re going to get stepped on, little one.

Blitzwing glanced up as he heard a shout from above, and a glimmer of disappointment trailed across Bumblebee’s face as he quite abruptly leaped aside. Lugnut, clearly too focused on his mission to bother with spatial awareness, didn’t seem to notice as the Autobot medic—Ratchet, was that his name?—jumped into the scene out of nowhere, a scowl on his face and his servos glowing with built up magnetic charge.

Blitzwing slowed his pace and stepped aside just enough so that when the medic rather predictably knocked over a lamp post, only Lugnut got his pedes tangled in the collapsing metal. Lugnut let out a panicked snarl as he tripped and slammed directly into one of the bridge’s support pillars, nearly cracking it in two.

Idiot, Blitzwing thought blandly, still pushing forward, veering slightly in Bumblebee’s direction primarily because he saw no reason not to. Bumblebee obviously noticed—his vibrant blue optics hadn’t left Blitzwing since the moment they were on the same turf—and they shared a brief moment of eye contact that made Blitzwing’s spark shudder.

Just a few moments of crimson optics on cyan was enough to sate Blitzwing. He saw the arrogant grin on Bumblebee’s face soften before two crackling stingers pointed directly at Blitzwing’s chest, and he quickly hurled himself in Lugnut’s direction, dropping the pile of supplies onto the ground and giggling to himself.

“Oops,” he said lightly, swiping aside a heap of sheet metal and glancing over at Lugnut. “You fell!”

Lugnut glared at Blitzwing with his optic full of venom, ripping the tangled lamp post from his ankles and flinging it toward the Autobots. “Bothersome medic,” Lugnut hissed, pushing himself upright, his turbines wailing as slats in his armor pulled back, the deadly tips of bombs nosing out of his chassis.

Blitzwing sighed, his nasty case of the giggles quickly vanishing into fiery irritation as he smacked the back of Lugnut’s helm. “Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “We have more important things to do than blowing up some pathetic Autobots.”

Lugnut paused before sealing his armor once again, yanking a few boxes of supplies under his arms as the shouts of the other approaching Autobots grew closer. “Yes,” Lugnut muttered. “We are on a mission.”

Blitzwing ignored him, wondering what it was about Lugnut’s tone that was setting him so heavily on edge. The brute was far too stupid to be suspicious of Blitzwing’s pacifism, wasn’t he? It wasn’t as though he didn’t want to fight the Autobots—he just knew all too well that Megatron would be displeased to see them return with battle scars instead of the requested supplies.

Blitzwing had spent five months on Megatron’s good side. And he fully intended to stay there, even if Lugnut gave him odd looks for doing so.

“Rise up, then,” Blitzwing said flatly, shoving as many boxes under his arms as he could before kicking his thrusters into gear and taking off. Lugnut followed close behind, abandoning at least half of their supplies but fortunately leaving the Autobots shielding their faces from the heat of their roaring engines.

“They’re getting away!” Ratchet said, much more exasperatedly than Bumblebee had been expecting. It took some effort to peel his optics from Blitzwing’s frame as it soared into the clouds, but Bumblebee managed, smirking at Ratchet and digging an elbow into his side.

“Eh, who cares?” he said. “Less Decepti-creep for us to deal with.”

“They were taking construction supplies,” Optimus said, his brow furrowed curiously, gaze still cast skyward. “I wonder if Megatron’s building something.”

“It’d be nice if he was building this stupid bridge with us,” Bumblebee said, glaring at his concrete-coated shovel with disdain.

“It’s our duty, Bumblebee,” Optimus said, a phrase that had become so familiar in Bumblebee’s audials that he barely even heard it anymore.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, heroes of the city, not everything a hero does is for glory, blah, blah, blah,” Bumblebee said, stomping on the blade of the shovel so the handle flew up and smacked into the palm of his hand. “And don’t worry, boss, Megatron is probably just building a base or something. Those Cons have been hiding in the woods or whatever for, like, months now. What’s he gonna do with a bunch of wood and oil?”

“Knowing his ingenuity, a lot of things,” Ratchet said darkly. “Which is exactly why we need to prevent these sorts of thefts by telling your teammates when you’re about to jump into battle.”

“Hey, I saw a chance and I took it!” Bumblebee said defensively.

“And nearly got stepped on!” Ratchet fired back.

“I’m too fast to get stepped on,” Bumblebee said, folding his arms haughtily over his chest.

“You’ve been getting into a bad habit of hurling yourself at those Decepticons the second you see them, kid,” Ratchet said. “And—”

“And while it’s great that you’re being proactive, remember, we’re a team,” Optimus interjected, giving Ratchet a pointed stare. “We need to keep each other safe. All of us.”

“And it’s pretty hard to keep you safe when you keep running away at the first sight of anything purple,” Ratchet said with a roll of the optics.

Bumblebee fought to keep his expression clear, unsure of whether to be amused by the irony of Ratchet’s statement or concerned that his running after Blitzwing was starting to become the norm. He didn’t want to do it—fighting Blitzwing made him feel queasy at times, but Bumblebee was willing to take any time together that he could. Even if that meant pointing his stingers in Blitzwing’s face. That still counted as romance. Probably.

“I—listen, I can give a better heads up if you want, but I wanna take them all down just as badly as the rest of you!” Bumblebee said, only partially lying. “So I can’t sit around and wait for you all if I’m gonna attack them! We gotta get a leg up on them somehow! And if that means me going in first, Omega Formation style, then that’s what I’ll do!”

Optimus’s optics narrowed, his mouth pressing into a thin line that practically screamed lecture time. Bumblebee groaned internally.

“Can we please focus on repairing the bridge instead of arguments?” Prowl said, his voice low and tense as usual, as if he was just seconds from launching a throwing star at someone’s helm. Bumblebee almost sighed in relief at the interruption—thank the Allspark, no more fragging lectures today.“I have better things to be doing than patching asphalt.”

“Yeah, like what?” Bumblebee said snarkily. “Watching grass grow?”

“Perhaps,” Prowl said.

“Wait—seriously?”

“Oh, for Primus’ sake, Bumblebee.”

“No, I’m curious! Would you actually watch grass grow or not?”

“Bumblebee—”

“It’s not an insult, honest! I’m actually interested in your weirdness for once! Indulge me!”

“My weirdness? I don’t see how taking a few moments to—”

“Hey!” Optimus snapped, sharply ending the argument. Prowl and Bumblebee both swiveled to look at him, neither of them entirely phased by his stern frown, but they at least had the good sense to pretend.

“Sorry, boss,” Bumblebee said, lifting his shovel with a wink and whacking aside some smaller chunks of stray asphalt. Prowl merely grunted and returned to his post at the gearshift of a large crane, slowly lowering metal beams into Bulkhead’s waiting arms.

Bumblebee chewed at his lip as Bulkhead started to lay the large slabs of iron into the barren spots where the road was entirely missing, crumbled like clay under the weight of crash-landing Decepticons. It was a wonder the citizens of Detroit even liked the Autobots at all, Bumblebee thought tiredly, loading his shovel with concrete and packing it around the seams of the shattered bridge.

Though admittedly, despite the fact that Bumblebee was already worried about what Megatron might be up to, he was glad to have seen Blitzwing today. Even if it had only been for a fleeting moment, he’d seen the characteristic twitch in Blitzwing’s jaw that replaced a smile, a simple gesture that made Bumblebee’s shine ten times brighter.

He smiled absently as he dumped a shovelful of wet concrete into a particularly large pothole, fantasizing about the way Blitzwing had carried at least three tons of metal and oil while running at full speed. He’d always been aware of how massive the Decepticons were, but knowing that one of them could be so gentle with such a colossal frame was certainly something worth daydreaming about.

“What’re you smiling for?”

Bumblebee blinked and looked at Bulkhead, who was grinning at him rather suspiciously, one brow raised. Bumblebee coughed and fixed his gaze on his pedes, hoping he didn’t look too suspicious.

“Nothing,” he lied.

Bulkhead chuckled, leaning down and pressing on the end of a beam to make sure it was level. “For the record, that was a pretty cool jump you did down to those Cons,” he said, quietly enough so that the rest of the team wouldn’t hear. “But Prime’s right, you need to be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt or anything.”

“Don’t worry,” Bumblebee said, waving a hand dismissively, unable to swallow the smile lifting on his faceplates. “Nobody can hurt me.”

Blitzwing had been sincerely hoping to drop the materials off and go to his quarters, perhaps send Bumblebee a brief message to brighten his day. He’d surely gotten scolded for jumping directly in front of Lugnut the way he had—it had been stupid, of course, but Blitzwing admired the minibot’s vigor if nothing else.

But instead, he was standing in front of Megatron, trying to keep his expression bored as the warlord surveyed him and Lugnut with piercing red optics. Lugnut seemed to be seconds from falling to his knees and apologizing for their sparse collection of stolen goods, but fortunately, Megatron cut him off before he could even speak.

“I requested at least double of what you’ve provided,” Megatron said, his tone dancing on the cusp between disappointed and angry.

“We were ambushed, oh great and glorious leader,” Lugnut said immediately, lowering his optic in shame. “Our sincerest apologies. We will return to the site—”

“Ambushed?” Megatron said coldly. “By the Autobots? I wasn’t aware that they were more of a threat than the miniscule organics riddling this planet.”

“They are not, my Lord,” Lugnut insisted. “We were not scathed by their attack, merely slowed down by it. I assure you, the supplies you require for your space bridge will be obtained as quickly as possible.”

“Clearly not, or they would be in front of me at this very moment,” Megatron said, as harsh as he was frigid.

Blitzwing decided to keep his mouth shut as Lugnut spouted off a series of meaningless excuses and promises, focusing instead on keeping his optics from rolling. Lugnut was certainly tiresome to deal with on a regular basis, but in front of Megatron, he was downright insufferable. Blitzwing scuffed idly at the ground with the tip of one of his pedes, examining the nearly-faded scar splitting his knee in half. Five months and there’s still a scar, he thought bitterly. Pathetic human. How hard could it possibly be to do a decent welding job?

Blitzwing felt Megatron’s optics digging holes into him, and he glanced up to meet the gaze of his leader, keeping his expression carefully blank.

“Yes, my Lord?” he asked quietly.

“You have yet to provide any input,” Megatron said.

The statement was plain enough, and certainly not a question, but Blitzwing knew he was being prompted to speak. He shrugged idly, straightening his frame.

“What Lugnut says is factual,” Blitzwing said. “I saw no need to add my own take on the situation.”

“You two have been little more than failures as of late,” Megatron said, his optics unwavering from Blitzwing’s. “I expect your next mission to return with good news only, whether that be my supplies or the helms of these Autobots that keep outwitting you. Understood?”

“Yes,” Blitzwing and Lugnut droned simultaneously.

“Neither of you is to show the Autobots anything but the fullest extent of your wrath,” Megatron continued, his gaze still locked on Blitzwing as if Lugnut wasn’t even in the room. “The Autobots are nothing but pests, and if they must be crushed under your pedes in order to give me a functioning space bridge, so be it.”

Blitzwing didn’t so much as blink, his vision filled with the dangerous scarlet of Megatron’s optics. It was almost as if Megatron was searching for a lie in Blitzwing’s gaze, waiting for him to falter and say that he truly didn’t want to hurt Bumblebee. Blitzwing wondered for a terrifying moment if Megatron may still be suspicious of him—the warlord had never been one to ease up on his hunches, and rightfully so—but he silently reassured himself that such a thing couldn’t be possible. Blitzwing carried no visible trace of Bumblebee with him. Megatron was many things, but a mind reader, he was not.

“Understood, my Lord,” Blitzwing said plainly. “No Autobot shall know mercy.”

Megatron stared at him for a few more painfully long moments before smirking and nodding.

“Dismissed,” he said. “Begin considering ways to get my supplies without being thwarted.”

Blitzwing nodded and turned sharply on his heel, more than happy to return to his quarters for some peace and quiet. He strolled past Sumdac on the way, glancing into his peculiar enclosure, watching for a few moments as the human typed furiously on his computer, lips moving silently as he shifted through a mass of nonsensical schematics.

Blitzwing paused to survey him, wondering just how upset Bumblebee would be if he found out what this kidnapped human was up to. Bumblebee’s human pet was related to this one, wasn’t she? He’d mentioned that Sari’s father had disappeared. Surely that couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Do you have… offspring?” Blitzwing asked without thinking, tripping over his words as he attempted to stop himself from talking mid-sentence.

Sumdac jumped in surprise, nearly falling out of his chair as he faced Blitzwing, confusion written all over his tiny face.

“I—why, yes, I-I do,” the human said.

Blitzwing already regretted starting a conversation with this pesky organic, but interest had overwhelmed him. Perhaps Bumblebee’s pesky curiosity was starting to rub off on him.

“A female one?” Blitzwing said, staring at Sumdac through the corner of his optic.

“Y-yes,” Sumdac stammered. “Her name—ah, her name is Sari. My daughter.”

Blitzwing held Sumdac’s gaze for a few moments before huffing quietly. So Bumblebee’s pet and this human were genetically connected. Humans were an odd species.

“Why do you ask?” Sumdac asked, his face suddenly brighter, the circles around his eyes seeming to shrink for a moment.

Blitzwing didn’t answer, simply walking away, his heavy footsteps rattling the glass that surrounded the human. It was unfortunate and strangely coincidental, that the only two humans Blitzwing had any shred of connection to were related. And he, of course, couldn’t tell Bumblebee of this interesting development: all war-related discussions were strictly off limits, for the sake of both of their sanities.

But at least Blitzwing could carry the knowledge for Bumblebee, that his pet’s father was alive and well. He only hoped that Megatron didn’t have plans to dispose of the human when his job was done. That seemed like the sort of thing that may cause tension between them.

Chapter Text

“So you did know that you were gonna see me. Because you were planning on stealing a bunch of stuff. Not exactly romantic, Blitzbrain.”

Blitzwing looked down at Bumblebee as the minibot squirmed around in his lap, attempting to adjust himself into a comfortable position. It was hard not to smile at him, wriggling around like some kind of organic worm, his little frame catching the moonlight despite the clouds currently attempting to snuff it out. Though Blitzwing did find himself sighing despite the contentedness in his spark, flicking a digit over one of Bumblebee’s horns.

“Have you been sitting on that statement for three weeks now?” Blitzwing asked, shaking his helm and swallowing down a thin chuckle.

“Only sort of,” Bumblebee said, grinning up at Blitzwing and playfully swatting his servo away. “You cheated, by the way. You didn’t actually know if you were gonna see me, because you didn’t know we were gonna be doing work on that bridge.”

“Obviously I did, or I would not have said anything in the first place,” Blitzwing said dryly.

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because you Autobots are persistent in your need to repair things that humans could easily take care of themselves,” Blitzwing said with a small shrug. “Your leader seems borderline obsessed with ensuring that he has positive rapport with those organic pests.”

“Hmph. Tire treads,” Bumblebee muttered, though Blitzwing did note the small grin that passed over Bumblebee’s features.

“Very well,” Blitzwing said, picking Bumblebee up and laying him down across his lap, primarily to put a stop to the incessant squirming and readjusting. “How has your progress in that ‘video game’ been going?”

“Oh, Ninja Gladiator? I beat it last week sometime, I think,” Bumblebee said, folding his arms behind his helm and beaming proudly. “Didn’t really take too long. I would’ve been done sooner, but the boss keeps making us go fix a bunch of stuff all the time. And I’ve been trying to help Sari run her dad’s company, since her dad’s gone and all. And some dude is trying to claim that she doesn’t have legal rights to it. Wacky, right? I hate that guy. And I also apparently hate paperwork a lot. But so does Sari, so we sort of split it, I do it a couple times a week, she does it on the days that I don’t. Oh, and picking up phones sucks. Some of these humans are rude! Like, how am I supposed to know when normal business hours are?”

Blitzwing tried his best to listen, but the mention of Sumdac made his thoughts run rampant for a while as Bumblebee continued to rant. He ached to be able to tell Bumblebee that the human was alive and well, in a manner of speaking, but that was forbidden territory, unfortunately.

Unfortunately. Blitzwing almost chuckled at himself. This damn Autobot was making him soft, it seemed.

“—and then Ratchet tries to tell me that Tupac is actually dead! I don’t buy that for one second, I really don’t,” Bumblebee said, scowling quite viciously.

Blitzwing wasn’t entirely sure how Bumblebee’s train of thought had ended up on organic musicians, but he’d learned long ago not to question these tangents. He merely leaned down and pecked the top of Bumblebee’s helm, hoping that would quell the guilt gnawing at his tanks. And it did, by at least a little bit, particularly when Bumblebee smiled up at him, his optics sparkling.

“What was that for?” Bumblebee asked quietly.

Blitzwing shrugged. “Am I not allowed to kiss you for no reason?”

“Nope, totally allowed,” Bumblebee said, beaming a charmingly crooked smile. “Kiss me as much as you want.”

Blitzwing felt his own smile widen, a giggle escaping his intake as he pulled Bumblebee toward him, obliging and kissing him with all of the eagerness that had built up over the past few weeks. Being with Bumblebee always made his stress melt away, the worries about Megatron’s increasingly questioning stares, the annoyance he felt every time Lugnut opened his mouth. None of it mattered, at least not at the moment, because Bumblebee’s small servos were sliding up to his cheeks, the digits tightening, silently insisting that their lips stay pressed together.

Blitzwing didn’t argue, cackling with quiet glee and lifting Bumblebee higher, cradling the Autobot in his arms so he couldn’t escape the kiss even if he wanted to. Not that Bumblebee seemed to have any intent to move away, his lips curling under Blitzwing’s perpetual grin, his servos gliding to the back of Blitzwing’s neck and digging into the plating insistently.

Blitzwing couldn’t be sure how long they spent intertwined, but when he finally tore their faces apart, Bumblebee’s vents were humming steadily, his optics still closed.

“I’ve missed you,” Bumblebee murmured, his thumbs rubbing small circles against Blitzwing’s neck.

Blitzwing sighed and rolled his optics, feeling his grin tighten into a mocking smirk. “Bumblebee, you say this every time we meet,” he said wryly. “It’s only been three weeks.”

“Yeah, and that’s three weeks too many,” Bumblebee complained, his optics opening into thin slivers of blue light. “I’ll say it every time because I mean it every time. If I’m not with you, I miss you. Simple as that.”

Blitzwing tried to maintain a dry expression, though he found himself failing miserably after just a few moments, leaning down to kiss Bumblebee’s cheek. “I know this is hard,” he said softly.

“Uh huh,” Bumblebee said moodily.

“But,” Blitzwing continued, flicking Bumblebee’s lower lip as it stuck out into a pout. “I missed you too. Foolish and irritating as you are, I do enjoy spending time with you. And I would like to someday get more of it.”

Bumblebee’s immediate smile was more than enough to ease the weight that started pressing on Blitzwing’s spark as he spoke. He wanted the little Autobot to know that he was loved, because he truly was—Blitzwing had never bothered to be honest with anyone except with Bumblebee, and it felt good to do so for once. Even if he omitted things here and there, like his knowledge of where Professor Sumdac was or the fact that he had absolutely no idea what path a relationship like this could possibly take.

“Hey,” Bumblebee said, snapping Blitzwing away from his thoughts. “You’re making that face.”

Blitzwing blinked, instinctively clearing his expression and frowning sharply. “Which one?” he asked.

“The ‘I’m thinking about something’ face,” Bumblebee said knowingly, reaching up to caress the side of Blitzwing’s cheek. “Share! I mean—uh, you know, if you wanna.”

Blitzwing chuckled and shook his helm, silently impressed with Bumblebee’s ability to conceal his curiosity, feeble though the attempt may have been. He was a strange little mech, constantly wanting to know everything about Blitzwing, pestering for answers Blitzwing didn’t care to give, asking about things Blitzwing didn’t even realize were worth questioning. Bumblebee was a constant stream of “how was your day”s and “tell me your favorite color”s, and Blitzwing truly adored it.

Though now didn’t seem like the time to indulge Bumblebee’s inquisitiveness. “I’m just thinking about you,” Blitzwing said, completely truthfully. “And how I dream of the days that I get to spend with you outside of these woods.”

Bumblebee chuckled, wriggling closer to Blitzwing’s face, nuzzling against helm warmly. “Me too,” he agreed. “Well—I mean—I wasn’t thinking that, like, right at this very moment, but it’s sort of a constant thought, you know? I really… like you. A lot. I like like you.”

Blitzwing wasn’t quite sure of the distinction between like and like like, but he didn’t bother questioning it, understanding Bumblebee’s tone even if the words were borderline incomprehensible. He wordlessly slipped a digit under Bumblebee’s chin, tilting it up and pressing him into yet another kiss, letting his worries melt away as Bumblebee did the same between his fingertips.

Bumblebee made a quiet noise of protest after quite some time, and Blitzwing let him free, keeping their foreheads tightly pressed together. The light from Bumblebee’s optics was practically blinding from this close, but Blitzwing couldn’t bring himself to care, instead tracing his servos along Bumblebee’s outline and attempting to memorize the feeling of his warm plating. Bumblebee shivered slightly before fixing his gaze on Blitzwing, looking strangely worried.

“Do you think we’ll ever get it?” the Autobot asked softly.

“Context, little one,” Blitzwing prompted, fully aware that Bumblebee’s train of thought was something he would never be able to keep up with no matter how hard he tried.

“The—you know, seeing each other outside of the woods,” Bumblebee said, his optics shifting down sheepishly. “And not just on the battlefield. Like… you and me. Being able to be together whenever we want and… you know. That sort of stuff.”

Blitzwing twitched, trying to hold Bumblebee’s gaze. “Realistically, no,” he said, quickly squeezing Bumblebee’s waist when he felt the minibot sag disappointedly. “But, I certainly hope we get there someday.”

Bumblebee’s lower lip began to go limp, but he nodded, swallowing hard. “Promise?” he mumbled.

“Promise,” Blitzwing said reassuringly.

“Pinky promise?” Bumblebee said, his gaze brightening as he lifted his smallest digit against Blitzwing’s knuckles and tapped hopefully.

Blitzwing chuckled and nodded, wrapping his own pinky around Bumblebee’s. “Pinky promise,” he said, unbothered by how childish the phrase was.

It made Bumblebee happy, so Blitzwing was willing to play along.

Bumblebee’s face was like a beam of sunshine as he threw himself against Blitzwing, catching the triple changer off guard as their lips smashed together. He nearly fell backwards entirely despite how light Bumblebee was, only barely managing to keep his balance and take hold of Bumblebee at the same time, keeping the minibot firmly in place against him, kissing him back as passionately as he could manage.

Were they being stupid? Absolutely. But in this moment, Blitzwing found himself not caring, far too preoccupied with the way Bumblebee was clinging to him as though he may never let go.

Blitzwing didn’t even bother opening his optics, letting his processor go blissfully blank as they tied themselves into an impossible knot, kissing as though they never had before. Bumblebee was a pool of warmth and joy in his arms, his servos scrabbling across Blitzwing as though they couldn’t decide where would be best to settle. Blitzwing’s vents hissed and stalled as he lost himself in Bumblebee, grateful that for once, he wasn’t thinking about much of anything.

It could have been years that they were intertwined, or it could have been but seconds. All Blitzwing knew was that when they finally released one another, both of their engines were idling rather loudly, their vents puffing out clouds of hot air that left steaming smudges of condensation beading across their plating.

Blitzwing kept his optics closed as he trailed a hand slowly over Bumblebee’s helm, trying to catch his breath. Bumblebee’s engine popped and whirred a few times, followed closely by a breathy chuckle.

“Wow,” Bumblebee said, his voice wispy. “Who knew you could kiss like that? Not me, that’s for sure. More of that, please. That was… wow.”

Blitzwing growled, trying not to feel annoyed and failing, grinding his dentae hard. “Hush, bug,” he grumbled. “Or I’ll never kiss your idiotic face again.”

“Oh, you’re such a liar, you big grump,” Bumblebee said, laughing lightly. “You’re—”

His voice suddenly trailed off, and Blitzwing opened his optics immediately, frowning. Bumblebee rarely stopped talking, especially when it came to bickering with Blitzwing—pestering him seemed to be the Autobot’s favorite hobby.

“What’s wrong?” Blitzwing asked, though the instant his vision cleared, he realized that he no longer needed an answer: Bumblebee’s face was glowing, though not from within as it had before, but rather with the thin orange light that could only come from a rising sun.

Blitzwing whirled to the east and felt his spark do a panicked backflip when he saw shades of pink and red streaking the clouds, stars fading as the light from the still-hidden sun drowned them out. He stood up immediately, knocking Bumblebee flat onto the ground, too full of fear to acknowledge the disgruntled noise Bumblebee made as he smacked onto the dirt.

“You need to get back to your base now,” Blitzwing said, as firm as he could, trying to stay calm despite the dread ripping through his spark.

Bumblebee grunted as he stood up, rubbing grass stains from one of his legs. “Yeah, no slag,” he said. “So do you.”

Blitzwing nodded, swooping down to kiss the top of Bumblebee’s helm as he charged through the trees, spark thumping as he transformed and took flight. His thrusters screeched as he rocketed toward the outskirts of the city, staying as low to the ground as possible in a meager hope that he could excuse his absence as recon in the case that Megatron was awake.

Bumblebee didn’t have time to wistfully watch Blitzwing fly away, immediately throwing himself to the ground and transforming so quickly that he nearly kicked himself in the back of the helm.

Scrap, scrap, scrap, he thought over and over, his tires spitting gravel everywhere as he burned rubber toward the river’s edge, wondering if maybe he’d get lucky and Ratchet would have overslept for the first time in his life. The chance was small, but it was all that could keep Bumblebee sane as he plunged into the water without hesitation, spark pounding faster than it ever had before.

How long had they been kissing, for frag’s sake? Bumblebee had been sure it wasn’t more than usual, maybe an hour at the most, though the increasingly bright sunshine rippling through the water clearly indicated otherwise. Bumblebee hissed as he charged toward the first rock in his homemade path, more grateful than ever that he’d made himself such an obvious path home.

That was totally Blitzwing’s fault, Bumblebee told himself firmly, nearly tripping over one of his rocks. Him and his stupid awesome kisses. What a jerk! Man, I hope he doesn’t get in trouble. I hope I don’t get in trouble. Scrap, scrap, scrap! No, okay, it’ll be fine. We’ll be totally fine. Everything’s fine.

Bumblebee flung himself out of the water, ignoring the confused yelps from nearby humans taking their early morning jogs and transforming once again, straining the limits of his engine as he peeled through the streets back to base with his siren wailing.

Thank Primus the cops didn’t care about speeding as long as you had a siren on your roof.

Bumblebee nearly smacked headfirst into the side entrance to the base as he arrived, not even pausing to let his engine cool before squishing himself through the door.

“Scrap, okay,” he whispered to himself, trying to shake some of the water from his plating. “Towels, towels, where are the fragging towels? Just gotta—”

Bumblebee darted for the emergency pile he’d stashed under the couch, yelping as his pedes slipped out from underneath him, sending him smashing onto the ground. He hissed and scrambled back up, looking around frantically, crawling toward the couch as quietly as he could just in case the noise had startled someone awake.

“Scrap,” he muttered, scooting across the floor, trying to ignore the awful scraping noise his plating made against the concrete. Optimus wasn’t that light of a sleeper, was he? Bumblebee tried to convince himself that he’d be fine as he dug a servo under the couch, fumbling around, sighing in relief when his digits hit fabric.

“Bumblebee?”

Bumblebee felt like his spark might give out as he quickly retracted his servo, flopping backwards and whirling toward the direction of whoever had just spoken. Oh, slag it all! he thought bitterly, plastering an innocent grin on his face as his optics fell on a very tired and clearly confused Ratchet.

“I dropped my controller!” Bumblebee blurted out immediately, raising his servos defensively. “Sorry! It scared me and I fell! B-behind the couch! I fell backwards!”

Ratchet was obviously not convinced, his arms slowly folding over his chest, the perpetual scowl on his face deepening beyond what should be physically possible. “It’s five thirty in the morning, Bumblebee,” he said shortly. “Why were you playing games?”

“I—well—I got really wrapped up in it, that’s all!” Bumblebee said, injecting a giggle into his voice, praying that he didn’t sound completely guilty.

“Amazing that you can be so invested in a game when the television isn’t even on,” Ratchet said, frowning even more ferociously.

Bumblebee’s optics flickered toward the television, and he laughed nervously again, shrugging. “I unplugged it when I dropped my controller—I threw my controller, actually,” he tried. “At the TV. Unplugged it. Crazy, right? I guess I shouldn’t be up so late next time, huh? Gets me all worked up.”

“Right,” Ratchet said, optics narrowed to slits. “So worked up that you run outside and jump into a fountain right after ‘dropping your controller?’”

Scrap! Bumblebee looked at the blatantly obvious trail of water he’d left behind, the suddenly deafening silence amplifying the quiet plink, plink, plink of droplets plopping from his frame and onto the ground. He grinned wider and shrugged, desperately trying to come up with an excuse. Anything, come on, think of something! You’ve planned for this! Haven’t you?

“I was tired,” Bumblebee said, his spark thudding rapidly in his chest. “So I went out and dunked some cold water on myself. To stay awake. So I could do the boss fight. But then I lost, and I got mad and threw my controller and that’s why I’m wet and why the TV is off.”

Silence rang in Bumblebee’s audials as he kept his optics locked on Ratchet, whose expression had not changed in the slightest. One of the plates on his face was twitching, his jaw clenched so hard that Bumblebee could practically see the dentae grinding against each other. But Bumblebee didn’t dare move, keeping a smile painted on his face as if that would somehow make him look less guilty.

“Where were you, Bumblebee?” Ratchet asked, his tone harsher than Bumblebee had ever heard it. He shuddered, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

“That’s what happened, I swear,” Bumblebee said, wishing his digits would stop trembling. “Would I lie to you, doc bot?”

Ratchet glared at Bumblebee for what felt like an eternity, his blue optics frigid as ice, piercing straight through Bumblebee’s frame in a way that was anything but comforting. Bumblebee didn’t dare move even a piston, terrified, as if any movement would send images of Blitzwing and Bumblebee’s intertwined bodies directly into Ratchet’s processor. It was as though the medic was trying to stare him down, beat him into submission with only a stare, and after a solid minute, Bumblebee began to fear that it may work.

“Don’t worry, doc bot,” Bumblebee said, his voice cracking violently as a flash of malice shot through Ratchet’s optics. “I’m being completely serious. If I was lying, I’d make up a much better story, trust me.”

Ratchet didn’t reply, simply taking a step forward and reaching a servo toward Bumblebee, gesturing for him to take it. Bumblebee hesitantly obliged, squeaking in panic as the medic yanked him to his pedes, optics burning holes straight through the minibot’s plating.

“You should get some rest, if you were up all night,” Ratchet said, his expression still twisted into a cynical glower.

“Will do,” Bumblebee said as brightly as he could manage, jerking his servo free of Ratchet’s and dashing to his quarters, slamming the door behind him and leaping into his berth.

That was too close, he thought, vents stalling and clicking as he attempted to calm himself down by curling into a frightened ball. Way, way too close. He totally knows. He absolutely knows. Scrap… I’m so dead.

Anxiety tugged at his spark as he glanced at his datapad, wondering if Blitzwing had gotten back to his own base safely. Every part of him wanted to send Blitzwing a quick message, just to get the confirmation that he was okay, but the risk was far too great. If Megatron saw Blitzwing get a message—or, worse, if Ratchet saw that Bumblebee was messaging Blitzwing—they’d be beyond screwed. Messaging each other was dangerous enough as is, given that wiring their datapads for interfactional communication was probably illegal, and Bumblebee refused to let Blitzwing get in trouble.

He opted to instead stay tied into a knot, shutting his optics and praying over and over that he would see Blitzwing safe and sound on the battlefield sometime soon.

Megatron strolled quietly through the mine, pedes thumping against the ground, processor surprisingly calm given what he’d deduced just minutes ago. Blitzwing, an even more notorious oversleeper than Lugnut, had been walking around the entrance of the base, wide awake before the sun had even begun to shine, wearing that obnoxiously blank expression that he adopted whenever Megatron’s suspicions toward him spiked.

It was par for the course, at this rate. Blitzwing had been acting noticeably different since his misadventures “alone” in the forest—his loyalty hadn’t seemed to waver, but Megatron was fully aware that something was off. The triple changer had been calmer, more recluse, less impulsive.

All of which were things that should have made Megatron proud, but instead made him purely suspicious. There was no reason for Blitzwing to undergo such a rapid change—Megatron had attempted to induce such an attitude for centuries to no avail. Six months should not have changed a mech so drastically, at least not without some sort of outside influence.

He walked into the command area, optics locking on Professor Sumdac as the human typed away at his computer, blueprints of space bridges and other assorted Cybertronian tech scattered across his desk. Megatron was pleased with the human’s progress, perhaps even impressed with the talent he had for reverse engineering. A few dusty schematics had been all he’d needed to create a nearly perfect render of a transwarp generator.

A shame, truly, Megatron thought mildly as he approached the human and tapped on the glass. But he can surely finish such a project later.

“Professor Sumdac,” Megatron said coolly as the human whirled toward him.

“Megatron,” the human said, lowering his gaze toward his infinitesimal fingers. “I was up late last night, and I’m glad to tell you that I—”

“The space bridge project is being placed on a temporary hold,” Megatron interrupted, smirking as a confused expression claimed the human’s face.

“I’m… sorry?”

“I would like you to put your skills to another use for the time being,” Megatron continued, leaning closer to Sumdac and lowering his voice just slightly. “Would you be willing to do that for me?”

Megatron was not asking, and Professor Sumdac clearly knew this, given that he nodded without hesitation. Pathetic little organic, Megatron thought. Such talent packed inside such a useless, feeble body.

“Whatever you ask, Megatron,” Sumdac said, his voice flat and practiced. Megatron smirked wider.

“Do you happen to know what a t-cog is?” he asked, keeping his voice rather hushed, though his spark was burning with malicious anticipation.

“A… t-cog,” Sumdac repeated, looking thoughtful and confused at the same time. “I’m afraid not, no.”

“A transformation cog,” Megatron clarified. “The mechanism that allowed Cybertronians to take on a vehicle mode. I would like you to build one.”

Sumdac’s confusion grew even more evident, and he cocked his head just slightly, a frown on his face. “Build one?” he asked. “...Why?”

“I’m finding that there is some friction amongst my ranks,” Megatron purred cryptically. “And I believe a way to solve it may be found if you were to provide me with somewhat of an upgrade.”

Sumdac’s eyes widened for a moment, though he clearly fought to keep his expression clear. “What sort of… upgrade would you be wanting?” he asked nervously. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about Cybertronian biology, given that Sari’s—the Allspark key is what repaired most of your body, so I wasn’t given much chance to study it, and—”

“I will provide you with a frame to study,” Megatron said calmly. “Blitzwing’s t-cog is the one you will attempt to emulate.”

“Blitzwing’s?” Sumdac said, unable to hide the panic that darted over his face. “But—he’s rather unstable, is he not? I don’t think—”

“I assure you, your interactions with him will be perfectly safe,” Megatron said calmly, only partially sure that such a thing was true. “He was somewhat of a prototype for a long-forgotten research project undertaken by a Decepticon no longer in our ranks. And I believe that now is a wonderful time to revive said project, given your talents and the resources available to you.”

Sumdac seemed rather apprehensive, but Megatron was unsurprised to see him nodding. Organics all seemed quite lacking in moral backbones, a trait which Megatron was more than willing to exploit. He tapped on the glass walls a few more times as he stood up, a pleasant grin replacing the smirk he’d been wearing.

“Wonderful,” Megatron said. “Continue work on the space bridge, but make the t-cog project your top priority. And I’m sure you know that such information is not to be shared, yes?”

Sumdac nodded wordlessly once again, shuffling some papers around, looking unsure. “But, ah,” he said slowly. “How will I—”

“Await my command,” Megatron said as he turned to leave, purposefully keeping his plans vague to avoid any more pesky questions from the human. “In the meantime, that retrieval beacon generator won’t design itself, now, will it?”

Megatron found himself smiling quite genuinely as he left the command center, glancing at the closed door to Blitzwing’s quarters as he passed by them. It was rather unfortunate that Blitzwing’s “upgrade” hadn’t turned out as expected—in more ways than one. His resulting quirks were tolerable, forgiven only because he was such a massive advantage on the battlefield, but Megatron refused to have one of his only remaining ranks lying to his face without a trace of culpability.

And though Megatron couldn’t be sure what exactly Blitzwing was up to, he found himself unbothered by the fact. Sumdac’s success would render Blitzwing obsolete, and whatever Blitzwing was doing would no longer be of consequence.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Bumblebee!” Sari whined, slamming down her controller and yanking on her pigtails. “I just wanna win one game against you! One! Please? Just one?”

“You can’t get better if you don’t practice, and with me, you’re practicing with the master,” Bumblebee said haughtily, watching an array of flashing colors celebrate his victory as Sari’s character sulked in the background. “I can’t let you win, what’s the fun in that?”

“What’s the fun in losing over and over?” Sari mumbled.

“Aw, come on, turn that frown upside down,” Bumblebee laughed, leaning down to tug at the corners of Sari’s cheeks, pulling her mouth into an overstretched smile. “You got in a couple of really good hits that time! You might actually beat me if you, say, wanted to try another round?”

Sari contemplated silently for a few moments before sighing and picking her controller back up. “Fine,” she said. “But at least go a bit easy on me, would you?”

“Not a chance,” Bumblebee said with a grin, starting up a new round and immediately launching his character toward Sari’s with deadly precision.

The exasperated laugh that escaped Sari’s throat was enough to bring a wide grin to Bumblebee’s face, and he made a point to let her land a couple of solid attacks, their fingers clicking wildly against buttons as they played what must’ve been the millionth round of Ninja Gladiator. Sari had never once beaten Bumblebee at his best game, but she definitely put up a fight, her dark little eyes narrowed as she focused intently on the screen in front of them.

Defeating Sari was never difficult, but Bumblebee ensured that she nailed his character with a few hard hits before locking in his final attack and claiming his inevitable victory. Sari yelled out in frustration and threw her controller across the room, folding her arms, coaxing a giggle from Bumblebee’s throat.

“What are you laughing at?” she snapped.

“It’s just cute that you still get mad about losing,” Bumblebee chuckled. “One more?”

“Heck no,” Sari said firmly. “I’ve lost plenty of times for one day, thank you very little.”

“Please?” Bumblebee tried, knowing very well that the frown on Sari’s face indicated complete finality. “Just one?”

“No.”

“Lame. You’re just mad that you’re a loser.”

“Am not!”

“Am too!”

Sumdac’s concept of time had dissolved ages ago, so while he wasn’t sure exactly how long it had been since he’d been tossed into his cylindrical prison, he was at least certain that being freed from it was a welcome treat.

Though it would have been a better experience without Megatron walking mere yards behind him, optics narrowed and cold, watching Sumdac like a predator stalking his prey. Sumdac couldn’t keep the shiver from slipping down his spine, clenching his fists around a small surgical kit that he’d been provided, fingers shaking so wildly that he could barely keep the tools in his grip.

“Megatron,” Sumdac said, gritting his teeth as the door to Blitzwing’s room grew closer and closer. “Are you completely certain that—”

“I did not ask for your opinion, Professor Sumdac,” Megatron hummed dangerously.

“Yes, but—Blitzwing isn’t known for his love of humans, and I fear that—”

“You are not here to provide input,” Megatron hissed, his tone suddenly much more violent. “Proceed.”

Sumdac was overwhelmed with doubt, his thoughts spinning even as he tried frantically to calm them. He knew little to nothing about Cybertronian biology—how on Earth was he supposed to replicate a one-of-a-kind transformation cog and retrofit it into another frame?

It’d be like building a jet engine from scratch and putting it into a sedan, Sumdac thought anxiously. This is madness, through and through. I cannot do this, it simply can’t be done! I struggled enough to give Megatron a mere hand, and even then, I had other technology to sample from! Absolute madness.

Sumdac swallowed hard as he looked up at Blitzwing’s door, shaking all over as Megatron quite casually turned the handle and invited himself into the room. The ceiling was dizzyingly high, looming so far above Sumdac that he could barely see the outlines of the rocks looming overhead.

“We do not have unlimited time, Professor,” Megatron said, tilting his helm just slightly to meet Sumdac’s gaze, a self-satisfied smirk lifting his lips but his optics remaining cold as ever. “Come.”

This is insanity, Sumdac thought as he clutched his toolkit to his chest and stepped toward the berth in the center of the room. Blitzwing’s massive wings were hanging from the sides, spasming in time with the twitch of a gargantuan, dangling servo.

Sumdac had become well aware of the size of the Decepticons, being trapped in their base for so long, but his stomach still dropped as he approached Blitzwing’s frame. His neck craned more and more as he tried to see over the edges of the berth, a shadow sliding over his face as Blitzwing’s wings blocked out the dim ambient light, throwing him into a temporary darkness.

“I-it’s a bit high,” Sumdac said, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “The berth, I mean.”

Megatron made a tired noise, a servo swooping down to snatch the back of Sumdac’s jacket and toss him at Blitzwing’s side, nearly ten feet above the ground. Sumdac swayed, vertigo making his head swirl uncomfortably as he tried not to look down.

“Thank you,” he said weakly.

Megatron merely grunted, leaning against the side of Blitzwing’s berth and watching Sumdac like a hawk. “Work quickly, then,” he said simply.

“Yes, of course,” Sumdac said. Anything to get me out of here faster.

Whirr. Sumdac gasped and stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet as his eyes snapped toward Blitzwing’s helm. The triple changer was eerily motionless, his singular optic rolled back, dark circuitry and wiring coiling around the flickering crimson glass. His mouth was hanging open ever so slightly, a thin string of viscous pink liquid dripping from his lip and puddling thickly on the berth below him.

“Is… he alright?” Sumdac asked, watching Blitzwing’s face spin to black, the usual smile tipped downwards in a terrifying, jagged-toothed scowl.

“His t-cog is your concern, Professor, not his well being,” Megatron said coldly. “He is sufficiently sedated, rest assured. And I do believe you have a task to attend to, do you not?”

Sumdac paused, clenching his fingers tightly around his tools, surprised at how hesitant he was to invade Blitzwing’s frame like this. Blitzwing had mentioned Sari just weeks ago, albeit indirectly, and Sumdac couldn’t shake the feeling that he knew something about her. Perhaps he’d seen her with the Autobots? Optimus would make sure that she was okay, wouldn’t he? Even Ratchet had taken quite well to Sari, and Bumblebee was her best friend—surely they wouldn’t let her into harm’s way.

“I’m waiting,” Megatron growled.

Sumdac snapped back to his senses, forcing Sari from his mind as Blitzwing’s face spun again with a quiet whirr.

She’s fine, Sumdac told himself as he unfolded a crude blueprint and spread it across the floor. She has to be.

“Sari!” Bumblebee yelled, swatting at his helm, trying not to tremble too obviously. “Get off!”

“No!” Sari laughed, her tiny hands grabbing tighter at Bumblebee’s horns, securing her in place. “Spin around! I wanna see how fast you can go!”

“My frame isn’t a toy! Get off! That tickles!”

Sari merely laughed as Bumblebee started whirling in circles, hoping to send Sari flying off his helm. She had learned to love sitting on his shoulders and helm, and Bumblebee was usually happy to comply, running around the base at top speed while Sari dangled from his frame. It made her laugh and it made him smile, so it had become somewhat of a regular game for them.

But part of the game had been ruined for Bumblebee just a few weeks ago. Blitzwing had been kissing him almost feverishly, his strong servos caressing Bumblebee’s helm, the tips of his digits sliding over Bumblebee’s horns. The touch had been like electricity, and the hungry, pitiful, and rather embarrassing noise Bumblebee emitted in response was one he had yet to get out of his mind.

Sari’s hands on his horns may have been entirely innocent in that moment, but Bumblebee was finding it rather difficult to focus on her instead of Blitzwing. And she was doing very little to keep his processor from running rampant, wondering when he could see Blitzwing again.

“Faster!” Sari insisted with a laugh.

“I can’t with you grabbing my horns like that!” Bumblebee said, silently praying that she would let go. “You’re gonna rip them off!”

“Fine! Just go faster!” Sari cheered, swinging herself onto Bumblebee’s neck as though she were at a rodeo, her fingers digging into his cabling around his throat.

“I’m getting dizzy!” Bumblebee protested, fighting back a sigh of relief, though he increased the speed of his spinning nonetheless. Sari whooped and leaned back, holding her arms out and laughing uncontrollably as the base spun around them.

“Faster!” she screamed happily.

“This is max speed!”

“Faster! Come on, you can do it! You can always go faster!”

Bumblebee snickered—she was right, after all. He started spinning the tires on his ankles, doing upright donuts around the couch, ignoring the loud screech of rubber on concrete. Sari shrieked with joy, her hands tightening around Bumblebee’s neck as they whirled around at borderline dangerous speeds, both of them laughing as loud as they could.

Bumblebee loved stupid moments like this with Sari—she was just as enthusiastic about life as he was, always happy to indulge his bursts of energy by encouraging him to run around the base like a maniac. Her only condition was that she had to be allowed to join him, and between the two of them, Ratchet had entirely forfeited his efforts to clean tire tracks from the floor.

They were unstoppable together, Bumblebee thought fondly, revving his engine happily, drawing cheers of approval from Sari.

Bumblebee was so lost in his incessant laughter that he didn’t notice the large green mass appearing in front of him, and he yelped as he smashed face-first into it, tripping and smacking against the floor with a groan.

“Ow!” he snapped pointedly. “Bulkhead!”

“I told you to brake!” Bulkhead said quickly, leaning down to pick Sari from the ground, brushing dirt from her hair with incredible delicacy. “You okay, Sari?”

“Yeah,” Sari mumbled, rubbing her hip. “Nice one, Bee.”

“I’m fine, too, thanks,” Bumblebee said sarcastically, picking himself from the floor and admiring the circular skid marks wrapping around the couch. “Sorry, Bulky, didn’t hear you.”

“Ratchet’s going to kill you if you have to get your tires replaced again,” Bulkhead said, a small grin betraying his scolding tone. “You’ve gone through a full set in the past two months!”

“I like doing donuts!” Bumblebee protested, pointing at the ground with a wide grin. “Check that out! I was drifting completely upright for, like, a whole minute! Top that, big rig!”

“I… don’t really want to,” Bulkhead said. “You need to be more careful, little buddy! You almost fell on top of Sari!”

“Hey, that’s your fault,” Bumblebee laughed. “We were fine until you stepped in front of me. She was holding on tight! It’s fine!”

Bulkhead looked down at Sari, who nodded eagerly. “Don’t worry, big guy,” she said brightly. “Bee’ll catch me if I fall. I trust him.”

“Alright,” Bulkhead said, his optics narrowed uncertainly. “I just don’t want you getting hurt, okay?”

“She won’t!” Bumblebee said, plucking Sari from Bulkhead’s grip and tossing her onto his shoulder. “Hey, by the way—Ninja Gladiator? You up for a round?”

“Don’t do it!” Sari giggled, shaking her head furiously. “He’s in a butt-kicking mood!”

“I’m always in a butt-kicking mood!” Bumblebee said. “One round, come on! You two can play on a team if you want! Two on one?”

Bulkhead chuckled and shook his helm, though he sat down on the couch regardless, patting the spot next to him. “Just one round,” he said firmly, seeming grateful for an activity that didn’t involve spinning in hazardously fast circles. “Come on, Sari. Bee needs to be taken down a peg.”

“We’re gonna lose,” Sari groaned, though she didn’t protest as Bumblebee ran to the couch excitedly and practically threw her onto it.

“Yeah, you are,” he said happily, flicking the TV on and juggling the controller between his servos. “Buckle up, losers.”

Bulkhead and Sari pressed their heads together and began whispering, debating a plan of attack, and Bumblebee felt his spark swelling warmly in his chest. His love life may be nothing short of a stressful mess, but these two never failed to make him feel better. They were wearing matching grins within seconds, glancing in Bumblebee’s direction, obviously content with whatever battle plan they were planning on using to take him down.

Not a chance, Bumblebee thought determinedly, tapping his thumbs on his controller threateningly, smiling mischievously back at them.

It was incredibly hard to feel sad or lonely with these two around, that was for sure. Bumblebee grinned as he loaded the level and launched his character across the screen, knocking both Bulkhead and Sari down in just one hit, much to their dismay. He laughed cockily and dodged an attack from Bulkhead, booting him from the screen and cheering as Sari groaned.

Even if Blitzwing couldn’t be around all the time, at least he would always have these two.

Each tiny incision set Sumdac more and more on edge. His hands were miraculously still, the skill of an engineer keeping his movements careful and steady, but Sumdac couldn’t keep himself from feeling deeply unsettled.

Even after Sumdac sliced Blitzwing’s abdomen open with a blowtorch and pried the metal apart, not a single piston on Blitzwing’s frame had moved. It was unnerving, to say the least, performing surgery on a robot under questionable anesthetic, but Sumdac pushed forward regardless as he tried to ignore Megatron’s scrutinizing gaze. Sumdac guideed another thick knot of cables aside as he dug his way to Blitzwing’s t-cog, taking care not to displace anything too much, moving slowly to ensure that his movements would be safe.

Despite the stakes of the situation, he could have sat here and admired the intricacies of Blitzwing’s insides for hours, beyond fascinated with everything he was seeing. Every wire was housed comfortably, every caliper aligned, endless hydraulics and cables and pipes and pulleys woven together so tightly and beautifully that it should have been impossible.

It was more technology than Sumdac had ever seen packed in one place, and he desperately wanted to sit back and study, to take notes until his hand went numb. But he pushed deeper, searching for anything that could be considered an organ, eager to get Megatron’s optics to move somewhere other than his back.

Whirr. Sumdac jumped slightly, his finger bumping against a thick ceramic capacitor, and he glanced up anxiously toward Blitzwing’s face. The triple changer was still motionless, thankfully, his scarlet visor flickering hazily, his lips curled into a strangely frightened sneer. Sumdac paused and stared for a moment, not used to seeing that particular face wearing any expression other than a furious one.

Do not get distracted, Sumdac told himself firmly, forcing his eyes back down to Blitzwing’s exposed abdomen. Focus on the task at hand. All of this technology… this is truly such beautiful wiring. I’ve never seen cable management like this before.

It was nearly impossible to keep his thoughts focused, but Sumdac kept his hands moving even as his mind wandered, searching through Blitzwing’s insides as though treasure lay beneath the clusters of sensors and wires. The minutes dragged by in complete silence as Sumdac searched, his gut feeling tighter and tighter as he was forced to lean into the gaping cavity of electronics, shining a small flashlight around in hopes of something becoming obvious.

“Are you certain the t-cog is on the left side?” Sumdac asked, his heart pounding as Megatron hissed irritably.

“I am, yes,” Megatron snarled. “Keep searching.”

“I-I apologize, but I’m having some difficulty locating it. Blitzwing is completely unconscious, yes? I want to—”

Whirr. Whirr. Whirr. Whirr whirr whirr whirr.

Sumdac gasped and reeled backwards, his stomach leaping into his throat, wincing as his hair snagged on something and was ripped straight out of his head. His eyes snapped toward Blitzwing’s face, which spun rapidly a few more times before coming to rest, the singular optic rolled strangely back just as it had been before, pink liquid splattered across his lips.

“What was that?” Sumdac whispered, his hands shaking as he tried not to drop his toolkit.

“He does that,” Megatron said dismissively. “Continue.”

“But—”

“Continue.”

There was no arguing with a tone like that, and Sumdac nodded frantically, leaning back down with a small frown. Something had caught his hair, but what? Blitzwing’s frame hadn’t moved since he’d arrived, nor had any of his circuitry reacted at all to Sumdac’s touch other than the occasional idle blink of a biolight.

Sumdac craned his neck and waved his flashlight around, blinking in surprise as he saw a small chunk of his hair dangling from a large silver cogwheel. He narrowed his eyes and looked closer, tucking aside a heap of wires and inhaling sharply.

“Megatron?” he said, his voice hushed. “The t-cog, is it… generally rather… oily?”

“I am no medic, but perhaps,” Megatron said darkly. “Did you happen to locate it?”

Sumdac stared at the black mass just inches from his fingers, swallowing hard. He’d never seen a t-cog before, but he was certain that this couldn’t be what they normally looked like. It was practically dripping with a thick oily substance, surrounded by a maze of soot-smudged cogwheels and gears that laced father into Blitzwing’s frame than Sumdac could see.

Even as he watched, a quiet whirr sounded from near Blitzwing’s helm, and the gears began to spin and vibrate, a series of pistons twisting the huge black sphere a few inches to the left.

But he didn’t transform, Sumdac thought curiously. His face simply changed… is it possible that there would be a correlation between the two…?

“Yes,” he said. “I found it.”

“Good,” Megatron purred, his voice suddenly growing much warmer. “Take whatever notes you can. We can return at a later date if need be.”

Sumdac nodded despite knowing that Megatron couldn’t see him, slipping on his goggles and fumbling for his camera. Rebuilding something like this was going to be a feat even beyond that of a space bridge. The layout was ridiculously complex, and Sumdac had no idea what components were necessary for a t-cog and what was simply part of Blitzwing’s body.

Though he tried to fight it, Sumdac couldn’t help but feel excited as he snapped photo after photo, scribbling messy diagrams on his notepad as quickly as he could. This was, without a doubt, some of the most fascinating machinery he had ever seen in his life. Dread still lingered deep in Sumdac’s stomach—dread at what Megatron was planning, dread at whether such incredibly technology could even be recreated—but Sumdac almost felt like a kid again, taking apart computers and putting them back together, learning more and more with every letter he wrote.

I must tell Sari about this when I get back to her, Sumdac thought absently. Well.... if I get back to her, I suppose.

“Quickly now,” Megatron said, the edges of each letter dripping with malice. “He may be reawakening soon, and you are to leave no trace of your intrusion.”

“Yes,” Sumdac muttered, flipping to a fresh page of his notepad and writing as fast as he could. “Absolutely.”

If there was one thing Sumdac didn’t want, it was Blitzwing waking up with a human and a hole in his side. Because while Sumdac’s current actions may have been nefarious at best, he was sure that Megatron would at least ensure that he stayed alive until the job was done. Blitzwing may not be so forgiving.

Blitzwing felt his processor try to reboot multiple times before he finally regained awareness, a small groan bubbling from his vocalizer as his vision sparked in and out of focus.

Where was he? What had happened? He felt cold all over, a strange tightness roiling in his tanks like acid. His face throbbed with dull pain, and he absently wiped at the odd wetness on his chin, raising his servo above his face.

Energon? he thought, his spark thumping in his chest as he examined the pink smear on his palm. How did…?

He tried to sit up and winced almost immediately, leaning back and placing a hand on his side with a grimace. Something felt wrong. He couldn’t quite place what it was, but he knew to trust his instincts, and his processor was firing nonstop, trying to make sense of what he was feeling.

His helm ached. His spark pounded. His tanks churned. Everything felt off, but a quick diagnostic indicated that absolutely nothing was wrong with him. He was in tip-top shape, just as he’d been when he’d slipped into his room for a brief recharge.

Then why did he feel so wrong?

It took quite some time for Blitzwing to realize that his servos were shaking, his plating clattering against itself as his whole frame began to shudder. Something had happened, he was sure of it. Hazy visuals slid across his processor—overly bright lights, a searing pain in his side, something shifting and pressing inside of him, repeated twinges of heat in his face, over and over and over.

Without a second thought, Blitzwing snapped upright, ignoring the stab of pain that fired through his sensornet. He’d been dreaming again. He had to have been. The lights, the discomfort in his face, in his t-cog, the burning desire to move a frame that wouldn’t respond. It was just like the nightmares he’d suffered from for so long, the ones riddled with images of Blackarachnia hovering over him and the feelings of fear and confusion that splashed across his processor. It all fit together.

He looked around frantically, then frowned. That didn’t make sense. Blackarachnia had defected, and he’d stopped having nightmares ever since he’d spent all that time with Bumblebee in the woods. Why would they come back now? There was no logical explanation for what he was feeling, and the unanswered question alone made Blitzwing shake harder, his entire frame vibrating as his processor tried to piece together more information.

Nothing.

He glanced toward his datapad, pondering whether to pick it up and call Bumblebee. Talking to the little Autobot had eased his nightmares before, hadn’t it? He hadn’t dreamt about much of anything months after talking to Bumblebee about them—not ones like this, the kind that made his coolant run cold and his vision turn dark. A quick conversation would surely put his processor to rest, or at the very least, provide him with a very talkative distraction.

One servo lifted toward the datapad before falling limp at his side once again, and Blitzwing sighed as he leaned back down, rubbing his face in a fruitless attempt to massage the ache away. According to his chronometer, it was still mid-afternoon, and Bumblebee was surely spending time with his teammates. And much as he wanted to, Blitzwing couldn’t bring himself to interrupt that.

It was just a dream. It had to be. All of the stress of a hidden relationship was surely just reviving a long-forgotten nightmare. That wasn’t worth bothering Bumblebee over. Surely he had better things to do than comfort a panicky triple changer.

Just a dream, Blitzwing told himself firmly, closing his optics and mindlessly kneading at the armor around his t-cog. It was just a dream. You’ll be fine.

He wasn’t sure if he believed himself, but Blitzwing kept his optics pinned shut regardless, unwilling to succumb to his own nerves. Once he calmed down, he’d message Bumblebee and ask for a visit—it had only been a week or so since they’d seen each other, but Blitzwing found himself longing for the little bug more than he had in ages.

Stupid Autobot, being so cute and comforting with his mere presence. Blitzwing felt a smile twitching at his lips as he thought about Bumblebee, his digits swirling around his plating. Surely it was pathetic to find such comfort in another mech, but fortunately, he was alone in his quarters at the moment. And Blitzwing felt no shame in being pathetic so long as no one was around to witness it.

Chapter Text

Pebbles skittered under Bumblebee’s tires and clinked against his windshield as he tore up the ground beneath him, knowing that speeding wouldn’t make him any less late but unable to stop himself. It had been nearly a month since he’d seen Blitzwing, but he’d somehow still struggled to shake Ratchet away for long enough to slip out of the base. The old mech seemed suspicious of any alone time Bumblebee wanted to have, and his persistence had not wavered as the weeks dragged by.

But fortunately, all it took for Bumblebee to successfully make his escape was a long-winded and false attempt to engage Ratchet in conversation about his favorite television shows, an endeavor that never failed to exhaust the medic enough to send him huffing to his quarters. Bumblebee chuckled to himself as he pressed harder on the gas, his headlights slicing through the dark treeline as he searched for the familiar streak of purple that he ached so desperately to see.

It didn’t take long for Blitzwing to come into view, and Bumblebee transformed immediately upon seeing the Decepticon, a grin on his face as he pitched his frame forward full-force and crashed into Blitzwing’s cockpit. “Sorry I’m late!” he said breathlessly, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around Blitzwing’s massive chest. “Ratchet’s been up my exhaust about going out alone recently. I made it, though! Just had to chat his ear off about cartoons for five minutes and he was practically running away.”

“It’s alright—I never expected you to have notable time management skills,” Blitzwing said dryly, his servos sliding around Bumblebee’s back and holding him surprisingly close. Bumblebee smiled even wider, drinking in the affection and returning it by peppering a few brief kisses along Blitzwing’s frame.

“I’ve missed you,” Bumblebee said, nuzzling into Blitzwing’s lap and fiddling happily with the rough black servos intertwining with his own.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Blitzwing said after a small pause.

Bumblebee would have been startled if he hadn’t been so happy to hear such a thing—ironically enough, Blitzwing had never been particularly vocal about his emotions. Bumblebee had no issues speaking up about how he felt, and he did it quite often, so getting a return statement was an unexpected surprise. He tilted his helm up to beam at Blitzwing, staring adoringly at the pinpricks of starlight that bounced from Blitzwing’s frame.

“So what have you been up to all month?” he asked cheerfully. “Any cool schemes you can talk about? You guys stopped stealing stuff, that kind of surprised me. With the amount of stuff you were taking, I figured I’d be seeing a lot of you. But you haven’t been out, like, at all! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you! Have you—”

“Tire treads.”

Bumblebee paused and blinked in surprise, the extreme heaviness of Blitzwing’s tone catching him off guard. But he nodded quickly, figuring the Decepticons must be working on something big, and tried a different approach at conversation.

“Yeah, sorry. My bad. Uh, I got a new game! It’s a racing game, I play it with Sari all the time, and the graphics are fantastic. It’s almost like real racing, sort of, almost! Sari’s gonna get us some kind of insane virtual reality headsets, you know, when her dad comes back or whatever. So it’s gonna be even better!” Bumblebee wriggled happily, momentarily trying to discern the strange expression that passed across Blitzwing’s features. “It’ll be super cool because I can actually race Sari instead of just driving her around, you know?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Blitzwing said, his optics soft and oddly glazed, as if he was looking at Bumblebee but also staring right through him. Bumblebee felt his smile falter, and he cocked his helm slightly.

“You okay?” he asked. “You look a little distracted. I’m not boring you already, am I? I just got here!”

“Hm?” Blitzwing’s gaze suddenly sharpened, and he shook his helm insistently. “My apologies. It’s been a rather busy day. Please, continue.”

Bumblebee furrowed his brow for a moment before nodding, squeezing his fingers tightly amongst Blitzwing’s. “Yeah,” he said. “Uh… well, there was also this really funny thing that Bulkhead did the other day—I was hanging out on the couch, and he comes up to me with this big piece of paper, right?”

Bumblebee paused, looking at Blitzwing, waiting for the usual soft grunt that encouraged Bumblebee to keep talking, an acknowledgement that he was listening to what was being said. But Blitzwing merely continued staring, his gaze fixed above Bumblebee’s optics, looking near him but not quite at him. Bumblebee frowned and pulled Blitzwing’s servos to his chest, squeezing them as tightly as he could.

“Blitzbrain,” he said, trying to sound firm and soft at the same time. “What’s going on? You’re acting kinda weird.”

It took quite a few seconds for Blitzwing’s optics to refocus, and Bumblebee’s spark shuddered unpleasantly when they finally did. A flash of confusion ignited Blitzwing’s features before quickly resettling to a usual flat half-scowl, and he shrugged dismissively, still looking directly at Bumblebee’s forehead.

“Nothing,” Blitzwing said finally. “I—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Bumblebee said, his face dipping into a frown.

Blitzwing sighed, his optic swirling around in its socket before eventually landing on Bumblebee’s, a peculiar darkness sweeping across his face. “Admittedly, my thoughts are elsewhere,” he said quietly, his digits curling around Bumblebee’s with crushing force. “I’ve been… dreaming again, I think.”

Bumblebee blinked in surprise, a thousand thoughts flying through his processor all at once. Blitzwing hadn’t complained about bad dreams in ages—not since he’d told Bumblebee why he had them in the first place. It had been a moment that Bumblebee still cherished, the feeling of being confided in filling Bumblebee to the brim with confidence and a sense of importance. Bumblebee felt his frame slump ever so slightly, wondering if perhaps his absence was the cause of Blitzwing’s returned nightmares, and he quickly tried to dispel the thought.

“Well—that’s okay, it happens,” Bumblebee said, hoping he sounded as comforting as intended. “It’s nothing to worry about, okay? Blackarachnia hasn’t been seen in ages, and Megatron likes you now, doesn’t he? So you’re fine!”

Blitzwing frowned, the plates in his jaw twitching. “I suppose,” he said, clearly not convinced. “It’s just… they’re not quite the same. Blackarachnia isn’t in them. And they’re incredibly hazy. I can only recall flashes of imagery, and though vivid, I can’t seem to piece any of them together. It’s quite bothersome.”

“We all have nightmares sometimes!” Bumblebee insisted. He pulled one of Blitzwing’s servos to his lips and kissed it gently, forcing a grin. “They’ll go away, don’t worry! Maybe you just had some bad oil or something, that always make me feel weird when I try to sleep.”

“They’ve been occurring nearly every night,” Blitzwing said, breaking his gaze away from Bumblebee’s.

Bumblebee paused and bit his lip, scrambling for the proper words. He wanted to help Blitzwing more than anything, but a nagging thought in the back of his processor kept reminding him that Blitzwing’s nightmares had only gone away after they’d spent quite a few nights begrudgingly intertwined—a sort of thing that, no matter how much Bumblebee wanted to, they couldn’t possibly return to.

“Well—uh—maybe you could just try ignoring them?” Bumblebee tried. “If you can’t really remember them, there’s no point in fixating on them or anything, right?”

Bumblebee squeaked as Blitzwing’s face suddenly spun, a deep crimson scowl replacing the somber frown. “I tried ignoring them,” Blitzwing spat, his upper lip twitching angrily. “But it’s not exactly easy to think about other things when I wake up feeling sick every fragging day.”

“Don’t get mad at me!” Bumblebee said shortly, dropping Blitzwing’s servos and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m just trying to help, that’s all!”

“Help? By pestering me to talk and then suggesting something as stupid as not thinking about it?” Blitzwing’s snarling face suddenly grew much darker, his visor flashing angrily. “I’m worried, you stupid insect! Something’s wrong, I can tell! And you suggest I ignore it?”

“What else am I supposed to suggest?” Bumblebee snapped.

“Nothing!” Blitzwing spat. “You can let me talk for once instead of yapping my audial off all the fragging time!”

Bumblebee’s jaw dropped open for a moment, his optics prickling with a strange warmth. He stood up and crawled from Blitzwing’s lap, keeping his arms tightly folded over his chest as he summoned his best glare. “You don’t usually complain about me talking!” Bumblebee said defensively. “You said you like how much I talk! If it was an issue, why didn’t you say something about it?”

Blitzwing scoffed, joining Bumblebee in standing up, his frame easily towering over Bumblebee’s. “Because I assumed that if I ever needed to discuss something, you’d let me,” he hissed.

“I did!” Bumblebee said, his voice growing louder. “And now you’re getting all mad at me because of that! What do you want me to do?”

“Listen!” Blitzwing shouted. “Just listen for once! Primus knows it’d be nice to be listened to for once in my fragging life!”

Bumblebee faltered, suddenly struck with the realization that Blitzwing wasn’t mad at him at all. He uncrossed his arms slowly, clenching his jaw and trying not to let the sting of Blitzwing’s words penetrate too deep. “Okay,” he said as calmly as possible. “Then talk. I pinky promise I’ll listen. Lips zipped. Swear.”

Blitzwing’s faceplates shifted, his scowl lessening for a moment. “Are you even capable of listening?” he said snidely.

“For you, I can try,” Bumblebee said. “Go on, then. Your dreams. What happens in them?”

Blitzwing’s face remained scarlet, but his rigid stance unwound slightly, his dentae grinding so hard that Bumblebee could hear them even from a distance. “It’s hard to explain,” he said gruffly. “I feel strange things in my side. Poking at me, similar to when that wretch was… you know.”

Bumblebee nodded, fighting back words, trying to encourage Blitzwing to continue without speaking. Blitzwing remained silent for a few moments before his face spun back to blue, his optic downcast.

“I can taste energon,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “But I can’t see anything. My frame won’t respond, and there’s a flash of red light every so often, but I can’t move and see what it is. And when I awaken, my tanks are churning and my processor aches. My face aches. Nothing is noticeably wrong, but something just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know how to explain it, but it lingers far longer than I’d expect.”

“Okay,” Bumblebee said slowly. “That’s super weird, for sure.”

Blitzwing chuckled. “Well said,” he said dryly.

Bumblebee grinned, walking closer to Blitzwing and wrapping his arms around the triple changer’s thighs, wishing he could reach a bit higher and kiss his adorable, irritated little frown. “Do you feel better now?” he asked hopefully.

Blitzwing’s dentae grinded audibly. “Somewhat,” he grumbled.

“Do you wanna go back to cuddling?” Bumblebee said, grinning up at Blitzwing. “You’ll be fine, I promise. Dreams can’t hurt you.”

Whirr. “Have you even listened to a single word I’ve said?” Blitzwing shouted, his voice rattling leaves from the trees. “I told you that I wake up feeling like slag every morning! So apparently, dreams can hurt me!”

Bumblebee frowned, pulling away from Blitzwing and putting his hands on his hips. “It’s okay to be scared of bad dreams, you know,” he said far too harshly. “You don’t have to get your plating all in a twist over them.”

Blitzwing growled, a deep sound that seemed to rumble in his tanks rather than his vocalizer. “You clearly didn’t listen to me,” he said, glowering with rage.

Bumblebee cowered for a moment before standing up straight and raising his arms in defeat. “Yeah, I did, dumb aft!” he yelled back. “I did listen! What are you so fragging mad about? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” Blitzwing hollered. “Maybe not suggest cuddling right after I tell you about something that has been terrifying me so much that I wake up feeling awful every morning!”

“It’s just a dream!” Bumblebee blurted without thinking. “I mean—okay, I—look, I know they suck and all, but it’s just a dream! I can’t make it go away or anything! I wish I could, but I can’t, and now you’re yelling at me because I want to help?”

“You’re an idiot,” Blitzwing snarled.

“How?”

“You’re using your audials, but you aren’t listening to me!” Blitzwing said, starting to pace, his footfalls heavy enough to rattle the branches on the trees surrounding them. “Is your processor as small as your frame, or do you just act like it is?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do!” Bumblebee repeated, trying to stand taller.

“Listen!”

“I did!”

“No, you didn’t! And then you immediately wanted to start cuddling?” A branch swatted Blitzwing across the face, and he grabbed it in a rage, wrenching it from the tree in one quick jerk.

“I don’t know!” Bumblebee yelled, bewildered beyond belief. “I thought it might make you feel better!”

“I don’t want to just cuddle, Bumblebeee!” Blitzwing shouted, hurling the branch into the distance. “You’re the only mech on this fragging planet that I want to talk to about anything! I’m not just with you for the affection—I trust you, you fragging moron!”

“I know that, stupid!” Bumblebee fired back. “I trust you too! But I don’t know what you want me to do! I listened, I tried to suggest something that might cheer you up, the end! What else do you want from me?”

“I don’t know!” Blitzwing bellowed.

“Then why the frag are you mad at me?”

Bumblebee was only partially aware of the words spitting from his intake, barely listening as the argument shifted and morphed into a million others before Bumblebee even realized what was happening. They screamed at each other until Bumblebee’s intake ached, arguing about their factions, about Bumblebee’s constant chatter, about the annoying noise Blitzwing made when his faces switched. Bumblebee didn’t even think that half of the things they shouted about were particularly annoying, but they were both on a roll, and Bumblebee couldn’t stop himself from shrieking about every tiny thing that had ever annoyed him, whether Blitzwing was the subject of the frustration or not.

Blitzwing ranted about Lugnut. Bumblebee complained loudly about Prowl. Blitzwing insisted that Lugnut was more annoying, and they began yelling at each other again, kicking clouds of dirt into the air as they stomped about furiously. Bumblebee started to cry, and Blitzwing mocked him obnoxiously, cackling with a crimson grin as Bumblebee shrieked at him to shut up.

Every bit of frustration Bumblebee had felt over the past few months poured out of him like a faucet, and tried as he did to stop it, the attempts were futile at best. The bubbling anger at Ratchet for what he’d said about Blitzwing so many months ago manifested into a screaming match about which faction was worse, and the constant mourning Bumblebee felt when he was away from Blitzwing flared into a fight about how little they saw each other.

“Oh, and another thing!” Bumblebee yelled as Blitzwing sighed loudly and rolled his optics. “You’re always making fun of how short I am! Do you like it or not, huh? Because I can’t exactly make myself taller, and it’s not exactly cute to have you insulting me all the fragging time?”

Blitzwing’s gaze locked on something in the distance, and he held up a servo insistently, his visor flashing. “Bumblebee?”

“I get made fun of it enough at the Autobot base, and you’re taller than all of them!” Bumblebee continued, digging his pedes into the ground and rubbing tears furiously from his optics. “Sorry for not being tall! You’re the one who picked me, so why make fun of me for it?”

“Bumblebee!”

“I’m not even that short! I’m, like, twelve feet tall! That’s totally normal!”

“Bumblebee!”

“What?” Bumblebee screamed, throwing his servos from his face. “Just say it! You don’t need my permission to yell at me! Primus knows you do it all the time anyway!”

Blitzwing wordlessly pointed into the distance, and Bumblebee groaned as he turned around. Though his irritation was cut short when he saw what Blitzwing was pointing at—a creamy stripe of pink splashed across the sky, cutting through the rapidly disappearing darkness. Bumblebee fell silent immediately—had they been fighting all night? How had that happened?

“Slag,” he muttered.

“We need to go,” Blitzwing said, his tone low and dark.

“Yeah,” Bumblebee agreed gruffly.

They stood in silence for a few moments, and Bumblebee felt an overwhelming urge to rush forward and hug Blitzwing crash over him. He couldn’t even remember half of what they’d been fighting about, nor the reasons that he’d brought up half of the things he did, but Blitzwing’s stiff stance advised Bumblebee otherwise.

Now was, apparently, not the time for hugging.

“Bye, then,” Bumblebee huffed.

“Bye,” Blitzwing said shortly.

Their gazes lingered on each other for a few more moments before the panic finally set in, and Bumblebee whirled away from Blitzwing, transforming and shifting to the highest gear he could as he peeled out of the clearing. He barely heard the sound of Blitzwing running away, only registering the whine of activating turbines as the Decepticon took to the air. His spark twitched as he floored it toward the river, fighting the urge to turn around and apologize.

I’m such an idiot, he thought glumly. He just wanted to talk about a fragging dream, and now you’re both going to get in trouble. Slag it all. I don’t even notice his damn face spinny noises anymore, why did I bring that up?

Bumblebee leaped into the water as soon as he could, following his trail of rocks and grimacing as he watched morning sunlight stream through the water. One thing was certain, at least—Ratchet was certainly awake by now, which meant Bumblebee had to come up with one hell of an excuse if he wanted to avoid suspicion.

Though despite the growing dread in his tanks at his own plight, Bumblebee couldn’t help but glance at the sky, silently hoping that Blitzwing would be able to explain his way out of this situation as well.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee had been right—Ratchet was very much awake, and he was very unhappy. A deep scowl dragged his faceplates down farther than Bumblebee had ever seen them, and he was leaning with false carelessness that immediately set Bumblebee on edge.

Bumblebee plastered a false grin on his face, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to look as casual as possible. “Hey there, doc bot,” he said weakly.

“It’s five thirty in the morning,” Ratchet said, giving Bumblebee no time to even consider concocting an overly complicated lie. “Where have you been?”

“Out,” Bumblebee said, shrugging as he took tiny steps toward his quarters, hoping that Ratchet wouldn’t notice if he moved slowly enough. “Just some early morning fresh air, that’s all.”

“You are a terrible liar, you know that, right?” Ratchet said flatly.

“Who says I’m lying?” Bumblebee tried with a curt laugh, forcing himself to keep his optics locked on Ratchet’s. “You complain about me sleeping too late, and now you’re all huffy because I woke up early and went for a jog? That’s a double standard and I won’t stand for it.”

“I don’t think you know what a double standard is,” Ratchet said with a roll of the optics.

“Right,” Bumblebee said nervously. “Well, here, how about I go back to sleep, and you can go back to chewing me out for sleeping late? Sound good? So I’m just gonna—”

“Bumblebee,” Ratchet said harshly, sidestepping and blocking Bumblebee’s path to his room. “I’m not moving until you explain why you’ve been sneaking out in the middle of the night. Multiple times now. Are you street racing again? Because we discussed that, and I’ve already told you that I don’t want to have to scrape you from the underside of a bridge.”

“I’m not street racing,” Bumblebee said, searching frantically for a way to slip past the medic and get to his quarters. He wanted nothing more than to punch his pillow a few times and lie down, then sleep for a few hours so he could think clearly about how to apologize to Blitzwing. His processor was too frazzled and upset to properly sort through his words at all, nor was he entirely sure what he’d done that he had to apologize for.

Maybe I was too insensitive? Bumblebee thought, frowning to himself. I mean, those dreams really freak him out, you remember what his faces did when he was sleeping. Oh, frag, you know what I should’ve done? I should’ve suggested we take a nap together so maybe he could sleep without dreams! Dammit, why didn’t I think of that earlier? No wonder he was so snippy, he must be tired as frag! Primus, I’m so stupid. Okay, let me just message him and tell him I’m sorry, then I can—

“Bumblebee!”

Ratchet’s voice crashed into Bumblebee’s consciousness, and he straightened immediately, snapping his gaze back to Ratchet’s. “Sorry, what?”

“I said that you’ve been acting strange for ages, Bumblebee,” Ratchet said, his optics sharp as knives in a worn, tired face. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” Bumblebee said, gritting his dentae. “Just trying out some new schedules. Is that a crime?”

“Listen, kid,” Ratchet said, his arms lowering to his sides, though his face remained stern as ever. “Ever since… Listen, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but ever since you came back from your excursion with Blitzwing, it seems like something’s been off about you. I know dealing with a Con for that long must’ve taken a toll on you, trust me, the fraggers are tough to deal with in small snippets, let alone for months. So if you… I don’t know, if you want to talk about it, I have a lot of experience dealing with Cons, so—”

Bumblebee felt his face darken, and he smacked aside the proverbial olive branch being offered his way, frowning. “I said I didn’t want to talk about that, and I meant it,” he said, surprising at the harshness of his own voice. “If I wanted to talk, don’t you think I would have by now? Drop it and let me go to frag to sleep.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, kid,” Ratchet hissed.

“Fine,” Bumblebee grumbled. “Drop it and let me go the frag to sleep please.”

Ratchet’s faceplates twisted, but Bumblebee slammed past him as hard as he could, ducking under one of the medic’s arms and making a break for his room, locking the door viciously behind him as he did so. The last thing he wanted to deal with was more arguing—his processor was pounding plenty for the time being, and Ratchet had a distinct talent for irritating Bumblebee into spilling his guts. And if there was one thing Bumblebee didn’t want to do, for once, it was talking.

He scowled and shoved a pillow over his face, screaming into it as loudly as he could without noticing. Sari had suggested that he start using pillows a few months back, and while they seemed pretty pointless for recharging, they were great for absorbing vocal frustrations. Bumblebee yelled into the pillow for a few minutes, hurling it aside when he felt two large wet spots stain its fluffy surface.

Stupid Ratchet, he thought, rolling over to look at his datapad. And now I won’t see Blitzwing for another few weeks, and Ratchet will be breathing down my fragging neck during that whole time. Why can’t you just keep track of time, Bee? Or shut your mouth for once?

Bumblebee reached for his datapad, tapping in the complicated password that opened his message history with Blitzwing. They kept their conversations brief and obscure when messaging each other, but Bumblebee’s spark still swelled as he glanced over the clipped, cryptic conversations.

Tomorrow?

Midnight.

Just yesterday, Bumblebee’s tanks had been doing excited backflips at the thought of seeing Blitzwing again, his whole frame shuddering as a smile lifted on his face. Uneventful as their meetings were, Bumblebee never failed to feel excited about them. Seeing Blitzwing was like drinking a fresh jug of coolant after nothing but low-grade oil for weeks, and Bumblebee felt his frame deflate as he realized what a waste of time their recent visit had been.

You didn’t even tell him that you love him, he thought bitterly. Guess that’s gonna have to wait another fragging month. Good job, moron.

He stared at his datapad for a few more moments, wondering if there was a way to apologize as sufficiently as he wanted to in five words or less. He had to keep it simple in case their messages ever got discovered, but though he tried, Bumblebee couldn’t seem to figure out the right combination of words that would be both ambiguous to an outsider and meaningful to Blitzwing.

He sighed loudly and typed out the only thing he could think of: Sorry. Saturday?

Apologizing in person would definitely be the best way to handle a situation like this. Bumblebee had seen enough human movies to know that texts always got misinterpreted and usually made situations worse rather than better, and he wanted to be certain that his words wouldn’t get misconstrued.

You’re sorry for being insensitive, for trying to dismiss what he felt, and for bringing up stupid petty things just because you were mad, Bumblebee told himself firmly. Just say that and you’ll be good to go. Simple and clean, and then you can kiss him and tell him you love him. Easy, right? Man, do I wanna kiss him right now. I didn’t even get a goodbye kiss. That sucks. I love goodbye kisses.

Bumblebee glanced at the door as a knocking sound suddenly rang through the air, and he immediately flipped onto his side as a voice drifted into his audials.

“Bumblebee?” Optimus. His voice was quiet but firm, his knuckles rapping a few more times against the door. “May I come in? I want to talk to you about something.”

Bumblebee ignored him, closing his optics and pretending to be asleep despite knowing that the door was locked. Optimus knocked a few more times, quite a bit louder this time.

“Bumblebee?” he said again. “Ratchet said—I heard you’ve been having a bit of a rough time, and I want to hear what’s going on. Talking can be helpful, you know.”

Bumblebee rolled his optics behind shuttered lids. Typical Optimus, always wanting his team to be open with each other about absolutely everything. Trust me, boss, he thought with a snicker. Talking to you would be the exact opposite of helpful.

Optimus knocked a few more times before sighing quietly, his footfalls turning and disappearing down the hallway, leaving behind a lingering silence. Bumblebee tucked his pillow to his chest, nuzzling his helm against it and silently wishing that it gave off the same comforting heat as Blitzwing’s cockpit.

He’ll reply, Bumblebee told himself firmly, placing a hand on his datapad. Then you can talk and everything will be fine.

At least, he hoped that was true. He sighed and tucked his knees to his chest, and though he intended to stay awake and wait for Blitzwing’s reply, his processor seemed to have other ideas and pinged a shutdown request to his HUD.

Bumblebee ignored it once, but his processor insisted, and he begrudgingly accepted the request, cuddling his pillow tightly and trying to pretend that it was one of Blitzwing’s strong, dark hands instead of a meager replacement.

Stupid bug, Blitzwing thought, his dentae grinding painfully hard as he slipped through the entrance of the mine. He can’t even keep his fragging mouth shut for five minutes to listen to me. Idiot. Dumb, undersized little pest.

He peered around a corner and tiptoed as quietly as possible past the command area, barely glancing at the exhausted-looking human feverishly scribbling away at some large, indecipherable diagram. More space bridge garbage, surely. Blitzwing couldn’t be bothered to care, keeping his audials open, praying that Megatron was still miraculously asleep or at least otherwise occupied.

The warlord had been sending Blitzwing’s stress levels through the roof as of late. He hadn’t been doing anything particularly unusual, but there was something strange in the way he looked at Blitzwing that was setting the triple changer on edge almost constantly. Something violent, dangerous, and completely impossible to make sense of. Blitzwing felt his jaw twitch at the thought, a cold shudder creeping down his back and making his sensors prickle uncomfortably.

Maybe I was too hard on Bumblebee, Blitzwing thought tiredly, his annoyance slowly dribbling away as the quiet of the base started to give him a chance to sort through his thoughts. He may not be adept at comfort, but he’s just as new at all of this as you are. And it’s not his fault that Megatron has you so worked up.

Blitzwing felt a pang of guilt overcome him, and he was forced to bite his lip hard to keep from audibly sighing. Perhaps it had been wrong of him to expect Bumblebee to know exactly what to do—Blitzwing wasn’t even sure what sort of comfort he wanted. Ideally, a month or so away from Megatron’s scrutinizing gaze would be ideal, but Blitzwing knew that such a thing would never be more than a wish.

Maybe Bumblebee’s right, he thought, closing his optics. Ignoring these dreams might be the best way to tolerate their side effects. Being so worried about them day in and day out is very likely the reason that I wake up feeling so ill.

Blitzwing’s dentae dug into his lip as he approached his quarters. Perhaps a brief apology and an extra meeting for the month was all they needed to repair their relationship. Blitzwing was certain that his willingness to fight was no fault of Bumblebee’s, merely an aftereffect of the daily stress he’d been dealing with.

A civil discussion with his beloved Autobot and an apologetic kiss was sure to ease Blitzwing’s mind in at least one regard.

Blitzwing felt himself smile ever so slightly as he pushed open the door to his quarters. Bumblebee may be relatively immature when it came to relationships, but he certainly did try his best. It was admirable, to say the least, and Blitzwing was more than happy to put aside his own pride in order to keep a dedicated moron like Bumblebee around.

Though the smile dropped from his face almost immediately as his quarters came into full view. Blitzwing’s spark did a backflip when he saw Megatron lounging in his berth, twirling a datapad between his fingers with petrifying casualness.

“Welcome back, Blitzwing,” Megatron purred.

Blitzwing’s mouth dropped open for a moment, his processor reeling as he tried to think of a viable excuse for his sudden appearance. “Good morning, Megatron,” he said automatically, relieved that his voice sounded at least somewhat calm. “Um… what brings you to my quarters so early in the morning?”

Megatron hummed to himself for a few moments, still spinning Blitzwing’s datapad around, and Blitzwing felt his tanks drop. Megatron hadn’t accessed his messages, had he? Surely this was just some sort of complex intimidation tactic. Blitzwing’s conversations with Bumblebee were locked behind multiple passwords, all of which were too complex to be broken by brute force alone. Megatron couldn’t have hacked into it alone in less than eight hours even if he’d tried.

“I came to your quarters a few hours ago in hopes that you could perform some nighttime recon for me,” Megatron said finally, setting down the datapad and swinging his legs from the berth. “And I was quite surprised to find that you weren’t here.”

“I—I was out for a flight,” Blitzwing lied immediately. “I’ve been feeling a need to clear my processor as of late. I apologize for not informing you prior to leaving the base.”

“It’s of no concern,” Megatron said, his voice terribly collected. “I merely wasn’t aware that you’d taken up the habit.”

Blitzwing’s intake twisted, leaving him speechless for a few moments. He knows, he thought, terror ripping through his spark. I don’t know what he knows, but he knows something.

“I find minor changes to my routine help keep me relaxed,” Blitzwing said, tucking his servos behind his back as his fingers started shaking.

“You’ll find no complaints from me so long as you’re working hard,” Megatron said, a horribly flat smile lifting on his face. “I know you’ve been feeling rather out of sorts recently.”

Blitzwing felt his tanks attempt to tie themselves into knots. “Sir?”

“You’ve been more quiet than usual,” Megatron continued. “More contained. And roughly once a month, I would say, you return from your flights and seem to be in much better control of yourself. In higher spirits, so to speak. So I would highly advise that you continue, since the benefits of a mere flight appear to have been extremely significant.”

He knows, Blitzwing thought frantically. And he wants me to know that he knows. Frag, frag, I’m in so much trouble.

“Yes, sir,” Blitzwing said meekly.

“Get some rest and ease your processor,” Megatron crooned, standing up and patting the berth briefly. “You and Lugnut will be out fetching supplies for me later tonight, so you may have all day to rest if you so choose.”

“Thank you,” Blitzwing said blankly.

Megatron smirked as he brushed past Blitzwing and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Blitzwing frozen as thoughts fired through his processor quicker than he could hope to interpret them. Megatron knew something, he was sure of it. But what could he know? Blitzwing dashed to his datapad and checked the logs, noticing only one failed login attempt to open the datapad in the first place.

Megatron hadn’t seen the messages. A rush of relief swept through Blitzwing, though it was replaced by panic mere moments later. Megatron knew that Blitzwing was sneaking out, but he hadn’t even gathered any evidence to come to the conclusion.

Damn him for being so clever, Blitzwing thought bitterly.

One thought came to the forefront of Blitzwing’s frenzied thoughts, and his trembling digits latched onto his datapad as he began typing password after password to access Bumblebee’s chat logs. As desperately as Blitzwing wanted to make things right between them, the Autobot was in immeasurable danger now that Megatron was surely keeping a close eye on Blitzwing. If the warlord caught even a whiff of understanding the true gravity of the situation, Bumblebee was as good as dead, and Blitzwing refused to be the cause of that.

His tanks churned as he saw a single short message from Bumblebee, timestamped for just minutes ago.

Sorry. Saturday?

Blitzwing closed his optics, his digits shaking frantically. He wanted nothing more than to say yes, to see Bumblebee and hold him and discuss their fight like mature mechs, but he knew such a thing couldn’t happen. Megatron’s watchful gaze could be all-seeing when he intended it to be, and Blitzwing would rather go offline than put Bumblebee on such a direct road to disaster.

He typed out a message as fast as he could, trying to keep it as short as possible. We shouldn’t see each other, he wrote, his spark pounding as he hit send and tucked the conversation behind password after password.

Being unable to see Bumblebee was going to make for a difficult couple of months. But Blitzwing just had to wait for Megatron’s suspicions to wane, and then he would be able to meet Bumblebee once again and pick up right where they left off. Such a situation had been inevitable since the beginning of their relationship, being unable to even sneak out to see each other, but Blitzwing was determined to stick it out despite the difficulty.

Bumblebee induced the only kind of stress that Blitzwing would ever enjoy. So he closed his optics, swallowing hard and hoping that resting during the daytime might, for some reason, relieve him from dealing with another nightmare.

Bumblebee’s optics snapped optic mid-nap as the datapad under his servos pinged quietly, a jolt of happiness rocketing through his spark. He flung himself upright and scrambled to open the message, dismay overcoming him the second he saw what had been sent to him.

We shouldn’t see each other.

Bumblebee felt as though he was deflating, his frame sagging as he stared at the message.

We shouldn’t see each other.

What did that mean? All Bumblebee wanted to do was apologize, to make things right, and Blitzwing didn’t even want to hear him out? Bumblebee felt his optics grow warm once again, and he hastily rubbed away tears as they threatened to fall.

One argument, and just like that, Blitzwing didn’t want to see him anymore. Bumblebee’s spark suddenly seemed to turn to lead, and he hurled his datapad at the wall, watching as it clattered to the ground, the screen flickering as the impact took its toll.

Well, fine, Bumblebee thought, curling into a ball with his pillow tucked between his knees. He says I don’t listen, and now he won’t even listen to me. That’s so fragging unfair! What a jerk!

Bumblebee paused before burying his face in the pillow, sighing heavily.

Dammit, he thought miserably. Why didn’t I just listen to him? Primus, Bee, you’re such an idiot sometimes! And now you can’t even apologize because the one mech you actually care about doesn’t want to see you anymore! Great job, stupid.

A gentle knock sounded at the door, and Bumblebee glanced toward it, not willing to answer. He definitely didn’t want to talk to Optimus now, especially given the tears flowing freely down his cheeks and spilling onto the berth.

“Hey, Bee?” A small voice sounded from the hallway, and Bumblebee felt a lump rise in his throat when he realized that the knocker was Sari, not Optimus.

“Yeah?” he called back, trying to ignore the incredibly obvious crack in his voice.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

A second, deeper voice joined the mix, its tone light and sympathetic. “Uh, we heard something loud coming from your room,” Bulkhead’s voice said. “So we just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“Yup, totally fine,” Bumblebee said, brushing tears from his face and rolling himself into a ball around his pillow. “I just dropped my datapad. Go away, I’m napping.”

“Okay,” Bulkhead said quickly, cutting short a quick noise of protest from Sari. “Come out whenever you want.”

“But Ratchet said—”

“Shh, Sari, let’s just go.”

Bulkhead’s footsteps rushed away, and there was a long pause before Sari’s joined in disappearing as well, leaving Bumblebee alone in a now-silent room. He gulped down a sob and glanced over longingly at his datapad, sniffling a few times.

Well, I guess this means Ratchet won’t be worrying about why I’m sneaking out anymore, Bumblebee thought miserably. One less thing for me to worry about, I suppose.

Chapter Text

It was so dark. Everything was so dark.

His optics shifted from side to side, searching madly for a pinprick of light, for a flicker of color, for anything, but all he saw was darkness. What was this? He’d always been able to see her spindly frame looming over his own, her four beady crimson optics staring at him with glee, but all he could see was darkness. Were his optics even open? He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t tell, he couldn’t tell what anything was, why couldn’t he see?

His frame wasn’t responding. He just wanted to twitch his fingers, to feel movement, to feel hydraulics shift and joints bend, but he couldn’t feel anything. His sensors were in a frenzy, the cool air against them stinging like needles, breezes blowing where they shouldn’t be, too much sensation yet none at all. He could feel everything and nothing, an agonizing combination, numbness and overstimulation wrapped into one.

Where was Bumblebee? Was he safe? Or was he here too?

Something was touching him. Something small, something soft, soft, too soft, far too soft. Unnaturally soft and freakishly small. He wanted to scream at whatever it was, to scare it away, but he still couldn’t move. He panicked, not that anyone would be able to calm him down, not that anyone was going to be able to help him.

Bumblebee would try to help if he was here. Where was Bumblebee?

Voices. Fragmented, distorted, as though they were drifting through miles of water before reaching Blitzwing’s audials. He couldn’t piece together who they belonged to or what they were saying, but he was certain that he heard them. He thought. Were they really voices? Was he going crazy?

Touching, touching, so much touching, such delicate and masterful touches, but they were so wrong. They were inside him, in his waist, the touch light but the pressure heavy. What was that? Who was that? What was touching him? Why were they touching him?

He was so confused and so angry. Who dared touch him? Why had they taken his senses, his very ability to move? How had they done it? Why, why, why, who was touching him, why were they touching him, what were they touching?

Where was Bumblebee? Was Bumblebee safe, or was he being prodded at too?

A tug, a tug that made his face ache, but he couldn’t reach up to rub the pain away. He couldn’t move and something was touching him but it wasn’t her, it wasn’t her, so who was it? It didn’t hurt like she had, but he wished it hurt. The touches were too soft. Too careful.

Who was this? Why were they doing this? Why him, why him, why him, why was it always him?

The voices returned and the touches vanished, but he felt no relief, only more fear, more confusion, more worry. Were they going to Bumblebee next? Where was Bumblebee? He wanted Bumblebee, he wanted to see Bumblebee, he wanted to look at Bumblebee and see the softness in those bright blue optics that so easily conveyed sympathy, he wanted to see him, he wanted to see him and move his arms and hold him and hear him say that he was okay, that he was okay, that everything was okay.

Something burned. What was burning? He registered a flash of light, red light that sent explosions of panic across his spark. Why red, why red, it was always red, but he wanted blue, blue, blue, please, no more red, no more, he hated red, he hated that shade of red, but why?

The voices were gone and he still couldn’t move. He didn’t feel anything now, and that was worse than the touches. He just wanted to feel, to understand, to get answers, but there were no answers, and his face started to throb, and his spark was pounding, and—

Blitzwing gasped, his servos scrabbling at the edges of the berth, smacking against the metal as sensation slowly ebbed through his sensors. His chest heaved, vents whirring rapidly as they tried to push out the immeasurable heat flooding his frame like fire. He dug his digits into the berth, relishing the feedback he felt from its hard surface, blinking rapidly as his optics sputtered online with a strange pop.

He stared at the ceiling, listening to the deafening silence as it pressed thickly against his audials. The only sound was the occasional whir of a system reboot, the hiss of a piston, the creak of the berth beneath Blitzwing’s heavy frame.

He was in his room, and judging by the miniscule ribbons of sunlight twisting through cracks in the cave walls, it was early in the morning. Blitzwing didn’t bother checking his chronometer, reaching instinctively for his datapad before letting his servo drop listlessly against the berth.

He’d been dreaming again—he was certain of that. But as much as Blitzwing ached to send a message to Bumblebee, wanting nothing more than one of the Autobot’s stupid emojis to light up his screen, he couldn’t bring himself to take the risk.

Not yet, he thought, keeping his optics wide open, not wanting to be engulfed in the all-encompassing darkness that came with his newest nightmare. Just wait a little longer. Megatron is watching you, and you need to keep Bumblebee safe, bad dreams or not. Surely he’ll understand.

Bumblebee’s fingers drummed against his controller with the skill of a master, but his optics felt oddly glazed as he looked at the screen. He’d already played this level twenty times, and though he knew it by heart, he knew that wasn’t the reason he was so unfocused.

No matter how many distractions he gave himself, he couldn’t stop thinking about Blitzwing.

He’d reread the message a thousand times, interpreted it a thousand different ways, but the only thing he could possibly conclude was that Blitzwing no longer wanted to deal with him. They had fought, Bumblebee had pushed too far, and Blitzwing had decided that enough was enough.

Bumblebee sighed heavily, dodging an attack from an onscreen enemy and pushing toward the end of the level. Just play the stupid game, he thought as he slumped listlessly against the back of the couch. Then maybe go back to sleep… or maybe have some oil. When did I last fuel up? Was it this morning or last night? Hm.

Bumblebee heard quiet footsteps approaching, but he did his best to ignore them, focusing intently on the television despite how blinding the colorful lights suddenly seemed.

“Haven’t you beaten this already?” Optimus’s gentle voice floated into Bumblebee’s consciousness, and he merely grunted in reply—as much as he wanted to hide his obvious mopeyness, Bumblebee was even less willing to openly discuss its cause.

Intense music chugged through the speakers as Bumblebee continued to play, and Optimus let it play for a few minutes before speaking up once again. “Maybe you should go out with Sari to get a new game,” he suggested, rounding the couch and sitting down.

Bumblebee grunted once again with a shrug. “I guess,” he said.

“You seem pretty bored with it,” Optimus said, clearly pressing for conversation even as Bumblebee rolled his optics.

“Not really,” Bumblebee replied, his voice oddly cold, temporarily startling him. No wonder Optimus was pestering him—he sounded almost sick, his voice faint and croaky from multiple nights of crying himself to sleep. He cleared his intake and tried to brighten his tone. “I’m just, uh, speedrunning it. Trying to see how fast I can beat it.”

“Sounds healthy,” Optimus said with a chuckle. “Listen, Bumblebee, I’m sure you’re tired of me asking, but—”

“Boss, I’m fine,” Bumblebee said, smashing a thumb against the controller just a little bit too hard. “Really. You don’t have to keep checking up on me. I’m just feeling a little out of it, that’s all.”

“No offense, but I’ve never seen you ‘out of it’ for as long as I’ve known you,” Optimus said, raising a brow. “If something’s wrong, you can tell me, alright? No matter what it might be. We’re a team, and in order to work together, we have to—”

“Yeah, I know,” Bumblebee said in a sharp, angry tone he didn’t recognize. “Teams have to stick together and tell each other everything all the time so we can do a super great job fixing bridges all the fragging time! You don’t have to remind me, okay? I got it the first fifty times.”

Optimus seemed rather unfazed by Bumblebee’s outburst, but Bumblebee felt dismayed as soon as he realized that he’d attracted attention that he wanted even less than Optimus’s: Ratchet, who had been minding his own business in the communications area, had started moving over with his trademark scowl adorning his face.

“Excuse us for being concerned, kid,” Ratchet said, earning himself a pleading look from Optimus that he quickly waved away. “Save it. Bumblebee, we’ve all been trying to cut you some slack recently, but you have no business snapping at Optimus like that.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Bumblebee grumbled.

Ratchet sighed, stepping in front of Bumblebee to block his view of the screen, ignoring Bumblebee’s angry protests. “It’s been months since you’ve acted like this,” he said shortly. “And it seemed like you were getting a lot better, but now you’re right back down in the dumps again. So are you going to tell us why, or are we going to have to keep bothering you about it?”

“I have told you—I’m just kind of out of it,” Bumblebee said, throwing his game controller on his lap and trying to replicate Ratchet’s frown. “I’m fine! If anything, having you all hounding me is just making it worse!”

“Maybe you’re just sour because you haven’t snuck out of the base in the middle of the night recently,” Ratchet said snidely.

Bumblebee felt his frame grow warm as Optimus shot a concerned look in his direction. “You’ve been what?” Optimus said, sounding alarmed.

“Going out for drives every once in a while,” Bumblebee muttered, trying his very best to keep his optics on Ratchet’s, wondering anxiously if the medic’s expression was knowing or simply suspicious. “Keeps me from getting too jittery, I guess.”

“And neither of you thought to tell me?” Optimus said irritably, glaring at Ratchet, who did a phenomenal job of ignoring him.

“The last time I saw you in this mood, you had just reappeared after being stuck with a Decepticon in the woods for, what was it, three months? Four months?”

“Something like that,” Bumblebee said, his jaw clenching as he tried to fight back the onslaught of memories threatening to bash across his processor. “And I’ve told you a billion times that I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Why is that, exactly?” Ratchet pressed, his optics narrowing. “Here I thought you were the type to chat about everything.”

“I just don’t want to,” Bumblebee said through gritted dentae. He shuffled his servos to his thighs and gripped them tightly, trying to stop the shaking that had begun to tremor through his frame. Just don’t say anything. For the love of Primus, keep your mouth shut. He’ll give up eventually if you just shut your trap. You need to practice that anyway, remember?

“If something happened, Bee, you can tell us,” Optimus said, offering a smile in Bumblebee’s direction that sharply countered the increasingly deep frown on Ratchet’s face.

“Nothing happened,” Bumblebee said staunchly.

Ratchet’s optics narrowed so much that they were hardly more than slits, the blue light piercing straight through Bumblebee’s armor and making his sensors tingle uncomfortably. “Bumblebee,” Ratchet said plainly, “if you don’t tell us what you’re hiding, you are no longer going to be allowed to leave this base. At all.”

Optimus winced in Bumblebee’s peripheral vision. “Well—Ratchet, don’t you think that’s a little harsh? He just—”

“Prime, I can handle this. Anything you want to say, Bumblebee?”

Bumblebee swallowed, staring hard at Ratchet, trying to maintain his composure. He’s bluffing, he thought nervously. He’s gotta be.

“Nothing happened,” Bumblebee said once again. “And even if something did happen, which it didn’t, I definitely wouldn’t tell you just because of some empty threat. You need me on the field, and you know that as well as I do.”

Bumblebee grimaced as soon as he saw a flash of something in Ratchet’s optics, something that could be described as understanding. Slag, Bumblebee thought, grinding his dentae so hard that he was sure they were going to snap off. Not the best smack talk. Okay, no, he doesn’t know. Just don’t say anything else. Don’t even open your mouth. Seriously. No matter what.

Though, to Bumblebee’s surprise, Ratchet’s stiff pose seemed to unravel quite a bit. “Alright,” Ratchet said, his expression relaxed. “If you say so. Because I’ll be honest with you, kid, I’ve been worried about you. Spending all of that time with Blitzwing, of all mechs. He’s got more than a few screws loose, and I was starting to think that maybe he’d gotten into your processor.”

Bumblebee felt his spark jolt, a burst of fury making his whole frame bristle. But he listened to himself and remained quiet, simply shrugging and trying to look at ease.

Optimus stiffened quite a bit next to Ratchet, giving the medic an alarmed look. “Um, Ratchet? I don’t think—”

“But you’re better than that, aren’t you?” Ratchet said, something like a smirk crossing his face before disappearing once again. “You’d never let a Con get in your head. You’re a tough kid, and Blitzwing is just another crazy Decepticon. One of the craziest, if you ask me.”

Bumblebee seethed as quietly as he could manage, his digits clawing into his armor, nearly scraping the paint off. Optimus glanced at him, then up at Ratchet, starting to frown.

“Ratchet, that’s—”

“I don’t even know how you put up with him for as long as you did,” Ratchet continued, pointedly ignoring Optimus’s protests. “I told Optimus a while ago about how worried I was about you spending time with that freak, but—”

“Shut up!” Bumblebee shouted, the last shreds of his self control snapping, anger suddenly boiling over and sending him quaking to his feet, fists clenched at his sides. “Shut up! You don’t know anything about him so shut up!”

Ratchet’s optics narrowed once again, and Optimus balked on the couch, drawing in his breath sharply, his gaze darting between Ratchet and Bumblebee.

“Um, Bee?” Optimus said tensely.

“Yes, Bumblebee,” Ratchet prompted with so much smugness that Bumblebee debated punching him. “Care to explain that little outburst?”

Slag, Bumblebee thought, though bubbling fury overtook his desperation to stay silent. “He’s not a freak,” he snarled, his voice unrecognizably dark and cold. “Don’t call him that. You don’t know him at all so stop acting like you do, you—you—you old piston-head!”

The insult lamer than Bumblebee would have like, stammered out between furious gasps for air, hating every word he spoke but unable to keep himself quiet. Okay, Blitzwing definitely had a point about me not knowing when to stop talking, he thought, almost sheepishly. But despite the self-consciousness digging at his spark, Bumblebee couldn’t fight down his anger, his knees shaking so violently that he feared he may topple over any minute.

Ratchet was staring at him with a strangely twisted glare—he was quite obviously livid at Bumblebee’s accidental confession, but there was something deeper behind his gaze, something more tragic, something heavy enough to press a weight against Bumblebee’s spark. But Bumblebee shut down his curiosity, seeking only Ratchet’s apology for calling Blitzwing that, the one word that Bumblebee refused to let him be slandered by.

Optimus bravely sliced through the tense silence, stepping into Bumblebee’s field of view, looking positively bewildered. “Bumblebee,” he said slowly. “Is… is he why you’ve been sneaking out?”

Bumblebee bit his lip, scowling past Optimus and focusing all of his rage on Ratchet. Ratchet scoffed, rolling his optics and crossing his arms.

More silence rang in the air.

“What have you been, um… what have you been doing with him?” Optimus tried.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ratchet said suddenly as Bumblebee’s mouth opened in rage. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing or what crazy ideas he’s been putting in your processor, but frankly, I don’t give a slag. You are not to leave this base alone. Ever. Even if I have to watch you all fragging night.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” Bumblebee hissed.

“Bumblebee, listen to me,” Optimus said, looking more worried than Bumblebee had ever seen him. “This really isn’t a good idea, and you shouldn’t be sneaking out anymore, but both of you need to calm down. We can discuss this.”

“I don’t think we can,” Bumblebee snapped.

“Bumblebee,” Optimus said, his tone suddenly much firmer, a frown sharpening his nervous features. “This will be kept just between us, alright? But Blitzwing is our enemy and he can’t be trusted, and I really don’t think you should see him anymore, no matter what it is you’re doing.”

Bumblebee said nothing, turning sharply on his heel and stomping toward his quarters, ignoring Ratchet’s loud protests. He glanced over his shoulder as he turned the corner, watching for a moment as a mildly panicked Optimus leaned down to hold Ratchet in place, saying something that Bumblebee couldn’t hear.

Slag, Bumblebee thought, dashing to his quarters and slamming the door behind him, vaulting over the trash on the floor and hiding under the berth, shaking all over. I’m so screwed, holy frag, I’m so ridiculously screwed. Ratchet’s gonna kill me and I’m not even gonna get to kiss Blitzwing goodbye. Dammit, Bee, why can’t you just shut your mouth for once? Slag, slag, slag!

Bumblebee punched furiously at the floor for a few moments, the paint scraping from his knuckles as painful sobs began to escape his throat. Why couldn’t he just keep quiet? Of course he wanted to defend Blitzwing, but Ratchet would never cut a Decepticon slack, no matter how Bumblebee felt about him. His big mouth had pushed Blitzwing away, and now it was going to push his entire team away.

Bumblebee was certain that Ratchet and Optimus were going to see him as nothing but a traitor. He gulped, trying to keep the fresh tears from flowing as he pounded his fists at the ground. Good timing, at least, he thought mournfully. Now Blitzwing definitely doesn’t have to worry about seeing me.

It wasn’t hard for Megatron to catch glimpses of Blitzwing as of late, given that the triple changer very rarely left his quarters unless directly ordered to do so.

A strange change of pace, certainly, but Megatron was somewhat grateful for it. Blitzwing had always been rather difficult to deal with, bouncing between extreme restlessness and a total unwillingness to do much of anything. But recently, Blitzwing had been remaining out of sight, responding to all orders with strange obedience and finishing his tasks quickly in order to return to what Megatron could only assume was sulking.

The upside to Blitzwing’s reclusiveness, however, was that it was incredibly easy for Megatron to spy on him.

Which was precisely what the warlord was doing now. He watched silently as Blitzwing lay in his berth, a servo absently tracing the spot Sumdac had repeatedly sliced into, as if searching for a scar he would never find. Megatron smirked to himself. Sumdac may have been but an incompetent human piece in Megatron’s puzzle, but his welding skills were to be commended, given that he manged to seal Blitzwing’s plating flawlessly every single time he operated on the triple changer’s t-cog.

Megatron would have chuckled were he careless enough to give away his position. Blitzwing prided himself on his occasional cleverness, but watching him now, Megatron wondered why the fool ever thought he could outsmart the leader of the Decepticons.

He ignored the quiet whirr of Blitzwing’s spinning face as he turned to walk to the command area, humming pleasantly to himself as he approached Sumdac’s seafoam green prison.

“Professor,” Megatron said smoothly, pasting a serene grin on his face. “How comes my project?”

The human glanced up from a surprisingly neat stack of papers, shuffling through them and pulling out a large blue sheet that he stuck against the glass. “Rather well,” he said, the circles under his eyes darker than ever. “I have a strong grasp on the basis of the biology, but I will admit that I’m still rather uncertain on many things.”

“Such as?”

“Well, this, for example,” Sumdac said, pointing a finger at a carefully drawn orb with clusters of pipes arching outwards from its surface. “It appears to contain some sort of fuel carrying system, likely for power, but techno-organic components are a bit of a weakness for me, personally. I study more technology, not biology—b-but I’m sure I can figure it out, given that—”

Sumdac’s voice suddenly faded into nothing, and Megatron raised a brow.

“Continue,” he said coolly.

Sumdac hesitated for a long time before shifting his gaze down, nervously shuffling his feet. “Are you aware that I have a daughter?” he said, so quietly that Megatron barely heard him.

I don’t care. “I was not,” Megatron said. “Given your previous affiliation with the Autobots, however, I assume she would be the small one that carries the key?”

Sumdac seemed too nervous to reply, only managing a short nod. “Well, yes, and… about her. If I continue to help you,” he said softly, something wet making his small human eyes sparkle, “could I please ask you not to hurt her?”

“Who says I haven’t already?” Megatron said nastily.

“Well, Blitzwing said that she—”

Megatron held a hand up, a sharp curiosity making his spark pulse darkly. “Blitzwing said something about your daughter?” he said, his tone as delicate as he could manage.

“Well—I—um—”

The human stammered uselessly for a few moments before Megatron growled at him, and he straightened immediately, eyes wide and frightened.

“Blitzwing only asked about her,” Sumdac said quietly, stumbling over his words. “A-and I got worried that—well, that something may have happened to her, which is why I asked you, and I—”

“Silence,” Megatron hissed. Gears had started turning in his processor rapidly, suspicions that he’d tucked away for months resurfacing as he started to mentally stitch miniscule bits of evidence together. “How many more surgeries will you require for completion of this project?”

“I—well—four more one-hour operations should suffice in terms of gathering information—b-but I’m still in need of quite a bit of data in order to confirm some things, and—”

“Make it three,” Megatron said.

Sumdac blinked in surprise, lowering the sheet of paper slightly. “Th-three?”

“Get it done,” Megatron said, turning around without another word and returning to Blitzwing’s quarters.

He had some things to look into, it seemed.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not that Ratchet’s threat to keep him base-bound hadn’t stuck for more than a few days, but he was certainly wishing now that he could be the plant instead of here.

Ratchet had kept his word in one regard, at least—his optics had been trained on Bumblebee’s frame for days, barely giving the minibot more than a minute out of his sight. Bumblebee had been getting twitchier and twitchier, aching to romp around with Sari like he had been just weeks before, but Ratchet’s now-silent rage was unyielding. And to make matters worse, the medic had started matching his own sleep schedule with Bumblebee’s disastrous one, which was somehow making the old bot even more cantankerous than usual.

Not that Bumblebee was fretting about it at the moment. He was too busy trying to unstick his stiff joints and shatter the casing of ice that seemed to have surrounded his spark as his gaze lingered on Blitzwing’s cold scarlet optics.

Why now? he thought anxiously, trying to force himself to draw his stingers as Prowl pounced silently at Lugnut, catching the brute off guard and whacking him under the jaw with a clanging punch. Come on, Bee, you got this. You’ve fought him tons of times, even when you were still a thing. Just do the usual and go through the motions. You can do this, come on!

“Focus, kid,” Ratchet hissed, surprising Bumblebee with a sharp smack to the back of the helm. Bumblebee winced and rubbed his head, finally snapping out of his trance and ripping his gaze from Blitzwing’s.

“First of all, ow,” he said irritably. “And cool it, would you, old mech? I’m waiting for orders!”

“I gave you orders!” Optimus yelled, charging out of nowhere past Bumblebee and rushing toward Prowl. “Flank left in case one of them pushes forward! Prowl and I will handle the front line. Ratchet, right.”

“You got it,” Ratchet said, glancing at Bumblebee with an odd, indescribable look on his face. “You’re alright, kid. Just stay focused.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bumblebee muttered, drawing his stingers and jogging to the left of the fray, watching as Prowl was slammed into the ground by a strangely irate Lugnut. Ratchet rushed forward and fired his electromagnets, knocking Lugnut’s pede aside just seconds before it would have crushed Prowl’s processor into powder.

Bumblebee grimaced as he watched, though his gaze was rather quickly shifted back to Blitzwing, his tanks dropping as he saw the triple changer break from the pack and begin to rush away. Bumblebee hissed and opened his communications, his spark pounding as he chased after Blitzwing.

“Bulkhead,” he said hurriedly, “you’ve got Sari, right?”

There was a pause before Bulkhead’s reply, but the words sent a wave of relief through Bumblebee’s processor. “She’s alright, little buddy, don’t worry,” Bulkhead said. “What are they after?”

“No idea, but my guess is her key, since Mr. Big, Tall, and Ugly is running after your exhaust fumes right now,” Bumblebee said dryly.

Bulkhead chuckled. “Which one? They’re both pretty big, tall, and ugly.”

“Gotta go.” Bumblebee closed his comm-link and forced all of his overflowing emotions to simmer down, drawing his stingers and taking a deep breath. Attacking Blitzwing was never easy, but this time, a horrible fear was painfully seizing at his spark—was Blitzwing going to bother restraining himself now that his attachment to Bumblebee had been shattered? As much as Bumblebee hated punching his beloved triple changer in the face, there was always the underlying comfort that Blitzwing, at the very least, wouldn’t deliver a fatal retaliation. But now, with no relationship tying them together and encouraging them to silently protect each other, Bumblebee wasn’t sure if he could rely on that safety net anymore.

No time to worry about that, Bumblebee thought, narrowing his optics and pouncing toward Blitzwing’s back. You and Blitzy are through. And you gotta protect Sari.

Blitzwing’s helm swiveled around as the crackling of Bumblebee’s stingers filled the air, and his face spun from red to blue just as Bumblebee landed on his shoulders, burying the sharp tips of his stingers into Blitzwing’s plating. Blitzwing looked surprised for a mere millisecond before his face switched back to crimson with a whirr, and he screamed in pain, wrapping his servos around Bumblebee’s neck, flinging him over his shoulder and straight onto the ground.

Bumblebee landed hard, his HUD flashing irritably as his sensors rattled under his armor. But he forced himself to stand up regardless, blinking rapidly to clear his blurry vision as he faced Blitzwing, staring directly into the terribly familiar sneer.

“Is that all you got, Blitzbrain?” he panted, his stingers popping with a fresh jolt of electricity. “I’ve wrestled harder with humans!”

Blitzwing’s scowl deepened, visor flashing angrily, and Bumblebee jumped aside as a blast of heat from Blitzwing’s cannons licked at one of his legs. His spark did a backflip as his pedes planted back on the ground, looking up at Blitzwing and praying that his panic wasn’t too obvious.

“Are you after Sari’s key?” he demanded, ducking as Blitzwing fired a barrage of blazing bullets in his direction.

“Tire treads,” Blitzwing hissed.

Bumblebee’s sensor net suddenly ignited with an uncomfortable tingling sensation, and he inadvertently lowered his stingers a few inches. “What?” he said.

Blitzwing’s face switched to blue, an unreadable expression claiming his features. “What do you mean, ‘what’?” he said, his voice low. “We—”

“Bumblebee!” Prowl shouted, somewhere to Bumblebee’s left, his voice laced with static. “Down!”

“Wh—”

Bumblebee didn’t get a chance to react before a mass of purple and green suddenly slammed into him full-force, knocking all of the air from his vents and spraying a series of warnings across his HUD. He uttered a choked off yelp of shock as he felt his frame ram against the ground yet again, pinned between unforgiving asphalt and the entirety of Lugnut’s bulk.

“Blitzwing, go,” Lugnut said coldly, raising a pincer-like servo and unveiling a large red button in the center. “Our Lord and Master needs that key.”

Bumblebee squirmed to no avail, panic ripping through his processor as the button began to blink faster and faster, threatening to explode on impact. “Uh, Prime?” he yelled, optics locked on Lugnut’s servo as it ascended threateningly. “Little help here!”

The ground trembled as a collection of heavy footsteps moved in Bumblebee’s direction, but he could tell that his team wouldn’t arrive in time—Lugnut’s servo had started to drop, and Bumblebee had no choice but to squeeze his optics shut and hope that, somehow, the Decepticon would miss a target at point blank.

But suddenly, he heard a loud slam, and the mass disappeared from his chest, leaving him wheezing as energon began to flow freely into his circuits once again. He pried his optics back open, amazed that one of his teammates had managed to save him so quickly, though his optics grew wide when he realized they were still at least ten yards away.

Lugnut’s single optic was glowing with rage, locked on Blitzwing, who was wearing a massive crimson grin, bouncing back and forth on his pedes in a self-satisfied dance. Bumblebee looked up at him, and Blitzwing’s grin only grew wider, his whole face seeming to shimmer with glee.

“Fool!” Lugnut shouted, taking a menacing step toward Blitzwing. “The key!”

“Oops!” Blitzwing sang. “Meant to kick the bug!”

Lugnut growled, a deep rumble of fury emanating from somewhere deep inside his chassis. “Our Master will hear of this,” he said. “And you will—”

His impending monologue was interrupted as an axe collided with his optic, and he bellowed in pain, hurling the axe to the ground and whirling to face a rapidly approaching Optimus. Optimus swept down to reclaim his axe, Prowl appearing out of absolutely nowhere from behind him and flinging two shurikens at Blitzwing. They landed flawlessly, digging into each of Blitzwing’s arms, sending the triple changer’s face spinning back to a cruel crimson frown.

“Your blades are nothing, Autobot,” he spat. “Now prepare to—hey!”

Bumblebee watched with bewilderment as Lugnut’s arms suddenly wrapped around Blitzwing, the thrusters on his back wailing as he launched himself skyward with Blitzwing in tow. Within seconds, the two of them were gone, leaving behind only a mass of crumbled asphalt and a trail of smoke in their wake. A stunned silence hung heavy in the air as the Autobots stared skyward, too bewildered to speak.

“What just happened?” Bumblebee said dumbly.

“Are you okay?” Optimus asked, blatantly ignoring Bumblebee’s question.

Only then did Bumblebee realize that he was still sprawled on the ground, and he quickly sat up, scanning through the errors on his HUD. “Yeah,” he said, shaking his helm. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good work stopping them from crossing you,” Optimus said warmly, reaching a servo toward Bumblebee, helping to tug him to his pedes.

“Using yourself as a shield against two Decepticons is certainly a bold method,” Prowl said wryly.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Bumblebee said, only halfway paying attention, his optics still locked on the ribbon of smoke hanging in the air. Did Blitzwing just…? he thought uncertainly. No, he wouldn’t have saved me like that. Not in front of Lugnut. Right? No way. He’d get in trouble if he did that.

Bumblebee wasn’t sure why he was denying it even in his own thoughts—Blitzwing had admitted aloud kicked Lugnut’s pede aside. But why? He’d broken up with Bumblebee, hadn’t he? So why would he put his own safety at risk for Bumblebee anymore? Clearly Lugnut was not too thrilled about the interruption.

“What happened?” Bumblebee repeated, hoping for some clarification on the situation, wondering why a cold fist had suddenly gripped his spark. “Why’d they run like that?”

Optimus bit his lip briefly, glancing at Ratchet as the medic slowly approached. There was an odd tightness in his expression, and his gaze was fixed firmly on Bumblebee, his optics hard.

“Well, um,” Optimus said, “it sort of looked like—it was hard to tell, since we were running, but—”

“It appeared as though Blitzwing kicked Lugnut’s servo aside before hitting you,” Prowl said flatly, never one to beat around the bush.

Bumblebee felt an icy chill slither down his spinal strut, trying and failing to meet Ratchet’s gaze. Why would he do that? he thought, trying not to theorize about the implications of Lugnut’s very abrupt removal of Blitzwing from the scene. He’s supposed to be the smart one! Megatron’s gonna be so slagging mad if Lugnut tells him—oh, scrap, everyone’s still looking at me. What am I supposed to tell Prowl?

“Well, uh, my optics were closed, so I, uh, you know, I didn’t really see,” he stammered, fighting for composure and failing miserably as he stumbled through a badly planned lie. “Maybe he just, um—he, uh, he had the giggly face on, right? So maybe—uh—maybe—he, uh, was just playing a prank or, uh… something?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Optimus said, quickly cutting off Prowl’s attempt to speak. “What matters is that you’re alright. And that Sari is safe at the base.”

“R-right,” Bumblebee managed, looking nervously at Ratchet. “Um… she is safe, right?”

“Bulkhead?” Optimus said, pressing a finger to his comm-link. “Did you and Sari make it back?”

“Yup,” Bulkhead replied, sounding rather worn out. “Where’d the Cons go? I was expecting a chase.”

“They left,” Optimus said bluntly. “Sit tight. We’ll be back in a few cycles.”

“Copy that, boss—hey! Sari, no! Out of the vending machine!”

Bulkhead’s comm cut out abruptly, and Bumblebee snickered, pleased to hear that Sari was unfazed enough by the attack to steal candy from her rescuers. Though his good mood was quickly stomped on when he felt Ratchet’s gaze pressing against him, and he turned around to raise a brow at the medic.

“Can I help you?” Bumblebee said tightly.

Ratchet didn’t respond for a few moments, simply giving Bumblebee a look filled with far too many emotions to fully untangle. Bumblebee folded his arms over his aching chest and turned back around with an irritated huff.

“Don’t be mad because you were wrong about him,” Bumblebee said in a much lower voice, not wanting Prowl to overhear.

“Who said I was wrong?” Ratchet hissed back.

“You’re not blind, are you, old bot?” Bumblebee teased harshly. “You saw what he did.”

“And I also saw you scrambling to lie about it,” Ratchet growled.

“So?”

“So, if you really believed he was a good mech, you would’ve been happy to tell Prowl about it.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth to argue before promptly shutting it, tightening his arms over his chest. “You’re annoying,” he grumbled. “And wrong, for the record. I just don’t want to have to explain everything to Prowl. I do think Blitzwing is a good—”

“Save it,” Ratchet said, waving a servo dismissively and jogging to catch up with Optimus.

Bumblebee gritted his dentae and stared at the backs of his teammates for a while as they walked, his processor racing through too many thoughts to count. Ratchet’s just trying to find excuses not to trust him, Bumblebee thought bitterly. Not that it fragging matters. He left me. But then why didn’t he let Lugnut kill me? Primus, I’m so confused.

Bumblebee rubbed his helm, trying to massage the growing ache away, looking up at the slowly dissipating smoke trail splitting the sky above them. He wanted to pack down the increasing worry for Blitzwing’s safety, reminding himself over and over that the triple changer was no longer his concern, that it was no use stressing over things he couldn’t control.

But as he watched the smoke grow thinner and thinner, he couldn’t help but hope that he’d see Blitzwing again on the battlefield. Even if it meant fighting, Bumblebee would be relieved just to know that he was safe.

Blitzwing had long since stopped being surprised at just how rapidly Lugnut’s moods could change when in the presence of their great and glorious leader. Just minutes ago, he’d been rambling on and on about Blitzwing’s idiocy and insolence, scolding him over and over with rage hanging heavy on every word he said.

But now that they were back at the base, Lugnut was meek at Megatron’s pedes—quite literally. He had dipped into a bow the moment Megatron had come into view, his helm dipped as Megatron asked the very question Blitzwing had been dreading.

“Where is the key?”

Blitzwing clenched his jaw, not bothering to speak, fighting the urge to roll his optics as Lugnut immediately launched into an endless flurry of excuses. “We fought as hard as possible, my liege,” he said, remaining low to the ground as he spoke. “The Autobots fought as weakly as ever, and we were quick to overpower them, but—”

“Stop groveling,” Megatron said irritably.

Lugnut shot to his pedes, nodding vigorously. “My apologies,” he said hurriedly. “We gained the upper hand, and I, as your loyal servant, was more than ready to claim the life of an Autobot, for he dared to stand between you and the key you desire. But as I prepared to extinguish his spark, Blitzwing—”

“We didn’t get the key because Lugnut missed his punch,” Blitzwing interrupted snidely.

“Lies!” Lugnut shouted, his optic burning with fury. “My failed aim was not fault of my own, my Lord! Please believe me! Blitzwing kicked my arm away at the last second, and I was forced to turn off the power to my blow lest I damage myself and become less useful to your gloriousness!”

“Is that right?” Megatron said coolly, glancing at Blitzwing with a curious smirk on his face. “Now, why would you do such a thing, Blitzwing?”

“I was bored,” Blitzwing said, feeling his grin stretch far too wide as a giggle bubbled from his vocalizer. “Lugnut takes too long to do things.”

“Do not paint me in such a negative light in front of our leader!” Lugnut snapped.

“Which Autobot was it?” Megatron asked.

Blitzwing felt his tanks drop, icy worry reclaiming his processor as he looked into Megatron’s searing crimson optics. “The yellow minibot, my liege,” he said as flatly as possible.

“How interesting,” Megatron purred.

Blitzwing felt like his sensors were becoming encased with ice, but he stood his ground, merely shrugging. “The bug tends to get in the way often,” he said plainly. “He presents himself with many opportunities to be taken offline.”

“And yet, he remains online,” Megatron said.

“If Blitzwing had not interfered, I assure you the Autobot would no longer be of this world!” Lugnut said, jamming himself back into the conversation, much to Blitzwing’s relief. “Any Autobot that stands in your way will be annihilated, my glorious Megatron, and I will personally—”

“Silence, Lugnut,” Megatron said sharply, his optics digging like daggers into Blitzwing’s, unblinking and unwavering. “I’ve heard enough. To your quarters, both of you. Professor Sumdac needs quiet to work, and I doubt either of you know the meaning of the word.”

Lugnut turned at once and trudged to his quarters, but Blitzwing felt frozen under Megatron’s stare, his joints feeling as though they were completely locked in place. Megatron’s expression hadn’t changed since they had arrived, a smirk tugging at his lips but not quite reaching his optics, which remained frigid as ever.

“Do you need something, Blitzwing?” Megatron asked, shattering the silence like glass.

Blitzwing’s dentae clenched as he shook his helm. “No.”

“Then I suggest you take your leave as ordered,” Megatron said, still smirking.

Why isn’t he punishing me? Blitzwing thought. Lugnut told him that I kept Bumblebee alive, and he has nothing to say for it? What is he thinking?

Blitzwing’s joints seemed to unstick all at once as Megatron’s smirk grew wider, and he spun on his heel and walked as quickly as he could to his room, spark thudding in his chest. And why was Bumblebee so confused when I said ‘tire treads’? he thought, his servos tightening into panicked fists as he felt Megatron’s optics boring holes into his back. He knows what that means. Is he still upset with me about that fight we had?

Blitzwing practically slammed the door to his quarters shut as he rushed inside, his back pressed against the door as he struggled to draw fresh air into his vents. It would be impossible for Megatron to know based on today alone, he told himself. You haven’t messaged Bumblebee in weeks. There is no evidence in this base that could possibly raise suspicion. Panicking will only make things worse.

He pulled a long rush of air through his vents, trying to calm his frazzled sensors as he made his way to the berth, gazing longingly at his datapad. And now is not the time to message him, he thought firmly. Patience and time is the only thing that will keep him safe, so long as I stop making stupid mistakes.

Blitzwing rubbed his helm, silently wishing that his processor would function normally for once. He knew that he had to stop acting so impulsively, for his own sake and for Bumblebee’s, but he couldn’t seem to manage it. Megatron’s terrifying gaze was not only lingering on him day in and day out, but it was starting to reappear in his dreams, and the stress was nearing the point of being completely unbearable. Blitzwing dug his trembling digits into his cheeks, tugging at the soft plating.

“Just a little longer,” he whispered to himself. “Just a little longer, just a little longer.”

He felt like a fool for muttering to no one, but the simplicity of the repeated statement succeeded in calming his processor after a few long minutes. All he had to do was hold on and act normal until Megatron found something else to focus his attention on.

Or so he hoped, at least.

Megatron wasn’t nearly as surprised as he should have been, but he credited that to his current lack of certainty.

He knew, without a doubt, that Blitzwing was doing something with the Autobots. He didn’t have sufficient evidence to confirm such a fact, nor did he need any: Blitzwing’s strange behavior was all but explained today, when the idiot assaulted his own teammate in order to protect the spark of an Autobot.

Perhaps it was the yellow one that Blitzwing was fraternizing with, the one he had gotten lost with so many months ago. Megatron had yet to stop being suspicious of Blitzwing’s conduct since that excursion, and while Blitzwing flatly denied any association with the minibot, Megatron was starting to question the truthfulness of anything Blitzwing said. Especially considering that the minibot had been rescued by Blitzwing just hours ago.

Fortunately, the details of the situation weren’t anything to be concerned about—Blitzwing was doing something traitorous, without a doubt, and that only made Megatron more glad to see his human hard at work in the command area.

“Professor Sumdac,” he said calmly. “I trust that our project is reaching its conclusion, as I ordered?”

The human nodded, looking to be in worse shape than ever, the circles under his eyes a deep shade of plum. “Yes, sir,” Sumdac said, ruffling his hands through his hair and looking around the room. “No one else is here?”

“Not a spark in sight,” Megatron said.

Sumdac nodded once again and crawled under one of his desks, rolling out a surprisingly large, sheet-draped orb from underneath, panting as he did so. “I am only missing one component, it appears,” he said hazily. “You mentioned a… ah… something with a ‘q’ at the beginning, some sort of stabilizing agent? It’s right on the tip of my tongue, I’m just—forgive me, I’m rather exhausted, I’ve been working very hard on this for you—”

“And your efforts are greatly appreciated,” Megatron said rather mockingly, for both of them knew that Sumdac had little choice in the matter. “‘Quintesson’ would be the word you were looking for.”

“Quintesson, yes, that’s the one, thank you,” Sumdac said, yanking the sheet from the large sphere and revealing a huge, intricately wired mass of metal. “Pardon its appearance—I know it looks like quite a disaster, but it’s nearly identical to Blitzwing’s, believe it or not. The wiring takes up nearly half of his entire abdomen.”

“A likely necessity, given that having a single alt mode is standard among Cybertronians, and our frames are designed thusly,” Megatron said, trying not to let his excitement show on his face. “It’s glorious, Professor. Very, very well done.”

“Not quite,” Sumdac said, wringing his hands together nervously. “Are you certain that this… ‘Quintesson’ will stabilize it? I hesitate to even move it, really, given it is, ah, rather temperamental.”

“I have it on good authority that QNA is the last piece of our t-cog puzzle, Professor,” Megatron purred, leaning down to get a closer look at the t-cog shimmering before him.

Sumdac looked up at Megatron blankly. “‘Good authority’?” he repeated.

“I will not claim to know the intricacies of Quintesson technology or biology,” Megatron said shortly. “But I was there when Blitzwing was reassembled. So I can say that yes, I am fully aware that QNA is the stabilizing agent you need.”

“Forgive me, Megatron, but I don’t know exactly what QNA is,” Sumdac said, sounding incredibly nervous, knitting his tiny fingers together. “It doesn’t sound like anything that can be obtained on this planet, so I—”

“You are correct about that,” Megatron said, cutting him short. “But rest assured, you will obtain some before the end of the deca-cycle. Ensure that you are capable of replacing my t-cog by then.”

Sumdac looked incredibly lost, but Megatron didn’t care, simply turning around and pinging Swindle with a smile on his face.

I have an urgent order to place, and I will pay extra if you rush the delivery.

With the promise of extra credits, Swindle would have QNA in Megatron’s hands before the sun set tomorrow. He chuckled to himself, barely passing a glance at Blitzwing’s door as he made his way to his own quarters.

There were few feelings as satisfying as catching a traitor, and knowing that he would soon be powerful enough to single handedly destroy the Autobots by the end of the week was one of them.

Chapter Text

Blitzwing rolled over on his berth once again, pinning his wings back in the hopes that laying on his side might prove to be more comfortable than on his back. But his joints still felt stiff, his thoughts whizzing out of control, no sense of relaxation overcoming him despite the peaceful silence lingering in the air. Every drag of air through his vents tasted heavy, metallic, electric, stressful, but Blitzwing tried to credit that to the brewing storm grumbling in the sky outside.

Megatron had been leaving Blitzwing and Lugnut to their own devices for the past couple of days, and Blitzwing was taking advantage of it as much as he could. He stayed tucked away in his quarters as often as he was allowed, only leaving his room to get fuel before retreating to solitude with almost frantic speed.

But it was growing more and more difficult to shake the unease that accompanied alone time. Blitzwing was more than happy to remain hidden from Megatron’s prying crimson optics, but the sudden willingness Megatron had shown in regards to leaving Blitzwing alone was borderline alarming. An uncomfortable weight had settled deep in Blitzwing’s spark, but he forced himself to ignore it, trying to convince himself that it was merely paranoia. He hadn’t suffered from nightmares in quite a few days, so he should be grateful for the respite from the constant tug-of-war being fought in his processor.

But nonetheless, the heavy press of trepidation remained.

Blitzwing found himself staring at the ceiling with no real sense of what time of day it was, letting thoughts drift across his processor as slowly as they chose to, paying few of them any real attention. Bumblebee, Megatron, Blackarachnia, Professor Sumdac, every mech and organic Blitzwing had ever known was given a moment in his mind, though he couldn’t seem to make any of them stay for much longer than a few seconds.

Other than Bumblebee, of course. Blitzwing’s thoughts always seemed to return to him no matter how far they strayed. He sighed and closed his optics, a servo brushing over the datapad resting on his lap as thunder rumbled high in the sky, a flash of lightning just barely stabbing its shards of white light through the cracks in the walls.

Bumblebee had been acting unusual during their last encounter, and Blitzwing couldn’t stop wondering what the reasoning was. The little Autobot was quite capable of holding a grudge, that much was for sure, but Blitzwing couldn’t fathom a reason why he would be the subject of Bumblebee’s confusing anger. Their fight had been less than civil, but as much as Bumblebee was stubborn, he had also never behaved quite like this.

Not since the woods, at least. Blitzwing sighed and reopened his optics, unlocking his datapad and glancing over the messages he’d last sent to Bumblebee.

It made his spark ache with yearning, seeing the barely concealed excitement in each of Bumblebee’s stupid emoticons, the little smiley faces built expertly out of symbols on the keyboard. Blitzwing felt a grin tugging at his lips as he trailed a digit down the screen, reading further and further until he reached the last thing he sent.

We shouldn’t see each other.

Blitzwing frowned to himself, looking over the message a few times. It seemed much blunter now that he was looking back at it, much harsher in its wording. He’d been panicking at the time of sending, but reading it with a mostly clear processor, he wondered if perhaps it had been a bit too harsh.

We shouldn’t see each other.

“Oh, slag,” Blitzwing whispered to himself, raising a servo to his mouth as gears started to turn in his processor. He had been so certain that his brusque message would make sense—Bumblebee was the only that seemed to truly understand him regardless of how Blitzwing spoke or if he even spoke at all. But the more Blitzwing stared at the message, the more furious it started to look, the letters spinning and twisting into angry, gnarled shapes, reading quite clearly as a statement of frustrated emotional defeat rather than a well intentioned warning.

Oh, frag, no, Blitzwing thought, his fingers starting to tremble ever so slightly. He doesn’t think—no, I didn’t mean forever, not like that! Slag!

He mentally cursed himself for picking the worst possible times to devise cryptic messages like these, and his fingers hovered over the keys, focused intently on a more appropriate way to word his feelings. Perhaps something along the lines of ‘we can’t see each other for a while because I think Megatron is onto me,’ Blitzwing thought, tapping out the first few words and deleting them immediately after. No, no, that’s too long. ‘I still want to see you, but Megatron is suspicious.’ No, I should say ‘he,’ not ‘Megatron.’ ‘I still want to see you, but he is suspicious.’ Or maybe I should—

“Messaging someone?”

Blitzwing gasped aloud and dropped his datapad directly onto his face, rocketing into a sitting position as the device clattered loudly to the floor, the screen flickering and fading to black. “M-Megatron,” he stammered, struggling to claim his composure. “I—wasn’t expecting you. My apologies for the reaction, I’m—well—”

“No worries,” Megatron said, optics burning a violent crimson, a thin smile adorning his faceplates. “Lugnut is just down the hall, is he not? I know you’ve been quite recluse as of late, but I am quite sure that you can simply walk to his room if you intend to speak with him rather than sending a message his way?”

Alarms were firing nonstop in Blitzwing’s processor, and he struggled to keep his expression calm, shrugging as nonchalantly as possible. Just stay calm and play along. He’ll leave eventually. “I suppose,” Blitzwing said. “But I didn’t want to bother him if he was busy, so I—”

“Do not take me for a fool, Blitzwing.”

Blitzwing’s throat closed, and he only barely managed to choke out a single word. “S-sorry?”

Megatron’s smirk had disappeared, replaced with something far more sinister, his optics smoldering like coals in his helm. He took a step forward, and Blitzwing shrank back on instinct, frenzied memories of his previous encounters with an angry Megatron erupting in his processor.

But Megatron merely swooped down and lifted his datapad, tapping at the screen.

“Tell me who you were messaging,” he said, lazily entering in a few incorrect passcodes.

“I—Lugnut, as I said,” Blitzwing said, swallowing hard. “But I never sent the message, so it’s likely gone by—”

Megatron’s optics slid sharply to Blitzwing’s, his expression darkening but his optics remaining horribly vivid. “I said not to take me for a fool,” he said, tone black as night.

“I’m not, my liege, I’m simply telling you—”

Megatron’s servo suddenly closed around the datapad like a vice, and with a horrible screech, it snapped in two, glass splintering and raining across the floor. Blitzwing flinched, shrinking down as much as he could, his monocular attempting feverishly to find a suitable escape route.

Something was very, very wong.

“How long have you been lying to me?” Megatron continued, unclenching his servo and letting the last of Blitzwing’s demolished datapad sprinkle to the floor. “At least a few months, I presume?”

Blitzwing’s vents stall as his vocalizer attempted another lie and failed miserably. “I—my liege, I’m—I haven’t—”

Megatron growled and took another step toward Blitzwing, his arm flashing forward before Blitzwing could react and wrapping around his neck, lifting him directly from the berth. Blitzwing only barely held back a scream of panic, his servos latching around Megatron’s, struggling to loosen the impossibly tight grip.

“M-my Lord,” he gasped. “I—”

“Blitzwing,” Megatron said condescendingly, his optics burning hotter than flames. “You know very well how this routine works. Tell me what you know or I will be forced to make you tell me.”

“I don’t know anything,” Blitzwing said immediately, only one thought on his mind despite the fingers currently crushing the lines in his neck—don’t say a word about Bumblebee.

“Why bother lying to me?” Megatron said smoothly, spinning Blitzwing around and slamming him roughly against the wall, rattling the rocks around them and denting the thin plating of Blitzwing’s wings. “You know very well that I know something. It will be much easier for both of us if you simply tell me. Lying never was a good look on you.”

Blitzwing’s HUD blinked irritably with a few minor warnings, but he brushed them away, staring directly into Megatron’s optics despite the fear rocketing through his systems. “I don’t know anything,” he repeated, anger starting to boil over and turn his vision red. “Give me a hint as to what the frag you’re talking about, and maybe I’ll—”

Blitzwing hissed as pain exploded across his chest, errors igniting and flaring insistently across his HUD. He lifted a shaking servo to the source and felt Megatron’s fist retract slowly from his cockpit, the destroyed Decepticon insignia falling to the ground in a cloud of black and purple glass.

“Always one to rebel against authority, aren’t you, triple changer?” Megatron said venomously. “Though I blame myself, in a sense, thinking that you were capable of rational thought.”

Blitzwing growled and returned his grip to Megatron’s servos, ignoring the searing pain spreading through his chassis and the dig of Megatron’s words against his audials. “You won’t really hurt me,” he snarled. “You need me.”

“Do I?” Another blow landed against Blitzwing’s frame, colliding flawlessly with the soft plating protecting Blitzwing’s tanks. He gasped and coughed hard, tasting energon and oil and smoke on his glossa. Say nothing, he thought, swinging a leg uselessly toward Megatron in a feeble attempt to free himself. He’s baiting you.

“Whatever you think I know is wrong,” Blitzwing said, spitting a thin stream of oil to the floor as it threatened to drip down his face. “Let me go!”

“Who is it?” Megatron asked.

“W—?”

Megatron dropped Blitzwing to the floor and, in an instant, slammed a pede onto his stomach, expression cold and tight. Blitzwing’s vents stalled and hissed, erupting with streams of thick black smoke, only temporarily smothering the brutal red glare being stabbed in his direction.

“Who is it?” Megatron repeated, grinding his heel into Blitzwing’s frame with a deafening screech of metal on metal.

“Who is what?” Blitzwing wheezed dumbly, hacking up another mouthful of oil and spitting it to the ground. Megatron sneered and shifted his pede toward Blitzwing’s face, dangling it just inches away.

“Is it the pathetic little bug that Lugnut intended to take offline?” Megatron asked. “Or perhaps the big green one would be stupid enough to work with you?”

“I don’t know what—”

Blitzwing’s words were cut short as Megatron’s pede dropped onto his face, a mountain of errors flashing across Blitzwing’s HUD and beeping loudly in his processor. Blitzwing couldn’t swallow down a shriek of agony, digits scrabbling at Megatron’s pede as it pushed down harder, feeling his dentae crack and faceplates split open, hot sparks from splintered wires scattering over his optics.

“Tell me which and perhaps I will consider sparing your spark, you traitor,” Megatron said, his voice muffled as though echoing from a thousand miles away.

He lifted his pede, and Blitzwing wheezed, trying to clamber upright, reaching for his face in a weak attempt to assess the damage. His view of Megatron was blurry and spinning, coated with a thin film of static that he couldn’t seem to override, but he stood his ground as firmly as he could.

I have to protect Bumblebee. No matter what it takes.

“You’ll never find out,” Blitzwing said, voice laced with static, ignoring the dentae that fell out of his mouth and the pain radiating through every sensor in his face.

Megatron laughed and swung his pede at Blitzwing once again, catching him directly under the chin and snapping Blitzwing’s helm back so fast that he felt plating crack. Pain exploded behind his optics as the whiplash nearly split his spinal strut, and he collapsed backwards, HUD so coated in errors that he could barely see, optics flickering in and out in dizzyingly random intervals.

“Oh, but I will,” Megatron said, strolling languorously toward Blitzwing and stomping on his leg, reopening the wound from so many months ago. Blitzwing screamed as the scars split open, a hot rush of energon spilling onto the ground. A cluster of sensors below the knee overloaded and died with a snap, leaving behind an awful tingling sensation that was somehow worse than the increasingly unbearable agony.

I’m going to die, Blitzwing thought hazily, barely able to focus on Megatron’s glowing red optics. I’m going to die and I’m never going to get to see Bumblebee again.

“Tell me their name,” Megatron said again, his pede pressing so hard against Blitzwing’s knee that he feared that his leg may snap off entirely.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blitzwing said, his voice garbled, shifting wildly between octaves as his vocalizer attempted to repair itself.

Megatron chuckled darkly and moved his pede to Blitzwing’s other knee, smashing it and sending an eruption of shrapnel scattering across the room. Blitzwing’s scream of pain faded into a pathetic whimper, the errors on his HUD morphing into a single message: Critical error imminent. Seek repairs immediately.

“All I’ve ever asked is for you to listen,” Megatron said casually, his pede beating into every part of Blitzwing’s frame that it could reach. “You have always been an incompetent, useless mech, and you always will be an incompetent, useless mech. Even after all I did for you, to improve you, you still lie to my face? I thought I taught you that disrespect would not be tolerated. I must say, Blitzwing, I’m very disappointed with you.”

Blitzwing tried to speak, gagging out a single burst of static just as Megatron planted a pede onto his throat. Smoke erupted from Blitzwing’s mouth, tears and energon streaming down his face in thick rivulets. His spark was beating feverishly, far too fast, his sensors slowly abandoning the overpowering pain in lieu of a terribly cold, clammy sensation.

Is this what dying feels like? he thought vaguely, his cracked right optic sputtering and going dark. Everything hurt all at once, but strangely, he felt numb at the same time, every ounce of pain seeming to disappear as soon as it manifested, hot sensory knives melting into ice. He barely registered that Megatron was still talking, his fusion cannon starting to glow as he dug a heel into Blitzwing’s shattered cockpit.

“No wonder you refused to kill that Autobot when you were lost in the woods ‘alone,’” Megatron said with a dark chuckle. “You’re pathetic, Blitzwing. You’re soft. And it appears you’re just as worthless as I always suspected you to be. A pity that your processor isn’t as powerful as your frame.”

Blitzwing spat a mouthful of smoke in Megatron’s direction, trying and failing to speak, his vision starting to tunnel. All he could see was two cruel, crimson orbs leering down at him, silently broiling with hatred and fury.

“I told you that I would not tolerate your loose cannon behavior under my command,” Megatron murmured, aiming his fusion cannon directly at Blitzwing’s spark. “And you have proved that you are nothing more than a waste of space and resources.”

“If—going—kill me,” Blitzwing managed, his monocular spitting sparks before cascading him into total darkness. “Just—do—it.”

Blitzwing heard Megatron’s fusion cannon discharging, an evil chorus of laughter ringing through the air as a warning splashed across Blitzwing’s HUD: Primary end effector detached. Initiating emergency self repair protocols. Entering shutdown.

“No, Blitzwing,” Megatron purred. “I don’t think I will. But know this—I am very, very tempted to do so. But I do not take requests from traitors. Killing you would be a mercy, of which you deserve none.”

Blitzwing felt his frame get hoisted up, wires in one of his hands splitting and leaving the servo abandoned somewhere on the floor. He didn’t even care, far too busy trying to stay conscious, flashes of Bumblebee’s warm, loving smile splattering across his processor as energon flowed from his optics and gushed onto the floor.

“You are no longer welcome at this base,” Megatron said, tossing Blitzwing over what must’ve been his shoulder. “And if I should see your face—any of your faces, rather—again, in any state of repair, then I will not hesitate to take you offline. With any luck, I will find your empty shell and can use you for spare parts.”

Blitzwing groaned weakly, unable to comprehend most of what Megatron was saying, letting his thoughts wander to Bumblebee as his systems started to shut down one by one. Whatever it takes, he thought. Stay safe without me, little one.

“Goodbye, Blitzwing.” Blitzwing’s frame shifted from Megatron’s shoulder, lifting him by a neck so damaged that Blitzwing momentarily feared that his helm may pop off. “Thank you for proving to me that no mech can ever change.”

Megatron’s self-satisfied voice barely registered in Blitzwing’s mind, and all of his systems went dark as he felt himself suddenly get dropped. But the floor never came, and neither did any more of Megatron’s words, and Blitzwing finally released his hold on his processor and let everything go dark.

Megatron watched idly as Blitzwing’s limp frame smashed against the side of the cliff, spinning out of control for a few moments before landing in the river below amongst an eruption of water. The river shimmered with shades of pink as energon leaked from Blitzwing’s body, a thick cloud of smoke curling skyward as sparks flew from the shattered cockpit like fireworks.

If Blitzwing wasn’t dead now, he surely would be soon. Megatron contemplated firing a single shot down at the traitorous moron, further ensuring that he would go offline, but he shook his helm quietly with a smirk. No Decepticon that would fraternize with Autobots deserved an easy death. And even if Blitzwing could make it to the Autobots alive, he would personally see to it that Shockwave would have the Elite Guard imprison him and leave him to rot.

But it would certainly be easier to take him offline now, Megatron thought, raising his fusion cannon once again and pointing it at Blitzwing’s motionless frame hundreds of feet below. And far less risky. It may be a mercy he does not deserve, but—

“M-my Lord?”

Megatron rolled his optics before lowering his cannon and turning around, meeting gazes with a bewildered Lugnut. “Hello, Lugnut,” he said calmly. “I thought you were preoccupied in your quarters.”

“I heard a commotion, my liege, and I…” Lugnut peered around Megatron’s frame, his optic following the trail of smoke down to Blitzwing before widening. “My Lord…?”

“Blitzwing has proved himself to be a traitor,” Megatron said. “I thought it fit to dispose of him.”

Lugnut stared in silence for a few moments before nodding, lowering his helm before Megatron. “All those who betray your gloriousness deserve the fate that awaits them,” he said, sounding almost rehearsed in his inflections. “Though, if I may ask, what did… what did he do?”

“I am not completely certain on the details, but he was affiliating with Autobots,” Megatron said. “Though said details are not important. Come.”

“I do not mean to question your methods, my Lord, nor your wiseness in any manner,” Lugnut said, hurrying after Megatron as he made a beeline for Professor Sumdac. “But—Blitzwing was a significant tactical advantage, given his dominance of the air and the land, and—”

“Blitzwing’s superior frame type is no longer a concern,” Megatron said simply.

Lugnut’s steps seemed to slow for a moment as they entered the command area, though Megatron paid it no mind. “Pardon, my Lord?” Lugnut asked.

“Professor,” Megatron said, ignoring Lugnut as he approached the glistening glass cell, unable to flatten the smile gracing his features. “Please show Lugnut the fruits of your labor.”

The human lifted his gaze from his computer, tiny eyes growing wide. “Already?” he said, voice high and stressed.

“Yes,” Megatron said. “Already.”

He reached into his subspace and pulled out a slender glass vial, gently swirling the contents of his purchase from Swindle around its container. The substance seemed to pulse, a wispy cloud of translucent particulates twirling within a clear suspension. Lugnut’s helm cocked to the side, optic shrinking as he squinted at the emulsion.

“What is that, my Lord?” he asked quietly.

“QNA,” Megatron said, locking his optics onto Professor Sumdac’s puzzled face.

“I… expected more,” the human said.

“I do not wish to undergo the dramatic aftereffects that plagued Blitzwing’s processor,” Megatron said shortly. “You will use as little as necessary for the t-cog to function as intended.”

“T-cog?” Lugnut blurted stupidly. “I—my Lord, I’m afraid I am not following—are you saying that—did you dispose of Blitzwing in order to—?”

“Dispose of?” Sumdac said, his eyes growing wide enough to test the limits of his skull. “Did you kill him?”

“Your frame has undergone massive changes recently, my Lord!” Lugnut said, looking concerned. “And the power of the Allspark is not with us, so if there is an issue—”

“What did you kill him for? He was a bit strange, yes, but he—”

“We cannot afford to lose you again, my liege, are you certain that—”

“Enough questions, both of you,” Megatron snapped, shutting both of them up instantly. “Lugnut, prepare to supervise the surgery.”

“Supervise?” Lugnut said, his optic shifting around confusedly. “What for, my Lord?”

Megatron chuckled and reached toward the latch on the top of Sumdac’s prison. “Because I will never trust a human with my incapacitated frame,” he said. “I will not be unconscious, as per my request, but I will be incapable of movement and transformation for quite some time. And you, Lugnut, are not to come near me with your clumsy servos unless you feel that I am in immediate danger.”

He shot a fiery glare at Sumdac. “Take that into consideration, human, if you have decided that you would like to make an attempt at an escape,” he said darkly.

Sumdac visibly shuddered before nodding, climbing under his desk and gently rolling the t-cog from its hiding space. Megatron smiled as he reached for it, taking it delicately between his fingers and lifting it high, admiring the handiwork, optics sliding hungrily from its complex, sleek surface.

“Well done, Professor,” he said.

Lugnut nodded insistently, his jaw slightly slack with amazement. “You will be even grander than you are now, my great and glorious leader,” he crooned. “Your brilliance never fails to amaze me. But, if you are utilizing the same techniques that Blackarachnia used on Blitzwing, are you not concerned about suffering the same trauma to your processor?”

“Blitzwing’s will was weak,” Megatron said coldly. “I will not struggle as he did.”

Lugnut nodded more, optic shimmering with obvious glee. “Of course not, my Lord,” he said. “Your strength and willpower knows no bounds.”

Megatron swallowed the urge to smack him and lowered his free servo to Sumdac, curling his digits in a blatant invitation. “Come now, Professor,” he said. “You have much work to do.”

Chapter Text

“Come on,” Bumblebee mumbled, staring intently as his datapad. “Just do it. Come on. Don’t be a wuss, just do it.”

The message he’d written had been sitting idly for quite some time now, unsent, with Bumblebee’s thumb hovering anxiously over the unpressed button that would deliver it to Blitzwing.

I know you miss me, and I miss you. Same place, tomorrow? Please?

It was longer than Bumblebee usually let himself write, but he was growing desperate. Ratchet was still watching him with seemingly unblinking optics, but Bumblebee couldn’t bring himself to care. He had to see Blitzwing. He just had to. His spark felt like there was a fist wrapped around it, squeezing it viciously, telling him that he had to see Blitzwing now more than ever, though he wasn’t quite sure what had caused the sudden desperation.

“Just send it,” Bumblebee whispered to himself once again, staring at his thumb as if it was somehow acting of its own accord just to spite him. “Just send it, come on. On three. One, two, three!”

He didn’t hit send. Bumblebee groaned aloud and flopped backwards in his berth. This is ridiculous, he thought. It was just a fight, and you need to apologize. You can’t not see him anymore! You’re all in a rut—Sari even said so! You know you miss him, and he probably misses you too. Maybe. Hopefully.

He sat up once again, lifting his datapad and narrowing his optics at it, focusing intently on the ‘send’ button. “On three, for real this time,” he said aloud, not caring if anyone was listening. “One. Two. Three.”

He slapped his entire servo on the datapad, gasping quietly when the message appeared in his outbox, blinking slowly as it attempted to deliver. He sighed in relief and set his datapad down, rubbing his helm, trying to chase away his worries.

There, you did it! he thought, wondering why he didn’t feel much better. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. And now you just have to wait for him to message you back, and then you can tell him you’ve missed him, that you’re sorry, that you love him, and that you’ll try triple extra hard to be a good listener when he needs it. Easy! And if Ratchet tries to give you slag, you can tell him to shove it right up his crusty old—

Ding.

Bumblebee nearly fell over himself as he attacked his datapad, scrabbling to get a good grip on it as he saw the unread message appear in his inbox. His spark backflipped gleefully, a smile lifting on his face, optics devouring the words that had sent back.

There was a problem sending your message. Please see technical details below and try again. Error 4.20.8 3416.

“What?” Bumblebee hissed, frantically opening the details, skimming over the words, trying to make sense of them as they swam across the screen.

4.20.8 3416: Communication denied. Invalid recipient.

“What?” Bumblebee said again, slightly louder this time. What did that mean? He’d sent messages to Blitzwing dozens of times, to this exact connection number, to this address. How could the recipient be invalid?

That’s impossible, Bumblebee thought firmly, trying to resend his message and receiving the same error instantaneously. He couldn’t have changed his connection number unless he’d gotten a new datapad. And where the frag would he have gotten a new one? The Cons don’t have any fragging supplies!

Bumblebee’s processor swirled as he tried to make sense of the situation. If Blitzwing had blocked him, he would have gotten a different error message, wouldn’t he? Longarm had blocked him for a while back in boot camp, and Bumblebee was certain that he’d been notified about it whenever he tried to send something. Maybe he just really, really doesn’t want to talk to me, Bumblebee thought sullenly, setting his datapad down and pushing it slowly toward the foot of his berth. Maybe he did get a new datapad so I could never message him again. Or maybe he figured out a way to change his connection address.

Bumblebee rubbed his helm some more, staring at the ceiling, chewing at his lower lip anxiously. I guess that’s really it, then, he thought. Whatever’s going on, he doesn’t want to talk to you. That’s fine. I’m not gonna force him to, the big stupidhead. I’ll just beat the slag out of him next time I see him, that’ll make him happy.

He tried in vain to swallow the heavy lump that had been growing in his intake, irritably wiping his optics as they started to sting with unreleased tears. Oh, knock it off, you sparkling, he thought angrily, slamming his datapad down and rising to his pedes with a huff. You don’t need him. You’ve got plenty of other awesome mechs and people around here. Ones that won’t ditch you the second you get in a fight with them.

Though as Bumblebee made his way to the living room area, the smile on his face when he saw Sari waving was thin and plastered at best. He cleared his throat and squeezed himself next to Bulkhead, lifting Sari onto his lap and leaning toward the TV.

“Whatcha guys playing?” he asked, wincing and wishing his voice hadn’t cracked so obviously.

Sari didn’t seem to notice, mashing away at the controller with a grin. “Mario Kart,” she said happily. “And I’m whooping Bulkhead’s big green butt.”

“For now,” Bulkhead said with a quiet chuckle. “I still have time to catch up and a blue shell in my inventory.”

Bumblebee laughed as Sari screamed in panic. “I play winner,” he said, as was the usual routine.

Bulkhead glanced at Bumblebee from the corner of his optic, his grin faltering ever so slightly. “Hey, you okay, little buddy?” he said. “You sound a bit off.”

“Just woke up from a nap, big rig. Don’t worry so much,” Bumblebee lied instinctively. “Focus on the game, not on me.”

Awakening was never Blitzwing’s favorite thing to do, given the usual influx of fresh nightmare-spawned memories that plagued his processor upon waking, but nothing had ever compared to the rousing he was currently suffering through.

He groaned as he tried to get a sense of his surroundings, the sound bubbling from deep in his intake, crackling and sputtering as though his vocalizer was only partially functional. He blinked a few times, peeling his optics open and seeing nothing but a giant splash of red across his HUD, screaming silently at him and blinking impossibly fast: Critical error. Emergency system shutdown imminent. Resume recharge.

Sunlight was warm against his back, mockingly so, caressing the wounds across his frame that were starting to regain sensation and stuffing his HUD with endless errors as he did so. First it was his chest, then his legs, then his arms, his back, his hands, his face, his helm, his everything hurt more than he’d ever thought possible. Blitzwing shuddered, biting down on his glossa to keep from screaming, trembling as though he was freezing to death despite the heat that seemed to be practically emanating from his plating. His vents flared open, trying to circulate cool air into his overheating systems, but even the small movement made Blitzwing tremble and sputter as water flooded into his circuitry.

Water? Where the frag...

Blitzwing drew a sharp breath and pushed himself upright, forcing his only working optic to come online, attempting to make sense of his surroundings through a cracked and confused monocular. He was facing the ground, staring at a distorted view of his own reflection that rippled and churned beneath him.

I’m certainly not in the Well of Allsparks if I look like that, Blitzwing thought vaguely, leaning down to peer at his heavily mangled face before gasping in pain. A knife of agony stabbed through his processor, rocketing all the way through his frame, igniting every one of his sensors with the pain he’d been subconsciously trying to protect himself from. He only barely managed to roll over and collapse onto his back, wheezing, his plating expanding as it ejected gallons of water and thick globs of oil that had been congealing somewhere underneath his frame.

He couldn’t bring himself to move for quite some time, keeping his monocular fixed on the sky, allowing himself to be teased by its comforting warmth. It was daytime. How long had he been laying here like this? Megatron had come into his room, and everything after that was increasingly fuzzy, the memory files corrupted, his processor apparently diverting to happier thoughts halfway through the beating.

The stream around him babbled as if nothing was wrong, tinged with fine streams of pink and translucent black, energon and oil still leaking from cracks and holes and dents all across Blitzwing’s plating. He wanted to lift his helm and assess the damage, but he doubted it would do any good—his neck felt as though it was on the verge of snapping off anyway, and he didn’t want to do anything to expedite the process.

Could be worse, Blitzwing supposed, knowing damn well that he was lying to himself, tenderly reaching his servos toward his face. He paused as his digits brushed the plating, frowning as only five fingers appeared in his vision.

Blitzwing moved his left hand closer to his monocular and groaned aloud as he saw the stump of what had been a hand, wires splitting and sparking at the joint. “That’s unfortunate,” he said to no one, unsure of whether his voice was internal or external.

He rested his other hand on his face and hissed, pulling it away immediately as the digits pressed onto delicate circuitry and exposed sensors. Wonderful, he thought, forcing himself to try again, hissing loudly as he flicked away chunks of dried energon in a meager attempt to self-medicate. Nothing quite like shattered faceplates.

He picked thoughtlessly at his face for some time, gaze still cast toward the clear blue sky, trying to piece together the fragmented memories floating amok in his processor. Megatron had destroyed his datapad, so his messages with Bumblebee were safe from prying optics. His insignia had been Megatron’s first target, and the thought alone made Blitzwing chuckle.

Megatron was so predictable. Blitzwing hadn’t anticipated the attack, that much was true, but he was incredibly amused by Megatron’s flair for melodrama. Of course he broke my insignia, he thought, snickering to himself and spitting a fine spurt of oil into the river. Why wouldn’t he? Nothing suits a useless renegade like a shattered badge.

Blitzwing laughed. Harder and harder until his aching chest felt like it was aflame, ignoring the smoke he tasted on his glossa and the warnings firing nonstop across his HUD.

He was just like Starscream now. A traitor to the Decepticon cause, banished from his base, left to die in the same river that Blitzwing himself had thrown Starscream’s repeatedly reanimating corpse into just months ago. Blitzwing didn’t want to keep laughing, but he couldn’t stop, unbothered by the shredding pain that ripped through his face as his grin stretched wide, his laughter unstoppable.

The irony. The irony. Blitzwing was in awe of it, laughing uncontrollably as he forced himself onto his hands and knees—or, rather, hand and knees. He’d never anticipated this outcome, never thought he’d be caught, never thought his feelings for Bumblebee would ever leave him within an inch of his life.

The sky was such a nice shade of blue today, the sun glimmering a stunning shade of yellow. Blitzwing loved blue. And he loved yellow.

Without stopping to think, he grabbed a handful of the riverbed and hauled himself forward, coughing a mouthful of energon into the water, ignoring the crushing pain that struck his systems as he moved. “Megatron, Megatron, Meggy Meggy Megatron,” he sang to himself furiously, dragging his frame through the water, completely uncaring of the sand and gravel accumulating in his ruined cockpit. “Useless? Worthless? To you, maybe, Meggy Megatron.”

His HUD began to flash more insistently, coating his entire field of view with scarlet letters. Critical error. System shutdown imminent. Immediate repairs required. Resume recharge.

“Frag off,” Blitzwing hissed, trying to clear the warning, but it reappeared every time he tried.

Critical error. Critical error. Critical—

“Frag off!” Blitzwing shouted, his face boiling with a burning pain that he readily ignored. “Worthless to Megatron. Useless Decepticon. Blow it out your actuator, Megatron. No self control, you say? None? You can take my self control and cram it up your aft, because I didn’t say slag.”

Blitzwing chuckled to himself as he rolled out of the water, fingers digging into the ground as he pulled himself onto dry land, hoping to clear the water from his thrusters. The pain was nothing compared to the pride Blitzwing felt for himself, a snide grin plastered on his face as glass and dry oil sloughed from his frame and onto the ground, bits of his frame abandoned as he dragged himself toward his new destination.

He hadn’t said a word about Bumblebee. Megatron had always been able to get the truth out of Blitzwing, manipulating him in ways that Blitzwing didn’t even know he could be manipulated. Megatron had tortured him and destroyed him millions of years ago, and he’d done it again, and Blitzwing had still kept his word to Bumblebee.

Blitzwing doubted he would live to see the minibot again, but he had to try. And he would muster all of his self control to get to the one place Bumblebee would know to look for him. The sunlight dimmed as Blitzwing heaved himself away from the Decepticon base and into the neighboring forest, the wide grin on his face ceasing to fade.

Megatron had called him soft, spitting the word at him as if it were an insult. But being soft was making Blitzwing feel stronger than ever.

I’m coming for you, bug, he thought, gritting his dentae as he grabbed onto a tree and used it to tug his partially-responsive frame forward another few meters. And if you don’t want to talk to me, if that fight was really the end for us, too bad. I don’t care. Your stupid aft better come for me too, one way or another.

The day came and went, and Bumblebee had never been so grateful to have Sari and Bulkhead hanging around to keep him company. Escaping his thoughts was something he didn’t know that he desperately needed, and the laughter in his voice started to feel genuine as evening fell—or, at least, somewhat genuine.

Bumblebee destroyed both Sari and Bulkhead at Mario Kart, as usual, but their hostility toward him never grew to the point of their departure from the room. Whether it was because he was so obviously out of sorts or because they were genuinely enjoying themselves, Bumblebee wasn’t sure, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Bulkhead only left when the sun went down and his optics grew hazy with sleepiness.

Bumblebee, of course, made fun of him, knowing well that Bulkhead wasn’t one for late nights but enjoying the chance to tease. Bulkhead simply rolled his optics and patted Sari on the head, wishing her a good night and disappearing to his quarters.

Which left Bumblebee and Sari alone. And, as usual, silence was never an option when the two of them were in the room together.

“Another round?” Bumblebee suggested, tossing his controller between his palms with a smirk. “I got all night if you wanna try to beat me. Again. We’re, what, thirty-something to nothing now?”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” Sari mumbled, though her grin betrayed her false annoyance. “And no, not another round.”

“What?” Bumblebee whined. “Why not? I’ll help you get second place this time, if you want! I know a really good system—see, in Coconut Mall, you have to—”

“No,” Sari said firmly, dropping her controller into her lap and facing Bumblebee with her arms crossed.

Bumblebee frowned, staring at her, trying to piece together her expression. “What, are you really mad at me for winning?” he said nervously. “I don’t mean to be braggy or anything! I’m trying to work on that! I can tone it down, really, I’m just—”

“It’s not the game, stupid,” Sari said, shaking her head, a small grin lifting on her face. “But for the record, yeah, definitely stop bragging so much. One of these days, Bulkhead’s gonna step on you.”

“Noted,” Bumblebee said. “So? Why no round thirty-something and one? You hungry?”

“No,” Sari said again, arranging her face into what was clearly intended to be a firm expression but failed on the account that she was an adorable eight year old organic. “Something’s going on with you, and I wanna know what it is.”

“H-huh?” Bumblebee said, surprised, trying to muster all the false confusion he could. “What do you mean? Nothing’s going—”

“You’re my best friend, Bee. I think I know when something’s going on,” Sari said firmly. “Come on. These past few weeks especially, you’ve been acting all weird and distracted, like there’s something on your mind. Optimus keeps asking you if you’re okay, and no, he’s not very good at hiding his concern. And Ratchet’s been watching you like a hawk.”

She pointed a finger bravely at Bumblebee, scrunching her eyes into narrow little slits. “Now, you’re either gonna tell me what the deal is or I’m never playing games with you again,” she finished.

“Oh, come on,” Bumblebee scoffed. “As if you’d ever stop playing games with me.”

“A-ha!” Sari said, grinning widely. “So there is something!”

“What?! No, there’s—you tricked me! That’s cheating!”

“Tell me or I’m gonna tell Optimus that you were the one that stole half of his oil rations the other day!”

“It was only, like, two sips!” Bumblebee said defensively, trying to scramble for time, completely unable to anticipate how Sari would react if he was bullied into admitting his relationship with Blitzwing. Would she be mad at him? Maybe even hate him? He supposed that, worst case scenario, she would call him stupid for dating a Decepticon, but there wasn’t much she could do considering that Blitzwing wasn’t a part of his life anymore.

Resigned to the fact that he was trapped, Bumblebee sighed and drew his knees to his chest, drumming his digits on his shoulders as he hugged himself tightly. “Fine,” he muttered. “But you gotta promise not to hate me. And you can’t tell Prowl and Bulkhead, no matter what. I’ll tell them eventually, I just… can’t yet, you know?”

“I could never hate you,” Sari said reassuringly, crawling across the couch so she was sitting directly next to Bumblebee, her small hand patting one of his tires. “And I won’t tell anyone. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Stick a needle in your eye?” Bumblebee said.

“Stick a needle in my eye,” Sari repeated with a grin. “Now, come on. Tell me.”

Bumblebee sighed, the familiar lump returning to his throat as he started to speak. “You’re the first one I’m actually telling this to,” he began. “Boss bot and doc bot found out on their own. Sorta. Long story. But I was—well, I’ve kinda been—sorta—I guess it’s like—well—I am—I was—seeing someone.”

Sari cocked her head, her eyes widening with disbelief. “No way,” she whispered. “You landed a girlfriend?”

“Boyfriend,” Bumblebee corrected, trying his best to avoid admitting who said boyfriend was and immediately launching into an anecdote. “And not ‘have.’ ‘Had.’ He, uh, well—we broke up a little while ago. We had this huge fight about something stupid—I don’t really even remember what it was about, it was so dumb—and then he said he didn’t want to see me anymore. And I guess it’s got me kinda bummed out.”

Sari gaped at Bumblebee for a few moments before scooting closer, wrapping her arms around his leg in a tight hug. “You could’ve told me, you know,” she said softly. “Now I feel bad for asking you why you’re sad over and over.”

“It’s alright,” Bumblebee said with a shrug, wiping his face irritably as tears threatened to fall. “It’s nice that you care, at least. Ratchet was furious with me. I’ve never seen him so angry, honestly. I thought he was gonna blow a fuse.”

“Why?” Sari asked. “It’s none of his beeswax who you date! I didn’t even know you big lumps of metal dated! I mean, there’s not exactly a ton of—”

Sari paused mid-sentence, and Bumblebee felt his tanks drop, a nervous tremor making his plating clatter. Please, don’t ask, Bumblebee prayed. Please, please, please, don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t—

“There’s not a ton of bots on this planet,” Sari said slowly, finishing her sentence. “Um… Bee?”

Bumblebee squeezed his optics shut, cringing. Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask, please, don’t ask—

“...Who exactly were you dating?” Sari asked.

Bumblebee sighed, wishing he could crumble into dust and blow away in the wind. “You promised you wouldn’t be mad, right?” he whispered, irritated by the tremble in his voice.

“I mean—”

“It was Blitzwing,” Bumblebee blurted, covering his optics. “I was dating Blitzwing, okay? I know it was stupid and I know it was risky, but—you gotta understand, I was stuck in the woods for ages with him, and I really got to know him, and he’s reallynot that bad! He’s awesome, actually! I mean, yeah, he’s kinda troubled or however you wanna put it, but he’s a great mech deep down. But we had a stupid fight about something stupid and now I’m never gonna see his stupid face ever again, so I don’t even know why Ratchet’s still mad at me, because I haven’t even seen Blitzwing since Lugnut tried to take my fragging head off!”

“Bee—”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen! I hated him when we first got stuck on that—that—that beach or whatever the slag it was! And he hated me too! But then we started to get to know each other, and he listens to me all the time, and he trusts me, and he protects me but, like, not too much? He respects me and he hears me and I was too stupid to do that for him, because he was having nightmares again and I didn’t even hear him out. God, I’m fragging dumb, and now he’s gone and all of you are going to hate me forever because I’m a traitor, and—”

“Bee—”

“—Ratchet keeps saying over and over and over that Blitzwing is—was—just using me or manipulating me or whatever, and that Blitzwing is a Decepticon and he’s horrible and blah, blah, blah, but if you could just see the way he looked at me—then you’d get it! And the way my spark does backflips whenever he’s around, or how safe he makes me feel, or how much he trusts me and how much I trust him, and the look in his optics when we—”

“Bee!”

Bumblebee cut himself off with his jaw still open, his optics popping open. Embarrassment washed over him as he finally noticed the waterfall of tears cascading down his face, and he quickly brushed them away, tucking his knees tighter to his chest.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a rough couple of months.”

“I can tell, jeez,” Sari said. Bumblebee forced himself to look at her, his spark sinking when he saw the utter bewilderment in her face. There was no anger, which would have been a relief if she didn’t look as though Bumblebee had just blabbled pure gibberish at her. He bit his lip and shrank down nervously.

“Are you mad at me?” he whispered.

“I mean—I’m mad that you didn’t tell me, that’s for sure,” Sari said, her expression unchanged as she turned to face the dark television. “But about B-Blitzwing, I mean… it’s over now, isn’t it? Between you two?”

Bumblebee tried to confirm, but his words were stoppered by a bundle of tears in his throat, so all he could do was nod. Sari glanced back toward him and swallowed, her own eyes beginning to leak.

“It’s not important, then,” she said. “I-I know how hard it is to lose someone, so I can’t really judge you for being sad about it, even if it’s… you know, him. My—my dad rebuilt Megatron, and I’m still sad about him being gone, even if that was really, really bad and—”

“Hey, whoa, Sari,” Bumblebee said, wiping his face as quickly as possible and reaching down to pull Sari to his side. “You didn’t lose him, okay? We’re gonna find your dad, I promise. We all know that whole Megatron thing was an accident.”

Sari gulped and nodded miserably. “At least now we can complain together,” she said with a watery chuckle.

“We absolutely can, yes,” Bumblebee agreed. “Now, come here and stop worrying about your dad, okay? We’re gonna find him. Pinky—I promise. And frag knows I could sure use a hug too, so get up here.”

Sari nodded and climbed into Bumblebee’s lap, squeezing her little arms around his waist. Bumblebee patted the top of her head gently, watching her pigtails bounce and trying to ignore the way she’d abruptly stopped making eye contact with him the second he’d mentioned Blitzwing’s name.

What was usually a ten minute flight, sometimes fifteen if weather was not permitting, became a full day trek for Blitzwing. He wasn’t sure how many times his processor shut down and knocked him unconscious or for how long he spent laying uselessly on the ground, risking exposure to organic eyes. But as long as he was online enough to think, he was forcing himself to move forward.

Using his thrusters helped get him over most of the Detroit River, failing once and sending him crashing into the churning waters, so he crawled across the river bottom. Completely submerged, the liquid around him swirling with his own fluids, he kept going.

He had to.

Exhaustion was not an excuse to slow down. Blitzwing’s systems were completely waterlogged by the time he managed to reach the shore, his plates gaping and sloshing water all over the ground, but he kept going. The aches and pains ripping at him to the point of insanity were of no concern.

He kept going and going and going, listening as early spring crickets chirped and sang around him, watching as the sun slid below the horizon, the sky melting from peachy orange to inky black.

And he kept going.

Seeing tire tracks on the ground was a welcome relief, and Blitzwing took his first rest of the day in order to press his helm to them, panting and stroking his digits through the small parallel paths carved into the dirt. Bumblebee was never able to resist skidding across the ground with no regard for how he was tearing up the landscape, and the thought alone made Blitzwing smile.

They had been together, right here, just a little while ago. Blitzwing had held Bumblebee close, listening to him ramble about whatever thought happened to cross his processor. Blitzwing had kissed his forehead, fiddled with his slender digits, pulled him close by the waist, all audio channels open for the chattiest, best mech he’d ever met.

Blitzwing gritted his dentae and dragged himself toward a sturdy-looking tree, collapsing in a heap around its roots, listening to his frame groan and creak with relief as he finally allowed his pistons to settle. The hot, stabbing pains were now coupled with a slowly burning ache, but Blitzwing paid it no mind. He bit down on his glossa instead and let his HUD flood with warnings, ignoring each of them as his thoughts traversed toward Bumblebee.

It would be a miracle if Blitzwing survived the night, and the likelihood of Bumblebee finding even his corpse was slim at best. Blitzwing was certain of that. But he knew that if he was to have any chance of seeing his beloved Autobot again, it was going to be here, on the tiny island where they’d met so many times and spent so many secret nights together.

A thick fragment of Blitzwing’s left arm snapped off as he pushed himself upright, trying to assume a position that would best allow the last drips of energon to flow properly through his body and, hopefully, give him some extra hours of life. He was surely running on fumes, though he couldn’t be sure—his pressure sensors unable to properly calculate how much fuel he had left, but he wasn’t nearly as bothered as he should be. A strange sense of peace settled over Blitzwing’s processor as he allowed himself to drown in the sound of crickets, in the color of the night sky, and in memories.

Bumblebee had chosen this spot specifically because it was hidden from humans, too small and too uneventful to be anything close to a tourist attraction. Blitzwing admired that about Bumblebee—he always seemed to know where to go, and even if he didn’t, he sure as hell acted like he did.

Blitzwing’s flickering gaze settled on the tracks smearing the dirt below him, imagining that they were fresh and that Bumblebee was pacing around him. He likes to carve up the ground, showing Blitzwing how he could ride around on his tires without even transforming, happily boasting about his speed and taunting Blitzwing for not being as fast.

Blitzwing chuckled and wiped a drop of fresh oil from his shattered faceplates. Idiot bug. Blitzwing couldn’t believe how much he missed him.

At least if he died here, his last thoughts would belong to Bumblebee.

Chapter Text

“Bumblebee, Prowl!” Optimus barked, barely audible over the collective sound of wailing sirens. “Go to Brush Street and be at the ready on the corner of Macomb. We’ll push him down that way, then you cut him off!”

“Got it, boss!” Bumblebee called, veering around a corner to get on the right path, Prowl joining him without a word. The rest of the team peeled off and vanished, hot on the tail of the human currently trying her best to escape from robbing a small jewelry store.

Chasing criminals was far more common than any of the Autobots liked to admit, but Bumblebee actually enjoyed it—to a certain extent, at least. It was way better than patrol duty, and way, way better than monitor duty. And it usually came with glory, since the citizens of Detroit would usually congratulate the Autobots with big smiles on their faces, which Bumblebee drank up as if it was fuel.

“Can you believe these humans?” Bumblebee said, jerking his wheel to the side as he nearly plowed into a parked car. “Stealing a bunch of rocks? What the frag is the point of that?”

“They’re extraordinarily expensive rocks,” Prowl said, slipping effortlessly through traffic due to his slender motorcycle mode.

“Yeah, which begs the question—why do humans even buy them?” Bumblebee asked as he flew through red lights. “It’s just a rock, isn’t it? I mean, they’re shiny and all, but what’s the point? They look pretty? Is that it? Why would you spend all that money on a super expensive shiny rock when you could just go down to the beach, maybe find a nice seashell? I’d rather walk around with a—”

“Focus, Bumblebee,” Prowl said tiredly.

“Right. Focusing. Boss said Macomb, right?”

Bumblebee wrenched his tires to the side and squeezed into a parking spot, shutting off his siren and transforming back to root mode. Trying to be as sneaky as possible, he pressed his frame against a nearby building, peering around the walls as he waited for the human to approach.

“It just seems like a waste of time,” Bumblebee whispered loudly. “Like, if you want cash, just steal from a bank or something, right? Not that I condone bank robberies or anything, but if you want money, get money, you know?”

“You’re an idiot,” Prowl said, joining Bumblebee in transforming and pushing on the minibot’s helm. “Get down. We don’t want her to see us.”

“Oh, no, I want her to see us,” Bumblebee said, rubbing his servos together with a grin. “Imagine the look on her face when she thinks she shook us off, and then wham, we jump out and smash her windshield! That’s the best part of these missions, really. Is Fanzone on his way?”

“Most likely,” Prowl said, shooting Bumblebee an irritated glance. “Stay quiet, would you? We need to ensure that we keep the element of surprise.”

“We’re downtown at rush hour, numb-nodes,” Bumblebee snickered. “She wouldn’t hear us even if we were shouting at each other.”

“That may be true,” Prowl sighed, “but would it kill you to attempt silence for once in your life? I almost preferred—”

Prowl paused mid-sentence, glancing toward the sky with a scowl. Bumblebee cocked his helm, looking up as well, trying to see what had distracted Prowl all of a sudden.

“What’s up?” he asked nervously.

“Nothing, I think,” Prowl said, brow furrowed. “I thought I heard something. A jet?”

“There’s a lot of planes in Detroit,” Bumblebee said pointedly.

“Planes, yes,” Prowl said. “Jets with engines like that? No.”

“Decepticons, maybe?”

“No. It didn’t sound familiar.”

“Well, look at you, Mister Memory Drives. I mean, this human stole a ton of stuff, didn’t she?”

“Enough to warrant the air force?”

“I mean, maybe! I don’t know! You know how Fanzone gets about crime around here. If we didn’t tell him not to, he’d probably order lethal force against jaywalking.”

Prowl frowned and nodded, though it took him a few more long seconds for his optics to return to the road instead of the sky. Apparently he didn’t see a need to elaborate further, as he simply lifted a finger to his lips, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the road.

Bumblebee shifted from pede to pede with anticipation, aching for a fight, more than ready to take this human down. “This is gonna be great,” he said before he could stop himself. “I love getting people arrested. Feels like we’re really doing something useful, you know?”

“Quiet,” Prowl said. “I think they’re getting close. Get ready.”

“I’ve never been readier,” Bumblebee said, shifting his stance so he’d be ready to pounce, excitement coursing through his systems. “Is that a word? ‘Readier?’ Seems like a word, but what do I know?”

“Focus,” Prowl said shortly. “I hear them. Jump out when you see the human’s vehicle, and I will go behind to make sure the path is clear for Optimus and the others.”

Bumblebee snickered. Prowl stared at him.

“What?”

“You—sorry, you said you were gonna ‘go behind,’ and I—”

“For Primus’ sake.” Prowl rubbed his forehead irritably before taking Bumblebee by the shoulders and turning him toward the road. “Go.”

“I see her,” Bumblebee said, bracing himself to run, his focus tightening, grinning as the sounds around him seemed to grow louder and louder. “Just gotta wait for the right moment. Stillness, right? One, two—”

“Bumblebee—wait—”

“Huh?”

“That isn’t—”

Crunch.

Bumblebee gasped as Prowl’s frame suddenly lurched forward, knocking Bumblebee onto the pavement hard enough to make his HUD sputter and glitch. He fell flat onto his face with a yelp as Prowl’s body skidded across the road, the sickening screech of metal on pavement carving into Bumblebee’s audials.

“Prowl?” Bumblebee wheezed over the sudden chorus of honking horns, pushing his aching frame upright. A large black SUV whizzed down the street, nearly flattening Prowl in its haste. “Prowl!”

“I’m alright,” Prowl said, his voice hissing with static, glowering as he dragged himself upright. His helm turned to Bumblebee, visor flashing with sudden panic.

“What?” Bumblebee yelled. “What happened? You let her get away!”

Prowl leaped upright without answering, moving so quickly that his frame was little more than a blur. “Duck!” he shouted.

Bumblebee didn’t even think before obeying—he knew that edge in Prowl’s voice. He dropped to the ground and covered his helm, his joints moving on pure instinct. And it was lucky that he did, because something extremely hot and fast whizzed just over him, blistering the paint across his back, leaving a searing stripe of heat in its wake.

A bullet? Bumblebee thought, ignoring his stinging armor as he shimmied behind another car for some semblance of cover. No, that was way too big to be a bullet. It almost felt like… Blitzwing’s kinetic energy penetrators…?

A wave of fear sent icicles rushing through Bumblebee’s lines—Blitzwing hadn’t used ammunition like that since before the forest. Was he really out for blood this time? Lugnut had been furious when Blitzwing had spared Bumblebee before, and maybe now, Blitzwing was attempting to do what was right by Decepticon standards.

He didn’t want to look. But he knew he had to. Bumblebee took a deep breath and peeked over the roof of the car he’d taken refuge behind, his tanks twisting confusedly.

No, Bumblebee thought, narrowing his optics. No, that can’t be right.

There was a tank rolling directly toward him and Prowl, treads tearing up the road, spitting gravel in every direction, shattering storefronts and causing humans to scream and take cover. Bumblebee’s spark dropped, gripped by an icy fist of terror.

“Prowl,” he called, trying to yell over the sound of shrieking citizens. “You said you heard a jet.”

“I did,” Prowl answered, his voice caught between awe and horror.

“Can you not tell the difference between a tank and a plane?”

“I don’t think that’s a tank.”

“Are you blind?”

“It hit me from above,” Prowl said shortly.

Bumblebee’s spark twisted into a knot, his worries growing more intense by the second. “Above?”

“We need to get out of here.”

“Yeah, no slag!”

Another massive projectile rocketed in their direction, aimed at Prowl this time, and the ninja bot only barely managed to dodge it before it buried itself into the ground and exploded. Asphalt spewed everywhere, the bullet leaving behind a deep, smouldering crater in its place. Bumblebee’s jaw went slack, and he tried to focus on the tank rolling in his direction.

Two barrels, he thought frantically. But that’s not Blitzwing. I know that’s not him. It can’t—no, it…?

He was too confused to think, a slurry of confusing images flashing through his processor. Their fight, Blitzwing’s dreams, his curt messages, his disconnected datapad.

No, Bumblebee thought, optics growing wide. That’s not… that’s not possible. That can’t be possible! There’s no way!

Another bullet hurtled past him, detonating a car just across the street. But Bumblebee felt frozen in place, his joints locked, unable to move as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Bumblebee!”

Optimus was shouting at him. Then Bulkhead joined, more fear in his voice than Bumblebee had ever heard. But he still couldn’t move, staring at the rapidly approaching tank.

Prowl said it came from the air, Bumblebee thought frantically. No, he. He came from the air. He. He… Oh, Primus… Blitzwing.

Everything suddenly made sense, realization smashing through Bumblebee’s processor almost painfully. Blitzwing’s fears, the return of his nightmares, his desperation for someone to talk to, the bluntness of his message, his unreachable datapad. In seconds, all of Blitzwing’s strange actions connected, making perfect sense all at once, and Bumblebee silently kicked himself for not seeing it sooner.

Blitzwing hadn’t broken up with him. Blitzwing had been begging for help in the only way he knew how.

Bumblebee didn’t even realize he was moving until he heard his team screaming behind him. “Bumblebee, no!” Ratchet hollered. “Don’t be a hero! Get back here now!”

“Bumblebee!”

“Bumblebee!”

He ignored all of them. He stepped out from behind the car and stood directly in front of the tank charging toward them, servos shaking so violently with terror that he was forced to clench them into fists in order to maintain his bravery.

“Where is he?” Bumblebee screamed at the tank, assuming the most menacing position he could muster. “What did you do to him?”

The tank paused, but only for a second. And then it was shifting, its plates rearranging, stacking higher and higher until it towered over Bumblebee, wide enough to completely fill the narrow street and confirming Bumblebee’s worst fears.

The tank was Megatron. And Megatron was wearing a smirk behind a barred battle mask, optics shimmering a daunting crimson as they filled with concealed delight. Two, two fusion cannons, two thick gun barrels on his chest, biolights igniting the spaces in his helm as though he was filled to the brim with flames. Every instinct told Bumblebee to run, to flee for his life, but he stood his ground as Megatron let out a threatening chuckle.

“Where is who, Autobot?” Megatron said, his optics as cold as his grin was wide.

“You’re a triple changer,” Bumblebee said, his voice shriller than he cared to admit.

“Clever little bug, aren’t you?” Megatron said with a sneer.

“How?” Bumblebee said, trying to stand his ground as Megatron took a menacing step in his direction. “And why? You already have one, don’t you?”

“What’s the harm in having two?” Megatron purred. “I find it rather suits me.”

“No,” Bumblebee said. “No. It doesn’t. You should know how dangerous it is to do that! And you wouldn’t do it unless you had a reason to!”

“But how would you know such a thing, Autobot?” Megatron hummed. “Don’t tell me the Elite Guard has been hiding a triple changer from me. That would put quite a damper on my current excitement.”

“Bumblebee, get back here now!” Optimus shouted. “We’re going back to base!”

Bumblebee ignored him, facing Megatron with every ounce of courage in his body. Is this what Blitzwing felt like every single day? “Tell me what you did to him right now,” Bumblebee demanded. “Where is he?”

“Then you may tell me why such a thing would concern you,” Megatron said coolly.

“Tell me!” Bumblebee shrieked, drawing his stingers and pointing them at Megatron’s massive helm.

“Such a large temper on such a small bot,” Megatron said, grinning almost too wide, his optics flashing too bright, sending an awful chill down Bumblebee’s back.

“Tell me right now,” Bumblebee said shakily, “or I swear, I’ll—”

“You’ll what, Autobot?” Megatron taunted. “Sting me with your pathetic little bug zappers? I’ve seen more threatening weapons on protoforms.”

“Where is he?” Bumblebee screamed, firing a blast of electricity at Megatron’s chest. It glanced off without making Megatron so much as flinch, ricocheting into a streetlamp and frying the bulb in seconds. Megatron laughed and took another step forward.

“Bumblebee!” Ratchet was bellowing. “Stop!”

“If you insist upon an answer, I will tell you that I don’t know where he is,” Megatron said, his footfalls shaking the buildings as he strolled almost carelessly toward Bumblebee’s quivering frame. “If he’s lucky, perhaps he managed to crawl out of the river I tossed him into. But I doubt he went very far if that’s the case.”

Bumblebee’s vision tunneled and blurred, and he swayed where he stood, a wave of dizziness nearly knocking him offline. “No,” he said. “You’re—you’re lying. You—”

“Oh, Autobot, no,” Megatron drawled. “I would never lie. A trait that I cannot say Blitzwing shared. Though I must say, he made it rather easy for me to unravel his little scheme. Though I am, admittedly, rather disappointed.”

“Why?” Bumblebee hissed, shaking so hard that he wouldn’t have been able to stand were he not frozen stiffly in place with terror.

“If he was going to be traitorous scum, I would have expected him to conspire with a more powerful adversary of mine,” Megatron said with a chuckle. “But I suppose if he chose to work with you, he was even more foolish than I thought.”

Bumblebee shrieked and launched himself at Megatron without thinking, blind rage unlocking his joints as he thought of all the ways he could rip Megatron’s helm off. He’d never felt like this before—terrified, furious, and filled to the brim with regret, and he couldn’t wait to take it all out on Megatron.

“You bastard!” Bumblebee screamed, his servo inches from Megatron’s faceplates. “You—”

Something latched onto Bumblebee’s back and yanked him backwards just as Megatron’s fist closed on the spot Bumblebee had just been occupying, but he didn’t care. Bumblebee screamed with fury and kicked at the air as Megatron began to snicker.

“Pathetic,” Megatron murmured. “All of you Autobots are pathetic. I truly, truly cannot wait to see you all exterminated. I’ve gotten quite the taste for it lately.”

“No!” Bumblebee hollered as he slammed into a pair of blue and red arms, his processor refusing to admit that Megatron could be telling the truth. I’d know, he thought feverishly. I’d know. Somehow. He can’t be offline. I’d know if he was.

“Bumblebee, stop,” Optimus said, clinging to Bumblebee as the minibot screeched and kicked viciously, desperate to get free.

“Let me go!” he screamed. “Let me go! I need to—I have to—he can’t be, Optimus, he just can’t! Let me go!”

Optimus didn’t respond, clutching Bumblebee tightly as they began to retreat. Megatron’s laughter filled the air, a deep, true laugh that shook Bumblebee to his core.

“Yes, Autobots, run,” the warlord shouted. “It’s all you can do, is it not?”

A large blast from one of Megatron’s fusion cannons made the ground behind them erupt, and everyone instinctively covered their helms—except Bumblebee. He refused to do anything except kick and shriek as loud as his vocalizer would allow, tears raining down his face as Megatron’s hysterical laughing faded into the distance.

“Stop kicking, kid,” Ratchet said, his vents whirring wildly as they ran, a bitter scowl on his face. “We’ve got bigger problems to worry about now.”

“No, we don’t,” Bumblebee sobbed, jamming his elbows into Optimus’ stomach as hard as he could. “Put me down!”

“We need to get somewhere safe and call for reinforcement,” Optimus said, ignoring the minibot as he repeatedly slugged him in the gut. “Bumblebee, would you knock it off?”

“What’s the big deal, little buddy?” Bulkhead said, sounding nervous.

“Let me go!” Bumblebee yelled once again, ignoring Bulkhead entirely.

Ratchet rolled his optics, his dentae audibly grinding. “You’ve put yourself in harm’s way enough for one lifetime,” he snapped. “Calm down.”

“I need to get to him!” Bumblebee shouted. “I need to get to him right now!”

“Why?” Optimus retorted. “If Megatron already took him offline, imagine what he can do to the rest of us! Even if you find him, you’re only going to get hurt!”

“Can someone please explain what’s going on?” Prowl said loudly.

“He’s not offline! And I don’t care if I get hurt!” Bumblebee screeched, clamping his denetae onto one of Optimus’ digits as hard as he could. Optimus yelped, his grip loosening just enough for Bumblebee to wriggle free, his processor running rampant as his pedes hit the ground.

He’s alive, he thought frantically, taking off at a run in the direction of the river. He has to be. I’d know if he wasn’t. I just gotta find him. I just gotta—

Bumblebee squeaked as Optimus’ grapples once again hooked onto his frame, dragging his legs out from underneath him and sending him straight to the ground. He yelled in fury and wrenched his legs apart, his paint sloughing off as he kicked the grapples off.

“I’m going!” he yelled, glaring furiously at Optimus, shaking all over as he clambered back to his feet. “Grapple me all you want, but I’m going, one way or another! He’s alive and he needs help!”

“You don’t know that!” Ratchet fired back. “And if you spend the whole day hunting for him around Detroit—”

“Hunting for whom?” Prowl interjected.

“—Then you’re just going to get stepped on by Megatron!” Ratchet continued. “Stop throwing yourself into danger for him! You’re too important to this team to be taken offline for something so stupid!”

“As if you’ve never put yourself in harm’s way for someone you care about!” Bumblebee shouted.

Ratchet paused, his optics widening for barely a moment before narrowing into furious slits. “He’s not worth it, Bumblebee,” he hissed.

“He saved my spark just a little while ago, don’t you remember that?” Bumblebee shrieked. “And now he needs my help! Isn’t that what Autobots are supposed to do? Help?”

“Yes, but he’s not an Autobot! I say good riddance to him!” Ratchet snapped.

“Uh,” Bulkhead cut in. “You’re not… talking about… helping a Decepticon, are you?”

“Is this about Blitzwing?” Prowl said, bewilderment written all over his face. “You’re losing your processor because of him? You don’t owe him anything because he hesitated once in battle, Bumblebee.”

“It wasn’t once,” Bumblebee said, his servos clenched into fists so tight that his plating felt like it may crack. “He’s saved my spark a ton of times. More than any of you know. And it’s my turn to help him now. So if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to—”

“Bumblebee, no,” Optimus said in his firmest tone. “You’re going to get killed. We have no idea where Megatron is, or if this whole Blitzwing thing was some sort of trick, and—”

“Shut up!” Bumblebee yelled. “I’m an Autobot and I’m doing what Autobots do. And if you were a good Autobot too, you’d do the same thing!”

“Autobots don’t help Decepticons!” Optimus said.

“Then try and stop me!” Bumblebee screamed, unbothered by the angry tears streaming down his face as he drew his stingers. “I dare you! Go on! See what happens!”

He took advantage of Optimus’s stunned pause and threw himself to the ground, tires screeching as he transformed and sped through the freshly battered streets. His spark raced almost as quickly as his tires spun, his processor locked on a single thought: Please, Blitzwing… please be okay.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee was certainly no stranger to speeding, but he had never quite reached the point where the world around him was nothing but a blur—at least, not until today. Stop lights and road signs were ignored entirely in his haste, lights smearing against his vision as his tires seemed to float above the ground rather than atop it, his thoughts focused only on moving forward.

He was out of the downtown area in five minutes, disregarding the angry honks from other drivers as he plowed through the streets. Two more minutes and he was plunging into the river, transforming as fast as he could and swimming with all the power he could possibly muster.

Bumblebee clenched his jaw as he swam, forcing himself not to think too much about what might’ve happened to Blitzwing. He’s gotta be okay, he told himself firmly, refusing to even entertain any other possibilities. He’s okay. I know he is. He has to be. I just know it.

He had no plan for what to do after he found Blitzwing, no matter what state the triple changer might be in. But coming up with said plan was the last thing on Bumblebee’s mind—as he erupted from the river and made a mad dash for their usual meeting spot, all he could think about was finding Blitzwing, and finding him now.

He has to be here, Bumblebee thought frantically, completely forgetting to transform in his haste and simply running as fast as his legs would carry him. If he’s anywhere, he’d be here. Primus, Blitzwing, please be here, please, please, please be here.

Bumblebee wasn’t sure if it was tears or river water flowing down his face, but he didn’t bother contemplating it. His vents heaved as he ran, mud splattering across his legs, fresh and cold from the recent thunderstorm. Birds chirped around him, taunting him with their oblivious cheer. Low hanging branches smacked him across the face, clumps of grass shredding from the ground as his pedes stamped through the dirt.

Almost there. Almost there. Just keep going.

His spark thudded in his chest as the trees began to look more familiar, young green leaves sprouting from their branches and letting only thin strips of sunlight splash against the ground. Bumblebee would have admired the view if his tanks hadn’t been churning so violently, his optics scanning as fast as they could for any traces of non-organic life.

“Blitzwing?” he yelled, running in a frantic circle through one of the clearings they’d often frequented. “Blitzwing! Dammit, Blitzwing, if you’re not here—B-Blitzwing?”

Bumblebee gasped and wiped his damp face, spinning around, cursing the days-old rainwater for smoothing away any potential evidence of Blitzwing’s location. “Blitzwing!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “Blitzwing, where—”

His spark leaped into his throat as his audials detected a faint whistling sound, like steam being pushed out of a tea kettle. “Blitzwing?” he screamed, tripping over his own pedes as he stumbled into a thicker grove of trees, panting and quivering harder than he ever had in his life.

And there he was. Bumblebee swayed on the spot at the sight of Blitzwing, his spark doing petrified backflips as he took in the sight—weak wisps of steam and smoke sputtered from deep cracks and welts coating Blitzwing’s frame, his plating smeared with so much dirt and oil and fresh rust that his paint was nearly invisible. His normally piercing crimson optics were dark, set deep behind nearly nonexistent faceplates, every delicate gear and circuit showing through the splintered metal. One of his servos was gone, his frame bent at an awkward angle against a tree, jaw slack, crusted energon leaving a trail from his smashed lips to his shattered, gaping cockpit.

“Blitzwing,” Bumblebee whispered, rushing forward and grabbing onto Blitzwing’s remaining servo, shaking it tentatively. “Blitzwing?”

A puff of steam trickled from between Blitzwing’s lips, but he made no other movement. No gears spun, no hydraulics hissed, nothing. Bumblebee choked and shook Blitzwing’s servo harder, tapping repeatedly on his knuckles. “Blitzwing,” he said, not bothering to mask the quaking in his voice. “Blitzwing, come on. Blitzwing? Blitzy, come on, wake up. Come on.”

He didn’t move. Bumblebee let out a choked cry of frustration and dropped Blitzwing’s servo, tears pouring down his face as he climbed Blitzwing like a tree, smacking him on the forehead. “Blitzwing, wake up,” he begged loudly, whacking Blitzwing as hard as he could. “Come on. You’ve gotta wake up, you big idiot, or I swear to Primus I will kill you!”

Bumblebee wasn’t sure if he was doing more sobbing or smacking, but he did know that at some point he ceased to do a good job of either, collapsing onto Blitzwing’s face in a heap, pounding a fist against the triple changer’s forehead as he squeezed his optics shut. He’s gotta be okay, his processor said as his spark strongly disagreed. He’s gotta be. He’s just resting or something. He has to be.

“Please stop.”

Bumblebee’s optics snapped open at once as Blitzwing’s thin, grainy voice reached his audials, his fist freezing in midair. Blitzwing’s right optic was still dark, but his monocular was flickering dimly, pointed at Bumblebee and spinning feebly as if it couldn’t quite focus properly. Bumblebee drew in a shuddery gasp and immediately planted his lips onto what remained of Blitzwing’s, his entire frame vibrating as all of his fear and tension flowed out of him in a nearly painful rush.

“I thought you were—” Bumblebee whispered, grabbing at the few pieces of Blitzwing’s face that remained intact. “I thought—Blitzwing, listen, okay, listen? Can you listen? Are you okay? What happened to you? I mean, I think I know, but—you know what, that’s not important, I just—I was so scared, I thought—your datapad was offline, and I thought it meant you blocked me or something, and I’ve spent this whole time thinking about how much I miss you, and I’m really, really, really sorry about that fight we had, I didn’t mean for it to go so far, and I want to be with you no matter what, and I don’t want to be broken up anymore—I want you so much, and as soon as Megatron said—I freaked out because I thought—I was so dumb, I don’t—I don’t think—you didn’t even break up with me, you were just—I should have listened to you—I’m—I’m—I just—”

Bumblebee’s voice broke, and he leaned down to kiss Blitzwing again, rivulets of tears pouring down his cheeks, completely soaking his face in seconds. Blitzwing didn’t reciprocate much—likely due to his lack of faceplates, Bumblebee presumed—but the tiny amount of effort to return the kiss only made Bumblebee cry harder. It took ages for him to pull away, leaning back so Blitzwing wouldn’t have to strain to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Bumblebee said, his hands trembling as he tried to hold onto undamaged parts of Blitzwing’s face, not wanting to let him go.

“Bumblebee, I’m going to be honest with you,” Blitzwing said dimly, his voice crackling with static. “I only processed about… twenty percent of what you just said.”

Bumblebee laughed, leaning forward to cling to Blitzwing’s helm, stroking the top of it softly as he tried to will his tears to stop falling. “That’s okay,” he said. “That’s totally fine. Me either, honestly.”

“I’m sorry about the misunderstanding,” Blitzwing said. “My message was less clear than I would have liked. I was just—” He paused to cough, spewing smoke and oil across Bumblebee’s chest, not that the minibot cared. “—Worried about you.”

“About me?” Bumblebee said with a high-pitched chuckle. “Look at you! I’ve been worried about you! You’re—you’re, like—you’re half dead!”

“Thank you for stating it delicately,” Blitzwing said, his dryness apparently being one part of him that was not damaged. “Megatron caught on. To us. And I feared that he may start tapping our communications, and I didn’t want you to get hurt. But I should have—”

“Blitzbrain, it’s fine,” Bumblebee insisted, licking his thumb and trying to wipe some of the freshly splattered oil from Blitzwing’s lips. “Really. None of that is important right now. All I care about is the fact that you’re here and you’re alive. I literally couldn't care less about anything else happening in the world other than that.”

Blitzwing’s faceplates creaked as he seemed to attempt something close to a smile, prompting Bumblebee to shower him with kisses anywhere that it wouldn’t hurt.

“How long have you been here?” Bumblebee asked, following each word with a gentle kiss somewhere on Blitzwing’s face.

“That depends,” Blitzwing asked. “What day is it?”

“Thursday. April something.”

“Oh, then… hm. I don’t know why I asked. I haven’t a single clue.”

Bumblebee let out a watery laugh and dropped a longer, slower kiss onto Blitzwing’s lips, pressing their foreheads together gently.

“I was so worried about you,” Bumblebee breathed. “You look—you look super awful, you know.”

“Thank you. That’s precisely what I wanted to hear.”

“Sorry, you’re just—you’re all covered in bugs and dirt and stuff, and your hand—you know your servo is gone, right? The left one?”

“I’m aware of that, yes.”

“And you’re like, completely grey from all the dirt. It’s kinda gross. I can’t even see the purple anymore.”

“Well, then, I can estimate that I’ve been here for a couple of days,” Blitzwing said, his dead optic sparking as though instinctively trying to roll. “Though it’s rather hard to keep track when you not only have a broken chronometer, but you can’t stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. Are you done scrutinizing my appearance?”

“Right,” Bumblebee said with a thin smile. “Sorry. But—you’re gonna be fine, okay? I pinky promise. I’m gonna find a way to fix you up, and everything is gonna be okay. I swear my life on it, okay? You came all the way here when you’re like—like—like this, and you’ve helped me a billion and one times, and I promise I’ll repay you for that, okay?”

“Okay,” Blitzwing said simply.

“Okay,” Bumblebee said. “Cool. Okay. Yeah. So, uh, here’s the plan. First, uh, maybe we should talk about that fight we had—”

“Bumblebee, I really think repairs should come before discussion about our relationship,” Blitzwing said dryly.

Bumblebee winced as he saw a fresh stream of energon start to slide from the side of Blitzwing’s mouth, and he wiped it away hastily, nodding. “Right, yeah,” he said. “I wasn’t stalling or anything because I don’t have a plan. That’d be—that’d be super dumb.”

Blitzwing chuckled, shaking his helm a tiny bit, his monocular spiraling as it met Bumblebee’s optics. Even with very few facial features, Bumblebee could still make out the faintest glimmer of a smile, his broken optic scrunching up slightly in an expression of pure gratitude and admiration that made Bumblebee’s spark feel more whole than it had been in months.

Bumblebee returned the smile with a wider one and leaned down to kiss Blitzwing again, finding it rather hard to keep his servos to himself. Time itself seemed to slow as Bumblebee held Blitzwing close, unwilling to let go, kissing him as though it was the last time he would ever do so. And Blitzwing was trying his damndest to do the same, which made Bumblebee feel lighter than air, his spark so warm that he swore it must be visibly glowing.

But time restarted as Blitzwing’s helm jerked back, his face whipping to the side with a terrible screech as he began to violently cough, fresh energon spilling onto his shoulder. Bumblebee jerked back and briskly began to try and clear the vibrant pink liquid away, his intake closing with nerves.

“It’s okay, Blitzwing, y-you’re good,” he stammered, unsure as to how true that statement was, listening fearfully to the awful sound of gears whining and groaning under Blitzwing’s broken plating. “It’s okay. I promise. You’re gonna be okay. I’ll find a way, I swore, remember? Just—we can do a rain check on the kisses, if that helps, okay?”

“It’s not the kisses, moron,” Blitzwing hissed, spitting a large mouthful of oil to the ground. “That was my compressors, I think—they’re blown. And so is everything else in my engines.”

“That’s okay,” Bumblebee said nervously. “There’s a lot of repair shops in Detroit, maybe we can take you to one of them?”

“Just what the citizens of Detroit love,” Blitzwing said bitterly. “Decepticons.”

“You don’t have the symbol anymore, so maybe we can just duct tape an Autobot insignia onto you and it’ll be fine,” Bumblebee tried with a nervous grin.

Blitzwing chuckled, his bad optic sparking once again. “You’re not the team strategist, are you?” he said faintly.

“Hell no,” Bumblebee said. “I have a good idea once in a while, though. Just not when I’m panicking.”

“Don’t panic,” Blitzwing said, looking at Bumblebee with the same overwhelmingly soft expression as before. “I don’t want to see you panic. I just want to see you happy.”

Bumblebee swallowed down a strained sob, nodding. “Got it,” he said. “Not panicking. Just happy. Happy because you’re alive and because I can kiss you a ton.”

And Bumblebee did just that, leaning down to pepper Blitzwing’s face in more kisses, his spark starting to shudder nervously inside his chest. He had never seen Blitzwing seem so defeated, so small, and it ached to see him in such a state. Bumblebee was so used to the triple changer being strong and protective that it dug at his very spark to see him look like this, to hear him craft all of his words carefully so they would be fitting to be his last.

Bumblebee just kept kissing him, partially to hide the fresh tears on his face, but more so because he didn’t want to do anything else.

He didn’t even hear the sound of tires rolling over the dirt, nor the telltale tsche-chu-chu-chu-tsche of transformation resonating three times behind him. He didn’t have a care in the world except for the feeling of Blitzwing’s broken lips against his own and the softness with which the air from their vents collided and swirled around them.

“Bumblebee!”

It was only after Ratchet’s fourth furious shout that Bumblebee snapped out of his trance, pulling away from Blitzwing and turning around with a scowl. “What?” he yelled. “Got a problem or something, you old—”

Bumblebee’s lines filled with ice when he saw the number of weapons pointed at Blitzwing—two electromagnets crackling with energy, an axe raised high, and two sharp shurikens poised to be thrown. Bumblebee immediately leapt from Blitzwing’s chest and drew his stingers, putting himself between the Autobots and Blitzwing, optics narrowed.

“He’s hurt,” Bumblebee said flatly, holding his servos forward as defensively as he could manage. “He needs help.”

“He doesn’t need help,” Ratchet said, looking disgusted as his optics fell on Blitzwing. “He’s a Decepticon. The last thing he needs is help from us.”

“Please,” Bumblebee said. “He’s—”

“Don’t start with this again, kid,” Ratchet snapped. “He’s tried to take all of us offline dozens of times! I don’t care if you think he needs help! He doesn’t deserve help!”

“That’s fair,” Blitzwing croaked.

Bumblebee spun around, his gaze shooting daggers at Blitzwing. “Hush, you,” he muttered. “I pinky promised, didn’t I?”

Blitzwing fell silent, his optic closing, exhaustion written all over his face. Bumblebee turned back toward the Autobots, refusing to move away from Blitzwing, keeping his expression as stern as possible.

“He needs help,” Bumblebee repeated firmly. “Please. He’s not going to hurt any of us—right, Blitzy?”

An audial-splitting screech preceded a whirr and a defeated snicker. “That depends,” Blitzwing rasped around splintered, jagged dentae.

“On what?” Prowl chided in.

Screech. Whirr. “On whether you stop pointing your weapons in Bumblebee’s direction,” Blitzwing snarled, his voice shallow but his anger heavy as ever.

“We’re not pointing them at him, Decepticon,” Ratchet snapped. “We’re pointing them at you.”

“Because I’m obviously such a threat in this state, idiotic medic,” Blitzwing spat. “Lower them.”

“Or what?” Ratchet yelled.

“Ratchet, please,” Optimus said, his optics tightly trained on Blitzwing as his axe slowly drifted toward his side. “I don’t think he could hurt us if he tried.”

“Watch me,” Blitzwing growled. “Lower them.”

Ratchet hesitated, firing an irritated glance at Optimus before letting his electromagnets retract. Prowl holstered his shurikens, but his stance remained as rigid as ever, poised to strike.

“Okay then,” Bumblebee said, trying not to show the wave of visible relief that crashed over him. “So, then. Are we gonna help him or not? Or are you just gonna let him die?”

“Yes,” Ratchet said, right as Optimus said “No.” They shared a furious glare, optics locked on one another, and Prowl sighed, pinching the plating between his optics.

“Bumblebee, I understand your worry for Blitzwing, given your apparent… history,” Prowl said, giving the triple an uncertain glance. “But—”

“But nothing,” Bumblebee interrupted.

“Let me finish,” Prowl said tightly. “Blitzwing. What happened to you?”

Screech. Whirr. “Megatron happened,” Blitzwing said coldly, a thick cloud of smoke seeping from his throat and out of his mouth. “I’m certain you’ll be surprised to hear that he did not take lightly to my relations with an Autobot.”

“How much does he know?” Prowl asked shortly.

“Very little, I would assume, unless the little chatterbox gave anything away.”

Prowl stared at Bumblebee wryly, and the minibot laughed nervously, raising his hands a bit higher. “Maybe a bit more than a little,” Bumblebee admitted. “But I was panicking, okay? I thought Blitzwing was dead, and Megatron was—”

“A triple changer, I assume,” Blitzwing said.

Prowl gestured to his scraped finish. “Keen observation.”

“It was a guess, not an observation. But thank you.”

“You were aware of his decision to change his alt modes?”

“I became aware too late, it seems.”

Prowl kept his gaze locked on Blitzwing for quite some time, and Bumblebee felt his spark racing with nerves and hope. “Prowl,” he said slowly. “Can we just—”

“No,” Prowl said abruptly, crushing Bumblebee’s optimism in one simple syllable. “We’re at enough risk as is, given Megatron’s upgrades. And if he knows about you, you’re going to be in more danger than you can possibly imagine.”

“What does that have to do with helping Blitzwing?” Bumblebee yelled, his pitch rising significantly as panic began to wrap its vicelike grip around his spark once again. “If Megatron is gonna beat me up anyway, why can’t we—”

“Your teammate is worried that Megatron may undergo the same troublesome changes that I have undergone,” Blitzwing said. “And that his fury may become uncontainable should he see me fighting against him. Or that I may react recklessly upon seeing him, for that matter.”

“Exactly,” Prowl said, sounding almost surprised. “I’m sorry, Bumblebee, but—”

“No!” Bumblebee yelled. “We have to help him! He’s—we—it’s our—I need to—I—”

“Bumblebee, stop,” Ratchet said tiredly. “You may trust this Con, but none of us do. It’s too risky.”

“So you’re not even going to give him a chance to earn your trust?” Bumblebee said. “What about me, then? Don’t you trust me?”

“Given how often you’ve lied to our faces, I don’t know anymore!” Ratchet yelled.

“Ratchet!” Optimus interjected as Bumblebee’s spark began to ache, burning as though it had just split in half. “Don’t start with that.”

“Prime, you are—”

“Enough,” Optimus said with finality, turning toward Bumblebee with a grave frown. “Listen, Bumblebee. We need to call the Elite Guard for support regarding Megatron. And they—”

“They didn’t even believe you when you said he was online!” Bumblebee said shrilly. “Why would they believe you if you told them he was a triple changer?”

“—And they absolutely aren’t going to help us if we have a Decepticon in our base,” Optimus continued, ignoring Bumblebee’s protests. “We’ll all be arrested and tried for treason at the least.”

“Blitzwing got exiled for me,” Bumblebee said. Then he paused, turning toward Blitzwing nervously. “You are exiled, right?”

“Very much so, yes,” Blitzwing said plainly.

“There, yeah, see?” Bumblebee said, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. “So he’s not technically a Decepticon, which means we can fix him up, and then call the Elite Guard and get help against Megatron. It’s a loophole, and we can exploit that! Frag knows Sentinel does that slag all the time!”

“Bumblebee,” Optimus started tiredly.

“I don’t care what his affiliation is,” Ratchet snapped. “He was a Decepticon. One of Megatron’s right-hand mechs. The top of the food chain. I’m not gonna let someone that close to Megatron anywhere near our base and my team, especially not—”

Ratchet suddenly froze and drew his weapons once again, prompting everyone else to follow suit on instinct. Bumblebee yelped and put his servos forward once again in a feeble attempt to protect Blitzwing, but Ratchet had turned away from the triple changer, peering into the woods with a deep scowl.

“I heard something,” he muttered.

“Decepticons?” Prowl asked.

“Maybe,” Ratchet said, narrowing his optics. “Sounded more like tires than jets, though.”

“Who’s there?” Optimus yelled, raising his axe and stepping toward the trees. “Show yourself now.”

There was an agonizingly long pause before a green helm peeked out from a tree in the distance, soft blue optics wide and worried. Prowl groaned and put his shurikens away.

“Bulkhead, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Sorry!” Bulkhead called. “I had to run back to base to, uh, get something. I thought it might help, since Bumblebee ran away and all.”

“What?” Bumblebee asked as Bulkhead approached, servos cupped in front of his chest.

“Uh, well,” Bulkhead said, grinning nervously. “Someone you always listen to. And a member of the team that should have her opinion heard when it comes to—”

“Do not tell me that you brought Sari here,” Optimus said exasperatedly.

“He brought Sari here!” a bright voice chirped from between Bulkhead’s servos. Bulkhead’s tense grin widened, and he unfolded his hands to reveal a waving, grinning Sari. Bumblebee felt himself smiling in spite of himself, lowering his arms just slightly.

“Sari!” he said happily.

“Oh, this day just keeps getting better and better,” Prowl said, smacking his forehead.

“She got worried when she heard us over the comms and asked me to come get her!” Bulkhead said defensively.

“And you listened?” Ratchet yelled.

“Hey, I’m Bee’s best friend!” Sari piped up, folding her arms over her chest and jumping to the ground. “And I knew about Blitzwing because he told me, and I’m a member of this team too, so that means I am fully entitled to be here.”

“You told Sari about Blitzwing?” Ratchet shouted, whirling to face Bumblebee. The minibot stuck his servos back in the air, shrugging as much as he could.

“Hey, when did this become about me?” he said. “Bulkhead’s the one who brought her here!”

“I can’t believe you involved her,” Ratchet snarled. “Do you have any idea the danger you’ve put her—”

“Enough!” Optimus yelled, shutting everyone up in an instant. “What’s done is done. But Sari, it doesn’t matter. This isn’t a decision you get to be a part of.”

“Why not?” Sari whined.

“Because I said so!” Optimus said.

“Ugh! You sound just like my dad!” Sari grumbled, hoisting her shoulders high as she plastered her face with a pout.

“The only thing you get to do is convince Bumblebee to leave and come back to base,” Ratchet added. “Bumblebee, come on.”

“No,” Bumblebee said. “I’m not going anywhere without Blitzwing.”

“For frag’s sake, kid,” Ratchet said. “We’re not bringing him back, alright? Decision made. Unless anyone else wants to object?”

Bumblebee looked around at his fellow Autobots, his spark sinking as no one spoke up. This can’t be happening, he thought, planting his pedes on the ground. “Fine,” he said. “Then you all can go back to base. Have fun.”

“Don’t be irrational, Bumblebee,” Optimus said, rubbing his forehead angrily.

“Just leave him, Prime. Blitzwing is going to go offline, and he’s going to be stuck here all alone with a corpse,” Ratchet snapped, his stare boiling with fury as they landed on Blitzwing. “He’ll be back at the base soon enough.”

“That’s not true!” Bumblebee argued, hot tears springing up behind his optics. “If you won’t help him, I—I will!”

“With what training?” Ratchet snarled.

“I don’t need training!” Bumblebee yelled. “I sorta kinda fixed his leg in the woods before! I can fix the rest of this!”

“Bumblebee—” Blitzwing cut in.

“Shush, you!” Bumblebee cried, whirling to face the triple changer, wiping tears from his face. “I promised, okay? I pinky promised! I’m gonna help you! S-somehow!”

Blitzwing gazed at Bumblebee for a few moments, his monocular spiraling in and out. “Your safety is the most important thing right now,” he said slowly. “And if you—”

He suddenly choked and began hacking out copious amounts of energon once again, startling every Autobot into taking a step backwards. Sari gasped and covered her mouth, eyes widening with shock.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, sounding torn between shock and awe.

“Unimportant,” Blitzwing mumbled, jerking his helm to the side, energon dripping from his lips in thick ribbons.

“Blitzwing,” Bumblebee whispered, taking a step closer to him, his spark throbbing painfully, feeling as though it was crumbling to dust. “I—”

Blitzwing’s helm dropped sharply, bent at an impossible angle as he spat energon onto his cockpit, and Bumblebee could just barely see the fear that flashed across his face as cables in his neck started to split. “Call your Elite Guard,” Blitzwing said through gritted dentae. “It’s the safest thing for you.”

“But—Blitzy, no,” Bumblebee said, spinning toward Optimus with his servos waving frantically in the air. “Boss?”

“We need to go, Bumblebee,” Optimus said soberly, his gaze carefully pointed away from Blitzwing’s cracking frame. “Come on.”

“No!” Bumblebee yelled, dashing toward Optimus and latching onto his arms, shaking them frantically. “I’m not going! Go without me!”

“We’re not leaving you, kid,” Ratchet said darkly. “He’s a goner. Listen to Prime, and let’s go.”

“No!” Bumblebee screamed, tightening his grip on Optimus. “No! I’m not! You can’t—”

“Sari!” Prowl suddenly shouted over the ruckus. “Don’t go near him!”

Bumblebee whirled around, optics bulging out of his helm as he saw what had startled Prowl—Sari was scaling Blitzwing’s frame, her tiny hands easily able to catch the multitude of dents and cracks in his armor and hoist her body up. Prowl rushed toward them, but Sari held a hand up, wearing a frown most unlike anything an eight year old should have been able to manage.

“What are you doing?” Ratchet barked, taking a step forward.

Sari ignored him, and Bumblebee watched in disbelief as she clambered right up to Blitzwing’s lolling helm. With a grimace, she tugged it upright, clearly straining, her expression strangely determined.

Blitzwing’s monocular spun wildly, attempting to locate Sari as she leaned against his helm, cupping a hand around her mouth as she whispered something that was inaudible over the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves. Blitzwing immediately froze, his plating clattering as a shudder very obviously ran through him, the space around his broken optic twitching.

What is she…? Bumblebee thought, beyond confused, wondering why a jolt of fresh hope had started stitching his broken spark back together. He watched as Sari swung in front of Blitzwing’s face with all the fearlessness of a young child, her hands gripping the sides of his helm and her foot tapping impatiently against his chest.

Blitzwing nodded.

Without a word, Sari pulled her key from her neck and clumsily worked her way to Blitzwing’s forehead. Bumblebee felt an almost painful surge of joy as the crushed plating automatically retracted, and before any of the Autobots could even open their mouths, Sari had guided the key into his circuitry and twisted it hard.

A blinding flash of white light erupted through the trees, and Bumblebee yelped, shielding his optics in a failed attempt to see what was going on. Not that he needed much explanation—every single one of the Autobots had been on the receiving end of that key, and they all knew exactly what Sari was doing with it. Though as to why, Bumblebee wasn’t sure.

Not that he cared. The light dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared, and the Autobots gaped in perplexity as Blitzwing drew a shuddering gasp of air through his fully-functional vents, grabbing at his chest with two shiny, working servos.

The Autobots gaped at him. Bumblebee wondered if he may faint as Blitzwing looked toward him, blinking in complete and utter confusion.

“Blitzwing,” Bumblebee whispered, taking a small step forward.

Blitzwing patted his cheeks curiously, his face spinning to black, massive scarlet optics even bigger than normal with unbridled surprise. “Neat,” he said, flicking at his dentae. “Look, little Bee! Faceplates!” His face spun back to blue seamlessly, his monocular telescoping in and out as he looked around, a small smirk lifting his lips. “Fascinating.”

“Blitzwing!” Bumblebee screamed, bounding toward the completely repaired triple changer and face-planting into his chest, hugging him as tightly as possible.

No one spoke for quite some time as Bumblebee sobbed and babbled incoherently into Blitzwing’s chest, shaking violently as he felt Blitzwing’s servos slide around him and hold him close. Bumblebee could barely think straight, let alone speak, clutching to Blitzwing and crying harder than he knew he could, shaking like a leaf, joy surging through his systems in overwhelming tidal waves.

He felt Sari slide down Blitzwing’s frame and jump to the ground, making a self-satisfied noise as she walked away, but as much as Bumblebee wanted to thank her, he couldn’t bring himself to remove his face from Blitzwing’s chassis. His servos scrabbled against Blitzwing’s smooth plating, digits digging into it as though it was the first time they’d ever touched.

“Blitzwing,” he wailed, finally managing a coherent word. “You’re—you’re—”

“Shh.”

Blitzwing’s servos tightened around Bumblebee’s back, and Bumblebee felt himself rising as Blitzwing stood, easily looming over the Autobots that stood below. Bumblebee wriggled around, facing the now-terrified faces of his team, but Blitzwing made no attempts at intimidation. He merely held onto Bumblebee, pulling the minibot to his chest protectively.

“Well, then?” Blitzwing said coldly, his now-working optic locked directly on Ratchet. “I believe a different decision-making process is in order.”

“What’re you gonna do, kidnap him?” Ratchet countered mockingly. “Doesn’t really make you look like the ‘good mech’ Bumblebee thinks you are.”

“No,” Blitzwing said, optic narrowing. “I’m going to keep him safe from Megatron, given that I am no longer… incapacitated. And I will not be taken away from him. If you choose to help me, so be it, but I will be by his side to protect him regardless of where he goes.”

Bumblebee tried to ignore the warm glow of his spark as Ratchet scoffed, folding his arms angrily. “Us?” he said. “Help you protect him? You, an excommunicated Decepticon, protecting one of our team?”

Blitzwing rolled his optics and shifted his gaze to Optimus. “You are the ‘leader’ of this team, Prime, are you not?” he asked.

“Try not to sound so surprised,” Optimus muttered.

“Either you give him orders to stay amongst your team, and I will remain by his side should he choose to follow said orders,” Blitzwing said plainly, “or do not give him orders and leave him free to make his own decision. I trust him to do what is best.”

“You—wait, don’t act like you’re the one giving orders around here just because you can stand up now,” Optimus said, obviously both confused and annoyed. “Teams need leaders, and that’s been my job with my team for stellar cycles!”

“I don’t doubt that,” Blitzwing said with a cold sneer. “I have no intentions of stepping on your pedes, so to speak. I simply thought that Autobots valued free thinking above all else. Is that not something you… older bots would say is a fundamental difference between yourself and the Decepticons?”

Blitzwing’s gaze lingered on Ratchet as he spoke, and Bumblebee winced as he saw the medic begin to quiver with suppressed rage. Bumblebee nudged his elbow against Blitzwing’s chest, leaning up toward his helm.

“Blitzy,” he whispered. “Wherever you go, I’ll go. But—”

“I know, little one,” Blitzwing murmured. “And wherever you go, I’ll go.”

“B-but—I want to be with my team, too,” Bumblebee continued nervously.

“I know,” Blitzwing said.

Bumblebee cocked his helm, confused. “Then why are you being so—”

Blitzwing put a servo on Bumblebee’s cheek, gently stroking it as he returned his gaze to the Autobots. “Just trust me for a moment,” he said softly. “Pivotal moments await us, and I intend to be fully informed regarding choices that must be made.”

Bumblebee didn’t have a single clue what that meant, but he nodded regardless, drumming his digits nervously against the massive arms wrapped snugly around his waist.

“Prime, we can’t lose Bee,” Bulkhead said, fiddling tightly with his clumsy servos. “But—I mean—”

“Why is there even a ‘but’?” Ratchet snapped. “We are not letting a Decepticon into our base! Bumblebee, you—”

Whirr. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a Decepticon anymore!” Blitzwing bellowed, his temper finally boiling over and nearly deafening Bumblebee with his shouts.

“Don’t you yell at me, you—you—you Decepticon freak!” Ratchet shouted, more rage in his optics than Bumblebee had ever seen.

“What the frag did you just call me?” Blitzwing roared.

“Once a Decepticon, always a Decepticon!”

“Oh, so you’re not only an aft, but a hypocrite too?” Blitzwing bellowed. “You old war mechs think you know so much. Why don’t you take your so-called morals and shove them up your actuator!”

“Ow,” Bumblebee wheezed as Blitzwing’s servos clenched around him, squashing him like a stress ball. “Blitzy—ow—you’re crushing me—”

“I was in that war before you were even forged,” Ratchet shouted furiously. “And I distinctly remember—”

“Enough!” Optimus yelled, covering his audials. “That’s enough from both of you! Decision made. Blitzwing, you will stay with us. Temporarily. And under—”

“What?” Ratchet and Bumblebee said in unison, one voice livid and the other overjoyed.

“—Under extreme and constant supervision,” Optimus continued with narrowed optics. “And that supervision will be unbiased. Understand, Bumblebee? And you too, Ratchet?”

Bumblebee nodded, speechless, gripping Blitzwing’s arms so tightly that he worried he may break the plating. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, that’s fine. Totally fine. I’m good with that.”

“Prime,” Ratchet said, his tone almost as defeated as his expression. “Why the hell would you—”

“Because he’s fully healed and completely functional, thanks to Sari’s very sudden and unannounced decision,” Optimus said with a small frown. Sari shrugged and waved jauntily.

“But—he’s—he’s a Decepticon, Prime!” Ratchet argued, shooting Sari a very irritated stare.

“Former,” Blitzwing added callously.

“And the last thing we need is to be up against two triple changers, regardless of current or former affiliation” Optimus said. “I’m trying to make an unbiased decision based on the information we have, alright? He’ll be constantly monitored, and—”

“This is ridiculous,” Ratchet said loudly, clenching his servos into fists. “Sari, are you going to explain why you decided to fix him without asking any of us? Because even if Prime can make unbiased decisions, I’m not sure you can! And clearly, neither can Bumblebee!”

“Hey!” Bumblebee and Sari said in unison.

“You’re not exactly setting a good example here, doc bot!” Bumblebee snapped.

“That’s not important right now!” Optimus said. “Trust me, Ratchet, I don’t like this either. Absolutely no one can know that Blitzwing will be residing in our base. But I just need some time to think of a plan, and I can’t do that with a Decepti—a factionless mech running rampant around Detroit. We can’t risk anyone unsavory recruiting him. It’s better for him to be contained.”

“He should be imprisoned in our base,” Ratchet. “That’s something I could get behind.”

“He essentially will be,” Optimus said. “Blitzwing, you may stay in our base if you promise not to inform anyone of your location, nor to leave the base under any circumstances. If Megatron was to see you—”

“Whatever,” Blitzwing growled, his visor flashing. “Are we done arguing yet? This is getting extremely boring.”

“Oh, well, sorry for boring you,” Ratchet hissed.

“You got a problem, you crusty old—”

“Enough,” Optimus said, rubbing his forehead. “This is just temporary, so please try to keep your tempers in check while I think of what to do.”

“You do realize that, eventually, we’re going to have to call the Elite Guard for support against Megatron,” Prowl noted quietly. “And I don’t think they’d take well to… him in our base.”

“Yes, Prowl, I know that,” Optimus said tiredly. He opened his mouth as if to continue, but then his optics landed on Bumblebee and his mouth snapped shut once again.

Bumblebee frowned. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Optimus said. “Let’s just go. And Blitzwing, if you’re going to be in our base, you’re going to wear the correct insignia. We can’t risk even a flash of the Decepticon insignia being seen in downtown Detroit. It’ll cause a panic among the humans within seconds.”

Whirr. “Yecch,” Blitzwing scoffed with disgust, his jagged dentae tugged into a disappointed frown. “Red is so not my color.”

Ratchet rolled his optics and turned furiously on his heel, stomping through the trees in the direction of the river, followed closely by Prowl and Bulkhead, both of whom looked extraordinarily tense. Optimus glanced back at Blitzwing and Bumblebee, waving hesitantly for them to follow as he scooped Sari from the ground and began to carry her far away from the pair.

Bumblebee wriggled out of Blitzwing’s grasp, overwhelmed with a flurry of complicated emotions—nervousness, fear, stress, guilt, all of which were smothered by copious amounts of glee. Blitzwing was alive and Bumblebee was going to get to see him every single day. Logically, he knew that there were very few situations where such a scenario could last, but he fully intended to enjoy it while he could.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Bumblebee whispered, slowly taking a few steps forward, coaxing Blitzwing into joining him.

Blitzwing nodded cheerfully, his optics scrunched into happy slits as he walked forward with a little skip in his step. “I don’t seem to have much of a choice if I want to stay with my little Bee,” he said.

“Right,” Bumblebee said, swallowing as he looked up at Blitzwing’s face. The triple changer seemed surprisingly cheerful, his frame bouncing as he walked, wings fluttering happily, but his gaze remained fixed firmly forward, focused tensely on the trees in front of him.

“Do you think the red might bring out my eyes?” Blitzwing said dreamily, scooping Bumblebee’s hand into his own and squeezing it tightly, almost nervously.

Bumblebee smiled, forcing down all of his reservations and returning the squeeze, trying to be as reassuring as possible. “I think red’ll look great on you,” he said.

Blitzwing hummed warmly, his hand nearly crushing Bumblebee’s as the Autobots came back into view, each of them glancing over their shoulders uneasily. “They don’t like me,” he said in a loud whisper, clutching Bumblebee’s servo as if he never intended to let go.

“That’s okay,” Bumblebee said soothingly. “I like you.”

Blitzwing finally lowered his gaze from the trees and onto Bumblebee, the forced scarlet grin softening ever so slightly, a genuine warmth shining through for a moment. “I like me too,” he said. “But I like you even more.”

“Would you two keep up, please?” Ratchet suddenly snapped, interrupting the smile that had lifted onto Bumblebee’s face. “We’re gonna have to take the long route if we want to keep him away from human eyes.”

“Oh, hide and seek?” Blitzwing said brightly. “I’m really good! Can I go first? Please? Can I? Can I? Please?”

Bumblebee giggled as Ratchet rolled his optics and turned back around, grumbling something very angry but fortunately indecipherable. Sari popped up over Optimus’s shoulder, flashing Bumblebee a thumbs up with one hand as she pointed at Bumblebee and Blitzwing’s intertwined fingers with the other. Bumblebee felt light as a feather, smiling wide enough to strain the limits of his faceplates.

“Hey, Blitzy,” Bumblebee asked, leaning his helm against Blitzwing’s hip. “What did she ask you before using her key?”

“Hm?”

“Sari asked you something, didn’t she? What was it?”

“Hmmm?”

Bumblebee scowled and rolled his optics. “Come on, tell me,” he urged. “Why’d she fix you?”

“Hmmm?”

“Tell me!”

“Hmmm… no, not yet,” Blitzwing said, contentedly humming nonsense notes to himself to prove that he was ignoring the way Bumblebee was tugging at his arm.

“Fine,” Bumblebee grumbled, lifting Blitzwing’s servo to his lips and giving it a brief kiss.

Secrets could wait as long as they had to so long as Blitzwing’s hand was in his.

Chapter Text

Navigating through downtown Detroit was far more difficult than anticipated—Blitzwing had never realized just how many humans and non-sentient robots littered the streets until he was forced to try and hide from a majority of them. They were everywhere, their little eyes constantly dancing around the skyscrapers that surrounded them, taking in the surroundings that they were sure to forget in just a few hours.

Blitzwing, on the other hand, didn’t bother examining the area much, as he doubted he’d be given the chance to explore it in depth even if he wanted to. But he didn’t let such a thing annoy him—he was far too preoccupied with the small yellow servo in his own, feeling its warmth against him, listening to the steady purr of Bumblebee’s happy engines as they walked along the outskirts of the city.

The medic bot, Ratchet, was the one keeping an eye out for humans even as their presence thinned, seeming all too keen on notifying them that they had “captured a Decepticon” and were “taking him in for questioning.” Blitzwing couldn’t have rolled his optics harder even if he wanted to, but he supposed that if it kept Ratchet from talking to him, there was no reason for him to complain.

Blitzwing glanced down at Bumblebee and squeezed his servo gently, trying to muscle down the irritation and worry simmering in his spark. Bumblebee met his gaze and smiled immediately, optics soft and glistening in the afternoon sunlight, his entire face seeming to glow.

Blitzwing gave a small smile in return, and Bumblebee’s vents whirred rather loudly.

“Hey, you,” Ratchet suddenly barked, very quickly hardening the slight softness that had started claiming the edge of Blitzwing’s spark. Blitzwing slowly moved his gaze to the medic, already rather bored with the grouchy old mech.

“Yes?” he said quietly.

“We’re here,” Ratchet said. “Stop giving googly optics for two seconds and get inside before I have to explain to another human about why you’re with us.”

“With pleasure,” Blitzwing muttered, raising a brow at the building Ratchet was gesturing to.

It appeared to be little more than an old manufacturing plant just beyond the edge of a nearly-empty highway, adorned with rusted metal walls and shattered windows. Blitzwing tried not to cringe at the sight of it, biting his lip and looking down at Bumblebee.

“Is this it?” Blitzwing asked, choosing his words carefully.

Bumblebee nodded excitedly, clearly too overjoyed about the situation to be put off by Blitzwing’s obviously condescending tone. “I know it doesn’t look like too much, but it’s really nice inside,” Bumblebee said, rushing toward the sliding garage door and whisking it open. “We’ve got the communications center, a living room with a huge TV, and we all get our own rooms! Plus there’s tons of oil, so you can fuel pretty much whenever you want, and it’s really fun to play on the conveyor belts. Sari and I do that all the time, and Prowl uses them to train, and I—uh—um.”

Bumblebee’s voice trailed into nothingness as Blitzwing approached the open doorway, staring at it apprehensively. I could just duck, I suppose, he thought, bending over and promptly smacking one of his wings hard against the frame of the door with a hiss.

“Problem?” Ratchet said snidely from inside the plant.

Blitzwing shot him an icy stare, trying to ignore the human child’s incessant giggling as he dropped to his stomach and slid through the door, the glass on his cockpit whining in protest as he scraped it against the pebble-ridden ground.

“This is humiliating,” Blitzwing hissed as Bumblebee rushed past him, covering his mouth with barely concealed laughter.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Bumblebee said, taking one of Blitzwing’s servos and tugging on it to help him scoot across the dirt. “I mean, it’s not like you’ll have to leave very often, right?”

He chuckled, a high-pitched and incredibly nervous chuckle. Blitzwing sighed and pinned his wings back, barely shoving them through the doorway.

“Funny,” Blitzwing grumbled.

He let Bumblebee semi-help him to his pedes and turned to examine the base, promptly sending an empty barrel of oil soaring across the floor as one of his wings smacked into it hard. The clattering of empty metal was deafening in the oddly quiet base, followed by an incredibly awkward silence as Blitzwing froze.

“You, um,” Optimus said tensely. “You might need to watch where you step.”

“Noted,” Blitzwing muttered.

The base was small and cluttered, much unlike the lofty and relatively tidy Decepticon base. It was almost quaint, Blitzwing supposed as he tiptoed forward, keeping his wings tucked in as tightly as possible as he looked around at the run-down hardware and creaky walls. Though, at the very least, the ceiling was tall enough to accommodate Blitzwing’s height—he cared deeply for Bumblebee, but being forced to crouch constantly might’ve been somewhat of a dealbreaker.

“What do you think?” Bumblebee asked excitedly, interrupting Blitzwing’s inner monologue. “Cool, isn’t it? And it’s pretty big, actually! There’s a whole tree in Prowl’s room!”

“Why?” Blitzwing asked.

“He likes trees. And we had a spare room, but now Sari’s using it because her dad’s gone—”

Blitzwing’s tanks churned uncomfortably.

“—But I have a lot of space in my quarters, so you can probably—”

“No,” Ratchet interrupted shortly.

Prowl shook his helm as he glided toward his quarters, giving Blitzwing a strangely flat glance. “Have fun with this one,” he said softly as he disappeared, almost earning a chuckle out of Blitzwing.

Bumblebee had folded his arms and was sticking his lower lip out in his classic pout, glaring at Ratchet. “Why not?” he asked moodily. “Where else is he gonna recharge? He’s not sleeping on the fragging floor!”

“We have a basement area,” Ratchet said. “He’s not a guest, Bumblebee.”

“Well, he’s not a prisoner!” Bumblebee argued, puffing his chest out. “Boss, tell him Blitzwing can sleep in my room!”

“Um,” Optimus started nervously, though he was quickly cut off when Blitzwing raised a servo with a scowl.

“I understand your reservations, medic,” Blitzwing said, mentally forcing himself to be as civil as possible. If I’m going to be living with this rusty excuse for a mech, I might as well find a way to make it somewhat tolerable. “But I think you understand as well as I do that you will not hear the end of Bumblebee’s whining if you don’t let us share quarters.”

He chuckled, then giggled, feeling his grin stretch wide as he scooped Bumblebee from the floor. “If your worry is about observing me, I can sleep in your room, doc bot!” he said merrily. “How about that? I’m a great roommate! I only scream in my sleep a few times a night now!”

Sari cocked her head curiously. “Really?”

Blitzwing cackled without answering, amusedly swinging Bumblebee around. Optimus glanced at Ratchet and shrugged pitifully.

“Bee is just going to complain,” Optimus said in a strained voice.

“Bee always complains!” Ratchet snapped.

“I’d rather Blitzwing stay somewhere where he can be supervised,” Optimus said firmly, ignoring Ratchet’s retort. “And—yes, I know we could take shifts, but I need us all to be at the top of our game and well-rested now that Megatron is running rampant with two alt modes. We can’t be observing the skies and a psuedo-prisoner at the same time.”

Ratchet scoffed, clearly trying to come up with another argument before giving up and snapping his fingers at Blitzwing. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But first, you—medbay. We need to get that insignia off before someone spots you.”

Blitzwing giggled a little harder, his spark shuddering uneasily as he wrapped his arms more snugly around Bumblebee. “Okie dokie,” he said brightly.

This was really it. Megatron may have smashed his Decepticon insignia, but broken glass was temporary—paint, less so. He was going to be branded as an Autobot. He certainly wasn’t going to accept the mentality, but he was going to be wearing their skin, painted with their colors, possibly forever. His digits began to tremble as a pool of emotions washed over him—uncertainty, fear, panic, excitement, worry.

But it all disappeared as Bumblebee tapped on his knuckles, looking up at Blitzwing with those big blue optics of his. “Hey,” he whispered. “It’s okay. It’s just a technicality, alright? This doesn’t have to be some big life changing thing if you don’t want it to be.”

Blitzwing felt a rush of cool, relaxed air hiss through his vents almost immediately, his jittery nerves slowing their dance. Stupid bug, he thought affectionately. Bumblebee’s processor was so simple sometimes, so wonderfully simple, and Blitzwing both envied and admired such a thing. Bumblebee didn’t overthink the way Blitzwing did—he didn’t analyze every outcome of every situation, spend the wee hours of the night roaming through his thoughts, dedicating all of his time to having the perfect answers to every question. Bumblebee didn’t need that like Blitzwing did. He just was, and in that moment, Blitzwing had never looked up to the little Autobot more.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “Thank you for that. Now, while I’m in the medbay, perhaps you should tidy your quarters?”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” Bumblebee said indignantly. “My room is fine!”

“Will I be able to walk from the door to the berth without stepping on anything?” Blitzwing asked dryly.

Bumblebee blinked a few times before wriggling out of Blitzwing’s arms, walking as though he was on the world’s most important mission. “On an unrelated note to what you just said, I think I’m going to clean up real quick. You’ll come in after, right?”

“I will,” Blitzwing said, watching with amusement as Bumblebee picked up the pace and vanished down the hall. Idiot.

“You done staring?” Ratchet asked irritably, crashing into Blitzwing’s thoughts. “Come on, follow me.”

“Keen on spending time with me, medic?” Blitzwing said sardonically.

“Keen on getting this done so I don’t have to deal with you more than I have to,” Ratchet grumbled. “Medbay’s this way. Try not to knock anything over once you’re in there.”

Blitzwing rolled his optics, clenching his servos into fists. If he only missed one thing about being with the Decepticons, it was the standing permission to punch mechs for making snarky comments such as those.

Behave, Blitzwing told himself shortly. You’re not doing this for yourself.

Bumblebee stared in dismay at his quarters, wondering where all of this stuff had even come from. The floor was littered with abandoned barrels of oil, game cartridges, CDs, DVDs, ancient snack wrappers from his many sleepovers with Sari, gas canisters, wires, and piles of Primus knows what shoved under his berth. When did I even put a tire in here? Bumblebee thought, kicking his pede against the rubber circle and watching it carve a thin path through the clutter before coming to a rest near one of the walls.

This was going to be a feat.

He took a deep breath and opted to tackle one of the mountains of games first, sweeping a servo through the pile and sending the cases clattering to the floor for better viewing range. “Oh, damn, I still have San Andreas?” he whispered to himself, happily picking up the disc and blowing dust from it.

Surely it couldn’t hurt to play for a few minutes. Blitzwing would probably be a little while, and Bumblebee hadn’t played Grand Theft Auto in quite some time. Maybe a little bit of driving around and rampaging without repercussions would help make him feel less on edge.

Excited as he was to have Blitzwing in the base with him, he couldn’t shake the underlying unease that had been festering ever since they’d stepped inside. Blitzwing was quite obviously uncomfortable, albeit trying to pretend that he wasn’t, and the other Autobots were feeling the same way without the courtesy to hide it.

Bumblebee bit his lip irritably as he set down the game disc, shuffling through the pile for some more. Of course Ratchet was going to be the most upset about the situation, but since when had the Autobots been so unwilling to trust Bumblebee’s judgement? They at least sort of took my ideas into account before, he thought with a frown. Do they really hate Blitzwing that much? I mean, yeah, he once bit Prowl on the leg, but that was before! Ugh.

He picked up another game and let it dangle from his fingertips, knowing that he should be cleaning up but feeling far too distracted to bother. It’ll be fine, he told himself, trying to believe the words. There’ll be an adjustment period and then it’ll be fine. Optimus won’t have to call the Elite Guard and everything will be peachy. Don’t worry so much. Blitzy’s worried enough—the last thing he needs is for me to be freaking out too.

Bumblebee set his jaw and began to stack some of the games on top of one another, determined to make the space at least slightly comfortable. Blitzwing had given up his entire faction, his team, and nearly his life, all to protect Bumblebee. The least Bumblebee could do was give him a clean room to sleep in—and maybe it was time for him to rest in Bumblebee’s arms instead of vice versa. Primus knows the poor mech had earned a little bit of comfort for once in his life.

“Hey, little buddy?”

Bumblebee yelped, nearly knocking over the tidy pyramid of games that he had been assembling as he whipped around to face the door. “Do you not know how to knock?” Bumblebee yelled exasperatedly. “I’m cleaning here!”

“The door was open!” Bulkhead said with a small grin, inviting himself into the room. “I figured there was an open invitation. And Sari told me you were cleaning up, and that only happens once in a blue moon, so I had to see it for myself.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bumblebee grumbled, returning to his pile. “I am cleaning. So don’t distract me, okay?”

“I was actually wondering if you wanted some help,” Bulkhead said. “You’re, uh, gonna need a lot of free space.”

Bumblebee shrugged, suspicious as to why Bulkhead was offering to help him but certainly on board with the idea of doing less work. “Sure, I guess,” he said. “Most of this stuff probably just needs to get thrown out. All the barrels and stuff—except the one with the red label. I like that barrel. Looks cool.”

“No problem,” Bulkhead said, plopping himself cozily onto the floor and sifting through the junk littering the room, handling it all with great care despite his clunky, clumsy servos. Bumblebee didn’t pay him much mind, simply waiting for the question that he knew was coming. It had to be, and Bumblebee really didn’t want to answer it, but it was just a matter of time before everyone interrogated him.

A few long minutes of silence passed, one that Bumblebee refused to interrupt. Part of him wanted to prompt Bulkhead to speak, to just get the inevitable conversation out of the way, but a larger part of him hoped that if he stayed quiet, Bulkhead might just forget that he was here entirely.

More time passed, and Bulkhead moved across the room to start removing the extraneous wires and unused engine upgrades from the floor, arranging them neatly on a shelf instead. Bumblebee felt Bulkhead’s optics against his back as he passed, but he pointedly ignored the feeling, focusing all of his energy on arranging every single game in this room into a massive pyramid for no discernible reason.

“So,” Bulkhead said after an agonizingly silent ten minutes. “I gotta say, I’m glad to see you tidying up in here. It’s really a mess.”

“Thanks,” Bumblebee said flatly.

“Does, uh… does Blitzwing like a clean room?” Bulkhead said, clearly pressing. “Because I’ve known you for stellar cycles, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you clean anything. Ever.”

“I don’t really know,” Bumblebee said, already irritated with this beating around the bush.

“Hm.” Bulkhead didn’t say anything for a painfully long minute, though Bumblebee noticed that he’d stopped cleaning, most likely picking how to phrase his next words. “What, um… what else do you not know about him?”

Bumblebee sighed and set down the game in his hands, turning around to face Bulkhead with a small smile on his face. “Probably a lot,” he said firmly. “But I know the important things, and that’s what matters to me. I know that he risked his aft for me a ton of times and that he’s totally freaked out about the new and unfortunately improved Megatron, and that I care about his safety. What else is there to know?”

“Don’t get upset with me, okay?” Bulkhead said, shrinking down as much as his hulking mass would allow. “I’m just—well, I’m sure you understand that I’m a little, um, wary of him. Given how many times he’s tried to take my helm off.”

“Yeah, but you’ve lost your helm before and it worked out fine!” Bumblebee insisted.

“Not the point,” Bulkhead said with a roll of the optics. “I’m just worried about you, okay? This all feels really… I don’t know, really sudden? I just found out today that you’ve been sneaking around with a Decepticon for Primus knows how long, and now he’s moving into your room? A room that you’re cleaning?”

“Why are you so hung up on me cleaning?” Bumblebee said, crossing his arms angrily. “It’s not that big of a deal!”

“I’m just saying it’s not like you!” Bulkhead said. “Not in a bad way or anything, though, it’s good that you’re cleaning up! But you’ve been acting off for months now, ever since you got back from those woods, and you didn’t tell any of us why. Except Sari, I guess.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Bumblebee asked tiredly. “‘Hi, guess what, I snuck out last night to hang out with a Decepticon that you all hate!’ How do you think that’d go over? Even Sari was giving me weird looks for it!”

“We’re supposed to be best friends,” Bulkhead said, suddenly looking quite upset. “How could you hide something like this from me? I know you and Sari are best friends too, but I would’ve thought that you’d tell both of us, if you were gonna share.”

“Okay, first of all, I didn’t want to tell Sari,” Bumblebee said, standing up and beginning to pace, hoping it would ease some of the pounding in his processor. “She basically dragged it out of me. So did Ratchet and Optimus. I didn’t want any of you to know, and it has nothing to do with whether you’re my friend or not! It’s because I didn’t know what to say, or if I did say something, I didn’t know how any of you would react. And clearly, ‘not well’ is the way everyone’s taking it now.”

“Maybe it’s because you hid it for so long?” Bulkhead suggested.

“No, it’s because he has a purple insignia on his chest, and therefore, he’s the most evil mech in the world,” Bumblebee said bitterly.

“Bee—”

“No, it’s fine. I should’ve expected this.” Bumblebee kicked the tire that had been residing on his floor, watching it bounce aggressively from the wall before coming to a shuddering halt near a stack of candy wrappers. “I know I screwed up, okay? I should’ve told you. I probably should’nt’ve gotten involved with Blitzwing at all. But I did, and I care a lot about him, and I really, really want you all to at least try and understand more about him. Okay?”

Bulkhead looked down at his servos, optics downcast. “I want to, Bee, I do,” he said quietly. “But can you… can you also try to understand why we don’t trust him? You’ve seen him fight, he’s brutal. And you’ve known him for months. There’s no way we can be totally fine with him in just a few hours.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth to argue, but once Bulkhead’s words sank in, he slowly closed it and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay. That’s fine. Thank you.”

“I can’t promise that everyone else will try,” Bulkhead said quickly. “But I will, alright? Just… don’t let him kill me or eat me in my sleep or something.”

“He won’t,” Bumblebee said, relief rushing through his frame as he saw Bulkhead’s frame loosen just slightly, clearly more relaxed.

“Does he really scream in his sleep?” Bulkhead said, fiddling with his digits. “Because I’m right in the next room over, so I’d really rather not be woken up by a bunch of yelling. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“Only sometimes,” Bumblebee said, feeling a smile lift the corners of his lips. “His faces spin a bunch when he’s sleeping, though, so that’s kinda weird. Just ignore it.”

“That’s extremely weird,” Bulkhead said with a shudder. “Why?”

“Just dreams, I think,” Bumblebee lied. “Now, come on. I really wanna make this room look nice for him.”

Bulkhead chuckled and nodded, lowering himself to the ground so he could start pulling trash from under Bumblebee’s berth. “You know, this is way up there on the list of stupid things you’ve done,” he noted. “The whole ‘dating a Decepticon’ thing. Ugh.... sorry, that just feels so weird to say.”

“You’re telling me. And it’s definitely in the top three,” Bumblebee said with a small grin. “Maybe top two.”

“What’s number one?”

“Pretty much all of boot camp, really. Especially the ‘getting kicked out’ part. Thanks a lot for that, by the way.”

Bulkhead snickered, playfully throwing a balled up candy wrapped at Bumblebee’s helm. “Hey, if you’d never gone to boot camp, you never would’ve met me,” he said brightly. “And getting kicked out meant you got to come to Earth and meet Sari and all that. Can’t be that stupid.”

Bumblebee found himself smiling rather broadly, glancing to the door in hopes that Blitzwing would be coming through soon. And I never would’ve gotten stuck in the woods and met Blitzwing. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “Could’ve been a lot worse, for sure.”

There was only one setting in the world that could make Blitzwing’s plating crawl and his spark quiver with anxiety, and that setting was medbays. The harsh lighting, the medical equipment, the frayed circuitry and spare parts laying about, the energon stains forever burned into the floor—all of it made Blitzwing’s insides squirm and his processor ache as memories pounded against the inside of his helm, crooning at him menacingly, begging for attention.

The Autobot medbay was not as clinical and intimidating as the others Blitzwing had seen, its hazy white light softer than the ones in his memory bank, but he paused at the entrance nonetheless, spark pounding. It was a small, well-lit room, and rather unassuming, but Blitzwing’s gaze immediately shot to the blow torches, the piercing bulbs above the examination table, the cabling that knotted near the head of the single berth. He couldn’t fight back a shudder, grinding his dentae together as his tanks began to churn.

“You coming or not?” Ratchet said grumpily. “You’re not scared of the doctor, are you?”

Blitzwing huffed and forced his pedes to carry him forward, approaching the thinly padded berth in the center of the room. “No,” he said sharply. “Are we going to talk or are we going to get this unnecessary procedure over with?”

“You’re not the one who gets to decide what’s ‘unnecessary,’” Ratchet snapped. “Sit. It won’t take long.”

Every part of Blitzwing wanted to flee, but he ignored his own reflexes and sat down, drawing slow, steady gulps of air into his vents. Nothing’s going to happen to you, Blitzwing thought, clenching his servos into fists. It’s just a medbay. And you are, under no circumstances, letting this bastard see how much you hate medbays.

Ratchet walked across the room to get some supplies, muttering thoughtfully to himself as he selected the proper tools. “Is it painted on or a decal?” he asked, lifting some kind of abrasive rotary tool over his shoulder.

The distinct shadow cast by the device may have resembled a spider for only half an instant, but it was enough to make Blitzwing flinch, his fingers clawing into the berth. “Painted,” he said through tightly clenched dentae.

Ratchet grunted in acknowledgement and took out an orbital sander, one that looked far less daunting than the spiky thing he had been holding up earlier, and walked over to Blitzwing with a scowl on his face. “Lay down,” he said gruffly.

“I’d really rather not.”

“I ain’t gonna hurt you, alright? I want you out of here as much as you don’t want to be in here. Lay down. And watch the wings.”

Blitzwing was extremely unwilling to be in such a vulnerable position around an Autobot that was glaring at him with optics full of loathing. But he obliged nonetheless, keeping an image of Bumblebee in his thoughts. You’re not doing this for you, he reminded himself. Plus, one good kick and I’m certain I could take this mech offline.

“There, was that so hard?” Ratchet said. “Now sit still. This shouldn’t hurt, but if it does, tell me to stop.”

Blitzwing frowned. “Why?”

Ratchet rolled his optics. “Not used to hospitality, are you?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m not stupid enough to give you a reason to hold a grudge against me,” Ratchet said. “So hospitality is what you’re gonna get.”

“How noble,” Blitzwing sneered.

Ratchet rolled his optics and set to work without another word, pressing the sander to Blitzwing’s freshly repaired cockpit and flicking it on. The gritty buzz of sandpaper on glass made Blitzwing wince and turn his helm away slightly, but he was rather glad to feel only some uncomfortable pressure. Not pain.

Neither party said anything for quite some time—Blitzwing kept his focus on a random can of oil across the room, and Ratchet stared only at his slowly-fading insignia. Ratchet’s touch was feather-light and incredibly delicate, barely scratching the glass while still sending thin clouds of purple paint spurting through the air.

Blitzwing would have been impressed were he not preoccupied with his own thoughts. Saying goodbye to his Decepticon insignia was somewhat relieving—it was the mark that defined him as a soldier of Megatron, after all—but he still felt a troubling tug at his spark, one that had been present ever since he’d agreed to come to this base. He didn’t care about being a traitor to the Decepticon cause, especially not because it was on Bumblebee’s behalf, but he still felt strangely lost. His entire history, his faction, the mechs that had molded him into what he was today: he was leaving it all behind.

He didn’t want to be bothered by it, and for the most part, he wasn’t. The Decepticons had done little more than abuse him and then use his fractured processor to their benefit. But becoming an Autobot, even if only via insignia, made him feel dirty, made him feel wrong.

“You’re quieter than I thought you’d be,” Ratchet noted.

Blitzwing blinked idly, noticing that Ratchet had finished removing his insignia, leaving only a few smudges of paint and some minor scratches behind. “I don’t have much to say,” Blitzwing said.

“Well, then, if you don’t mind, I have some questions.”

Blitzwing bit the inside of his cheek to remind himself to stay calm as Ratchet turned to lift a stencil and some red paint from a shelf. “Such as?”

“The woods,” Ratchet said.

“Pardon?”

“You were with Bumblebee in the woods for, what, three months?” Ratchet said, placing the stencil on Blitzwing’s cockpit and examining it closely to ensure that it was level. “Something like that? And he came back acting completely different—in some ways, at least. And I want to know why.”

“If Bumblebee hasn’t told you, then he doesn’t intend for you to know,” Blitzwing said simply.

Ratchet met Blitzwing’s gaze for a brief moment to give him a harsh glare. “You’re not exactly making it easy to trust you, you know,” he grumbled.

“Unlike you Autobots, I don’t need to feel as though everyone on this side of the galaxy has faith in me,” Blitzwing said coolly. “And be honest with me, medic—is there anything I could do that would earn your trust?”

Ratchet huffed and taped the stencil in place, taking out a small airbrush and filling it with red paint. “I don’t trust Decepticons,” he said. “Never have, never will. You lot are the reason Cybertron is in peril, the reason why I’ve gotten my skidplate kicked to hell and back, seen my crews die, seen—”

“Oh, yes, because the Autobots are the epitome of morality,” Blitzwing said snidely. “I was a high ranking officer, medic. I knew everything that needed to be known. And I knew very well of some important codes locked in the processor of… ah, what was her name again?”

Ratchet paused his painting for a moment, shooting Blitzwing a glare that could freeze a tropical ocean. “Don’t start, big mech,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Of course not. I’m sure I have no place to do so.” Blitzwing waved at his half-finished insignia, quite rudely prompting Ratchet to continue, not that he cared much for manners at this point. If you don’t intend to give me respect, then you won’t get any of mine. “I’m sure her dying wish was to be vivisected and kept as a shell of her former self simply because of some information, yes? She surely wanted to be eternally locked in her frame with mechs prodding at her thoughts all day.”

“Stop it.”

“You have no moral high ground over me,” Blitzwing said coldly. “Don’t act as if you do. Because I will not again be tricked into thinking that I am nothing more than a weapon of mass destruction. I believe you know the toll that can take on a mech’s processor, yes?”

“Stop it.”

“Very well.”

Blitzwing fell silent, primarily because he noticed Ratchet’s hands shaking and didn’t want his new insignia to be splotchy. You amuse me, medic, Blitzwing thought, feeling his smile grow too large for his face, a small giggle bubbling from his intake. Ratchet looked up at him with a stony stare.

“What?” he muttered.

“Don’t mess up my paint,” Blitzwing said, plastering an overdramatic frown on his face. “If I don’t look perfect, I’m going to cry.”

Ratchet mumbled something that was surely an insult, but Blitzwing didn’t pay much attention to it. He simply waited for the medic to be done, and when he finally was, glanced down at the new insignia. It clashed quite awfully with his muted color scheme, but it was at least a tolerable shade of red, so he grinned.

“Pretty,” he crooned.

“Fantastic,” Ratchet growled. “Now get out.”

“Okay,” Blitzwing said merrily, springing to his pedes carelessly and whacking his helm hard on the lights dangling above the berth. “Take care, medic. I’ll be off showing my affection to a bot who can reciprocate. I bet you wish you could do the same.”

Ratchet’s boiling glower brought forth another cackle from Blitzwing, and he cheerfully slipped from the medbay, rather pleased with himself. Pissing off Ratchet was certainly a good distraction from the garish scarlet letter adorning his chest.

It took much longer than expected for Blitzwing to return, to the point where Bumblebee had started nervously fiddling with his datapad, tapping away at random buttons just to find a way to occupy his thoughts. He hadn’t heard any shouting or screaming coming from the medbay, so that was good news, but he couldn’t help but wonder about what sort of chaos might’ve been ensuing just down the hall.

Though after quite some time with no explosions or apparent arguments, Bumblebee heard a careful knocking at his door, almost completely noiseless. Bumblebee rocketed upright in his bed and dusted his frame off uselessly, looking around at the reasonably clean room and silently praying that it would be sufficient for Blitzwing’s tastes.

“Uh—come in,” he called awkwardly.

The door creaked open incredibly slowly, and Bumblebee had to force his jaw not to drop when he saw Blitzwing crouch through the short doorway with a violently red Autobot insignia emblazoned across his cockpit. Blitzwing’s expression was calm as ever, almost bored, but Bumblebee quickly noted the gears twitching just behind the soft plating.

He was mad. Bumblebee started to speak, smiling a little. “It—”

“Your medic drives me insane,” Blitzwing muttered.

“Yeah, me too,” Bumblebee said. “I was gonna say that… you know, the red does look good on you. Totally makes your eyes pop.”

Blitzwing seemed almost taken aback by his own chuckle, the thin grin on his face quickly disappearing as if he hadn’t meant to react. “It’s sufficient,” he mumbled.

Bumblebee smiled, his spark spinning wildly at the sight of Blitzwing walking into his room with explorative optics, his monocular whizzing as he took in his new surroundings. This is actually happening, Bumblebee thought. He’s here. He’s actually here. In my room. And he’s gonna sit down on my bed, and we’re gonna fall asleep together again and not have to worry about waking up before sunrise, and—

“I expected your room to resemble a dumpster in terms of cleanliness,” Blitzwing said with a smirk, approaching Bumblebee with strangely stiff posture. “Did you clean just for me?”

“So what if I did?” Bumblebee said. “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable. You seem like the neat freak type.”

“Not at all,” Blitzwing said, shaking his helm. “I do try. But sometimes a mech just has to throw things at the wall and watch them break, you know?”

“Not really, no, but I trust your judgement,” Bumblebee giggled.

Blitzwing snickered darkly and, very slowly, sat down next to Bumblebee, servos tightly clasped over his knees. Bumblebee gave him a few moments before sliding his own hands onto Blitzwing’s, squeezing the spaces between his fingers.

“You okay?” Bumblebee asked softly.

Blitzwing stared straight forward, seeming to ponder the question before nodding. “I am now,” he murmured.

“I know it’s been a really crazy day for you,” Bumblebee said earnestly. “You’re, like, the awesomest mech in the universe for not blowing all of your fuses. And if you want to talk about—you know, anything, really—we have all the time in the world. Okay? And I’ll be right here to listen.”

Blitzwing nodded, still staring forward, his digits squeezing gently around Bumblebee’s. “Thank you,” he said. “But if it’s alright with you, I could really use a good night of rest.”

“For sure,” Bumblebee said with a smile. “Kick me awake if you wake up from a nightmare, pinky promise?”

“I doubt that I’ll need to, given that you’re here,” Blitzwing whispered, almost inaudibly.

Bumblebee’s spark swelled and his smile widened, and he shimmied over on the berth to try and make enough room for Blitzwing to fit. It was an incredibly tight squeeze, and when he finally managed to lay down, he had barely an inch of free space and Blitzwing’s wings were splayed out, brushing against the ground. But the gears in Blitzwing’s face had stopped twitching, which was more than enough for Bumblebee to be satisfied.

Bumblebee crawled over Blitzwing and to his chest, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around the big mech and nuzzling against his neck. Blitzwing’s vents hummed, dousing Bumblebee in warm air as a breathy chuckle reached his audials.

“You are far too small to try and hug me like that,” Blitzwing said amusedly.

“Yeah,” Bumblebee agreed. “But you look like you really need it, so I’m gonna do my best.”

Bumblebee could practically feel Blitzwing’s spark thumping even through his heavy plating. Two large arms wrapped immediately around Bumblebee’s back, pulling him close as Blitzwing’s chin rested on Bumblebee’s helm, completely burying Bumblebee in his frame.

“Thank you,” Blitzwing whispered.

Bumblebee hoped that Blitzwing could feel him smiling as he closed his optics, holding onto Blitzwing’s frame in an extremely determined hug. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “And I’m really glad you’re safe.”

Blitzwing made a sleepy noise of agreement, his spark thudding hard enough to make his entire cockpit pulse against Bumblebee’s chest. “All thanks to you,” he said.

“Hey, one more thing?”

“Hm?”

“What did Sari say to you?”

“Go to sleep, Bumblebee.”

“Aw, come on! Can I at least get a hint?”

“Go to sleep or I will be forced to knock you unconscious.”

“I’m telling Ratchet you said that.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“...Shut up.”

“Good night, idiot bug.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good night, oversized dummy-face.”

Chapter Text

“Bumblebee,” Optimus called, his voice strained tighter than a stretched rubber band. “Come on. Team meeting. Now.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Bumblebee said for approximately the fifth time, grinning and smashing his virtual car into Sari’s. Sari yelped in anger as her vehicle skidded out of control, the game loudly warning her that she now had a dent in her front axle.

“Ha!” Bumblebee cheered happily, zooming into the final lap, easily overtaking the spot at first place. “Try coming back from that one, dork face!”

“You’re such a cheater!” Sari whined, her fingers mashing the controller as she tried to regain her second place position.

“It’s not cheating!” Bumblebee insisted. “It’s a feature of the game! You gotta be more aggressive, or—”

“Bumblebee,” Optimus said sharply. “Now.”

“I’m coming! So, Sari, if you—”

Bumblebee yelped as Optimus abruptly stepped into his field of view, completely blocking the screen as he leaned down to shut the television off. Sari and Bumblebee both wailed their protests for a few moments before earning a stern gaze from Optimus, who was looking more exhausted than Bumblebee had ever seen him.

“Meeting,” Optimus said firmly. “Now. Come on.”

“I said I was coming,” Bumblebee grumbled, throwing his controller down and stomping into the communications area with Sari sulking at his heels. The entire team seemed to have their optics on him as he slouched over one of the chairs, though he tried his best to ignore them—this was not a meeting he wanted to be a part of, and they knew it as well as he did.

“Now that we’re all here, we need to discuss recon plans,” Optimus said, cutting directly to the chase with a rather scathing stare in Bumblebee’s direction. “With Megatron running around Detroit and fitted with two alt modes, we have no idea what kind of havoc he might try to cause in order to get us out of the base and into his line of fire.”

Bumblebee tried to ignore the fact that everyone was staring at him, shrinking slightly into his chair. It’s not my fault, he told himself nervously. Megs would’ve become a triple changer regardless of me. Probably.

“He hasn’t done anything since yesterday,” Prowl said, looking thoughtful as ever. “Perhaps he’s not intending to be as aggressive as you think.”

“Or maybe he’s hiding back because he’s planning some kind of massive assault,” Ratchet said gruffly.

“We’re not going to know what he’s doing, which is why we need to do recon, and it’s why I called this meeting,” Optimus said shortly. “I was thinking we move in pairs and try to plot whatever movements he may be making. Or, with any luck, locate the Decepticon base and—”

“Hold on, there,” Ratchet interrupted. “You’re saying that you want to go after him?”

“No offense, Prime, but I don’t think we have much of a chance against him,” Bulkhead chimed in weakly. “The five of us have never managed to put a dent in, uh—had never managed to, uh, do any damage to, um—”

“Ugh, just say ‘Blitzwing,’” Bumblebee said shortly, rolling his optics. “There’s no way we can take out Megatron if we can’t even take out Blitzwing, and Megatron pounded the scrap out of him, so we’re, as they say, slagged.”

“Eloquent,” Prowl said snidely.

“Shut up.”

“Well, we can’t just sit here in the base and do nothing!” Optimus said, tapping a pede anxiously against the ground. “If the Decepticons locate us, we’re going to get taken down in an instant, without a doubt.”

“So why don’t we call the Elite Guard for help?” Ratchet said with a bitter smirk. “Oh—wait.”

“Not the time, Ratchet,” Optimus hissed.

Bumblebee sighed and dropped his helm onto his knees, banging his forehead against the metal angrily. Everything was a mess because of him, and he wanted nothing more than to somehow fix it, to undo all of it in a way that would keep Blitzwing safe and keep the Autobots out of harm’s way. But there was no turning back now, despite the multiple set of optics that kept flickering judgmentally in his direction, surely thinking all of the same things he was.

This sucks, he thought miserably. This sucks, this sucks, this sucks! I hate this! Why can’t I just help everyone? Why does someone always have to get hurt? I hate this stupid war, I hate stupid Megatron, I hate this stupid everything! Can’t things just be easy for once?

“Okay,” Bumblebee said, cutting through the chatter of ideas that he’d been ignoring. “How about this—how about we do some recon stuff, patrol duty, whatever, totally normal. And we get a fix on how Megatron’s processor is doing before we start thinking of any battle plans.”

“Why would we do that?” Ratchet said.

“Well, if he’s a triple changer, he might be a bit, erm…” Bumblebee hesitated, biting his lip anxiously. “Unstable. And we should figure out how much before we—”

“So it’s bad that Megatron is unstable,” Ratchet hissed.

Bumblebee growled, sitting up straight. “Yeah? And?”

“And it’s not bad that your little boyfriend isn’t?” Ratchet snapped.

Bumblebee jumped to his pedes, anger making his vision tunnel on the medic, his knuckles cracking. “No, it’s not, because Blitzwing knows how to manage it!” he argued. “And we’re not talking about him! We’re talking about—”

“Both of you, knock it off!” Optimus interjected. “I’ve had enough of you two! That discussion is over, and we’re having a new one now. Got it?”

Bumblebee and Ratchet glared at each other for a few more moments before settling back into their seats, still glowering. Optimus took a deep pull of air into his vents before starting to pace, rubbing his helm.

“Bumblebee’s right in one regard,” he said. “We don’t know the extent of Megatron’s abilities or his mental state. So if we head out in groups, almost as if to bait him, maybe we can—”

“Absolutely not.”

Bumblebee nearly rocketed straight out of his armor in a panic as a soft voice sounded from just behind him. Every Autobot swiveled to face its owner, watching as Blitzwing melted from the shadows in the corner of the base, his expression surprisingly grave. Bumblebee frowned, cocking his helm a bit.

“What do you mean, ‘absolutely not?’” he asked nervously.

“How long have you been standing there?” Prowl said.

Blitzwing took a few steps forward, his monocular wildly scoping in on the face of every Autobot before settling on Bumblebee. “I didn’t know if I was invited to a meeting such as this, but I felt obliged to listen,” he said plainly. “But you are not to leave this base under any circumstances.”

Bumblebee stared at the triple changer for a few seconds, waiting for his gaze to sweep around the room. But Blitzwing’s optics stayed fixed, and Bumblebee pointed at himself, cocking his helm.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes, you,” Blitzwing said tiredly.

“Wait—come on, not you too!” Bumblebee said. “Man, and I thought having Ratchet boss me around was bad!”

“Megatron knows about you and I,” Blitzwing said, his optics smoldering, the crimson seeming to burn directly into Bumblebee’s spark. “And while he was already planning to kill all of you, he will aim for you in particular, Bumblebee, due to his anger that you managed to… ah…” His face spun with a whirr, a crimson smile cracking his face in half. “Woo me.”

“Woo you?”

“Mhm!” Blitzwing’s face spun back to blue, serious and dark once again. “You must stay in this base and out of harm’s way. Megatron will not be capable of containing his fury, I assure you, and I will not allow you to be on the receiving end of his wrath. There is no chance that you will survive such an attack.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth to protest, less than willing to let Blitzwing of all mechs prevent him from leaving the base at his leisure, but his mouth quickly shut as he absorbed the expression on Blitzwing’s face. The triple changer looked incredibly hard, his face deathly in its seriousness, but Bumblebee could see something flickering behind his crimson optic.

Blitzwing was scared—no, Blitzwing was terrified.

Bumblebee sighed, nodding rather begrudgingly. “Okay,” he said. “I trust you.”

Ratchet muttered some sort of noise that was clearly brimming with disdain, but Bumblebee ignored it, instead watching with relief as some of the fear ebbed from Blitzwing’s expression.

“Thank you,” Blitzwing murmured.

“Not to interrupt, but what about the rest of us?” Prowl said shortly. “Are you saying we’re fair fodder against him?”

Blitzwing’s gaze rolled irritably toward Prowl, and he shrugged. “You may fight if you wish—I will not stop you,” he said. “But your death will be certain. Do with that information as you will.”

“If there’s even a chance that we can take him down,” Optimus started, “maybe we could—”

“Wrong,” Blitzwing said firmly. “There is no chance. Megatron will be as tactically sound as ever, but with the irrationality of a mech with an unstoppable immortality complex. He will not waste any time in overseeing your assassinations. If any of you wish to die, so be it. But do not delude yourselves into thinking that good intentions and sheer willpower can take him down.”

Bumblebee stared at Blitzwing for a few moments, watching the gears in his cheek twitch angrily as the rest of the Autobots stared at him with worried expressions on their faces. Whether their fear was directed more at Blitzwing or at his words, Bumblebee couldn’t be sure, but he at least had the sense to stand up and put a hand on Blitzwing’s thigh.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Boss, maybe we should just hang out for a few days, yeah? Give everyone a chance to calm down about everything, get our processors clear?”

Optimus seemed too startled to speak for a few moments before quickly nodding, unfreezing and rubbing his helm. “Alright,” he said. “Everyone, just… disperse for now, I guess. And no one—”

“—Leave the base, yeah, we know,” Bumblebee said, snaking his digits between Blitzwing’s and tugging him toward the living room. “Hey, remember that game I was telling you about? Ninja Gladiator? You wanna watch me play it for a while? You’ve never actually seen it, right? I can try to teach you how to play!”

Blitzwing’s face spun to black with a whirr, a giddy smile cracking his expression in two. “Yes, yes, for sure!” he said brightly. “I bet I can beat you!”

“Yeah, I seriously doubt that,” Bumblebee said snidely. “Just ask Sari.”

“It’s true,” Sari said, appearing out of nowhere by Bumblebee’s pedes, grinning nervously at Blitzwing’s jagged smile. “He’s the best in the whole world.”

Blitzwing swept down as close to Sari’s level as he could, wings sticking straight up and nearly jabbing holes in the ceiling. “I’m really good at being annoying, though!” he said devilishly. “That’s the key to beating him in anything! Throw him out of whack, and he’s useless!”

“That’s not even true!” Bumblebee retorted as he leaped onto the couch, Blitzwing joining him on the left and Sari on the right. “Now, watch a master at work, and I’ll show you how nothing can make me mess this game up.”

He tried to ignore the fact that everyone else had vanished into their quarters as silently as possible, leaving the base feeling strangely hollow. It’s fine, Bumblebee told himself anxiously, watching the last flash of Prowl’s dark paint vanish into the back of the plant. They’ll come around. Hopefully. Eventually.

Blitzwing had never quit anything out of sheer rage before—fury usually fueled him to try harder and harder until he finally got the results that he wanted, at which point he often gloated until his throat was sore. But nothing, nothing had ever infuriated him quite as much as trying to win games against Bumblebee.

It had taken a mere two rounds of Ninja Gladiator to get Blitzwing seeing red and threatening to destroy the television, a threat that was apparently amusing to his precious yellow minibot. And that only angered Blitzwing further, to the point where Sari and Bumblebee were both screaming at him desperately as he lifted the television from its stand, bellowing out his rage toward the screen.

Bumblebee’s laughter at his anger was what finally calmed him down enough to lower the television back to its position, irritated at the way the little bug made his spark swell by merely existing. Stupid Autobot and his stupid, cute face, Blitzwing thought furiously as he excused himself from the living room, worried that his shouting may have attracted a certain grouchy medic that he did not care to be lectured by.

Blitzwing intended to simply go back to Bumblebee’s quarters to relax—or, rather, to hide—and was about to squeeze through the door when he felt a cool breeze blowing against his back. On pure instinct, he whirled around, quickly locating the source of the wind and narrowing his optics.

Air only shifted like that in the drafty Decepticon base when someone was sneaking up behind him, and the shift in air pressure was enough to get every sensor in Blitzwing’s frame firing at full strength. You’re not there anymore, he thought tensely, forcing his cannons back into their resting position—when had he even lowered them?

Cautiously, Blitzwing took a few steps toward the breeze, moving as silently as possible down the hallway as his frame prickled with nerves. He had little intention of exploring the rooms that weren’t Bumblebee’s, but the air swimming into the hall was fresh, clean, most unlike the wet, thick air that would hang so heavy in the Decepticon base. Curiosity bested Blitzwing as he approached a flapping curtain-like door at the end of the corridor.

He poked his helm into the room without touching it, staring with wide-opticked amazement at the sight—a massive tree had split the wall wide open, overtaking much of the ceiling and claiming the floor with protruding roots. Wild organic animals, mostly birds, flitted about its branches, dancing from the outside to the inside without a care in the world, unbounded by any rules or purpose.

Blitzwing, for a moment, envied them, though he found himself wondering instead why no one had bothered repairing the wall. Seems like a security risk, he thought flatly.

“Can I help you?”

Blitzwing blinked in surprise, his helm snapping up to meet the speaker—Prowl, hanging upside down in one of the loftier branches of the tree, concealed almost entirely by early spring leaves. He was motionless, save for swaying slightly in the breeze as if he was a part of the tree itself.

“Ah… no,” Blitzwing said, shaking his helm.

The leaves rustled, and a squirrel scurried past Prowl’s frame, apparently unbothered by the large metallic obstruction in its habitat.

“Then why are you here?” Prowl asked.

“Oh, I—I felt the breeze, and merely got curious,” Blitzwing said with a small shrug. “Though I wasn’t quite expecting a tree.”

“It’s peaceful,” Prowl said.

“Right,” Blitzwing muttered. “I’ll just be going, then—”

“Wait.”

Blitzwing paused, narrowing his optics at the space where Prowl had just been. It was now empty, and Blitzwing barely had a chance to look elsewhere before Prowl was on the ground, staring at him with his helm slightly cocked.

“I’m sure you’re quite sick of being interrogated,” Prowl said, approaching Blitzwing slowly as if afraid of spooking him. “But if you don’t mind, I do have one question for you. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and no amount of meditating has given me much clarity.”

“That’s because meditating is a waste of time,” Blitzwing said pointedly.

“It could do you some good, I’m sure,” Prowl said, almost snidely, “but that’s beside the point. I have to know—why Bumblebee?”

Blitzwing paused, taken aback both by the question and Prowl’s straightforwardness. He’d been expecting something along the lines of ‘do you plan to kill us’ or ‘what are you trying to achieve,’ some sort of suspicious question, but Prowl seemed incredibly genuine in his curiosity.

Though maybe the visor helped to hide it. Blitzwing shrugged, trying to stall as he scrambled for an answer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“You. Bumblebee. No offense, but if I had to list the mechs I could picture pairing off, you two aren’t even on the radar,” Prowl said, leaning down to brush some leaves from the thin wooden flooring. “I know it’s a personal question, but—I don’t know. Bumblebee is prone to stupid decisions, which might explain why he’s so enraptured with you—”

“Thank you.”

“—But I’m far more interested in your decision making process,” Prowl said, ignoring Blitzwing’s interjection. “Is there even a reason? Or is he merely an escape from Megatron?”

Blitzwing felt anger simmering deep in his processor, but he forced it down with a shake of his helm. “Absolutely not, no,” he said. “In regards to Bumblebee being an escape from Megatron, that is. While that is a welcome benefit, he is far more than that. If you are looking for a concrete reason, I’m afraid I can’t provide one. Not one that properly does my feelings for Bumblebee justice.”

Blitzwing sighed, rubbing his helm a few times. “Admittedly, he was little more than a bother when we first washed ashore,” he said quietly. “But I found that, with time, I began to enjoy his annoying habits. Crave them, in fact. The simple way to phrase it is that I care about Bumblebee, and when I’m with him, I feel cared for. He encourages me to be exactly who I am, and urges me to work toward being who I want to become.”

Feeling as though he’d spilled far too much, Blitzwing snapped his jaw shut and shrugged. “Is that a sufficient answer?”

Prowl surveyed Blitzwing for an incredibly long time, staying more motionless than Blitzwing thought possible before a very small smile lifted his lips.

“You are a fascinating mech, Blitzwing,” Prowl said simply.

“That’s not an answer,” Blitzwing said.

“You don’t need an answer,” Prowl said mysteriously, seeming to glide across the room and lifting a pitcher of water from a shrine-like table on the opposite wall.

Blitzwing huffed, folding his arms. “If you can ask me a question, may I ask you one as well?”

“You may not get an answer, but fire away.”

“Why did you ask?”

“Because I don’t trust you,” Prowl said bluntly. “As I’m sure you know. And I may never know. But I’ve been taught not to be judgemental without reason, so I’m simply determining how to judge you.”

“Oh?” Blitzwing said. “How am I stacking up?”

“Terrifying, but with a softer spark than I would have imagined,” Prowl said. “That’s not to say you aren’t a danger to this entire team, Bumblebee included, because you absolutely are. Both you and Bumblebee have put our efforts at an incredible risk.”

“Is there a compliment coming, or should I leave?” Blitzwing said dryly.

“I don’t intend to insult you—I’m merely stating facts,” Prowl said. “Do you disagree with me?”

“Not at all.”

“You are dangerous and decidedly unstable, and your being here has done a number of the dynamic of the team,” Prowl continued as if he was simply reading a book. “But I can at least say that, with regards to Bumblebee, your spark is in the right place. Maybe not for the rest of us, though.”

“Thank you,” Blitzwing said slowly, knowing damn well that he didn’t give a frag about any other Autobot than Bumblebee. “I think.”

“Now, not to be rude, but would you leave?” Prowl said, tipping his water jug over one of his smaller plants and letting the fresh liquid dribble into the pot. “Hopefully you won’t fault the fact that your presence puts me in fight or flight mode, even if we are having a rather calm conversation.”

“Of course,” Blitzwing said, nodding and ducking through the fabric door. “Thank you for your honesty.”

“Thank you for yours,” Prowl said.

Blitzwing let the curtain fall behind him, pausing for a moment to stare at the silhouette of the tree barely visible through the flapping fabric door.

What a weirdo, he thought with a roll of the optics, more than happy to disappear into the seclusion of Bumblebee’s quarters.

Bumblebee rarely went to sleep at a decent hour, but as night approached, he found it increasingly difficult to stay in the living room while Blitzwing hid in his quarters. The rest of the Autobots had slowly leaked out in his absence, tending to their normal duties and quipping as though the triple changer had never been here.

Ratchet had returned to his regular level of grumpiness, tidying the base and snapping at Sari for leaving her things around. Optimus watched the monitors intently. Bulkhead sat next to Bumblebee, cheering on Sari as she tried to beat Bumblebee’s high score. It isn’t fair, Bumblebee thought bitterly. Just because they don’t trust him doesn’t mean they should be hiding from him. He’s not a monster!

It was frustrating, seeing how normal they were capable of acting when he wasn’t around. Bumblebee did his best to lazily watch television and act as though it didn’t bother him, but a collection of nagging thoughts continued to pound on his processor nonetheless.

What if they never get used to him? Bumblebee thought nervously, trying in vain to lose himself in the screen before him. What if Ratchet calls the Elite Guard without permission? Would I ever see Blitzwing again? What if they kick him out and he has nowhere to go? What if Megatron catches him and kills him? What if Megatron catches any of us?

What if?

What if?

What if?

Bumblebee was, for once, grateful for the sunset, using it as an excuse to rush to his quarters, his processor aching as worries drummed against his circuitry. He practically ran into Blitzwing’s arms, surprising the triple changer as he launched into the berth, knocking the datapad right out of his hands.

“Hello,” Blitzwing said, clearly alarmed.

“Hi,” Bumblebee mumbled into his chest.

“...Is everything alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No. I just wanna cuddle, if that’s okay.”

Blitzwing’s arms snaked around Bumblebee’s waist without hesitation, a small kiss dropping on Bumblebee’s helm. “That’s fine with me,” he murmured.

The night was quite young when Bumblebee realized that Blitzwing had fallen asleep around him, easily encapsulating Bumblebee’s entire back with his thick-knuckled servos. The air rushing in and out of his vents steadied, his circuits powered down with quiet humming sounds, his turbines turning slowly and pushing a warm breeze across the room.

Bumblebee wondered vaguely if he could stay like this forever, wrapped in Blitzwing’s arms, safe, comfortable, happy. It was a lofty goal, that was for sure, but Bumblebee couldn’t think of a better way to spend the rest of his life.

Man, he’s great, Bumblebee thought, nudging his helm against Blitzwing’s neck, his spark swelling as Blitzwing’s face twitched into a brief smile.

Bumblebee leaned up to plant a small kiss on Blitzwing’s chin, trying and failing to reach his lips. Another half-smile graced Blitzwing’s face, and he murmured something quietly before his face spun to black with a whirr. The tip of his glossa poked from between his jagged grin like a curious snake.

Bumblebee poked it. It rocketed back into Blitzwing’s mouth, and his face spun back to blue immediately. Bumblebee giggled and buried his face in Blitzwing’s neck, showering him with kisses soft enough to ensure that the triple changer stayed fast asleep.

The quiet sound of a curtain being pulled aside was the only thing that interrupted him, and Bumblebee felt wide awake at once, freezing as the near-silent tapping of pedes echoed through the halls.

Prowl? Bumblebee thought, immediately suspicious, his optics narrowed as the footsteps passed his quarters and drifted toward the end of the hall.

A soft knock, the creak of a door, and then silence.

Bumblebee sat up carefully from Blitzwing’s chest, slipping out from between his giant fingers and slithering onto the floor as silently as he could manage. Why is Prowl going to Prime’s room? Bumblebee wondered, fearing he knew the answer but determined to confirm his suspicions.

He didn’t need to move much down the hallway, opting to loiter against the wall of Optimus’s room instead of risking an approach at the doorway. He pressed an audial against the thin wall, straining to hear what was going on.

“—Seems to really care about him.” Prowl was the one speaking, his voice gentle and barely audible to Bumblebee, but just loud enough to be mostly comprehended. “Though I can’t be sure about the rest of us.”

“Well, that’s obvious.” Bumblebee jolted as Ratchet’s voice filled his audials, each word laced with anger that he saved for only one conversation topic. “If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here at all. He’d be offline.”

“I’m just wondering if we can trust him.” Optimus. Bumblebee gritted his dentae, fighting back the urge to smack his leader for being so wishy-washy. Make your own decision, dammit, Bumblebee thought angrily.

“I don’t know,” Prowl said, his voice fading in and out as if he was pacing back and forth around the room. “I don’t think he has negative intentions, but—”

“As far as you know,” Ratchet snapped. “He may have been polite to you, but he was pretty content on opening old scars with me.”

“You haven’t exactly been nice to him, either,” Optimus said pointedly.

“Don’t tell me you’re taking his side on this.”

“I’m not! I’m trying not to take any sides except the side of our safety! We’re low on supplies—with Sumdac gone, our human funds are pretty lacking, and I can’t imagine Blitzwing’s frame is fuel efficient. I don’t know if any of us can properly pin down where Blitzwing’s loyalties are, because even if they’re not with Megatron, they’re certainly not with us.”

“He said it himself,” Ratchet noted darkly.

“And, Primus forbid, if Megatron got a glimpse of Blitzwing with an Autobot insignia…” Optimus paused, and Bumblebee’s spark dropped into his tanks. “I don’t even want to think about what would happen then. All of our lives would be at risk, and even if only Blitzwing took the fall, Bumblebee would essentially become useless in grief.”

“About that—aren’t you worried that this might be some sort of trick?” Ratchet said, a strange sense of urgency in his voice. “Bumblebee is attached at the hip to that mech. Frankly, I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“They care about each other,” Prowl said quietly.

“Caring is the enemy of war,” Ratchet said coldly. “Caring only gets everyone hurt.”

A long pause hung heavy in the air. Bumblebee cocked his helm slightly, wondering what Ratchet was so worked up about, but Ratchet quickly distracted his audials once again.

“Bee’s a smart kid, but he’s still young, and he’s not experienced with things like this,” Ratchet said. “And I think Blitzwing knows that.”

“Why would Blitzwing let Megatron pound him into scrap metal, then, if this is all a trick?” Optimus asked.

“I don’t know,” Ratchet said. “All I know is that Blitzwing isn’t giving me a whole lot of reasons to trust him. And I don’t know how worthwhile Bumblebee’s judgement is.”

Bumblebee felt a cold sliver of ice trickle through his spine, making his frame go rigid in an instant. His vents stalled, his spark seizing as though a fist had wrapped around it. Did Ratchet really think that about him? That he was just some idiot who wasn’t capable of telling emotions apart?

He nearly stood up and left in that moment, feeling the familiar heat of tears behind his optics, but Prowl’s voice lured him to stay. “Regardless of what Blitzwing’s motivations are, we need to call the Elite Guard for immediate support and to tell them what’s going on,” Prowl said, sounding exhausted. “And yes, Optimus, I know you aren’t on great terms with them, but I’d really rather not go offline because we couldn’t come to an agreement on this.”

“I know,” Optimus sighed. “I know. At the very least, we need Megatron off of this planet. With all the life forms around, it’s way too risky for him to stay here and go on his rampages.”

“Why don’t we call the Elite Guard and pretend that Blitzwing is a prisoner until they leave?” Prowl suggested.

Ratchet scoffed. “So they can arrest him? Try and tell me that Bumblebee wouldn’t threaten to defect because of that.”

“We could just lie,” Prowl said. “And tell them we have it under control.”

“That won’t work,” Optimus said—the rolling of his optics was practically audible in his voice. “Trust me. If they get even a whiff of Blitzwing, they’re going to arrest him on the spot.”

“And none of us will ever hear the end of it,” Ratchet said. “With the mouth that minibot has, I doubt we’ll ever get another moment of peace if—”

Bumblebee stood up, his jaw clenched as he wiped falling tears from his face. He’d had enough. Unable to bear hearing another word, he sprinted down the hallway and rushed back into his quarters, throwing himself against Blitzwing’s frame and clinging to him with trembling digits.

They don’t trust me, he thought, trying to stop his breaths from shuddering so violently. None of them do. I know they’re nervous and all, but... they can’t call the Elite Guard. They just can’t!

Blitzwing’s servos shifted sleepily to accommodate the new yellow mass on his chest, one of his optics prying open from behind his crimson visor. “Wha’s wrong?” he said tiredly.

“Nothing,” Bumblebee whispered, stuffing his face into Blitzwing’s chest to hide his tears. “Go back to sleep.”

Blitzwing’s engines purred as he hoisted Bumblebee closer to his face, their helms clunking together as the triple changer began to peacefully snooze once again. “M’kay,” he mumbled. “Don’t more crying. Sleep.”

Bumblebee let out a watery chuckle, nodding against Blitzwing’s helm and wiping his face. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“Do I gotta kill some’ne?”

Bumblebee shook his helm, choking back a laugh. “No,” he said. “Thanks anyway.”

“Anything f’r you,” Blitzwing rumbled.

Bumblebee kissed his cheek with a smile, closing his optics and wrapping his arms around Blitzwing’s helm as tightly as he could. “Ditto, you big loser,” he whispered. “Anything at all.”

Chapter Text

“They’re gonna be alright, boss,” Bumblebee said, watching anxiously as Optimus paced another lap around the base, his servos clenched into fists.

“It’s been an hour already,” Optimus said, his expression caught somewhere between burning anger and intense worry. “Something must have happened. Maybe we should—”

“No, Prime,” Ratchet said. “It’s too risky.”

“We shouldn’t have sent them out in the first place,” Optimus said, biting his lip.

“True,” Blitzwing said less-than-helpfully.

Ratchet whirled to face him with a scowl. “Can it, Con!” he snapped. “Can’t you save your smart comments for another time?”

Whirr. “You really think I’m smart?” Blitzwing asked ecstatically, bouncing on his heels.

Ratchet growled, firing a nasty look at Bumblebee before returning his attention to Optimus. “If they aren’t back in another hour, we’ll go after them, how about that?” he said tensely. “Bank robberies don’t usually take too long to resolve, anyway. Seems like a safe bet.”

“I guess,” Optimus muttered.

Bumblebee looked down at his servos, fidgeting with his fingers, trying to find a way to distract himself from his mounting worries. Bulkhead and Prowl had bravely volunteered to stop a bank robbery downtown despite Blitzwing’s obvious but silent reservations. Optimus had nervously agreed that it was necessary for them to protect the city under any circumstances, and that a small trip through the city surely wouldn’t be too dangerous.

What should have been a fifteen minute trip had now lasted for a long, radio-silent hour.

Bumblebee had initially tried his best to comfort Blitzwing, who was brooding in a corner with a deep scowl carved into his features. It was easy to tell that he was upset, though Bumblebee couldn’t tell what about, and he’d certainly learned that prying was not the way to get Blitzwing to open up.

So he merely sat on the couch between the triple changer and his team, fiddling with anything he could get his servos on.

It was a relief when the entrance to the plant hissed, the door sliding upwards—or, rather, it was only a relief at first. Bumblebee gasped as he watched Bulkhead limp inside, supporting Prowl’s heavily sagging frame, grimaces locked on both of their faces.

“You guys!” Bumblebee yelled, rushing in their direction. “What happened? It was just some bank job, wasn’t it?”

“We never got there to find out,” Prowl muttered, letting Bulkhead steer him toward the couch as Ratchet immediately began to fuss over their damaged frames. It looked as though someone had thrown them into a giant garbage disposal: their plating was dented, glass chipped, pieces of armor bent at unusual angles. Neither of them appeared to be in any mortal danger—thank Primus, Bumblebee thought anxiously—but they were certainly worse for wear.

“Megatron was at our exhaust pipes as soon as we got out in the open,” Bulkhead said, wincing as he helped Prowl sit down. “Sorry we took so long to get back—Prowl had to take us through all these detours to make sure we weren’t followed.”

“How long were you actually fighting him?” Bumblebee asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“A couple of minutes at most,” Prowl said gravely. “He’s certainly lost his affinity for monologuing, that’s for sure.”

“First thing he did when he landed was punt Prowl into a building,” Bulkhead said.

“Jeez,” Bumblebee breathed.

“You guys look awful,” Sari chimed in as she rushed into the room, key held proudly aloft. “Sit still, I gotcha.”

“Did he say anything to either of you?” Ratchet asked, helping Sari onto the couch before standing back with his arms crossed. “Anything at all?”

“Not really,” Prowl said. “Why?”

“Whatever intel we can get is good,” Optimus said shortly. “We’re flying blind right now, and if Megatron is planning to attack any of us as soon as we step out of the base, we can’t leave even in emergencies. It’s too risky.”

“Well, he didn’t say much,” Prowl said, sighing with quiet relief as Sari’s key returned his frame to its normal, freshly tuned-up state. “Some taunting, and then, um…”

“What?” Optimus said sharply. “What’d he say?”

Bulkhead shrugged. “When we were hiding from him in the park, before we lost him completely, he was yelling, uh, ‘come out, come out, wherever you are.’ And laughing. A lot.”

“It was, quite frankly, the scariest thing I’d ever heard,” Prowl said.

Bumblebee couldn’t help himself—he let his optics drift toward Blitzwing, whose entire frame had gone rigid. Not a twitch moved through him, no expression on his face, nothing.

“Great, so now Megatron’s losing his marbles,” Ratchet said gruffly.

“We need to tell the Elite Guard about this,” Prowl added. “All we need is some evidence, and they’ll be here in a few solar cycles.”

“And how exactly are we going to get evidence?” Ratchet said. “Any of you gonna volunteer to go out there with a camera strapped to your helm?”

Bumblebee glanced back toward Blitzwing, cocking his helm confusedly when he saw that the corner was now void of his form. How did he move that quietly? he thought, glancing around and seeing no trace of the triple changer.

“There’s not a chance I’m letting any of you go out there against him,” Optimus said. “I’ll go. It’s—”

“No, you won’t,” Ratchet snapped. “You’re not equipped for it.”

“All we need is a shred of evidence!”

“To convince the Elite Guard to leave their cushy posts? We’d need to transwarp Megatron directly on top of them, and they’d still be too stubborn to consider it!”

“Hey, guys?” Bumblebee said. “Where’d Blitzwing go?”

“Oh, who cares?” Ratchet barked. “We’ve got more important things to discuss at the moment, kid!”

Bumblebee huffed and turned around sharply, heading to his quarters. “I’ll be right back,” he grumbled. “Call me when you’ve pulled the rod out of your tailpipe.”

“Blitzy?” Bumblebee said quietly, knocking on the door to their quarters, not wanting to startle Blitzwing if he was in the room. “Blitzy, you in there?”

He didn’t get a response. Bumblebee frowned, knocking again.

“Blitzwing?”

Nothing.

“Okay, I’m coming in—unless I’m talking to an empty room, which means, uh, I guess you don’t care, but I’m—”

“Come in, imbecile.”

Bumblebee jumped in surprise but immediately obliged, throwing the door open and shut. “Hey, sorry,” he said quickly. “Didn’t wanna scare you or anything if you were trying to take a nap, but I’m—hey, whoa, Blitzy?”

Bumblebee stared at the berth, expecting to see Blitzwing laying on it as he so often did, staring at the ceiling and thinking about things that were more complex than anything Bumblebee could wrap his processor around. But instead, Blitzwing was huddled on the floor at the foot of the bed, wings tucked in tight, knees drawn to his chest in a peculiar upright fetal position. Bumblebee immediately felt as though an icicle had driven into his chest, the sight of Blitzwing looking so timid and openly afraid setting him on edge in an instant.

“Blitzy, hey, what’s wrong?” Bumblebee asked, hurrying to kneel in front of the triple changer. “Are you okay? I mean, okay, obviously not, but I’m—can I touch you?”

Blitzwing hesitated for a long time, his monocular zooming in and out on nothing, gaze fixed firmly forward at the floor. Eventually he nodded, very slowly, and Bumblebee placed a servo on his treads, stroking the bands of rough metal as gently as he could.

“Do you want to talk?” Bumblebee asked, forcing his own worries down. Just listen, he told himself. He needs you. Don’t talk. Just listen.

Blitzwing remained silent for a few endless moments, his frame quivering as though Bumblebee’s touch was electric. It ached to see him like this and to be unable to help, but Bumblebee reminded himself to be patient, clamping his jaw shut and keeping his attention on Blitzwing.

“Megatron is smart,” Blitzwing said, his voice little more than a croak, only barely audible. “But he isn’t smart enough. And you’re in very, very grave danger.”

“No, I’m not,” Bumblebee said carefully. “I’m with you.”

“You don’t understand,” Blitzwing said, his optic widening, monocular telescoping in and out violently. “Blackarachnia gave me too much QNA. Which is why I’m… me. But Megatron knew that. And he took the dose down.”

That statement raised about a million more questions than it answered, but Bumblebee kept his mouth shut. He simply listened, nodding for Blitzwing to continue and waiting patiently until he did.

“But neither of them know—it’s more than QNA,” Blitzwing muttered. “It’s code. It’s a conflict between what I was and who I am, between the programming that drives my instincts as a grounder and as a flier. It can’t possibly be explained in a single word or with a simple clarification, it’s… more. And Megatron hasn’t a clue how to handle it. He didn’t know how to handle me, even from the outside, so how will he deal with it alone?”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about him,” Bumblebee said.

Blitzwing made a disgusted sound somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Of course not,” he hissed. “I couldn’t possibly care less about how he feels, Primus knows he never gave a damn about how I felt. I’m worried about you.”

“Blitzwing—”

“All of Megatron’s confusion and rage will be centered on you,” Blitzwing said, finally lifting his gaze to meet Bumblebee’s. “You were but a speck on his radar, an irritation at best, but his processor will inflate that rage to something larger than you can possibly imagine. He won’t be able to contain it. Nothing will stand between him and his current goal, which is, at the moment, destroying the mech that took away his triple changer. He will rationalize that you are the reason he is losing his grip on his own thoughts.”

“Blitzwing, I’m going to be fine,” Bumblebee said, scooting forward and pressing a cheek to Blitzwing’s legs. “I’m not gonna leave the base, okay? Just like you said I shouldn’t. I trust you.”

Blitzwing fell silent for a very, very long time, long enough that Bumblebee nearly fell asleep pressed against him. But a hoarse, fearful whisper shook him back to reality, catching him off guard.

“I need to tell you something.”

Bumblebee lifted his helm and peered at Blitzwing, who was once again averting his gaze, his entire frame vibrating unsteadily. “Okay,” Bumblebee said quietly. “Anything. Go for it.”

“Don’t hate me,” Blitzwing whispered.

“I’m not gonna hate you, dummy,” Bumblebee said. “Nothing could make me hate you. Unless you, like, tried to eat me or something. And even then, you’d have to at least take an arm off to make me really mad.”

Blitzwing cracked a very thin smile that disappeared an instant later—Bumblebee considered even that to be a victory. “Your little human friend, Sari,” Blitzwing said, shrinking down even smaller. “Her father is missing, correct?”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said with a shrug. “Kind of on the backburner right now, with Megatron going bonkers and whatnot, but yeah. He disappeared when Megatron came back, or some time around that, at least.”

“Does he have dark hair with white mixed in?” Blitzwing asked, shaking even more viciously. “Dark brown skin, and a little tuft of fuzz on his face?”

“He—yeah,” Bumblebee said slowly. “He’s—wait a minute—you know where he is?”

“Rather intimately,” Blitzwing said. “I’m—”

“Where is he?” Bumblebee asked, excitement crashing over him before he could consider the idea that perhaps this was not good news. “Sari’s gonna be so happy! We’ve all been thinking that he died or something! Is he—”

“No,” Blitzwing said, his tone sharp enough to immediately cut Bumblebee’s words short. “No. Absolutely not. You cannot tell Sari or anyone else that I know where he is.”

“But—”

“He is with Megatron,” Blitzwing said. “And I am inclined to think that he was the one to reformat Megatron into a triple changer.”

Bumblebee couldn’t help it—his jaw dropped. He gaped at Blitzwing for a few seconds, trying to absorb all of the information bomb that had been casually dropped on him, only managing to stammer for a few moments.

“He—wait—I’m—why?” Bumblebee managed. “Why would he do that?”

“He has not been given much choice in the work he does,” Blitzwing mumbled. “And I understand that you will want to rescue him, but you must restrain that urge, do you understand me? Sumdac is the driving technical force behind much of what Megatron is doing. Losing him will only unleash more waves of unstoppable fury in your direction. And I will not allow for you to come in harm’s way for the sake of a human who is reasonably safe in his current position. Do you understand me?”

Every part of Bumblebee wanted to protest. He wanted to be able to make Sari happy once again, to help Professor Sumdac, to maybe get another fighter in the Autobots’ incredibly small army. But he allowed himself to hesitate and let Blitzwing’s words sink in, to absorb the strength it must have taken Blitzwing to admit the knowledge he’d been holding back for so long, and to let go of the last shred of loyalty that he had to Megatron.

Man, Bumblebee thought, tightening his grip on Blitzwing’s legs. You really did mean it when you said you’d do anything for me, huh?

“I won’t tell anyone,” Bumblebee said. “Pinky promise.”

He offered a pinky toward Blitzwing’s helm, and the triple changer examined it for a few moments, a strange, boiling softness lurking deep behind his gaze.

“Just like that?” Blitzwing asked.

“I said I trust you,” Bumblebee said. “Admittedly, it’ll suck, not being able to tell them. But Sari would go nuts trying to arrange a rescue mission, and we’re all gonna die if that happens. It’s for everyone’s protection. Mine, yours, Sari’s, everyone else’s. I get it. I pinky promise, really.”

Blitzwing’s optics burned with more fire than Bumblebee had ever seen in them as their pinkies intertwined, gently squeezing each other before releasing.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” Blitzwing murmured. “I wanted to, especially with how deeply you care about your human. But I couldn’t.”

“‘Tire treads,’ yeah,” Bumblebee said. “I mean, I didn’t tell you a bunch of stuff too, so it’s fine. We agreed on it together. Don’t be sorry.”

Blitzwing nodded, though his expression remained unconvinced. Bumblebee scooted closer to him, trying to appease the anxious tug at his spark—Blitzwing looked so wrong, so impossibly small, and Bumblebee hated seeing it. It was as though Blitzwing was trying to be tiny, pinning all of his limbs together, tucking his chin down, letting all of the confusing, gnarled emotions he felt reflect on his exterior.

Bumblebee was glad that Blitzwing was comfortable showing this side of himself, a side that Bumblebee had never truly seen, but he was more than ready to wash it away.

“Hey, now,” Bumblebee said, plopping his helm between Blitzwing’s knees. “I mean it, really. You don’t need to be sorry. I know that deep down, you’re a good mech, and I—”

“No, Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said harshly. “I’m not.”

Bumblebee frowned, biting his lip. “But—”

“I’m a murderer, Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said darkly. “Most Decepticons are. Why you choose to overlook this fact eludes me, but I do understand why the Autobots don’t trust me. They have no reason to. For Primus’ sake, I didn’t even tell you about your human friend’s father.”

“Okay, you were bad,” Bumblebee tried. “That’s fine! Autobots have killed mechs too! I mean, hell, we’ve all tried to take someone offline at some point. Or at least thought about it! I once debated killing Optimus because the fragger shut my game off in the middle of a boss fight.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Blitzwing mumbled.

“Not exactly, no. You’re right.” Bumblebee reached up to take Blitzwing’s helm, firmly tilting it in his direction. “But—okay, say you are a bad mech. And you’re evil and awful and deserve no chance at redemption. Then why are you still trying to hard to keep me safe from Megatron? Why are you sitting quietly in our base and not rampaging through it trying to kill all of us? Why are you even trying to get along with my team?”

Blitzwing paused, pondering the question. “Because I care about you,” he said softly.

“So, then, that’s your first step,” Bumblebee said, smiling a tiny bit. “You’re trying for me. And that’s plenty more than any through and through evil mech would ever do. You may not be, like, good, exactly, but you’re definitely not bad. Can you agree with that?”

Blitzwing swallowed, his vents whirring as he drew a fresh breath of air into his systems. “Yes,” he said.

“Well, then, that’s settled.” Bumblebee couldn’t help but smile, watching Blitzwing’s frame unwind just a little bit, his joints unhinge ever so slightly. Victory, Bumblebee thought happily.

“I’m sorry for putting you through so much,” Blitzwing said, reaching a servo toward Bumblebee’s and wrapping tightly around it, squeezing every digit individually. “I truly only want you to be safe. Nothing else matters to me at this point.”

“Ditto,” Bumblebee said earnestly. “I’ll do my best to be careful, I swear. And I’ll do what I can to protect you, even if that means lying to the others, because frag knows you don’t need to be in any more trouble than you’re already in.”

Blitzwing laughed, a very dry, croaky laugh, but the act alone was enough to make Bumblebee swell with pride. He squished his frame between Blitzwing’s legs and wrapped his arms as much as he could around Blitzwing’s waist, holding him as tightly as he could manage.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” Bumblebee said. “I’ll do anything to make sure of that. Swear my spark on it.”

Blitzwing nodded, firmly returning the hug, his quaking frame finally starting to steady. “Thank you,” he said. “For listening to me. Really listening.”

Bumblebee grinned, smacking a kiss against Blitzwing’s stomach. “I’m pretty good at learning from my mistakes,” he said. “Trust me. I’ve made a lot.”

Blitzwing snickered. “And your medic said we had nothing in common,” he said wryly.

“Ratchet says a lot of stuff,” Bumblebee said with a shrug. “But I’ve been ignoring most of it lately. No use listening to someone who won’t listen back, right?”

Blitzwing sighed, flicking idly at one of Bumblebee’s horns. “Right.”

While continuous sleep was a feat that regularly eluded Blitzwing, he rarely had issue in the act of falling asleep. As soon as his helm was laying back and Bumblebee was curled under his arm, it was easy to let his processor settle into stasis, recharging after a long day of overheating.

Which was why Blitzwing was confused as to why he couldn’t seem to close his optics.

He didn’t feel angry, necessarily, nor was he any more stressed than usual. Bumblebee was wound into a little ball at Blitzwing’s side, both servos clasped around one of Blitzwing’s, holding it so close to his lips that Blitzwing could feel the warm air rushing out of his primary ventilators. A constant breeze that slipped past the thin walls kept the air fresh and cool, just the way Blitzwing liked it, the serenity completed by the soft haze of moonlight streaming through the grimy windows.

Everything about this room, this space, this minibot next to him, was perfect. But Blitzwing still couldn’t sleep.

Part of him was busy admiring Bumblebee, wondering how such a small mech could possess a spark so ridiculously big. Blitzwing hadn’t known how desperately he’d wanted to hear the reassurances that Bumblebee had provided without a second thought, but the very memory was enough to make his spark thud in his chest. Not good, but not bad, Blitzwing thought, trailing his free hand over Bumblebee’s slumbering frame.

Not good, but not bad.

It was as troubling as it was soothing. Blitzwing gazed at Bumblebee for a little while longer, tracing the outlines of his frame, wondering what the chatty little bug was thinking.

Who did Bumblebee see as good, and who did Bumblebee see as bad?

Before meeting Bumblebee, Blitzwing had been certain that the Decepticon cause was the one he stood for even if the leader was the embodiment of his greatest fear. But being amongst the Autobots, thinking about his past, debating silently with himself, Blitzwing was growing unsure of his own alliances.

He would never be a Decepticon again, and he would certainly never be an Autobot. Not truly, at least. Both sides had demons in their ranks, obvious and hidden alike, and that fact had never been clearer to Blitzwing. Every Decepticon, every Autobot, every Cybertronian was painted in some shade of grey, not the black or white that he’d so simply—and ignorantly—sorted everyone into.

Blitzwing stroked under Bumblebee’s chin, pondering the Autobot’s sleeping expression.

Was Bumblebee thinking the same thing?

Bumblebee had always talked rather highly of Ratchet, even if with a playfully mocking tone. But Blitzwing had never known Bumblebee to ignore anyone, let alone a mech that he’d seemed to look up to just a few months ago.

If Bumblebee could see a former enemy as not good, but not bad, could he see a former teammate as not bad, but not good?

It was a frustratingly cyclical question—the kind that Blitzwing hated more than anything in the world. He almost let the irritation claim his processor, but another glance at Bumblebee quelled the anger that boiled just below his plating, softening to starlight, warming his spark.

Blitzwing felt his lips tug into a smile. Bumblebee was so bright even at nighttime, a pool of warmth following him everywhere he went, and it was impossible for Blitzwing to stay away from. His spark was as large as his processor was stubborn, a maddening but wonderful combination, one that Blitzwing would forever be in awe of.

Never change, Bumblebee, Blitzwing thought, wrapping his servo around both of Bumblebee’s. A spark like yours is one in a million.

Chapter Text

The air in the base started to feel stuffy after just a few days trapped inside, so hot and thick that Bumblebee swore he choked on it every time it pulled into his vents. He knew it was his imagination, that the base was completely fine, that he was simply twitchy from being cooped up for so long, but the understanding didn’t make the air feel any cooler.

Blitzwing was his only escape from the optics that seemed to stare at him any time he walked around, but the triple changer didn’t have any intentions of leaving their room. He spent his days on the berth, staring at either the walls or at Bumblebee’s datapad, rather unwilling to leave the only place where he wouldn’t be stared down, his only haven in a base full of wary-eyed Autobots.

Bumblebee didn’t blame him. Every moment he spent away from Blitzwing made him feel a little more lonely, but he had no intentions of pushing Blitzwing out of the room. He needed time, and as much as Bumblebee hated waiting for anything, he was willing to wait for Blitzwing.

Though, Bumblebee realized, he was getting into a very bad habit of glancing over his shoulder, hoping that Blitzwing would be behind him.

“Would you quit spinning around like that? You’re making me antsy.”

Bumblebee blinked a few times and turned his helm back toward Bulkhead, trying to remember what the hell he was doing here with Bulkhead and some giant white piece of paper. “Sorry, what?” Bumblebee said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well, I was asking you for ideas about what to paint, but you keep turning around and looking at the door,” Bulkhead grumbled, spinning a paintbrush with surprising deftness between his thick digits. “Something on your mind?”

“Nah,” Bumblebee lied, trying to focus on the colors Bulkhead had picked out. “Uh, you should paint a, um, butterfly.”

“These are all neutral colors,” Bulkhead said flatly. “That’d be a boring butterfly.”

“I dunno, ask Sari for ideas!” Bumblebee said, turning around to check the door before he even realized what he was doing.

“Bee,” Bulkhead sighed, walking over and thumping the hard tip of his brush against Bumblebee’s forehead. “Stop worrying so much, okay? You’re gonna snap your neck off if you keep looking for him like that.”

Bumblebee rolled his optics, crossing his arms and stiffening his stance, hoping it would somehow prevent him from turning around again. “How could I not be worried?” he said. “Blitzwing’s barely left our room since you and Prowl got attacked, and when I go in there, he’s totally zoned out. I can’t not be worried about him!”

“He’s just dealing with stuff, probably,” Bulkhead tried. “And, I mean, Ratchet isn’t exactly giving him the best environment to stay calm in, so maybe he just… you know… needs some time away?”

“Ratchet isn’t?” Bumblebee snapped, surprised by the sharpness of his own tone. “What about Prime? And Prowl? Boss bot? Even you! All of you are treating him like he’s some kind of disease! I don’t blame him for not wanting to come out!”

Bulkhead’s optics widened, and Bumblebee abruptly slapped his mouth shut, biting his lip as hard as he could. Idiot, he thought bitterly. It’s not his fault that everyone’s being so cold to Blitzwing. They totally should be leery, it’s in their nature. It’s fine. You’re not mad at them.

“I’m really trying, little buddy,” Bulkhead said, setting down his brush and sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over rather shyly. “I am. I told you I would, right? It’s just… well, every time I see him, I think about his fists flying toward my face. It makes me sort of twitchy, you know?”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” Bumblebee insisted. “He promised—”

“Not quite,” Bulkhead said sheepishly. “He said he wouldn’t let you get hurt.”

“Same difference!”

“Bumblebee…” Bulkhead’s expression was strained, his lower jaw trembling as he searched for word. “Listen, I can tell Blitzwing really cares about you. A lot. More than I really thought he could. But… don’t you think we should call the Elite Guard about Megatron? He did just beat the scrap out of me and Prowl a few days ago, and—”

“No!” Bumblebee said, his voice far more shrill than he would have liked. “Did Ratchet tell you to talk to me about this or something? We can’t let Blitzwing get arrested, and you know they’ll arrest him!”

“Calm down, okay?” Bulkhead said, holding his servos up defensively. “It was just a suggestion! I just… I don’t know, I sort of want to make sure you’re thinking about the rest of us too. And our safety. Not just Blitzwing’s.”

Bumblebee gaped at Bulkhead for a few moments, the air pressing so thickly against his vents that it felt impossible to breathe. “Of course I care about you all,” Bumblebee whispered, appalled. “I always have. Why would you even suggest that I—”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, honest!” Bulkhead said quickly. “Not like that! I know you care! I just—we’re in big scrap here, little buddy. We can’t handle Megatron on our own. And he’s going to start drawing out humans and hurting them soon, to bait us. I heard Ratchet saying that to Prime.”

“He might not,” Bumblebee said anxiously, knowing damn well it was a lie.

“But he also might, Bulkhead said. “Look, I know you two care about each other. And that’s really good. But you can’t sit around and wait for Ratchet to start trusting Blitzwing, because if that ever happens, it won’t be for a long time. Or any of the rest of us, really. I told you that you have to be patient, remember? We don’t know him like you do.”

Something about that statement soothed Bumblebee, even if just by a little bit. Damn right you don’t, Bumblebee thought.

“Just promise me that you’ll keep trying,” he said. “Please. He really is a great mech deep down. I mean it. He’s really, really great.”

Bulkhead hesitated, a very slow nod bending his neck after an agonizingly long few seconds. “I will,” he said. “But you have to promise me that you’ll start thinking of some plan to get us help. Because we really, really need it.”

“I will,” Bumblebee said earnestly. “Really, I will.”

Bulkhead smiled, reaching forward to pat Bumblebee’s helm. Bumblebee swatted him away, scowling.

“I’m not a pet,” he spat.

“Sure you aren’t, little buddy,” Bulkhead said. “Want some oil? Then you can help me with this painting, finally.”

“‘Kay,” Bumblebee said, forcing a smile onto his face as Bulkhead walked toward storage.

Even if no one else was, Bulkhead was promising to try. And he hadn’t been rude to Blitzwing at any point, merely flighty, his optics flitting toward the triple changer nervously with unsurprising regularity. But he was going to keep trying not to be scared, and he was going to try to learn to trust. And that was good.

That’s a good thing, Bumblebee repeated silently to himself. A very good thing. He just needs to try a little harder, that’s all. It’s a good thing.

Bumblebee decided not to think about why that fact didn’t make him feel even slightly reassured.

“It’s completely unfair,” Sari whined, her spoon clanking angrily against the edges of her glass as she stirred a copious amount of chocolate syrup into her milk.

“In my defense, the control system is basically the same as other games I’ve played!” Bumblebee said, trying not to grin at Sari’s magical skill to furiously make chocolate milk. “It was basically like replaying Mortal Kombat with different skins.”

“Still not fair,” Sari muttered.

“I’ll go easy on your next time, I swear,” Bumblebee said.

“No, you won’t,” Sari said sharply. “I’m not playing it with you anymore. Done deal.”

Bumblebee threw his servos in the air, nearly sloshing oil down his front. “Prowl, help me out here!” he said, turning to face the ninja bot who had been pointedly silent for ages.

“No, thank you,” Prowl muttered.

“Come on! Tell her I’ll be nice! You know I will be, right? Right? Right?”

“Can I please enjoy a single minute of refueling without you shouting at me?” Prowl grumbled, sticking his pinky out as he took a sip of his oil.

“Shouting is my default!” Bumblebee said. “Come on, you can convince her! Tell her that—”

“No.”

“But if you just—”

“No.”

“Prowl!”

Prowl sighed, shaking his helm a few times. “You’re ridiculous,” he said. “Just let Sari do what she wants to.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bumblebee gasped, the sudden voice sending his spark into an excited (albeit moderately terrified) frenzy, and he whipped around to see Blitzwing loitering stiffly a few yards away. Despite the nervous, tired expression on his face, Bumblebee couldn’t help but be thrilled to see him out and about, and he scrambled immediately to get a fresh barrel of oil for the triple changer.

“Oh, Sari downloaded some new game that came out, and I totally whooped her b—I mean—I went a little too hard on her and now she doesn’t wanna play with me anymore,” Bumblebee said brightly, a warm smile lifting on his face as he watched Blitzwing creep ever so slightly closer. “Which is total scrap, so I tried to get Prowl to convince her, but he’s being an aft face and saying that I wouldn’t give her a shot. Can you believe that?”

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Prowl said tartly.

“Yeah, well, you implied it!” Bumblebee fired back. “You wanna sit down, Blitzy? There’s plenty of space, if—you know—if you wanted to hang out for a bit?”

Hope hung heavy on every syllable Bumblebee spoke, as obvious as his paint was yellow, though he couldn’t have hidden it even if he wanted to. He wanted so badly for Blitzwing to integrate with the team, for them to trust him, for him to trust them, and the dream was becoming more and more out of reach every single day. He didn’t want to pressure Blitzwing, not for a second, but having the triple changer standing in front of him had brought all of his daydreams to the forefront.

Though Blitzwing was very obviously hesitant. Bumblebee backpedaled as quickly as he could, digging for every shred of understanding that he could muster.

“Only if you want to,” he said quickly. “You can just take this oil and go if you want to, or you can hang out. Whatever you want to do, really. We’re just out here arguing, anyway.”

“More like you’re arguing and the rest of us are ignoring you,” Prowl said slyly.

“Hey!”

Blitzwing shook his helm, his gaze sweeping over Prowl, something sharp and dense floating through his expression before disappearing. “I appreciate the offer, Bumblebee,” he said slowly, “but—”

“Aw, come on, Blitzwing!” Sari suddenly piped up, patting aggressively at the ground next to her. “You must be going stir-crazy in that room by now! Spend some time with your boyfriend!”

Blitzwing’s vents purred hotly for a few seconds, as did Bumblebee’s. He felt his frame immediately get warm, and he nudged an elbow at Sari’s head, hoping that his embarrassment wasn’t too obvious. Why are you even blushing? he thought, irritated at his own reaction. He is your boyfriend. Jeez.

“If he doesn’t want to, it’s okay, Sari,” Bumblebee said hurriedly. “Really. Blitzy, if you wanna—”

“No, I understand,” Blitzwing said, a gear in his cheek twitching as his jaw clenched. “A few minutes couldn’t hurt. Unless anyone minds, in which case, I’ll take my leave.”

Bumblebee’s grin felt too wide for his face as Blitzwing very carefully sat down next to Sari, examining her carefully, as if he’d never seen her before. She smiled up at him, scooting to the side to give his massive frame some more space, her whole face alight as she turned to look at Bumblebee.

“Does he know how to play games?” she asked cheerfully.

Bumblebee looked at Blitzwing curiously. “Do you?”

“No,” Blitzwing said. “I prefer pastimes that are useful.”

“Hey!” Bumblebee snickered. “It’s useful for, uh, finger strength. Probably.”

A pregnant pause followed as Blitzwing took a sip of his oil, eyeing Prowl. The ninja bot’s expression was incredibly casual, but his frame was wound tight as a rubber band, a stance only visible to a trained optic. And, clearly, Blitzwing was trained the right way.

“Uh,” Bumblebee tried, hoping to diffuse the tension lingering between the two. “How’s the oil, Blitzwing?”

“Fine,” the triple changer said plainly. “Thank you.”

More silence. Bumblebee bit his lip as Blitzwing’s gaze returned to Sari, a stab of guilt digging into his gut.

Bumblebee hated knowing where Sari’s father was and being unable to tell her. He couldn’t tell if Blitzwing was clinging to the same shame, but it started to eat at his spark as Sari smiled up at Blitzwing, pointing at his barrel of oil.

“Do you drink more than other bots?” she asked. “I mean, not because you’re big—which you are—but like, because of the triple changer thing?”

“Yes,” Blitzwing said shortly.

“Cool!” Sari said. “Do you have two whole engines?”

“Yes.”

“And you can fly, too, right? Even without being in plane mode? Can you do it right now?”

“Unless you want me to crash through the ceiling, I would say no,” Blitzwing said, his face quickly spinning to black, crimson grin wide. “But I can try!”

“No, that’s okay,” Sari said, shaking her head rapidly. “Really. Don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Blitzwing asked in a pleasant sing-song tone, leaning closer to Sari, his jagged dentae nearly as long as her arms. “Seems like everyone could use some fresh air!”

“No, I—”

Sari paused as Ratchet emerged from the medbay, his harsh gaze immediately landing on Blitzwing with disdain as he walked toward the group. Blitzwing cackled rather loudly, his digits digging into his barrel of oil.

“Doctor bot!” he said. “Wouldn’t a hole in the ceiling be nice?”

Ratchet looked confused, but was clearly not seeking an answer as to what Blitzwing was talking about. He scooped a barrel of oil from the floor and turned around, firing a concerned gaze at Sari.

“Don’t sit so close to him, Sari,” he said. “He’s not used to people your size. Wouldn’t want him sitting on you.”

“He won’t!” Sari protested. “He’s just—”

Her words fell on deaf audials because Ratchet had already left. A thick silence lay in his wake, and Blitzwing’s face spun back to blue, examining Prowl once again with tensely focused optics.

Bumblebee wasn’t sure what to do. Prowl and Blitzwing seemed to be locked in some sort of silent staring contest, both of them unbending in gaze and in frame, as if they were both pretending that they weren’t on their highest alerts. Bumblebee’s spark sank, wondering if Prowl really thought he was in danger despite how docile Blitzwing was clearly trying to be.

There was something hidden behind both of their expressions that Bumblebee couldn’t comprehend, nor did he particularly want to. It wasn’t anger, which was good, but both of them were staring with different, yet equally strange, gazes. He was tempted to interrupt with more small talk, but something told him that their silent conversation was not one to interrupt.

Blitzwing took another pull from his barrel. Prowl mirrored the movement.

Bumblebee tried to meet one of their gazes, but he could only manage to hold onto Sari’s. She cocked her head in their direction, asking her own silent question: what the heck?

Bumblebee shrugged.

He didn’t know what to make of anything he was seeing. The more he sat with both Blitzwing and Sari, the knife of guilt in his gut twisted harder and harder. Prowl had barely spoken or moved since Blitzwing’s arrival. Even Sari seemed uncomfortable now, but Bumblebee hoped that was only due to the achingly stiff silence.

What had Sari asked Blitzwing, anyway? The question had been lingering in Bumblebee’s processor for quite some time, and though he’d done his best to ignore its persistent need to be answered, seeing the two of them in the same room had renewed his curiosity. Would it be super awful of me to ask them now? Put them on the spot? Bumblebee thought. That’s gotta be rude. But I wanna know! It’s been a while now, maybe one of them will tell me. Can’t hurt to try, right?

“Hey, Blitzwing?” he said. “What—”

“Thank you for the oil,” Blitzwing interrupted, climbing carefully to his pedes, wings scraping against the ground as he tried not to smack them into anyone. “The company is appreciated. I’ll be in your quarters, Bumblebee, if you need me.”

And without another word, he left, leaving an even more palpable silence behind.

Blitzwing hadn’t expected Bumblebee to linger, but he was certainly to see the little Autobot appear in the doorway just a few minutes after Blitzwing had settled onto the berth. Even an idiot could see that Bumblebee was upset, and Blitzwing sat up rather quickly, cocking his helm curiously.

“Welcome back,” he said. “I expected you to be playing games until the middle of the night again.”

“Nah, Sari banned me from the TV for the night because she wanted to watch cartoons,” Bumblebee said. “She’s a sore loser.”

“Why didn’t you join her for cartoons, then?” Blitzwing asked.

Bumblebee shrugged, climbing onto the berth and settling between Blitzwing’s legs, resting his small helm against Blitzwing’s stomach. “I dunno,” he said. “Just wasn’t in the mood to be around everyone, I guess.”

That was completely out of character for him, but Blitzwing decided not to question it, simply lowering a servo to Bumblebee’s helm and fiddling quietly with one of his horns. “Well, I’m glad to see you,” he said. “You’re far more social than I could ever be, so I apologize if I haven’t been spending enough time with you.”

Bumblebee didn’t say anything for a few moments, his gaze lost somewhere on the far side of the room. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t expect you to want to hang around a bunch of mechs that hate you.”

Blitzwing bit his lower lip, stroking Bumblebee’s helm as soothingly as he could. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I don’t need their approval. I only need yours.”

“But you do need their approval,” Bumblebee mumbled. “Not for my ego or anything, but because they keep talking about calling the Elite Guard. And if they don’t stand up for you, all of them, then you’re gonna get arrested. And I’m not going to let that happen.”

Blitzwing pondered Bumblebee’s words for a few moments, mildly impressed. He’d never thought Bumblebee to be one to be introspective, but the minibot clearly had a lot on his mind, and Blitzwing was glad for it. Guilty, certainly, for being the main cause of Bumblebee’s distress, but appreciative nonetheless.

“Go on,” Blitzwing prompted quietly, leaning down to drop a small kiss onto Bumblebee’s forehead. “I’m listening.”

“It’s just—I talked to Bulkhead earlier,” Bumblebee said. “And he said he’s trying really hard to trust you and whatnot, but he doesn’t know a lot about you, but I also don’t blame you for not wanting to be around them because Ratchet is so nasty to you! And he said that we should call the Elite Guard about Megatron, and then he—he said something about me not thinking about the rest of them. That I’m being selfish by just thinking about you. And he wants me to make some big decision about what to do, because frag knows Optimus doesn’t know what to do, because he cares about me staying on the team way more than he cares about you not being locked up.”

Bumblebee fidgeted with his servos, leaning into the careful strokes Blitzwing was laying on his helm.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he muttered. “I want them to trust you, but I don’t know how to get them to realize that you’re not a horrible mech. And if they’re not all completely willing to stand up for you to the Elite Guard, to fragging Ultra Magnus himself, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t let them get hurt, but after everything you’ve done for me, I can’t let you get hurt either. No way. I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place here, and I’m confused, and I’m tired, and I just—I don’t know. I don’t know what anyone wants from me anymore.”

He made a strange sniffling sound, rubbing at his optics. Blitzwing pretended not to notice, simply urging Bumblebee to continue with another kiss on the helm.

“And then you and Prowl—what was the deal with that?” Bumblebee said. “He was on full alert, and so were you, and you two were just, like, staring at each other. It was so weird. I don’t know how anyone feels because no one’s telling me anything, and I’m annoyed at them and at me for putting everyone into this mess. It’s just—it’s not fair. I just want all of you to be happy, and I’m trying my best, but I just—I’m just—”

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said, finally deciding that it was time to interrupt. “Don’t worry about Prowl and I. There was no hostility between us, simply an attempt to understand what the other was thinking. He seems to be trying to understand my way of thinking, and I was trying to show him that I feel terrible about what happened with Megatron.”

Bumblebee sniffled again. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay,” Bumblebee muttered. “And then, Sari—I want to tell her about Sumdac so bad, but I know I can’t, and I just feel—I don’t know. I feel like I’m letting everyone down. And I hate it. No one’s listening to me, and if they would just listen, then all of this would be better. But no one ever hears me out on serious stuff like this. Ever! Prime is always yelling at me, Ratchet is always giving me scrap, Bulkhead is always saying I’m reckless, Prowl tries to boss me around, and I’m just—I’m sick of this, you know? I just want them to hear me out for once, about something really slagging important to me, and Sari’s the only one who will. Sari, the other one in the group who always gets ignored.”

Blitzwing had to fight down the fury that threatened to claim his processor, only barely managing to remain calm. Bumblebee let out a miserable, choked-off sound, and Blitzwing quickly leaned down to kiss him on the helm, resting their foreheads together.

“It’s alright, little one,” he murmured. “Take a moment to breathe, alright?”

Bumblebee silently complied, giving Blitzwing a chance to sort through the barrage of words that had just been thrown his way. Poor little bug. It enraged Blitzwing, now more than ever, that the Autobots were so unwilling to listen to him, a stressor that had quite obviously been weighing on Bumblebee for ages. The high and mighty Autobots, constantly stating that the Decepticons were tyrannical brutes, were more two-faced than Blitzwing ever realized, willing to do all of the things that they supposedly hated about the Decepticons. They were turning their backs on one of their own, leaving him feeling lost and abandoned, proving that their trust in him was only surface level.

Blitzwing hated them all for it. But he managed, just barely, to keep his anger in check.

“I don’t blame them for not trusting me,” he said softly, caressing Bumblebee’s cheek. “So if that is weighing on you, don’t let it. But I can’t deny that I at least thought they’d trust you.”

Bumblebee nodded against Blitzwing’s helm, his digits shaking. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Me too.”

Blitzwing leaned forward for a kiss. Bumblebee eagerly accepted it.

“I just want them to listen to me,” Bumblebee said. “The way you listen to me. Is that so hard?”

“For some mechs, yes,” Blitzwing said. “You have a beautiful, huge spark. But some aren’t willing to look deeply enough to see it.”

Bumblebee swallowed and nodded, his digits squeezing the back of Blitzwing’s neck. “I told you I’d do whatever it takes to be with you, and I really, really meant that,” the minibot murmured. “You know that, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“Good.”

Blitzwing wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he was sure that Bumblebee wasn’t willing to explain right now. So he simply tucked the Autobot to his chest, holding him as tightly as he safely could, praying that no matter what happened, Bumblebee would always know that he had at least one bot around to confide in.

Chapter Text

“Alright!” Bumblebee chirped, smacking his palms together in the most authoritative manner possible. “Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Blitzwing said, a slight hint of eagerness buried behind his bored expression. Bumblebee grinned, his spark swelling with happiness as he bounced toward the berth, datapad in hand.

“Cool,” he said cheerfully. “Okay, so, we’re gonna start with the easy ones, okay? And we’ll work up to the harder and harder ones until you have every fragging Autobot’s name and face memorized.”

“Great.”

Though Blitzwing sounded less than enthused, Bumblebee knew the long night ahead of them wouldn’t be a tiring one. The triple changer had been quietly expressing his interest in knowing more about the Autobots ever since he’d noticed Bumblebee’s faith in the faction waning, and Bumblebee was more than happy to indulge Blitzwing’s newfound interest.

Not only was it sweet that Blitzwing cared enough to want insight into the members of Bumblebee’s faction, it was a great opportunity for Bumblebee to take part in his own favorite activity: talking.

“Okay, so, first, let’s go through my boot camp pictures. You already know Bulkhead, so he doesn’t count.” Bumblebee perched himself on the small space Blitzwing had left for him on the berth, flipping his datapad around and holding it toward Blitzwing’s gaze. “Any idea who this is?”

Blitzwing’s monocular twisted as it focused intently on the deep orange Autobot occupying the screen, his expression just shy of amused. “Ironhide, I believe,” he said.

“Wow! Yeah!” Bumblebee grinned, sliding a digit across the screen to reveal Ironhide’s name. “How’d you know that so fast?”

“He’s a security officer, is he not?” Blitzwing said dryly. “Megatron kept rather intense tabs on the rankings of Autobots, particularly the ones stationed on Cybertron.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. ‘Course he did.” Bumblebee laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “But that’s not why we’re here, okay? So you know his face and his job, but do you know anything about him as a mech? Who he is, what he likes, that sort of stuff?”

“No,” Blitzwing said snidely. “But I doubt you do either.”

“I do too!” Bumblebee protested. “He can plate his armor in a super strong metal alloy thing, so he’s basically indestructible. And he used to be a total jerk in boot camp, being friends with Wasp and all, but I’ve heard he’s alright now! He’s off working with Rodimus, I think—spoiler alert, by the way—but I’m not sure what. And apparently he’s still all excited to see the universe even though it’s been ages since he left—I should ping him, really, he might be glad to hear from me, maybe. But he was pretty tight with Wasp, so that grudge might still be around. Who knows? But it’d be nice to hear about—”

“Can we get back on track?” Blitzwing interrupted.

Bumblebee flushed, grinning. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. Okay, next one, still boot camp. Who’s this?”

Bumblebee flicked his finger again, drawing up an image of a stocky grey bot. Blitzwing continued to stare with a mild gaze, and maybe it was a trick of the light, but Bumblebee swore he saw a piston in Blitzwing’s cheek twitch.

“Longarm,” Blitzwing said coolly. “Longarm… Minor, if I’m correct.”

“Close! Longarm Prime,” Bumblebee said brightly. “He was a pretty cool mech, sticking up for me when Wasp and Ironhide were acting like rods in my exhaust pipe. Super stretchy limbs, too. It was wack to watch him stretch around like a big old—a—a noodle. I think that’s what Sari calls them. Anyway, he’s head of Autobot Intelligence now, as far as I know, so he’s way up there working with the head honcho himself. Pretty cool, right? And to think I’m still technically a space bridge technician.”

Bumblebee scoffed, unsure of whether to be irritated by the vast difference in ranking or not, but he shrugged it off with ease. There were more important things to focus on at the moment, the primary one being the increasingly curious glint in Blitzwing’s optics.

“Okay, so you got two,” Bumblebee said. “Or one and a half, I guess, because you messed up Longarm’s rank. Who are these guys, then?”

Bumblebee scrolled to a new image, eager to work his way through the Elite Guard so he could rant about Sentinel for the millionth time. “Who are these two, then?” he said, lifting the datapad to Blitzwing’s face once again. “This is a tricky one.”

“Showing me two at once is cheating,” Blitzwing said.

“No, it’s not! Because, hint time, they can be one bot if they want to!”

Blitzwing’s brow furrowed, and he leaned closer to the datapad, carefully surveying the faces of Jetfire and Jetstorm as their frozen grins graced the screen. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, cocking his helm as if his own lack of knowledge was confusing him. “Are they new recruits?”

“Heck no!” Bumblebee said, smirking mischievously, happy to have stumped the triple changer. “They’re a little older than me, I think, but they’ve been kept a pretty big secret as far as I can tell. Because—get this—they can fly! They have jet alt modes! Isn’t that awesome?”

Bumblebee’s excited grin faltered as he tried to meet Blitzwing’s, instead finding himself smiling at a stony frown that had immediately hardened Blitzwing’s features. Bumblebee lowered the datapad a little bit, a strange sense of foreboding wrapping an icy fist around his spark.

“You okay?” he asked nervously, prodding Blitzwing’s knee.

“How?” Blitzwing asked.

“How… how what?”

“How can they fly?”

“Oh, that’s a cool story.” Bumblebee’s frame relaxed, but his spark still felt oddly tight—weird. “So, they used to be grounders, but then they got in some kind of accident way back when the Cons were still actively punching the scrap out of everyone. So Ultra Magnus thought it’d be cool to upgrade them using some of Starscream’s code, since the Elite Guard had downloaded a bunch of it while he was captured or something. So they upgraded them, and now they can fly and combine, and they’re totally slagging awesome!”

Bumblebee smiled up at Blitzwing once again, though his face quickly dropped into a frown when he saw Blitzwing’s expression. The triple changer looked stricken, his singular optic wide, his jaw clenched so tightly that his dentae audibly creaked under the pressure. Bewildered, Bumblebee lowered the datapad, leaning forward.

“Hey, are you—”

Blitzwing cut him off, swiping the datapad from the berth and tapping viciously on it, much to Bumblebee’s confusion. But he dared not interrupt, simply waiting as Blitzwing searched for whatever he intended to find, shifting uncomfortably on a berth that suddenly felt like it was made of gravel.

“Um,” he tried, piercing a silence so tense that Blitzwing jumped at the sound. “What are you doing?”

“Reading their records,” Blitzwing said through gritted dentae.

“Why are—”

Quite suddenly, Blitzwing threw the datapad down, his face spinning to crimson so fast that Bumblebee barely saw the change happen. “You’re telling me that your leader summoned these two nearly-dead refinery bots for the sole purpose of reformatting them into something he thought would be more useful to his cause?” Blitzwing spat, fire lacing the edge of every word.

Bumblebee stared at Blitzwing for a few moments, jaw slack, unsure of what to say. “I mean,” he said slowly, the violent grip on his spark growing tighter, “I guess that’s—that’s one way you could—”

Oh.

Bumblebee’s optics widened, and he quickly reached forward to grab Blitzwing’s servo, squeezing it quickly. “No, no, it’s not like that!” he said, backpedaling wildly as Blitzwing’s scowl deepened, carving angry lines across his faceplates. “Not like—not like the triple changer stuff! The twins, they were—uh—they were—”

“Nearly dead, and therefore, unlikely to be in a position where they could make decisions for themselves,” Blitzwing hissed.

“No! I mean—maybe, I don’t know, I wasn’t there! But they’re really happy now, so it’s—”

“And what if they weren’t?” Blitzwing snapped, snatching the datapad back up with his free hand, still allowing Bumblebee to cling to the other. “What if they decided that they weren’t happy being experimented on for the military’s sake?”

“I—” Bumblebee’s voice caught in his throat, staring in fear as Blitzwing viciously scrolled through files on Bumblebee’s datapad with his thumb. “I—I mean—I really don’t know the full story, so I can’t say for sure, but just—it’s okay! They’re happy now, for sure. From what I’ve heard, they’re still just as perky as they were before their, uh, reformatting, and they love going out and flying and being total badasses and stuff.”

He wanted to refute the silent argument that Blitzwing was making as he wordlessly sifted through files, his optics blazing behind his scarlet visor. No way is Ultra Magnus as bad as Megatron, Bumblebee told himself quickly. He’d seen glimpses of the Autobot Supreme Commander, talked with him on brief occasions, and the mech had always seen so calm, so wise. There was passion in his spark, but not the violent passion that was so obviously in Megatron’s. He held the Magnus Hammer, for frag’s sake. Evil bots couldn’t do that. Could they?

“Listen, Blitzy, I’ve met Ultra Magnus before, on camera and stuff when he calls Optimus,” Bumblebee said, trying not to wonder what Blitzwing was so ferociously searching for. “And he’s a cool dude! And the other Elite Guard mechs, like Jazz, and Cliffjumper, and Longarm, they’re all pretty great! I wanted to work with them for ages! It’s my life goal! I wouldn’t go for something like that if I thought they would do something like—something like—you know, the thing Megatron did to you. And I did my research, for sure! It’s always been my dream to be on the Elite Guard, and I know that because I—”

Bumblebee was cut off as his datapad abruptly dropped into his lab with a deceptively unassuming plop. He lifted it with a shaking servo, skimming over the file on the screen, wondering just where the hell Blitzwing had even found it.

Project Safeguard

“Well, yeah,” Bumblebee said with a frown, trying and failing to make sense of the tangled technical jargon that coated a majority of the screen. “That’s what they called the project, I think, the ‘making flying Autobots project.’ Why is that—”

Blitzwing’s digit dropped onto the datapad and dragged the file down, showing the faces of two bots that only vaguely resembled Jetfire and Jetstorm, both with small profiles written below their designations.

Subject 1: J-478. Energon Refinery 193, Cybertron. Expendable. Shell Model 65356-9342-341.

Subject 2: J-479. Energon Refinery 193, Cybertron. Expendable. Shell Model 65356-9342-341.

Expendable.

The word rattled around Bumblebee’s processor as if he’d never heard it before, a collection of letters that didn’t make any sense. He stared at the profiles, at the nameless faces that would one day become Jetfire and Jetstorm, trying to rationalize what he was seeing in any way that wasn’t the bitterly obvious explanation.

“That—that can’t be right,” he said, scrolling through more mountains of techno-babble, trying to find something, anything that would make that damn word go away. “That’s—I don’t think it means—not expendable as in, like, expendable, but maybe—more like—something like—”

Bumblebee’s voice sputtered and died as he returned to the profiles, the word glaring at him in an ugly white font. He glanced up at Blitzwing, silently begging for a shred of sympathy, a lick of comfort in the dark red expression.

“Your Elite Guard saw these refinery bots as nonessential life,” Blitzwing said. “Disposable. If this little game of theirs didn’t work, they could toss the bots out and try again and not think about it twice. Sound familiar?”

“No,” Bumblebee said, his spark gripped with denial, tanks twisted into an uncomfortable knot. “No, there’s—there’s no way they—I don’t—”

“Bumblebee, if you’re going to be disgusted by what Blackarachnia did to me, then you should be appalled by what your leader did to these twins,” Blitzwing said harshly. “You wanted to work for them? For him?”

“I—I don’t know,” Bumblebee whispered, throwing the datapad facedown on the berth and grabbing Blitzwing’s servo frantically. “I swear! I didn’t—if I’d know that they—why would they—”

He drew a shuddering breath, optics stinging, spark pulsing at a million miles a minute. “I’m a repair bot,” he said, the realization hitting him so hard that his vents wheezed and chugged uselessly for a few moments. “I’m a repair bot. I’m—they were—”

Blitzwing’s face spun back to blue with a whirr, his servo twisting around to wrap around both of Bumblebee’s. The gentle squeeze was all the confirmation he needed, and as Bumblebee spoke, every syllable was like another punch in the stomach.

“Am I…?” he asked faintly, his vision blurring. “Am I expendable too? Optimus, Bulkhead, Prowl? All of us? Because we didn’t fight in the war? Are we—”

He was appalled. For his entire life, Bumblebee had dreamed of being in the Elite Guard, fighting Decepticons and bringing peace to the galaxy, rising in the ranks and becoming one of the strongest, most revered bots on the force. And that dream was shattering before his very optics, one single word somehow slamming into him with more force than any tangible thing ever could, crushing his spark and making him question his entire life, every goal he’d ever strived for.

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said softly, his digits tightening around Bumblebee’s servo. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Is this what they’re all like?” Bumblebee asked, unsure if he was asking Blitzwing, himself, or some cosmic entity that couldn’t hear his words. “The Elite Guard? The ones who swore they’d protect Cybertron from the Decepticons? Did they—did they just mean that they were gonna protect the bots that weren’t expendable?”

Blitzwing’s silence was a far, far worse answer than anything he could have said aloud. Bumblebee bit his glossa so hard that he nearly split the thin plating, trying and failing to slow his steadily rising spark-beat.

“If I joined them, would they make me part of this?” he asked aloud. “Would they make me say that every non-Elite bot is expendable? That my life is worth more than theirs because I have a cooler badge? Would they—do they—and Ultra Magnus is—Magnus encourages this? What if Jetfire and Jetstorm, what if—what if they’d died? Or gone nuts? Would Magnus have—would he have done what—what Megatron did, would—would he—”

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said, letting go of the minibot’s servo and dragging him into a tight hug, stroking the top of his helm. “Don’t get carried away. You were only doing what you were told was right. We’ve all fallen into that trap.”

Bumblebee didn’t say anything, pressing his face against Blitzwing’s chest, optics still wide open. Does anyone else know about this? he thought, clenching his jaw. Optimus? Ratchet? Do they know? Do they agree? Are we… just as evil as we think the Decepticons are?

“I’m sorry,” Bumblebee whispered, his digits pressing against Blitzwing’s warm plating. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t know, and—it is messed up. Just as messed up as the Blackarachnia thing. It’s awful. If I’d known, I—”

“I know,” Blitzwing said, pulling Bumblebee just a tiny bit closer to his chest. “I’m sorry, for getting worked up, I merely—”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t blame you. I’m just—this is—I feel like my whole life is a l-lie now. Is that melodramatic?”

“Absolutely. But I understand. You were just—”

“Yeah. And you were—”

“Yeah.”

They sat in silence for quite some time, an occurrence that was becoming more and more regular as the days went on. Bumblebee was unashamed of the tears striping his cheeks as his processor cycled out of control, his thoughts assaulted by existential questions that he would surely never get answers to. He didn’t know what to think about his own faction, the group whose symbol he’d worn proudly on his chest for his entire life.

Who were any of them anymore?

“Are you alright?” Blitzwing asked quietly, his voice calculated and low, soft against Bumblebee’s audials. Bumblebee wanted to nod, but he wasn’t sure if he remembered how, simply pushing his face further against Blitzwing’s chest.

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

“Know that I don’t intend to turn you against your faction,” Blitzwing said, sounding almost worried. “I know you take much pride in what you do and who you are, and I don’t want my bitterness to get in the way of your happiness.”

“I know,” Bumblebee said, finally remembering how to nod. “You’re not doing anything wrong. Thanks, though, for making sure.”

Blitzwing huffed out a quiet hum of approval. Bumblebee tilted his helm, nudging into a better angle, Blitzwing’s tough plating suddenly becoming the only thing that truly felt real.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I feel like—like I should be. For some reason.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Bumblebee felt a servo cup around his chin, and he allowed it to tilt his helm up, guiding his optics towards Blitzwing. The triple changer looked uncharacteristically gentle, his touch delicate as he slowly stroked Bumblebee’s chin, holding Bumblebee’s gaze with ease.

“Do you want to be cheered up?” Blitzwing asked.

“I don’t really know. Maybe.”

“Would you like to know why you shouldn’t be sorry?”

Bumblebee blinked away the tears that threatened to fall as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because you’re a good mech, Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said. “No matter your affiliation, what others around you have done, or even what you’ve done yourself. And I believe that with all my spark.”

“I feel like you’re stealing my speech,” Bumblebee said dryly.

Blitzwing chuckled, shaking his helm. “It stuck with me,” he said. “You should be honored.”

“I am,” Bumblebee mumbled.

Silence fell over the room once again. Bumblebee bit his lip, searching through his thoughts for any question that could be answered, anything that would give him a shred of certainty. He desperately needed something stable to remind himself of, some cut-and-dry answer, some black and white in a world that had suddenly turned very, very grey.

“Blitzwing,” he said, ignoring the fact that Blitzwing had very obviously started pulling him in for a kiss. “What did Sari ask you?”

Blitzwing’s optic popped open, raising a brow curiously, almost amusedly. “What?”

“Before she used her key,” Bumblebee said, the overwhelming urge for an answer crashing over him so strongly that he didn’t even consider asking whether Blitzwing was comfortable sharing. “She asked you something, and then she nodded, and then she fixed you. Just like that.”

“She did,” Blitzwing said cryptically.

“Please,” Bumblebee begged, reaching forward and grabbing onto Blitzwing’s cheeks. “Please, I need an answer to something. To anything. I’m so fragging confused about everything, and I just need one question answered. Please.”

Blitzwing sighed, a brief internal struggle taking place somewhere deep behind his optics. “As you wish,” he grumbled. “I was hoping to find a better moment to tell you rather than during an emotional crisis, but—”

“Tell me, you monologuer.”

“That’s not even a word.”

“I am going to snap your—”

“She asked me if I loved you,” Blitzwing said, just loud enough to be heard over Bumblebee’s threats.

Bumblebee blinked, mouth still open, caught midway through a sentence. “Huh?” he said dumbly.

Blitzwing nodded.

“...Oh.”

“Mhm.”

“And you—” Bumblebee’s digits clamped down on Blitzwing’s cheeks, his spark throbbing in his chest, brimming with heat that melted the vice frozen around it. “—You nodded.”

“I did,” Blitzwing said.

“So—” Bumblebee felt his optics widen, his plating growing warm. “So—that means—you—”

“Yes, Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said, almost exasperated, “that means I love you.”

Words failed Bumblebee spectacularly, and he only managed to choke out a single word as an avalanche of emotions cascaded over his entire being: “Cool.”

Blitzwing had never looked more exhausted. “Cool indeed,” he said.

“No! Wait! I mean—I’m—I mean, I love you too!” Bumblebee stammered, tightening his grip on Blitzwing’s cheeks.

Blitzwing smirked. “Cool.”

Bumblebee smacked his face gently and toppled forward into a kiss, unsure if it was out of exasperation or appreciation. Not that it mattered either way—kissing Blitzwing was a cure-all, the one thing that never failed to make Bumblebee feel better, no matter the circumstances. And with an admittance of love behind it, the kiss tasted all the sweeter, Blitzwing’s hands somehow softer against Bumblebee’s back.

Even if I don’t have anything else, Bumblebee thought, tears dripping from his optics before he could stop them, at least I have you, Blitzbrain.

Blitzwing was glad that, at least, his confession of his love for Bumblebee had calmed the minibot enough to allow him to sleep. It meant that one of them would get rest despite the guilty churning in both of their tanks, rolling in from different sources but simmering all the same.

Falling asleep hadn’t been easy for the little Autobot, but Blitzwing had been watching him for an hour now, and Bumblebee showed no signs of waking up. His bright blue optics flickered behind his lids, no doubt tracing the movements of invisible race cars that existed only in a dream world.

Blitzwing smiled.

He knew he wouldn’t get a minute of sleep tonight, not with the cyclical thoughts tormenting his processor, so Blitzwing carefully picked himself from the berth, taking great care not to rouse Bumblebee. His fuel tanks were running low, and with his processor computing scenario after scenario after scenario, he knew he would be burned out and grumpy in the morning if he didn’t have something to tide him over. And the last thing Bumblebee needed right now was to be yelled at.

Blitzwing made his way down the hallway as silently as possible, creeping through the small doorway and making his way to the stash of oil in the main room. A thin, warm breeze slipped through the shattered windows and danced past his shoulders, soothing and strangely disconcerting at the same time.

They were so unprotected in this base. Dangerously so. Sooner or later, Megatron was going to find them, and he was going to tear the creaky ceiling straight off. Blitzwing shuddered at the thought.

He lifted a barrel to his lips and took a slow sip, closing his optics and trying to focus on the positives, just as Bumblebee always did. They were safe for now, which was good, and Bumblebee loved him, which was even better. Blitzwing felt his spark shimmer, a thin smile rising on his face, tucked just out of view behind the barrel of oil.

“What’re you doing?”

Blitzwing didn’t even bother opening his optics, fighting down the wave of annoyance that threatened to spin his face out of control. Nor did he answer, simply taking another sip of his oil pointedly as Ratchet’s footsteps grew closer.

No part of him wanted to deal with the medic right now. If anything, he’d like to bury his fist in Ratchet’s face, demanding answers about the inner workings of the Autobots. Ratchet was old enough to know every dirty little secret, beyond the ones that Megatron had been able to figure out—Project Omega, the pink intelligence officer, the anti-Decepticon propaganda, the corruption that drove its filthy fingers deep into the heart of Cybertron. But Blitzwing kept his servos and his thoughts to himself, simply opening his optics and staring at Ratchet with all the hatred he could muster.

“Brooding, hm?” Ratchet said, taking his own barrel of oil from the pile and cracking open the top. “It suits you.”

Blitzwing merely stared. Did Ratchet know about the twins as well? Did he know that part of the Autobot profile involved whether you were expendable or not?

Ironic, for you to call me a monster, Blitzwing thought tiredly, taking another long pull from his barrel.

“Just gonna stare, then. Right.” Ratchet shrugged, rolling his optics. “Funny I should catch you here, actually. I have a request from you, if you’re going to be willing to hear me out.”

Blitzwing took another drink.

“I’m never gonna like you,” Ratchet said, enunciating so strongly that Blitzwing didn’t have a single doubt about how serious he was. “And I’m never gonna trust you, either. But I think you can tell that I do care about Bumblebee, obnoxious as he is. And he’s, well, he’s been a bit off recently. Skirting around all nervous-like, less chatty than usual. So I’d like to ask you not to fill his head with a bunch of lies, alright?”

The irony was physically painful. Blitzwing took another drink.

“You know as well as I do that we’re going to need to call in for backup soon,” Ratchet continued. “And that probably means you’re going to be arrested. Prime and I have been thinking of workarounds—for Bee’s sake, not yours, for the record—but we’re coming up with nothing. And the kid’s an important part of the team, so it’d be great if you could do all of us a favor and, well, admit that to him. Because if you had a plan, I’m sure you would’ve shared it by now. Am I wrong?”

Blitzwing took another drink.

“He deserves to be happy,” Ratchet said firmly. “And you know as well as I do that you can’t make him happy and keep him safe at the same time. Not with Megatron running around trying to dismember all of us, primarily because of you. The kid has dreams, you know? He never shuts up about ‘em. Wanting to be an Elite Guard warrior, protect the galaxy, all that.”

Blitzwing took another drink, hiding his grimace.

“If you cared about him at all, you wouldn’t let him throw it all away,” Ratchet finished.

Blitzwing took another drink, swirling around the empty barrel for the last few drops before crushing it into a ball and tossing it aside. And, without a word, he turned and left, leaving Ratchet to listen only to his footsteps.

For once, Blitzwing wished that he’d been wrong about the Autobots. He wished that the Autobots were good and that the Decepticons were bad, and that Bumblebee could truly find happiness if he joined the Elite Guard. But he’d seen the look on Bumblebee’s face, watched his aspirations crumble as he got a small glimpse into the inner workings of the Autobots.

The more time Blitzwing spent floating between the factions, the more he realized that there was no good, and there was no bad. There was only war and bitterness and resentment and corruption and anger. And for the first time, despite being more certain about the world than ever, Blitzwing desperately wished that he could be wrong.

Chapter Text

The Autobot base was rarely silent. The air was constantly saturated with noise, whether it be the sound of Ratchet tinkering with car parts, Bulkhead’s paintbrush scraping across a canvas, Bumblebee’s fingers mashing on a controller, Optimus’s clicking pen as he took notes and sketched plans, or Prowl’s gentle humming as he attempted to bring about his own sense of silence. There was always noise, in one way or another, and it was something every Autobot had accepted as a sign of safety.

Which is why the painful, tense silence between the reporter’s words felt all the more stressful.

“—There is, as far as reports can tell, no pattern between the attacks,” the reporter said, his eyes locked on the teleprompter, only barely containing his obvious fear for the sake of professionalism. “Only fourteen minor injuries have been reported as of yet, but with the rate and severity of attacks increasing, the mayor has advised that all citizens prepare for an emergency evacuation.”

Bumblebee swallowed hard, his tanks roiling as though filled with acid.

“The robot does not appear to be one of the Autobots we’ve all come to know and love, but that begs the question—where are the Autobots?” the reporter continued. “It has been over three weeks since the last reported sighting of Detroit’s giant superheroes, precisely when we needed them the most, which has left many citizens wondering just how reliable the Autobots are. Jennifer took to the streets for some firsthand accounts, and after the break, we’ll be—”

Click.

The television went black, leaving behind a deafening silence. Despite the blankness of the screen, Bumblebee couldn’t take his optics off it, staring at his own stunned reflection. Optimus’s reflection was the one clutching the remote, his expression knitted somewhere between fear and disappointment.

“Awfully quick to turn against us, aren’t they?” Ratchet said grouchily, the only one brave enough to speak. The sound gave Bumblebee the courage to turn his helm and face his team head on, taking in the collection of emotions splattered across their features.

This is bad, Bumblebee thought dumbly.

“I can’t exactly blame them,” Optimus said quietly, setting the remote down with terrible delicacy despite the tremor in his fingers. “The Decepticons weren’t kind to the city even when we were cleaning up after them, and now Megatron’s ripping it apart on purpose. I don’t even want to know how bad the roads look out there.”

“He’s baiting us,” Prowl said knowingly.

“At least no one’s gotten hurt,” Bumblebee said.

Prowl grunted quietly. “Yet.”

“Exactly,” Optimus said. “Inaction is going to hurt innocent humans, and maybe even take their lives. We can’t risk that.”

“What about our lives?” Bumblebee said, hoping he didn’t sound too defensive. “We can’t go out there without getting our skidplates kicked to hell and back. We aren’t helping anyone if we just go out and get sucker punched over and over.”

“Going offline does put a damper on our ability to be helpful,” Prowl said with a small shrug.

“But the more we stay holed up in the base, the angrier Megatron’s going to get,” Bulkhead chimed in nervously. “We’re kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place here.”

“Yeah, we either die or we die in a slightly different way,” Bumblebee said dryly. “I love having options.”

“We’re all ignoring the third option here, which is calling for backup,” Ratchet said, folding his arms over his chest.

Bumblebee opened his mouth to protest, more apprehensive about the Elite Guard than ever, but he was quickly silenced by Ratchet’s knifelike stare.

“Don’t start, Bumblebee,” the medic said harshly. “I know you don’t like it, but we need to do something. This city isn’t endless, and Megatron is going to find us eventually if he puts his mind to it. We should consider ourselves lucky that he’s wasting time baiting us at all.”

“Or perhaps the only reason there haven’t been injuries is because Megatron isn’t looking in the populated sections of town,” Prowl said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

Bumblebee felt his brow furrow. “Huh?”

“It’s possible that he’s looking for us and is making the assumption that our base is hidden from human view, hence why his attacks have been focused on less populated areas of the city,” Prowl said. “He may be baiting us with damage and searching for us at the same time.”

“So he either finds us or he starts killing off humans to force us out,” Optimus said sullenly. “Seems like an angle Megatron would take.”

“All the more reason for us to call for backup,” Ratchet said, slightly less calm. “Don’t start, Bumblebee.”

Bumblebee frowned, sticking his lower lip into a pout. “I didn’t even say anything!” he protested.

“You were about to,” Ratchet said. “I know you’re worried about Blitzwing, but lives are at stake here. He either gets arrested or we’re going to have to start cleaning up bodies.”

Bumblebee’s servos clenched into fists as he tried to think of an appropriate counterargument, but no sound emerged from his intake. Ratchet was right, no matter how vehemently Bumblebee tried to deny it. He found himself glancing toward the hall, wondering if Blitzwing was eavesdropping on them as he so often did.

“I know that,” he said, his spark throbbing anxiously. “But—I mean—if we do call the Elite Guard, what are we gonna tell them? They’re not gonna be thrilled about seeing Blitzwing with an Autobot symbol on his chest, will they?”

“Blitzwing knows as well as the rest of us that the insignia is a formality,” Ratchet spat.

“So what?” Bumblebee snapped. “They’re still not gonna like it! Isn’t there literally anyone else we can call other than them?”

“About the leader of the Decepticons rampaging with two alt modes?” Optimus said. “Don’t think so. This might even be above them, let alone anyone else.”

“Just call them, Prime!” Ratchet said, standing up, optics narrowed into slits. “We’re out of options here.”

Optimus looked strangely torn, his gaze bouncing between Bumblebee and Ratchet, visibly chewing on his lip. Bumblebee couldn’t even bring himself to look back, staring at his pedes instead, his processor spinning in crazed circles as he thought about the Elite Guard.

Or, more specifically, about Ultra Magnus.

Bumblebee didn’t even want to see their Supreme Commander anymore. The mech he’d used to respect so much, always so calm and organized and collected, seemed like such a villain now. Jetfire and Jetstorm still worked with him. And Sentinel—there was no part of Bumblebee that wanted to deal with the tongue-lashing he’d get from that jerk if even a whiff of his relationship managed to get past Sentinel’s giant chin. Bumblebee shuddered, trying to shake the image of Ultra Magnus from his thoughts.

How could everyone else here look up to him the way they did? They were all terrified of Megatron, but they were calling Ultra Magnus for help? With hope and desperation in their optics? Bumblebee choked down the urge to blurt out everything he’d learned about the twins, unsure if he even cared enough to share the news.

Ratchet would just call you a liar or an idiot, Bumblebee thought, meeting Optimus’s gaze for just long enough to nod his approval at their plan. No one’s listened to me so far. Why would they start now?

Optimus seemed hesitant, but he returned the nod after a few moments, wordlessly leading the team toward the communications center. They all followed, Bumblebee dragging as far behind as possible, hoping to hide behind Bulkhead and avoid Ultra Magnus’s war-hardened, wise optics.

Bumblebee didn’t watch, but he heard as Optimus dialed a long series of digits into one of the monitors. And within moments, the screens around them buzzed to life, plastered with multiple images of Ultra Magnus, his gaze as stern as it was concerned.

“Optimus Prime,” he said calmly. “It’s been quite some time since you last hailed this frequency.”

“Sorry for not checking in, sir,” Optimus said quickly, a servo snapping to his forehead in a quick salute, a gesture that the rest of the Autobots mimicked—Bumblebee, with as little energy as possible. “But we—”

One of the screens blurred with static, revealing the ever-smirking face of Sentinel Prime, much to Optimus’s obvious displeasure.

“About time you gave us a call, Optimus,” Sentinel said. “Aren’t you supposed to be checking in once every decacycle? It’s been—what—four now?”

“We’ve been in a bit of an emergency,” Optimus said tensely.

Magnus only barely frowned, still shockingly calm. “What sort of emergency?”

“Shouldn’t your first instinct be to call when there’s an emergency?” Sentinel said snidely.

“Oh, yeah, because that’s gone so well before,” Optimus grumbled.

“Optimus Prime,” Magnus scolded. “Continue. What’s the trouble?”

“We’re—well—remember, sir, how you didn’t believe us when we told you that Megatron was back?” Optimus said, clearly fighting for composure. “You’re going to have to trust me again. Sir.”

Sentinel scoffed, making the energon in Bumblebee’s lines boil.

“Don’t tell me you blew up another Allspark,” Sentinel said.

“Sentinel Prime, that’s enough.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Continue, Optimus Prime.”

Optimus took a deep breath, glancing at Bumblebee with a strange gleam in his optics—was it pity? “Megatron has reformatted his frame, sir,” he said slowly. “He’s a triple changer. And he’s been—”

“Hold on,” Sentinel interrupted. “Are you seriously expecting us to—”

Another screen crackled to life, this time with a face that Bumblebee didn’t hate seeing: Jazz. His visor was bright, helm cocked.

“Let them talk, SP,” Jazz said. “They were right once, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, but a triple changer?” Sentinel said, his optics full of laughter. “Sure, they were right one time, but come on! Why would Megatron do that to himself? He’s got Blitzwing, doesn’t he? How many tanks does a mech need to blow up one mud ball planet?”

The Autobots shuffled nervously. Bumblebee hoped it wasn’t visible through a screen, his spark thumping in his chest.

“It’s true, sirs,” Ratchet said firmly, stepping forward. “He’s been tearing the city apart looking for us. And—”

“—And we hate to ask you to come help, but we’re in danger, and so is the rest of the galaxy,” Optimus said, cutting Ratchet off abruptly. “If Megatron figures out a way to get off of the planet, he’s going to do serious damage. We have, uh, reason to believe that he isn’t well in the processor. Sir.”

Magnus seemed to ponder this for a few moments, glancing off screen toward something they couldn’t see. Bumblebee kept his gaze fixed firmly on his pedes, his spark pounding in his intake, fighting to keep his frame from quivering. How can he be so calm, even in a time like this? he thought anxiously.

Bumblebee had never had such little faith in anyone. Magnus’s somber attitude suddenly seemed parallel with Megatron’s, menacing and calculated rather than soothingly aplomb. Bumblebee wanted to feel relaxed, relieved that their leader was contemplating coming to their rescue, but he felt nothing but dread and mistrust, maybe even a little bit of disgust.

“You’ve all made up some insane stories, but this one is really up there,” Sentinel said, taking advantage of Magnus’s silence to vocalize his own thoughts. “Megatron would have to be completely insane to turn himself into a triple changer. The only one that ever survived the change is a nutjob now.”

“You guys said that he’s tearing up the city, right?” Jazz said. “So what if he’s wack in the processor? The last thing we need is for him to find other planets to shred.”

“I just don’t buy him being that stupid,” Sentinel said firmly. “The Decepticons may not be the brightest, but that’s dumb, even for them.”

“We will come investigate the issue,” Ultra Magnus said finally.

“What?” Sentinel yelled.

“Quiet, Sentinel Prime,” Magnus said tirely. “If this is true, and Optimus Prime has proven himself to be trustworthy, then Megatron is either extremely dangerous or extremely susceptible to being overthrown. Either way, the matter is out of the hands of repair bots. You were wise to call for aid, Optimus Prime.”

“Thank you, s-sir,” Optimus stammered, his digits writhing behind his back. Bumblebee watched him curiously, waiting for the bomb to be dropped—Blitzwing is in the base, he thought. Why aren’t you telling them about Blitzwing?

“Expect our arrival in your sector in five solar cycles,” Magnus said. “Jazz, set course for Earth immediately.”

“Right on, sir,” Jazz said, smiling and waving warmly before disappearing from view.

“In the meantime, stay safe and keep us updated if there are any changes in the situation,” Magnus said. “I will ensure that reinforcements are kept on full alert in the event that we need assistance.”

“Sir,” Ratchet said, stepping forward. “There’s—”

“Will do, sir,” Optimus said quickly, brushing Ratchet aside once again. “Thank you for your help.”

Magnus nodded, and Sentinel rolled his optics before the communication line was cut. Ratchet immediately whirled toward Optimus, raising his hands in confusion.

“What the hell, Prime?” he snapped. “You’re just not going to mention the Decepticon in our base?”

“I’m sorry!” Optimus said, shrinking down as much as a mech his size could possibly manage. “I panicked! Sentinel barely believed us as is, and if we told them that we were harboring a fugitive—”

“Since when do you give a slag what Sentinel thinks?” Ratchet barked. “What exactly are we going to do now? Hide him? We’re barely avoiding treason charges as is!”

“We’ve done worse things,” Bulkhead said, glancing nervously at Bumblebee, offering an anxious smile.

“Like blow up the Allspark,” Prowl added.

“Regardless!” Ratchet said. “Lying directly to the Magnus’s face is an entirely different story.”

“It was a lie of omission!” Optimus spluttered.

“That’s still a lie!”

“And just because he’s Magnus doesn’t mean he’s a perfect mech!” Bumblebee said, finally forcing himself to speak. “I’m sure he’s lied about stuff too, and done some pretty bad things! We’re fighting for the good of everyone, whether as a whole or as individuals, right?”

Ratchet looked at Bumblebee with an odd expression, something lost between mourning and fury. “Magnus isn’t perfect, no,” he said, his voice dripping with ice. “But sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to for the good of everyone. The good of the many is more important than the good of the few—no matter how important that few may seem.”

Bumblebee frowned, trying to comprehend the expression on Ratchet’s face. “What—”

“The many that I care about includes this team,” Optimus said, frowning at Ratchet.

“Then you can explain why you lied about Blitzwing,” Ratchet spat, rubbing at his faceplates angrily.

“We’re a team, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “And you were included in the decision to take him in.”

“I didn’t agree to any of this!” Ratchet said, taking a furious step toward Optimus. “Not to taking Blitzwing in, not to lying to Magnus, not to any of this! Do you have any idea how many teams I’ve lost to the Decepticons? I’m not losing another!”

“Guys, stop!” Bumblebee said, jumping between the two. “Listen, Optimus screwed up, okay? But, if it helps, I’ll—”

“No, you screwed up!” Ratchet shouted. “You’re the reason we’re in this mess, and the reason everyone around here is on edge! You trusted a Decepticon, and it’s your fault that the entire planet could be in danger! All of us included! If you hadn’t shacked up with the least suitable mech in the universe, none of this would be happening!”

Bumblebee felt his optics widen, his jaw going slack as his pedes involuntarily carried him a few steps away from the raging medic. He couldn’t tell if his spark felt heavier or lighter, but it certainly felt dimmer, as though all of the glow had been sucked out in one fell swoop. Tears bubbled behind his optics—a familiar sensation, at this point—and only then did Ratchet’s expression clear, replaced with obvious worry.

“Kid, wait,” he said. “That—that came out wrong. I just—you’ll never hear me admit this again, but I’m scared, alright? For myself, sure, but for all of us. Let me—”

“Don’t,” Bumblebee said, his voice barely a whisper but somehow loud enough to resonate around the entire room. “Just—just don’t.”

“Bumblebee!” Ratchet called, but Bumblebee was already dashing toward his quarters, trying to choke down the sobs that were simmering along his glossa. He heard multiple pairs of footsteps chase after him, but he easily outran every one of them, powered by a quick set of pedes and a burning ache that cranked his engine to its highest gear.

So that’s what you really think, Bumblebee thought, slamming his door shut behind him and barrelling toward an extremely alarmed Blitzwing. At least you finally got it out of your system.

“What’s wrong?” Blitzwing said immediately as the minibot rammed into his chest, sobbing inconsolably. “Bumblebee?”

Bumblebee didn’t reply, pouring his ugly sobs across Blitzwing’s plating, shaking so violently that the entire berth vibrated. Blitzwing quickly wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him as hard as he could, stroking the minibot’s helm.

“It’s alright,” Blitzwing whispered without a clue about how true that statement might be. “Calm down, Bumblebee, it’s alright. Shh. Deep breaths—you’re overheating.”

Bumblebee ignored him—not that Blitzwing expected any different. He glanced toward the door as he heard fists pounding against it, a chorus of voices calling for Bumblebee.

“Bee?”

“Bumblebee, come out here! Let me explain!”

“Bumblebee, come on!”

“It’s about time we talked, isn’t it? Bee?”

“Go away!” Bumblebee shrieked, his voice muffled by Blitzwing’s armor but still loud enough to make Blitzwing’s audials ache.

The pounding ceased at once, hushed voices whispering on the other side of the door for an agonizingly long moment before vanishing, doors slamming loudly at the end of the hall. Bumblebee resumed his sobs, his chest heaving, vents hissing and stalling as they feverishly tried to pump cool air into the minibot’s systems.

“Talk to me whenever you’re ready,” Blitzwing murmured, careful to ensure that the request was not one that could be contested. Something very bad had just happened, and Blitzwing was not going to let Bumblebee bottle up feelings this intense.

And though Blitzwing had little patience for anything, it was good that he had some for Bumblebee, because the Autobot bawled for nearly half an hour before even entering the realm of coherency. He babbled something about Optimus and Ratchet, then about ‘five solar cycles.’

Blitzwing’s chest felt tight when he heard that time constraints were involved. But he remained silent, waiting for Bumblebee’s sobs to subside into loud gulps, then into damp sniffles.Only then did Blitzwing carefully coax Bumblebee’s chin upwards, forcing their optics to connect.

“Are you alright?” Blitzwing asked softly.

Bumblebee shook his helm, wiping his soaked faceplates, swallowing a few more times. “No,” he croaked.

“Are you ready to talk?”

Bumblebee hiccupped loudly, trying to clean his tears from Blitzwing’s chest and only succeeding in smearing them around more. “They’re coming,” he said hoarsely.

Blitzwing didn’t have to ask to know the answer, nor did he want to, but he did anyway. “Who is?”

“The Elite Guard,” Bumblebee whispered. “In five solar cycles. And they don’t know you’re here, because Optimus didn’t tell them, and then—he was fighting with Ratchet, and I was gonna say that I can be the one to tell them about you, b-because then I’ll be the one to get arrested and they’ll all be off the hook, but—but then Ratchet yelled at me and s-said this was all my fault, and that if everyone gets hurt, it’s my fault because I—because I—I—”

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said, pulling the Autobot close to his chest. “Relax.”

“I can’t,” Bumblebee said. “You’re going to get arrested, and we’re all going to get in trouble, and all the work everyone’s put in—it’s all gonna go away, and it’s all my fault! All because—because—”

“Because you care,” Blitzwing tried.

“Because I’m stupid,” Bumblebee wailed, tears reigiting in his optics. “I’m putting everyone I care about in danger! You, my team, Sari, Professor Sumdac—they’re all in trouble because of me! Ratchet’s right!”

“No, he’s—”

“He is,” Bumblebee said harshly. “Don’t lie to me. He is right and you know it.”

“No, he’s not,” Blitzwing said, tightening his firm grip on Bumblebee’s chin. “One could say that you and I together are to blame. Or Megatron, for choosing to reformat himself. Or Professor Sumdac, for performing the surgery. The Allspark itself, for giving Sari’s key the power to revive me. Blackarachnia, for discovering the secret to being a triple changer. Ultra Prime, for creating the Decepticon Registration Act. Everything that has happened in history, to this date, is to blame for what is happening to you now, and you cannot pin the weight of an entire war upon your own shoulders.”

“That’s kind of a reach, isn’t it?” Bumblebee mumbled.

“No,” Blitzwing said. “It is a common error, and it is a fatal mistake that Ratchet makes, over and over again—he allows himself to carry a burden that should be spread over millions of years of history.”

Blitzwing leaned closer to Bumblebee, staring intently into those big blue optics. “Everything in history has led me to you,” he continued. “Every victory, every loss, every error, and every misguided good intention. What Ratchet sees as a mistake is just another part of history, centered around you and me, and we cannot know where it will lead. But it will lead somewhere, to another good moment, to another set of mechs falling in love, to another incredible team being created and another evil mech facing his inevitable downfall. Ratchet cannot see past failures—you have always seen successes. Don’t let his bitterness taint the beauty of your spark.”

Bumblebee stared blankly at Blitzwing for a few moments, and Blitzwing stared back, unwilling to let go of Bumblebee’s beautiful gaze.

“Is it wrong for us to be together?” Bumblebee asked. “Are we going to look back and think this was a huge mistake?”

“Perhaps,” Blitzwing said. “But if so, you’re the best mistake I ever made. And I do hope you feel the same way about me, because otherwise, I thought of that entire monologue for nothing.”

Bumblebee finally smiled—a thin, rusty smile at best, but Blitzwing had never been more relieved to see it. He released Bumblebee’s gaze and hugged the minibot close to his chest, stroking his helm, letting relief wash the sense of impending doom from his spark.

“We’re slagged, aren’t we?” Bumblebee said, his slender arms wrapping around Blitzwing’s waist.

“Absolutely,” Blitzwing said. “I’m not very good at hiding. I’m quite large.”

“We’ll think of something, though,” Bumblebee mumbled. “Some kind of plan to keep you safe, even if it’s a super dumb plan. I’m not gonna let the Elite Guard get their dirty servos on you. Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise,” Blitzwing reaffirmed, pressing his smallest digit to Bumblebee’s back.

Bumblebee shook his helm. “Metaphorical pinky promise,” he said. “I don’t wanna let go of you.”

Blitzwing chuckled. “Fair enough.”

Chapter Text

It felt strange, to spend an entire day in his room. Bumblebee generally felt twitchy from the moment he woke up, itching all over to find any sort of activity that would occupy his processor, whether that be going for a drive or slouching in the living area to watch mindless cartoons.

But waking up for the past two days had felt more like a chore. Unwilling to face Ratchet and the rest of the team, Bumblebee had opted to stay in his quarters instead, curled against Blitzwing and scrolling through comic books on his datapad without absorbing any of the content within them. The walls of his room felt like a prison that he had no intentions of leaving, especially since the only mech that seemed to listen to him was being held captive with him.

Bulkhead would come knocking every so often, ensuring that the two of them stayed fully fueled, and Sari was sweet enough to join the pair for a few hours at a time, but neither of their requests for him to come out were met with any sort of enthusiasm. Bumblebee simply had no motivation to go anywhere that wasn’t in his berth and by Blitzwing’s side.

On the plus side, the days felt much longer when they weren’t filled to the brim with self-made activities. Every minute spent with Blitzwing felt like an hour, and Bumblebee was grateful for it. They watched videos, took naps, watched the setting sun through the windows, and whispered their occasional thoughts at one another.

For a few beautifully long minutes, Bumblebee felt as if he was back in the woods, lost with nothing but Blitzwing. No responsibilities, no Megatron, no team, nothing but the moment they were currently existing in. It was pure bliss, and for at least a couple of hours, Bumblebee caught himself staring out toward the bustling city of Detroit and wishing uselessly that he could be left astray on an empty beach once again.

Life was a lot easier when Blitzwing was the only thing in it.

Bumblebee glanced at his shoulder, smiling faintly at Blitzwing’s gentle, crimson-faced snores as another meaningless video loaded onto the datapad and began playing. Bumblebee wasn’t entirely sure when they’d reached the video reviews of the internet, but the background noise was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

But Blitzwing’s snoozing brought about a much more pleasant sound. Bumblebee paused the video and leaned his helm against Blitzwing with a peaceful sigh.

“I was watching that,” Blitzwing grumbled irritably.

“You were not,” Bumblebee muttered. “You’re half asleep, numb-nodes.”

“Turn it back on.”

“It’s getting late,” Bumblebee said, wistfully gazing out the window at the blanket of smog that tucked the stars out of view. “We should be getting to sleep anyway.”

“You sleep with the datapad on, stupid,” Blitzwing growled, his frowning red face nuzzling affectionately against one of Bumblebee’s tires.

“So?” Bumblebee mumbled, pulling Blitzwing’s face closer against him. “Maybe I wanna sleep in silence for once.”

“You and I both know that I snore like a mother fu—”

“It’ll be like the good old days,” Bumblebee said without thinking, still staring through the window, wishing there were more stars to count. “Come on, we’ve only got, like, three days before you’re gonna be hidden away for awhile. I wanna make that time count.”

Whirr. Bumblebee felt the air distort around his shoulder as Blitzwing’s face spun to blue, and he tore his gaze from the window to look at the vibrant crimson optic currently boring a hole straight through his plating.

“It’s not like you to be nostalgic,” Blitzwing said quietly.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like me to be worrying about getting arrested just for being in love, either,” Bumblebee grumbled irritably. “I don’t know, I just—I don’t know.”

“Think about it, then explain,” Blitzwing urged.

Bumblebee did just that, his spark swelling warmly as he looked at Blitzwing. The triple changer’s gaze never wavered, optics constantly locked on Bumblebee, looking at him as though he was the only thing in the world. It should have made Bumblebee feel better, but the pit deep in his tanks just seemed to grow more and more hollow.

In just a few days, the very existence of that gentle almost-smile would be in constant jeopardy.

“Thing were just a lot easier before,” Bumblebee said slowly. “Like, way before. When we were in the woods and stuff. It was annoying because I was, you know, getting feelings for you and all, but for the most part, it was just—I don’t know—nice?”

“We spent almost every day on the verge of starving to death,” Blitzwing said pointedly.

“I mean—yeah,” Bumblebee said, rolling his optics. “But that was our only worry! All we had to think about was fuel, which direction to walk, and how we felt about each other. It was just us. No one else’s opinions mattered until we got back to Detroit. Megatron wasn’t trying to murder us every fragging day, Ratchet wasn’t around to breathe down my neck, all that stuff!”

Bumblebee slid his optics back to the window, frowning at the sky.

“It was just a lot nicer,” he said softly. “And it was just nice to feel so—I don’t know—free? My whole life has been deadlines and goals and missions, and for those few months, it was just… nothing. It was nothing and it was awesome. Just you and the light of the moon. Hell, even when we were still keeping this whole thing a secret, meeting up was just you and the moon and the stars. It was just so much better.”

“Cheesy,” Blitzwing murmured.

“Blow it out your actuator, Blitzbrain,” Bumblebee said, trying and failing to feel irritated. “And now we have all these things to worry about all the time. Normal team stuff, which is annoying enough, but then Megatron, and now the Elite Guard, and I’m constantly wondering what’s gonna happen with us, and—I don’t know. I don’t wanna be starving in the woods again, but damn, if it wasn’t kinda nice while it lasted.”

Blitzwing, surprisingly, stayed quite silent for a few moments, leaving Bumblebee’s words to hang thickly in the air. Bumblebee sighed, cocking his helm as he gave up on counting the three stars in the sky over and over.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know I’ve been super whiny recently. It’s just—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Blitzwing said coolly. “I was just thinking that perhaps we attempt a little return to form, so to speak.”

Bumblebee frowned, glancing down at Blitzwing, whose massive helm had shifted into Bumblebee’s lap without him even noticing. “‘Return to form?’” Bumblebee repeated suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on kidnapping me and stranding me on a beach somewhere.”

Whirr. Blitzwing cackled briefly. “Well, now I’m not!” Whirr. “But perhaps a little fresh air would do you some good. Both of us, in fact.”

“Who am I, Prowl?” Bumblebee scoffed. “I don’t need fresh air. Plus, Megatron’s out there rampaging like a maniac, and Prime would kill me if he found out, and we’d probably end up getting reported to the Elite Guard for disobeying orders, and—”

“Since when have you abided by the rules?” Blitzwing said snidely.

“Since when have you not?” Bumblebee fired back.

“About the same time that I first kissed you.”

“Hm. Yeah, me too. But still!”

“You said you wanted to make our last safe days together count, did you not?” Blitzwing said, reaching up to intertwine his fingers among Bumblebee’s. “I’ll keep you safe—I promise.”

Bumblebee squeezed Blitzwing’s servo, surprised at how hesitant he was: cautiousness had never been his strong suit, after all. But after a few long seconds of pondering, he found himself nodding, realizing just how intense his cabin fever had gotten.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Blitzwing was both pleased and surprised that Bumblebee had agreed to such a spontaneous and stupid idea—the little Autobot had absolutely gotten smarter as the months had gone on, and Blitzwing vaguely wondered when he had become the one who suggested the idiotic plans.

But Blitzwing was comfortable in their safety as they snuck out of the Autobot base. His signal dampener was most likely repaired when Sari had repaired him with her Allspark key, since Megatron had yet to locate them based on his energy signature.

And even if not, leaving the base was an incredible feeling. A genuine smile lifted on Bumblebee’s face the moment they stepped outside, and Blitzwing felt as though his wings could finally stretch for the first time in ages without walls keeping them pressed tightly to his back.

Neither of the mechs said a word as they made a beeline for their old meeting spot. Bumblebee transformed and revved his engine loudly enough to wake the entire city, and Blitzwing took to the skies without a second thought, keeping a close eye on the little Autobot as he swerved recklessly through the winding city streets.

Blitzwing didn’t even have to hear Bumblebee to know that he was cheering at the newfound freedom.

They reached the meeting spot in record time, accompanied only by starlight and the ever-warmer spring air, and Blitzwing felt his spark pulse warmly as he watch Bumblebee spin into a series of donuts, shredding the dirt beneath his tires without a care in the world. Despite the speed of his thrusters, Blitzwing didn’t rush to land, perfectly content to let Bumblebee act like a maniac for a little while longer.

It felt good, to see the Autobot happy. The sad smiles were rewarding when Blitzwing could invoke them, but nothing was quite as stunning as the intense, unbridled joy of a sports car without inhibitions.

When he did finally allow himself to land, Blitzwing let a small smile creep onto his face as he approached Bumblebee. If the old times were what the bug wanted, then old times he would get.

“Bumblebee,” he said pleasantly, strolling toward the sturdiest tree he could find and sitting in front of it peacefully. “It’s been a while.”

Bumblebee clearly didn’t understand what he was trying to do, and his confusion was both adorable and amusing. “What are you talking about?” Bumblebee said. “It’s been, like, five minutes, you weirdo.”

“No,” Blitzwing corrected as pointedly as possible. “We usually meet every three weeks, do we not? Since neither of us wants to raise suspicion with our factions.”

Bumblebee blinked a few times, catching on rather quickly and grinning widely. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Right. Three weeks. Just like always.” He chuckled quietly. “Man, you would not believe the month I’ve had.”

“Tell me about it,” Blitzwing said, patting his lap invitingly.

Bumblebee’s whole face seemed to glow with joy as he bounced onto Blitzwing’s legs, pressing his frame so close that Blitzwing could feel the gleeful thumping of his spark. “Well, Ratchet’s been in a cranky mood, so that’s been super annoying,” Bumblebee said, his brow furrowing as he tried to skew his story appropriately. “Not exactly sure why. I think he might’ve gotten a stick lodged in his aft when we were working on a bridge or something.”

“He does seem like quite a piece of work,” Blitzwing said. “I dread the day that he and I are introduced.”

“Trust me,” Bumblebee chuckled, “me too.”

As stressful as it had been to hide their relationship, Blitzwing was able to fully understand why Bumblebee had craved this feeling so much. The air felt warmer and the stress was lower when the worries of the Elite Guard and the Autobots’ judgement was left behind at the base. It felt childish, almost, to be pretending like none of the past few weeks had happened at all, but it was comforting at the same time.

The only thing Blitzwing had to worry about in this fake moment he’d created was about listening to Bumblebee’s day.

“How are Megatron and Lugnut?” Bumblebee asked, covering his mouth to hide a very obvious giggle. “Still driving you nuts?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Blitzwing said, tracing a servo down Bumblebee’s waist fondly. “Fortunately, I haven’t seen much of Lugnut, but Megatron seems very intent on achieving some useless goal of his once again.”

“Goal?” Bumblebee said. “What goal?”

Blitzwing chuckled, leaning down to kiss Bumblebee’s forehead. “Tire treads.”

“Oh—right—can’t tell each other that stuff,” Bumblebee said, unable to conceal a small snicker. “Forgot about that. Uh, okay, um—well, I’m really glad to see you, at least. And to just be with you. Ratchet’s really been driving me nuts, so it’s good to get away from him a little bit. I like being just with you.”

“That’s why we have these meetings, after all,” Blitzwing said.

“Yeah,” Bumblebee agreed. “Yeah. And I’m glad we have them. Seems like things would be really complicated if we saw each other every day. I don’t think Ratchet would like you very much.”

“I doubt he would,” Blitzwing murmured. “But we don’t need to worry about that right now. How about we just enjoy each other, like we always do?”

“That’d be good,” Bumblebee said.

Blitzwing only caught a glance of Bumblebee’s widening smile before the minibot had smashed their faces together, kissing Blitzwing with the desperation of a mech who hadn’t seen his partner in a month. Blitzwing was more than happy to reciprocate, allowing all thoughts and worries to melt from his frazzled processor, focusing all of his attention on Bumblebee.

He silently pretended that this kiss would be their last for the next month, and the false yearning set in almost immediately. Blitzwing lowered his servos to Bumblebee’s waist and hauled him closer, kisser him harder. All of the ambient noise seemed to melt away, and all he heard was the gentle sound of Bumblebee trying in vain to catch his breath.

They’d kissed a thousand times, but Blitzwing had never been so glad to do it. For a moment, for this moment, nothing in their world existed except for each other and the tree Blitzwing used as a backrest. Megatron only had one alt mode, and Ratchet’s shouts were only brought forth when Bumblebee left his game cartridges strewn across the living area.

For a fleeting moment, things were the proper shade of normal. They were arguing about Bumblebee’s terrible communication skills. They were meeting for the first time after deciding to become a couple, both of them quivering with excitement and nerves. They were sharing their first kiss in an alley, desperately trying to share their feelings without words. They were huddled in a cave, Bumblebee’s chest plating cracked as Blitzwing watched over him without rest for days on end. They were back in the forests of Canada, lost and arguing about their developing feelings for one another. They were unconscious on the beach, unaware of what miseries and joys awaited them.

For a fleeting moment, Blitzwing forgot about everything that wasn’t his love for Bumblebee.

But only for a moment.

“Hm. Remind me to be more thorough next time I take you offline.”

Every sensor in Blitzwing’s frame went haywire in a millisecond. Before he could even open his optics, he had slammed Bumblebee to his chest and snapped to his pedes, wings fanned out menacingly, scalding fury turning his vision red with dizzying speed.

He didn’t want to open his optics. He didn’t want to know. But he had no choice if he was going to protect Bumblebee.

Blitzwing lowered his helm with a growl, prying his optics open and meeting the scarlet gaze he detested so deeply.

“How did you find me?” Blitzwing asked immediately, clamping a servo over Bumblebee’s mouth as the minibot let out a terrified squeak.

“So it was the yellow bot, then,” Megatron said coldly, grinning widely behind a barred battle mask, a mouth full of sharp dentae visible even behind the protective plating. “I certainly had my suspicions, but I thought your taste would be… larger.”

“How did you find me?” Blitzwing demanded, baring his own dentae.

“Impatient as ever,” Megatron purred darkly. “Your energy signature, you buffoon. The Autobots seemed to carelessly assume that I couldn’t locate theirs, and since yours has been gone, I was also a victim of a foolish assumption.”

Blitzwing snarled. So my signal dampener no longer works, he thought. The Autobot base must be cloaked. But if he has Professor Sumdac working on breaking through their shielding…

“No matter,” Megatron continued, his grin growing wider, too wide. “Taking you offline twice will be all the more satisfying for me.”

“Go away,” Blitzwing snarled, ignoring Bumblebee’s frantic squirming.

Megatron cackled, a revoltingly uncharacteristic cackle that seemed too high-pitched to come from the Decepticon leader’s intake. Blitzwing shuddered, lowering his cannons threateningly.

“Go away?” Megatron taunted, still laughing to himself. “That’s the best you can come up with? Spending all of this time with an Autobot has fried your processor even more. I didn’t even think that could happen!”

Megatron laughed harder, his optics manic with terrible amusement. Blitzwing clenched his jaw, his vision swimming with red.

“You’re losing it, you egotistical bastard,” Blitzwing snarled.

“Never!” Megatron hollered, his optics suddenly boiling with rage. “Never. I used less QNA than you. I’m stronger than you could ever be.”

“It’s not just the QNA, idiot,” Blitzwing snapped. “Having two modes will destroy your processor whether you want it to or not. We weren’t meant to have two vehicle codes. Do me and yourself a favor and throw yourself off a cliff while you’re still sane enough to do it.”

“Frag off!” Megatron bellowed, shaking Blitzwing to his very core. “You’re the weak one here! You’re just as pathetic as these Autobot you love so much! You’ll be wriggling around with organics soon enough, you pathetic excuse for an experiment!”

Faster than Blitzwing’s optics could follow, Megatron had aimed his fusion cannon and both of the barrels on his chest in their direction, filling them with a deadly charge in an instant. “Hand over the Autobot and the location of the Autobot base, and I will make your death as painless as I can,” he said, his voice lowering sharply, all the deathly calmness returning in an instant.

“Never,” Blitzwing hissed.

“Weak for an Autobot,” Megatron taunted darkly. “I thought you were better than this.”

“No harm will come to my Bumblebee.”

“Your Bumblebee!” Megatron repeated, shrieking with abrupt laughter. “Nevermind, then! I’ll stand down because he’s your Bumblebee! Could you be more pathetic, you freak?”

Something inside Blitzwing snapped as the insult was thrown casually his way—first Ratchet, now Megatron. As much as he wanted to contain it, Blitzwing’s rage got the best of him, and he dropped Bumblebee to the ground, launching himself at Megatron.

“The only freak here,” he shouted, pulling a fist back, practically frothing at the mouth, “is you, Megatron!”

And, for the first time ever, Blitzwing’s fist connected with Megatron’s face.

Time seemed to slow as Megatron’s helm snapped back, and though it hurt at first, Blitzwing felt his smile grow impossibly wide as his knuckles dented the bars protecting Megatron’s mouth. Blitzwing screamed with joy as Megatron skidded backwards, and without a second thought, he pounced onto Megatron’s chest and buried his jagged teeth directly into the plating.

It felt amazing. Blitzwing could feel his dentae splintering as his jaw locked, energon spurting into his mouth, but he only bit down harder, only partially aware of Bumblebee’s panicked shouting behind him. Megatron’s clawed servos—claws, fantastic, just what he needed—shredded into Blitzwing’s back, digging deep welts into the plating, but Blitzwing was too lost in his euphoria to care. He unclamped his jaw from Megatron’s chest and aimed for his face, laughing wildly as he felt chunks of his dentae snap from his mouth.

He wasn’t quite fast enough, however—Megatron’s pede sank into Blitzwing’s stomach, kicking him off hard before Blitzwing could manage to reach the scarlet optics he wanted to desperately to chew on. Blitzwing shrieked and giggled as he collapsed, scrambling to his hands and knees as fast as he could.

“Red is an awful color on you,” Megatron hissed, his elbow locking as his fusion cannon discharged.

Blitzwing braced himself for impact, but the shot missed by a centimeter at most, whizzing over Blitzwing’s shoulder at breakneck speed. He felt only a moment of relief, because just moments later, he heard the characteristic thunk of a projectile on plating, followed quickly by a gargled shout of pain.

“Bumblebee!” Blitzwing yelled, mania turning to ice in an instant as he whirled around. He only caught a quick glance of Bumblebee’s frame colliding with a tree, crumpling at its base with smoke pouring from the seams.

Fury took over once again, and Blitzwing spun toward Megatron with a scream of rage, fire spurting from his cannons. Megatron waved them away almost casually, fangs dripping with energon and drool, his optics smoldering with anger.

“And to think your weakness would be an Autobot who stands no taller than your knee,” Megatron growled, lowering his fusion cannon toward the insignia on Blitzwing’s cockpit. “Pathetic.”

Zap.

Zap.

Blitzwing’s optics popped open—when had he closed them?—and he blinked with surprise when he saw Bumblebee standing in front of him, raised stingers barely visible through the clouds of smoke gushing from his frame. Megatron hollered something furiously, his fusion cannon clicking as he tried in vain to fire.

Bumblebee dropped to his knees and grabbed onto Blitzwing’s servo, tugging on it frantically. “Come on, big guy!” he yelled, steam billowing in thick clouds from a massive dent in his chest. “We gotta go!”

Blitzwing didn’t hesitate any further. He leaped to his pedes, snatching Bumblebee from the ground and leaping into the air, his thrusters popping as they activated and carried the pair skyward. Megatron continued to scream, the fury pierced by the occasional high-pitched laugh, but Blitzwing’s determination carried them far and fast, and soon the sounds were no more.

“Are you alright?” Blitzwing asked as soon as they were safely hidden in the clouds, keeping Bumblebee clasped tightly to his chest. “Don’t look down.”

“You bit him,” Bumblebee said, his awe apparently much stronger than his pain sensors. “You bit Megatron.”

“Yes, yes, but are you alright?” Blitzwing demanded.

“It’s nothing a key can’t fix,” Bumblebee said, a grimace cutting through his grin for only a moment. “But you bit Megatron! That was awesome!”

“I put you in danger,” Blitzwing said, his servos shaking as he held Bumblebee closer. “I’m so sorry. I thought—my signal dampener—”

“Well, we know now that it totally doesn’t work,” Bumblebee said weakly.

“I’m supposed to protect—”

“Oh, lay off, would you?” Bumblebee said, planting a small kiss on Blitzwing’s chest. “We got out alive. And it was totally worth it. I missed those dates. The threat of getting caught is half the fun.”

“You’re an idiot,” Blitzwing hissed.

“I’m your idiot,” Bumblebee corrected. “You made a dumb decision, and I’ve honestly never loved you more. It was worth it. And let me protect you once in a while, okay? Primus knows you need it, if you can’t keep your cool around big baddie.”

Blitzwing scowled. “I can—”

“No, you can’t.”

“Shut up.”

Blitzwing lifted Bumblebee closer to his face, kissing his forehead over and over. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered. “Remind me to be the smart one in the relationship next time one of us gets a dumb idea.”

Bumblebee chuckled, wincing and grabbing at his chest. “You got it,” he said with a faint grin. “Now, let’s get home and pray that Ratchet isn’t awake yet.”

Blitzwing groaned internally, already predicting a majority of the lecture Ratchet would have in store for them. “Yes,” he mumbled. “Let’s.”

Chapter Text

Bumblebee had his fingers crossed during the entire trip back to the base, but despite his efforts, luck was apparently not on Bumblebee and Blitzwing’s side. The moon still hung high and heavy in the sky, but the lights were on in the base, and neither of them doubted who had turned them on.

“Scrap,” Bumblebee said knowingly, sagging disappointedly.

Blitzwing sighed, rubbing his forehead and glancing toward the, thankfully, abandoned skies. “Let me do the talking,” he muttered. “This is my fault, after all.”

“Nuh-uh,” Bumblebee said, trying to wipe away some of the soot from his chest and only succeeding in smearing it around further. “I agreed to go. We’ll get yelled at for a while, and then we can go to sleep for a while—no biggie. We probably won’t even have to talk at all. Something tells me Ratchet is gonna do enough talking for both of us.”

“Tall order, given your motormouth,” Blitzwing said snidely.

“I hate you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

Bumblebee chuckled, enjoying the last moments of peace before leading the way into the base, hoping that his injuries didn’t look as bad as they felt. He’d been through worse, for sure, but getting shot in the chest was never exactly comfortable. He couldn’t help but press a servo to the large dent in his chest, trying to alleviate the pain with a little bit of pressure.

It didn’t help much. But the multitude of yelling as soon as they entered the base was more than a sufficient distraction.

“You guys!” Bulkhead and Sari screamed in unison, both of their voices strained with relief. “You’re okay!”

“What happened to you two?” Prowl asked, leaning casually against a wall, watching with dry amusement as Ratchet barrelled across the room at top speed.

Uh oh was all Bumblebee had to think before he felt a sharp slap on the back of his helm, delivered by a very firm and angry red hand. “Ow!” he yelped. “What the hell, doc?”

“Where have you been?” the medic demanded. “Leaving in the middle of the fragging night, not answering your comms, and coming back looking like someone stuffed you in a trash compactor! What were you thinking?”

“It was Blitzwing’s idea!” Bumblebee said.

Whirr. “You little fragging—”

“I don’t care whose idea it was!” Ratchet barked. “Start talking now.”

“For Primus’ sake, Ratchet, let them get fixed up first!” Optimus chimed in, hurrying over to pull the raging medic back a few paces. “Sari?”

“Already on it, big guy,” Sari said cheerfully, bouncing toward Bumblebee, eyes sparkling with happiness. She immediately wrapped her tiny arms around Bumblebee’s leg upon reaching him, hugging him as tightly as possible.

“You’re in so much trouble,” she whispered. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Mostly, yeah,” Bumblebee snickered quietly, leaning down to pat her bouncy pigtails. “Now fix me up so Ratchet can dent me back up again.”

“Dunno if I’d even be able to fix that,” Sari said as Bumblebee scooped her into his arms, holding her toward his chest. The plating slid back, and in a few instants and a familiar rush of white light and heat, all of his injuries had vanished. He sighed with pleasure, cracking his neck a few times.

“I love that thing,” he said.

Sari giggled as Bumblebee carried her to Blitzwing, whose face spun from red to blue as the damages across his frame flattened and disappeared. He offered Sari a thin smile before looking toward Ratchet, his gaze firm.

“I understand your suspicions, and I do want to apologize,” Blitzwing said immediately. “I thought it would be good for Bumblebee to get some fresh air, and made the foolish assumption that my signal dampener would be properly functioning. I was wrong, and we were attacked, and for that I am incredibly sorry.”

“You’re sorry that you got caught,” Ratchet hissed. “By us and, let me guess, Megatron? The exact mech that you said you were going to protect Bumblebee from? You’re not really making good on your promises, Decepticon.”

A gear in Blitzwing’s jaw twitched, and Bumblebee reached up to take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Bumblebee’s need for protection stretches beyond Megatron alone,” he said coldly.

“And just what does that mean?” Ratchet snapped.

“I will admit that I have failed to protect him on multiple occasions,” Blitzwing said darkly. “But as much as I want him to be safe, I want him to be happy as well. And the rules must sometimes be stretched to allow for happiness.”

“Rules exist for a reason,” Ratchet said. “You broke one, and look what happened. And you wonder why I don’t trust you?”

“I agreed to it, too!” Bumblebee chimed in, far too tired to want to deal with another argument. “If it’s anyone’s fault, its both of our faults! And we got a good look at Megatron and how nutso he’s getting!”

“A job that should have been left to the Elite Guard!” Ratchet said. “You aren’t an Elite Guard bot, Bumblebee!”

“Good!” Bumblebee shouted without thinking.

Ratchet paused, cocking his helm. “Excuse me?”

Whoops. “Look, you can’t go pinning this whole thing on Blitzwing,” Bumblebee said, steering the conversation far, far away from the Elite Guard. “I’m going stir crazy, alright? And you all haven’t exactly made this a welcoming environment or anything!”

“Neither have you!” Ratchet fired back. “You brought a Decepticon into the base, and now you’re leaving in the dead of night, making every single one of us worry? We’re your team, Bumblebee! You can’t be doing things like this and expect us to just accept it!”

“I’m not!” Bumblebee yelled. “I just thought you might, oh, I don’t know, try a little bit? Just a tiny bit? Instead of leaping down my fragging intake every time any mistake gets made around here? Saying that I’m so stupid that Blitzwing manipulated me into thinking that he loves me? News flash, doc bot—no matter what you think, I’m not an idiot!”

Optimus’s already-pale face had gone practically white, and some sadistic part of Bumblebee was glad to see it. Served him right for being so damn wishy-washy all the time. Bumblebee would have smiled were he not practically foaming at the mouth.

“No one ever said you’re an idiot,” Optimus said quickly. “I don’t know what you heard, but—”

“No one said it, but you’ve all implied it,” Bumblebee snapped. “Every single one of you. And if you want us to be an open and honest team, Ratchet, then I’ll tell you this: I’m tired of it. I’m tired of not being listened to, and I’m tired of you jumping up Blitzwing’s exhaust pipe any time he makes a mistake. People make mistakes, Ratchet! Get over it! You can’t fix everything and you’re the idiot if you think you can!”

As proud as he was for spilling his feelings, Bumblebee was still rather surprised to see that Ratchet had frozen in place, his optics glimmering with some unrecognizable emotion. Anger, obviously, and perhaps… regret? It was hard to tell. But just as Bumblebee thought he might have been able to discern some grief behind those tired optics, they filled to the brim with nothing but rage, and Ratchet turned sharply on his heel.

“Decepticons can never become Autobots,” he snarled. “And yes, mistakes happen. But most of us don’t throw ourselves into them. We just try to fix what we’ve done wrong.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth to continue arguing, but Ratchet had already started walking away, vanishing into the hallway and leaving nothing but a trail of anger in his wake.

Bumblebee was glad to see him go. He barely noticed that his shoulders were heaving, his vents wheezing with anger, but when the realization struck, it hit hard—in that moment, for the first time, he hated Ratchet. He truly, deeply hated the mech he’d always looked up to, the one that had looked out for him for so many years, the grumpy asshole that Bumblebee—stupidly, evidently—believed had a spark of gold.

Maybe he did, even deeper down. But Bumblebee was tired of looking for it.

“Bumblebee,” Optimus said quietly, kneeling down to the minibots height. “Why don’t you and I have a talk?”

“No,” Bumblebee snapped bitterly, scooting closer to Blitzwing. “I’m done being lectured for the day, thanks.”

“Not a lecture,” Optimus said. “Just a talk. I promise. Come with me. Blitzwing, do you mind?”

Bumblebee glanced up, watching as Blitzwing shrugged, his expression flat as ever. “It’s not my decision,” he said plainly. “If you want to, Bumblebee, go ahead. I’ll be in your room.”

Bumblebee didn’t want to. He contemplated whether it would be preferable to have a one-on-one with Optimus or to chew his own arm off, but eventually found himself nodding sullenly.

“Whatever,” he grumbled. “But the second you lecture me, I’m out.”

“Fair enough,” Optimus said with a small smile. “Come on. Bulkhead, Sari, why don’t you two fix some fuel for Blitzwing and Bumblebee? I’m sure they’re tired from running around all night.”

Optimus gently steered Bumblebee into a standing position, and Bumblebee resisted for a moment before relenting and allowing himself to be moved. Better than being alone with Ratchet, I guess, he thought bitterly.

Bumblebee rarely ventured into anyone else’s rooms—except Prowl’s, to occasionally steal the freshly-grown apples from the trees and throw them at passing cars. He’d known that Optimus’s room was large, but he was rather surprised at just how large it was, and how comforting it felt despite the military-like cleanliness.

Optimus’s berth was pushed against a wall, leaving far more room for a multitude of other knick knacks: his trailer, piles of tires, a tidy desk loaded with monitors, and memorabilia Bumblebee didn’t recognize. As they walked inside and Optimus ushered Bumblebee invitingly toward a small pair of makeshift chairs in the corner, Optimus’s servo grazed over a datapad, laying it flat against a desk.

“What was that?” Bumblebee asked, his curiosity far stronger than his understanding of privacy.

“Just some photos,” Optimus said airily, taking a seat in one of the chairs and waiting for Bumblebee to do the same. “Now, let me start off by saying that this is not a lecture, alright?”

Bumblebee started to stand, mentally clocking out in an instant. “You wouldn’t say that unless it was a lecture,” he said shortly.

“Bee, stop—it’s a story,” Optimus said, quickly reaching out to grab Bumblebee’s arm and plop him back into the chair. “I know there’s been some—well—animosity between you and Ratchet, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Ratchet isn’t the best at expressing his feelings.”

“No slag,” Bumblebee grumbled.

“Watch the language,” Optimus said. “Ratchet has millions of stellar cycles of history with the Decepticons, and you’ve got to understand that he’s a little… stuck in his ways. He fought them for eons, over and over. And he was a medic, so it was his job to deal with the worst damages that the Decepticons could deal.”

Optimus’s optics flickered across the room, and Bumblebee followed his gaze, surprised to see one of Starscream’s wings leaning against the wall.

“Why do you have that, you sicko?” Bumblebee said half-jokingly.

“It’s a reminder,” Optimus said. “Of what we’re fighting for. Decepticons like Starscream, they’re selfish. And they won’t let anything stand between themselves and their goals. That’s what Ratchet sees when he looks at Blitzwing. He sees the planet he loved falling apart, the teammates he had dying in his arms. If you want my opinion, he had to become a little world-weary just to get through it all.”

“But Blitzwing isn’t like Starscream,” Bumblebee insisted, leaning forward to hide his shaking hands. “He’s different in, like, a million different ways.”

“That may be true, but to see that, Ratchet is going to have to undo millions of years of trauma,” Optimus said. “It’s easy for us to think that trusting Blitzwing should be easy for him, but it’s not.”

“I don’t see why not,” Bumblebee said irritably. “The second I was forged, bots were telling me about how evil the Decepticons were, and I figured out how to trust Blitzwing. How can anyone be so cynical when there’s evidence right in front of their fragging faces? It’s just as wrong now to ignore the good things people do as it was when the war started!”

“Bee—”

“I’ve tried to explain to him that Blitzwing isn’t bad, and he isn’t listening, so I’m getting tired of explaining,” Bumblebee said shortly. “Blitzwing has protected me over and over again, and none of you are even considering that. He made sure I was warm when we were stuck in the woods when it was cold, he made sure I had enough fuel, he almost starved once for me. He sat next to me for three days when I fell off of a cliff, and then made sure I got back here safely! He almost died making sure that Megatron didn’t know who I was! Why can’t Ratchet look past his—his—his prejudices and see that stuff?”

“I know,” Optimus said, reaching out to place a servo on Bumblebee’s knee—a knee that Bumblebee promptly jerked away. “Trust me, I’ve been trying to understand where you’re coming from. Blitzwing still terrifies me, but he obviously cares about you, and that makes me happy. But I can also understand where Ratchet’s coming from—it can be really hard to change your opinion on people. And it’s easy to look at them for who they used to be instead of who they are. For better or for worse.”

Optimus’s gaze went slightly slack, his optics going out of focus, and Bumblebee shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m not trying to change your mind on anything,” Optimus said, seeming to snap back to reality. “But just—try to understand Ratchet’s point of view. Maybe tell him yours. Conversations can be really helpful.”

“I’ve tried,” Bumblebee said tiredly. “But he doesn’t get it and I don’t know what else I can say. And why would I even want to talk to someone who thinks I’m stupid?”

“He doesn’t think you’re stupid,” Optimus said.

“Sure he doesn’t,” Bumblebee grumbled. “Let me ask you, then—do you trust Blitzwing? Or are you just going to turn him in to the Elite Guard when they show up?”

Optimus paused, his wringing fingers betraying his calm expression. “If you want me to be honest, I don’t have a plan yet,” he said. “I was thinking we could just have Blitzwing hide, and we can figure things out as they go. Prowl suggested we move him somewhere else while the Elite Guard is here, but since his signal is apparently being tracked, that’s less of an option.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Bumblebee said, his chest tight.

Optimus sighed. “I don’t know, Bumblebee,” he said. “What do you want me to say? I’m trying to take a middle ground here. That’s your answer. I don’t mistrust Blitzwing or think he’s going to kill us in our sleep, but I don’t trust him either. And I’m sorry, but working on trusting him hasn’t been my priority, given that Megatron is trying to murder us all on sight.”

Bumblebee clenched his jaw, strangely accepting of Optimus’s answer. Always the middle ground with you, he thought irritably. Compromise this, compromise that. Why don’t you grow some ball bearings and do the right thing for once?

“Okay,” Bumblebee said quietly, forcing himself to internalize his thoughts. “Cool. Thanks. I’m gonna go, then. Gotta find somewhere big enough to hide Blitzy, I guess.”

“I hope this was helpful for you,” Optimus said, standing quickly to follow Bumblebee to the door. “Try to think about it, alright? And if you want to talk to Ratchet and need someone to mediate—”

“Yeah, I know,” Bumblebee said curtly. “Thanks, Prime. Bye.”

He walked as calmly as he could back to his quarters, dragging his pedes along the concrete ground as he walked. Why is it so hard to do the right thing? he thought tiredly, scuffing the floor with a smudge of yellow paint and wincing. Or to even know what the right thing is?

Everything was confusing, and Bumblebee was tired of being confused. He didn’t know who had moral high ground anymore, and he found himself caring less and less as he walked into his quarters, climbing under Blitzwing’s already-sleeping arms and snuggling against his chest.

Oh well, he thought. At least I know that you’re right for me. Even if I don’t know anything else at all.

Chapter Text

“Come on, little bug,” Blitzwing said, trying to sound encouraging, a false grin splitting his face in two. “Maybe some games will cheer you up!”

“Don’t wanna,” Bumblebee said flatly. His voice was heavily muffled, half of his frame buried under blankets and Blitzwing’s frame alike, smothering out at least half of his already-low volume.

“TV?” Blitzwing tried, prodding one of Bumblebee’s legs insistently. “We could watch that show with the cookies that you like.”

“Don’t wanna.”

Blitzwing sighed, heavy disappointment washing over him, forfeiting his increasingly futile attempts to remove Bumblebee from his blanket cocoon and instead pulling the bundle of Autobot and fabric to his lap. “Bumblebee,” he said quietly, stroking what he thought might be the minibot’s arm—it was hard to tell what anything was beneath the four layers of fuzz. “Hiding won’t make this any better.”

“Going out won’t make it any better either,” Bumblebee mumbled. “I don’t wanna see the Elite Guard. I don’t wanna see any of them. I just wanna go home.”

Blitzwing raised a brow. “You are home,” he said pointedly.

“Hmph. Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t—nevermind,” Blitzwing said, peeling back a few layers of blanket so he could at least meet Bumblebee’s optics. “I can hide in your room. No cause for concern.”

“Big cause for concern,” Bumblebee moped.

“What are they going to do, walk into your private quarters?” Blitzwing said dryly.

“I dunno. Maybe.” Bumblebee rolled around, flopping around in a manner that would have been adorable had Blitzwing not known that it was a motion of frustration. “They might stick around for, like, ages.”

“Then I’ll hide for ages,” Blitzwing tried. “Whatever it takes. We agreed on that, did we not?”

“You can’t,” Bumblebee said. “You think Megatron’s gonna keep his nutso mouth shut about you being here? He’s gonna spill the beans as soon as he can, and Sentinel Aft-face is gonna arrest you. Or sell you to Megatron in exchange for—for—I don’t know, brownie points. Have I mentioned that he’s the world’s biggest suck-up?”

“Once or twice,” Blitzwing said, despising how correct Bumblebee was.

No matter how many times they’d had this conversation, the conclusion was always the same: they were, for all intents and purposes, slagged. There was no way for Blitzwing to stay under the radar without someone ending up imprisoned or offline.

Blitzwing had tried to think of something—he really, really had. But he was out of options. And based on the slump Bumblebee was currently in, he had too.

“Everything is going to be alright,” Blitzwing said softly, leaning down to graze his lips along Bumblebee’s cheeks. “Those may feel like empty words at this point, but I promise, everything will be alright. You will be alright. I will never let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t care if anything happens to me,” Bumblebee grumbled. “I care if something happens to you.”

Blitzwing chuckled in spite of himself. “Well, with how stubborn we both are, there’s no way we won’t make it out of a situation like this.”

Bumblebee cracked the thinnest of smiles, and the sight made Blitzwing’s spark flutter. It was an honor to make the little idiot smile like that, even if the circumstances surrounding it were miserable at best. Blitzwing couldn’t help but lean down and give the minibot one more kiss.

Silence hung thickly in the room as they parted, palpable and bitter. Blitzwing tried to think of something to say, anything to comfort Bumblebee despite the nerves pounding in his chest, but Bumblebee opened his mouth first.

“Am I wrong?”

Blitzwing furrowed his brow and glanced down. Bumblebee was staring at the door, his gaze floating somewhere into a hallway that he couldn’t see, tired and listless and confused.

“Come again?” Blitzwing asked quietly.

Bumblebee shrugged. “Am I wrong for being with you, and—and for putting everyone here at risk like this?” he said, his small voice barely a whisper. “Maybe Ratchet’s right, and I’m—I’m just—I’m confused. I don’t know how to feel about anything anymore.”

Blitzwing bit his glossa, tempted to speak his mind, but something in Bumblebee’s expression seemed to indicate that he didn’t want an answer.

“I understand,” he said.

Bumblebee shook his helm tiredly. “I keep trying to think about right and wrong and all that kinda stuff,” he said, still staring emptily at the door. “But when I try to step back and unbiased—hell, when I try to be biased toward either side of this whole argument—I keep coming up with nothing. We’re absolutely in the wrong, but so is Ratchet, in a way. But we also both have valid points and stuff.”

His blue optics shuttered, yellow helm shaking once again. “Why can’t anything be easy?” Bumblebee continued quietly. “No wonder Optimus is always stressed to the max, if he’s trying to think about this sort of stuff all the time.”

Blitzwing swallowed, nodding. “You look up to him,” he noted.

“Well, duh, moron,” Bumblebee said with a dry chuckle. “Of course I do. He’s awesome. Annoying as all frag, but he’s a great leader. He always thinks about the right thing to do, and he almost always figures it out, like, right away. I have no idea how he does it.”

“It’s not a fault of yours,” Blitzwing said. “You said yourself that Optimus is struggling with this situation as well. Even innate talent for leadership gets strained in difficult situations.”

Bumblebee shrugged. “I guess.”

Blitzwing glanced down at his servos, suddenly aware of the fact that he’d been crushing Bumblebee’s digits into a vice-like grip. He gritted his dentae, releasing his grip just a little, dismayed by how quickly he started shaking.

“If it’s easier for you,” Blitzwing said slowly, “I can leave the base. I don’t want Megatron to—”

“No,” Bumblebee said, almost shouting, his optics flashing violently. “Not a fragging chance. I almost lost you once. I’m not losing you again.”

“But if—”

“No.”

Blitzwing felt annoyance bubble deep in his processor, but he shut it down quickly, not wanting to heighten the stress by getting angry at a mere interruption. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Then I expect you to visit me in prison.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Bumblebee said irritably—though Blitzwing didn’t miss the flicker of a grin that glimmered across his face. “If you get arrested, I’ll sucker punch Magnus, then I’ll get arrested, too. Maybe we can even share a jail cell.”

Blitzwing grinned widely, incredibly amused by the idea. “Now that’s a plan.”

Knock. Knock knock knock.

Blitzwing felt himself frown once again as Bumblebee’s frame stiffened, tiny servos clenching around his own. The door creaked open without an invitation, revealing the entire Autobot team standing in the doorway, each of them wearing a matching grave expression.

Bumblebee wriggled out of his blanket cocoon, his lower lip trembling. “They’re here, aren’t they?” he asked, voice cracking.

Blitzwing’s spark sank as Prowl nodded.

A thousand thoughts blistered in Bumblebee’s processor, a million emotions trying to process all at once—panic, above all else, mixed with anger, fear, nervousness, exhaustion, regret, guilt. But he didn’t give himself the time to entertain any of them, simply sitting upright and nodding, facing his team head on.

“Alright,” he said bravely. “Let’s get Megatron taken care of.”

No part of Bumblebee wanted to see the Elite Guard. He didn’t want to look at the creases in Ultra Magnus’s face, carved by the lies he’d told over his many, many years of command. He didn’t want to see the twins, smiling, either unaware or unbothered by the invasion of their frames for the benefit of an army.

But he had to. To stop Megatron. To save Blitzwing.

“Blitzy, you stay in here, okay?” Bumblebee said, adopting his best Optimus voice and clambering out of the berth. “Don’t make a sound, and don’t listen to anything any of them say. You know it’s just gonna bug you. The rest of us just need to pretend that he isn’t here, and everything will be alright. No hints, no snarky comments, Ratchet, and no arguing. The Elite Guard is here to stop Megatron, not catch Blitzwing.”

“They’re here to stop Decepticons,” Ratchet said snidely.

“I said no arguing!” Bumblebee barked, puffing his chest out, hoping that he looked much braver than he felt.

“What are we gonna say if Megatron says something about Blitzwing?” Bulkhead asked nervously.

“That he’s lying,” Bumblebee said. “Trust me, Megatron is all kinds of not right in the head right now. Anyone would be able to see that.”

“Even Sentinel?” Prowl asked with a small smirk.

“Here’s to hoping,” Optimus said dryly. “Come on, Autobots. Ultra Magnus doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Bumblebee set his jaw, spinning around to grab Blitzwing’s servo and kiss his thick knuckles a few times. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he whispered, pulling Blitzwing’s fingers to his cheek. “Pinky promise.”

“I was giving you the same reassurance a few minutes ago, and you ignored me,” Blitzwing said wryly.

“Yeah, well,” Bumblebee grumbled. “You can’t be the only one being brave.”

Blitzwing’s pinky curled upward, and Bumblebee eagerly intertwined it with his own, closing his optics for a moment to savor the feeling. He forced himself to have faith, to believe that everything would be alright despite the odds stacking higher and higher against them.

“We’ve made it this far,” he whispered. “We’re gonna be okay. No matter what.”

Blitzwing hummed a quiet noise of agreement, releasing his painful grip on Bumblebee’s pinky and tucking an obviously quivering servo behind his back. “Go,” he said with a nod. “You know what needs to be done more than anyone here.”

“That’s a first,” Bumblebee snickered.

He was about to turn and leave when he felt a small hand tap on his leg, and he glanced down to see Sari looking up at him with a determined expression on her face. “Hey,” she said. “I’m gonna stay in here with Blitzwing.”

Bumblebee blinked in surprise, kneeling down to be somewhat closer to her level. “You don’t have to do that,” he said quickly. “You need to be hiding too. Sentinel doesn’t like organics—remember? Optimus told us that.”

“I can hide with Blitzwing, then,” she said fiercely. “Doesn’t matter what room I’m in, does it? Plus, I think he could use the company. And, uh, maybe someone to keep an eye on him.”

Bumblebee’s spark had never felt so full, and he almost teared up with joy as he patted Sari’s pigtails, smiling from audial to audial. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, that’d be good. Thank you. Really. Thanks a million.”

“You’re welcome a billion,” Sari said with a smile of her own. “Now, go get ‘em. And if you need to scare them off, call me and I’ll make the lights flicker and pretend this place is haunted or something.”

Bumblebee laughed, nodding feverishly. “Got it,” he said, climbing back to his pedes and facing his team. A mixture of emotions was splattered across their each of their faceplates, the only consistent one being shared by Bumblebee—nerves.

Bumblebee hadn’t been this nervous in a long, long time. Or ever, in fact. Jumping headfirst into stupid decisions was practically his signature move, and he’d never given it a second thought so long as it was only his safety on the line.

Now, it was his entire team and the mech he loved. And he was more than willing to be careful for once—or, at the very least, try.

“Let’s go,” Optimus said, his digits drumming nervously against the door as he swung it open. “Their ship is just outside.”

Bumblebee cast one final glance over his shoulder before walking through the door, his spark clenching as he watched Sari wave nervously after him. Blitzwing’s expression was as cold and unreadable as ever, but Bumblebee did see that his four of his shaking digits were wrapped into a fist, pinky outstretched.

Bumblebee smiled and lifted his own pinky before closing the door behind him, taking collected, deep breaths as he walked closer and closer to the sound of spaceship engines whirring outside the base.

“So,” the little human said, pacing around in front of Blitzwing’s pedes. “Megatron found you because you don’t have a—um—a ‘signal dampener,’ right? What’s that? How do they work?”

Fantastic. The little Sumdac. Blitzwing looked down toward Sari, meeting her curious, dark eyes and hoping that she wasn’t as good at detecting lies as Megatron.

“I can’t say for certain,” he said honestly. “Megatron commissioned them from an outside source.”

“Commissioned? You guys can do that?”

“There are many unaligned arms dealers on Cybertron,” Blitzwing said, avoiding the question and falsely answering it all at once.

“Cool,” Sari said. “I guess that explains why we had such a hard time tracking you guys. We always had to use my key because your signals never showed up on the scanners and stuff.”

“It’s an impressive piece of technology, yes,” Blitzwing said, trying not to think about Professor Sumdac.

Sari grinned, batting at the key that circled her neck with a single tiny finger. “Do you still have it?” she asked.

Blitzwing cocked his helm. “I assume so,” he said slowly. “Why?”

“Let me up,” Sari said, raising her arms and immediately befuddling Blitzwing.

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna fix it with my key, dummy!” she said. “Maybe it didn’t get fixed before because it’s, like, a separate piece of tech, I don’t know. But if it works, maybe Ratchet can look at it and see how it works, and we can make a ton of them! That’ll give us a leg up against Megatron, dontcha think?”

Blitzwing couldn’t help it—he was impressed. Humans really could be quite clever sometimes, and Sari was clearly just as sharp as her father. If not more so, given that she didn’t get kidnapped, he thought dryly.

“That would be good,” he said. “But I don’t know where it was installed.”

“Lucky for you, I can find it pretty easily,” Sari said with a cocky smirk, raising her key.

Blitzwing rolled his optics. “Is there anything that key can’t do?”

“Not that I’ve found,” Sari said brightly, lifting the key and squinting as a thin white beam of light appeared out of nowhere and pointed toward Blitzwing’s chest. “Gimme a boost and open your cockpit. It can’t be too far in there.”

Blitzwing was less than willing to have another human rooting around his insides, but he forced himself to comply, lifting Sari from the floor and leaning back so she could walk more easily across his chest. She followed the light from her key intently, crouching at a spot just to the right of an armor seam and tapping the surprisingly warm metal against his own plating.

It slid back without protest, revealing a small black box. Blitzwing looked over it curiously, his monocular zooming in and out quickly, saving as much information to memory as he could.

“Thank you,” he said, almost automatically, as Sari’s key sank into the box and began pulsing with light. “For this, and for watching out for Bumblebee when I cannot.”

“No problem,” Sari said, twisting her key slightly, igniting a whole series of blinking lights along the surface of the signal dampener. “He’s my best friend, you know? I gotta keep an eye on him when he’s upset like this. That’s what friends do.”

“And I—” Blitzwing paused, mentally cursing his automatic thoughts, wondering when he’d gotten so ridiculously soft. “—I’m sorry to be the cause of his stress. I know that—”

“It’s okay, really,” Sari said. “I get it. You guys are in a tough spot.”

“Yet nonetheless, you trusted him wholeheartedly,” Blitzwing said. “That’s something to be admired. Especially given my… background. Thank you for that. For trusting him, and by extension, me.”

“Well, thank you for making him so happy,” Sari said, smiling as she pulled the key from Blitzwing’s signal dampener, the plating retracting into place once again. “Even if he hasn’t been lately, I know he’s happy beneath it all because of you. You should’ve seen him when he came back from your sneaky little visits. He’d be in a good mood for, like, days. Humming to himself while he worked, dancing around, that kind of stuff. It was great. He deserves that, you know what I mean?”

Blitzwing paused for a few moments, helping Sari back to the floor and watching her intently. It was no wonder this human had become such good friends with Bumblebee: they were both filled to the brim with empathy, their sparks (or whatever Sari had in place of a spark) overflowing with compassion. It was admirable, to say the least, but it did send a very prominent shard of guilt through Blitzwing’s spark, knowing that he had been living a lie of omission ever since meeting this little human.

“You’re very mature for a sparkling,” Blitzwing said.

Sari snickered, ruffling the odd tufts of fuzz sprouting from her head. “We call them ‘kids’ on this planet,” she said. “But thanks. It’s kind of hard not to be grown up when you don’t have a dad to lean on anymore.”

The gnawing guilt took a large bite out of Blitzwing’s spark. He tried to ignore it.

“Do Cybertronians have parents?” Sari asked, looking up at Blitzwing with curious eyes, tugging at the key around her neck, suddenly looking much more meek and upset. He opted to shake his helm, ignoring her innocent cuteness.

“No,” he said plainly.

“Hm.” Sari tugged at her hair fountains some more. “But you do feel love and all of that stuff. I mean, obviously, right?”

“Yes.”

Blitzwing wanted to tell her, he truly did. It seemed like a good thing to do, like it might make Bumblebee’s best friend happy, and that would make Blitzwing happy in turn. He almost did, his vocalizer tingling as it started to form the words he wanted to say, but Sari darted aside before he could make a sound.

“Well, don’t just sit there!” Sari said, resuming her usual bubbliness. “Don’t tell me you’re not gonna eavesdrop on this whole thing!”

“That may be unwise,” Blitzwing said, though he felt himself grin with glee as he followed Sari to the wall. “But it sure sounds fun!”

Sari chuckled, pressing her ear to the wall and waving Blitzwing closer. “No wonder Bee likes you,” she said. “You’re just as devious as he is.”

Blitzwing giggled, pushing an audial to the wall. “I like to think so.”

Chapter Text

Bumblebee’s tanks churned uncomfortably as his servo automatically drifted to his helm, palm flattened into a firm salute as the door to the base began to slide upwards.

He didn’t know how to feel. The sharp at-attention position he had grown so used to in boot camp felt alien, his arm heavy as lead, his pedes awkwardly stiff against the ground. Nothing about this felt right nor familiar. He felt uncomfortable, knowing who he was saluting to— worse, he felt dirty.

The feeling only deepened when he heard heavy footsteps clanking outside, muffled arguments cut short by a deep voice snapping that’s enough.

Bumblebee swallowed hard.

The footsteps grew closer, and the poses of the Autobots remained steadfast as the Elite Guard came into view, a large translucent shield descending around their partially visible ship and the base alike. Sentinel led the pack, looking quite pleased with his position, though his distaste was obvious the moment his pedes entered the room.

“Nice base you’ve got here, Optimus,” he said snidely. “Really tidy. The dirt is a great touch.”

Optimus, much to Bumblebee’s relief, ignored the second Prime’s taunts, his optics fixed on Ultra Magnus as the commander came into view.

“At ease,” Magnus said, his tone just as firm and serious as Bumblebee remembered. “Jetfire, Jetstorm, ensure that the perimeter is secure.”

Bumblebee felt his spark do an uncomfortable flip-flop as the jet twins scampered out from behind Ultra Magnus, taller even than Jazz, who was waiting quietly at Ultra Magnus’s side. They saluted briefly before jogging outside, whispering something amongst themselves and snickering.

Bumblebee had never felt so ill. At least they seem cheerful, he thought, his temperature rising as he wondered frantically if they would inspect the inside of the base as well.

He didn’t know whether to take pity on the twins or to be glad that they didn’t outwardly share Blitzwing’s trauma. Though he didn’t have much time to contemplate the matter, since Ultra Magnus was already approaching the team, optics narrowed into concerned slits.

“I hate to be brusque, Optimus Prime, but if what you said about Megatron is indeed true, I would rather not waste time on explanations,” Magnus said. “Start at the beginning, and be brief.”

Optimus’s optics flickered toward Bumblebee, who shuffled his pedes nervously. It was true that Bumblebee and Blitzwing were the only ones who truly knew Megatron’s entire story—his motivations for reformatting, the source of his increasingly violent rage. Maybe it’s better this way, Bumblebee thought, nodding encouragingly at Optimus. He can’t let anything slip if he doesn’t know anything.

“Well,” Optimus said, his gaze returning to Ultra Magnus’s with utmost confidence and bravery. “I’m afraid I don’t know the beginning, sir, or at least not all of it. But what I do know is that we were in pursuit of a human criminal, and without warning, Megatron attacked us. With two distinct alt modes.”

“A tank and a helicopter plane thing,” Bulkhead chimed in helpfully. “Sir.”

“And he recently attacked Bumblebee, as well, sir,” Optimus said, lying almost flawlessly—Bumblebee tried to ignore the blatant roll of Ratchet’s optics. “We’ve been waiting in the base, as you ordered, but Bumblebee got… cabin fever. And when he returned, he was severely damaged, reporting that Megatron had attacked him.”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said, nodding rapidly. “Megatron’s losing it for sure. When he first attacked us, he was kind of mood-swingy, but when I went out alone to, uh, stretch my legs, he was worse. Way worse. Like, going from uncontrollable laughing to murderous rampage in two seconds flat. It’s bad.”

“Interesting,” Magnus said quietly.

Interesting? Bumblebee screamed internally, clenching his fists. How is that interesting? What the frag is the matter with you? The fragger tried to kill me!

“No offense, but I’m still not buying it,” Sentinel said pompously, taking a step forward. “Not to step on your pedes, Commander, but this seems like an aft-backwards way to get us to come to Earth for some other reason.”

“Why would we do that instead of telling you the other reason?” Optimus said tiredly.

“Maybe because your first story was so bogus that no one believed you, so you figured you had to make something crazier!” Sentinel said sharply. “Give me one good reason why Megatron would have himself reformatted into a frame type that’s fried every subject’s processor!”

“We don’t know,” Ratchet said through gritted dentae. “But—”

“Or how, for that matter,” Sentinel continued. “He’s got, what, Lugnut, Starscream, and Blitzwing on this mudball planet? I didn’t think any of them were surgeons.”

“Starscream hasn’t been seen for decacycles,” Prowl said quietly.

“Whatever!” Sentinel barked. “Doesn’t matter! What I’m saying is that—”

“Cool it, SP,” Jazz interrupted. “Their intel has been good so far, hasn’t it? Why shouldn’t we believe them?”

“Because they’re a bunch of grease grunts and their leader has a hero complex?” Sentinel said.

“That’s enough, Sentinel Prime,” Magnus said sharply. “We discussed this, did we not?”

Sentinel’s face twisted irritably. “Sorry, sir. I just don’t see a point in launching a full search of the planet without any proof.”

“Lower that shield and you’ll have proof in about three minutes,” Bumblebee grumbled.

Magnus squared his shoulders, peering at Bumblebee, his blue optics far sharper than the minibot remembered. “Is that all the information that you have?” he asked, his gaze sweeping over the team. “Because I do agree that it is rather unlikely for Megatron, someone who has spent stellar cycles by Blitzwing’s side, to undergo a procedure with such a profound effect on the processor.”

“Why would he even need to be a triple changer if he has Blitzwing?” Sentinel added, suddenly looking rather smug once again. “That’s not only dangerous, it’s stupid.”

The tension in the air was palpable. Bumblebee tried not to outwardly show his discomfort, but it was obvious that everyone was scrambling for some sort of explanation—one that only Bumblebee could provide.

“Maybe he thought having two alt modes wouldn’t affect him,” Bumblebee said pointedly, trying to recover from the awkward silence. “He’s kind of full of himself, isn’t he? So he probably thought his processor would be totally fine, even if Blitzy—Blitzwing’s wasn’t.”

“Makes sense,” Ratchet said, to Bumblebee’s surprise. “I think we all know how dangerous arrogance can be.”

His optics were locked on Sentinel, who either didn’t notice the insult or opted to ignore it.

“I still say we need proof,” Sentinel said gruffly. “Real proof. Not just word of mouth. We can’t be wasting energon running all over the galaxy for you, Optimus.”

“The best proof I can give you is showing you Megatron’s new frame,” Optimus said. “And unless you want him to immediately start attacking us, I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“We don’t really have a reason not to trust them, Commander,” Jazz said, shrugging.

Yet another awkward silence descended over the room. Bumblebee cleared his throat, desperately trying not to fidget, wanting to appear as cool and collected as possible.

“We don’t have a reason to trust them, either,” Sentinel said coldly.

“We told you about the Decepticon invasion, didn’t we?” Optimus muttered.

“Yeah, after waiting about three solar cycles,” Sentinel snapped. “You may have told the truth once, but that doesn’t make you trustworthy, Optimus.”

“Take it easy, there, SP,” Jazz said quickly, taking a small step forward as Optimus swelled with suppressed irritation. “We’re not here to argue about all that.”

“I’m certainly not,” Optimus said. “Ultra Magnus, sir, I know we don’t have solid proof for you, but giving you proof would be too risky to attempt without reinforcements. Megatron is unstable and is harboring a massive grudge against everyone in our faction.”

Ultra Magnus pondered silently for a few moments, and Bumblebee found himself once again trying not to fidget. He felt twitchy, hot, uncomfortable, as if his chassis was filled to the brim with ants. He couldn’t sit still, no matter how much he wanted to, shifting from pede to pede as the twins returned with smiling salutes pointed in Magnus’s direction.

“Perimeter is secure, sir!” Jetstorm said.

“No signs of badness!” Jetfire added. “And shield is around whole ship and base.”

Magnus seemed to notice the twins in the same way that Bumblebee was, surveying them with a strange curiosity flashing in his deep-set optics. “Good work,” he said. “Thank you for your testimony, Optimus Prime. I believe this matter should be further investigated.”

“Yes, sir, it should,” Optimus said, his shoulders sagging with mild relief. “If we—”

“Pardon my interruption, Optimus Prime,” Magnus said shortly, turning to Ratchet. “But I have a question for Ratchet.”

Bumblebee frowned, cocking his helm. “He’s seen Megatron, too, sir,” he said. “He knows it’s true.”

“Precisely why I wish to inquire about something,” Magnus said. “I know I’ve asked many things of you in the past, Ratchet, but I must ask… do you have any idea how Megatron may have achieved such a drastic frame change?”

Ratchet balked almost immediately, far more than Bumblebee would have expected. He seemed to stare right through Ultra Magnus, a swirl of emotions passing across his features, etching bitterness and resentment into his faceplates. But as quickly as the anger had appeared, his optics cleared and locked on Magnus’s, sullen and grouchy as ever.

“How should I know, sir?” Ratchet muttered gruffly. “We don’t have access to that technology.”

“And yet, just stellar cycles ago, we all believed that Autobots would never fly,” Magnus said calmly, gesturing to the twins, who waved brightly. “If Megatron is as unstable as you say, then he is more susceptible to capture than ever. Leveraging the technology regarding triple changers could be the edge the Autobots need to keep this war from rekindling yet again.”

“Wait a minute,” Bumblebee said, taking a step forward, scrambling for words. “Why bother building triple changers if there’s technically no war going on? Wouldn’t that be really, really dangerous? Uh, sir?”

Bumblebee’s datapad pinged. He ignored it, condensation beading on his helm.

“Don’t question Ultra Magnus’s authority,” Sentinel said harshly, stomping a pede on the ground. “No academy dropout has more knowledge than he does.”

Prowl coughed something that sounded very much like kiss-aft. Sentinel whirled in his direction, scowling.

“Got something to say, draft-dodger?” he spat.

“Just clearing my throat,” Prowl said loftily.

“You useless little—”

“Enough, all of you,” Magnus barked. “Scout, you are far too young to understand the risks that must be taken for the sake of victory. Megatron was proven to have little care for the safety of those he experimented on, but we will take far more care to ensure their well being. That is what Autobots do, after all.”

Bumblebee’s frame began to shake, barely swallowing down the angry rant that he ached to spit directly into the overly calm expression on Ultra Magnus’s face. You tested on mechs that were gonna die regardless! he shrieked internally. You’re just as bad as Megatron! You’re worse! You’re a fragging coward, a monster, you—

Bumblebee’s datapad pinged once again. He twitched, his train of thought derailing as he slipped a servo into his subspace, tucking the datapad behind his back.

“With all due respect, sir,” Ratchet said, his hands tightening into fists over and over. “I think we should focus primarily on capturing Megatron before deciding what to do with him.”

Ping.

“I understand your hesitance, but an important part of wartimes such as these is to keep thinking forward,” Magnus said coolly. “We never expected the Decepticons to return, and now that their measures are becoming more drastic, we have little choice but to retaliate.”

Ping. Bumblebee grimaced.

“You dolts are the reason we don’t have the Allspark anymore,” Sentinel said sharply. “So I don’t think a single one of you should have any say in what advantages we do or don’t have.”

Ping.

“We’ve already told you that the Allspark isn’t gone,” Optimus said tiredly.

Ping.

“It’s not quite as advantageous when it’s split into dozens of pieces!” Sentinel hissed.

Oh, for the love of Primus, Bumblebee thought angrily as his datapad pinged one more time. Unwilling to listen to Sentinel and Optimus go back and forth with one another, he turned his back to the Elite Guard and unlocked his datapad, blinking with surprise at what he saw.

His datapad was littered with reactions from Blitzwing, who was very obviously eavesdropping—not that Bumblebee blamed him, given the direction the conversation had taken. He scrolled past a few giggly retorts toward Sentinel’s self-importance before finding what had set Blitzwing off:

Don’t let him.

Bumblebee swallowed, scrolling further, each message short yet filled with emotion.

Yes, little one. Fight back against him. I’m so proud.

No.

No!

Don’t let him do this.

Tell him I’ll help.

Bumblebee?

Answer me, bug!

Bumblebee’s thumbs tapped hurriedly across the screen, typing out a response as fast as he could.

huh? wym you wanna help? like, stopping megatron help?

Blitzwing’s response was terrifyingly swift.

Yes.

Bumblebee waited, certain that Blitzwing had more to say, a sentiment that was immediately confirmed.

If I have no choice but to become an Autobot for your safety, it’s what must be done. And I will not let anyone else go through what I’ve gone through. No matter what. I will help stop Megatron if it keeps Ultra Magnus’s filthy servos away from t-cogs.

Bumblebee’s spark pounded. This was, without a doubt, the worst time for Blitzwing to be inspired. As wonderful as it felt to have Blitzwing agree to be a part of Bumblebee’s faction, even under very unfavorable circumstances, he knew he couldn’t let this discussion happen right now.

that’s great, babe, really, Bumblebee typed. just give me a minute, k? stay in our room for now, we’ll talk about it, i swear

Do you trust me?

yeah ofc!!!! y?

I intend to stop this conversation. Ultra Magnus will not be creating any triple changers. Please trust me.

Bumblebee’s spark dropped with dread. Nothing was more unstoppable than Blitzwing when he was fired up, and Bumblebee quickly began typing as fast as his thumbs would allow: not now!!! just give them a minute to fight this out, and—

“Excuse me?” Ultra Magnus suddenly said, his voice so close that Bumblebee’s plating practically rattled.

Bumblebee gasped and dropped his datapad, kicking it across the room before stopping to think of a less suspicious thing to do. “Sorry, sir,” he said, wiping condensation from his forehead. “I was just—uh—well, I was, um, there’s this thing called Google, sir, and I was—”

“You really keep your crew on a tight leash, Optimus,” Sentinel said sarcastically, cutting Bumblebee’s lie short. “Teaching them to turn their backs on superior officers? Top notch leadership.”

“He’s enough of a leader to be trusted with his own crew,” Ratchet spat. “Not something anyone can say for you, eh, Sentinel?”

“A group like you rejects could be led by a bot with half a motherboard,” Sentinel snarled.

“Shouldn’t we be talking about Megatron?” Bulkhead said nervously.

“If you half-wits would stop diverting the conversation, we still would be,” Sentinel fired back. “Optimus may have the rank of a Prime, but he doesn’t have the bearings of one. And if Ultra Magnus says that he wants to make triple changers, none of you should have any say in the decision!”

“Correct. I think I should.”

Bumblebee nearly purged, squeezing his optics shut and praying that he hadn’t just heard the heavily accented voice that he knew he’d just heard. For a moment, he wished he could simply disappear, too overwhelmed with conflicting pride at Blitzwing’s staunch beliefs and unending panic at the inevitable repercussions they would have. His shoulders slumped, his entire frame quaking with panic as the room suddenly filled with gasps and the loud hum of charging weapons.

“Decepticon!” Sentinel shrieked, his voice shifting up at least two octaves in panic.

“You idiot!” Ratchet hollered. “We told you to stay put! How hard is that?”

“Ratchet, for frag’s sake,” Optimus groaned.

“Don’t hurt him!” Sari’s small voice yelled from somewhere near Bumblebee’s pedes. “Bee, I’m sorry—I tried to stop him, but he’s, well, a bit bigger than me, and he—”

“Is that an organic?” Sentinel screamed. “It lives with you?”

Bumblebee pried his optics open, his armor clattering as he trembled, watching as Blitzwing slowly approached Ultra Magnus, servos held up in a gesture of surrender. His pose was innocuous, but his height and stature was clearly enough to set the entire Elite Guard on edge. Jazz drew his nunchucks and immediately adopted a battle stance—Jetfire’s palms burst into flames, his optics narrowed.

“Don’t move, Decepti-creep,” the jet hissed.

Magnus’s hammer shifted into both of his servos, held threateningly in Blitzwing’s direction, doing nothing to stop the triple changer’s approach. “What is the meaning of this, Optimus Prime?” Magnus said.

“Well,” Optimus said, wringing his digits nervously. “You see, we, um—”

“Commander,” Jazz said, his nunchucks lowering ever so slightly with shock. “He’s got an Autobot symbol.”

“Blitzy,” Bumblebee said in a panicked whisper. “Not now.”

Blitzwing scoffed, taking one step closer to Ultra Magnus, seemingly unbothered by the multitude of weaponry pointed directly at his spark. Bumblebee rushed forward, grabbing onto Blitzwing’s leg and tugging on it insistently.

“Not now!” he repeated urgently. “Go back to the room!”

“I’m sorry, Bumblebee, but this must happen now,” Blitzwing said, his monocular closely trained on Magnus’s hammer. “I have answers to your questions, Ultra Magnus, if you’re willing to listen to them.”

“Optimus Prime,” Magnus repeated harshly. “What is the meaning of this?”

Optimus spluttered incoherently for a few moments. “I—well—you see, we—he—um—”

“Megatron has effectively removed me from his ranks on the basis of high treason,” Blitzwing said calmly, completely ignoring Bumblebee’s insistent tugs at his leg. “He became a triple changer in order to eliminate his need for me. And he, nor you, Ultra Magnus, are properly grasping the inevitability of insanity amongst triple changers. Which is why I want to help.”

“I will never trust an offer from a Decepticon,” Magnus spat.

“Suit yourself,” Blitzwing said. “Then I will keep my intel to myself. The names of spies among your ranks, the location of Megatron’s base and Sari’s father, and the weaknesses amongst Decepticons that you have failed to exploit.”

“Spies?” Sentinel shouted, aghast. “That’s impossible! He’s a liar!”

Sari, who had been helping Bumblebee in tugging at Blitzwing’s frame, suddenly released her grip and lurched backwards, eyes wide. “The—the location of—of what?” she whispered, her small voice clearly audible in the deafeningly silent room.

“Your father, human,” Blitzwing reiterated. “My apologies for keeping such a secret from you, but I assure you, he is safe.”

“You—you knew?” Sari said brokenly. “You—I—I trusted you, and you—!”

She staggered backwards, tears welling in her eyes. Bumblebee looked from her to Blitzwing, stammering under his breath, trying to think of what to say. “Blitzwing,” he managed. “Listen—I know you wanna help, but—”

“I don’t only want to, Bumblebee, I have to,” Blitzwing said shortly. “I cannot stand idly by and watch your leader fruitlessly torment the processors of his ranks. Not when I have information that could stop Megatron once and for all, with no need for experimentation on the innocent.”

“He knows you, short stack?” Sentinel yelled. “What kind of circus are you running here, Optimus?”

Whirr. Bumblebee swallowed hard, fighting the purge that threatened to rise in his intake. “Blitzy,” he said slowly. “Calm—”

“Would you all stop arguing and listen for one fragging second?” Blitzwing bellowed, his crimson lips practically spitting fire as he spoke. “I’m trying to share vital information here, you insufferable oil leakers!”

The Elite Guard gasped, weapons clicking as digits drifted to the triggers, all optics flickering toward Blitzwing’s servos as they tightened into fists.

Chapter Text

“Stand down at once, Decepticon,” Ultra Magnus said coldly, his optics trained viciously on Blitzwing’s servos with unbreakable attention. Bumblebee, against his better judgement, rushed forward, sticking his arms out defensively.

“Don’t hurt him!” he yelled desperately. “Don’t! It’s okay! He’s not gonna hurt any of you!”

“Oh, really?” Sentinel shouted. “And you have evidence of that, pipsqueak?”

“I—”

“What sort of team are you leading here, Optimus?” Sentinel said, his voice rising to a scream that Magnus didn’t move to stop. “Your crewmate here is defending a Decepticon and you’re just going to stand there?”

“Sentinel, let him explain,” Optimus pleaded. “Bee?”

“Absolutely not,” Sentinel spat. “What’s to explain? Your little scout here is a traitor! He should be tried for treason immediately! For stepping in the way of the Elite Guard, for defending a Decepticon, for directly opposing Ultra Magnus!”

Sentinel’s weapon clattered to the ground as Blitzwing knelt down, wrapping his arms protectively around Bumblebee. Bumblebee’s optics welled with tears, a terribly familiar feeling, and he squeezed his digits around Blitzwing, trying not to shake too violently.

“I always knew you were an awful leader, Optimus,” Sentinel spat, striding forward and shoving a hand hard into Optimus’s chest. “I can’t believe you would allow—this—this in your base! What, are they dating? And you knew about this? Is there a processor in that helm of yours, or is it just air?”

“Sentinel Prime,” Magnus said, still glaring at Blitzwing with his hammer raised. “Stand down.”

“You should be put in the stockades for this, Optimus,” Sentinel said sharply, completely ignoring Magnus. “All of you should! Fraternizing with organics is one thing, but with a Decepticon? Could you be less trustworthy?”

“I can’t control how he feels,” Optimus said through gritted teeth.

Bumblebee’s spark thudded, and he shoved Blitzwing’s arms away, whirling to face Optimus. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he yelled. “I thought you were gonna stand up for me here!”

Bumblebee looked around frantically, trying to meet the gaze of someone, anyone, but every one of the Autobots was avoiding his gaze rather pointedly. Even Bulkhead had his gaze shifted down at Sari, who had collapsed to the ground, quivering, staring at Bumblebee with her jaw slack and eyes wide with disbelief.

Optimus started to stammer almost immediately, his optics bouncing between Ultra Magnus and Bumblebee. “Bee, we—well—you know we support you,” he said. “But we didn’t exactly expect you to—you know, sort of, um—date a Decepticon, because, well, he’s—given that he’s a war criminal and all. And we certainly didn’t think you’d bring him, well… here.”

“But you let him do it anyway,” Sentinel snapped. “Blitzwing, lieutenant of the Decepticon force, you are under arrest immediately. Jazz, call Longarm and—”

Whirr. Blitzwing’s face spun back to blue, an irritated but rather exhausted smirk on his face. “Ah, yes, about ‘Longarm,’” he said. “If you intend to investigate Decepticons within your ranks, perhaps it would be wise to keep him on your radar.”

“Oh?” Magnus said sharply. “And why would that be?”

Whirr. Blitzwing’s grin widened obnoxiously, a cackle rising from his intake. “Well, I’m no tattletale,” he said, cocking his helm with false innocence. “But if I was, I would tell you that Longarm is a Decepticon who’s been working with Megatron before he even showed up to your little boot camp.”

Blitzwing giggled, either unaware of or blatantly disregarding the collective dropping of jaws around him.

“Longarm?” Bulkhead said. “A Decepticon? But—Wasp was—!”

“No, no, no, silly,” Blitzwing said. “Wasp was innocent. Even if he was mean to my lovely little Bee. Did you never think about how Longarm’s stretchiness is really, really similar to what Shockwave used to do?”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Sentinel spat. “You think you can just saunter in here and accuse the head of Autobot Intelligence of being a spy?”

Blitzwing’s face spun back to blue. “Do you want help against Megatron or not?” he said dryly.

Bumblebee’s processor was spinning, so much so that he found himself unable to speak for a few moments. Sentinel’s shouting continued somewhere out of the scope of his comprehension, but Bumblebee merely stared at Blitzwing, trying to piece together all of the information that was flying his way.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bumblebee asked, his voice low, just shy of hurt. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Blitzwing responded calmly, taking Bumblebee’s hand in his own. “But the last thing I wanted was for you to be burdened with more secrets. I’ve caused you enough stress—I couldn’t bear the thought of causing more. Especially given that Megatron is a far more pressing issue than Shockwave at the moment.”

Bumblebee nodded, his spark throbbing. “Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I should have told you, and I’m very sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Of course. I—”

“Hello?” Sentinel bellowed, snapping Bumblebee out of the first peaceful moment he’d had in days. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Ease up, Sentinel,” Jazz said, sounding strained. “Shouting won’t make them pay any closer attention.”

“Ease up? While he’s cozying up with a Decepticon? I don’t think so! This is serious!”

“Sentinel, we know,” Ratchet cut in. “You don’t have to scream. We know he screwed up.”

“He? You’re all compliant in this—in this—this blatant treason!”

“He was in danger!” Bumblebee yelled, clenching his shaking servos into fists. “He’s not loyal to Megatron anymore! What’s wrong with Decepticons becoming Autobots? Aren’t we trying to go for peace here? How can we have peace if even talking to a Decepticon is treason?”

“Were you just talking before he painted that red smudge on his chest?” Sentinel demanded.

Bumblebee started to shake harder, forcing away the tears threatening to slip down his cheeks. “So what if I was?” he said. “He’s a good mech, no matter how close to Megatron he worked!”

“He’s a murderer!” Ratchet snapped, taking Bumblebee off guard. “Do you see now why this is so idiotic, kid? It’d be different if he changed his mind before he met you, but he didn’t! He could still be plotting against all of us, for all you know!”

“But he’s not!” Bumblebee said. “Can’t you just trust my judgement for once, Ratchet? For frag’s sake, I know the war was hard on you and all, but trust me! Please! Just once!”

“I’ll trust you when I’m sure your processor is bolted properly into place,” Ratchet spat. “But right now, you’re arguing for a Decepticon who has done nothing but cause trouble for us this entire time. For Primus' sake, you’re directly ignoring Ultra Magnus’s orders.”

“And I’m sure you wish you had the strength to do the same all those years ago,” Blitzwing said coldly. “Don’t you?”

“Shut up!” Ratchet screamed, abruptly losing his cool and launching toward Blitzwing.

There was a flurry of motion as Prowl and Bulkhead rushed forward to restrain Ratchet, whose almost-attack hadn’t drawn so much as a flinch from Blitzwing. If anything, the triple changer seemed strangely relaxed, leering down at Ratchet with fire in his optics.

“You tell Bumblebee to disregard his emotions because you have yet to manage the same feat,” Blitzwing growled. “How hypocritical of you.”

“There wasn’t anything I could do to help her!” Ratchet bellowed, struggling against Bulkhead and Prowl’s collective grip. “So I kept my own feelings in check! Unlike Bumblebee!”

“What are you two talking about?” Bumblebee asked, trying and failing to be heard over Ratchet’s shouts.

“That’s enough!”

The room flashed, a loud slam making all the lights flicker for a moment. All movement ceased as optics shifted to Ultra Magnus, who was standing with his hammer resting on a now-cracked floor, a deep scowl etched into his features.

“These are serious charges that you are proposing, Sentinel Prime,” Magnus said, his voice painfully quiet. “And I cannot say that I disagree with you. Optimus Prime, explain yourself immediately. No one else has permission to speak.”

Optimus stood up straight, his optics narrowed firmly. “Sir, I know how this looks,” he said. “For an undetermined amount of time, Bumblebee and Blitzwing seem to have been in a secret relationship. We weren’t aware of this, sir, until Megatron was reformatted and attacked Blitzwing.”

“Because he found out that I was fraternizing with an Autobot and questioning my faction choice,” Blitzwing added, barely grumbling.

“No one else speaks, Con trash!” Sentinel shrieked, turning sharply on his heel and delivering a ferocious uppercut to Blitzwing’s chin. Blitzwing’s helm snapped backwards with a crack, and he staggered backwards a few steps, clutching his jaw.

“Blitzy!” Bumblebee screamed, rushing to his aid, but Blitzwing merely raised a servo in a silent order for him to stop. Bumblebee froze, terror and anticipation ripping through his spark.

Blitzwing’s optics narrowed as he wiped a thin stream of leaking energon from his chin. “Ultra Magnus, with no due respect, I believe I can give a better testimony than your Prime can,” he said, glaring at the commander with a burning crimson gaze. “May I have permission to speak?”

“Absolutely not,” Magnus said. “Your word means nothing to me.”

Blitzwing, surprisingly, smirked, his optics glowing a few shades brighter. “As expected,” he snarled.

“Ultra Magnus, sir,” Optimus tried, stepping forward. “Mistakes have been made by all of us. I’m fully aware of that. But I think it’s far more important to focus on Megatron rather than—”

“I will decide what is important and what is not, Optimus Prime,” Magnus said darkly.

Optimus paused, his optics speaking the volumes that his lips no longer could. He instead knelt to the floor, reaching a servo toward Sari, whose face was buried in her hands, her tiny shoulders shaking.

Bumblebee could feel his spark breaking as he tried to do the same, aching to explain himself to her. “Sari,” he whispered, leaning down. “I’m—”

“Don’t talk to me!” she screamed, voice muffled as she curled into a tighter ball. “You lied to me!”

“Sari, no,” Bumblebee said, shaking violently but recoiling as requested. “I didn’t—you said you would—”

“He helped kidnap my dad!” Sari wailed, unfurling her body and glaring accusingly at Bumblebee, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I should have never helped you two! That’s my dad, Bee! You’re a liar!”

“Sari—”

“You lied to me! To all of us!”

“I know!” Bumblebee cried. “I know, and I’m so sorry! But it’s really, really hard to explain! But—please, Sari, you have to trust me. Blitzwing wants to help stop Megatron, which means we can get your dad back! He knows exactly where he is! He’ll be more helpful than any of us!”

“That’s not the point!” Sari said. “You knew! You knew this whole time and you didn’t tell me!”

“I should have—I know, Sari, but you have to understand—”

“Yeah! You should have!” Tears were flowing freely down Sari’s face, dripping onto her dress and making a mess of her tiny face. “I thought we were best friends! How—how could you not tell me?”

“We are best friends,” Bumblebee insisted. “We are! I just couldn’t tell you because—because I knew you’d want to go after him and help him! But we can’t do that without you getting hurt! Sari, please, you have to understand—I was just—”

“Shut up, Bee!”

“Just, please, let Blitzy help! He wants to, I swear! I’m not hiding anything else at all, I promise! Cross my spark and hope to die!”

Sari shook her head, splattering tears everywhere, her cheeks puffy and red. “He’s made you into a liar, too,” she said. “I can’t trust either of you anymore. I—I—”

She stood up, stumbling a little bit on her weak legs, pointing furiously at Blitzwing. “I fixed you!” she yelled. “And you lied to me? And now you want my trust? How could you do that to me? How can I be sure that you’re not planning on kidnapping the rest of us and letting Megatron keep us as slaves? Clearly, you’re willing to let that happen to my dad!”

Blitzwing’s gaze suddenly hardened, and he stared down at Sari with ice in his gaze. “I told you before anyone, human, that I love Bumblebee,” he snarled. “And he has made it abundantly clear that he cares deeply about each and every one of you. I would never do anything to hurt someone that he cares about.”

Ratchet scoffed loudly. “So if Bumblebee decided right now that he hates one of us, you’d turn on us? Just like that?”

Blitzwing smiled cruelly.

“If he wished it so, yes,” he said. “Without hesitation. Bumblebee has given me many reasons to trust his judgement and character. Not one of you has extended me the same courtesy.”

Blitzwing took advantage of the stunned silence to turn to Sari, kneeling before her. She scrambled backwards, sniffling, scrabbling to grab at Optimus’s leg.

“Human, I should have told you about your father,” Blitzwing said. “Bumblebee’s silence was at my own request, and I apologize on his behalf as well. Everything he has done has been for your protection. Rest assured, however, your father is alive and doing quite well—well enough to reformat Megatron’s frame into that of a triple changer.”

Sari shook her head furiously. “He wouldn’t,” she whispered. “He’d never do that.”

“But he would, and he did. Though not of his own volition. He was under immense pressure, and I blame him not for his choices.” Blitzwing stood back up, turning slowly, his monocular focusing on the face of each Autobot as he looked around the room. “So if you choose to question all those that have aided the Decepticon cause, I will ask you this—would you give Professor Sumdac the same treatment that you’re giving me?”

“Sumdac is a prisoner!” Ratchet yelled. “He has no choice but to cooperate!”

Whirr. Blitzwing’s face spun to scarlet, his visor flashing with barely concealed rage. “Every Decepticon is a prisoner!” he hollered, slamming a fist against the wall with such force that the windows splintered in unison. “Every Autobot is a prisoner! Your precious leader Ultra Magnus is no better than Megatron—he’s just sneakier! At least Megatron does his own dirty work, unlike your Magnus, who hires others to carry his guilt for him!”

Bumblebee’s spinal strut straightened as weapons were pushed in Blitzwing’s direction once again, and he leaped into action, spark pounding.

“Guys, stop!” he yelled, throwing his servos in front of Blitzwing, trying not to be terrified of the angry muzzles pointed mere meters from his face.

“Everyone, please, calm down!” Optimus said. “We’re just trying to talk here! Relax!”

“Absolutely not!” Sentinel shouted. “He’s threatening Ultra Magnus!”

“What part of that was a threat?” Bumblebee shrieked. “Literally none of that was a threat!”

“Mute it! I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, traitor!” Sentinel said.

“Don’t fragging shoot him!” Bumblebee fired back. “Unbunch the wires in your processor and think for once!”

“You wanna say that again?”

“Yeah, I do! Unbunch the fragging wires in your processor, and—”

“Enough, both of you!” Ratchet said. “For frag’s sake, you’re giving me an ache in my own processor!”

“And stop hassling my crew, Sentinel,” Optimus said boldly. “Use your title for respect, not fear! Screaming at Bumblebee isn’t going to do anything except cause more tension.”

“So you’re allowing this kind of insubordination?” Sentinel snapped. “If I’m not allowed to hassle him, look me in the optic and tell me you believe every word he says. That you trust him.”

Bumblebee’s spark caught in his intake, and he looked up at Optimus, clenching his jaw. His engine was firing on all cylinders, every sensor prickling, every capacitor loading with painful charge as he waited for a stunned Optimus to speak.

“I—well—” Optimus stammered, glancing down at Bumblebee, his optics wide.

Bumblebee knew that look. He knew it like the back of his hand, and it only made him shake harder: pity. Pure, undeniable pity, fogged a silent plea for forgiveness.

“Optimus,” Bumblebee whispered, servos drifting toward his spark. “Please.”

Optimus paused before lowering his gaze and shutting his optics. “Bumblebee, he has a point,” he muttered. “The only indication we have that Blitzwing won’t—that he won’t attack us all right now is… your word.”

“And you have my word,” Bumblebee maintained, rushing forward and grabbing Optimus’s arm, shaking him frantically. “He won’t hurt any of us, I swear! He won’t! I know he won’t! He just said he wouldn’t, and—don’t you—don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Optimus said quickly. “But try to understand—”

“Why ‘but'?” Bumblebee cried, jostling Optimus more aggressively. “It’s a yes or no question! You either trust me or you don’t! Answer me!”

Optimus’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly a few times. Bumblebee couldn’t stop the tears from pouring onto his face, his digits going limp as all of the fight left his frame.

“Yes or no?” he asked again, barely audible.

Optimus swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “I trust you. But… I can’t trust Blitzwing. Not after—I just can’t. I’m sorry. I want to, I just… I can’t.”

Bumblebee’s whole world seemed to shatter around him in that moment. He dropped Optimus’s arm and staggered backwards, his vents heaving and clicking as he tried to catch a ventilation. His spark felt as though it was deflating as he looked around desperately for someone to argue against Optimus, for some shred of validation, for anything.

He received none.

His team was looking at the ground. The Elite Guard was motionless, weapons still aimed at Blitzwing. The walls seemed to turn grey as Bumblebee’s vision tunneled, and he stumbled backwards a few more steps, his systems warning him of imminent purge.

“Do you—do any of you understand what Blitzwing could have done to me?” he whispered. “He could have killed me a million times. But he didn't. He—he saved me, over and over and over again. He taught me how to use my stingers to fix our injuries, h-he kept me close at night when I was cold. He kept me dry when it rained, he—he hid me from Megatron and Lugnut, he—he risked his life for me! He dug me out of a landslide and sat with me for four days! Without fueling or moving at all, he just—he brought me home! He brought me to you, Ratchet, to Sari and her key, h-he—he—did you even think about any of that? Did any of you even think to ask about that, or even care? Because the only reason I never told is because all of you had already decided what we went through! I heard you gossiping about it! But you never asked me why I even love him! None of you cared!”

Bumblebee’s chest heaved, his frame somehow numb and overwhelmed with sensations all at once. He fell backwards against Blitzwing, digits digging into his treads for support.

“I trust every single one of you with my life,” Bumblebee said. “And if none of you trust Blitzwing, then you don’t trust me either. If you did, you’d trust the me that trusts him, so that means you’d trust him by extension!”

“Huh?” Bulkhead said.

Bumblebee rolled his optics, wrapping Blitzwing’s servo around his own and squeezing it so tightly that his knuckles began to ache. His optics flitted around the base, trying to meet someone’s, praying for a reaction, for a change of heart, but the only gaze he could meet was Ultra Magnus’s.

And though Magnus rarely smiled, Bumblebee swore he saw a glimmer of smugness behind the aged glass. Buried behind centuries of carefully controlled emotions, Bumblebee saw a trace of pride—though not in Bumblebee. In himself.

The Autobots had turned against a traitor. Ultra Magnus had won.

And that was the final straw for Bumblebee.

He grabbed onto Blitzwing’s hand and tugged on it, wiping tears from his face with the other. Blitzwing moved without hesitation, squeezing Bumblebee’s hand as the minibot dragged him toward the door, gulping down the sobs that threatened his decreasingly strong exterior.

“Where are you going?” Blitzwing asked as Bumblebee broke into a run.

“We are going anywhere but here,” Bumblebee said, his voice cracking. “I don’t think we’re welcome anymore. And I’m not staying anywhere without you.”

Blitzwing didn’t protest, much to Bumblebee’s relief. He simply matched Bumblebee’s pace as they sprinted for the door, ignoring a broken shout from Optimus.

“Bee! Stop!” Bulkhead yelled. “I—I do trust you! I do! Where are you going? Bee!”

Bumblebee hated ignoring him. But he was tired of empty words, of empty promises.

He only paused to throw the door to the base open, and once he did, he kept running.

“Bee!” Optimus called frantically. “Bee, stop! That’s an order!”

“Frag off!” Bumblebee shrieked.

Whirr. Bumblebee didn’t even need to look to know that Blitzwing’s face had spun to red, nor did he question the loud clunk clunk clunk of lowering cannons. Blitzwing snarled loudly as the footsteps behind them skidded to a halt, and Bumblebee paused as well, ensuring that his servo stayed encased firmly in Blitzwing’s.

“We’re going,” Bumblebee said darkly, staring at the ground, unwilling to look any of his teammates in the optic. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Bee—”

“He said we’re going.”

Blitzwing’s arms swept down in an instant, scooping Bumblebee tightly to his chest. Bumblebee wordlessly locked his elbows around Blitzwing’s neck as the rumble of turbines filled the air, and before any of the Autobots could get another word in, the base was shrinking and the clouds were growing.

Warm springtime air battered Bumblebee in the face as they took to the skies, and within mere moments, the Autobots looked like mere toys below them. Two figures followed in their wake, blurred smudges of orange and blue against Bumblebee’s tear-clouded vision. But a hairline turn and a frigid blast of cannonfire later, they had peeled off and rejoined the tiny figures below.

Bumblebee shivered as he held onto Blitzwing, feeling no trace of fear for the massive altitude they were approaching. He only felt Blitzwing’s strong arms hoist him higher, the warmth of his spark countering the cold bite of thin atmosphere.

“I’m sorry,” Blitzwing called over the deafening rush of air. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t apologize,” Bumblebee replied. “Just don’t let go.”

Blitzwing’s grip shifted, growing ever tighter, more secure.

“I never will, little one.”

Chapter Text

Clouds were colder than Bumblebee would have ever guessed. Not that he paid the cold much mind—his processor was occupied, numb and swirling all at once. He felt as though his helm may splinter at any moment from the sheer confusion and betrayal gnawing at his spark, but the warm grasp of Blitzwing’s arms around him kept him at least somewhat sane.

Somewhat.

Bumblebee couldn’t be sure of their exact path, but he was quite sure that Blitzwing had done a few large loops through the sky before their altitude started to dip. The frigid air grew warmer and thicker as the clouds thinned and disappeared, revealing a thick, seemingly endless forest that seemed to stretch for miles beyond the horizon.

Bumblebee lifted his helm slightly to watch their descent, but his vision was very quickly obscured by a thick-knuckled servo as the snapping of branches assaulted Bumblebee’s audials. He cringed and squeezed his optics shut, all too aware of the scrapes battering both of their paint jobs as they smashed through the canopy.

Blitzwing’s pedes touched the ground with a heavy thump, and the world seemed to reboot around Bumblebee in a way he hadn’t expected. The familiar breathing of the breeze through leaves, the chittering of insects, the chirping of irritated birds cursing their noisy landing. It was a collection of sounds Bumblebee hadn’t expected to ever relish in again, and despite everything that had just happened, he found his vents whirring as he hastily tried to suck in the wonderfully fresh air.

It was as though he had gone back in time. His world, within the blink of an optic, had returned to the type of normal he had grown accustomed to months before—just trees and Blitzwing.

“Back out in the woods,” Bumblebee noted after a few silent moments, arching his neck to gaze at the treetops.

“A keen observation,” Blitzwing said snidely.

“Oh, hush. Don’t tell me you don’t see the irony.”

“I do. But I believe this is the safest place for us at the moment. Come.”

Bumblebee allowed Blitzwing to grasp his hand and walk him toward a strangely familiar landmark, one that Bumblebee didn’t have particularly fond memories of—a cave. If it could even be called a cave, Bumblebee thought. It was shallow but tall, eroded by time and water into the face of a massive ledge so tall that it blocked out half the sky.

Blitzwing didn’t speak, but he did raise a digit to the east, glancing down at his pedes. Bumblebee followed the finger with his optics, noting a small dip carved into the ledge, hundreds of feet up.

“A landslide,” Bumblebee said, trying to put two and two together. “Is there where…?”

“Where you fell,” Blitzwing said, confirming Bumblebee’s suspicions. “Where my mistakes nearly cost you your spark. And, ironically, the moment I realized I could not live without you.”

Bumblebee couldn’t help it—he laughed. And earned himself a very irritated gaze from Blitzwing.

“What?” Bumblebee said. “Come on. You picked the most morbid place you possibly could for us to hang out. The ground is probably still stained from me almost bleeding out!”

“But you were safe during that time,” Blitzwing said shortly. “And we are far from any human gaze here. The last thing we need is humans following our trail.”

“Hm. Déjà vu.”

“You’re telling me.”

Keeping his hand tightly intertwined with Blitzwing’s, Bumblebee led the way to the small almost-cave. He didn’t remember much of his days in this cave, given that he’d been unconscious for four of them, and he was grateful that the evidence hadn’t stuck around—save for the purple tiny scratches against the far wall, likely left behind by a set of two large wings.

“You know, for a while, I really missed being out here,” Bumblebee said softly, laying a servo upon the scraped rock wall. “Not here specifically, but with you, out in the middle of nowhere, just taking every day as it comes without any crazy drama. It was nice.”

“Starving to death was less nice,” Blitzwing said. “But I see your point.”

“Things were just easier,” Bumblebee said, sitting on the floor and tracing some small drawings into the thin layer of grime. “I mean, in a way. We had to scrounge for fuel and stuff, and I guess we were both battling some confusing feelings, but there was just so much less lying.”

Blitzwing didn’t respond. Not that Bumblebee minded. He drew in a heavy sigh, taking a moment to savor the taste of warm spring air against his glossa.

“I hate lying,” Bumblebee muttered. “As soon as I got back to that base, I had to lie to all of my teammates about how I felt about you. To their faces! And I had to lie to myself about the same thing. And I hated lying to Sari—I’ve never hated anything more, ever, honestly. I had to lie about Professor Sumdac. I had to lie to my teammates. And it wasn’t just me! Magnus was a liar, Ratchet was a liar, Bulkhead was even a liar.”

Bumblebee felt Blitzwing’s servo against his back, and he leaned into it, letting his guilt fully wash over him. What was he doing? How had he let it get to this point?

“Oh, and apparently Longarm is a huge stinking liar,” Bumblebee grumbled. “I’m just—I’m so tired of lies. My lies, everyone else’s lies, I’m just sick to death of lies. And now I’m getting really sick of the word ‘lie.’”

“You did say it thirteen times in one statement.”

Bumblebee let out a rusty chuckle, picking at the insignia on his chest thoughtfully. Then he picked at it a little harder, digging his digits into the paint, watching small flakes of red slough from his plating and drift to the floor.

“Am I a bad person for lying to Sari?” Bumblebee asked quietly, his vocalizer faulting slightly halfway through her name.

“You did what you had to do,” Blitzwing said simply.

Bumblebee rolled his optics, picking harder at his insignia. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“A wise mech once told me that bad actions don’t make for a bad person,” Blitzwing said, gently moving Bumblebee’s hand away from his chest. “Do you want this gone?”

Bumblebee nodded, his spark twitching. Blitzwing scooted forward and began delicately rubbing the layers of red paint away, careful to preserve the yellow and black emblazoned below.

“So, technically, we can say that Magnus isn’t a bad person, then,” Bumblebee said, a fresh wave of guilt pushing acid against his spark. “Oh, Primus, morality is so confusing.”

“No,” Blitzwing said. “Bad people don’t feel guilt or regret for the bad things they do, or the things they’re forced to do. I, for one, find myself constantly regretting choices I’ve made in the past. But what’s done is done, and how we learn from our choices is what defines us.”

“You should be a philosopher,” Bumblebee said snidely. Blitzwing rapped him gently on the helm.

“Listen, bug. Ultra Magnus and Megatron—they feel no shame, no regret, no remorse. This is why they are bad, as you say. To answer your question, yes, it was bad that you lied to Sari. And it was bad that you lied to your team about me for so long. And it was bad that I lied to my, ah, comrades about you for so long. But as I said: what’s done is done. And only someone who feels guilt can ask for, and then gain, forgiveness.”

Bumblebee watched the last of his insignia scrape away before grabbing Blitzwing’s servo, halting his progress. “So you think we should go back?” he said nervously.

“Oh, Primus, no,” Blitzwing said. “Not at all. I think living a factionless life is far better than one dictated by the immoral.”

“But what about—”

“If Sari is truly your best friend, and I know she is,” Blitzwing interrupted firmly, “a time will come where you can ask for forgiveness, and she will give it. Unfortunately, I don’t think that time will come soon. Not with a war raging on the horizon. But someday, it will come.”

Bumblebee sighed, letting go of Blitzwing’s servo and sagging against the wall. “I feel awful,” he whispered. “If I hadn’t lied to her, maybe she would’ve stood up for us. And—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, little one.”

“But what if—”

“There are too many variables to possibly know what could have happened,” Blitzwing said. “Your truthfulness could have led to peace, or it could have led to her death and ours. You will only torture yourself trying to guess which would happen.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his intake before even reaching his lips. He hated that Blitzwing was right. There were a million things he could have done, or another billion that his team could have done, but they weren’t done. And that couldn’t be changed, no matter how much Bumblebee desperately wished it could be.

“...Focus on the future, then,” Bumblebee murmured.

“Precisely,” Blitzwing said, beginning to rub a digit against his own scarlet insignia. “What do you want to do?”

Bumblebee pondered for a moment before sitting up straighter. “I want to be with you,” he said. “I want Sari to live a long and happy life with her dad. And I want a government that doesn’t suck, so my team can accept us without having to worry about being fired or anything.”

“Then work toward that goal however you can,” Blitzwing said. “And I will support you every step of the way.”

Bumblebee felt his face lift into a small, sad smile. “I love you, Blitzy,” he said. “So fragging much.”

“I love you, too, you chatty little insect.”

Bumblebee chuckled and let his frame fall into Blitzwing’s, wrapping him in the tightest hug he could manage. Part of him was tempted to cry, but he knew it would be fruitless, so he instead focused all of his misery and newfound loneliness of Blitzwing, hugging him with all the might in his small frame.

“I’m sorry,” Bumblebee said. “I’m sorry we’re out in the woods again, and that Megatron is probably going to hand our afts to us any minute now.”

“He won’t. Sari fixed my signal dampener.”

Bumblebee sighed heavily. “Of course she did.”

“And if either of us should be sorry, it should be me,” Blitzwing said, his voice far tinier than Bumblebee had expected. “That team was your family—I could tell. I cannot apologize enough for being the catalyst for so much mistrust.”

“They should have let you be a part of the family, too,” Bumblebee said, a little too harshly. “Autobots, Decepticons—no one’s good. No one’s right, in the grand scheme. So if I want to do the right thing, leaving was, well… the only option, I think.”

“I’m—”

“It’s not your fault, dummy. I love you. Just promise you won’t ever lie to me. About anything. Or make me lie to someone else.”

“Only if you promise the same.”

Bumblebee smiled, holding forth his smallest digit. “Pinky promise?”

Blitzwing’s smile was thin as ever, but indisputable as his own digit curled around Bumblebee’s. “I pinky promise,” he said.

For the first time in ages, Bumblebee felt true, deep relief. He glanced down at his chest, almost in awe of the way he looked without an insignia. His oldest memories even had it, bright and red across his chest, a symbol of everything he strived to achieve. But he figured now, with everything he knew, perhaps having no symbol was a better representation of what he wanted.

He wanted happiness. He wanted peace. Not the fake peace that they’d told him about in boot camp—real, true peace.

And as he looked up at Blitzwing, for a moment, he was able to shake away the lingering threads of guilt dripping from his spark. Miserable as some of the times had been, this big, unpredictable moron had truly been the best thing to ever happen in Bumblebee’s life.

“So, now what?” Bumblebee thought, hoping that Blitzwing would ignore the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hide, I suppose,” Blitzwing said, drawing Bumblebee close and gazing toward the sky just beyond the overhang. “And try not to drive each other crazy.”

“Sound impossible.”

“Quite.”

Bumblebee laughed, shaking a little as he pushed himself harder against Blitzwing. “Time to figure out how to change the entire world, I guess,” he said dryly. “Seems feasible enough, right?”

“Feasibility is irrelevant,” Blitzwing said. “I’m proud of you. For opening your processor to new ideas, for sticking to your morals, for believing in yourself. I’m sorry it ended this way, that—that I let it end this way, but—”

“It’s no one’s fault,” Bumblebee said firmly. “I don’t care whose fault it is. All I care about is you.”

Blitzwing nodded, smiling ever so slightly as he looked down at his cockpit, the glass wholly lacking in any traces of crimson. “Back in the woods,” he said thoughtfully. “Less cliff-scaling this time around, I hope.”

Bumblebee chuckled and stood on Blitzwing’s lap, pulling his helm forward for a clumsy kiss. Blitzwing seemed to sink into it, his tense frame unravelling under Bumblebee’s digits, a quiet sigh releasing from his vents.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Bumblebee said, finally pulling back and tracing his fingers along Blitzwing’s sharp cheeks. “Step one, find fuel. Step two, uh, figure out what step two is.”

Blitzwing’s face spun, his face splitting along a smiling crimson smile. “That’s how the best plans start,” he snickered. “Complete, absolute confusion.”

Bumblebee rolled his optics, tapping irritably at Blitzwing’s forehead. “We got to Detroit once,” he said. “We can do it again. We’ll get to where we need to go.”

Whirr. “Silly bug,” Blitzwing hummed, his voice soft and quiet. “I, for one, am already where I need to be.”

“Ew, loser.”

“You love it. And I love you, you and all your nonexistent planning skills.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you, too.”