Chapter Text
Bumblebee awoke to the soft, blue morning light of another winter’s day on Cybertron. There was slight dew on his optics making his vision mist at the seams. Grumbling, he used his thumb to wipe the moisture away, annoyed he’d likely have to get a micro cloth as it did little more than smear as steel brushed against reinforced glass plating. Shiny must have left a window open.
His massive loft had plenty to forget about. Too much space for one, two, or a small platoon of bots his size.
Four thousand and seventy-two years after the war, Cybertron warmed.
Their displacement in time left the planet spark-less for years. It was debilitated, weakened, and destined to slowly die had they not saved it at the last second. With the Allspark returned, it could finally, painfully, heal.
A century passed in silence on the surface as news spread that the war was over, but with no energon readily available, it was agreed upon that perhaps, they should wait before anyone could return to the lives they burned to ash.
Snow.
Corpses.
Husks.
Everyone needed to rest.
For one thousand years, the planet had gone into stasis, the people locked themselves in their homes and anywhere they felt safe enough to offline, and for years, they slept as energon pumped and boiled up from the planet’s core.
Optimus Prime and Megatron remained, picking officers of choice, and taking on the responsibility of picking their fallen off the steel streets and accepting their bodies would be better put to use in a smelter.
Bumblebee was not given the privilege of participating, and awoke three thousand years later to Arcee showing all they had built.
Which was a hovel of metal and wire they could cling to until the endless winter warmed. No one knew exactly when that could be, as every single day, soft white clouds obscured the sky, rarely parting to shine a bright and blinding blue that reflected a dazzling icy sheen on their streets. Snow crunched underfoot until it was turned to slush, treads, tires and metal turning the white slurry into a river that descended into the many drains lest they rust from a river’s worth of melted snow in the streets.
Bumblebee remembered his first year online, finding his compatriots in many states of languor or distancing themselves entirely.
Because as heroes of war, they were just special.
A hero of war didn’t pay for drinks. They were celebrated!
The heroes did not need to work. Housing was free. Buffing and waxing was complimentary.
However, no one could seem to place who was the true hero, and none were brave enough to challenge Optimus Prime, cult leader and chosen by the planet to lead. Megatron, the revolutionary and gladiator idol had his many unyielding followers. The deaths of countless for their energon in the arena were laid on Shockwave’s unstable shoulders. Both sides were bonded in faith to the central figure that was Elita-1.
Her bravery, sacrifice, and lingering strength heralded her as a saint in the eyes of those who knew how she fought for the people. The height of what a warrior of the planet should be. While grand statues had been erected of icons from both sides, none received more love and devotion from her worshippers.
Bumblebee moved his legs first, holding onto the edge of his berth before hopping down. Droplets of moisture were drying on his optics, warmed as he awakened from recharge.
It was difficult to believe.
Him, a hero.
Held to the same standard as a fembot he’d only known for days, at best.
Locating a micro fiber cloth strewn atop his nightstand module, Bumblebee wiped his optics side to side, resetting them and satisfied when he didn’t see water as he stared out the large, ceiling to floor window that spanned an entire wall, showing the balcony and the city below.
Where buildings tall enough to breach the atmosphere once stood tall, most were stout, or under construction. Though as no new life had come up, and their population did not rise nor fall, there was so little motivation to continue.
Clanking below caught Bumblebee’s audial, and he descended the tight spiral staircase where his berth and general belongings were.
Shiny was on the large span of a sofa, head lolled to the side as some bot he didn’t recognize held her under his arm.
He carefully stepped over the leg of another mech on his floor who seemed to be in a deep recharge, body pressed against the back of a chair.
He didn’t know why it didn’t bother him, perhaps in a way their presence was a comfort. In the war, he regularly walked into hovels of shared space, sleeping shoulder to shoulder with a stranger and hoping to whoever was listening he didn’t wake up buried or with a blaster at his spark. The soft morning light brightened, illuminating Shiny’s body as she raised a pen to her lips, blackened and burnt metal leaving a stark discoloration over them like a crude detailing. They matched the tips of her fingers, though despite all of this, the rest of her chrome polish still gleamed brighter than the surface on a rare clear day.
Vapor billowed in a stream as she exvented, and as their optics locked in the slowly brightening apartment, she offered up the pen. Bumblebee considered it.
Seventy years he’d abstained from engex, cy-gars and anything that could distract him from finding work and maybe even rebuilding their world. It took two to finally give.
Shiny’s name was somewhere in his databanks. Not forgotten, just never important. She waxed and buffed his time worn metal after he’d slowly gotten used to free everything. He didn’t anticipate her following him home later in the night and while the memory never had much relevance, he could still remember her face when he looked up at her from his door.
She was a fan, apparently. Bumblebee was flattered, but he was no Prime. He wasn’t even an Arcee. He had no kind words or encouraging speeches, he simply said ‘Make yourself at home, I guess.’
Disappointing others was something he didn’t claim to be proud of, but his second memory was the way her optics stalled when allowing her free roam of the place.
It was dangerous, he was vaguely aware. But the war was over, and if Megatron, Galvatron and Nemesis Prime couldn’t get him- he doubted anyone alive could.
Besides, he liked feeling the warmth of other bodies as he passed them by.
Their world had gotten so cold.
The pen lit up, indicating how much of its contents remained, she seemed to be running low.
Exventing, Bumblebee watched the jetstream of vapor blow before returning the pen, pressing his lip components together as heat left them uncomfortably warmed. Not like it’d matter as he located the source of the interior mist.
The balcony door was open, letting in freezing, moist air.
“Forget to close the balcony door?” He asked, his tone casual but his sideways glance stern.
“Ah, sorry.” She pressed the pen to her mouth again, passing it to the mech that currently enveloped her with his massive, black metal arm. In the darkness, his forest green plating blended together, the pen as thin as a straw in his fingers.
“Yeah. Don’t let it happen again.” Bumblebee could feel a happy fog settle over him. Not enough to leave him draped over his sofa all day, but enough to not feel irritation as he closed the sliding glass doors with a command on the wall unit.
The lower level was a mess of Shiny’s belongings, personal leavings of bots come and gone, and trash.
So much trash.
“Clean this up. I don’t want to have to move because I’ll catch some rust.” He spoke without looking at her, knowing she’d probably get to it in several hours.
The war left them all so tired.
From the doorway, he departed, running a heating protocol that burned a lot of electricity and energy alike, but protected him from the wet outside.
It was a warmer day at least, his plating not immediately covered in frost and he could transform without feeling like his tires would rip.
Some bots walked or drove their way to work, never acknowledging him but always knowing he was there.
Bumblebee stopped hating the sensation two years ago.
There were no fliers above, as their delicate circuitry would freeze without military grade ventilation or modified exteriors. The Maximals had offered as much of their science and development as they could, though their technology was reserved for Optimus and his chosen to decide the future they deigned to build.
Bumblebee abstained from that.
He wasn’t a leader, he was at his most content by Optimus’ side and being there for him. But Optimus needed a team that would govern and give command. Sometimes, he’d wished that he’d agreed to stay, as his days tended to play out the same.
Transforming with a kick up of white slurry mush, Bumblebee exited the main street and began walking, observing.
Rarely, he would see a visual shrine to Elita-1. Her face monotone with beautiful techno organic flowers below. Or a visual of her leading the charge to free bots of either faction from certain doom. Digital candles kept everything in a glow, and he could guess this graffiti was allowed as long as it was kept down a side street or a back alley unlike the official memorials, monuments and iconography approved by a city planner.
He realized that there was an entirely new sector of businesses opened when turning down a street that had formerly been a long row of buildings with everything past their fourth floors burned off by an experimental weapon that sent a laser cutting far too close to both sides. The Seekers dominated by air, but they were in just as much of friendly fire as bots with jetpacks.
The upper portions of the buildings seemed to have shallow new roofs that left the top floors potentially a little uncomfortable for someone Megatron’s height.
Body decal, pede specialist, specialized cleaning services, and a bar actually open while the sun was rising over the horizon.
Bumblebee abstained from lawmaking or enforcement, but he was sure this went against some kind of code. The thick, glass and steel door slid aside, and the white of morning snow dimmed as the interior was lit with comfortably low light. Vibrant neon lights made for wall decal with booths on each side. Though unlike Maccadam’s of their before, there was a clear Decepticon presence as Bumblebee looked up to see various recognizable faces glance his way.
It was also clearly not suited for a bot his stature as he noticed most of the seats had to be gripped and swung up to be reached at all.
Despite the time, Bumblebee found himself pressing the tips of his pedes on the lower rail in front of the bar and gripping the edge, hoisting himself up until his chest could be seen over it and made eye contact with the bartender.
There was a distinct smell of cy-gar smoke, pens and engex so sweet and rich it was likely bonding to their paint jobs. Music pounded heavy, dissonant tones throughout the audials of every mech, though music wasn’t the first thing Bumblebee would call it.
The Maximals and their futuristic tech helped them rebuild faster than they could have done with their own. However, there came biases, Primal and Arachnia the most insistent in what they should absolutely include in their planning.
The Predacons remained loyal to Megatron… his Megatron. If the former gladiator couldn’t be bothered, they’d reluctantly seek one of Optimus’ bots.
Megatran had a habit of never being present for anything.
“Oh ho… well… look who it is.”
Bumblebee turned, drink now in hand as he heard the dark rumble of intake muffled laughter at the far end of the bar. It was a good spot. Bumblebee hadn’t seen Megatron’s silver metal, so obscured by smoke and bodies blocking his vision, distracting him. He could see anyone who walked in from the far booth on the back wall, and Bumblebee chose not to be upset he’d let his instincts lax so much.
“Did you set this place up? Seems like the type of company you’d keep.” The engex was bitter, dry. Some type of mid-grade Bumblebee knew would reignite the cloud in his brain module for the next few hours.
Instead of choosing to yell, Bumblebee lowered himself from the rail keeping him chest height over the bar and maneuvered his way through empty standing tables to explore more of the small bar.
It resembled many businesses of their quiet, cold rebuild of the planet. A single room with enough standing height for their average tallest, that being mechs like Megatron, and a slice of a wall leading to a backroom, purging commode and stairs leading to living quarters. Humble and claustrophobic, it was something they all had to get used to as the rebuilding efforts were nearly ground to a halt as every single time they made headway, rust and cold damage snapped something in half.
So they built small, short, and as much as Bumblebee liked the spacious interiors of a military base, he could pretend to be a little warmer when the space was like a jam packed box.
Closer to the round booth, Bumblebee noticed Soundwave, shoulder to shoulder with his master, and a glowing pink line that traveled from Megatron’s body below the table up into his neck. Head tilted to the side, his visor was dim, looking as though he was half-asleep. He said nothing as the shorter bot approached, shuffling when Megatron’s canon-less arm waved, inviting Bumblebee closer.
Eying the tube, Bumblebee was going to make a comment about his lack of decency only to see a bot with her chest plate missing place a new glass on Megatron’s table. Petite tubes, silver turbines and sleek fuel lines glinted off the bright red neon around them. Bumblebee’s words had died somewhere leaving his mouth open until Megatron’s deep chuckle snapped him back.
“First time seeing fans Autobot?” Megatron’s bronze-gold drink had a layer of thick foam that sloshed as he brought it to his intake. Bumblebee could smell it from where he stood, narrowing his eyes.
“More than plenty under different circumstances. But I did not take you for the type to be that interested in… all of this.” Bumblebee’s free hand waved to his side, earning languid glances.
“You don’t know me at all. I assure you. Come, sit.” He took another swig.
Soundwave did not move save for a loll of his head as the energon pumped from his master’s body flowed into him.
Faction fights were rare, often shut down directly by officers of either side that fought during the near final moments of their home. Optimus Prime voted for prison, Megatron opted for executions. Their point was heard and while peace was a poor descriptor, it at least meant Bumblebee didn’t have to check his six every time he came out of recharge.
The seats were high, but the table was low, letting him comfortably lean back as reality bled a soft haze over his optics. The moan was involuntary as his chassis settled in the mesh of the upholstered seating.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Bumblebee continued, staring at Soundwave despite his speaking to Megatron.
“Does it matter?”
Bumblebee finally focused back on Megatron, lips flattening.
“Fine, fine. Though, the answer is no. This place was made by Neutrals, and, well- the others simply followed.” Megatron’s chin motioned towards the bar where bots clearly listening glanced their way again.
Boy, he really was in enemy territory.
Bumblebee laughed though his intake pipe, taking another drink and offlining his optics as the pressing buzz on his processor deepened.
“And I thought I didn’t have anything better else to do.” His eyes re-lit with a click. “No war to fight so you just live out your fetish while and get hammered?”
He didn’t rise to the bait.
Instead, Megatron smiled and took a deep invent and exvent.
“Quite the barb from that mouth. You would have made a wonderful soldier of mine. Perhaps that is how you charmed Prime.”
“Charmed?” Scoffing, Bumblebee re-thought taking another drink and focused on Megatron thoroughly. Besides the open display of sharing his innermost energon in the most suspicious bar he’d ever been to, he still appeared battle ready and imposing. They sat somewhat close, Soundwave and Megatron in the curve of the booth, and Bumblebee an arm’s reach on the end. He hadn’t changed at all, with the only new addition to his body being a majestic, deep red mantle he would have absolutely declared tacky if not for the seemingly permanent frost over every surface outside.
“Playing coy is ill fitting of your visage. I’ve fought Prime long enough. I know how he thinks. And when he looks at you… well.” Megatron took another long, intake drumming drink, drowned out by bass and metal string from speakers nearby.
Soundwave shuddered, an electric groan coming from his throat and Megatron completely ignored Bumblebee to look him over, earning a headshake and the return to leaning on his larger arm. Megatron’s drink was being distilled and made thrice as strong as it bonded with his energon. Soundwave was, at this point, probably in need of a purge or twelve hour recharge.
Optimus Prime no longer took up Bumblebee’s thoughts. He didn’t allow it. He tried. He did everything he could.
He spent his days on his feet, out of his mind, and keeping his eyes up on anything that didn’t remind him of a thick, deep voice in his audials telling him how much he needed him.
It was a secret, one Bumblebee refused to check if anyone else knew.
But, he supposed it made sense that Megatron could surmise it.
“Being coy is my charm point Megs. Gets guards down.” He gave one of his best smiles reserved for sticky situations and maintained eye contact, optics lowering as he took another drink.
Megatron’s head tilted to the side before giving a sharp, short and sand dry laugh.
“Prime doesn’t deserve you.”
Soundwave groaned, and Megatron clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, fiddling with the tube connecting them and ignoring Bumblebee entirely.
The music blared around them once again as his attention was no longer tethered to Megatron’s voice, and Bumblebee noted that his drink was still half full.
Strong stuff they served. He could get himself sick, maybe have a processor ache until the next day if he drank it all. War left anyone hesitant to waste energy, even if it was far too heady engex. He could leave the thing and be a responsible mech.
Or he could be a fool and prepare for the hangover.
In two, large, very uncomfortable gulps, the glass was empty and Bumblebee shimmied his way from the booth, ignoring the chest-plateless server as he narrowly missed her in a face to turbine collision on his way out of the place. Megatron’s way of ending a conversation was usually distinct. Either with a punch to the face or a sudden complete lack of acknowledgement.
He did not need to stick around.
The engex slammed into his processor harder than the sharp, cold wind outside.
Heat coursed through his internals, tubes warm despite knowing the rubber was actually freezing cold. The ground seemed to see-saw in his visual suite and he stifled a giggle.
Well, he knew the risks.
And this was how he liked it.
Bumblebee noted the lack of bodies on the street, bots already at work and those remaining ineligible or unwilling.
There was always the chance of tripping over a body they’d missed in the older sectors of their planet, and corpse disposal was always open.
He couldn’t blame them.
On his own, hiding behind bodies and anything that could shield him, Bumblebee had enough of corpses.
Some bots didn’t care, too desensitized or felt it was their duty to honor their fallen heroes. Arcee was the best among them, never letting a stray hand or foot scare her. Bumblebee spent many months at her side, trying to adjust, and learning all that he could. But unlike him, she was soldered to her work and welded to Optimus’ cause.
He’d seen them as a cult before Alpha Trion himself told him what he needed to do. Well, his protocol at the very least. But he was loyal to Optimus first, his cause second.
Blinking at his new location, Bumblebee stood out at the edge of the city sector, overlooking a leveled city where workers hauled materials on trailers and trolleys. In the distance, grey cloudy skies cast bright light down on black ruins. Colorful bodies covered in filth from an already troublesome day went back and forth, and Bumblebee turned around.
He should get his own pen.
Whatever vapors and chemical mess Shiny had, it cleared his mind of all the mess better than engex.
Heat continued to course through him, leaving his exterior buzzing as he traversed the snow.
Perhaps it would have been a good idea to recharge more at home. By the time he reached it on foot, maybe his next hardly lucid cycle would be at night.
He loved the night.
It was dark, easy on the optics, familiar.
Shiny and her revolving door of guests on the primary floor reminded him of a shelter when the war started. It was just him, strangers, and a persistent quiet as shelter lights flickered. Bumblebee smiled as he walked.
He hated those shelters.
The sun crawled forty-five degrees across the sky by the time his door swished open. On the sofa, Shiny was obscured by the larger body of the bot currently on top of her, who quickly scrambled to sit himself up. Bumblebee ignored them, noticing a considerable amount of trash had been picked up and discarded though there was still a sizable clutter of empty glasses, and forgotten kibble.
From the gentle clank of chrome plated metal bumping against dull armor, they likely continued when he continued to not look at them, picking up several glasses and being mindful enough to not toss them as he set each on the rack of the automatic cleaner.
Water was a foreign, strange liquid that had only flowed on their planet when war destabilized the atmosphere. They had rain, snow, and even the rare humidity.
As Bumblebee watched the washer sequence start, he let his thoughts go blank again, the buzz from hours ago fading and returning him to his senses. What else was there for a mech that had everything, but nothing to do?
The last time he’d spoken to Optimus, he was under a tangle of limbs, mouth aching from having his face slammed into by heated thrusts and feeling like his presence served his purpose.
Blinking back into the dark interior of the cleaner, Bumblebee walked out onto the balcony, immediately freezing.
Down below was a drop only a Seeker could survive. His apartment was in one of the few remaining structures that survived the war, so far outside of the main cities that war simply bumped against it.
The view was endless, and in front of him crinkled metal spread like shrapnel over the horizon. Debris would be sent to the smelter, repurposed, and reforged into construction materials. Corpses were salvaged and put to use for medical repair, or more materials for the massive memorial to all that could be named. An installment that would probably be under construction for another five-hundred or so years.
The larger bot’s voice echoed outside, the clanging loud and rhythmic before stopping.
His head tilted momentarily to the side before looking back down directly to the streets below. While their climate had changed, the chill so high reminded him of stepping back home after their long winter had frozen their planet solid. Which meant he had to get inside before he shut himself down.
This time he took a moment to actually look at his roommate, who was currently in recharge, atop the massive body on his back. His furniture wasn’t exactly minibot sized, but it was low enough to the ground to not need to jump and that was all he cared about. The body he’d stepped over that morning had left, and the mess he’d woken up to was dealt with enough to not be frustrated.
This was his life.
Messy.
Not enough to anger him, but a touch gnawing at his comfort. Surrounded by strangers and familiar enough faces. Onlining as a brand new life right as the turmoil between factions hit a critical level, this level of peace was new. This was the tranquility everyone had been working so hard for. He was never forced to work in factories, a brute or scribe for the elite, and he couldn’t say he had anything important to do even before he learned how to aim a gun.
He liked the way his recharge slab set his back strut straight, radiating warmth through built in coils and pumped electricity and nanites steadily into his wrist ports. He liked having a home, for the first time.
Having it all given to him for a service he only mildly participated in compared to bots who were with each side from the start felt like he’d come in second to last in a race and was still given a spot next to number one.
He scrubbed his face with his wire free hand, and shut off his optics.
Maybe when he was out of recharge, he’d find something new to do.