Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Optimus Prime surveyed the smoking wreckage before him that had once been the great city-state of Uraya, his spark heavy within him. Megatron had been swift and crafty, sending his Decepticons in to make short work of the place before the Autobots had time to react.

Now, Optimus and his followers were left to sift through the destruction, hoping against hope that there might be a survivor among the rubble. The forces were spread out over the vast expanse, but even with most of their numbers, it would take many joors until the entire city had been searched. They had already been searching for what seemed like a vorn, and Optimus’ hope diminished with every mangled, offlined husk he came across.

The great Prime rose from checking beneath a curved piece of metal, his body creaking. Dust hung in the air like a fog, threatening to clog his vents and settling in a thick coating over his metal. The world around him was smoke and ruins, tinted a hellish brown-orange by the light of the fires barely breaking through the dust.

“Autobots, any survivors?” Optimus rumbled into his comm. It was a pointless inquiry, as any one of his allies would have gladly announced the presence of a survivor already if one had been found, but he felt compelled to ask anyway.

“Negative, sir.” Ultra Magnus was always first to reply, his normally strict tones subdued a little, though whether it was from weariness or sadness Optimus could not say.

A flood of more negatives followed swiftly, each voice bearing a spark-weary undertone that many tried to hide, but the Autobot leader could hear anyway.

“Search on,” Optimus told them. “We must not give up yet.”

He was met with a few affirmatives before the world returned to silence. Everything was eerily still save for the occasional clang of metal as rubble shifted.

Then, he heard it.

At first, he thought it must be nothing more than a shriek of metal upon metal, but it went on longer, catching Optimus’ focus. The sound, a faint wailing, stopped for a moment then started up again, and his spark rose. It was a voice, a survivor.

He followed the cry, picking his way through the wreckage as gingerly as possible so as not to risk hurting the survivor. He could not see any immediate signs of life, so it was likely they were somewhere beneath the rubble.

As he got closer, Optimus realized just how young the voice sounded, too high for any grown bot. It seemed impossible, as many who had been born from the last wave of the Well of All Sparks had either been taken in by the Decepticons or slain in horrid massacres such as these, but the cry persisted.

Hopeful but also in disbelief, Optimus arrived at the spot from where the crying emanated. There was a large, domed piece of metal that had likely once been a roof lying amidst the wreckage, propped crookedly on the rubble beneath. His spark trembled within him, sensing the presence of another.

“Hello?” Optimus called out. “I have come to help you!”

At his voice, the crying fell silent as though he had flipped a switch, and he winced. If the survivor was a youngling, perhaps they did not know friend from foe.

He circled the metal, searching for a spot that would allow him to peer beneath it. When he found a wide enough gap, he bent down, peering between the curved metal and the stone.

As his great form blocked out the half-light, his audio receptors caught a reverberating whimper. Huge blue optics stared at him out of the dark, barely illuminating a tiny form curled among the ruins.

It was a sparkling, and a tiny one at that.

It took Optimus several kliks to get over his shock. “…Hello there.”

The sparkling clicked, the sound echoing around its metal hiding place, but stayed frozen in place.

“You should come out of there.” Optimus was suddenly terribly aware of his massive frame. “It is not safe.”

The sparkling still didn’t move, staring at him with a fearful expression.

“I am not going to hurt you, little one.” Remembering his battle mask, he slid it off, revealing his face. “I am here to help you.”

The sparkling sat up, eyeing his face with hesitant curiosity. As he revealed more of his body, Optimus could see the blue stain of leaking Energon on his right leg. His spark broke for the little one, injured and alone. Its caretakers were likely offlined, leaving it alone in the wartorn world.

He had to get it out of here.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed an Energon pack prepared for quick consumption and extended it towards the sparkling. “This is for you.”

The sparkling’s optics shifted from the Energon to Optimus, torn between fear and food. However, the need for food won out, and the sparkling crawled its way toward him awkwardly, trying to keep its weight of its injured leg.

Small servos snatched the Energon from Optimus. As soon as he started ingesting, Optimus carefully wrapped a servo around the tiny body and pulled the sparkling out from its hiding place. Fortunately, he was not met with shrieking and wailing, as the little one seemed too hungry to care.

As Optimus brought the sparkling into the light, he was finally afforded a good look at it. It was a little mech, he saw, bearing a yellow and black coloration. He was a grounder by the looks of it, possessing tiny doorwings that flapped as he ate.

Optimus had never seen a sight more beautiful and precious, especially standing in the midst of Megatron’s death and destruction.

Finally, the sparkling seemed to notice his position had shifted, looking around at the destruction before focusing on the bot who held him.

“Autobot?”

Optimus blinked, taken aback by the soft, squeaky voice that had come from the sparkling in his arms.

“Autobot?” the sparkling asked again, optics wide and brow furrowed.

“Yes, little one,” Optimus replied. “I am an Autobot.”

The sparkling nodded, relaxing visibly in his grip. “Autobots good.”

Optimus couldn’t help the twitch of his lips, unable to remain stoic beneath such straightforward statement that only a sparkling could make. “I am Optimus Prime.” He pointed at himself with his free servo.

The sparkling squinted, extending a tiny servo to touch his chassis hesitantly. “Op’mus.”

“What is your name, little one?”

“B-127,” the sparkling whispered, pulling his servo back as his face crumpled a little. “Leg hurts.”

Optimus brought him close to his chassis in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. “I will take you to someone who can help.”

His only response was a sniffle, and his spark hurt for the little one.

“Autobots, I found a survivor who I will transport back to base,” he said into his comm. “Continue your search and be careful.”

“Understood, sir,” Magnus replied.

“Ratchet, I need a Groundbridge.”

The response was almost instantaneous, the swirling vortex of green opening up a few feet away. B-127 shifted a little in his arms, eyeing the Groundbridge skeptically.

“It is safe,” Optimus assured.

The sparkling did not protest as he stepped towards the Groundbridge, though he whimpered a little when they passed through. Optimus ran a thumb over the small helm in reassurance.

“Did you find a survivor?” Ratchet asked the moment he arrived. “Do you need me to accompany you—“ The medic’s question died when he sighted the little mech curled in Optimus’ arms. He stepped forward slowly, optics wide with disbelief. “By the Allspark…”

B-127 whined when Ratchet drew near, attempting to curl himself even tighter against Optimus as he tried to hide from the strange bot.

“Do not be afraid,” Optimus soothed. “This is Ratchet, a friend of mine.”

“Autobot?” B-127 whispered.

“Autobot,” Optimus confirmed with a nod.

“A sparkling…” Ratchet was barely aware of the interaction between them, his voice hushed with awe. “Where did you find it? How…?”

“I found him in the ruins,” Optimus said. “He is lucky to have survived, but he needs medical assistance.”

That snapped Ratchet out of his shock. “Right, well, put him on a berth so I can scan him.”

Optimus did as he was bid, taking the sparkling to one of the empty medical berths and setting him down. B-127 whimpered at the shift, reaching out for Optimus.

“I am not going anywhere,” Optimus assured, surprised by how swiftly the sparkling had attached himself to him.

Small digits wrapped around one huge finger, clinging with utmost ferocity.

Ratchet appeared on the other side of the berth, scanners at the ready. B-127 squinted as the blue light passed over him, but did not complain.

“His Energon levels are low,” the medic muttered, “probably a combination of starvation and that leg injury.”

“Will his leg heal?” Optimus queried.

“As far as I can tell, it seems to be a gash caused by debris. It might take a little while to heal given his Energon deficiency, but sparklings are generally resilient. However, I think it is best to give him an Energon transfusion to help get his levels back to normal.”

Optimus couldn’t help but wince slightly. Energon transfusions were nobody’s favorite, and it probably wouldn’t go over well with the sparkling. B-127 still clung to his servo, watching Ratchet move around the medbay with a curious gaze.

The tranquility was short-lived when Ratchet came near with a syringe and took his arm. The sparkling let out a receptor-splitting shriek, making both bots flinch back with its sheer intensity.

“Well, he has quite the vocal processor,” Ratchet huffed, massaging a ringing receptor.

“Indeed,” Optimus agreed. “Had it not been for his voice I might not have found him.”

B-127 eyed the syringe in Ratchet’s servo with obvious distrust, pushing himself as close as he could to Optimus. The Prime knelt, bringing himself closer in level to the sparkling on the berth though his massive frame still dwarfed the young one.

“What is the matter?” the Prime asked. “Ratchet is only trying to give you Energon.”

“Sharp!” B-127 exclaimed, his optics still fixed on the gleaming needle. “Sharp like Dece—Decepti--”

“It is alright,” Optimus soothed, cutting the sparkling off. He shared a knowing look with Ratchet, who looked like the air had been knocked from his vents. It was now evident that the little one had not been spared from the horrors of the war, and who knew what terrible images were running through his processor?

“It may hurt a little, but it is meant to help you,” Optimus continued. “It will make you stronger and help your leg to heal. You want that, right?”

B-127 finally looked away from the syringe to him, giving him a small nod.

“If I thought Ratchet would hurt you, I would have stopped him easily,”--Ratchet snorted softly--”but he wants to help you. Will you let him?”

After a long moment, B-127 nodded again, his optics flickering back and forth between the Prime and the medic. At a nod from Optimus, Ratchet came forward again, this time slow and gentle with his movements. The sparkling whimpered but allowed his arm to be held, and Optimus brushed a comforting thumb over the small helm.

B-127 yelped when the needle pierced his arm but did not scream, and the syringe was emptied in a matter of seconds.

“Done,” Ratchet muttered, removing the needle with a medic’s swiftness.

B-127 stared at his arm, turning it this way and that, surprised that it remained unharmed.

“You are safe,” Optimus said.

“Safe,” the sparkling echoed, already starting to feel new strength coursing through him thanks to the Energon transfusion.

“Now for that leg,” Ratchet sighed. “Nothing a good weld won’t fix.”

Optimus nodded, fishing out another Energon packet. “Are you still hungry, little one?”

B-127 nodded vigorously, stretching his servos towards the packet. Optimus handed it over and the sparkling started guzzling it with gusto.

Ratchet mouthed a silent thank you to his leader for keeping the sparkling occupied. He had not seen a sparkling in many vorns, much less interacted with one, so his bedside manner extended to wounded soldiers and not fussy, squirming little ones.

“You are doing well,” Optimus told B-127. “Soon you will be completely repaired.”

The rest of the Autobots returned to base after many joors of searching. The entirety of Uraya’s ruins had been combed, but they had not found a single survivor, leaving them weary and disheartened. The only thing that lifted their sparks a little was the survivor Optimus had found, though no one knew of its current state.

“Optimus, we have returned,” Ultra Magnus said into his comm.

“Please come to the medbay for the debriefing,” Optimus replied. “I am currently with the survivor I found.”

“Yes, sir.” One life had been saved, which was better than none.

Magnus took the Wreckers Bulkhead and Wheeljack along with him to the debriefing, ever hopeful that exposing them to proper military conduct would give them some modicum of decorum. Normally, Wheeljack would make some snide comment to get on Magnus’ nerves, but he was too grieved by the destruction and death to care.

When they entered the medbay, the three bots were greeted with a strange sight. All the medical berths were empty, giving no sign as to a survivor. Optimus, who had his back to them, turned when they arrived, something small and yellow cradled in his arms.

Bulkhead’s jaw dropped. “Is that…”

“…a sparkling?” Wheeljack finished, speaking louder than he had intended.

At the sound of Wheeljack’s raised voice, B-127 shrunk down in Optimus’ arms, buzzing anxiously.

Even Magnus could not contain his shock, his normally stern expression replaced by one of utter disbelief.

“Yes, this is a sparkling,” Optimus confirmed, looking down at the sparkling. “B-127, these are my friends as well.”

B-127 raised his helm, chancing a look at the three new bots who were gaping at him. They were all very big, one of them almost as big as Optimus, but they all bore the Autobot sigil.

“Friends,” he whispered.

If the three mechs were not so shocked, they would have found the sight of the great Prime cradling the little one endearing.

“I thought all the sparklings were gone,” Magnus said.

“As did I,” Optimus said, “but this one was fortunate. Did you find any other survivors?”

Magnus lowered his helm a little. “None, sir. The Decepticons were thorough.”

“Decepticons?”

All optics turned to the sparkling, small faceplate twisted in terror as he looked around, expecting the dreaded enemy to leap from the shadows of the medbay. Optimus reacted swiftly, pressing the small bot against his chassis gently.

“There are no Decepticons here. You are safe,” he told the sparkling.

Magnus held back a wince, only then realizing the effect of his words.

“Thank you for your efforts, friends. Go recharge and refuel. You deserve it.”

The three mechs turned to leave reluctantly, glad of the chance to rest but still curious about the sparkling. As they left, they couldn’t help but let their gazes linger on the little one, the sight of new life prevailing amidst death easing the burden of war.

Try as he might, B-127 couldn’t keep his optics open. Physical and mental exhaustion weighed on him heavily, and the soothing warmth of the mech who held him only heightened the pull of recharge. Though the past orn had been a living nightmare and he was suddenly surrounded by new places and bots, he felt safe. Optimus’ spark enveloped him like a warm blanket, dimming the horror, and he knew no harm would come to him while the mech held him.

Finally, his optics slipped close and he fell into deep recharge, his small frame relaxing completely. Optimus paused in his umpteenth lap around the medical bay, feeling the shift, and sighed. He had been trying to soothe the sparkling to recharge for a joor, walking by Ratchet’s suggestion and hoping the motion would relax him, and it had finally worked.

“Is he finally recharging?” Ratchet murmured.

Prime nodded. Though he could put the sparkling down on a berth, he found himself hesitating, having grown used to the feel of the tiny form in his arms.

“Good.” Ratchet’s optics drifted to the medbay door. “If one more bot comes in here trying to see him I will lock the doors.”

Optimus couldn’t help but smile at the annoyance in his friend’s voice. Apparently word of their new charge had already spread throughout the base, leading many to come to the medbay to sight the sparkling, inadvertently keeping the little one from falling into recharge.

“They were just curious, Ratchet,” he murmured. “You cannot blame them.”

“I can blame them for interfering with a sparkling’s health,” the medic huffed. “He should have been in recharge joors ago.”

Optimus nodded, looking down at the slumbering sparkling. He had not seen one since he had taken the mantle of Prime, and had forgotten how tiny they were. A great surge of protectiveness welled in him as he considered just how close the little one had come to death, fueled by an undercurrent of dismay towards Megatron. To slay all of Uraya was horrible enough, but seeing a small, helpless innocent who somehow managed to escape the same fate made the weight of the atrocity all the heavier.

“What are we going to do with him, Optimus?”

The Prime blinked, looking up at Ratchet’s troubled countenance. “What do you mean?”

“We are warriors, not caretakers. None of us know the first thing about taking care of a sparkling.”

“There is nowhere else for him to go,” Optimus replied. “This is the safest place on Cybertron for him.”

“I know, but…” Hesitance flickered across Ratchet’s faceplate as he eyed the sparkling.

“None of us are well-acquainted with the nature of sparklings, but we will learn.”

The medic sighed. “I suppose we can take turns caring for him.”

“Indeed, however, I intend to be B-127’s primary caretaker.”

“You?”

B-127 stirred in Optimus’ arms at Ratchet’s exclamation. Both bots froze, afraid the sparkling had been awoken, but he merely clicked and relaxed again.

“You?” Ratchet repeated, quieter this time.

“Yes,” Optimus replied, unperturbed.

“You are our leader!” Ratchet spluttered. “You can’t take on the responsibility of a sparkling on top of that!”

“I will manage.”

“There is no need for you to take on such a burden. I’m sure we can find an Autobot somewhere that would be more than—“

“Ratchet.” Optimus cut off his friend’s tirade gently. “I appreciate your concern, but there is nothing that will change my mind. The decision has been made.”

The medic sighed wearily. “Why?”

“The Allspark will not produce any more until the war ends, if it ends. Megatron has already sought out many sparklings for his own and killed countless others. We could be looking at one of the last Cybertronians to be born.”

Again, both bots’ optics drifted to B-127, who slumbered on. The little bot was unaware of his role as a sobering reminder of the potential end of the Cybertronian race.

“That is why I want to care for him,” Optimus carried on. “I want to make sure that he is safe. Today he barely escaped the same fate too many have already faced.” Terrible memories crowded to the front of his processor, memories of tiny offlined bodies lying amidst destruction, their lives taken before they had a chance to truly live.

Ratchet nodded his understanding, caught in his own memories. Too many times he had tried to online a fallen young one snuffed unfairly, to no avail.

“I will see to it he grows up safe,” Optimus murmured, cradling the little one closer as if to protect him from his own memories.

“That’s only half of it, you know.” Ratchet gazed at the sparkling with a weariness he rarely showed. “He will need to know love.”

The Prime was quiet. He knew he was not one for displays of affection, or even emotion as a whole. The Wisdom of the Primes made him separate himself from the other bots, as he knew much that the others didn’t. He had to be a leader, wise and unshakeable, and attachment would interfere with his ability to do that.

But the little voice had called to him amidst the wreckage, calling to his very spark, and he could not deny the welling affection that had already been incited. He had already resolved to keep the sparkling safe, and he knew Ratchet was right. The sparkling would need love, and it would be unfair for him to promise safety but not the thing that was just as important.

He smiled ever so slightly. B-127 had no idea just how powerful his voice was. It had saved him, yes, but it had also brought him the affection of a Prime.

“I will do my best,” he said at last. “It is…not my strong suit, but I have already grown fond of him. I will try to give him what he needs.”

Ratchet resisted the urge to snort. He knew Optimus well enough not to miss the gentle adoration in his optics when he looked at the sparkling. “Well, if that’s what you intend, we need to figure out a better name than his caste designation. Did he tell you another name?”

Optimus shook his head. “No he didn’t.”

They fell into thoughtful silence, eyeing the sparkling as they considered possible names.

“Bee,” Optimus said at last. “I think we should call him Bee. It is part of his designation, but it is...fitting, don’t you think?”

Ratchet nodded. “I think so too. It's better than anything I had in mind.”

A warm surge of affection took hold of Optimus’ spark, almost frightening in its intensity. He squeezed the tiny frame gently, earning a sleepy click in response.

“Welcome to the Autobots, Bee.”

The sky was dark, leaving nothing to illuminate Bee’s way as he stumbled through the ruins of a once great Cybertronian city. Something was chasing him, but he didn’t dare to turn and see who or what it was. The dread in his spark told him enough: it was a Decepticon, a herald of death.

With no warning the ground gave way to liquid, causing him to stumble. He let out a wail as his frail legs gave way, sending him tumbling into the liquid. Desperately he tried to right himself, only to become even more horrified when he realized what he stood in was Energon.

Turning, he found himself faced with a mountain of offlined bodies from which the Energon flowed, their husks grayed and their optics lightless voids. Bee screamed out, hoping someone would come rescue him, but no one heard him.

A servo grabbed him in the dark, drawing him unto hungry red optics.

Bee shrieked, his optics flying open. He kicked and batted at the huge servo that held him, his spark thundering in his chassis.

“Calm yourself, Bee. You were dreaming.”

The sparkling froze, recognizing the velvet rumble that spoke above his panic. Confused, he turned his head and found himself faceplate to faceplate with Optimus Prime.

He remembered then, the destruction of his home, the death of his caretakers, and his subsequent rescue by the Autobots whom his caretakers had told great stories. He had been with the Autobots for a few orns now, and his leg was almost healed fully. He was starting to grow accustomed to the new bots and feel safe, especially when Optimus let him sleep with him, but the horror lived on in his processor.

“What troubles you, little one?” Optimus pressed gently.

Bee burst into sobs, the terror too fresh in his mind. Surprised by the outburst, the Prime did the only thing he knew to do and gathered the sparkling close to his own spark.

“Hush, little spark,” he murmured, surprising himself with the new endearment but finding it fitting. “It was a dream.”

Slowly, Bee relaxed, resting his cheek against the warm plating of Optimus’ chassis, feeling the thrum of his mighty spark within. His sobs slowed to sniffles, and Optimus finally separated them, raising the sparkling so they locked optics once more.

“Please tell me what has frightened you,” he said. “I want to help you.”

“Was alone,” Bee whispered. “No--no one could hear me...was being chased...”

“It was not real. Nothing can hurt you in a dream,” Optimus assured gently.

Bee frowned, little fists curling against the massive servo that held him. “But…Decepticons are real! They hurt me.”

Optimus understood then. Bee’s fear of the Decepticons continued to haunt him both in the waking world and in dreams. With a sigh, he cradled Bee against his chassis again, wishing all the more that they could have saved Uraya.

“You are safe with me, little spark,” he said. “I will not let any Decepticon hurt you again.”

Huge, hopeful optics met his own. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Optimus said, hoping the sparkling sensed how sincere he felt. “You may dream sometimes, but I will always protect you in the real world.”

Bee nestled his helm beneath Optimus’ chin, buzzing in response. He had the promise of the Autobot leader’s protection, and he took it to spark. He had never felt safer, until a new thought entered his little processor.

“Op’mus?” He drew his helm back, looking into the Prime’s face once more.

“Yes?”

Bee hesitated, afraid to voice his question for fear of the answer. “How…how long here?”

It took Optimus a second to parse the sparkling’s language. “This is your home now, Bee. You will stay here with me and my friends from now on.”

Bee’s optics went wide, the blue reduced to a mere ring around black. “Stay with Op’mus?”

The hopeful expression on Bee’s face was almost painful in its innocence. “Yes, you will remain with me.”

For the first time since the fall of Uraya, Bee smiled, and Optimus felt his spark swell with tremendous affection. He couldn’t help but give a true smile back, the rarity of the sight completely lost on the little one in his arms.

“I will make sure no harm ever comes to you, my little spark. I swear it.”

Chapter Text

As Optimus watched the Allspark vanish into the sky in a blue blaze, the silence rang loud in his receptors. All of his Autobots had confirmed their status and safety, all except for one. Bee had not reported, and Optimus felt a cloying dread taking hold of his spark.

“Bee, come in!” he demanded again.

Silence and static, somehow louder than any voice.

Something was wrong. Bee was a neverending stream of chatter, only going quiet when the situation demanded it. Magnus had been trying for vorns to train it out of him, finding it a break in protocol, but Bee refused to be silent except when necessary. He had never failed to check in, chirping a status report that Magnus would complain was too informal, though Optimus never minded.

“Autobots,” he called into his comm, the dread heightening to amounts he had not felt in vorns, “spread out and find Bee, quickly!”

The Decepticons came far earlier than they had planned. The launch for the Allspark was not ready yet.

Bee watched in horror from his vantage point as vehicons flooded the streets of Tyger Pax, tearing through the abandoned buildings in search of the fabled relic. His optics drifted to the far tower in the distance where the Allspark lay hidden, currently being prepared for ejection from Cybertron by Optimus. The Decepticons only knew it was somewhere in the city, but at the rate they were going, they would be at the tower too soon, and the Autobots’ forces could only do so much without giving away the location with their defense.

Panic rose in Bee’s spark as he crouched atop a building that rose above the others, giving him a clear view of just how many Decepticons there were in the city. In the distance he could hear fighting and gunfire as his comrades fought, but their foes were searching frightening speed. If the Allspark was found and the ejection stopped, Bee would very likely be of the last generation of Cybertron…forever.

Something caught the scout’s optics and he turned. In the distance, a towering mech strode ahead of the mighty horde, his huge frame and and the sheen of his silver plating rendering him unmistakable even from afar.

Megatron, Lord of the Decepticons.

Bee’s spark trembled in his chassis, as though it unconsciously knew of the evils the mech had committed. The warlord exuded an aura of absolute dread, and everyone, even his own officers, seemed to shrink at his presence.

Bee’s optics drifted from the tower where he knew Optimus was to Megatron. They only had breems before the tower was searched, and Optimus was the only one who could stand a chance against the warlord. Something had to be done, something to at least stop Megatron from just a little while. Optimus and the others could handle Vehicons; it was Megatron who truly jeopardized the fate of the Allspark.

Bee was moving before he could even think, jumping lithely from his tower and heading straight for the warlord. The fate of Cybertron hung in the balance, and he was not about to let his race die out or become slaves to Decepticon rule. All he had to do was give Optimus a little time and keep Megatron distracted…

He had been told many times over the course of his youngling years that his size was not at all representative of his strength. He barreled past several Vehicons, knocking them aside without breaking his stride, his optics fixed on the titanic warlord drawing nearer with every step.

“Megatron!” he roared, taking a flying leap at the warlord.

He was in midair when Megatron turned, swatting him with one great servo as though he were nothing more than a bothersome scraplet. The tremendous force of the blow sent him crashing to the ground, rolling a couple of times before stopping, the air knocked from his vents. He was unsurprised by the mighty display, knowing full well that he could not take on the warlord alone, but his frame felt the shock and pain no less for that knowledge.

Several Vehicons ran up to the fallen Autobot, guns at the ready, but Megatron held up a servo, eyeing his attacker. Bee felt the ground tremble with each step as he approached, stopping only a few feet away, and he lifted his helm, meeting the Decepticons optics.

Bee had never been even remotely close to Megatron, only seeing him from afar a few times in scouting missions. Though he did not say so outright, Optimus sought to keep him as far away from the warlord as possible, and Bee now knew why without a doubt. Megatron was tremendous, even bigger than Optimus, his silver plating crisscrossed with scars of countless bygone fights. A fusion cannon was permanently mounted on his right arm, always at the ready and a reminder of potential destruction at any moment. But the most terrible part about Megatron was his eyes, red-dark and deep, burning with some inward flame and devoid of anything caring or compassionate.

As Bee stared into those optics, he felt like a sparkling again, haunted by dreams of that pitiless red before his fear of the Decepticons turned into a determination to see them eradicated. His spark pulsed wildly, and for a moment he thought he might panic and lose it before he glimpsed the tower in the distance.

Optimus. The Allspark.

Bee forced his fear back and continued to stare at Megatron.

“Now that is unusual.” Megatron’s deep voice grated like stone on metal as his optics wandered over the small bot calculatingly. “A youngling, and an Autobot one at that. I do not believe I have seen you before.”

“I haven’t seen you either,” Bee replied, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

“And do you know who I am?” Something akin to amusement flashed across Megatron’s faceplate.

“Megatron, leader of the Decepticons.” The scout tamped back his fear, summoning a boldness as he tried to emulate his leader.

“And why would a little youngling like you attack me knowing full well who I am?” Megatron sneered. “Did Optimus plan this foolish venture?”

“No.” Bee resisted a scowl. “I saw an opening and I…I had to try.”

Megatron barked a humorless laugh. “Ha! I survived for vorns in the Pits of Kaon, youngling. I cannot be bested.”

“Tell that to Optimus,” Bee growled, the prideful tone with which Megatron spoke heightening his dislike immensely.

A shadow passed over the Decepticon’s face. “You speak boldly for an Autobot that has somehow managed to avoid my notice. Tell me, what is your name?”

“B-127,” Bee offered tersely.

“And do you, B-127, know what is at stake in this battle?”

“I know you want the Allspark, and I know it should never fall into your slag-stained servos!”

Megatron stepped closer, looming over the downed bot as all trace of amusement vanished from his faceplate. “You would do well not to insult me in your position, youngling.”

Though the sight made his spark tremble, Bee kept his optics fixed on the daunting mech. It would only be a couple more breems at most, and he had to keep Megatron distracted, even if it meant pain. It was for the future of the Autobots and Cybertron itself.

“Are you so weak-sparked that you can’t take an insult from a downed bot?” Bee retorted.

Without hesitation, Megatron extended his servo blade and speared Bee through his right shoulder. The scout screamed, white-hot pain lancing through his servos. He hung still in shock, the wounds he had gained in the past feeling little compared to the current agony.

Megatron leaned down, his massive weight pressing the blade down cruelly. “Since you are but a foolish youngling, I might let you live if you answer me. Where is Optimus Prime and the Allspark?”

It took Bee a moment to regain his voice, his systems drowning with the overload of pain. “I…I don’t know!”

“Liar.” Megatron twisted the blade, and Bee cried out again. “Answer me!”

His optics had gone fuzzy, his audio receptors ringing, but Bee forced the words from his mouth. “I don’t know. You and the Decepticons…can take your scraplet-bitten afts to the Pit!”

With a snarl, Megatron wrenched his blade from Bee, the rage brought out by the youngling’s continued defiance making him revert to his gladiator days. He fell on the downed Autobot, dealing blow after punishing blow that crumpled the plating beneath his fists.

“You think you can defy me?” Megatron roared, punctuating each word with a cruel blow. “I will show you and Optimus Prime what it means to defy the Decepticons!” He raised his fist, ready to deliver a crushing blow to the Autobot’s helm. “Do you dare defy me now, Autobot?”

Bee hardly heard Megatron through the haze, his systems just barely keeping him out of stasis. Summoning the last dregs of his strength, he turned his helm towards the tower where the Allspark was, gazing through flickering optics.

Please… Optimus…

As if in answer to his plea, a blue light exploded from the tower, momentarily blinding all who stood in Tyger Pax. When the light vanished, a blue streak was left visible, heading into the sky before disappearing completely.

“No!” Megatron stumbles off of Bee, his rage momentarily forgotten as he watched the Allspark disappear for parts unknown.

Relief surged through Bee and he let his helm fall back, ready to give into the pull of stasis. They were one step closer to defeating the Decepticons and saving Cybertron. He was vaguely aware of Optimus’ voice calling him through his comm, though he could not formulate a response, and he wondered if his horrifying ordeal was over. He found himself considering how much trouble he would be in later.

But Megatron was not done with him yet.

Turning back to his battered enemy, Megatron’s plating trembled with inconsolable rage. Stalking over, he grabbed the scout by the neck, his claws digging into the circuitry mercilessly as he hauled him up.

“You have cost me much with your foolish talk, Autobot,” the Decepticon hissed, “and for that I will take your voice. Any last words?”

Bee had not expected to die that day. He was meant to scout and do nothing more, but things had gone awry as they so often did. His thoughts turned towards Optimus, and his spark broke at the notion of leaving his leader behind. He did not want to leave him or the Autobots, not yet, but as he gazed into Megatron’s blazing optics, he knew his time had come.

Though the claws dug into his vocoder with piercing pain, he spoke out: “T-til all…are…”

Megatron did not let him finish. With an enraged roar, he clenched his fist. Metal crumpled and circuitry snapped, cutting off Bee’s final statement in static. The Decepticon wrenched his fist back, tearing out the maimed vocoder. The force was so great that Bee’s lower jaw, which was connected to the vocoder, was ripped from his faceplate, leaving a gruesome mess of circuitry, wiring, and exposed upper denta.

The static ended in silence.

Bee’s optics flickered once and went black.

Unfazed by his handiwork, Megatron tossed the mess of parts aside, drawing his servo blade again. He poised the point over Bee’s spark chamber, ready to finish the job once and for all.

The roar came like sudden thunder breaking across the plains. “Megatron!”

The Decepticon looked up, recognizing the voice instantly. Sure enough, Optimus Prime was headed towards him, bounding across the rooftops of Tyger Pax in great leaps. Vehicons tried to rise up to stop him, but they fell easily to the Prime as he never broke stride.

It was in that moment Megatron knew he had erred greatly by torturing the youngling beneath him. There was something about Prime, something in his optics that made the warlord feel as though he made a dreadful mistake that sealed his own death.

There was no mercy to be found in the face of the Prime.

Megatron turned and did something he had not done before or since that day. He turned and ran, utterly afraid for his spark. He swiftly transformed and flew away, Vehicons scattering to to follow their leader before they met a terrible fate.

All thoughts of pursuit left Optimus’ processor as he got close to Bee. The world fell away, and all he could see was the mangled, broken body of the youngling.

“No…” Optimus knelt by the body, his spark churning with horror. Ghastly black optics stared sightlessly into his own above a monstrously torn face, the rips and dents that littered the rest of his frame seeming hardly a scratch compared to that one horrible wound. Energon was beginning to leak from all his cuts, though from his throat most prominently, only illuminating the damage with awful clarity.

“Bee, can you hear me?” Panic rose in Optimus’ chassis, replacing the initial shock. When he received no reply, he grabbed the youngling’s frame and lifted him gingerly into his arms. “Bee, please!”

The silence stretched on.

“Primus, please, not him…” Optimus frantically searched the scout’s frame for any sign of life. “He cannot be…”

A faint waft of air touched the Prime’s face, and he froze. After a moment, it came again, a small fluttering from the remnants of his throat.

Bee was venting. He lived.

Optimus let out a tremulous sigh of relief. It was only then he could sense the faint pulsing of the youngling’s spark, so faint it was hardly a brush of warmth against his own. But he lived, and that was enough.

“Optimus! Is Bee alright? What happ…” The words died on Bulkhead’s lips as he, Wheeljack, Arcee, and Tailgate drove up on the scene.

“Is he alive?” Arcee asked, her voice barely above a whisper and edged with panic.

Optimus paused before he replied, reigning in his shock and horror. “Yes, but only just. I fear Megatron has done this to him.”

Wheeljack uttered a black curse. “That fragger will pay!”

“Revenge can wait.” Optimus stood, carefully positioning Bee in his arms and never once taking his optics off the youngling. “Bee needs help.”

The sight of Optimus stepping through the Groundbridge with Bee cradled in his arms like he was a sparkling again was not one Ratchet would ever forget.

“Primus…” The welder Ratchet had been holding clattered to the floor. “Is he…?”

Though Optimus strove valiantly to hide it, Ratchet could see his anguish lingering just beneath the surface. “He still lives.”

Ratchet went into medic mode, pushing back his own horror for the logical, medical thoughts. “Get him to a berth.”

Optimus obeyed quickly, laying Bee down with a great gentleness. Arcee, who had come through the Groundbridge with her companions behind the Autobot leader, gingerly deposited a twisted mass of metal next to Bee.

“His voice box,” she murmured, barely able to look at the youngling’s ruined countenance.

“How did this happen?” Ratchet muttered as he snatched up supplies.

“Megatron.” The sparks of all present prickled as they heard the undertone of rage in Optimus’ reply. The wrath of the Prime was a rare thing to behold, so rare in fact that Ratchet was the only one who could claim to have seen it.

All it took was one sweeping look for Ratchet to know that the situation was dire. Bee was losing Energon quickly, and his wounds were so deep infection was sure to set in.

“He is a scout, not a combatant,” Ratchet growled, disguising his own devastation behind annoyance. “How did he end up in Megatron’s servos?”

“The Decepticons arrived earlier that we thought they would,” Bulkhead said lowly. “He could’ve been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Ratchet let out a pained sigh. “I need to focus on this. If you are not injured, please leave the medbay.”

As he began the painstaking work of closing the many Energon leaks, he heard three sets of pedes turn and leave. However, the looming presence of Optimus remained.

“I cannot leave him, Ratchet,” Optimus murmured.

The medic did not argue. The youngling had brought out things in the Prime Ratchet had presumed to be dormant in the face of his great Wisdom: his unbridled wrath, and his unhidden love.

“Optimus, this is bad,” he said, never once looking away from the youngling before him. “This is one of the worst injuries I’ve ever seen short of offlining entirely, and I don’t know if he will make it. It’s a wonder he’s online at all.”

“He must make it.” The calm slipped away just barely, revealing a painful desperation. “He must live. He cannot…I cannot…”

Hearing the emotion seeping into his leader’s normally calm tones cut deep into Ratchet’s spark, only furthering his resolve to save Bee. “I will do everything I can.”

Bee hung helpless in Megatron’s grasp. Try as he might, no sound would come forth from his mouth, which felt as though it were on fire. The dreaded red of Megatron’s optics pierced his own.

A blazing heat took hold of his frame, making all his hydraulics seize with its intensity. He struggled against Megatron’s hold trying to free himself from the pain.

The moment Ratchet performed the desperately-needed Energon transfusion on Bee, the scout started to shake violently, his plating rattling. Optimus, who had been watching everything anxiously, stepped forward, faceplate creased with worry.

“Ratchet, what is happening?”

“His systems are reacting to the sudden Energon surge after losing so much,” Ratchet growled, taking hold of one of Bee’s quivering shoulders. “Hopefully it will pass in a moment.”

Megatron’s servos grabbed Bee, pushing him against the ground. The warlord loomed over him, dark and twisted, blocking out all light.

Both bots were startled when Bee thrashed suddenly, his optics flickering faintly. He continued convulsing, nearly pushing himself off the table until Ratchet grabbed him forcefully.

“Ratchet?” Optimus stared at the dim optics, the sight of them alight above the ruined face taking his horror to a new level.

“He’s semiconscious,” Ratchet grunted, struggling to keep the youngling down on the table. “He’s delirious, I think. Help me keep him still!”

Optimus quickly complied, grabbing Bee by both his shoulders and forcefully pressing him down against the table. Bee shuddered in his grasp, an unearthly hiss coming through the place where his mouth used to be as he tried to cry out but couldn’t. The Prime shut his optics tight, never having felt more helpless. The one closest to his spark was in dire anguish, and he was powerless against it.

“We have to calm him down and return him to stasis!” Ratchet exclaimed. “The stress could offline him fully.”

Desperation driving him, Optimus lifted Bee’s helm and torso, pressing the youngling’s damaged body to his spark chamber, ignoring the feeble convulsions as he stroked the scratched and dented helm.

“Please, little spark, calm yourself.” The old name slipped from his mouth, having become a rarity as Bee grew older. “You are safe now. Please…”

The delirium changed with a jarring suddenness. Megatron vanished, freeing Bee, and the scape shifted dramatically.  Everything became warm, a distant voice drifting faintly into his receptors. He felt a mighty spark near to his own, its greatness heralding the presence of only one: Optimus.

Bee relaxed, letting the warmth flow over him. Optimus had him, and he could rest. He felt like a sparkling again, swathed in the mighty spark of the Prime and held in a gentle embrace. The voice, which he now knew as Optimus’ gentle rumble, reassured him.

“Sleep, little spark. It will be alright.”

The pain faded and he drifted away on the words.

The shuddering stopped and Bee’s rigid hydraulics relaxed. His optics went dark and his body went limp. Ratchet hastily performed a scan, relieved to find a weak but steady sparkbeat.

“He’s stable,” the medic breathed. “He’s alright.”

Optimus gently laid Bee back on the berth, taking a step back and letting out a shaky vent.

“Now I can truly begin the repairs.” Ratchet surveyed the twisted voice box grimly. “I will do my best to fix Bee’s vocal systems, but…”

Optimus tore his optics away from Bee to stare at him. “What is it?”

Ratchet avoided his leader’s distressed gaze. “I can likely repair his faceplate and neck, but his voice box requires parts and facilities we don’t have. I’ll do my best to salvage it but…but there is a chance that Bee may never speak again.”

Optimus felt as if he had been stabbed through the spark. He could not imagine Bee unable to speak, not hearing his pleasant chatter and ridiculous jokes, the notion almost as painful as if the youngling had offlined.

“What…what have I done?” he whispered, staring at Bee’s prone form.

Ratchet gave him a worried look. “You saved him, Optimus. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Optimus shook his helm. “I promised him I would always keep him safe. I promise him no harm would come to him and now…”

“You’re not perfect. You can’t keep everyone safe.”

“I should have protected him,” Optimus said sharply. “In not doing so I have failed him as a leader, as a…” He trailed off, but he didn’t have to finish. The word hung heavy in the air, always unspoken but always there, binding the Prime and the youngling.

“Bee knew the dangers of becoming an Autobot, especially when he had to beg you to initiate him,” Ratchet muttered. “He would not consider this a failing on your part. No one can predict everything, not even you, and there is always risk on the battlefield. Bee knew that.”

Optimus was silent for a long moment, watching as Ratchet started trying to assess the extent of the damage done to Bee’s faceplate.

“Megatron will die for this.”

It was spoken calmly. There was no hint of anger or seething hate, merely the conviction of a love so great that it could not let such a threat skirt by unharmed.

“Don’t let vengeance cloud your judgement,” Ratchet said, echoing what the Prime had told his followers many times over.

“There is no vengeance,” Optimus replied, optics fixed on Bee. “I have known for a long time that one shall stand and one shall fall. But Megatron was once my friend, and I have always hesitated to do what must be done. Now I see the cost of my hesitation clearly, and it is too high a price to pay.”

Ratchet only nodded, continuing his work. By Optimus’ promise, he had a feeling that Megatron’s attack on Bee was his most grievous mistake. The Decepticon had disrupted a truly sacred bond whether he knew it or not, and his cruelty would not go without retribution.

The moment Bee onlined his optics, he knew something was amiss. He recognized the sterile, organized atmosphere of Ratchet’s medbay, though he could not remember how he got there. All his systems felt in order, except there was something off about his helm he could not place. It was as if there was a weight on his faceplate, throwing his helm weight off balance.

Confused, Bee reached up slowly, feeling around his faceplate. His digits lighted upon a new, thick piece of metal resting on the lower part of his jaw, seemingly shaped to fit his helm and covering his mouth. Bee grabbed it and pulled, trying to get it off his mouth.

It did not budge.

His confusion only growing, Bee tugged harder, but still the metal remained on his face. Running his digits along the edges, he realized with a sudden horror that it was welded to his face. Panic seizing him, he started to thrash as he tried to pull the strange object off of him.

“Bee!” The scout was unaware of Ratchet’s presence until the medic was there, grabbing his arms and forcing them away from his face. “Bee, you’re alright!”

Bee shook his head frantically, trying to raise his servos to his face. The metal felt heavy and suffocating, and he couldn’t bear to have it on him.

“What is happening?” Optimus’ rumble came from somewhere nearby.

“He’s panicking,” Ratchet said, keeping a tight grip on Bee’s servos. “He’s trying to rip the apparatus off his face.”

Bee found himself drawn unto a mighty form, great arms wrapping around him. Through the roaring panic he vaguely registered Optimus, his faceplate gentle and sorrowful.

“I know it is strange,” the Prime said, holding Bee as tightly as he dared, “but please try to calm down. You have been…injured.”

Optimus’ voice soothed him like none other as it always had. Slowly the raging torrent ebbed to an unpleasant undercurrent of fear, and Bee relaxed into the warmth of his spark. Eventually, he pulled away, and the scout resisted the urge to complain. Such affections had become rare as Bee had grown older and the war had become fiercer, but he still desired it deep down.

Ratchet entered Bee’s field of view, though the medic avoided his gaze. “I tried to fix your vocoder, but I didn’t have the resources to repair it completely, so I have come up with a temporary solution.”

Bee slowly reached up to touch the piece of metal again, everything falling into place. The last thing he remembered was choking out what he thought was his last words in the face of Megatron, and then…

“You will be able to communicate in binary,” Ratchet said. “Megatron also damaged your faceplate, so your mouth is…”

Gone. A horrified shudder ran through Bee, and Optimus touched his helm gently.

“I am sorry.” Ratchet kept his helm down, shoulders tight with helpless frustration.

“We don’t know if the vocoder works yet,” Optimus said softly. “Will you try to speak?”

Binary was an innate knowledge among Cybertronians, but it was rare to hear it in a vocal form. Bee never thought he would find himself struggling to speak. He loved talking, a “chatterbox” as Wheeljack had put it, and to lose his mouth and speak only binary made him feel like he was being crushed.

But he had to try.

He inhaled deeply, air traveling through the vent affixed in his new “mouth”. His vocoder creaked and whirred strangely in his throat, and it felt odd to try and produce sound without a mouth, but his new systems reacted correctly, spilling forth a shaky string of buzzes and beeps.

“I-I-I a-am B-Bee, A-A-Au-tobot sc-out.”

Ratchet sagged in relief. “Thank Primus. I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to speak at all.”

Bee just nodded, feeling overwhelmed and unsure. He looked up at Optimus, who seemed both relieved and sad.

“I am glad you can communicate,” the Prime said, resting a servo on Bee’s shoulder. “One day, you will have your true voice back.”

Bee searched his face. There was something more, something hidden away below the surface, but he could not say what it was. He seemed so sad...could it be...?

“O-O-Op-tim-us,” Bee tried, wincing as a pinch of pain hit his new mouth.

“Yes?”

“A-A-Allspark...is it...s-sa-fe?”

“The Allspark made it off Cybertron.”

If Bee could sigh, he would have. At least his efforts to stop Megatron were not in vain.

“In all honesty, I have hardly spared it a thought these past few orns,” Optimus continued. “I have been too busy thinking about you.”

Bee ducked his head, doorwings lowering. “S-s-so-rry.”

“Do not be. The Allspark is out of my reach and therefore out of my concern, but you are still present, thank Primus, and so I could not help but think of you.”

“I-I-kgh!” Bee tried to reply, pleased by Optimus’ affection, but cut off when his vocoder sparked, sending a jolt of pain through his systems.

Ratchet hurried forward, scanning his throat and jaw hastily. “The vocoder is not perfect. I’ll have to continue calibrations to make it function better. Until then, try not to overwork it.”

Bee nodded, still feeling terribly claustrophobic from the large chunk of metal that now wrapped across his face. He glanced up at Optimus and saw that deep sadness etched into his optics, that deeper emotion lingering behind the relief.

“We can speak more later,” Optimus said. “For now it is best that you rest.”

Bee wasn’t about to argue, still greatly shaken by the loss of his voice and the modifications. He almost asked Optimus to stay, but thought better of it. The Prime had better things to do than stay with an injured scout.

Lying back on the berth, he tried not to feel the weight of the metal or the lack of a mouth.

It seemed every Autobot felt the weight of Bee’s silencing. The base was subdued and quiet, filled with anxious murmurings about the horrible deed. Megatron had nearly destroyed their youngest, most vibrant member, and such ruthlessness left its mark. Even with a temporary voice box, the youngling would not be who he once was, bearing a permanent reminder of the horror.

But none was affected more so than Optimus. Everyone could see it try as he might to hide it, bearing the weight of a promise he had failed to keep. No more did the happy chatter of the Autobot’s youngest ring through the halls, and it was his fault. Out of all of them, Bee was his most beloved and for good reason. He was the life out of death, the little spark, the Allspark’s last.

Optimus loved him, though obvious displays had grown scarcer as the youngling had grown, throwing himself into the war with a passion. And now in his love he suffered, unsure as to whether he should confront his failings with Bee or if Ratchet had been right to assume Bee would not consider it his fault. He spent many sleepless nights mulling over his thoughts, several times almost rising to go to the medbay but thinking better of it.

Bee’s hardship continued on. Several bots came to visit him once word got out that he was awake, and he could not help but notice the initial flash of horror at his state with each new visitor, swiftly replaced by gentle inquiries.

He had never felt more helpless. He was not completely silenced, no, but the loss of his true voice made him question his ability to continue serving the Autobot cause. What was he if he was not helping his fellow soldiers? Worse yet, when he saw Optimus he continued to bear that strange sorrow he could not name, and it made himself feel even smaller. Soon, a horrible thought crawled its way into his processor: perhaps Optimus found his new face too sad, too piteous to look at.

The Allspark might have been saved because of his actions, but even then such thoughts did not serve to encourage him.

The dreams came, dark and awful. It felt as though he were back in sparklinghood again, tortured by the wraiths of the Decepticons that had destroyed his home, except this time it was no faceless specter. It was Megatron himself, smiling cruelly as he tore and beat at his body.

Several times Bee awoke in the darkness of the medbay, systems in overdrive and spark beating erratically. His processor immediately turned to that which his younger self had sought for comfort, and several times he almost put thought to action and started in the direction of Optimus’ quarters, but he always stopped himself, dark thoughts of lost love stopping him in his tracks.

So, he continued to suffer in silence, a reality he was growing despairingly used to. However, his mounting bitterness could not remain inside forever. Things came to a head a little over a week after he had first awoken. He had suffered a particularly vivid dream the night before, and the pain of Ratchet’s attempts at optimizations grew too much to bear. He jumped off the berth despite the medic’s protests, pushing him away.

“I c-c-can’t do this r-ri-ight now!” Bee hissed.

“I need to continue optimizations!” Ratchet retorted. “If you are going to go back into the field your vocoder needs to be functional without risk of stopping!”

“Do-do it la-ter!” Bee started towards the medbay doors.

“I haven’t cleared you yet!”

Bee did not bother replying, set in his course. Ratchet watched him storm from the medbay, too caught in his own frustration to deal with trying to stop him.

Silence settled over the medbay again, the same voiceless silence that had prevailed the moment Optimus had stepped through the GroundBridge from Tyger Pax. After a long moment to gather his own emotions, Ratchet activated his comm.

“Optimus?”

The response was almost immediate. “Yes?”

“Bee just left the medbay. I don’t know where he was going.”

“Why?” The Prime’s tone was edged with worry.

“I don’t know. He seemed upset.”

“I will find him.”

Ratchet muttered an affirmation and dropped the comm. Both of them were suffering, and it would likely take each other to end it.

In hindsight, if Bee had truly not wanted to be found, he would have picked somewhere other than the spare parts closet to hide. Once as a sparkling he had broken an Energon cube and immediately ran off to hide, concealing himself in a tiny nook amidst the various crates. After a base-wide panic and subsequent search, it was Ultra Magnus that found him, though it took Optimus’ gentle coaxing to actually bring him out. After that, whenever Bee needed a place to hide, he went there, knowing that Optimus would come to him eventually.

So he was unsurprised when the closet door hissed open, though he hunched lower in his corner, trying to still the shaking that seemed to have seized every inch of his frame.

“Bee?” Optimus’ voice rumbled softly into the enclosed space.

The scout squeezed his doorwings tight against his back, hoping against hope to conceal himself. The pain brought on by Ratchet’s ministrations had brought back horrible flashes of his ordeal, causing a great fear to seize him. It would not be fitting for Optimus to see him cowering like such a—

“Bee, I know you are in here.”

There was no hiding now. Slowly, Bee rose from his hiding spot behind a large crate, turning to face the immense figure of the Prime.

“Ratchet told me you were upset and had left the medbay.” Optimus stepped further into the room. “I thought I might find you here.”

Bee stared at the floor, unable to meet Optimus’ gaze, unable to bear the sight of his pitying sadness. “I-I-I’m fine, I just—“

“Do not lie.” Bee flinched at the stern note in Optimus’ tone, though it was gone as soon as it came. “I know something is troubling you, little one. You have been through much, and I want to help you.”

Bee was silent, unsure of what to say. There was too much troubling him: his injuries, his nightmares, his future as a scout.

“Your voice?”

To that, Bee nodded, unsurprised by the deduction.

After a long pause Optimus spoke again, voice unusually hushed. “Bee, I must ask your forgiveness. I cannot help but feel I have failed you.”

Bee looked up, taken by surprise. “Wh-wh-what?”

“Do you remember what I promised you all those vorns ago?” Optimus made no attempt to conceal his sorrow. “I promised no harm would come to you, and now Megatron has…” He trailed off helplessly.

It was not pity that lingered in the Prime’s face, Bee realized, but guilt. “It-it’s no-t your f-fault. I did wh-what I-I did for the A-A-Allspark. Meg-atron had t-to be d-d-distracted, a-and my v-oice is th-e p-price.”

Optimus’ optics went wide. “You chose to confront him?”

“He-he was g-going to find y-you, and I-I had to make sure the-the A-Allspark survived.”

The Prime shook his head in disbelief. “I thought he had captured you by accident.”

“N-no. I-I w-went to distract him m-m-myself.”

Optimus now saw everything that had transpired in a new light. Though he had known Bee was dedicated and selfless, he had never considered such a sacrifice. It felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, knowing Bee’s affliction was not a product of his failure, but it also gave him a new fear of potential loss. The survival of Cybertron was important, but could he enjoy a new Cybertron one day without his youngling by his side?

“Bee…” he murmured, searching for words. “I am astounded by your bravery and sacrifice.”

The scout shuffled his pedes, pleased by the praise despite the raging undercurrent of discontent and loss.

“However, your loss troubles you even so.”

Bee avoided his gaze, unsure as to whether to bare his feelings.

“Please, little one. I want to help you.”

The gentle encouragement in the Prime’s voice urged him forward. He shuddered with a silent sigh, finally giving voice to that which had troubled him.

“I-I-I fe-el useless. I c-can’t help the A-A-Autobots like this, and Ra-Ratchet m-mi-ght not be-be able to fix my vocod-er entire-ly and I-I mi-ght be stu-uck like thi-s.” Despite the rising pain in his vocoder, the broken strings of binary came forth in a stream, the pent-up bitterness spilling out all at once. “I fee-eel like I-I’m rui-uined, and m-maybe Megatron sh-should’ve just killed m-me—”

His tirade was cut off when mighty servos clamped down on his shoulderplates, squeezing with an almost painful grip. He was suddenly brought face-to-face with blazing blue optics that burned deep into his own.

“Do not ever dare to speak like that again.” Optimus spoke with a ferocity Bee had never heard before, low and utterly dreadful. “Do you understand?”

Bee nodded shakily, stunned and a little frightened by the display.

“If you had died that day, I could not…I would not…” Optimus’ grip on him trembled and the ferocity in his faceplate melted away.

Now it was Bee’s turn to feel guilty. He ducked his helm, unable to meet the Prime’s gaze. “I-I-I’m sorry. I did-idn’t mean it. I-I just feel s-so helpless w-with this.” He gestured to the new vocoder that served as both his voice and the lower half of his face.

“You are not defined by your contributions to the Autobot cause, and you are not useless now because of your injuries,” Optimus said firmly. “You are defined by what is in your spark, which I believe is truly good intentions, regardless of if you can carry them out at the moment.”

Bee kept his optics on his pedes. “B-but I-I see th-the w-way every-one looks a-at m-e, like they-they’re horri-fied by wh-what they s-see now.”

“Because they love you, because they hate to see you injured.” Optimus sighed wearily. “Why did you not tell me you were feeling this way?”

“Be-because I thou-ght it would n-not be r-right for a sol-soldier to t-t-trouble his leader with some-something l-like that…” Bee winced, realizing how irrational the notion sounded once he spoke it out loud.

“Am I just a leader to you?”

The scout finally looked up again, surprised by the sadness in the Prime’s voice. “N-n-no,” he whispered, “you’re…” Once more the word hung there, unspoken but heavy and real.

“Then have I done something to breach your trust in me?”

“No!” Bee shook his helm emphatically. “I-I saw h-how you-you look-ed at m-me and I thought…I-I th-thought…”

“Thought what?” The Prime pressed gently.

The answer was so soft and full of static that it was nearly inaudible. “I-I thou-ght y-you might not lo-love me a-a-anymore.”

“Oh, Bee.” Gentle servos cradled his helm, tilting it up so he was forced to look into Optimus’ eyes. “You are more to me than my own spark, and nothing will ever change that.”

Bee leaned into the touch, the breath hitching in his vents.

“It seems I have failed you in a different way,” Optimus murmured. “I thought through my own error you had lost your voice, and I was unsure how to approach it. I did not realize that you were suffering because of my hesitance. Can you forgive me?”

Bee nodded, his emotions too high and vocoder too tired to form binary. He hoped Optimus understood that yes, he would forgive him a million times over.

The Prime sighed in relief, pulling the youngling into his arms. The fact that Bee had questioned his love hurt him more than the potential breaking of his promise of safety.

“Though the loss of your vocoder pains me greatly, it does not change anything. You will always be my little spark.”

Bee inhaled, trying to form some sort of response, but only a sob came out. Binary could not account for wordless noise, and so he cried in complete silence, the only indication of his grief the quaking of his frame. The loss of his voice was never more painful to Optimus than then, the silence weighing heavily on the both of them.

Eventually Bee found his words again, stuttering out a tiny question, muffled as his helm pressed against Optimus’ chassis. “W-will I ever b-be an A-Autobot a-gain?”

“You will always be an Autobot,” Optimus assured softly, “but even if Ratchet cannot fix your vocoder to a smooth state, I will find a way for you to contribute, if that is what you wish. I only ask one thing of you.”

“Wh-what?”

Optimus pulled away from Bee, forcing their optics to meet again. “You are truly the bravest of us all, but I ask that you do not put yourself in such a position of grave danger again.”

Bee’s countenance dropped into a frown. “I-I’m not a spark-ling any-anymore!”

“I know.” Optimus brushed a soothing servo over Bee’s helm. “You are more than capable of defending yourself, but there are some things that are too much, like Megaton.”

A tremor passed through Bee at the Deception’s name, bringing a great fear edged with anger. Optimus noted the dilation of his optics and squeezed him comfortingly.

“I almost lost you to him, and I do not want to risk that again.”

Bee nodded shakily. “U-understood.”

Optimus’ keen gaze picked out the sag of Bee’s frame, signaling exhaustion, and he wrapped a strong arm around the youngling’s shoulders. “You should return to the medical bay.”

The scout quailed visibly at the idea. “It-it h-hurts when R-Ratchet w-works on me. I-it makes me f-feel l-l-like h-he has me again.”

“I will stay with you,” the Prime assured. “We will get through this together.”

That same night, Optimus was awoken by the shuffling of pedes across the floor, and for a moment he was transported back to vorns ago. He rolled over, half-expecting to see a tiny sparkling staring up at him hopefully. Instead, he was greeted by the same optics set in an older face, the lower jaw bound in a heavy, makeshift vocoder.

“Op-timus.” The stuttered string of binary whispered from the darkness. It was no longer the bright sound of a true voice, but he was learning to associate the warmth of Bee with it.

“Bee,” he returned softly. “What is the matter?”

Bee shuffled a little, his doorwings lowering. “I-I’ve been h-h-h-aving d-dreams of him. I-I haven’t re-recharged normally s-s-since…” He trailed off, his gaze wide and unsure.

Optimus sat up slowly. “Admittedly, I have not either. I have had nightmares every recharge.”

“A-about Meg-Megatron?” Bee whispered.

“No. About you.”

“Me-me?”

“Every night I see you lying dead by Megatron’s hand, and I am powerless to do anything against it.” The darkness cast shadows over the Prime’s face, making him look more haggard than ever.

“I-I’m h-here,” Bee offered quietly.

Optimus smiled softly, the weariness easing. “Yes, and I am grateful for that.”

“Can I-I stay w-ith y-you?” the scout asked. “I-I think it m-might help bo-th of u-us…”

“Of course.” As the Prime made room for Bee to curl up next to him, he was reminded of the promise made in the dark to a scared sparkling. The promise still stood, imperfect but unbreakable, bearing the dreadful silence Megatron had tried to thrust upon them. Both of them knew Optimus was not perfect, and he could only do what was within his power, but it was enough.

“I make you a new promise now, Bee.” He murmured low into the dark, the shadows seeming to shiver with the power of his words.

“Wh-what is it?” Bee asked, knowing that what he spoke would likely come to pass.

“I swear that one day you will have your true voice back, and that Megatron’s damage will be undone.”

Bee’s spark shivered at the oath. He reached up, touching the heavy metal of his makeshift vocoder gently. “I-I miss it.”

“As do I.” Optimus brushed a servo over Bee’s helm. “Sleep now, little spark. Do not dwell on it.”

The youngling needed no second bidding. Safely at his leader’s side, he drifted off into a blessedly dreamless sleep, lulled by the hope that one day all would be set right.

Vorns passed and things changed. Though Bee remained permanently scarred, Ratchet fixed his vocoder into a stable state, allowing him to return to duty, much to his delight. Slowly, he regained the brightness he had once held, his continued resilience a light to all the Autobots. If Megatron could not stop their youngest and most vulnerable, he was not as terrible a threat. His sacrifice for the Allspark became something of renown, and he became somewhat of a hero, much to his embarrassment.

Cybertron became too ravaged by war to remain inhabitable, and with heavy sparks many left their home in search of refuge. Optimus took a handful of his most trusted officers, including Bee, and fled to a strange little planet called Earth that was oddly notable for its Energon deposits.

Though homesick, Bee found the new planet was full of delights, including a black and yellow little creature that buzzed the inhabitants called a bumblebee. Upon finding this out, the Autobots gave him a modified name: Bumblebee.

For a time, things were peaceful, until Megatron and the Decepticons found their way to the new planet as well. Then reality came crashing back as the tiny group of Autobots had to fight to survive against their foes on top of protecting the fragile inhabitants of the planet.

Yet still, even on a new world, the old scars remained. More than once did Optimus find Bumblebee clutching at his throat, shivering and afraid after coming too close to Megatron on the battlefield.  He clung doggedly to the promise that he would one day regain his voice, though sometimes pessimistic bitterness seeped through on the bad days.

Optimus did his best to protect all his Autobots, especially Bumblebee, doing his best to be there when fear overwhelmed him. He had to put Megatron’s recompense aside more than once for the good of his Autobots and for the inhabitants of Earth, but he knew that somehow, some way, Bee would get his voice back and Megatron would pay for what he had done to his youngling.

He had made a promise to Bee, and just like his promise of protection, he would do his best to fulfill it.

Though Megatron was renowned for his taunts and digs at his enemies, never did he mention what had happened that day at Tyger Pax. A strange dread stirred in his spark every time he caught a flash of yellow and black on the battlefield, the image of Optimus Prime bearing down on him with death written in his face forever etched into his memories.

Try as he might to ignore it, he knew one day he would meet the consequences for maiming the young scout on the battlefield.

The war carried on, both sides knowing that one day, unsure of how or when: one would stand, and one would fall.

Chapter Text

Bumblebee grabbed the Star Saber, tottering briefly under the weight of the weapon. He could hear the sounds of battle below as his fellow Autobots clashed with the Decepticons. He sighted the figures of Megatron and Optimus battling across the platform beside the Omega Lock below and across from him. With one leap, he could get the Saber to Optimus and save Earth.

“I’ve got it!” he called, jumping lithely down to a small outcrop of machinery above the Omega Lock.

His call was heard by both Prime and Decepticon, both figures turning towards him.

“The Star Saber!” Megatron hissed, sighting the fabled weapon in the scout’s grasp. Knowing his plans were doomed if the Saber made it into the servos of the Prime, he raised his fusion cannon and took aim.

It all happened in an instant.

Bumblebee leapt from the outcropping, Saber in his servos, optics fixed solely on Optimus in front of him. By the time he noticed Megatron’s aim fixed upon him, it was too late. The Decepticon fired once, twice, and that was enough. Optimus, distracted only for a moment by Bumblebee’s approach, saw what Megatron intended and leapt to intercept, but the two deadly shots had already been fired.

The bolts came in swift succession, shattering Bumblebee’s spark chamber. The scout felt no pain, only aware of a great impact and that he was falling before all went dark.

Optimus watched in horror as Bumblebee fell, his chassis shattered not unlike his face had once been on Tyger Pax. But, this time there was no hope of recovery. He felt Bumblebee’s death in his own spark as the bond between them was shattered, a great emptiness filling where once their bond had stood. Never in his long life had he felt such a coldness, such a despairing lack of life as he did in that moment, watching as Bumblebee’s broken form hit the Cybermatter lifelessly.

And never had he felt such wrath.

“Nooo!” The sound that ripped itself from his mouth as he turned upon Megatron was some awful mix of a roar and a wail. Seeing nothing but red, he laid into the Decepticon, all hopes of mercy consumed by a violent anger that demanded death. Metal crumpled beneath his fists as he hit Megatron over and over again, feeling as though he might explode from rage and grief. The Decepticon hit the side of the machinery, falling to the ground, and Optimus stalked forward, ready to blast him until only charred fragments of his frame remained.

In his rage-fueled onslaught, he failed to notice Megatron reaching for the Dark Star Saber. Only when he was knocked over the edge of the Omega Lock, hanging above Earth by a single servo, did his mind clear.

Megatron loomed above him, the blade raised high. “Prepare to join your scout in the Allspark!”

At least in the Allspark Bee would be there, and the shattered emptiness he felt in his own spark would be resolved. So Optimus Prime hung and waited for death.

All was calm and quiet, a blessed contrast to the chaos only moments before. Bumblebee drifted in darkness, drinking in the serenity. The only times he felt so relaxed was when he was with Optimus, and it was a relief from the many troubles of the world.

“Bumblebee!”

“Bumblebee!”

“Wake up, Bumblebee!”

He opened his optics, faced with a great light. His spark rose at the sight, urging him towards it, and he knew what it was: the Allspark.

Two figures stood in front of the light, a mech and a femme. Their likenesses were unearthly, unblemished and boasting of a perfection that life never offered. Bumblebee did not remember them, but he knew who they were in his spark.

His caretakers, who died in Uraya.

The femme stepped forward, cradling Bee’s face with slender servos. “Oh, my little Bee. I am so proud to see what you have become.”

Bee touched her servos with his own, searching her face. “Am-am I dead?”

The mech came to stand beside the femme, his tremendous frame belying the gentleness in his gaze. “You stand on the edge.”

“Now is not your time,” the femme said, a hint of sadness in her smile. “Your father needs you.”

Bee’s optics drifted to the mech, who smiled slightly. “Optimus Prime has taken good care of you, and I am pleased that he has become the father you needed in our absence. You must rise to help him.”

Bee looked from one to the other. “But I just met you. I can’t…”

“You must go,” the femme urged. “You are young yet, and you have to live. Optimus needs you alongside him just as much as you need him.”

The mech placed a strong servo on his shoulder. “Continue living honorably, Bumblebee. We are proud of you.”

The femme leaned up and kissed his helm. “We will always love you. Now stand and save your father, and end the war that took us from you.”

Bee felt something tug on his spark, calling him away. He dove into their arms, hugging them close and relishing their warmth. “I will never forget you.”

The darkness started to lessen as the world of the living bled in. Servos embraced him, their touch fading away.

“Rise and strike for your voice!”

“Strike for Optimus!”

“Strike for us!”

Bumblebee rose up out of the Cybermatter, filled with a vigor he had never before known. In front of him, Megatron stood with his back to him, Dark Star Saber poised to strike, and he knew it was Optimus who he intended to strike.

Rage filling him, his servos found the Star Saber. The fear he once held at the mere sight of Megatron vanished, replaced by a wrath born from too much loss and grief. Gripping the blade in his servos with a a new strength, he charged forward, driven by one thought: save Optimus.

Optimus felt the void in his spark vanish, replaced by a beat of life that was familiar yet impossible. He lifted his helm in disbelief, unable to see above the ledge he hung from.

“Megatron!” Bumblebee roared.

The Decepticon Lord turned in surprise, only to have the Star Saber driven straight into his corrupted spark. He stood frozen in shock and disbelief, staring at the scout that held the hilt of the blade he was impaled on. He tried to speak, but only a low, gasping growl came out.

Optimus heard the voice, and knew it instantly, though hundreds of vorns had passed since he last heard it. His spark rose in hope and wonder even as he dangled miles above Earth, elated at the sound of his youngling’s cry.

“You took my voice,” Bee snarled. “You will never rob anyone of anything ever again.”

Megatron tried to move, tried to will himself to act, but his failing systems would not obey. He recalled that day on Tyger Pax, and the sense of dread he had held at the sight of Bumblebee every day after for fear of Optimus’ unmerciful retribution. But in that moment as he hung impaled, he realized the sick irony of it all; the foolish little scout he had maimed beyond repair had been his undoing, not the Prime he so dreaded.

The Dark Star Saber slipped from his servos, bouncing off the ship and tumbling uselessly into Earth’s atmosphere. He tried to grasp at the blade and wrench it from his chassis, unwilling to accept defeat by such an unworthy opponent, but the damage to his spark was too great. The burning light in the warlord’s optics dimmed and went out, his plating becoming tarnished. His limp body tilted back and slid off the blade, falling from the ship.

Optimus watched as his body fell, vanishing into the atmosphere in a blaze of fire.

Megatron, Lord of the Decepticons, was no more.

Ignoring Starscream’s panicked cries, Bumblebee dropped the Saber and ran to the edge. To his relief he found Optimus still hanging there, and offered him a servo.

The sight of Bee and the feeling of his servo strongly clasping Optimus’ own solidified the miraculous reality that the scout did live. The Prime let him help him back onto the ship, and he would have embraced the youngling then and there had it not been for the soldiers waiting for him.

Even as they climbed up to the landing where the other bots waited, he did not take his optics off the scout, unable to shake the disbelief. He had felt the severance of their bond, the extinguishing of the spark he had always kept near to his own, and war had taught him there was no coming back from such a thing, no matter how much he wished it. But now Bee’s spark beat on as if nothing had happened, the threads of their bond strong and unwavering.

“Bumblebee!” Ratchet breathed when the two bots made it to the landing, his faceplate slack in utter disbelief.

“Your voice!” Arcee interjected, looking equally shocked.

Bumblebee frowned at her. “My voice? What do you mean my--” He cut himself off when it finally clicked in his processor. The weight of the vocoder no longer hung heavy on his face, his words now true and not strung out in binary. He willed the mask over his lips to retract, and it did, revealing a fully restored face.

Megatron's vile work, both in the present and the past, had been undone.

“Ratchet! I got my pipes back!” Bumblebee bounced forward, catching the medic in a tight embrace.

“Yes, yes we noticed!” Ratchet smiled and laughed outright for the first time in vorns.

Bumblebee looked down at himself in wonder. “The Cybermatter…”

“It is the only possible explanation.”

Optimus looked down at his youngling’s vibrant face, radiating the wonderful reality of a promise kept, both by him and Ratchet. “It seems the old field medic made good after all.” There was far more he wished to say, but duty took precedence. He turned and sent out the call they had all yearned to hear for so long: “Optimus Prime to all units! Megatron is no more.”

Cybertron was reborn by the Cybermatter, just as Bumblebee had been. What was once lifeless and dead was restored to a shining greatness perhaps comparable with when Primus first formed the planet. The joy of restoration was dampened when they bid farewell to their human companions, but they had all known Earth was never meant to be home forever. They had left Cybertron with every intent of returning one day, or dying in the process, and now that they had their home again they had to start anew, to rebuild society from the ground up.

For Bee, it was as though he had set pede on an entirely new planet. The only Cybertron he had ever known was in its death throes, torn apart by war, and he was amazed by the beauty the restored planet held. He wanted to start exploring right away, but Ratchet insisted that they rest from the battle. Reluctantly he obeyed, but as their first Cybertronian night came on, he found himself unable to recharge. It seemed as darkness fell, so did the heavy weight of the reality forgotten in all the excitement and bittersweetness: he had died.

Bee stared at the ceiling of his temporary quarters aboard the Nemesis. He pressed a servo to his spark chamber, finding comfort in the pulse there. He could only remember the feel of the Saber in his servos, the rush of air on his plating as he jumped desperately towards Optimus, and then—

Bee sat up as the memories hit him. A mech and a femme, murmuring encouraging words, their forms perfected beyond the constraints of this life.

He knew them, though he had never known them.

Mulling these things over in his processor, he rose from his berth, suddenly restless. He wandered out into the maze of corridors, trying to piece together their wonderful, otherworldly faceplates in his mind. Their words were faint in his memory, but he did not doubt they were of love.

He found himself in the main navigation room of the Nemesis. Still thinking on his caretakers, he went to the console and pulled up a map of Cybertron, obviously from the war, though the locations remained the same. He turned the map to Uraya, a large red X appearing beneath the name.

The sight hurt Bumblebee’s spark a little. Though he had always known he had come from Uraya, the knowledge of its destruction hurt now that he had met his caretakers.

He would visit Uraya as soon as he was able, he decided.

Optimus was not one for disobeying Ratchet’s orders, so he tried to rest. Yet, every time he closed his optics, he saw Bee’s lifeless body tumbling into the Cybermatter, feeling the terrible sting of death in his own spark. He tried to ignore it, tried to move past it like he had with so many other terrible things, but this would not be ignored. Bee was special to him like no other was, and what had taken place would not be so easily pushed away as another horror of war.

Finally, after what seemed like joors of restless turning, he gave up trying to recharge and rose to wander the ship. He had no set course, only trying to come to terms with the awful sight that kept replaying over and over again. His youngling had died, if only for a moment, and the feeling lingered like an icy vice on his spark.

His wandering ceased when he saw light coming from the navigation room. The Prime moved to investigate, surprised to find Bumblebee there, staring at a map.

“Bee?” he murmured, that icy feeling lessening a little at the sight of the youngling.

Bee jumped, caught off guard by Optimus’ quiet approach. “Oh, O-Optimus! I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“Nor I you,” Optimus said, coming to stand near the scout. “You should recharge, especially after—“ He cut himself off, but he did not need to finish.

“I can’t,” Bee admitted, reaching up to touch at his spark chamber, his restored face. “I keep on thinking about what happened.”

“So do I,” Optimus said softly, his spark tightening as the memory replayed itself once again.

Bee paused for a long moment. “…Optimus?”

“Yes?”

“Did I…” He hesitated, unused to the sound of his own voice after the vorns of binary. “Did I die?”

Instead of receiving a verbal response, Bee was suddenly seized into a crushing embrace. For a moment he was startled, but relaxed into the familiar hold, only to become startled again when Optimus’ frame gave a mighty shudder. At first he feared Megatron had dealt some sort of injury to the Prime that was just now becoming too much, until he heard the shaky breaths accompanying the trembling of his frame.

Optimus Prime was weeping.

Bee stood in complete shock, unable to do anything but press his helm against the mighty chassis and listen. Optimus wept silently save for his breathing, just as he once had when he was voiceless, but that made it no less painful. No one had ever seen the Prime cry, and now that Bee saw it, it was agonizing.

As always, Optimus was swift to reign his emotions under control. It was not long until the trembling ceased, his breaths becoming even once more. Bee then dared to raise his helm, unsurprised by the grief he saw in his leader’s face.

“I felt it,” the Prime murmured, his voice rough. “I felt your spark go out. That is why I cannot rest. Every time I try I see it again, and I had to make sure it was not a dream, that you were...”

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Bee tried to sound as reassuring as Optimus always did, but the words came out weak and strained. He could only imagine how terrible it must have felt, for he knew of the unspoken bond as well. In the many times Optimus’ life was in danger over the years, he had always clung to it for reassurance that he was alive even when it seemed impossible. He had always dreaded feeling the irreversible severance that Optimus now spoke of, the severance of death.

“I am grateful to Primus that you are here, more grateful than you will ever know.” Optimus searched Bee’s face, the sight of it unmarred still strange. Now that he had bared his emotions, his spark no longer felt as heavy. “My only wish is that I could have prevented it in the first place.”

“I’m sorry,” Bee whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you-- ”

“Neither of us are truly at fault.” Optimus was quick to reassure him, knowing the youngling’s propensity for blaming himself. “Only Megatron is to blame for all of this, and he has received his retribution.”

Bee looked down at his servos. “I still can’t believe I killed him. Everyone thought—everyone knew it would be you, eventually.”

“I am just as surprised as you. After all, it was Megatron taking your voice that solidified my resolve to end him once at for all.”

Bee’s optics rotated wide with surprise. “Really?”

Optimus nodded. “Before that day at Tyger Pax I had always hesitated to slay the one I called brother, but after what he did to you, I knew I could hesitate no more.”

Bee only stared, too awed to reply.

“However, I find the end he met fitting. He took too much from you, and his fate by your servos was well deserved.”

After a moment, Bee huffed. “I was afraid I might have cheated you. I didn’t realize Tyger Pax made you…”

“That day has haunted me for vorns, but today might replace it.”

“I’m here,” Bee said again, this time more sure of himself. It felt odd to be the one comforting Optimus instead of the other way around, but he had always known the Prime was not emotionless. If he had been through what the Autobot leader had, he knew even the Wisdom of the Primes would not stop his emotions from going out of control.

“I am grateful for your assurance,” Optimus murmured, brushing a servo softly over the smaller bot’s helm. “I hope you can forgive me for…losing control earlier.”

“Everyone cries. If I had seen you die, I know I wouldn’t be able—” Bee’s voice wavered a little, the mere thought of losing him too hard to imagine, so he quickly moved on. “I don’t blame you. I know even Primes aren’t invincible.”

Optimus studied the scout carefully. “And how do you feel? You have brushed death, and I do not expect you to be unscathed.”

“I feel…strange,” Bee admitted, brushing his digits over his spark chamber. “I feel like it’s unfair to all the ones who have died and not come back.”

“I know. I have contemplated that same thing more than once, but we can only live on with the knowledge that we survived for a reason yet unknown to us.”

“That’s right.” Bee squinted as Optimus’ words ignited the memories of his caretakers. “They said I had to go back and that it wasn’t my time yet.”

“Who?” Optimus asked. “Did you see something when you were…?”

Bee nodded slowly. “I…I saw the Allspark. I saw…” His optics drifted to the map still up on the screen. “I saw my caretakers, from Uraya.”

Optimus’ optics went wide. “Are you certain?”

“They knew me, and I felt like I knew them. I don’t remember much, but they told me they were proud of me, and that I could end the war.”

Optimus felt his spark rise. It had always bothered him that Bee had never known his first caretakers, and to be afforded the chance to see them was something he never imagined. “It seems your temporary departure from this world was a blessing in disguise.”

“I didn’t want to leave them at first,” Bee admitted. “I had just met them and wanted to know more, but they said I had to go back. They said…” He trailed off, uncertain if he should voice what he remembered.

“What did they say?” Optimus pressed gently.

“They said…they said you needed me.”

Optimus knew it was the truth, but hearing it spoken aloud was jarring. For all his stoicism in the knowledge of the Matrix, he loved all his comrades deeply and needed them to walk alongside him, though affection was something he had always struggled with after taking up the mantle of Prime. However, no one meant more to him than Bumblebee, and he dared not think of what it would have been like had the scout not been resurrected.

“They are right,” he said at length. “As I felt today, a world without you is a terrible one.”

“They also said that…that you’ve been a good father to me.” Bee spoke slowly, unsure of how Optimus might react. To his surprise, the Prime ducked his head as though he were embarrassed. That was twice in one night he had displayed never before seen emotions.

“I am honored that they would think that.” Optimus murmured, his processor stuck on the word father. “Especially when meeting you in a death I failed to prevent.”

“You’ve promised to keep me safe and done your best. I think that’s enough for them.” Bee paused, then added, “You promised me I would get my voice back one day, and you kept it.”

“Do you think I have done well?”

Bee nearly choked, his doorwings flattening in embarrassment. “W-what, as a f-father?” When Optimus gave him an affirming nod, his face bearing nothing but gentle curiosity, he straightened a little, shame fading. “Yes…you have.”

Optimus touched his shoulder reassuringly. “I am relieved to hear it.”

It felt odd to give voice to the silent bond between them, to name that which had gone unnamed for so many vorns. But too much had happened, too much had almost happened, to let it remain that way any longer. Optimus was sure he could feel the bond between their sparks strengthening even further.

“They made me think of Uraya,” Bee said, turning to look at the map. “I don’t remember living there, or what it looked like before the war, but I was considering going to see it. I want to see where they lived…where I lived.”

Optimus looked over the map. “There are many places that were destroyed that we must now visit, but you may visit Uraya first. May I accompany you when you go?”

Bee nodded. “You know it better than me. Do you…do you remember where you found me?”

“I will never forget it.”

“Could you take me there?”

“Certainly, but there is one more thing that must be done before I take you there.”

Bee frowned, looking up at him. “What’s that?”

Optimus smiled. “I must make you a warrior of Cybertron.”

Bee’s optics went wide, reduced to thin rings of blue around black. He had forgotten about his ambition completely as the war overtook everything, but Cybertron was restored, giving him a chance to ascend on his home planet as he wished.

“Thank you, Optimus!” He bounded forward, catching the large mech in a fierce hug.

Optimus let out a small chuckle, patting his youngling’s helm. “You earned the title long ago, little spark, but I knew what being on Cybertron meant to you.”

Bee beamed, a sight the Prime had missed greatly. “I thought it might never happen.”

“I knew it would one day.”

Bee’s attempt at a reply was overtaken by a huge, frame-rattling yawn.

“You should have been in recharge joors ago,” Optimus chided lightly.

“I’m not tired!” Bee insisted. “You have to tell me more about Uraya.”

“Tomorrow, little spark. The both of us need to rest, and I would not be keeping you safe by leaving you deprived of recharge.”

“You and your promises,” Bee huffed in mock indignation.

“I promise to tell you more tomorrow. Is that sufficient?”

The soon-to-be warrior thought about for a moment. “Yes.”

Optimus pushed him gently in the direction of the door. “Rest now.”

They started towards the door, but before they parted ways, Bee spoke up again. “Optimus?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for keeping me safe. Thank you for…" He faltered, unable to find the adequate words.

“Of course,” Optimus murmured. “I will always be here for you.”

Bee smiled. “Promise?”

“I promise, little spark.”