Chapter Text
Sentinel's left optic twitched, a faint mechanical whir that sliced through the quiet of his recharge. It was that same stupid sound, the routine-but-not-routine hiss of a distant door, that had been keeping him offline for two nights straight.
Why couldn't he have a top-level chamber like the Magnus?
He swung his heavy blue chassis over the edge of his berth, his processor groggy and only half-rebooted. Frustrated, he dragged a servo down his faceplate, rubbing at both closed optics.
At first, he'd dismissed it as an auditory glitch, but now it was a nightly occurrence, an infuriating disturbance. An officer of his standing shouldn't have to deal with such petty nonsense. The sound was unmistakable: the soft, metallic sigh of a door sliding open where none should be. It was either Jazz or the twins. Jazz, however, was too much of a goody-two-shoes for such clandestine activity. So, it had to be…
A grim smile pulled at his mouth plates. Sentinel rose with a huff, creeping to his own door and sliding it open just enough to peek his helm out, careful not to be caught. There. A flicker of bright orange armor turned a far corner before disappearing from view.
They were in so much trouble!
Already on the move, he tracked them to a small maintenance hatch they’d flexed their way out of, his mind racing with deliciously punitive thoughts. What punishment to mete out? Monitor duty for a cycle- No. A full stellar cycle! No racing or flying for a month. He could have them polish every last inch of the ship's hull. 200 Transformations. The choices were endless.
From the shadows, he watched them transform against the polluted Detroit night sky and boost away. But the weirdest part was the silence. They had dampened their thrusters to the point of being completely noiseless, a whisper of displaced air their only trace.
When did they learn to do that? He certainly hadn't taught them! An optic upper-ridge rose in suspicion as he transformed, peeling onto the street to follow their air trail. His tires squealed as he swerved harshly around corners, blatantly ignoring the flashing red lights of the primitive human traffic system.
I hate this planet and where are those idiots going, anyway?
He couldn't think of a single valid reason for them to be out. Unlike speed-freaks like Blurr or that yellow bumbler bug, all sanctioned racing had to be done in open skies. As much as the twins considered Earth a playground, they wouldn't risk insubordination just to mess around. He'd been too loose with their leash.A mistake he would thoroughly enjoy rectifying.
As he recognized the derelict street they were approaching, the destination became clear. They were going to Optimus's hovel. It made a twisted sort of sense; any free time he allowed them almost always led them scurrying back to Prime's base. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. The place was a rusted-out dump.
He huffed, optics narrowed as he watched from a darkened corner. The twins transformed mid-air, their jet forms collapsing into bipedal frames as they slipped through a shattered skylight at the back of the warehouse.
Sneaking around, not a good look, guys. He mused, a cruel smirk touching his lips, blended with annoyance.
It had been far too long since he'd delivered a proper punishment. He snickered internally as he approached his own entry point; thanks to Optimus Prime’s trust (entirely deserved, of course), he knew of a maintenance door that bypassed all security protocols. He slipped inside. The warehouse was pitch black, save for the faint, faded blue emergency lights tracing the baseboards of the floor. The place was filthy, the air thick with the stench of rust and stale energon.
How did these fools manage for so long without him?
He moved quietly, his heavy footfalls silenced by practice. The faint sound of a door clicking shut reached his audio receptors, and he pinpointed the source: the last room on the right. He fought the urge to stomp, to announce his superiority with a bellow that would shake the rafters, but he controlled the impulse. He had no desire to deal with the inevitable fallout involving those broken gas pipes Optimus called a team this late at night.
As he approached the door, his spark pulsed with giddy anticipation, ready to catch them slacking off. He wrenched the door open without warning, stepping inside with an accusatory digit already raised.
“You two are in so much-”
He froze, his vocalizer cutting out.
Huh?
What?
His optics struggled to process the scene. Sprawled on the berth were the Jettwins, tangled around a shockingly still Bumblebee. The small yellow bot’s helm was cradled in Jetstorm's lap, one of the black twin's hands resting possessively on the sides of his faceplates.
Jetfire was positioned behind Bumblebee, a large, white-armored hand gripping the smaller mech's aft tightly, holding him in place. They stared back, optics wide with the same panicked shock that was beginning to crystalize in Sentinel’s own spark.
He blinked, his processors failing to categorize the sight. Were…were they single towering him?
He whipped around and slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. His spark began to hammer against its casing as he spun back around, pointing a now-trembling digit at his subordinates.
“What? How? When?” he stammered, watching the Jettwins duck their heads in shame.
“What in the frag are you two doing?” he hissed, trying not to yell. He would not have his soldiers, his Elite Guard, mingling with… with one of them! It would give them all a bad look! And-
Why.
Why wasn’t he moving?
“We are sorry, Sentinel Prime, sir.” Jetstorm exclaimed, raising his hands in surrender. “We did not mean to sneak out.”
“We just wanted to see him. That is all. Please, do not be angry.” Jetfire added, his own voice a frantic whisper-yell.
“Fine, fine! Just-just keep your voices down,” Sentinel snapped, his optics flickering back to the unmoving yellow form. Not that he cared, but wasn't the little pest's entire function to never shut up? He should definitely be yapping right now.
“Stand.” he ordered. The twins exchanged a nervous glance before untangling themselves and snapping to attention, side-by-side in perfect military stance, awaiting their discipline.
“Good.” He needed to get this under control. “Now, you worthless pieces of flying scrap are going to explain,” he began, the word catching in his throat, “Ex-explain what, exactly, is going on here.” Slag. Why did he stutter? He eyed the small, golden mech who remained so unnervingly still on the berth, and felt his own intakes churn with a sudden, unfamiliar dread.
"Yes, Sentinel Prime, sir," they replied in near-perfect unison. Their salute was crisp, but the moment it dropped, they exchanged a knowing glance. A nervous fizz of static escaped Jetfire’s vocalizer as he nudged his brother forward, letting him take the lead.
"Well, you see, sir," Jetstorm began, his hands twitching slightly with embarrassment at having to confess to a superior. "We are having... crush on Bumblebee. We just wanted to spend time with him before we leave for Cybertron."
"Ya, we did not mean to sneak out," Jetfire added, his optics fixed on the floor as he anxiously rubbed at the plating on his shoulder. "This was only and best time. We just wanted to get close before going home."
Sentinel made a sound of pure disgust. A crush on him? Repulsive. "Ignoring your abysmal taste," he sneered, "what, exactly, do you guys do?" He tilted his massive chin, his optics narrowing. The source of his confusion and growing unease was Bumblebee's completely inert form on the berth, still as a statue with a faint engine running low. Was he just a heavy sleeper?
At the question, the twins' faceplates lit up with a eagerness, proud to show off their newfound skills. Before Sentinel could object, they scrambled back onto the berth, flanking the smaller bot. Jetfire possessively curled an arm around Bumblebee's right side while Jetstorm mirrored the action on the left, bracketing his still frame between them.
They beamed, shifting their captive's body until his helm slumped forward onto his chest, a loose puppet in their grasp. They were so obviously proud of the mate they had acquired, genuinely hoping Sentinel would be impressed.
“We get romantic," Jetstorm explained, his tone suggesting this was the most admirable act in the world. "Make him feel good, to express our love."
"Ya, very romantic. We love on Bumblebee," Jetfire chirped, nuzzling the unresponsive side of the yellow mech's head. "Is to prepare him for proper courting when we get home. We even took his seal. Lovely, lovely seal." He punctuated the horrifying confession with a soft kiss to Bumblebee's helm, an act that sent a jolt of anti-freeze through Sentinel's circuits.
"S-seal?" Sentinel whispered, his vocalizer cracking. His mouth felt suddenly dry, packed with sand. The walls of the dim room seemed to waver, the shadows stretching like grasping claws, threatening to swallow him whole. They aren't talking about that. They can not be talking about that. Not in a million stellar cycles.
"Guess we are in trouble now, ya?" Jetstorm said, his lower lip component jutting out in a pout.
"Will have to tell Mister Jazz and Ultra Magnus, sir," Jetfire added, his own expression mimicking his brother's dismay.
"No!" The word was a choked, strangled outburst, far louder than Sentinel intended. He cleared his throat, desperately trying to reclaim a shred of his shattered composure.
"No," he repeated, forcing his voice into a lower register. "You don't need to tell them. You answer to me . This is just..." Just what? his processor screamed. Incredibly stupid? An atrocity? What possible excuse could he make for this? He messed with some shady stuff before, but nothing this… this Decepticon-like!
His gaze fell again upon Bumblebee's still form. He was in stasis, clearly, but the jostling alone should have been enough to wake him. No one was that deep a sleeper. A cold, dreadful certainty settled in his tanks: this was not a normal recharge.
"Bumbler, wake up." Sentinel took a step forward, only to freeze when the twins shifted their position. In a single, fluid motion, their arms wrapped around the smaller bot, pulling his limp frame back against their chassis in a fiercely protective hold.
"What do you want with our mate?" Jetstorm asked, his smile stretching unnaturally wide, his tone unnervingly chipper, while his optics gleamed with cold, hostile intent.
"Is no reason to talk, ya?" Jetfire added, mirroring his brother's expression, a cracked smile but his fiery amber optics held a burning, violent stare.
"Why you little-" Sentinel cut himself off, feeling as though his next step would land him on a proximity mine. He'd never seen the Jettwins this… aggressive. Their chipper smiles and upbeat tones sent a wildly conflicting message, but their optics betrayed them.
They were twins; what he saw in one, he knew existed in the other.
Their shared gaze locked onto him. There was no challenge issued, only the unspoken choice of being charred or electrified. A cold fact sliced through his anger:
The twins were still in development.
The twins were still in testing.
Unstable.
Unpredictable.
Sentinel took a calculated step back, feigning nonchalance. "What's wrong with him?" he demanded, gesturing toward Bumblebee's eerily lifeless form.
"Oh!" Jetfire chirped, the dangerous flare in his optics vanishing instantly. "He is in stasis protocol from Ratchet. Is for good sleep. He will not wake until morning." As he explained, he gently laid Bumblebee back down on the berth.
"Never notices a thing," Jetstorm laughed, giving Bumblebee's chest plating a fond pat before his gaze snapped back to Sentinel. "So cute, so oblivious."
"Stasis protocol," Sentinel repeated, the words tasting like dirt. What have they been doing to him?
"Demonstrate." he ordered, his voice tinged with uneasy tension , the command sharp despite the apprehension twisting in his gut.
"What?" The twins exchanged a confused glance.
"Demonstrate," Sentinel pressed, the words feeling vile in his mouth. "Show me how... “romantic” you get with him." What was he even saying? He felt his tanks churn. Please, let it just be some sappy cuddling.
"Is... embarrassing," Jetfire admitted, a faint flush of light coloring his faceplates. "But okay. Perhaps you just want to see if we are doing a good job, we did take your advice. You are very exact, commander." He grinned.
"We will show what we have learned," Jetstorm added eagerly, clambering onto the berth, his brother following.
Sentinel's optics widened and widened, his whole frame rigid as he watched the Jettwins handle Bumblebee's body with inconsistent care.
They moved him as if he weighed nothing, a pliable doll for their amusement. One twin lifted an arm, letting it fall limply, while the other traced the seams of his yellow armor with a proprietary touch.
Sentinel’s spark began to pound violently against his inner plating. It was the casualness of their actions, the playful earnestness in their expressions, that was the most horrifying.
Did they even know what they were doing?
Did they realize the violation of it? How many laws they are breaking?
Or did they simply not care?
Which one would be better?
He continued to watch.