Chapter Text
With a simple stomp of his pede against the beaten down path, a clump of solid dirt flattened into dust— Dust, that he promptly kicked away with a muted grumble. Clouds of it followed each step he took, practically matching the way that Bumblebee let insults fly right out of his intake and straight into the wind. He cursed the ground he walked on, the wind that allowed particles to intercept the gaps in his armor, and he cursed the strain of his joints as he marched right on to the top.
Bumblebee wasn't exactly fighting against gravity as he made his way up the hill, but hell if the earth beneath him didn't try and weigh him down anyhow.
Or, maybe he was doing that all on his own. Dragging his frame forward instead of reaching out for help. Trudging ahead despite the half-locked stasis cuffs cinched around his boot, trying to imprison him in a rotting corner until he had nothing left but his thoughts to keep him company. All because of him and his anger and frustration at Bulkhead for getting Bee into this situation.
No, that wasn't fair… Bulk didn't force him to take the blame during boot camp after the big guy accidentally crushed that tight wad drill sergeant of theirs under a building. Nor did he volunteer Bumblebee and the rest of this team for this particular work assignment.
After all, they were simple repair bots. Which meant they went where they were told to, cleaned what needed cleaning–
And built space bridges from the ground up apparently.
All because a certain someone just so happened to hold the title of Cybertron's 'foremost space bridge engineering expert' and said expertise was 'absolutely mission critical' to the construction of Cybertron's latest and greatest project—a hub bridge smack dab in the middle of Quintesson territory.
To anyone who cared at all about the history of Cybertron or about the politics of the Commonwealth, they'd know that this was a very big deal. And for Bulkhead to practically head the project…
Bumblebee stopped his trek for a klik, letting his side vents cycle in and out only to erratically pivot into harshly kicking at an innocent stone. With a heated glare, Bee watched it skitter across uneven ground—tumbling off to the side and all the way back down the slope of the hill. "Fragging Bulkhead."
He wasn't jealous. What was there for him to get jealous about? Just 'cause Bulkhead achieved all of his dreams in secret whilst Bumblebee actively squandered a chance at his own for him? Especially now that Bulk's designation would probably get spread across every news outlet around and recorded in every edition of Cybertron's chronicle of the greatest and brightest Autobots?
Nooo, what a waste of energon to get seemingly envious of nothing.
Bee could celebrate his friend's success, he could.
Huffing and puffing, the range on his audials picked up the distant sounds of organic laughter. Bumblebee didn't know the term for the young of the dominant species on this planet, or if they even had one, but he didn't need it to state that whatever constituted for their version of protoforms were loud. And obnoxious. Obnoxiously loud even.
They shrieked and chased after each other down by the beach, on an active coastline most unfamiliar to Bee—they… didn't have anything like this anywhere back in the Commonwealth. Cybertronians would contract a nasty case of rust rash if they even dared to dip a pede into salt water so casually… Most of them, at least. The idea that people would chose to vacation and relax within a short distance of an irritant like that, it boggled the processor of his team. But then again, the people of this planet were organic—things were different for them than for mechanisms.
Bumblebee wanted to jump into the water, he wanted to swim.
He couldn't though, could he? His team wouldn't understand the desire—one so unlike a Cybertronian's natural instinct of self-preservation—and for once he couldn't blame them. It never came up in conversation and even if they did, Bumblebee doubted they would believe his claims that while his plating was soft, it was more stable than any of theirs could ever dream of being.
It's with an extreme fond bitterness that he recalled the training pools in the factory that forged him. Technically, Bumblebee didn't have permission to frequent those rooms as they were designed for new batches molded with aquatic alt modes. Plenty of bots imagined alternate vehicle modes for themselves, it was totally normal. And don't get him wrong, he loved his wheels, but he couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like if he had been a sailing vessel or a boat.
The factories came by those builds so rarely, the Autobot custodians practically had to go out of their way to make one—which meant that the few chosen were rare and unique in every conceivable way. And what was the harm in entertaining the idea of that being him instead?
One of his instructors would let him sneak in after hours, though. She watched him carefully, noting down his proclivity for diving at the deeper end of the pool. Eventually she'd be the one to push forward his enlistment papers with a letter of recommendation for boot camp. Out of all of his caretakers during the transition period of newbuild to established Cybertronian, only she thought he was exceptional enough to perhaps become an honor grad.
Big mistake there, considering he flunked out of boot camp entirely. Hopefully she didn't put her shanix where her intake was. Bumblebee bet that she regretted giving him special privileges after realizing it wasn't competency she saw, but a self-absorbed need to stand out from his peers.
…. Even if he ran down the hill to take a quick dip, Bee held in brief consideration the potential reaction of the organics. An argument budded at the front of his computer that he didn't care what they thought and neither should they about him— But then logic returned and smacked him right across the helm. Because while he was a cyber-mite to these organics, aka entirely inconsequential and insignificant, Bumblebee didn't belong to this planet.
This wasn't his home, he wasn't even on vacation like the rest of them.
And he'd probably freak out too if he saw some strange, unknown metallic creature flopping right into the ocean next to him or near the protoforms he was tasked to rear. Maybe he'd even try to stomp the insect out or swat it right out of the water, and Bumblebee wasn't exactly in the mood to get turned into sheet metal by giants.
Still, it sounded like they were all having a grand ol' time. Bee couldn't see them from this side of the hill, but once he reached the top where the unobstructed cliff-view was located, he'd get a much better vantage point down below.
Much softer than the mocking laughter, he listened to the rhythmic pull and crash of waves that battered the shoreline. A routine motion that he wouldn't get to enjoy, the tides taunting him with temptation.
All in all, it did absolutely zilch to soothe the simmering part of him that wanted to scream until his vocalizer chip fried itself into malfunction. It honestly made him feel even more desperate to escape, to drive off into the distance and never seen any of his constricting teammates again.
Worse yet, Bumblebee couldn't see the stone he kicked anymore—losing sight of it completely.
Knowing him, it probably reached rock bottom without fail.
"Whatever," Bee turned his back on it, a sting of pain emanating somewhere behind his optics.
Without wasting another nanoklik, he continued up the path to his designated brooding zone. Presumptuous to lay claim to anything, yeah, but he had called dibs and marked the area as his within a deca-cycle of them stationing themselves on this planet. What of it? If Bee didn't have a secluded place to retreat to, he'd have shut down by now.
Because… More often than not, Bumblebee got stuck inside of his own helm. Trapped really, in all the ways that did and didn't matter.
Bee hated it. He never used to get like this—considered it unthinkable even. After all, Bumblebee was plucky and foolhardy and did his best to never let anything or anyone beat him down but… Nowadays he could hardly escape the dread that pulled him inward as he turned over the events of each cycle, thinking and thinking without actually coming to a proper or even meaningful conclusion about them. Like plucking at a weld over again, refusing to let the metal heal or the seams to reconnect.
The monotony of repair work only exacerbated this problem, he felt, as the lack of stimulation and excitement kept him held back. And with nothing to distract him, all Bumblebee had left to focus on was everything wrong in his life.
Clenching and unfurling his digits repeatedly, Bumblebee reminded himself about the crucial and active decision he made centuries ago—that if he were to source any amount of happiness for himself, then he actually needed to give in and make peace with the way things ended up. Other bots got better lots, but that didn't mean he had to go about having a pity party that never ended.
No, he'd likely never become an Elite Guard warrior. No, he'd definitely never get to rise the ranks and prove his worth—to show that his proto-donors went to someone worthwhile. Yes, he was with no uncertainty stuck until the end of his run cycle as a janitor scraping off space barnacles from derelict and forgotten wartime monuments from an age he'd never had the pleasure of knowing.
Yes, Bumblebee could admit he enjoyed the company of his team on occasion. But…
Did he like repair work?
No, not even the slightest bit and that would never change. Not in a million years and certainly not within a short thousand.
The work sucked, flat out. Cleaning and removing space junk from tiny little colonies on the outskirts of the Commonwealth wouldn't appeal to anyone with half a processing chip—and Bee's been doing it for longer than anyone else on the team. Flunking out as early as he did, the maintenance track snatched him up and reprogrammed him as soon as possible with all the modules he'd need.
While Bulkhead continued onto an engineering track to master his field, Bumblebee was sent out to work and somehow still scored low in cleaning. Bulkhead learned quantum physics the likes of which Bumblebee could only dream of whilst he learned the best way to use his military-grade capable stingers to fracture rock—breaking it down as he nearly broke.
And you know, for all that the remedial courses tried to hype up the importance of 'maintaining Cybertronian strongholds' and 'the bridges that ferried them across the galaxy!'… Nothing could disguise the demeaning labor it smelted down to.
Bumblebee couldn't even lie to himself that repair techs were glorified janitors because they weren't even that. Nobody in the Elite Guard or High Command respected them and the rest of their efforts went unnoticed by the general public.
Maybe, if the Autobots were still at war against the Decepticons, the role could have been deemed with any amount of significance. But they weren't. So… Yeah. Lowly, little grunt Bumblebee. Miserable worker drone Bumblebee, stuck and stuck and stuck–
But only if he let it get to him. Because he didn't have to like doing repair work to tolerate it and go about his run cycle otherwise happy. A begrudging contentment, to make everything else easier. Bumblebee could smile brightly at Bulkhead and banter with Ratchet and run circles around Prime without them being any the wiser to how grueling it was to try and keep up. If his team didn't wallow, then neither would he.
Bee had managed for a good few decades like that, but this newest job… It brought back all of the feelings he buried deep down. And it got harder to hide it from his friend when Bulkhead looked like a newly forged on inspection day—all primped and postured with confidence now that he was receiving recognition…
And hanging out among intellectual peers.
They weren't the only crew brought on for this project. Obviously, because what the hell were the four of them—plus one…—gonna do to build a space bridge without the right materials or tools or whatever else Bulkhead went gaga over once they docked their ship and disembarked to the work site? A whole lot of nothing, that's what.
Once the ball got rolling, Bumblebee had counted at least seven different teams roaming about the dormitories their affable organic hosts allotted the Cybertronians. Their quarters were decent but oversized, an odd mix for the Autobots who were used to towering over organics. The compound itself was considered small, but they all fit with room to spare.
Bee kept note of all the bots that High Command deemed necessary for the completion of the Brobdingnag Space Bridge and they had recruited each role in abundance— There were at least a few architects leading the project alongside Bulkhead as team lead, who in turn delegated to a good handful of other engineers. Another Prime or two hung around acting as protection detail with majors and minors alike directing the security squad, all in service to a cadre of electricians, maintenance crews, and medics alike.
Amid all of these talented, intelligent bots what did they need a 2nd Class Repair Bot like Bumblebee for anyway? The only task he had been trusted to do involved sweeping at end of day and clearing the workspace of the larger bots to prevent FOD. Once or twice, he had even been asked to fetch oil for the shifts on break… Nobody gave him a single thank you for acting like their personal gobot. Bee was tempted to serve them backwash instead on more than one occasion, but the fear of repercussion stalled him.
Not to mention how there were at least five other minibots running around with the same specs as him and with practically the same exact paint job too. In a myriad of yellow and orange, Bumblebee's never felt so…
Useless. Obsolete. Unnecessary, not needed in the slightest.
On one shift he thought… Nobody would notice him missing from the work site if just… left.
And… they hadn't.
After spending the whole day exploring the nearby areas, Bee snuck back to the dormitories without anyone refreshing their optics in realization at his return. He expected for Prime to scold him for running off and skipping out on his duties, and even prepared himself mentally the entire drive back, but Optimus had been too busy shooting the slag with the other Academy bots in the commisary. Bee didn't receive a single warning about possibly getting yet another demerit to his record, despite getting all up in the Prime's facial sculpt to remind him that, 'Oh right! Bumblebee existed.'
Hell, not even Ratchet cared about his truancy—if he even noticed—and more so than Optimus the medic had always gotten on his case about it before.
Bumblebee supposed that was the benefit of blending into a crowd—it didn't make a difference whether he was there or not…
Bumblebee didn't make a difference. He didn't matter.
At the sudden pang throughout his spark chamber, Bee nearly tripped up the last little bit of slope, scrabbling for purchase. His servos dug into the dirt, brown dust coating his black digits as his pede dug into the ground. He panted, pulling in air quickly to desperately try and cool down his burning laser core.
Pushing himself up in a burst of motion, he slid further back a step before bulldozing straight to the top.
Of course Bumblebee mattered. What a ridiculous notion to think that he didn't. For starters, he brought much needed life to his team of washed up war bots and dropouts. And and and, he was the fastest out of all of them—probably even the fastest bot around and absolutely the fastest bot currently on this planet!
Besides, who cared if he skipped out on boring, dull work when they had minibots a dime a dozen. He'd much better put his efforts in keeping his exploration abilities sharp—has he mentioned yet that he scored wayyy above average in all fields during his preliminary testing before boot camp? Because he did! His instructor hadn't been wrong about him, she just got the timing off—Bee needed only a few more cycles to incubate before shipping off to boot camp. With a different squad, a different sergeant, and different conditions altogether, he would have easily made it as an Elite Guardsman!
Bumblebee wasn't a complete waste of metal from his proto-donors.
His frame was perfect for spontaneous adaptability.
And Bumblebee could prove it too.
If, uh, an opportunity to do so presented itself. Not that he needed to wait for the right moment to show off how capable he was, merely he… He…
Scrap, what was he doing? Trying to convince himself that he wasn't a failure, when he knew by all metrics that he was one.
Damn it, he hated the way his processor plunged in and out of a rut. Like—couldn't his emotional matrix make up its mind? Did he feel on top of the world or like the scum on the bottom of a hull? He couldn't even wait until he got to the top of his–
He faltered, right at the precipice.
Prowl was sitting in his spot.
Legs crossed and servos folded gently on top of one another, Prowl faced out toward the ocean. Comfortably lazing at the very edge of the cliff that Bee had mistakenly assumed nobody else knew about or bothered to visit.
Right. Right, it just figures that the elusive ninjabot would sneak up and take away Bee's only solace on this crummy planet. Par for the fragging course.
What did Prowl have to escape from anyhow? Unlike Bee and the rest of the team, Prowl didn't need to do any heavy lifting when it came to the construction of the bridge. Or any work at all, really. As far as Cybertron was concerned, he was officially listed as a stowaway and as such they didn't factor him into their stupid project.
Prowl could lollygag all cycle long without any consequence. And from what Bee could glean—despite not knowing the mech for all that long—Prowl couldn't have been any more pleased with this set of circumstance than if they hadn't blown up his ship to begin with.
Quietly, Bumblebee started to back away with a glance over his pauldrons. Alright, not the end of the world. He'd find a new brooding spot, at least until Prowl got bored of this one. Surely, this wasn't the only out of the way hill on the entire coast.
He started to turn, pistons near silent. Because the last thing that he needed was to disturb Prowl and draw his over to–
"I know you're there," Prowl sighed, twisting his spinal strut to face him. His servos gravitated toward his poleyn and he scowled at Bee. Full attention on him, Prowl said, "Have known for a while, in fact. You're not exactly subtle. Or quiet."
Stopping his retreat, Bumblebee met his expression in kind. He wasn't exactly pleased to see Prowl either, so the ninjabot could stand to wipe that look off his face plates.
An immature part of him felt compelled to inform the bot that Bee had long since claimed the cliff as his territory, but he could already hear the comeback from Prowl that he couldn't a) call dibs on any part of a planet that didn't belong to him and b) Prowl didn't see his designation anywhere to prove such a claim.
Instead, he diplomatically held up his servos and dismissively looked to the side. "Look, I didn't come up here to bother you. I'll just go and let you get back to… whatever you're doing."
"No need." Prowl returned back to his previous position. "There's no sense delaying the inevitable. We share a berthing for the moment, if you recall. You're bound to annoy me at some point today."
"Don't remind me," he grumbled. Bumblebee had been hoping to double up with Bulkhead, but the dormitories were separated by rank. He supposed he was grateful to not have a complete stranger recharging in the same room as him but… Prowl wasn't much better.
They hardly knew anything about the guy and Prowl wasn't particularly forthcoming. For all Bee knew, Prowl could switch up on them and try to offline him in the middle of the night cycle. Creepy mech hanging around a rock for Allspark knows how long, a million threads could calculate in his helm at once without giving off a single clue to the rest of the Autobots about his goals or machinations.
Here he went being unfair again. Prowl hadn't done anything to lead Bee to believe he had ill-intent. But… That didn't mean he got along with the guy any better. They butted helms more than they ever agreed on anything, which wasn't a problem back on the ship—both of them had the choice to avoid the other to cool off, but here? Not so much.
Still, as Bumblebee glanced back down the hill he dismissed the idea of finding somewhere else to loiter around before the cycle ended. The work day would end soon and he wanted to try and get Bulkhead to hang out with him tonight. Bulk would probably blow him off, claiming to need rest, but he wanted to try regardless.
Without any other good choice left, he gave in. He walked over to the edge of the cliff and dropped down into a squat next to Prowl. Hugging his knees tightly, Bee rest his chin guard against his poleyn. He left a good amount of space between him and Prowl, but it didn't feel like enough—he hadn't wanted company for a reason.
Prowl returned back to his… meditation? Bumblebee guessed. He didn't care to ask.
Judging by the skyline, they probably had a few megacycles to go before the rest of the Autobots called it quits for the day. Plenty of time to sit around and do nothing but stare at the carefree organics chasing after each other with their strange bright yellow optics and their long spindly limbs and twitching antenna. Bumblebee's telescopic lens' slid into place, watching as they splashed water at each other, while some tossed a spherical ball back and forth between them. A game of some sort. It looked fun.
A lone kid started to drift deeper into the ocean, separating from the rest of their peers.
Neither of the two bots spoke, until Bumblebee finally muttered, "Why are we here?"
Staring out at the horizon, it wasn't the first time he wondered that. And until they left the planet with pat on the back plates and a job well done, so that the team could return right back to how things originally were, he'd probably keep asking himself that.
In fact, he'd questioned it so many times under his vents and to no-one else at all that he didn't expect for Prowl to actually answer him. He damn near jolted out of place at hearing, "It's not a cosmic coincidence if that's what you're getting on about. We're exactly where we're needed to be, for the time being anyhow."
"That's not what I meant and you know it." With a glare, he jerked his chin up and out at the world around them. "I mean what are we even doing here, smack dab in the middle of the Quintesson Panopticon? If Cybertron wanted a new space bridge so bad, why couldn't they have made a brand new colony on one of those hundreds of handfuls of unclaimed planets and moons?"
Prowl glanced at him. Befuddled, he asked, "The what?"
Staring at Prowl curiously, not used to hearing confusion in his apathetic voice, Bee wondered what was tripping him up. Until he realized and shuttered his optics in quick blinks. "Wait, don't tell me you actually call it the 'Quintesson Pan-Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere' or whatever long-winded junk the star maps have it listed as." At Prowl's continued silence, Bee flicked out a servo in an incredulous expression of, "No way! I know something that you don't? How is that even possible, I thought you were Mr. All-Knowing-No-Sharing?"
"Last I recall, it has only ever been referred to as the Quintesson Empire." Prowl smacked his servo away. "Although, that was a long time ago comparatively. But even then, I highly doubt it's called the Quintesson… Panopticon outside of you and whoever you learned that from."
"Try the South Iacon factory district." Smug, Bumblebee shifted in place as he got comfortable. He let himself fall back out of his squat, and stretched his legs out. They curled over the side of the cliff and he propped himself up with his servos behind his back. He felt his mood shift towards a hint of levity. "Our instructors made sure to teach us outside of the accepted Autobot Curriculum, in an attempt to give us a leg up from other factory-builds. Say, what factory were you made in? I don't think you've ever mentioned it."
"Hm."
He waited a moment, but when it became clear that Prowl wouldn't answer his question—typical—Bumblebee shrugged. "Well, anyway, whatever you want to call it— I still don't understand why we're building a space bridge this deep into their territory. I highly doubt that the Magnus got permission from Quintessa, and even if he did, what exactly do we get out of having a random space bridge on this random planet? It's not the capital nor even anywhere close to it."
His computer matrix had turned his confusion over since the moment they arrived on Brobdingnag and Bumblebee got a close look at the Brobdingnagians. Sure, they were tall, and clearly lived in a prosperous society, but they weren't technologically advanced or militarily ruthless. He thought they were… quaint? Peaceful, living out their civilian lives without a care in the world. Maybe the coastal town tainted his data set, painting an inaccurate and idealistic depiction of Brobdingnag, but whatever appeal the planet held to High Command, he just couldn't see it plainly.
Bumblebee had tried asking Optimus, but the Prime avoided answering which meant either he knew and he wasn't given clearance to tell Bumblebee OR he didn't know because he himself didn't have clearance either. And something in the back of his processor wanted to bet all of his pay stub on it being the latter of the two.
Bumblebee doubted Prowl knew either, because if Prime didn't know then why would he? Prowl wasn't a repair bot nor high ranked. Technically, his clearance was a whopping zero when it came to this project—and Prowl got lucky that Optimus was nice enough to let him know the bare-endo explanation of what they were working on. A show of trust, that Prime thought Prowl wasn't a security risk who'd let slip important Cybertronian intel to the Brobdingnagians.
He wasn't surprised when Prowl admitted. "I have been asking myself those same questions," he shifted, "I agree that it is… An unsettling development."
"Hey, who said anything about 'unsettling'—all I said was that it doesn't make sense." Bumblebee reasoned, "I'm sure High Command's interest is due to something valuable or of worth that the Brobdingnagians have to offer. It's just politics I don't understand yet. That's all."
Crossing his arms, Prowl's visor glinted dangerously—the dimming light of the sun casting shadow against the rest of his facial sculpt. "You seldom do, but that doesn't make it any less concerning. Preventative measures like this… They're not the ones you make during times of peace."
He didn't want to admit it… but Prowl's words started to make him uncomfortable. "What's preventative about establishing a new transit hub? It's good for business! Trade! The economy and all that slag. Ask Optimus, I'm sure he'd be glad to lecture you into boredom about it."
"One might even go so far as to declare it an act of war."
Bee laughed awkwardly. "What do either of us know about the war?" At the lack of shared humor, and realizing that Prowl was dead serious, he balked. "You gotta be joking. We're Autobots! You know? The good guys? We don't go around dealing in subterfuge or deception or declaring war for no reason– That's what Decepticons do. Not us."
"Anyone is capable of great harm, Bumblebee, regardless of faction. Even you."
Whether Prowl meant it or not, he took the last line as an insult hurled directly at him. It lanced through his spark and brought back all that sludge coating his inner lines. Slamming a fist down against the ground, Bee sprung up and practically threw himself away from Prowl.
Prowl noticed, and steadily attempted to back peddle, "Bumblebee, wait–"
"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Bee spat. "The Brobdingnagians have been nothing to kind to us so far and here you are insinuating that we're putting in all this hard work to— What? Betray them? And what do you know about Cybertron anyhow? You've been stuck on that rock long enough to turn your network to rust—maybe Ultra Magnus is in the middle of talks with the Quintessons to build an alliance in case the Decepticons ever come back, huh? Ever think of that?"
"I didn't mean to offend you–"
"But you did." He stomped. "See, even you're capable of great harm, so think before you speak next time, ok? Aren't you always telling me that?"
Prowl mulled over his next words. "You're right. I apologize."
"Yeah, well–!" Bumblebee pressed his lips together tight. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. Forget I asked anything."
He didn't return to sitting, walking even further away from Prowl. He felt Prowl's stare against his back, but Bumblebee was in even less of a talkative mood than before. Leave it up to Prowl to find a new way to shove his whole pede into his intake without even trying, but at least he was at fault for once. Bee was tired of always having to apologize for saying the wrong thing.
To calm himself down, he returned his gaze back to the beach. All the way at the top of the world, the Brobdingnagians looked… tiny. Like little specks of green and magenta. It was a funny twist on how all of the Autobots normally had to crane their neck cabling to look up at the organics. Seriously, they made Optimus look like a child's toy next to them.
Cataloging all of the different groups, Bumblebee's brow ridge furrowed. That one gaggle had abandoned their ball in favor of returning to their lounge chairs, but where was…
There. Submerged under the water, but not coming up for air. Bee watched and watched, not noticing a struggle or thrashing movements. The waves crashing on the beach diverged strangely, a section not breaking at all the way that the other sides of it did.
Nobody else noticed. Everyone else was relaxed. And yet, they weren't coming back up.
Turning the sensitivity all the way up on his audials, and hearing the silence of terror echo back, Bumblebee hesitantly asked, "Prowl, do you know if Brobdingnagians can drown?"