Archive of Our Own

The ruins of the small settlement haven’t stopped smoking in the three cycles it’s taken for the Autobots to get there, hoping to find survivors. They aren’t terribly hopeful, the Decepticons have stopped caring about whether or not other bots are living in the places they bomb, or what types of bots they are. So long as it leads to another fifteen feet of gained ground, the ends can justify the means. 

Optimus leads the way out of the ship, nose twitching on his face when the smell of melted metal and burned oil hits it. Behind him, Ironhide, Hound, Jazz, Prowl, Ultra Magnus, Elita-One, and Kup are having similar reactions. All of them are carrying relief supplies; bandages, energon pads, smelling salts, blankets, and drinking oil. They’re not packing a lot of fire power, this being a relief excursion rather than an offensive one. Hound and Ironhide are the only exceptions, both of them having volunteered to take a protective role in the mission, just in case some stray Decepticons show up.

They pick through the rubble slowly, branching out to look for survivors. The settlement wasn’t hit directly, rather, some poorly constructed drones went off nearby and the fire spread to the settlement. There were still plenty of casualties, evident by the mangled corpses littering the ground, but there were also plenty of survivors.

“Here.” Optimus says quietly, kneeling beside a shaking femme. He carefully wraps a blanket around her shoulders, making sure not to press the fabric against any of the scratches or dents on her frame. “Please, may I take you to the ship? We have supplies, we can get you patched up.”

“I-I promised not to leave him.” She whispers, staring blankly at the offlined body of her companion.

The corpse has long since gone cold, the colours fading to a deathly gray, and its face still. That said, it’s evident that his passing was not quick, there are burns on the legs and lower abdominal plating, with energon drying on the wounds. It’s clear that they bled out, their injuries too severe to survive. His loved one, still holding his hand and timidly petting along his head, is clearly taking her promise seriously.

“And you didn’t.” He assures, slowly holding the hand that’s flitting across the cold head of her friend. “He knew you loved him, you were with him when he passed. Now it’s time to take care of you, please, he wouldn’t want you to suffer needlessly.”

For a moment, the femme offlines her optics and turns to her face away from him, a pained moan tearing from her chassis. Whether it’s the shock wearing off and the pain finally catching up to her, or if it’s that she’s finally allowing herself to feel the fear and loss she’d been suppressing for the sake of her companion, Optimus isn’t sure. But when she’s had a chance to get her venting under control, she nods and gasps, giving the unresponsive hand one last squeeze before letting him help her to her pedes. 

“Watch your step.” He warns, wrapping an arm around her frame to guide her around the burned remains of the settlement.

The ship is quickly getting busier, some of the more well off survivors carrying the more injured ones to aid, his fellow autobots helping to dole out aid and care as quickly as they can. Even without his request, Prowl has seemingly taken control of the ship and has started getting things under wraps. He’s got Kup and Hound staying by the ship to wrap wounds and help bots refuel and rehydrate, while identifying some of the stronger survivors to help the weaker ones. When he sees the Prime guiding his injured femme inside the ship, he’s quick to rush over to them, nodding in greetings to her.

“Welcome.” He greets, extending his hand for her to take, sliding in on her other side to take her weight from Optimus. “Please, follow me, we’ll get you some help.”

The femme looks back at him, uncertainty on her face, and he nods at her. As abrasive as Prowl can be, he is without question one of the best when dealing with the injured or scared. His background as an enforcer has given him plenty of experience in situations where bots are injured and shaken, he’s in his element. Even Jazz, who usually can’t help but try and get a rise out of his fellow soldier, has stepped back to let him take charge.

“He’ll take care of you.” He promises, readjusting the blanket on her shoulders. 

She nods, leaning fully on Prowl and letting him lead her away and into the crowd. As soon as he’s sure she isn’t about to collapse, he turns back to the ruins and goes back out for another look around. 

Despite the fact that there are survivors and that’s a blessed novelty among settlements hit by weaponry, there aren’t many. Even though his Autobots have only just arrived, they’ve already rounded up the visible majority of the survivors, the ones well enough to be sitting or standing upright. Now they’re looking for ones who may be trapped or otherwise unable to call for help.

Optimus lowers himself to his knees, using his wrist-mounted light to peek into a burned out shack, checking for any signs of life. He finds the charred remains of a chest, its contents have burned to ash but its thicker, more resilient metal frame is barely standing. A few more feet away is a hole in the wall, through which he can see Ultra Magnus going through the same motions.

The taller bot is having very similar struggles, a good portion of the buildings are partially or totally collapsed, meaning they have to search the smaller caves that have been created by fallen walls and roofs. It’s hard for them to push their way in without causing further damage to the shelters and any potential survivors inside. It's an issue a lot of them are having, really, the only two who aren’t struggling are Elita and Jazz, the smallest of them. Were it not for the tragedy of the situation, he’s sure they’d be teasing the rest of them about it.

As they continue to search, finding only the dead or dying, morale starts to drop. More than once, he finds his friends crouched beside a shivering bot, vents coming short and fast as their spark dims until it finally snuffs out permanently. More than once, he’s in that position, holding hands and offering comfort in a stranger's final moments. The further out of the centre of the settlement they venture, the further apart the shelters get and the fewer bots they find. With a sigh, Optimus lowers himself to his knee once again, taking off his supply satchel, and pokes his light and head into a shelter.

“Hello? Is anybody here?” He asks.

The only response he gets is the quiet drip-drip-dripping of oil leaking through the cracks of the ruined cupboards. Whether their contents were damaged in the crisis or if scavenging creatures got into it in the days after, he doesn’t care. There isn’t anyone here.

He groans and he backs himself up, his knees twinging in pain after so much time on rough ground. His whole body is starting to ache, exhaustion setting in after so many hours of searching and offering aid. Optimus reaches a hand up, rubbing at the back of his neck to try and ease some of that strain, and then turns back to grab his bag.

Which is not where he left it. It’s still close by, but it’s been dragged a few feet and its contents have been ruffled through and spilled out onto the ground. Curious.

He comms the rest of his Autobots, warning them of what he found. Chances are, it’s an animal that’s desperate enough to approach. If it were a Decepticon, they’d have attacked by now but they can’t be too careful. 

“Hello?” He calls, checking his supplies. For the most part, other than being pulled out of place, everything is accounted for except for a blanket. He even double counts to make sure he hasn’t made a mistake. “Are you there?”

He stands up slowly, tucking the bag against his side and starting to look around the rubble nearby. He doubts an animal would take a blanket when there’s energon right there, though it’s odd that another bot wouldn’t just take the bag. Perhaps it is a Decepticon, one that’s injured and has been left to die by their comrades. Or someone who’s scared and isn’t willing to approach, one with a unique ability that helps them hide, like Skywarp and his ability to teleport, or the Illusion family and their perception altering powers. 

“You aren’t in trouble.” He assures. “We’re just here to help, I have things here to help you.”

He keeps stepping carefully, audials peeled for any warning of another bot nearby, one he perhaps can’t see but is there nonetheless. He reaches into the bag slowly, pulling out a small cube of energon, holding it away from his frame like an offering.

“Do you need fuel?” He asks, looking around. “I have energon here, if you need some.”

Behind him, there's a scattering of pebbles behind him and he stiffens, turning just in time to see a small red form dart behind a collapsed shelter. Too big to be a Turbo Fox but way too small to be a bot. Curious.

“Hello there.” He greets, cautiously approaching the shelter and comming Jazz to let him know he needs help. “My name is Optimus, I’m here to help.”

He has to fold himself pretty tight to poke his head into the ruins of the shelter, only able to see little red legs squirming out of a hole on the other side. He curses quietly, pulling back and standing up, watching what appears to be a sparkling running away, folded blanket held tightly in his grip.

“By Primus.” He gasps, abandoning the quiet approach he’d been taking to run after the bitlet. “Hey! Come back!” 

The youngling doesn’t turn around, if anything, it runs faster. Despite his larger frame, the little bot has quite the advantage, it can scurry around the shelters and ruins faster than Optimus can step around them. Still, he has longer legs and he’s gaining ground quickly.

“Wait!” He calls, making a grab for the little one. 

His fingers brush the metal of his arm and the sparkling squeals in fear, throwing itself erratically to the side to get away from him. The sparkling runs to a makeshift den, made from Cyberthornwood and old skids, it’s not near the main settlement at all and if he hadn’t been led here, he wouldn’t have thought to look for it. The den looks like a random pile of scraps, but there’s a sparkling hiding in it.

“Hey.” He calls, pinging Jazz and Ironhide to assist him. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Jazz comms him back, letting him know he’s approaching his location and bringing Ultra Magnus with him. Ironhide is in view, circling around to the opposite side of the shelter to contain their runner.

“I promise, I’m not here to hurt you.” He says to the den, placing the energon cube at the entrance where the sparkling disappeared, hoping they’ll take it. “I just want to help you. My friends and I can take you somewhere safe.”

“What’s happening?” Jazz whispers, sneaking up beside him.

“There's a sparkling in there.” He whispers back, pointing at the fort. 

“A sparkling?” Ultra Magnus asks. “Are you sure?”

“Maybe it’s a shifter bot?” Jazz suggests.

It’s not an unjust assumption. The sparkwell has almost entirely stopped creating new sparks, the damage the war is causing the planet has made it nearly impossible for it to produce new sparks. Of the few that have been created, that they know of, even fewer have survived for very long, too weak to live. The only living sparklings most of them have seen in recent vorns is Hot Rod. Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe.

But this is definitely a sparkling, he doubts a shifter bot would stay as such a small creature instead of turning into something else that might give it an advantage. 

“I know what I saw.” He says, beckoning for them to get ready. “And we need to get them out of here, they can’t stay here.” 

Jazz still doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t protest, he just nods in show of support.

“What do you need from us?” He asks.

“I need you and Ultra Magnus to cover the sides, I’m going to lift up that skid and they may run.” He says.

Jazz and Ultra Magnus nod, splitting up and getting into position. Slowly, Optimus leans towards the little shelter, shining his light into the dark crevice.

“Hello little one. I know you’re scared but I promise, we’re just here to help.” He relays in what he hopes is a soothing tone. “We need to make sure you aren’t injured, I need you to come out or I’m going to lift up your roof.”

The four of them wait with baited vents, hoping for the sparkling to crawl out. Even just a little hand grabbing the energon cube at the entrance would settle Optimus’s nerves a bit, but nothing happens. With a sigh, he nods to Jazz and Magnus, who get ready to catch any running bitlets.

Carefully, making sure he isn’t dropping anything onto the sparkling, Optimus lifts the skid off the top of the den and sets it aside. Then, he pulls back the various sheets of walling and debris, revealing the small cave. 

And it’s two inhabitants.

“Holy frag.” Jazz gasps. 

The red sparkling is there, screeching at the intrusion and throwing bits of garbage at Optimus, its little antenna flattened against its head while it tries to pull some cover back over them. The other inhabitant, also a sparkling, is even smaller than the red one and while its sibling is loud and aggressive, this one hasn’t even seemed to notice that anyone else is there. The smaller one is dull gray and yellow and is curled up into a tight ball, antenna limp near its head.

“Holy frag hold frag holy frag.” Jazz repeats, swatting his own arm.

“Primus above.” Magnus whispers.

Optimus is shocked into silence, the odds of finding a sparkling are so low, and here they have two of them. He dips down, hand extended to examine the yellow sparkling when the red one slaps at him.

“Leav’im lone!” They demand, trembling in fear and likely hunger. “No!”

“You’re okay, you’re okay!” He assures, pulling his hand back. 

The blanket the red one had taken is partially out of its packaging, clearly, that’s what they’d been trying to do when Optimus and his friends had been plotting on how to get them out. Both sparklings are shaking and while Optimus wouldn’t call the temperature cold by his standards, he’s a grown bot that’s been relatively well fed for the part few vorns. These are little bitties and they’ve clearly missed a few refuelings. 

“Here.” He offers, pulling a fresh blanket from his bag, removing it from its package, and unfolding it. “Are you cold?”

Their little red sparkling glares at the extended blanket, watching for any signs of trickery, then snatches it from Optimus’s hand and leaps back. Ironhide chuckles from behind the bitlets, face alight with humour, amused at the antics of the young ones. Optimus smiles reassuringly, watching the small one tuck the blanket in around their yellow companion.

“Is that your sibling?” He asks, scooting closer.

“Go way.” The sparkling requests, sitting beside the yellow bot. 

“I’m afraid we can’t do that.” He apologises, “You two aren’t safe here, we need to bring you with us.” 

“No.” They declare, trying to pull their sibling further away from the bigger bots.

“Yes. But I promise, you’ll be safe. We can get you both fed and you can sleep in a warm berth.” He says, watching Magnus prepare to catch the red one if it runs. “Your friend is clearly tired, they need a warmer home.”

The prospect of helping the other bitty seems to warm the red one up to the idea of going with them, it turns to look at the smaller bot and its dull colours. Even with the addition of the blanket, the yellow sparkling hasn’t stopped shivering and it still hasn’t responded to their presence yet. There’s a part of Optimus that wants to just scoop the little ones up and take them to the ship, since it’s obvious that they both need help, but he knows that doing that will only scare the young ones more, so he resists the urge.

“What is your designation?” He asks. “I’m Optimus Prime, but my friends call me Optimus.” 

“I’m C one three nine.” The red one introduces, slight lisp in his voice. “He’s B.”

“B what?” Optimus asks. 

“Uh. B, B two seven.” C-139 stammers, confusion colouring his facial features.

Evidently, little C-139 doesn’t know B’s full designation. That’s not really surprising, both of them are so young and the probability of their caretakers being alive is slim. It’s possible that they’ve been on their own before C committed B’s full designation to his memory files. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” He smiles, pulling out another blanket from his bag. 

The tentative truce they’ve built means C doesn’t snatch this blanket but he’s still clearly uncomfortable being so close to him. Even though his brother has one blanket already, C tucks the second one around B instead of himself. 

“Can I take you back to our ship?” He asks, opening his arms. “We can get your brother some help.”

“Stay together.” C mumbles, grabbing his brother's pede.

“We won’t keep you two apart, I promise.” He says. “Let us take care of you.”

C stares up at him, his optics unsure and nervous, looking at Optimus like he’s weighing his options. The wind blows a little harder, the chill cutting through the makeshift walls of the den and both sparklings shudder at the cold. That seems to settle it for C, because he nods and clings to B.

Optimus is fairly certain Jazz is crying when he scoops up the sparklings. He lifts B first, checking to see how awake the little one is. He’s not very responsive, not responding when Optimus calls his name but he does squeak when the bigger bot accidentally squishes his door wings and his optics online, cloudy and dull, but still functional.

“Hello little one.” He greets, pressing the bitlet against his chassis.

He scoops up C next, both bitties hugged to his chassis, easily fitting in one arm so he can use the other one to pull himself up to stand. Ironhide rushes to steady him while Jazz trips over himself to pull out a blanket from his own bag, tucking it around both sparklings. Ultra Magnus stares at them for a klik and then runs off towards the ship, likely to warn the bots there about the incoming arrivals. 

The walk back is brisk but cautious, B squeaks in discomfort if Optimus is too clumsy and moves too fast, which slows them down. C squirms throughout the walk, always trying to look around at his passing surroundings while his sibling has pressed himself against Optimus as snug as he can to leech his heat. Ironhide keeps close to Optimus, a small blaster held tightly in his hand and prepared to fight if something comes out to try and harm the bitties. 

The hush that falls over the survivors when they see Optimus with the sparklings is awe inspiring. Even the most injured of them are quiet, staring at the little ones in his arms and some of the less injured are cautiously approaching, trying to get a better look. C does not like that, he keeps squirming in Optimus’s hold and glaring at the bots getting too close for his comfort. B is mostly unaware, now that the ground has evened out and his ride isn’t so bumpy, he’s stopped squeaking and has gone back to dozing.

“Give them some space.” Ironhide scolds, stepping between Optimus and an older mech that’s getting too close. “They’re scared enough as is, let them vent.”

“I’m gonna call Ratchet.” Jazz whispers, still not tearing his optics from the sparklings. “I don’t know if we have any sparkling approved supplies here.”

“That’s a good idea.” Optimus nods, “We’ll pull out soon, as soon as everyone is back in the ship.”

Jazz nods, gives C one last wave, and then turns to call Ratchet. The medic hadn’t come with them, he’s one of their only medical officers and he has the most experience, they can’t risk him being hurt or worse taking him out of the base. Instead, all of them have undergone some intensive emergency aid training from him so they can stabilize the injured and sick enough to transport them back to base for Ratchet to tend to. Even though it’s a decision Optimus will stand behind, for the safety of their medical officers and his friend, he’d feel a lot better if the doctor was here. 

The ship shakes as it takes off, making B start squeaking again. C shrieks in shock, his hands gripping at the blanket Jazz had tucked around him and his brother. Optimus lets his engine rumble strongly, sitting in a chair to hold the bitlets closer to him, trying to soothe them.

“You’re alright, it’s just the engines getting us off the ground.” He says gently, cupping the back of C-139’s head to comfort him. “We’re all safe.”

B-27 squeaks again, his antenna twitching and his face screwing up in unhappiness as the ship shudders. Optimus adjusts them, tucking both of them under his chin and pulling the blanket up to his shoulders, creating a small, dark space for them to relax, letting his engines run louder to create a purring noise in his chassis. That’s something that always settles Hot Rod when he’s upset and he’s hopeful that it’ll do the same for these sparklings. 

C is quick to adjust to the ship being in the air, he’s still uncomfortable and vigilant, but Optimus will write that off as a symptom of all the change he’s enduring. B doesn’t settle, whether it’s the slight turbulence or the noise of the crowd, Optimus isn’t sure, but he’s unhappy and won’t be soothed.

“Here.” Jazz calls, beckoning him into the cockpit. “Ratchet’s on the line.”

This ship is too old to have a proper holo-phone, so they’re audio only. They'd chosen this ship because it had more than enough space for survivors and supplies and because it was steady enough to not aggravate injuries, but it’s certainly not luxurious by any stretch. Still, he trusts that his CMO will be able to work with the unfortunate circumstances. 

“Optimus.” Ratchet greets, voice curt. “I hear you have some special cargo.”

“I do, two of them.” He confirms, taking a seat in the free spot.

C stares at the speaker, head tilted inquisitively, and Optimus makes sure he isn’t about to try and grab at it. 

“What types are they?” Ratchet asks, “Have you catalogued any injuries?”

“One is a grounder and I think the other is too.” He says, looking over the two in his arms. “The smaller one isn’t very awake.”

Ratchet hums into the speaker and Optimus can hear him typing away on his datapad.

“But there are no injuries you can see?” His CMO asks finally.

“No big ones. Some dents and scrapes, both of them could certainly go for a meal.” He says.

“And you said one isn’t very awake?” Ratchet confirms.

“Yes, his optics are online and he squeaks when he’s bothered, but he hasn’t really moved and he hasn’t spoken.” Optimus relays, rubbing a circle with his thumb on B’s back.

“Okay. Take an energon pad, cut out a patch about the size of your pinkie pad, and stick it to his armour.” Ratchet instructs. “If the other one is more alert, they can have a little bit of energon, but not too much, we don’t need to shock his system.”

Jazz fishes an energon pad and a pair of first aid scissors out of his bag, cutting a small corner off it. Still holding the little ones, Optimus lends his hand to Jazz to be measured, then helps his friend stick it to B-27s back plate. 

“Keep an eye out for any loss of consciousness, vomiting, or sudden pain.” Ratchet warns, “Other than that, just keep them warm until landing and I’ll check them out.”

“Of course, thank you, my friend.” Optimus smiles.

“Anytime. And don’t hesitate to call me back if you have questions.” Ratchet insists. “We can’t be too careful with sparklings.”

“No, we can’t.” Jazz agrees, tracing his finger over B’s exposed door wing. “Lil’bitties.”

“At our current speed, we should be there within the joor.” Optimus says. “I’ll comm you before we land.” 

“Excellent, I’ll see you soon.” Ratchet says and Optimus can practically see him nodding at his datapad, and then the other end of the speaker goes dead.

Jazz doesn’t even seem to notice that Ratchet has signed off, having finally worked up the courage to get closer to the yellow sparkling. So far, he’s not gathered the gears to properly hold him, the way he would with Hot Rod, but he’s tracing the edge of his door wing and twitching his own. If it weren’t for the fact that it would freak C-139 out, Optimus would offer B to Jazz to hold.

The four of them hang out in the cockpit, away from the rest of the bots. Mostly, Optimus is trying not to overwhelm the little ones, he knows that they need rest after everything they’ve been through and they won’t get that if they’re being stared at in the carrier part of the ship. He’s also worried about them catching something from the other bots, they’re small and B isn’t very strong, even a venting cough could be fatal to one so weak. Besides, the ship runs on auto pilot anyway, so it’s not like they’re disrupting a pilot.

“Do you need fuel?” Optimus asks, breaking a small piece off an energon cube and offering it to C.

The sparkling sniffs at the piece and then crinkles the edges of his optics, turning away from it and snuggling against his brother. That concerns him, both bots are scrawny, they haven’t got a lot of bulk to them, they should both be desperate for fuel. He’s wishing he could will the ship to go faster.

~~~

The base is jumping with activity as they all pile out, Optimus and Jazz last, the sparklings still held in Optimus’s arms. The medical officers are run off their pedes, sending various bots to get tests, buffing out dents, and soldering on patches over deeper injuries. Still, even with the chaos, Ratchet finds them easily, grabbing Optimus’s upper arm and pulling him towards his private office and away from the crowd.

Once inside, he nods to the small exam table he’s dragged into his office, opening up his supply bag to pull out what he’ll need. 

“Put them on the table.” He orders.

C sits on the table, arms wrapped around his knees while B lays on it, still unaware and unmoving. Ratchet shoves him to the side, pulling a stool over to the exam table to sit while he looks over his patients. First, to B’s squeaks of protest, he peels away the blankets from the sparkling, mumbling words of comfort under his breath while he does so.

“I know, you’re cold, aren’t you?” Ratchet asks, voice softer than Optimus has ever heard. “It’s just for a little bit, then we’ll get you a good hot oil bath and a warm berth.”

The doctor checks B first, pressing a stethoscope to his tiny chassis to listen to his spark pattern and venting, then he pulls the sparklings limbs back, exposing his abdomen to listen to that too. Of course, B squeaks again, louder and sharper this time, coolant welling up in his optics at the obvious pain.

“Ratchet.” Optimus mutters, tempted to snatch the bitty up and comfort him.

“I know, but it needs to be done.” Ratchet responds, pressing the circle to the Sparkling’s stomach. “If something is wrong with his absorption system, it’s better to know now than later.”

That has him biting his derma but he doesn’t protest any further. Ratchet is right, of course he is, Primus only knows how long these two have been on their own, surviving off whatever they could find. Little B has barely moved since Optimus has seen him. If he’s injured or has some sort of illness, it’s of the utmost importance that they know now so they can treat it. 

That doesn’t mean his spark doesn’t twist painfully in his chassis when B squeals in protest when Ratchet keeps him from curling back up. The bitlet is openly crying now, door wings pulled close to his back and his antenna flattened to his helm, his vents coming erratically and painfully as he sobs.

“You’re okay, almost done.” Ratchet promises, flipping the youngling over onto his stomach so he can press the stethoscope to his back. “Just a little longer.”

C growls and slaps at Ratchet, his own little antenna twitching in anger. Again, he’s playing the role of protector to his smaller brother. Optimus lets a comforting purr rumble from his chassis, scooping C up from the table to keep him from interfering.

“Stop! You’re hurting’im!” The red sparkling shouts, swinging aggressively at the doctor, even though he can’t reach.

“No, he’s just examining him.” Optimus corrects, rubbing his back. “B’s just a little tender right now.”

That doesn’t settle C in the slightest, he keeps whining and reaching for his brother until Ratchet finally finishes listening to the smaller bots insides and lets him curl back into his little ball. B keeps squeaking even after Ratchet has stopped holding him, his frame shivering as he whimpers in discomfort and cold. Jazz hums from his claimed spot by the desk, rushing in to try and tuck the blanket around him again, only for Ratchet to shoo him away.

“I’m not done.” The medic scolds.

The older bot lifts B up into his arms, settling him onto his back the way Optimus had him earlier and starts examining his senses. He sticks a thermometer in his mouth to get his temperature and while he waits for that, he examines his optics, audials, and nasal cavities. He also teases his antenna with a swab until they twitch, the sparklings door wings fluttering at the stimulation. That examination is much more bearable for the bitlet and as he seems prone to doing, B settles down easily, his optics trailing Ratchet’s hand to follow along with what he’s doing. Once he’s done, Ratchet peels off the spent energon pad and drops it into the trash chute, grabbing a fresh one and applying it to his back.

“There we go little one, you’re all finished.” He announces to the bitty. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

B squeaks and all the mechs laugh, the yellow bitlet ogling Ratchet while he’s rewrapped and handed back to Optimus. The leader of the Autobots carefully takes the little one and sets C down for his examination, holding B against his chassis.

C’s exam goes over much easier than his brothers, he’s more mobile, so Ratchet tests the reflexes of his elbow and knee joints. He also listens to both his chassis and abdomen, having the sparkling hum or making noise so he can hear how his inner systems are functioning. Since he’s also verbal, Ratchet has him identify some shapes that he’s drawn on the datapad. Even with the extra tests, his exam is over quickly and Optimus soon has two sparklings back in his arms.

“How are they?” He asks.

“They’re resilient, I’ll give them that.” Ratchet declares, wiping down the table. “Both of them have mites, but that’s easy to take care of. I’ll give you the proper treatment in a second, it’s not complicated. I want our little yellow friend back tomorrow, I want to see if he’ll uncurl by himself or if he’s going to need help. Other than that, there isn’t anything wrong with them that some good fuelings, proper living conditions, and attention won’t solve.”

That’s a relief, it’s a massive weight off Optimus’s shoulders. He’d been worried, with how still and quiet B-27 was, that he may be sick or worse. But if all he needs is a little special care, a few rounds in a medicated bath, and some fuel, that’s better than he could have hoped. 

“How old are they?” Jazz asks, still banished to the other side of the desk.

“Well, that’s a little tricky. I’d say little red is around fifteen vorns, he’s on the smaller side but it’s easy enough to guess why that might be.” Ratchet says, tracing a finger over B’s head. “This guy’s a little harder. His size, denta development, and muscle development would suggest he’s two vorns at most, but his spark pattern and antenna sensitivity would put him at around nine vorns. However, both of those things would be impacted by the stress and scarcity he’s been living in. His denta, size, and muscle would be stunted by that while his spark pattern and antenna sensitivity would be accelerated. I’d guess he’s probably around four or five vorns old.”

Well that is curious. And confusing. Those estimations mean C-139 was likely born right at the start of the war while B-27 was born into it, two innocent sparklings who have never known true peace.

“Oh little ones.” He mumbles, his chassis constricting painfully.

What do they know about their world? Hunger? Fear? The constant stress of their lives coming to an abrupt end, caught in the crossfire of a conflict they can’t possibly understand? Still, despite that, they’re alive. They’re relatively okay and they’ll bounce back. 

Optimus will of course have bots looking for any living relatives the sparklings may have but he’s selfishly hoping that they’ll stay with him. He can imagine the two of them playing with Hot Rod, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker, running around the base and dragging the soldiers into their games. Primus knows, Hot Rod would certainly appreciate having two more playmates closer to his own age.

He’s torn out of his thoughts by Ratchet pressing a packet into his hands, the powdery substance inside making a shhft noise in its confines. C looks at it curiously, antenna twitching in interest and Optimus makes sure he keeps it out of his reach.

“Go get them into a hot oil bath.” Ratched instructs. “Add a handful of that to the oil before you put them in, and they’ll need a bath with that once a cycle until it’s gone. We’ll check after to make sure the mites are gone.”

“Of course.” Optimus nods, committing the instructions to memory.

“While you do that, Jazz and I will make a berth for them. Little red may be big enough for a typical berth but little yellow will need a crib for a while.” Ratchet continues. 

“Thank you. Are you ready for a nice bath, little ones?” Optimus asks, addressing the younglings. “I’m sure it will make you feel better.”

B just yawns in response, his optics flickering and his head heavy. Poor thing, only the stars know how long it's been since either bitlet had a proper berth to sleep in, and this cycle has been trying on them both. It wouldn't surprise him if both of them fell asleep in the tub and had to be carried to bed after.

The base is still busy as he walks to his chamber, grateful once again that he’d allowed Prowl to talk him into taking one of the few quarters with a private washroom. It’s certainly come in handy since Hot Rod arrived and it’s about to be useful again, hopefully the quiet of his private sleeping chamber will make it easier for the little ones to fall asleep.

“Sire sire!” Hot Rod shrieks, throwing himself at Optimus’s legs as soon as the door opens.

Well, relatively quiet. Primus knows his son can be quite the trouble maker. Though Optimus is confident that the little red and orange bot will do his best to curb his enthusiasm when he sees how the younger bots need to rest. 

“Hello, my dear spark.” Optimus greets, carefully lowering himself enough to embrace his sparkling in his free arm.

“I missed you.” Hot Rod mumbles, nuzzling against his neck, clinging to him.

“I missed you too, I’m so glad to see you again.” Optimus returns, pressing his forehead against the top of Hot Rod’s head, opening their bond enough to push the feeling of love and caring at his son. 

The bond does its work, his youngling settles down and releases his arm, allowing his sire to kneel down in front of him. 

“Hidey said you found more sparklings.” Hot Rod says, looking at the blanket wrapped bitties in his arms. “That’s them?”

“It is.” He nods, pulling the blanket down so Hot Rod can get a better look at them. “The red one is C-139 and the yellow one is B-27.”

“They have boring names.” Hot Rod declares.

Optimus flicks his antenna sternly, making the sensitive metal twitch. He knows Hot Rod is still at the age where he can still be blunt, but that doesn’t mean he won’t correct him if he’s too harsh.

“They’re just little, dear spark. They aren’t old enough to have proper names.” He explains. “They’ll earn their names in their own time.” 

“We get to name them?” Hot Rod asks.

“Maybe. We’ll have to see if they have any family that can take them, but if not, they’ll of course be welcome to stay with us.” He nods.

Hot Rod huffs, puffing up his chassis and standing up straight. 

“I can be their leader.” He declares.

“You can be their big brother.” Optimus laughs, putting his large hand over Hot Rod’s head to lightly push it down.

“Same thing, Hidey said so.” Hot Rod giggles.

He’ll have to have a talk with Ironhide later, he can’t have his son growing up thinking being a big brother means being their leader. He suspects he’ll end up becoming one anyway, given his personality, but he can’t be entitled to it, he’ll still have to earn it. 

“B-27 is tired.” Hot Rod announces, pointing at the smaller bitty, who’s yawning again.

“Yes, they both are, they’ve had a very long cycle.” Optimus agrees. “I just need to give them a bath and then they’ll be ready to sleep. Ratchet and Jazz should be by soon with a Berth for them.”

“They can share my berth!” Hot Rod offers, following his sire to the washroom.

He chuckles, kneeling again by the tub and turning on the tap, steaming oil pouring out of the faucet and into the tub. Hot Rod stands beside him, bouncing excitedly on the digits of his pedes. 

“That’s a very kind offer, dear spark, but it won’t be necessary.” He says, unwrapping the medicine and putting a handful into the bath, stirring the contents up with his hand. "They need their own space."

“They have to sleep alone? What if they get lonely?” Hot Rod asks, optics blown wide. “They won’t have anyone to hold them!”

“They’ll still be in here with us, little one, they just need their own berth.” Optimus soothes, ushering Hot Rod in close to bump their foreheads together. “They won’t get lonely.”

Hot Rod doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, his fist clutching at Optimus’s arm while his sire unwraps the younger bots to lower them into the oil bath. B-27 squeaks at the oil covering his frame, onlining his optics to take in the new place he was in. C-139 clings to the edge, unsure about the bath but he doesn’t protest when Optimus grabs a scrub brush and starts getting the grime out from his joints and crevices. B is too little to be left alone, he’s not able to keep his face above the oil, but Hot Rod is happy to hold him under the arms so he doesn’t drown. 

“Bitty B, bitty B.” Hot Rod sings, bouncing the bitty in the oil.

“Gentle.” Optimus reminds him, “He’s still tired, remember?”

“But this is what bitties like.” Hot Rod explains, as if he’s ever seen another sparkling this young. “Jazz and I saw it in a show.”

“That may be, but he’s not feeling very well, he may want to just be still for a bit.” He nods. 

It’s easier to give a little bit of leeway with his sparkling, Optimus has learned. Especially when he’s not trying to be naughty, it gives him more confidence to help or learn. Besides, he’s sure that when B-27 is feeling better, he’ll probably enjoy something like this, the older sparkling playing with him like that. That doesn’t mean Hot Rod doesn’t pout while he stills B in the oil, sticking his little glossa out in protest. 

“Alright you,” Optimus smiles, rinsing C-139 off. “You’re all done.”

C mumbles sleepily, the hot oil settling both bitties nicely. The red sparkling leans against the wall of the tub, optics flickering lazily while Optimus takes his brother from Hot Rod and starts scrubbing him down. It’s harder to clean off the yellow sparkling, he still hasn’t uncurled and he whines in protest when Optimus tries to make him relax enough to stretch out. And of course, as soon as his brother starts sniffling like he’s about to cry again, C gets defensive.

“He doesn’t like that!” The red sparkling scolds, trying to push Optimus’s hand away from his brother.

“I know, but I need to get him cleaned off.” Optimus nods sympathetically, dodging the little hands. “He’ll feel a lot better once he’s clean.”

B chooses that moment to shriek in protest, his door wings fluttering unhappily while he shifts in Optimus’s hold. The Prime is barely touching him with the scrub brush, the soft side of it just brushing against the lowest point of his neck, and the bitty is incredibly upset. Which is upsetting C.

“Don’t!” C-139 screams, splashing at Optimus with his hand.

“Hey!” Hot Rod scowls, dipping his own hand in the oil and throwing a wave of it at C. “Don’t do that!”

The oil to the face doesn’t bother C but B gets caught in the center of it, oil getting in his mouth and nose and he starts coughing, even more upset than he already was. C snarls, antenna flicking back against his helm and he throws himself across the tub at Hot Rod, grabbing at his face to try and drag him into the bath with him.

“Knock it off, both of you!” Optimus snaps, lifting B up and cradling him against his chassis, while he uses his other hand to separate the fighting sparklings. “Hot Rod! You know better than that!”

“He splashed you!” Hot Rod complains, shoving C.

“I’m a big bot Hot Rod, I’m fine, there was no need to do that.” He scolds, still trying to sooth B. “You could have hurt C and you did hurt B. What if you’d gotten oil in B-27’s optics? He’s already uncomfortable in the bath, do you think that’d make him like it more?”

“No.” Hot Rod mumbles, shifting from pede to pede. 

“No.” Optimus agrees, patting B on the back, listening to the little bot hiccup and sniffle. 

C has pressed himself against the wall of the tub, optics wide with fear, looking up at Optimus. No wonder he’s scared, he’s little and Optimus is big and scary and he hasn’t raised his voice for the few joors C’s known him. Plus, to make it even worse, Optimus now has his brother up and out of reach.

“You’re okay, you’re all okay.” He soothes, catching C under the legs to lift him out of the back and up to his chassis with his brother. He ignores the oil dripping on him, if the bitties need a moment to settle down, he can live with it. “Deep vents, it’s alright.”

Hot Rod shifts closer to his sire, optics flickering up at Optimus until an arm is extended and he can press himself in close. C and Hot Rod have forgotten their fight, Hot Rod is snuggling against his sire while C is clumsily patting B on the back to relax him.

“Well, isn’t this a sweet sight.” Jazz comments, the spy standing at the doorway. “Little cuties.”

“Hey Jazz.” He greets, nodding to his friend.

“Everything okay?” Jazz asks, taking in how sullen the sparklings are.

“We’ve run into a little bit of a snag.” He confesses. “B-27 isn’t the biggest fan of the scrub brush.”

He leaves out the part about Hot Rod and C-139 fighting, that’s not really that important. If they were still fighting, he might, but they aren’t so there’s no sense harping on it. 

“But baths are so fun!” Jazz coos, reaching over to tap B on the nose. “Lots and lots of fun!” 

B-27 doesn’t respond, still sniffling while Optimus holds him. 

“We’ve brought a berth for the new ones.” Jazz says. “Why don’t I take C and Hot Rod to set that up, if C’s all cleaned up, and that leaves you to focus on bitty B here.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Optimus sighs, letting Jazz take C-139 into his own arms. 

“B!” C-139 whines, reaching for his brother.

“He’ll follow us soon.” Jazz promises, ushering Hot Rod along with him. “We’re gonna make sure your berth is super duper comfy so you two can recharge nicely.”

“I promise, I will take care of him.” Optimus assures, angling the littlest sparkling so his brother can see him clearly. “We’ll be right out.”

From what he knows about C and his personality, he doubts this would usually fly with him. But the sparkling is exhausted, he’s been running on empty for so long, now that he has properly grown bots to care for him and his brother, it’s like he’s finally running out of steam.

“Okay.” He mumbles, settling into Jazz’s arms.

The sparkling stares at him until Jazz rounds the corner into the main room and they’re out of sight. That leaves Optimus and B-27 alone, the weaker of the two sparklings finally getting his undivided attention.

“Alright little one, let’s try this again.” He says, lowering B-27 back into the oil.

Rather than start with the scrub brush right away, he takes a moment to run his fingers over the sparkling’s body, applying a little extra pressure around his seams and joints. He cups the oil with his free hand and carefully pours it over B, letting the youngling get comfortable with the contact before he grabs the brush. B still whines when the brush starts working against the grime, squeaking at Optimus while he works and Optimus rumbles in response, talking to the little one while he works. 

“I know, we’re not a fan of this. But it’ll start to feel better soon.” He assures, leaning over the edge of the tub in a very uncomfortable way to hold the small body closer to him while still keeping him in the oil. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

Thankfully, now that he doesn’t have Hot Rod and C making things louder, B doesn’t melt down completely. He’s still sniffling and squeaking, letting his discomfort be known as the brush wipes away deca-cycles worth of grit out from between his plating. Optimus keeps mumbling to him, his engines running louder so the sparkling can hear it, and steadily works his way over the bitty’s body. It’s harder to clean off B-27 than it was to clean off C-139, simply because he’s curled up so tightly, but he manages, until his dusty yellow frame returns to a Tron-duck yellow. Just looking at the colouring closest to his optics and chassis, Optimus would guess that his colouring will get more vibrant as he recovers. 

“There, all done!” He coos, cupping oil over the sparkling’s body again to rinse him off. “All squeaky clean.”

B squeaks and blinks his optics at him, antenna flicking. Optimus flicks his antenna back, smiling as B’s face breaks into a smile. He’s smiling while he lifts the bitlet to his chassis, grabbing a towel to pat him dry, letting the bitty cuddle into his chest.

“You’re so brave! My brave little B.” He praises, nuzzling the sparkling’s head with his own. “And now we’re ready to go to your berth, all nice and warm for you!”

Jazz has finished setting up the berth for the new sparks and is now sitting on Optimus’s berth with the bitties, one on each leg, talking to them quietly. The new berth is smaller than a typical berth would be but it’s higher up, with bars on the sides so no sparkling can accidentally roll off the edges. It also seems like every pillow and blanket the base had available has been commandeered for the crib, it’s filled with soft things, moulded into a nest of sorts. Perfect for two little sparklings to recharge in.

Once he sees B, C-139 scrambles off Jazz’s lap and rushes towards them, arms up for his brother. Optimus kneels, letting C look the younger bot over to confirm that he’s uninjured. Hot Rod follows more slowly, peeking at the bitlet in his sire’s arms with curiosity in his optics. He’s also leaning against Optimus, trying to get in for a hug, which Optimus does his best to provide.

“Are we ready for bed?” He asks, all three sparklings in his reach. 

“Story!” Hot Rod demands, grabbing at Optimus’s shoulders. “Please please please!”

“Alright alright.” He chuckles, sending his son to grab one of the storypads from his little shelf.

C-139 stares after Hot Rod as he grabs one of his stories, his little hand holding B’s as the younger of the two yawns. Optimus scoops C up, carrying him over to his berth and leaning against the headboard, Hot Rod scrambling up beside him and pushing the storypad at him.

“This one! Please!” His son begs, leaning heavily against him.

“Of course, dear spark.” He nods, adjusting Hot Rod so his sparkling is laying more comfortably against him. C squirms until he can see the storypad while B stays in the crook of Optimus’s arm, uninterested in the story and on the brink of falling into recharge. “Have we read this one before?”

“Yeah, but not for a long time.” Hot Rod says confidently. “And these guys haven’t heard it at all!”

“You’re right.” Optimus nods, making a fist and rubbing his knuckles up and down his back, right between his shoulder plates. He recognises the title, it’s a light story, perfect for sparklings C-139 and B-27’s ages. “Excellent choice.”

Hot Rod preens at the praise and Optimus can feel the pride in his son’s chassis radiating through their bond. It’s clear that his son is excited to have the younger sparks around, even if both of them are teetering on the brink of recharge right now, they’ll both be out before they get halfway through the story, without a doubt.

~~~

Optimus had been right to assume the younger sparklings wouldn’t last long, B-27 fell asleep almost immediately, still curled up while C had stayed awake a little longer, intrigued by the pictures in the storypad. Still, the exhaustion had won out eventually, pulling the little bot into recharge with his brother. 

“They’re recharging.” Hot Rod points out, almost recharging himself.

“They are.” He agrees, gently repositioning Hot Rod so he can stand with the little ones. “That’s good, they need it.”

“It’ll make them grow.” Hot Rod nods seriously, echoing what Optimus has told him many times when he’s been reluctant to go to bed.

“It will.” He confirms, laying the little ones in their berth and pulling up the sides to keep them in. “Speaking of, it’s about time for you to recharge too.”

“With you?” Hot Rod asks, reaching up for his sire.

Now that his arms aren’t full of the new sparks, Optimus can scoop his son up into a proper hug. The little bot wraps his arms around his neck and his legs around his waist, clinging tightly to him while Optimus rubs his back.

“You want to share my berth tonight?” He asks.

“Yes please.”

“I think we can make that happen.” He nods, bumping his helm against Hot Rods. “I may have to go talk to the others first, but I can get you settled before I go and then come back and join you.”

“We’ll be fine for the night.” Jazz assures, startling Optimus as he emerges from the corner he’s been hiding in.

“Primus, have you been here the whole time?” He asks, surprised he didn’t notice that his friend hadn’t left.

“Yep. You have a good storytelling voice boss bot.” Jazz compliments. 

“Well thank you, but I still need to get a debrief from the others.” He says.

“Prowl’s already on it, you know how conjoined he is to his work.” Jazz assures. “Take care of the bitties, I’ll bring you a copy of the report next cycle.” 

“You just want an excuse to see the little ones.” Optimus teases, already settling back into the berth with Hot Rod.

“I will not be shamed for being a doting uncle.” Jazz jokes back, peeking over the bars at the sleeping bitties. “Ironhide is already plotting to give these guys shoulder rides! I need to secure my place as favourite uncle.”

“You know there isn’t any guarantee that we’ll get to keep them, right?” He asks, even though it makes his spark twist. “If they have family, we have to send them back to their family.”

“Yeah sure.” Jazz waves off, clearly not confident in the idea that the two may have a proper family out there somewhere. “Anyway, I’ll bring you the report. Don’t let Hidey in, he’s going to corrupt them.”

“You’re already Hot Rod’s favourite uncle, maybe Ironhide deserves a turn.” Optimus ponders, mostly to get a rise out of his friend. “I think Ironhide could have C-139 and Prowl can have B-27.”

Jazz gasps dramatically, folding his hands over his chassis like he’s been wounded. Hot Rod giggles at his side, laughing at his uncle’s antics.

“How dare you? Honestly Optimus, I thought we were friends, I thought you were a merciful bot. You would make a sweet little thing like B-27 endure Prowl? Prowl! He alphabetizes his shopping lists.” Jazz rambles, looking into the crib again. “Don’t worry, little bit, Uncle Jazz won’t let the tight aft bore you, no he won’t.”

“Mind your language around the little ones.” Optimus warns sternly. Hot Rod may have come to them well versed in curse words but these little ones may still be innocent.

“You think they’re gonna hang out around soldiers and not hear these words?” Jazz asks. “I know you like to look on the bright side but come on mech.”

He may have a point with that. As much as Optimus may try to keep a clean glossa in his own head, he doesn’t have much control over his mechs and femmes, and given that this is war, colourful language is more than common in their home. 

“That doesn’t mean you have to be the one to teach them.” He sighs, tugging Hot Rod in close to him, the young mechling curling up against him and offlining his optics. 

“Whatever you say. Night mech, night bitties.” Jazz shrugs, waving into the crib.

“Night uncle Jazz.” Hot Rod mumbles, snuggling against Optimus. 

His right hand mech waves back at him and then leaves, flicking the light off behind him. Carefully, not wanting to disturb his son, Optimus reclines both of them, Hot Rod still tucked under his arm and pulls the blanket up over them. His sparkling hums happily, engines rumbling under his chassis plates while his sire runs his hand up and down his back, keeping the movement up until the purring stops and his bitty is well and truly asleep. 

~~~

Optimus wakes up abruptly when something crashes in his berthroom, pulling Hot Rod tight against his chassis while he draws his cannon. His night vision engages and he looks around for whatever has broken into his chambers.

Then his audials engage and he hears crying, too high to be Hot Rod’s and he remembers that he has two other little bitties in the room with him. He sighs, feeling Hot Rod wiggle against him, the youngling confused and annoyed at being woken up so abruptly, and he lays the bitty back down on the berth so he can focus on the other two. He disengages his cannons and lets his battle mask pull back, trying to look as harmless as possible for the younger two sparklings.

B-27 is still in the berth, optics offline and barely moved from where he was when Optimus laid him in the crib the night before. C-139 is out of the berth and on the floor beside it, sniffling and crying while rubbing his scuffed head. Some of the blankets are on the floor with him too, not that he’s paying much attention to them.

“What happened bitty?” Optimus asks, kneeling in front of the sparkling and scooping him up.

“Nuffin.” C mumbles.

“Hmm, are you sure? That’s a pretty nasty bump.” Optimus observes, scanning the scuff mark on C’s head. 

“I just wanted some cube.” C confesses, “Just a little.”

“And you decided to try and climb out of your crib.” Optimus nods, standing up with the bitlet. “You should have woken me up, dear spark, I would have helped out.”

“I didn’t want to wake B.” He explains, looking at his brother.

That makes sense, the younger bot is still sleeping soundly and really, both bitties could do with more rest. Especially if they’re going to properly recover. In fact, Optimus is hoping that he can get C something to ease his fuel-need and then get him right back to recharge.

“You’re a very good big brother C.” He praises, rubbing his back. “Let's get you some fuel, alright?”

“Okay.” C agrees, flopping his arms over Optimus’s shoulder.

Optimus smiles, bouncing the bitlet in his arms a little, teasingly. Seems the little one is still tired, it shouldn’t be hard to get him some fuel and then back into the crib, or maybe the berth with him and Hot Rod, if he’s going to try and escape the crib again.

“Sire!” Hot Rod whines behind him, rushing from the berth to catch up to him.

“We’re just going to the kitchen.” He assures, putting his free hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Me too.” He insists, grabbing onto Optimus’s arm.

“Alright, alright. All three of us will go.” He agrees, guiding his son out into the hallway with him. He doesn’t need an argument that will lead to B-27 waking up, not if the bitlet is still recharging.

His internal clock reads that it’s incredibly early in the cycle, so there aren’t any other bots up in the common areas. He’s sure if he were to look, he’d find some bots training in the gym, but after the strain of yester-cycle, it probably isn’t as many as normal. It’s a bit of a blessing though, he doesn’t need a crowd of bots trying to get a look at C-139 when he’s still tired.

“Up!” Hot Rod demands, flinging his arms up at his sire.

“Pardon me?” Optimus asks, his tone bordering on scolding.

“Up please.” Hot Rod corrects, arms still up.

“Much better.” He nods, stooping to lift his son up. 

Hot Rod purrs happily, nuzzling his head against the side of his neck while they walk, his legs wrapped around his waist. C squeaks in his other arm, intrigued by the other sparklings behaviour and clinginess, which isn’t too surprising. Who knows how long it’s been since he had a caretaker to soothe him or hold him, in fact, based on his behaviour towards his brother, he’s been acting as the caretaker, something he’s much too young to take on. Hopefully, they’ll find C-139 and B-27’s caretakers and return them to their family so they can get more accustomed to this type of care.

And if they don’t find their caretakers, Optimus is certainly willing to take on that role and he’s sure the other Autobots will be happy to assist. 

“Here we go.” He announces quietly, stepping into the kitchen. 

As suspected, the kitchen is empty and dark, he has to flip on the light switch to light up the room. He sets both mechlings at the table, quickly setting up the energon enhancer to make himself a mug and filling a heater with oil to make the mechlings some hot oil. While their drinks brew, Optimus pulls some energon cubes out of the cupboard and gets to work cutting them up and sprinkling some aluminium shreds and gold dust on it for seasoning. It’s a light meal, enough to satisfy C-139’s fuel-need but not so heavy as to upset his tanks. 

Even though he’d set his son at the table, it doesn’t take long for Hot Rod to return to his side, latching onto his leg to hug him. With his hands busy, he can’t return the gesture physically, he pushes his affection through their bond, getting Hot Rod’s in return. 

“Greetings Prime.” Ironhide mumbles, shuffling into the kitchen behind him.

“Greetings Ironhide.” Optimus nods in return. “I’ve put a pot of enhancer on.”

“Hmmm this is why I follow you.” Ironhide teases sleepily, Primus knows his weapons expert isn’t a morning bot in the slightest. “Megatron would rather cut off his own hand than do anything nice for his bots.”

That didn’t used to be true. The D-16 he remembers may have been blunt and a bit jaded but he was deeply loyal and when you were in his circle, you had his full devotion. Perhaps he wouldn’t make enhancer for every bot in his command but for the few he trusted and treasured? He wouldn’t just make a pot, he’d have mugs made to their specific liking. 

The D-16 he’s fighting isn’t the D-16 he knew and loved though. No, his old friend has fallen far, too far for even him to reach anymore. Not without sacrificing so many lives. 

He has to focus on the present and the nearing future. Hot Rod deserves to mature into a world where he can know peace and prosperity, where he can go to an academy and learn whatever suits him. He deserves to grow into the young bot he’s quickly becoming with friends and hobbies, his son should be able to have interests outside of combat. C-139 and B-27 should never have been this ill, they should have been safe with their caregivers, they would have been were it not for this war. 

So he does, he shakes his head clear and pours the hot oil into mugs, guiding Hot Rod back to the table and setting the drinks in front of him and C. His son is quick to scramble into his chair and grab at his treat, blowing on it hard so he can sip it without burning his glossa. C is less sure, examining his mug for a moment before copying Hot Rod. Out of kindness for his comrade, Optimus pours Ironhide a mug of enhancer and places it in front of him, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Thank you.” Ironhide smiles, looking at the bitlets with a soft smile. “I see one and two, where’s three?”

“Still recharging, poor bitty’s exhausted.” Optimus says, dishing up the fuel for the bitlets. 

“No doubt, after all that.” Ironhide hums, “Are they well?”

“Nothing that can’t be easily fixed, thank Primus.” Optimus smiles, setting the fuel down for C and Hot Rod. 

“Lucky indeed.” Ironhide agrees. 

Now that the little ones have food, Optimus sits at the table with them and his weapons expert. Ironhide has seemingly hit his limit on conversation for the hour and has laid his head on the table with his arms crossed under it, watching Hot Rod and C-139 eat. The sparklings don’t talk much, both focused on their meals and staying awake, but he knows from the little scraping noise that Hot Rod is kicking his pedes like he always does. 

He hears another set of pedes walking towards the kitchen and C-139 straightens up, forgetting about his food so he can prepare to flee if he needs to. Hot Rod doesn’t stop eating but he does perk up to watch the door, wanting to see which member of his family is coming to join him while still satisfying his fuel-need. Ironhide hums gently, reaching over to pat C on the hand, no doubt trying for soothing but he’s a little clumsy about it, just because he’s tired, and Optimus kicks him under the table to remind him to be careful. 

“Ratchet!” Hot Rod gasps, hopping off his chair to greet the medic, arms thrown around his leg.

“Hey bitty.” Ratchet greets, patting the sparkling on the head. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah!” Hot Rod nods, letting Ratchet shoo him back to his chair so the orange and white bot can grab himself a mug of enhancer. 

“How about you, little one, did you recharge well?” Ratchet asks, addressing C-139.

“Yeah.” C answers, clearly relaxing now that he realises he recognises Ratchet. 

“Good. And I see that you are refueling, I’m glad you have an appetite.” Ratchet comments, nodding to the bitlets dish. “Has B-27 had anything to eat yet?”

“He’s still sleeping.” Optimus says with a shake of his head. 

Ratchet hums, looking up at the ceiling while he checks his internal clock, then nods when he realizes what time it is. 

“Of course, it’s still early.” Ratchet smiles, filling his mug and joining them at the table. “But do bring them to me around high-cycle, will you? I want to see how things are going.”

“Of course.” Optimus agrees, tapping his finger in front of C-139’s bowl to draw his attention back to his food. “We’ll be there.”

~~~

B-27 is awake when they return but hasn’t moved from his spot, he’s still curled up tight but he starts purring when he sees them and chirps at them. C-139 bounces excitedly at the side of the crib while Optimus lowers the bar and lifts the bitlet out, cradling him to his chassis to look him over. Hot Rod has decided that he’s ready to play, grabbing some of his blocks out of his chest to stack and knock down. 

“B!” C-139 squeaks, tugging at Optimus’s armour until the Prime sits on the berth so the youngling can climb into his lap with his brother. “Cube!”

Optimus had made a bowl of fuel for B and had brought it with them when they returned to his chamber. C has grabbed a small piece out of the bowl and is shoving it at B’s mouth, making the bitty twitch and whistle in complaint.

“Gentle.” Optimus cautions, putting his hand in the way so B doesn’t have to get fuel shoved at his face anymore. “He may not be ready to refuel yet.”

“Cube!” C repeats, trying to dodge around Optimus’s hand to keep feeding his brother.

“Why don’t we try some oil first?” He suggests, taking the energon piece from the bitlet. “Maybe that would be a good way to get him in the mindset for fuel?”

C-139, only slightly deterred, grabs the oil cup from the table and Optimus has to catch him before he dumps it all over the three of them. B squeals in excitement at the movement and C giggles with him, smiling at his brother. Hot Rod looks up from his toys, shrugging when he realises it’s not going to be anything fun, and goes back to his blocks.

“Let’s try it this way.” Optimus hums, taking the cup and shifting B-27 in his arms to be better positioned for the cup. 

B squeaks while he tries to catch his derma with the rim, gurgling when some liquid splashes up and hits his nose. Once he gets some in his mouth though, he’s drinking at a comfortable pace, swallowing mouthful after mouthful, at Optimus’s controlled speed, until the cup is half gone. He even whines when Optimus pulls the cup away, pouting as he watches it get put out of reach on the berth-side table.

“We’re just trying some of this.” Optimus assures, taking some of the energon and putting it to his derma.

B-27 hasn’t shown many signs of having control over his limbs. He twitched them a few times when he was bothered and he pulled them back to curl up again after Ratchet made him lay flat, but he hasn’t done much more than that. It would probably be wise to encourage him to feed himself, but at the moment, Optimus cares more about him actually consuming fuel than him getting it to his intake himself. They can work on that later.

Except, B-27 isn’t taking the fuel. Not properly at least. He’ll take it in his mouth and hold it for a moment, only to spit it out after a spell without chewing it at all. It doesn’t even seem like he doesn’t like the taste, it’s like he’s holding something inedible in his mouth and just gets bored with it.

“Come on, give it a little chew.” Optimus encourages, finding the smallest piece possible to feed him.

B stares at him, energon piece held in his mouth, then he smiles and spits it out.

“Has he eaten solid fuel before?” Optimus asks C, trying not to sound panicked.

“He used to.” C shrugs, picking up the lubricant-covered energon and pushing it back into B-27’s mouth. “Then he stopped.”

That’s concerning, that’s incredibly concerning. There are a lot of reasons Optimus can think of that would prevent a sparkling from eating solid energon but none of them are good. He’ll have to bump up that visit to Ratchet. 

~~~

Their Chief Medical Officer doesn’t seem bothered when Optimus brings the sparklings around early, he just nods and ushers them back into his office for privacy. 

“B-27 is having trouble eating.” Optimus states plainly, laying the sparkling on the exam table.

He’s also still refused to uncurl, but other than those two things, it seems he’s fine. He’s responsive to touch and sound, he giggles when his brother entertains him, he purrs when Optimus holds him against his chassis, he loves the oil drink, he just won’t eat or really move. The most mobile parts of him, other than his faceplates, are his antenna and doors, which flicker and buzz regularly. 

“Trouble eating, that’s not good.” Ratchet agrees, lifting C-139 up to sit on the table beside his brother. “I didn’t notice anything yester-cycle that could suggest he can’t eat, but we’ll send him for some scans to see if there’s anything internal.”

With that, their CMO comms Hoist, who’s more than happy to take the yellow bitlet to get some internal scans done. C-139 is less enthused. 

“You promised!” He shrieks at Optimus, trying to throw himself off the table. “You said we’d stay together!”

“And you are! He’s coming right back, he’s only going for a few breems, a half joor at most.” He promises. “It won’t hurt, he’s just going to lay on a table like this one to have some pictures taken!”

“He can have pictures taken here!” C insists, wailing while Hoist takes his brother away.

“We need a special camera, little one.” Ratchet explains, rubbing his back. “But he’s in good hands, Hoist is a very good medic, B-27 is safe and I’m sure he’ll come back just as happy as he was when he left.”

“And he’ll come back here, right back to you.” Optimus adds, wiping away the tears. “You’ll be right here to greet him, you can see with your own two optics that he’s okay. Ratchet is going to examine you while we wait, okay?”

“He has to come back!” C sniffles.

“He is coming back, and then I’m going to give him his exam.” Ratchet nods, putting his stethoscope to his back. 

“What would you like to do after your exams?” Optimus asks, distracting the bitlet while Ratchet checks him over. “Maybe have a little nap? We can read a story, you both seemed to like that last dark-cycle.”

C looks up at him, with overflowing optics and quivering derma, and Optimus melts a little inside, lifting the sparkling up despite Ratchet's protests and holding him to his chassis. The red bitty chokes a little and buries his face into Optimus’s shoulder to cry, his fists grabbing at his armour while he tried to settle himself down.

“Can we he-hear the s-same story?” C sniffles, hiccupping. “B f-fell ‘sleep.”

“We can read that story again.” Optimus rumbles, crouching down to make it easier for Ratchet to work. “And Hot Rod has other stories too, we can read some of those too, if you’d like.”

“Ohh, Optimus loves stories.” Ratchet adds, lightly touching the sparklings back to feel his spinal supports. “He loves reading. To himself, to bitties, he’ll read you as many stories as your little spark desires.”

Optimus snorts at Ratchet’s wicked grin, his medic teasing him to amuse the patient to make it easier for him to work. It was true though, as much as Optimus loved every aspect of his son, treasured every moment he had with him, the times he looked forward to the most were the hours they spent reading together. The archivist had always looked forward to reading with his sparklings, it’s by no means a chore. 

“And we can have cubes?” C asks, the tears starting to subside while Ratchet moves him around. 

“We most certainly can. Lots of cubes to go around.” Ratchet confirms. “Can you stand up straight for me, so I can see how tall you are?”

C-139 nods easily, though he still holds Optimus’s hand while the medic helps him to the wall to make it easier to take the measurements. He also has the bitty stand on the scale to weigh him and has him recite letters on a board to check his sight again. During the exam, C starts relaxing and enjoying the ‘game’ of reading the board, so Ratchet switches them up a few times to give him a new challenge, the bitlet is even giggling when Hoist returns with B-27 and his scans.

“B!” The older brother squeaks, reaching for his yellow sibling.

B whistles back in response, antenna flickering happily at the greeting, smiling widely when he’s set up on the table while Optimus lifts C up with him so the two can reunite. Once he’s back in reach, C wraps his arms around his brother in a clumsy hug and the two squeak at each other. While the two have a minute, Optimus, Ratchet, and Hoist speak quietly together.

“How are the scans?” Optimus asks, keeping an optic on the bitties.

“Not fantastic, not terrible.” Hoist admits, handing the scans to Ratchet. “From my view, nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Optimus’s spark is in his throat while Ratchet pins the scans to the lightboard, staring at the stills of the yellow sparking with a critical optic. Despite the first aid training he’s received, Optimus can’t keep up with what the medics are saying, too many technical terms flying over his helm and all he can do is hope the sparkling isn’t in too much pain with whatever is wrong. 

“Let me try something.” Ratchet mutters, plastering on a smile for the young ones. “Hey little bit, come here, let me get a look at you.”

If B remembers how unhappy he’d been with Ratchet the cycle before, he doesn’t seem to be holding any grudges. He’s squeaking and chirping happily when the orange and white medic lifts him up into his arms, his antenna flicking in greeting like he had with C. It seems that despite his aversion to verbal communication, the bitlet has fully embraced body language.

Ratchet coos at the bitlet, using one hand to support the little one and the other to press on the Sparklings back. With a worried eye, Optimus watches how B’s body moves compared to C’s, the yellow sparkling doesn’t doesn’t shift or react the way his brother did to the medics exam. Then, Ratchet reaches up to the part of the back where the neck structs connect to the shoulder and presses firmly, B-27’s limbs twitching and jerking before returning to his curled position. The sparkling chirps in shock, whistling his confusion at the movements his body made without his command, and Ratchet frowns sadly.

“Damn.” His old friend mumbles, rubbing B’s back soothingly.

The medic is about to give him a spark attack. It’s obvious something isn’t right with B-27 and his imagination is running away with what it could be. This sparkling has been out in the wastelands for Primus only knows how long, exposed to the elements, with only another sparkling to tend to him. There were no shortages of things that could be ailing him, fatal or otherwise. 

“Ratchet.” He asks, trying not to let C-139 hear his distress. “What is it?”

“His joints are starting to lock up.” Ratchet sighs, shifting B-27 so he can examine his intake.

Optimus is ready to start preparing a funeral when Hoist puts a big hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention.

“It’s easily treatable, it’s just going to be uncomfortable.” He assures. “That’s why he’s upset, we were hoping it would be a quicker fix, for B’s sake.” 

That sets his processor at ease a little, it certainly takes away from the fatalist route he’d been quickly falling down thinking about what could be wrong with the yellow bitty. If it’s just going to be uncomfortable, they can manage it.

“Hoist.” Ratchet calls, still checking over B-27. “Can you grab the harness for me?”

“Of course.” Hoist agrees, patting Optimus on the back and slipping out of the room.

“Here, let me explain what’s going on.” Ratchet offers, settling B-27 against his chassis and opening a drawer of his desk.

He grabs a file-pad from his stack, takes out some scans, and puts them up under B’s. 

“These are some scans we have of Hot Rod from a few mega-cycles ago.” Ratchet says. “Do you see how his joints are smooth and don’t have any fuzziness around them on his scans?”

“Yes.” Optimus acknowledges, looking between the stills.

“That’s because his joints are in good shape. They move easily and aren’t experiencing any grinding when they do. This fuzziness around B’s joints is the beginnings of rust particles forming, it’s making it hard to move his joints. That’s why it was so uncomfortable for him to have his limbs moved last cycle.” Ratchet explains, circling a finger over B’s knee joint on the scan. 

“But you can fix it?” Optimus confirms. 

“Yes, it’s an easy fix.” Ratchet nods. “We’re going to give him a shot of WD-relaxant, which will loosen up the sockets on his joints and eliminate the rust, and we’re going to put him in a corrective harness to correct the positioning of the joints.”

B gurgled happily from Ratchet’s hold, seeing Hoist returning, and the other medic gave the bitty a wide smile. It seems that B is the more trusting of the siblings by a long run.

“Hello, my little friend!” Hoist greets, waving happily at the sparkling. “Oh lucky you, getting to play with Ratchet.”

“Speak of the harness.” Ratchet nods, patting B on the back. “Once we get this on, it should stay on for a deca-cycle and then we’ll take another scan to see how things are progressing.”

“Is the joint issue keeping him from eating?” Optimus asks.

“No, his jaw is fine, it's just weak.” Ratchet said with a shake of his head, “We’ll switch to a soft fuel for now to give him time to build up his strength and he’ll be okay.”

“All things considered, this is almost ideal.” Hoist says. “He’s a fighter, he’ll pull through.”

“Will he speak?” Optimus asks.

“B doesn’t talk much.” C pipes up. 

“His vocal processor is fine, there’s no physical reason for him to not speak. Spending time around older bots that will talk to him should catch him up pretty quick. Hot Rod didn’t speak much either when we found them, neither did the twins.” Ratchet reminds, setting B on the exam table again. “Sparklings don’t learn to speak unless there’s someone around to speak to them. And as wonderful a job as C-139 did taking care of his brother, he’s just one bot, a bitty needs more than one bot to emulate.”

C shines at the praise, happy to be acknowledged for his efforts. It’s tragic that he’s had to take on such a responsibility at such a young age. 

“Speaking of, C-139, why don’t you run back to Optimus’s chambers and see if Hot Rod has any story recommendations for you?” Hoist asks. “Then Optimus can start reading to you both as soon as we’re done with B.”

As happy as he is with having been complimented for being a good big brother, C seems pretty excited to show off his skills. Excited enough to forget about his worry of leaving B alone with the big bots.

“Okay!” C agrees, bouncing in place. “I’m gonna pick a really good one!”

“I’m sure you will.” Optimus nods, opening the door for him. “I can’t wait to see what you choose.”

With that, C is rushing down the hall, leaving the three of them to address B-27. Hoist starts adjusting the harness to B’s size and needs while Ratchet prepares the shot. Unaware of the upcoming treatment, B squeaks contently when Optimus rubs his back and traces the edges of his wings.

“Alright Bitty, let’s get you taken care of.” Ratchet says, nodding to Optimus. “Just a quick pinch.”

Optimus lifts the sparkling up to his chassis and hugs him tightly, the same way he does with Hot Rod when he gets needles. Ratchet starts by wiping off a small spot on B-27’s upper arm with an ethanol pad, then pokes through the exterior of B-27’s plating with the syringe. As soon as he feels the prick, B squeals in pain and shock, shrieking when the medicine is pushed in.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” Optimus soothes, kissing his head. “Almost done.”

“Already done.” Ratchet corrects, finishing the injection and pulling out the spent needle. “So well done, such a brave bitty.”

The two of them can’t stop the crying, even when Ratchet puts a colourful plaster over the injection site, something that would soothe Hot Rod immediately, B doesn’t calm down. He keeps wailing while Optimus bounces him and whispers words of comfort to him, coughing at the force of his tears until Hoist offers him a little cup of oil to sip on.

“Such a brave little thing.” Optimus hums, wiping away the tears. “We’re so proud.”

“We are. Just one more thing and then you can go take a nap.” Hoist echos, holding up the harness.

“Set him down here.” Ratchet instructs, patting the exam table. 

B squeaks at the loss of contact when Optimus obliged, optics following him while he steps back. Ratchet nods to Hoist, the two quickly getting to work. Ratchet starts with the arms, massaging the elbow and shoulder joints to relax them as much as possible before slowly pulling them straight, Hoist quick to move in with the harness and fasten it into place. B starts shrieking again at the first arm and he doesn’t stop, only getting louder when his legs get the same treatment. By the end, the bitlet is held stiff in the harness, his arms held rigid at his sides, making him look more like a doll than a real bitty. 

“Oh sweetspark.” Optimus coos, lifting B up to his chassis again. “You’re okay, it’s okay.”

“Right now, it’s very uncomfortable.” Hoist says, face scrunched up in sympathy at the sparkling. “But it’s important that the harness not come off, a bit of discomfort now is better than a lifetime of pain if we don’t get this treated.”

“And as his joints clear up, it’ll be easier for him to move. Within a few cycles, he should be moving more, he may even crawl.” Ratchet adds. “The harness isn’t going to completely immobilize him, it just seems like it now because he’s too stiff to properly move his limbs against it.” 

B is still screaming his displeasure, fat drops of lubricant sliding down his cheeks and onto Optimus’s chassis, his door wings and antenna flicking erratically while he does so. Optimus keeps rubbing his back, swaying from side to side the way Hot Rod likes when he’s sick or hurt, his engines rumbling under his plating. 

“You’re okay.” Hoist assures the sparkling, refilling his oil cup, “Let’s try a little drink, that’ll make you feel better.”

B just screams louder when the cup is pushed near his face, refusing to take even a drop into his mouth. Ratchet smiles sadly, shaking his head at his antics. 

“Too many big emotions for his little body. He’ll tire himself out, take a nap, and be over it.” He assures, seeing how sad Optimus is at the sparklings distress. “May not even need to wait for the nap if he’s distracted with stories. Just a little patience.”

~~~

B-27 does not tire himself out. If anything, the more joors pass, the worse he gets, he cries until he’s out of lubricant to cry, then he screams. Hot Rod and C-139 have been trying with Optimus to try and soothe him, using Hot Rod’s toys and story-pads, making funny faces, and playing music, none of which is working. B cries himself into purging a few times and is refusing energon and oil, so they’re sticking with energon pads to keep him nourished. It’s very quickly breaking Optimus’s spark hearing the little sparkling so miserable, but there isn’t much to be done besides wait it out.

“Okay, you’re okay.” Optimus mumbles futilely, rubbing B’s back again. “Everything’s okay.”

They’re quickly running into another problem, it’s getting close to the time he usually puts his son to recharge, the time he’d like for C and B to be in their berths too, but no bot is going to get any rest with B carrying on like this. He’d been able to hand the late-cycle meal off to Jazz, so Hot Rod and C could refuel with him, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe while Optimus had taken his meal in his chambers with B. That’s not going to work for bedtime, he may be able to keep out of the berthroom for a while to give the bitlets time to fall into a recharge cycle but if he tries to bring B too close, his crying will wake them up.

“Come on sweetspark, it’s okay.” He coos, trying desperately to get B to settle down enough to recharge. “A bath will make you feel better, yeah? Have a nice bath?”

B responds by letting out a particularly audial-splitting shriek, obviously not on board with Optimus’s sentiment. By Primus, he’d have thought that literal joors of screaming out have gotten the bitty low enough on energy to at least quiet down, or pause to recollect. Not B-27, he’s got the stamina and the plight to keep going.

“Perhaps I’ll give you a bath separately.” He sighs.

While C-139 gets a medicated oil bath, B-27 waits in his crib, even more unhappy than he was when Optimus was holding him. Hot Rod had started off standing by the crib, trying to talk to B, but he’d lost patience quickly and come to hide near his sire. Unlike the night before, the bath has to be rushed, though at least C and Hot Rod don’t get into another scuffle.

“Story?” Hot Rod asks, trailing him while Optimus rushes to the crib to grab B. “Please sire?”

B screams again, venting so hard his little chassis is heaving and his engines are running loudly. The noise he’s making makes Hot Rod flick his antenna down against his helm, pouting unhappily. His son has been very patient today, he hasn’t lost his temper with B and his crying, but that patience is not going to last forever, especially as the dark-cycle creeps closer and bedtime approaches. 

“Let me see if I can find someone to look after B.” He says, trying not to let his own exhaustion show in his voice. 

“Okay.” Hot Rod mumbles, pouting.

The Prime stalks through the hallways, B-27 crying in his arms, looking for someone who’d be willing to take the sparkling for a quarter-joor so he can get Hot Rod and C-139 into their berths. A steep ask, considering the bitlet’s mood at present, but he still has a responsibility to the other two.

“Prowl!” He calls, seeing his second in command reading over reports at the kitchen table. “I need assistance.”

“Yes?” Prowl asks, door wings tensing at the noise B is making.

“Can you take B-27. Just for a bit?” He asks, watching the enforcers face fall. “I need to get Hot Rod and C-139 settled for recharge and they can’t rest with B crying like this.”

“Umm.” Prowl winces, obviously uncomfortable with how upset B is. “If you don’t mind my asking, do you have a plan for him once they’re settled?”

“I’ll talk to Ratchet, see if he has any recommendations.” He sighs, bouncing the bitlet in his arms. “Please, I just need to get the other two to berth.”

“Alright.” Prowl agrees tightly, setting his datapads aside to reach for the sparkling. “He won’t purge on me, will he?”

“I hope not but be careful.” Optimus confesses. “He hasn’t had any intake today, he won’t eat or drink, we’ve been using energon pads, but he did purge a few times earlier.”

That makes Prowl crinkle his face plates and look at the trash chute like he’s judging how quickly he can get to it with the bitty in his arms. For a moment, Optimus is worried that his friend will hand the bitlet back, but then Prowl swallows hard, shakes out his wings, and settles himself more comfortably in his seat.

“We’ll be here when you’re finished.” He declares.

“Thank you, my friend.” He says, sighing in relief. “Truly.”

He rushes back to his chambers before he can hear a response, his arms feeling tonnes lighter now that he doesn’t have B in them anymore. In his room, Hot Rod and C are flipping through a story pad on Hot Rod’s berth, both of them perking up when he reenters. 

“Story?” Hot Rod asks.

“Story.” He confirms, lifting his son up into his arms for a tight hug.

Hot Rod snuggles into him, holding onto his neck as tightly as he can and purring. The sparkling is used to being away from his sire for long periods of time, such is the price of war, but he’s not used to not being able to be close to him when Optimus is back in the base. Even when the Prime is injured, he can usually convince Ratchet to allow his bitlet into the berth with him, at least long enough for a proper hug and cuddle. Now though, with B needing such constant care and being so loudly upset, even when Optimus is sitting down, Hot Rod isn’t keen on curling up with him.

“My dearspark, I love you so much.” He mumbles, squeezing the mechling tightly and kissing his head.

“Love you too sire.” Hot Rod mumbles back.

“B?” C-139 asks from the berth, looking up at the father and son. 

“He’s with my friend, Prowl.” Optimus says, sitting on the berth and pulling the solid red sparkling into his arms with Hot Rod. “I’ll read you two some stories, get you tucked in for a recharge, and then I’ll go back to him.”

That seems to settle the younger sparkling, though it may also be that he’s so tired that he doesn’t have the energy to go into it further. Poor thing, this isn’t pleasant for him either, it’s been pretty rough on all four of them.

“Have you picked a story?” He asks, both bitties in his lap.

“This one.” Hot Rod says, reaching for the holopad to hand to his sire.

“Of course, my dearsparks.” He nods, giving each of them a kiss on their heads. 

~~~

It doesn’t take long for the little ones to fall asleep, both of them exhausted having dealt with the trails of the day. He tucks both of them into Hot Rod’s berth, given that C climbed over the safety rail of the crib earlier that cycle, he feels it’s safer for him to be in a typical berth. At least Hot Rod isn’t terribly territorial about his berth, the two are curled up together comfortably, heads on the pillow, blankets tucked up to their chins, recharging. 

With them taken care of, he leaves the berthroom as quietly as he can and rushes back to the kitchen. The closer he gets, the easier it is to hear B-27, it seems he still hasn’t tired himself out enough to fall into recharge himself. 

Prowl is sitting in his chair still, sparkling in his arms, looking incredibly stressed. He’s seen the enforcer more relaxed while walking into battle than he does right now, holding onto a sparkling in mid-tantrum. The gray and red bot is visibly excited to see him, holding the bitlet out for him to take like he’s handing off a bomb. Which he kind of is.

“Hello bitty, here I am, I’m back.” Optimus greets, lifting B up to cuddle. “Can you thank Prowl for taking care of you for me?”

Prowl leans back, trying to put some distance between himself and B-27. 

“Thanks are not necessary.” He assures, armour plates twitching while he tries to resist shaking himself off. “I take it you are on your way to Ratchet?”

“We will be heading that way, yes.” Optimus nods. “Thank you again, my friend.”

“Of course. Good dark-cycle Optimus.” Prowl wishes, gathering his datapads.

“Good dark-cycle Prowl.” Optimus returns, heading towards the medbay.

Ratchet greets them at the entrance, not wanting a screaming bitty in with the patients who are trying to rest if it’s not required. It’s a sentiment Optimus can’t fault him for.

“Have you got anything to settle him” Optimus asks, “Please, he needs to sleep but he won’t relax.”

“I can mix a weak sedative.” Ratchet nods, checking B over. “I wouldn't normally give a bitlet this young something like that without an injury, but I agree that he needs to sleep. It will be another shot though.”

“That’s fine. At least if he can get some sleep, he may be more agreeable next-cycle.” Optimus sighs. 

His old friend nods, pats B on the back, and retreats to his office to gather the needed supplies. While they wait for him to return, Optimus walks with B around the waiting room, whispering to him and rubbing his back, trying to distract him from the upcoming shot if B heard and understood their conversation.

When Ratchet returns, he has Optimus sit on a chair in the waiting room with B held to his chassis while Ratchet sits on the chair beside him. Again, the medic wipes a spot on B’s arm with an ethanol pad to clean it, then pushes the needle in past his armour. Somehow, by the grace of Primus, B-27 lets out a howl that leaves both mechs wincing at the added pain of shot, spitting a mouthful of saliva over Optimus’s back. Unpleasant, but preferable to purging on him, so he’ll take what he can get.

Once the shot is done, Ratchet wipes B’s mouth down with a damp cloth and wraps him in a blanket for some comfort while the sedative kicks in. Quickly, the crying stops and B-27’s optics start to flutter, only squeaks and chirps escaping his vocal processor while he falls asleep.

“Thank Primus.” Optimus mutters once the bitlet falls asleep. 

“Quite a set of pipes on him, eh?” Ratchet asks with a chuckle, patting B’s cheek. 

“Indeed.” He agrees, cuddling the little one close. “I appreciate that he’s uncomfortable and hasn’t got many options of self expression, but it’s been a tiring cycle.”

“I can imagine. Go, give him his bath, take a shower yourself, and get to berth.” Ratchet instructs. “Hopefully next-cycle is better.”

Following his advice, Optimus takes B-27 back to his chambers. He unwraps the bitlet and holds him to his chassis while he showers, making sure the bitties intake is clear of the oil splatter but taking care to wash the grime off him. When both of them are cleaned up, he dries himself off with a towel and fills up the sink with warm oil and adds some medicine to it. He lowers the bitlet in, holding his head and neck above the oil line while giving him a good soak. It won’t do any of them any good to let the mites fester, not if the harness can be dipped in the bath with him. Once he’s been soaked for a good time, he drains the sink, dries the bitty off, and carries him to his crib.

“Good dark-cycle, by little one.” Optimus whispers, kissing his forehead before laying him in the berth. “I shall see you in the next cycle.”

With one last check on the other two sparklings, Optimus gives each of them a kiss too and retreats to his own berth.

~~~

For the second cycle in a row, Optimus is woken to the sound of screaming. This time though, he doesn’t draw his cannon, he just grudgingly onlines his optics and rushes for the crib. Hot Rod and C are stirring in their berth, trying to block out the sound of B-27’s very loud protests with their hands and some of Hot Rod’s plush toys.

“Sire.” Hot Rod whines. “Make him be quiet.”

“I’m trying sweetspark.” Optimus promises, scooping B from his crib. “Come here little one.”

B hiccups in his arms and shrieks again, even with his chassis pressed against the grown bot’s. It’s quieter and less dramatic than it was last-cycle but it was by no means peaceful. Checking his internal clock, Optimus winced at the time. Four and a half joors. It hasn’t even been a typical recharge cycle and B-27 is up and angry about it.

“You’re okay, are you just lonely?” He asks, hoping that’s it.

As if in response, B squeals again, limbs twitching, wings and antenna flailing while he tries to get comfortable. With a sigh, Optimus lifts a hand to his face, rubs above his nasal shield, and lightly knocks his head against B’s. It seems he won’t be getting back to his berth any time soon, it wouldn’t be fair to C or Hot Rod to keep them awake with B’s crying in the hope of B wearing himself out and back into recharge eventually. He’s going to have to take B out of the room so they can recharge.

“Come on then. We’ll let the other two sleep.” He mumbles, grabbing a blanket out of the crib and leaving.

As early as it is, the only ones awake are the bots on night patrol. To keep it that way, Optimus has to find a spot away from the berthrooms, which does not leave a lot of options. The hanger is too cold, even with the blanket he’s got, it would likely make B-27’s discomfort worse. The kitchen is too close to the berthrooms, as much as Optimus would love a mug of enhancer, B’s crying would wake the rest of his team. The medical bay, with its berths full of injured survivors, is obviously out of the question. He’s not taking a bitlet this young to the weapons storage. That leaves the laundry room or the gym. The laundry room may be warmer but the gym has more space for him to walk around, and if he must be up at this joor, he may as well try and get some light exercise in.

“Come on little one, let’s go on a little walk.” He says, patting B between his door wings. 

In the gym, he briefly sits on a bench to swaddle B up in the blanket, then he starts pacing the perimeter of the room. The high ceiling of the gym makes B’s cries echo, but the motion of the walking seems to have settled him slightly. He’s no longer screaming, his vents are more controlled and even, it’s ultimately easier on both of them. Perhaps that shouldn’t be surprising, Hot Rod has always enjoyed being carried and rocked when he’s had nightmares, he knows seeker caretakers will fly with their bitties when they’re sick to soothe them, and Jazz has been seen many a time with one twin on his back and the other attached to his front, walking with them to calm them down. If there weren’t a war going on and the libraries were still open, Optimus would be taking a trip down the aisles for books on sparkling development and care, the way he had wanted when he’d first taken Hot Rod. In any case, perhaps there is a biological factor to why sparklings are settled by their caretakers carrying them while walking. 

That’s what he ponders while he makes his laps, occasionally asking questions out loud in a low, calming voice to further settle B-27. Slowly, painfully slowly, the bitlet’s crying teeters off and he lays quietly on the bigger bots chassis. Finally, after almost a joor, Optimus feels comfortable enough to travel to the kitchen and brew a cube of enhancer for himself. He may even be able to tempt B-27 into eating some of the soft energon Hoist and Ratchet suggested. 

Still, the only bots up are the night watch, so Optimus has to pace around the kitchen to soothe B while the enhancer brews. The bitlet still refuses soft energon but he sips some oil, which is more than he did last-cycle, so he takes it as a victory. Once his enhancer is brewed, Optimus pours himself a large cubeful, takes a deep drink from it, tops it up, and then returns to the gym, continuing his laps.

Two joors and three pots of enhancer later, Ironhide and Jazz walk into the gym only to stop dead at the sight of their leader, bitty in one arm, massive cube of enhancer in his free hand, looking ready to collapse. There have been plenty of times when they’ve seen their leader tired, they were at war after all, exhaustion came with the package. This was the first time they’d seen him this exhausted outside of typical combat related issues.

“You uh, you okay there, boss bot?” Jazz asks.

“Perfectly fine. Are the others up?” He asks. 

“Eh, getting there.” Ironhide shrugs. “What’s up with itty-bitty?”

“He does not like his harness.” Optimus sighs, gesturing to the harness attached to the bitty, nearly spilling enhancer on him. “He’s been having trouble getting into recharge.”

“But’e likes ya walking with’im.” Jazz nods, well aware of how to comfort a sparkling. 

“Yes.” He confirms. 

“How long have you been up with him?” Ironhide asks, eyeing the nearly tar-black brew in Optimus’s cube and the twitching digits holding it.

“B-27 awoke at quarter past one.” Optimus informs, taking a sip of his drink.

“And ya’ve been up with’im since.” Jazz says, frowning sympathetically. “Prime, it’s been three an’a half joors since then.”

“I’m aware.” He nods.

That makes Jazz scoff, shaking his head and his third in command reached for the bitlet. 

“Give’im here.” He orders gently, prying B-27 away from his tired caretaker. “Come ta uncle Jazz, Uncle Jazz’as got ya. Optimus, go try and recharge.”

“He’ll scream if you stop walking.” Optimus warns. “I know you usually take first fueling with the twins.”

As grateful as he is for his friend's offer to help, he doesn’t want to put Sunstreaker and Sideswipe out. The twins had not been quick to trust after the Autobots had found them in a back cage of a gladiator pit, their first mega-cycles in the autobot base had been easily categorized as chaotic and down right dangerous. Convinced they were going to be hurt or worse, separated, the two had reacted to every little thing with violence, it had taken less than a hexa-cycle for every bot on base to have a personal copy of Sunstreakers denta records on some part of their armour, among other scuffs and dents. 

Then, Primus knows how, Jazz had gotten an inch of trust out of them. Maybe it’s because, other than the bitlets themselves, Jazz was the smallest bot on base and they felt he was the preferable threat to engage with. Perhaps it was his friendly demeanour and flat refusal to cow to their attacks that wore them down. Maybe they had just gotten so tired of fighting and surviving alone that they’d been willing to take a chance on Jazz. He’ll likely never know, but they stuck close to Jazz and while their relationship wasn’t like the one Optimus had with Hot Rod, he suspected that eventually, it would be. He doesn’t want to chance that just because he needs a break.

“I can take over for Jazz if B is not adequately settled by first fueling.” Ironhide assures, forcibly prying the cube from his grip. “Please, go recharge. You’re stumbling like Hound after a dark-cycle out.”

“An I’m sure yer other bitties’ll be wanton’ya.” Jazz adds, starting to walk around the gym. “Go.”

“Fine! I’m going.” Optimus agrees. “Just, if he’s up for eating, he can only have soft energon, Ratchet says so.”

“I will prepare it personally, go.” Ironhide says. “Before I drag you there.” 

Optimus mumbles under his breath, nothing in particular, just for the sake of it. Without his sparkling or his enhancer, it’s hard to keep his optics open unless he’s chatting. His chambers are still dark and still when he arrives, Hot Rod and C have gone back to recharging after B’s outburst and he’s quickly crawling back into his own berth. Once his head is resting on the pillow, it’s impossible to keep his optics online. 

~~~

When he wakes up again, he has both Hot Rod and C-139 in the berth with him. Hot Rod has sprawled himself across his chassis while C-139 is snuggled into his side, both are completely asleep. With a mumble, he checks his internal clock, happy to see that he’s only been recharging for a few joors and not the entire cycle. It is curious that he’s sharing his berth with two bitties though, he wonders when they woke up and decided to join him.

“Sire, stop moving.” Hot Rod grumbles, reaching a clumsy hand up to pat at his father’s face.

“I have to get up now, dearspark, I need to move.” He apologises. 

Hot Rod pouts but doesn’t protest anymore. He does cling tightly to Optimus’s neck though, so he’s lifted up when the Prime stands, C-139 waking up once the bot he’d been cuddling with moved. The younger sparkling squeaks, sounding very similar to his younger brother, and reaches for Optimus, grinning when he’s lifted up to sit on the mech’s shoulder.

“Where’s B?” C-139 asks, resting his head against Optimus’s antenna.

“He’s with my friend, Ironhide.” Optimus says, “Why don’t we go find him?”

He can’t see C’s face but he knows that he’s excited about it by the way he’s wiggling on his shoulder. Figuring that Ironhide’s probably in the kitchen, that’s where he goes. Plus, the two sparklings clinging to him are going to need fuel sooner rather than later.

In the kitchen, he does find Ironhide. Unfortunately, he does not find B-27.

“Hey boss bot, feeling better?” The weapons expert asks.

“Very. Where is B-27?” He asks.

“Oh, Prowl had him.” He shrugs.

“Had?” He questions.

“Yeah, and then Jazz took him for a while, then Elita-one took him for a jog, and then-”

“Who has him right now?” Optimus interrupts.

He doesn’t like being rude, especially towards his friends, but the absence of the sparkling is starting to freak him out.

“Oh. Magnus has him.” Ironhide says, completely unbothered.

“Thank you.” He sighs, patting his friend on the back.

The Prime hurries down the hall to Ultra Magnus’s working quarters, soothed by the fact that he can’t hear crying. When he enters the working quarters, he finds Ultra Magnus working at a workbench, leaning very uncomfortably in his seat to accommodate B-27, who is sprawled across his chassis, optics barely online.

“Prime.” Magnus nods.

“Magnus, thank you for tending to B.” He says.

“I’m lucky, I only got him after Jazz, Elita-One, and Ironhide had tired him out.” Magnus smiled, carefully handing the bitty to his caretaker. “He’s been pretty easy for me.”

“B!” C greets happily, leaning down from Optimus’s shoulder to wave at his brother. “Hi B! Hi!”

B-27 squeaks, yawning widely and resting his head against Optimus. That’s all he really seems to have the energy to do, his energy stores likely completely depleted after literal joors of crying. 

“Sleepy.” Hot Rod observes, reaching around Optimus’s neck to poke at B’s antenna. “Sleepy B.”

“Good, it’d be nice for him to get some sleep.” Optimus agrees, nodding to his comrade. “We’ll leave you to your work, Magnus.”

Really, it’d be better if B-27 could recharge during the dark-cycle. It would certainly be more convenient for every other bot in the base, but beggars cannot be choosers and anything except screaming is an improvement. He’d just have to hope that the bitty’s internal clock would even out and he’d get back on a more manageable schedule.

“Do we need some fuel?” He asked the bitties, the older two clinging to his armour while he holds B to his chassis.

“Can we, can you make the stuff you made yester-cycle?” C-139 asks, “I liked it.”

“The energon bits? I can make that again.” He agrees.

“No, the oil.” C corrects. “But I liked the cubes too.”

“I can make some more of both.” Optimus says.

Ironhide is still in the kitchen when Optimus comes back in with his brood, but they’ve got the added addition of Jazz and the twins. Sunstreaker was clearly doodling on a blank pad when they’d come in but he’s quick to abandon it in favour of staring suspiciously at Optimus as he moves around the kitchen. Sideswipe, by far the more social of the pair, climbs up on the counter to get a look at C-139 and B-27, staring at the pair until C ducks down to try and hide.

“Give them some space, Sides.” Jazz says, “Let Optimus get them some fuel.”

“Bitties.” Sunstreaker mutters, shuffling closer to his caretaker.

“They are bitties.” Ironhide agrees, “Little bitties.”

“From the pits?” Sideswipe asks, retreating back to his brother.

“No, we found them near a settlement.” Optimus replies, going through the steps of making fuel for his sparklings. 

The twins tilt their heads in tandem at that, faces unreadable. Well, unreadable to him, he’s sure Jazz has learned by now how to tell what they’re thinking even if they won’t communicate it out loud. If he had to guess, the two of them are talking through their spark-split, though he can only speculate as to what they’re talking about.

He has to set Hot Rod and C-139 down to move around the stove, handing off B to Ironhide. He doesn’t want to accidentally burn the bitlet while preparing the fuel and he needs both hands free to cook. With the Prime further away from B, Sunstreaker goes closer to inspect him.

“Gah!” B squeaks. 

“He’s yellow.” Sunstreaker observes.

“He is.” Ironhide nods.

“I’m yellow.” The bitlet follows up, holding up one of his own hands to look at the colour. 

“You are, we have two yellow bitties.” Ironhide nods again. 

Sideswipe cosies up next to his brother, grabbing at his shoulders while he reaches out to poke B. Sunstreaker hasn’t gotten close enough to actually touch B yet, he’s seemingly still hung up on the fact that they’re both yellow. Sideswipe has less reservations.

“He runs.” Sides says, poking at the harness. 

“No.” Jazz corrects quickly. “No, that’s a medical device.”

Optimus isn’t sure what the twins recognise, but Jazz is clearly trying to correct a misconception. He’ll have to ask later.

“It is, it’s to help his joints. We aren’t even sure if he can crawl yet.” He adds. 

Sideswipe hums, poking at B’s antenna and giggling when they flick at the contact. The red twin could seemingly entertain himself with the bitlet for joors, his brother loses interest quickly and goes back to his doodling pad, though he’s sat down suspiciously closer to Jazz than he was before. 

“Fuel.” Optimus announces, setting the energon and hot oil down in front of Hot Rod and C, who are quick to tuck in. 

With his hands free, he takes B-27 back from Ironhide and sits near the other two bitlets. He’s prepared a small cube of soft energon, hoping to get the bitty to fuel a little while his brother and Hot Rod eat, but as tired as he is, he wouldn't be surprised if he ends up falling into recharge. C hums happily while he eats, making Sunstreaker glance at him, huff, and then turn back to his drawing.

“Are ya excited ta have more bitties around?” Jazz asks, trying to coax Sunstreaking into conversation.

“That one screams.” Sunstreaker says, nodding to B.

“He does.” Optimus agrees. “He doesn’t like his harness.”

“Why?” Sideswipe asks.

“His joints have been locked in place for too long, he needs the harness to help correct them.” Optimus explains, “But it’s not very comfortable for him. I’m sorry if he’s bothered you.”

“Sparkling, you are defective.” Sunstreaker says, ignoring Optimus and addressing B-27 directly.

“Not defective!” Jazz steps in. “Just needs some help, s’all.”

Sunstreaker doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t voice his opinion further. 

~~~

B-27 does not settle in the next hexacycle. He cycles between screaming, staring blankly into the distance, and sedated recharge. He still refuses to fuel, so they’re still using energon pads. It’s incredibly demanding. Optimus is barely recharging himself, pacing the base well into the dark-cycle to keep the sparkling from crying as he won’t be silent unless another bot is holding him, pushing past hub warnings and system demands to give his frame a break.

He could probably live with the strain of caring for B if he didn’t have two other sparklings relying on him. C-139, who already wasn’t used to having a caretaker, is coping fine, but Hot Rod is not. For an entire hexacycle, he hasn’t had any time with his sire to refuel or recharge together, to have a proper cuddle, or to have storytime with. His son has very quickly gotten resentful of B-27 and the amount of attention he’s getting from Optimus.

“Be quiet!” Hot Rod had shrieked once, tears starting to leak from his optics. “Why can’t you be quiet?”

That had taken an entire joor to work out, he’d tried to explain to the bitlet that the other sparkling was uncomfortable and didn’t really have any other way to communicate it, but it hasn’t really sunk in. Hot Rod has been reluctant to be held since then, unhappy that he has to share with the younger bitty and can’t have a moment of peace with just his sire. Once B-27 is out of the harness and needs less round the cycle care, he’s going to have to put a lot of work into making it up to his eldest. 

Which is what he’s pondering when he walks right into a door frame, the left side of him stopping abruptly while the right side keeps going. B shrieks in his arms, getting squished by the accident and ready to share his unhappiness about it. 

“For the love of Primus!” Hoist snaps, suddenly right beside the Prime. “Give him to me!”

“Is he okay?” Optimus asks, worried he’s harmed the sparkling.

“He’s fine.” Hoist says, handing B off to a passing Elita-One. “But you are going back to your berth!”

“I’m fine, I just need some enhancer.” He assures.

“Slag, complete and total slag.” Hoist counters, spinning him around roughly. “Doctors order, you are going to your berth. We can tend to your sparkling.”

He’d argue but his glossa feels heavy. Hoist ushers him through the halls until he’s back at his chambers, shoving him roughly at his berth.

“If I see you out before half-cycle, I will weld you to the berth.” Hoist threatens, then shuts the door and leaves him.

With a grumble, the Prime settles back into his berth, the cushion cradling him nicely. With how tired he is, it’s almost impossible to not fall into stasis right there. Fighting it, he calls for Hot Rod over their bond, pulling at his spark gently until his son peeks his head into the berthroom and he can beckon him into the berth with him.

“Dearspark.” He mutters, dragging his sparkling into a tight hug. “I haven’t spent enough time with you recently.”

“I missed you.” Hot Rod mutters.

“I missed you too, my creation, I’m sorry.” He apologises. “I know that B-27 has been taking up a lot of my time lately, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Hot Rod sighs. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He praises. “You’ve been so patient and so strong, so many sparklings would be unhappy at having new bitlets in their berthroom. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Sire.” Hot Rod mumbles, pressing his head up against Optimus’s chin.

“My bitty.” He returns. “Lay down with me?”

Hot Rod hums in agreement, letting Optimus settle them down in the berth to rest.

“Do you know where C-139 is?” He asks, knowing he needs to make sure both bitties are accounted for.

“He’s with ‘Hound.” Hot Rod mumbles, snuggling right in for a well earned nap.

“Would you be opposed to me comming him to send him to us?” He asks.

As much as he may appreciate the one on one time with his first creation, C-139 has also been terribly neglected for the past hexa-cycle that his brother has been in the harness. He’s just as entitled to a nap with his guardian as Hot Rod is.

“It’s fine.” Hot Rod agrees.

The comm goes through to Hound easily, a quick affirmative coming back as one of his best fighters sends the solid red sparkling to his chambers. Over the past hexa-cycle, C-139 has gotten familiar with his new space, guided by Hot Rod, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker as the four of them played together. He has no doubts that he’ll be able to find his way to their chambers.

“Sire?” Hot Rod asks.

“Yes?”

“Are B and C gonna stay with us?” Hot Rod asks, shifting a little on the berth. “Like, forever?”

That’s a tricky question. One he has to handle delicately, for the sake of all three little ones.

“That depends. I have our people looking for their caretakers and if they find them and they’re capable, B and C will go back to them.” He explains. “But if we cannot find any suitable caretakers, they will of course be staying with us.”

Hot Rod hums at that, antenna flicking. He’d probably have more to say if C-139 didn’t come into the berthroom at that exact moment, standing at the edge of the berth.

“Hello sweetspark.” Optimus mumbles, reaching over to pull the sparkling into his arms. 

“We’re gonna nap.” Hot Rod explains sternly, letting it be known that that’s all he has interest in doing. His fiery little sparkling, he can be so bossy sometimes.

“Okay.” C shrugs, nuzzling right into Optimus’s hold with the same enthusiasm Hot Rod has.

These poor little ones, he’d of course known that B wasn’t recharging well but he hadn’t realised that C and Hot Rod were struggling with it too. His arms are full of sparklings, both bitties squeaking and purring quietly, their sparkbeats thumping at his chassis. The two of them drift into recharge first, with him following closely behind.

~~~

He and the red bitties sleep until the beginning of the dark cycle, though he could easily sleep longer, he needs fuel and so will they. Both bitlets wake easily, though they insist on being carried to the kitchen, which he can’t deny them. It’s nice to hold a sparkling that isn’t screaming, for a change. He doesn’t make it to the end of the hallway before Jazz is approaching him with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

“Hey Oppy! The others need ya fer a meetin, I can take these two offa yer hands.” He says, easily pulling Hot Rod from his hold.

“Oh, I need to get them fuel.” He says, slightly sad that his bitlets are being taken so soon. If there is need for a meeting, of course he’ll go, but he was hoping he had more time.

“I can get’it fer em, I was just takin the twins fer fuel too, we can eat together.” Jazz assures. “Come on bitties, we’re going to have late-fueling in front of the projector, how does that sound!”

Hot Rod nods eagerly at that, the prospect of a movie-night with his honorary cousins quelling any sadness he might have had that he doesn’t get to eat with his sire. His other charge follows quickly after, his saboteur laden down with C and Hot Rod, joined soon after by the twins latching onto his legs. 

“They’re waitin fer ya in the Briefin Room.” Jazz nods, shuffling off with the bitlets. 

He’s still confused as he hurries to the Briefing Room, worrying about what the meeting could possibly be about. The Deceptions have slowed down after their latest attack, no doubt taking some time to regroup after their latest siege on the Autobots. Have they started back up again so soon? Usually, after a string of heavy attacks like that, it takes them a mega-cycle or two at least.

The Briefing Room is full of his comrades, with the exception of Jazz, with Hoist and Ratchet at the head of the room, his Chief Medic has B in his arms, the bitlet finally recharging. As soon as he steps into the doorway, he’s ushered to a seat and handed energon and enhancer. 

“Okay! Now that we’re all here, let’s get into the issue at hand.” Hoist declares, clapping his hands.

B-27 must be sedated again, because he doesn’t even flinch at the loud noise. He’s still peacefully resting in Ratchet’s hold. 

“I’ll start us off.” Prowl declares, turning to Optimus. “We found information on who used to have B-27 and C-139. Designation; Stoptrack, a former analyst from Iacon. C-139’s emergence was recorded a vorn and a half before the official start of the war. Stoptrack was recorded offlined at the beginning of the stellar-cycle.”

All is said with an air of disconnect, like the death of C-139’s creator is as important as the weather pattern. He knows it’s not how Prowl intended for it to sound, it’s just that after so long, death reports have become routine. 

“What about B-27?” He asks. 

“I found a tentative record, I can’t properly confirm, because it was a field hospital and not a proper one, but a bitlet was left by nomads. Yellow plating, door wings, and antenna. The hospital gave him the designation B-127.” Prowl continues, passing over a datapad. 

So C-139 wasn’t far off in his report of B’s designation, he’d just missed a single number. For a sparkling his age, with all he’s been through, that’s not bad. The datapad has a report from Head Medic Pepkin, who had apparently found B-127 at the entrance of the camp, swaddled in dirty blankets. Given how close the settlement had been to Decepticon activity, she speculated that he’d been born of a Decepticon loyalist or supporter who’d known they wouldn’t be able to properly tend to him. The care of the bitlet had been passed off to the only other caretaker in the settlement with the understanding that the entire camp would be involved in their care.

That had not come to fruition, obviously, as a series of raids from the Decepticons had left the camp in ruins. Stoptrack had been offlined in the fourth attack and because the camp head hadn’t found them, they’d assumed C-139 and B-127 had been taken by hostile forces. Instead, somehow, B and C had wound up at a different settlement nearly eight vuns from their original camp several deca cycles later. 

“These poor bitties.” He mutters, shaking his head at the datapad. 

He’ll have to say a prayer to Stoptrack later, to let him know that his sparklings are safe and will be taken care of.

“Indeed. But that does mean that we’ll be keeping them, which brings us to our next order of business.” Ratchet says. “Optimus cannot keep tending to B-127 and his needs alone. If B needs to be held constantly while receiving treatment, then we’re going to have to shuffle who has him. There are plenty of bots here already to help out and more will be arriving soon, we can make this work.”

Hoist nods beside him, handing out a schedule for all of them to follow.

“We’ve drafted a tentative schedule based around your workshifts. Particularly, Optimus needs support during the dark-cycle, for himself and for C and Hot Rod.” Hoist explains.

“Why isn’t Jazz here?” Prowl asks, looking obviously distressed at the prospect of handling a bitty by himself.

“He’s with the twins.” Ratchet explains.

“I understand that, I mean, why isn’t he on this schedule?” Prowl clarifies.

“Because he’s with the twins.” Ratchet repeats sternly.

“The twins have their own room. They’re able to fetch their own fuel, bathe themselves, and entertain themselves.” Prowl reasons.

“I won’t go into detail about the twins and their needs, but Jazz is their main caretaker and they do need some dark-cycle support that Jazz provides.” Hoist explains, tone leaving no room for debate. “So unless you’d like to take over caring for the twins so Jazz can have your shifts with B-”

“No no, I’ll take B.” Prowl walks back instantly.

“I can still tend to B-127 most of the time.” Optimus tries to insist.

“You walked into a door earlier, B-127 needs more support than one bot can provide.” Hoist scolds. “He has plenty of bots here to support him, you can be his primary caretaker again in a few deca-cycles when he’s out of harness.”

“Or when he’s settled down with it.” Ratchet adds. “For now though, It’s Elita-One's turn.”

The pink femme grins happily, reaching up to accept the bitty from their medic. As soon as he’s in her arms, she has his head tucked comfortably into her neck struts and her hand on his back.

“Hello little one.” She coos, snuggling him close. “Sweetling.”

“It’s my turn after.” Hound pipes up, smiling happily at the little sparkling. “Just after third-fueling, I’ll be watching the clock.”

“You can fight me for him.” Elita teases with a grin. 

“There, everybody knows their time. Ratchet and I are here to help if it’s needed, we’ll have some of the medication he needs in his oil bath to those on dark-cycle shift by the end of the mid-cycle.” Hoist declares, a clear dismissal.

The rest of the Autobots filter out, Elita having to slow down as more and more mechs try and get a closer look at the bitlet they’ll be taking care of soon enough. They’re all bots he trusts, they’ve all helped him raise Hot Rod after all, but he still can’t help but worry. B-127 is smaller and more fragile than Hot Rod has ever been while they’ve had him.

“You’re nervous.” Ratchet observes, taking a seat next to him.

“I appreciate the help, but I don’t want anyone thinking I can’t care for him.” He admits. “Even just some assistance during the dark-cycle would have been enough.”

“It’s not just for you Prime.” Ratchet says, “It’s for B too. He’s delayed a bit, developmentally. Nothing that can’t be fixed, but he’ll need the help of his family, which for better or worse, is us now. He can’t just have you talking to him, he needs multiple bots, he needs to hear different voices.”

“We’re a social species.” Hoist agrees. “B-127 will only benefit from the support of an extended family. There have been studies done that prove sparklings do better with the presence of an extended family, they have healthier attachment style, their physical and mental health is stronger, they do better in academy, and they recover from injuries and illnesses faster. This will be good for him.”

“If you say so.” He sighs, already feeling the loss of the yellow sparkling. 

Reasonably, he could just go follow Elita down the hallway and be near his sparkling, but there’s something about having a bitty in your arms that brings that connection. He’ll have to give Hot Rod and C-139 some extra cuddles to make up for it. 

“We say so. This will be good for everyone, you’ll see.” Ratchet assures. “Now, you have some rest to be catching up on and I expect you to be taking it.”

“Of course.” He says, smiling. 

And he will catch up on rest, once he retrieves his other two, he has some lost time to catch up on with them. He can’t pretend that he regrets prioritizing B in his time of need but he can freely admit that he’s sorry that he hasn’t been able to spend enough time with Hot Rod and C.

His older two are, as Jazz promised, in the projector room with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, an old film playing on the screen. Hot Rod and Sideswipe are side by side under a blanket, both of them entranced with the characters on screen. C is balanced on the back of the sofa, mostly on Jazz’s shoulder and focused on trying to make his way from one side of the couch to the other. Sunstreaker is sitting near Jazz’s feet with his drawing pad, occasionally glancing up at the screen but mostly focused on whatever he’s drawing.

“Oppy!” Sideswipe greets loudly, waving at him from under the blanket.

“Hello Sides.” He returns, crouching to catch Hot Rod, who has wiggled out from under the blanket to rush him. “Hello, my creation.”

“Sire, you’re back!” Hot Rod smiles, nuzzling at his chassins. 

“I am, I was lucky that the meeting was short.” He nods, pushing a wave of affection over their bond. “But I still missed you.”

He stands up properly, lifting Hot Rod up with him, and scoops C off the back of the sofa to gather both bitties in his lap, side by side with Jazz on the couch. Hot Rod cuddles right up with him and goes back to focusing on the film. C squirms until Optimus eases his hold a little, then climbs up to his shoulder, settling there instead. 

Sunstreaker stares at him for a moment, his blue optics intense and judgemental as always. Ironhide had once compared the youngling to a particularly strict temple-keeper, ready to lecture anyone nearby about their lackluster devotion to Primus and his chosen warriors. Harsh, but not inaccurate, though the cause behind the stare was certainly different, Sunstreaker always looked at other bots like he was staring into their sparks, ready to move and defend himself at any second, a habit born from spending the majority of his life trapped in a gladiator cage. 

“What are we watching?” He asks, snuggling his pair closer.

“Cyber-pride and the Wilderbytes.” Sideswipe responds, easily drawn back into the film.

A classic, one that Optimus remembers watching when he was a bitty himself. The film came out during Ironhide’s youth, which speaks to how old it is, but it’s survived the test of time, well liked by everybot that’s ever seen it. 

“Lovely.” He responds.

Sunstreaker, evidently deciding that Optimus isn’t a threat for the time being, settles back against Jazz’s legs and returns to his drawing. Sideswipe joins them on the couch, blanket in tow, and curls into Jazz’s side, chirping at his caretaker until the saboteur wraps them both in the blanket and slings an arm over him.

“Plenty-a room if ya wanna join us Sunny.” Jazz informs, not a request but more of an open invitation.

“Okay.” Sunstreaker replies, not moving from the floor.

Jazz smiles, lightly nudging the yellow twin with his foot, and exchanges a knowing look with Optimus, who returns it. It’s nice, having time like this with the sparklings and hopefully, they’ll have more time in the future.

~~~

B-127 certainly thrives under the broader care of the group. As his joints loosen out, the constant tears stop and he mostly only whines if he’s not near enough to another bot. He’s also regained mobility, not enough to walk but he can sit up and scoot across the floor on his own and if he’s not supervised properly, he can get pretty far. That’s how Prowl ended up nearly losing their littlest sparkling, after he’d placed him on the floor to play while he’d finished up some reports and B had managed to get out into the hallway. Their poor second in command has yet to live that down. 

With mobility has also come some words, three and a half to be exact. He knows up, no, and bap, though he also knows that his designation is ‘B’ and can say that too. His favourite sentence is “B up” which he uses often, though he hasn’t quite figured out that ‘up’ is specific, so it applies to anything. He’s on the ground and wants to be held? Up. He’s being held and wants to be held by someone else? He’ll fling his little arms towards them and cry up. He’s in his crib and wants to be out of it? Up.

It’s been amazing, seeing his little personality grow so much. B still spends most of his light-cycle with other bots, but he recharges in Optimus’s chambers now, with C and Hot Rod. They’ve also traded out the berth Hot Rod was sleeping in to a bunk, with two layered berths for his eldest and C, the younger red bots affinity for climbing granting him easy access to the top bunk. It freed up some space for them, especially now that they’ve whipped up some easier toys for B to play with, ones meant to promote dexterity and coordination in sparklings. 

“Up! B Up!” B-127 demands, scooting over to Ironhide and flinging his arms up.

His weapon expert grins at the sparkling, then stoops and lifts him up, laughing indulgently when B pats him roughly on the face. They’re still working on that, how hard he ‘baps’ bots, not that he’s strong enough to do real damage but if he catches someone just right, it can sting.

“Bap!” B laughs, patting Ironhide's cheek with clumsy hands.

“Bap.” Ironhide agrees.

Seeing the cube of enhancer in the elders hand, B reaches for it with grabby hands, nearly folding himself in half to get closer to it.

“Up!” He squeaks.

“Nope! No enhancer for bitties.” Ironhide declines, holding the cube out of reach. “This is a big bot drink.”

“Up!” B repeats, reaching for it again.

As a compromise, Ironhide grabs a soft rust stick from the cupboard and hands it to the bitty. Optimus chuckles as he watches his youngest abandon interest in the enhancer in favour of gnawing on the treat. He’s gotten better with refueling now, thank Primus, and while he’s still on soft fuel, he’s completely off the energon pads. 

“Have you planned a welcome party yet?” Ironhide asks, taking a seat opposite of Optimus.

“For B and C?” He asks.

“Obviously.” Ironhide laughs.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, I don’t want to overstep with them.” He confesses. “It’s only been two deca cycles.”

That makes his friend laugh again, bouncing B in his arms. The sparklings door wings twitch happily at the movement and he squeaks around his treat, blinking at Ironhide.

“Sure mech, whatever ya say.” He teases. “We all know ya wanna though.”

“I have gladly taken on the role as their caretaker.” Optimus nods, smiling at B. “And I will happily continue that roll for as long as I live, but I don’t want to push anything on them.”

The glint in Ironhide’s eye tells him the conversation is far from over, even as the eldest of their crew hands his charge back over to him and leaves.

~~~

As challenging as Sideswipe and Sunstreaker can be, Optimus knows in his spark they aren’t bad sparklings. They’ve come from challenging origins and react from the harsh lessons they learned there, it can make them come across as hostile, conniving, and reactive, but that doesn’t make them bad. They’ve certainly mellowed with the relative stability and calm the Autobots can provide, with consistent meals, no violence being brought against them, and age-appropriate chores. 

But they’re also still young and impulsive, so perhaps he should have predicted this.

He hadn’t been able to find his three sparklings, which wasn’t uncommon for Hot Rod and C, given their age, but it was concerning for B. The youngest still can’t stand up on his own, let alone walk, so he shouldn’t have been able to get far unless someone carried him. As it turns out, those ‘someones’ were the twins, who had Hot Rod and C too, and all for one purpose.

Paint swabs. 

Sunstreaker has decided that he needs to know exactly what shades of red and yellow C and B are, so he’s brought them to a little cranny he’s found to get it. Which he’s achieved by mixing colours and then smearing some on their plating to test it. By the time Jazz and Optimus found them, both bitties had paint up and down their wrists and on their hands.

“Oh Sunny.” Jazz sighed, looking at the mess the sparklings have made.

“Bap!” B squeals, slapping his messy hand down on a blank pad, leaving a yellow handprint. 

Then he sticks his wet, painty hand in his mouth and Optimus’s spark freezes.

“No no no!” He corrects gently, pulling his hand away from his mouth. “No messy hands in our mouths.

“No.” B repeats, unbothered by the fact that he’s just eaten paint.

“C, did you eat any?” He asks, looking over the sparkling.

“Ew, no.” C grimaces, faceplates crunching in disgust. “But I’m not a little bitty like B. I’m a big bitty, Hound said so.”

“You are big.” Jazz agrees, cutting off Optimus’s panic before it can begin. “So why don’t you help Sunny, Sides, and I clean up here?”

“Okay!” C agrees, roughly shoving pads together into a messy pile. 

“I’m going to take B to Ratchet.” Optimus announces, scooping his yellow sparkling up. “Just to make sure he hasn’t made himself sick with the paint.”

“What? Prime, he’s fine.” Jazz laughs. “It’s just a little paint, it’s not toxic.”

“Yeah! Sunny once drank some!” Sideswipe piped up.

That does not settle Optimus’s nerves, though it does embarrass Sunny, making the quieter twin elbow his brother hard,

“I didn’t drink the paint! I accidentally drank the wash-solvent that I use to rinse my brushes!” He corrects. 

“And now we know that we need to keep our rinse cube and our drink cube away from each other.” Jazz finishes, separating the two before it can turn into a full on fight. “He’ll be fine.”

“I’d rather be sure.” He apologises, retreating. 

Ratchet and Hoist are looking over inventory sheets when he knocks on the wall to announce himself. B, ever the forgiving sparkling, has moved past the fact that these two put him in the harness in the first place and is happy to see them.

“Hello little B.” Hoist greets, waving at Optimus’s charge. “What brings you in today?”

“He ate some paint, I just want to make sure he’s okay.” Optimus sighs, pointing out the yellow swipes of paint on the sparklings arm.

“He ate it?” Ratchet asks. “How much?”

“How did he get it?” Hosit asks, taking the bitty from him.

“Sunstreaker decided that he needed to find B’s exact shade.” Optimus sighs, “It got a little messy.”

“But how much did he eat?” Ratchet repeats.

“I don’t know, I just saw him put his hand in his mouth. I don’t know how many times he did it before I got there.”

The orange and white medic takes B’s hands gently and looks at them, he and Hoist checking him over carefully while the sparkling squeaks and chirps in their arms. Ratchet breaks off, going back to one of the cabinets and poking around in it, only to sneak up behind him and jab him in a here-to-fourth unknown sensitive spot on his back.

“What the?” He asks, stepping away. “What was that?”

“Just a test.” Ratchet shrugs ominously, going back to B and wiping the paint off his arms with an ethanol swab.

“What kind of test?” He asks. “Is B okay?”

“B’s fine. He’s just going to stain his denta-brush a little yellow.” Hoist assures. “You’re the one glitching.”

“Well, not glitching, just updating.” Ratchet clarifies.

“What?” He asks.

“Your Sire Protocols are upgrading, you’re feeling extra protective at the moment.” Ratchet shrugs, “Your Process Tank is a little sensitive because that’s typically where you’d have a feed line, if either bitty were unable to process energon themselves.”

“Congratulations.” Hoist adds, handing his sparkling back to him. 

Of course, Optimus is well aware of Sire Protocols, he remembers them coming online when he’d taken in Hot Rod and it makes sense that they’d expand to include the two new bitlets he’s taken care of. He just doesn’t remember them getting in the way so much with Hot Rod.

“Are you sure that’s it?” He asks, taking his bitlet back. “Maybe they’re a little more active because B is so little.”

“Not typically how it works, your code isn’t going to care how old your bitties are, they just activate when you engage them.” Hoist explains, “Just some growing pains is all.”

“They weren’t this bad with Hot Rod.” Optimus points out.

That gets the two medics laughing, both of them exchanging looks like he’s said something stupid.

“Sure. Sure it wasn’t.” Ratchet chuckles, clapping his shoulder. “And Cyberwolves don’t howl.”

“Every caretaker thinks their protocols updating ‘aren’t that bad’.” Hoist adds. “It’s your processor, you likely won’t notice anything. It’s everyone else around you that notices. Trust us, they were that bad with Hot Rod and they’re that bad now. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“If anything, it’s a good thing. Means those bitties are gonna be taken care of.” Ratchet agrees. “Now go get him in a solvent bath and brush his denta, he’ll be fine.” 

That does not answer a lot of questions but it does explain why Ironhide was looking at him like he knew some sort of secret a few cycles ago. The most experienced of them all, Ironhide probably knows the signs of one's Sire or Carrier Protocols updating. B chitters at him, patting his antenna with his hand.

“Well little one, it appears you and your brother are properly mine now.” He mumbles, tucking B down and closer to his chassis.

“Bah!” B squawks.

“Indeed. Now, let's find your brothers and get all cleaned up.” He agrees.

B chatters happily through the walk, not at all bothered that he’s transferring yellow paint to Optimus’s chassis and arms. Thankfully, Jazz and the rest of the bitties are in the same spot he left them, finishing up on putting away the blank pads, Sunstreakers paint supplies, and setting the artwork up somewhere safe to dry properly. 

“How is he?” Jazz asks with a smug glint in his visor.

“Fine, Ratchet says he’ll probably just stain his denta-brush a bit.” He says, feeling his face plates heat up in embarrassment. 

Jazz, in an act of mercy, doesn’t continue to tease him about it. Instead, he gathers up his bitlets in his arms and stands up, making Sideswipe squeal dramatically.

“I think it’s time for some messy little bitties to have a little bath.” He announces, nuzzling Sideswipes head with his own. 

“I agree.” Optimus smiles, dipping to lift C up into his arms with B. “Come on Hot Rod.”

His oldest climbs up onto his back and he and Jazz travel to the communal wash racks, getting laughs from the other bots on base. B, in particular, is happy to see them, waving dramatically and squeaking at them as they pass. 

For convenience sake, Jazz and Optimus just gather all five sparklings into one wash cubicle and turn on the showerhead. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are happy to be under the warm spray and huddle in close together to get as much of themselves under it as possible. Together, the grown bots spray the little ones off, lather the paint on them, and hose them down, making sure they’re properly clean. They even leave the shower on a little longer than necessary so the sparklings can splash around, all five of them trilling with happiness at the fun. B, who can’t stand on his own, enjoys smacking his hands in the puddles to make the solvent splash up. 

When they do turn the shower off, the warmth of the solvent is quickly replaced by the warmth of towels. Jazz wraps both twins in one towel and holds them close while he dries them off, ignoring the fact that he’s getting wet in the process. Optimus uses one towel to swaddle B up and another to rub C and Hot Rod dry, leaving his youngest and least mobile for last. Finally clean, all five sparklings are scooped up again and held.

“Think we’re ready for some quiet time?” Optimus asks, his three held tight against his chassis.

“Yeah.” Hot Rod agrees, C yawning in agreement. 

“Maybe some story time?” Jazz agrees, one bit in each arm. 

“Yeah.” Sunstreaker nods, voice muffled because his face is pressed as close as possible to Jazz’s neck struts. 

They agree to use Optimus’s chambers for their quiet time, just because it has the most space for the bitlets. B is almost asleep by the time they get there, head heavy on his shoulder and his limbs still, so it’s easy to brush his denta. Hot Rod climbs off him long enough to grab a storypad and then immediately climbs his way back into his lap, curling up around C so they can both be under his chin. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe sit in Jazz’s lap, curled up with their caretaker.

~~~

No bitlet gets all the way through the story, all of them drift off rather quickly. Optimus tucks C and Hot Rod into his berth and B into his crib, joining Jazz in his slow walk back to the twins’ berthroom. His third in command and head of special operations is humming quietly while walking, a song Optimus doesn’t recognise.

“So, Sire Protocols updating?” Jazz asks.

“How’d you know?” He asks. 

“Everybody knew!” Jazz laughs, doorwings shaking with it. “Everyone but you, it seems.”

“Everybody?” 

“Everybody. Don’t tell anyone I told you, by the way, Hound’s got a pool going around for when you’d notice.” Jazz says.

“Actually, Ratchet and Hoist told me.” Optimus mumbles. 

“Perfect, means nobody’s coming for my plating.” Jazz shrugs. “They wormed their way into your spark pretty quick.”

“They’re easy to love.” He smiles. 

“Aren’t they always?” Jazz nods, shifting his two sparklings in his arms. 

The door of the twins’ room comes into sight, the only one in the hallway with pictures and stickers plastered to it. Most of the paintings are Sunstreakers but he knows that the stickers are from Sideswipe, with some music notes painted on by Jazz, who’s room is right beside theirs. The inside is similar, paintings and stickers on the walls, some toys on the floor, and a berth with two pillows, several blankets, and BOB, curled up at the end. The insecticon perks his head up when they come in, chittering eagerly when he sees the sparklings in Jazz’s arms.

“Hey BOB.” Jazz greet, nudging the bug back to lay the twins in their bed, wrapping them in their blankets. 

BOB squeaks at him and then lays himself sideways over the two of them, multiple limbs shifting and moving until he’s adjusted the covers to his high, insecticon standards. If he had a typical bot face, he’d probably be grinning and proud of himself, more than he already is now.

“Damn bug.” Jazz mutters, ruffling the bugs head. “Can’t believe I got conned into taking on a pest as a pet.”

“More like a babysitter.” Optimus points out.

“He really is.” Jazz laughs, turning and ushering his leader out of the room. “You see how he keeps Sides away from the stove?”

“Or pushes Sunstreaker towards the table when he needs to eat?” Optimus agrees. “He’s a second parent.”

“Basically. When he isn’t causing trouble.” Jazz nods, then claps him on the shoulder. “Anyway, congratulations on your new additions.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “I look forward to seeing them grow.”

“Hopefully not too fast, it’ll be nice having tiny sparklings around.” He shrugs. “They’re cute, the two of them.”

Optimus laughs, nudging his saboteur on the shoulder. Jazz grins, nudging him back as the two of them make their way back towards the kitchen. Certainly, Optimus feels he’s earned a cube of enhancer after nearly offlining watching his sparkling stick paint in his mouth. He hopes that’s a phase B outgrows quickly, his spark can’t take that stress. He knows logically that sparklings that age tend to put things in their mouths but that’s supposed to be for regular things; utensils, toys, perhaps datapads or scrub brushes. There’s a lot of dangerous stuff laying around the base, they have weapons and intense cleaning chemicals and Primus only knows what Ratchet and Hoist have in their medical bay to keep them all alive. Maybe they’ll have to Bit-proof their base a little, he’s sure Prowl would love to take over that job.