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“Please tell me we are almost there…”
Optimus glanced over at his oldest friend, managing to hold back a small grin. Ratchet was sitting stiffly in his seat with his optics screwed shut, servos tightly clamped over the arm rests. He had maintained that position for quite some time as the shuttle they were sitting in trundled through the air over Cybertron.
“We should be coming up on Iacon momentarily,” Optimus replied after checking his internal clock.
“Provided this scrap-helm of a pilot can land this ship in one piece…” Ratchet muttered, still refusing to relax.
“Air Raid has made this trip enough times in ships far worse than this,” Optimus pointed out. “I am certain he will land well enough.”
At that exact moment, the ship lurched alarmingly to the side, sending several crates of supplies sliding across the cargo hold and nearly causing the unsuspecting Prime to tumble out of his seat. The engines let out a low screeching noise and several of the ship’s hull panels rattled as the craft returned to its previous trajectory.
“Sorry about that!” Air Raid’s voice shouted from the cockpit above them. “Misjudged how big this rustbucket was, almost clipped a building!”
“You were saying?” Ratchet said, opening one of his optics and smirking ever so slightly.
“I said, ‘He will land well enough.’” Optimus slid back into his seat, readjusting his own grip on the armrests. “I did not mention anything regarding what will happen before then.”
“It’s been a while since I heard you make a quip,” Ratchet noted, opening his other optic and turning his helm towards Optimus as his smirk turned into something a bit more genuine. “I take it you’re looking forward to this?”
“It will be...refreshing to get away from the front,” Optimus said. “Seeing old friends and assessing the training of new recruits is always pleasurable.”
“Yes, and I’m sure a certain scout-in-training has nothing to do with it,” Ratchet added, leaning back slightly in his seat and raising an optic ridge at the Prime.
“I take it you are referring to Bumblebee?” Optimus said, raising his own optic ridge in response. “It will be nice to see him again, but he is one of many young recruits that need to be trained and watched over, Ratchet. I do not know why you keep making implications regarding our relationship.”
“I’m not making implications, Optimus,” Ratchet replied. “At this point, I’m just observing.”
“What are you saying?”
“I saw his progress report on your data tablet when I borrowed it for that last technical download.”
Optimus stared wide-opticed at the medic, feeling strangely like he had been caught with his servo in the energon gummy container.
“For Primus’ sake, Optimus, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ratchet chuckled, rolling his optics in exasperation. “You’re the one who found him, it’s only logical that you have an attachment towards him.”
“I know it is logical,” Optimus said, more than a little defensively. “I am just not sure if it is entirely proper given my...position.”
“Why would being Prime have anything to do with it?” Ratchet said, giving him a slightly annoyed look.
Optimus tried not to sigh as he leaned back in his seat. “Primes are expected to behave in a certain way, Ratchet,” he said. “They have to maintain a certain amount of dignity and stoicism in order to appear strong to those they lead. The amount of emotional availability allowed for a Prime and the amount required to care for a young mechling are...not compatible.”
Ratchet persisted in looking at him, annoyed exasperation clear on his faceplate.
“I promised to keep an optic on him, and I shall,” Optimus continued, resisting the urge to fidget. “I just do not think I can do any more than that.”
“If you say so,” Ratchet finally said, though his tone sounded more like he meant yeah, right.
The ship once again swerved to the side, leading both mechs to flail and regrip their respective arm rests.
“Remind me when we land to tell Air Raid he needs to add harnesses to these seats,” Optimus said.
“Will do,” Ratchet muttered, his digits resuming the process of pressing grooves into his seat.
The Academy of Science and Technology was once one of the most prestigious institutions on Cybertron. Some of the greatest scientists and engineers in the planet’s history had been trained or trained others there, and the campus had been considered one of the few truly wide open and beautiful spaces in the capital city.
However, like so many things, the Academy had been drastically altered by the war. Much of the open space on the campus had been converted to shooting ranges, obstacle courses, and places for recruits to practice battlefield maneuvers. The once relatively quiet air was now pierced with shots, shouts, and the clanging of marching pedes. An institute originally meant to spread the knowledge of the sciences had been effectively transformed into an Autobot boot camp.
The gateway, once simply ornate but now part of a reinforced wall circling the camp, was open and waiting as Optimus and Ratchet drove up in their vehicular modes. Leaning against one of the pillars was Jazz; Autobot communications officer, scout, and one of the Prime’s closest friends. The mech’s blue visor slid back to reveal cheerful optics as he pushed off of the pillar and stepped forward to greet them.
“I was starting to think you had decided to hit the town instead of coming to see me,” Jazz said with a grin as the two mechs before him transformed. “Or that Air Raid had crashed.”
“It was very nearly the latter, I assure you,” Ratchet grumbled, still looking a little nauseous.
“It is good to see you, old friend,” Optimus said as he and Jazz shook servos. “I hope that the training is going well?”
“They better be learning something,” Jazz chuckled. The three mechs walked through the gates and onto the campus. “We’ve got some promising scouts and sharpshooters coming up.”
“Good,” Optimus said, looking around at the mechs and femmes standing around the area - some stealing glances at him, others outright staring. “Although I hope they will not be needed.”
The three mechs continued deeper into the campus, the occasional Autobot walking up to them to offer a report or a salute. Optimus listened to those who spoke to him and paid attention to the latest training structures and equipment that Jazz pointed out. However, he couldn’t help scan the various young bots, searching for the familiar yellow-and-black plating of Bumblebee.
Optimus had not seen the mechling he had found as a sparkling in an empty, war-torn town in some time, his duties as Prime sending him all over the planet. Bumblebee, eager to prove himself a capable Autobot, had joined the movement as a new recruit, but it would be some time before he was ready for battle. As such, he had spent the past several months at the camp. Optimus had tried to visit or otherwise communicate when he could, enjoying the young bot’s enthusiastic energy for just about everything and the conversations they had.
The concern he had shared with Ratchet weighed heavily on him though. Of course he would be happy to be a friend and mentor to Bumblebee, to keep in touch with and help him.
But that is all, he told himself. That is all.
“Ah!” Jazz exclaimed, bringing Optimus out of his thoughts. “There he is!”
Optimus immediately swiveled his helm in the direction Jazz was pointing. They were walking near what had once been the Academy’s largest academic building, where six young mechs were walking out, laughing loudly and elbowing each other. Optimus’ spark, lifting at Jazz’s words, promptly sunk when he saw no yellow armor among them.
I really am not acting like “That is all,” he couldn’t help but think.
“I want you to meet this guy, he’s going places,” Jazz said with a grin before calling out. “Hey Wasp! Get your aft over here, I want to introduce you!”
A green-plated, lean but strongly-built mechling who had been leading the group (both in terms of the direction they were walking and how vocal they were being) looked over, bright pink optics going wide when he spotted them. Several of the other young mechs froze when they spotted Optimus. This was an occurrence that the Prime had become all too used to, so he merely nodded politely before returning his attention to the mechling Jazz pointed out.
Compared to his fellow recruits’ nervousness, Cadet Wasp seemed to show only excitement at meeting a Prime. He quickly darted to stand in front of the older mechs and offered a crisp salute.
“Hello sir!” he said with a large grin. “It is such a great honor to meet the last of the Primes!”
“Thank you, cadet,” Optimus replied.
“Cadet Wasp here is one of the top of his class,” Jazz said, smiling at the young mech. “Scout-in-training. He could track a glitch mouse through an acid swamp.”
“If that is true, then I am sure you will do the Autobots proud, young one,” Optimus said.
The green mechling seemed to thrum with pride, optics flashing.
“Speaking of top of the class…” Jazz said, looking around. “Do you know where Bumblebee is, Wasp? I thought I saw him heading in this direction earlier.”
“Oh…” Wasp said, his optics narrowing and his faceplate twisting in confusion. “I don’t know, sir. I saw him heading in the direction of the shooting range 15 minutes ago.”
“Really?” Jazz frowned as he looked at Optimus. “Huh. Strange, he was looking forward to you coming.”
“Perhaps he just lost track of time,” Optimus said, ignoring the strange twinge of sadness he felt at the idea that Bumblebee had either forgotten or decided not to come see him.
“That’s going to have to wait,” Ratchet piped up, shooting Optimus an apologetic look. “We’ve got a meeting in less than ten minutes and as far as I can tell it’s going to be about as enjoyable as sorting scrap.”
“Alright,” Jazz sighed, then turned back to Wasp. “At ease, cadet. I expect to see you in the front field tomorrow morning.”
“Yes sir!” Wasp said, saluting once more before running back to his friends, the movement and laughter returning to the group as they scampered away.
“I really hope this doesn’t take as long as I think it will,” Jazz sighed as they turned back.
Optimus smiled slightly, knowing full well how much Jazz hated meetings. “You said Cadet Wasp was near the top of the class?” He asked, mostly to change the subject.
“Yep, right behind Bee,” Jazz said with a grin. “And he had to fight for that, trust me.”
“Eh,” Ratchet grumbled from behind them. “I didn’t like him.”
“Too much energy for you, doc?” Jazz laughed.
“‘It is such a great honor to meet the last of the Primes’?” Ratchet repeated, raising an optic ridge. “That flattery is so obvious it hurts.” The medic suddenly jabbed Optimus in the arm. “And did you know about Bumblebee being top of his class?!”
“I thought you said you read his progress report,” Optimus said, allowing himself the tiniest smirk.
“Saw, not read!”
As Ratchet grumbled and Jazz laughed, Optimus felt his thoughts drift back to Bumblebee. On his last few visits, the scout-in-training had been waiting practically right by the gate to meet him, but now he was nowhere to be seen. It had been some time though, Optimus reasoned. Most likely he had just gotten busy, or perhaps he was spending time with some of his fellow recruits.
He has his own life and I have mine, Optimus thought. I will be there for him, but I should not invade his privacy. If he wishes, there will be time to reconnect later.
“Thank Primus that’s over…” Jazz groaned as they walked out of the former administration building, now the base of operations for the camp. Several hours had passed while they had been in there; the sun barely peeked out from behind the distant city skyline.
“I swear, that crankcase in charge of the med bay here has glitch mice in his processor,” Ratchet grumbled. “‘Recruits should receive minimal care in order to get stronger,’ my aft .” The medic turned around and jabbed a digit at Optimus. “If you need medical care while we’re here, I expect you to come to me, got it?”
“Yes, Ratchet,” Optimus said, caught between amusement and sharing his friends’ annoyance. He paused at the bottom of the steps, taking a deep vent and enjoying the last of the sun’s rays.
“Well, your quarters are the same as they’ve been the last few times you’ve visited,” Jazz said as the three mechs started walking towards the officer’s barracks. “I’m probably going to turn in, I’ve got a self-defense class to teach tomorrow morning.”
“It would be best for us to turn in as well,” Optimus replied, turning his gaze from the sky to his fellow Autobots. “This meeting will not be the last.”
The responding groans lasted till they reached the barracks, where Jazz bade them good night and slipped into his room. Optimus and Ratchet continued down the hallway before arriving at the rooms that were allotted to them whenever they came to the camp.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Ratchet said with a yawn, wrenching his somewhat rusted door open.
“Good night, Ratchet,” Optimus replied, opening his own door. With a final nod, the medic stepped into his room and - after some struggling and a mild curse - slammed the door shut. Optimus shook his helm, allowing himself the smallest chuckle as he stepped into his room.
Several seconds passed, but the Prime remained where he was, standing in the doorway with his servo on the door. Optimus frowned; his optics directed at the shadowed berth but his thoughts elsewhere.
His internal debate had started while he had sat in the meeting and it had only grown as he walked to the barracks. As Optimus stood frozen in the doorway, his conflicting thoughts raced through his processor like over-energized Velocitronian speedsters.
I need to recharge in order to be alert for the meetings tomorrow.
Where is he?
Most likely he is attempting to recharge himself right now.
But why have I not seen him at all?
I am overthinking this. He is a responsible young mech and there is no reason to think he has gotten into trouble.
But what if he has?
That last thought settled it. With a sigh, Optimus stepped back out into the hallway. After sliding the door shut (with thankfully less effort and noise than Ratchet required), the Prime quietly walked back down the corridor and out of the building.
The sun had gone completely down by then, the camp coated in shadows with only a few lights from various buildings to break through the darkness. A few hours ago, the entire place was bustling with mechs and femmes either training or rushing to get to training. Now it was almost completely deserted, the recruits and their instructors hidden away in their respective barracks.
As such, Optimus was uninterrupted as he strode across the camp towards the barracks that Bumblebee was assigned to. He had never actually entered the building, but Bumblebee had pointed it out during one of his earlier visits. Worry fueled his movements and he quickly arrived at the structure, formerly a residence hall for academy students.
Leaning on the wall beside the door, a red-armored mech with two horns on his helm appeared to be dozing, arms crossed and chin resting on his chestplate. He looked barely older than the other recruits, so Optimus assumed he had recently graduated and guarding the barracks was his first assignment.
And he is recharging…, Optimus thought. His optics briefly flickering upwards, he said aloud, “I require your assistance, Autobot.”
The red mech promptly jerked awake, arms flailing and nearly losing his balance as he fully awoke. His cyan blue optics became huge as he fully processed who was standing in front of him.
“Optimus Prime, sir!” The mech sprang into a salute, his optics still wide. “Sorry sir, I didn’t see you there! I mean...erhm...there is no way I can make this look good, can I?”
“I would agree with that assessment…” Optimus trailed off when he realized he did not know the Autobot’s name.
“Cliffjumper, sir,” the mech offered. “And it won’t happen again. So...is there anything I can help you with?”
“Yes,” Optimus said. “I am looking for Cadet Bumblebee. I believe he is assigned to these barracks?”
“Yeah, he is,” Cliffjumper affirmed, smiling slightly. “A lot easier to deal with than some of the other bots in here, let me tell you...urm, you want me to go get him?”
Optimus nodded and the younger mech slipped into the barracks, leaving the Prime alone with his relief.
Bumblebee is completely fine, he reassured himself before grimacing. The only thing wrong is that I am waking him up for no reason. Hopefully he will understand; I will not keep him long.
Several minutes had passed when Cliffjumper finally returned. The Prime’s spark pulse spiked when he realized that the young guard was alone.
“He’s not here,” Cliffjumper said, optics narrowed and frowning worriedly. “Everybody should be in their berths by now, and Bee never sneaks out!” The mech’s optics went wide. “Uh, not that anyone ever snuck out.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Optimus said, far more concerned about the missing Bumblebee than the almost-definite curfew breaking.
“Earlier today,” Cliffjumper said. “He said something about doing some extra practice on the advanced obstacle course before going to see a...visitor.” The red mech blinked at Optimus at that last word.
“Thank you,” Optimus said, his frame instinctively turning to head for the course.
“Do you want me to sound an alarm, sir?” Cliffjumper asked.
“No, not yet,” Optimus said. “If you have not heard from him or me by morning, alert Lieutenant Jazz.”
“Yes, sir!” Cliffjumper called. As Optimus walked away, he heard him mutter, “You could’ve told me you knew Optimus Prime , Bee. Might have saved me a spark attack!”
At any other time Optimus’ lip components might have twitched upwards in amusement, but now a worried frown had taken hold of his faceplate. Before now, he had been able to console himself with the idea that Bumblebee was just busy. But now it was starting to look like something far more serious.
Optimus peared at the wall surrounding the camp, at least a mechanometer thick and constantly patrolled by guards. Even if a Decepticon were able to sneak into Iacon, their chances of breaking into the camp were incredibly small. The chances of sneaking back out with a botnapped mechling were even smaller. And why would Decepticons specifically capture Bumblebee anyway?
Unless they found out about my connection with him.
The sudden thought made the Prime freeze in his tracks, his vents stuttering. The Decepticons had grown increasingly desperate in their attempts to capture or kill him, and he had no doubt that some were willing to resort to botnapping an innocent mechling to use as a hostage or bait. He wasn’t quite sure if Megatron had fallen that far yet, but the idea was nevertheless horrifying.
He would not hurt Bumblebee just to get me...would he?
Optimus shook his helm violently. These thoughts would not help him. He could logically assume that getting into or out of the camp was impossible - therefore, Bumblebee must still be in the area. Could he have gotten injured in the obstacle course and been unable to get out? That didn’t seem very likely, but it was a start.
He once again began walking and soon arrived at the course. A quick look confirmed what Optimus already suspected - Bumblebee was not there. Grunting in frustration, the Prime scanned the area to see if he could find any sort of hint to where the mechling went. His optics settled upon the old academic building where Jazz had introduced him to Cadet Wasp.
Optimus frowned as he peered at the darkened mass. Wasp had said that he had seen Bumblebee walking towards the shooting range, so the reasonable next step would be to check there.
But instinct was telling him to check the building. And if there was one thing being a Prime and the leader of half of his race had taught him, it was that his instincts were sometimes wiser than his processor.
Taking advantage of his long strides, Optimus quickly made his way to the building’s entrance. The door opened easily enough, but the hallway it opened into was almost completely pitch black, the lights turned off to save energy.
If he remembered correctly from the tour he was given on a previous trip, the building was only used for storage and as a hangout for some of the cadets. With three floors and six separate hallways each, it would take some time to search.
Looking around, Optimus spotted a box mounted on the wall, labeled “Maintenance.” He pried the cover open and found a circuit board and, sitting on the bottom of the box, a flashlight. He grabbed the flashlight and clicked it on, figuring that it would take less time than trying to work out the circuit board.
Following the dim beam of light, Optimus made his way down the hallway. He soon found the first intersecting corridor, passageways running to the left and right. Deciding it was best to examine each hallway in a counterclockwise route, he turned to the right and started down the black corridor.
The hall was lined with rows of lockers and doors leading to various classrooms. Dust floated in the air, drifting across the flashlight’s beam and adding an abandoned air to the space. Optimus moved to the nearest door and experimentally tried to tug it open, only to find it locked.
I imagine they would not want any of the cadets to be able to just take anything, he thought. But that means Bumblebee will not have access. And where else could he be in this building?
Increasingly certain that he would find nothing, Optimus continued on his search. The first hallway was empty, its only occupants being dust and various pieces of garbage that had been left behind by cadets. The second hallway was more of the same.
By the time Optimus had reached the third corridor at the very back of the building, he was starting to feel irked by his supposed instincts. There were no signs of Bumblebee and he did not have time to waste in looking for the scout-in-training.
Halfway down the hall, Optimus stopped and exhaled sharply, flicking his flashlight about the shadowed area. When nothing happened and nobody came out, the Prime’s patience finally wore out. He turned to leave, unintentionally kicking aside a half-crushed Engex can.
The can clattered softly across the dirty floor, lightly tapping against the wall.
BAM!
Optimus whipped back around, one servo lifting the flashlight and the other transforming into a laser cannon. His battle mask had slid onto his faceplate on instinct and his optics scanned the dark corridor for threats.
Nothing.
“Who is there?” Optimus called out, his cannon whining slightly with built-up charge.
There was only a second of silence before…
BAM BAM BAM!
The sound of metal crashing against metal rang out from the end of the corridor, loud and frantically fast. Optimus, laser cannon still armed, started moving down the hall. As he searched for the noise’s source, he began to notice an odd quality to the sound.
...Echoing, he realized. It is echoing. But how? The hallway is not that large.
Optimus was distracted from this observation when he realized that there was another sound coming from the end of the corridor, much softer but far more alarming.
“Help!” The muffled voice screamed. “Please! Help!”
Spark pulse skyrocketing, Optimus rushed forward, only halting when his flashlight illuminated the end of the hallway. His confusion lasted only a moment before his light panned over one of the lockers. The scratched, blue-gray door shook violently from the panicked movements of the bot trapped inside.
That explains the echoes...Optimus grimly thought as he deactivated his cannon and battle mask.
“Bumblebee?” he called as he stepped up to the door. “Are you in there?”
“...Op-Optimus?” The voice was small and shaky. “Is that y-you?”
“Yes, I am here,” Optimus gently said, pressing his servo against the door even though Bumblebee couldn’t see it. “I will get you out in a moment. Just stay calm.”
“Okay…” Bumblebee softly replied. Optimus felt a slight pressure from behind the door, as if the young bot was pressing his own weight against it.
Stepping away, Optimus used the flashlight to examine the locker. At first glance it looked identical to the other lockers surrounding it - about as tall as his shoulder plates, barely wide enough for a mechling to fit in, and the only opening was a thin slit at the top of the door ( How long had he been trapped in there, barely able to move and with no light aside from his own optics? ). Upon further scrutiny, Optimus realized there was something odd about the locker’s door. As to be expected, there was a thin line of space between the door and the frame connecting the locker to the wall. However, the line seemed to disappear along the lock and handle, the metal warped into a single mass.
As if someone had welded the door shut.
The flashlight creaked dangerously in his suddenly crushing grip. Pushing down the rage rushing through his fuel lines, Optimus peered at the misshapen metal before transforming his free servo into a blade.
“Bumblebee?” he called. “I need you to move as far away from the door as you can. I will be as careful as possible, but I need to cut open the door. Can you do this?”
“Y-yeah, I got it,” Bumblebee said. There were some small creaks and metallic shuffles as the mechling moved accordingly.
Satisfied, Optimus stepped forward and carefully wedged his blade into the space above the welding. Moving as quickly as he dared, the Prime maneuvered the blade downward, slicing through the warped metal. It was thankfully flimsy and within a few moments he had cut through it. With one swift tug, Optimus threw the door open.
Leaning against the back of the locker, wide-opticed and shaking, was Bumblebee. The mechling had grown a few micrometrons since Optimus had last seen him, but the other changes in his appearance were far more alarming. His yellow-and-black plating, usually shiny and well-kept, had several energon-stained scratches and dents. The metal on the left side of his helm was partially caved-in, the optic flickering erratically. Most distressing was the state of the mechling’s right leg; the ankle was visibly crooked and the plating beaten so badly that it looked like a tank had run over it.
“Bumblebee?” Optimus said softly, deactivating his blade and dropping down on one knee. “Are you alr-”
His words were cut off when the scout-in-training launched himself out of the locker and into the larger mech’s form, throwing his slim arms around the Prime’s neck. Optimus almost jumped as Bumblebee buried his faceplate in his neck cables, acutely aware of the mechling’s trembling frame and heaving chestplate.
Optimus felt frozen, his duties and his desires making war in his processor. Thankfully, his instincts once again guided him. Setting his flashlight on the ground, Optimus wrapped his own arms around the mechling, careful not to place stress on his injuries. One servo rubbed Bumblebee’s back and the other moved to cup the mechling’s helm, gently moving it to a more comfortable position.
“It is alright,” Optimus whispered. “It is okay, Bumblebee. You are safe now. I have you.”
The soothing nothings continued for several cycles as the mechling shuddered and choked back sobs. He kept a tight grip around Optimus’ neck, digits digging into the Prime’s back plating. Optimus didn’t mind - he was far too relieved to have found him at last. Eventually, Bumblebee let out a particularly long, shaky breath and lifted his helm.
“I’m...I’m okay, now,” he mumbled. “I...thank you.”
Optimus nodded and loosened his grip on the scout-in-training, allowing Bumblebee to push himself into a standing position. He almost immediately cried out from the damage to his mangled leg and Optimus gripped him by the shoulders, gently guiding him to lean against the larger mech.
“S-sorry,” Bumblebee said, embarrassment and pain rippling off of his frame.
“Do not be,” Optimus said, scanning the mechling for more injuries. “Are you suffering any internal damage?”
“No,” Bumblebee mumbled, leaning against the Prime’s knee with one servo on his shoulder to balance. “Optic’s kind of twinging.”
Optimus gently took hold of his chin and turned his helm so he could look at the optic directly. “It appears to have been knocked slightly out of alignment,” he observed. “Ratchet should be able to repair it easily.”
“Ratchet’s here too?” Bumblebee asked, a small smile forming on his faceplate.
“Yes,” Optimus said, returning the smile with his own. It quickly faded. “I am sorry I did not come looking for you sooner, Bumblebee.”
“I’m just glad someone came,” the mechling replied with a weak laugh. “I thought I’d be stuck in there forever...aw scrap, did I miss morning roll call?”
“No, it is still a little before midnight,” Optimus said. He paused for a moment before coming to the point. “Bumblebee, how did you become trapped in that locker?”
The yellow mechling stiffened and looked down at the floor, door-wings lowering. “It-It’s not a big deal, Optimus.”
“I beg your pardon?” Optimus said, blinking in astonishment.
“I said it’s not a big deal,” Bumblebee repeated, still not looking at him. “I’m tough, I can deal with hi-with whatever. You don’t need to worry about me.”
The following silence was thick and while it only lasted seconds, it felt like hours.
Bumblebee started trembling again, seemingly fearful that he had angered the Prime. Moving slowly so as not to startle him, Optimus reached forward to tilt Bumblebee’s chin up again while his other servo squeezed the mechling’s shoulder.
“Bumblebee,” Optimus intoned, looking him straight in the optics. “You were attacked. I would not be doing my duty if I did not worry about you and make sure it did not happen again.”
The scout-in-training stared back at him, optics wide. The servo previously gripping Optimus’ knee moved to the servo Optimus had placed on his shoulder. After a few seconds, Bumblebee blinked and looked back at the locker he had been sealed in.
“Wasp,” he finally whispered. “It was Wasp.”
“Cadet Wasp?” Optimus repeated, optics wide. Jazz's recommended student?
“He’s a complete jackaft , Optimus,” Bumblebee said, servos clenched and optics narrowed. “He’s always pushing bots around, acting like he’s the best thing the Wells ever spat out and kicking the scrap out of everyone who doesn’t believe it. That gang of his is always picking on new recruits for fun and then acting like perfect little sparklings whenever any of the instructors show up. Some of us have tried to get them reported for it, but it never works and Wasp makes sure they pay for trying.”
The scout-in-training shook in quiet rage as the rant that had clearly been long coming poured forth. Optimus remained silent, listening and staring in shock.
“Why did he attack you?” he finally asked.
“I...well, I’m top of my class,” Bumblebee said, chestplate puffing out slightly in pride despite the situation. “And me and Wasp have been competing for that since I got here. Even when I wasn’t trying to stop him from picking on the new recruits, I was ticking him off by beating him in combat training or shooting practice. And then a couple solar cycles ago, I beat his record on the advanced obstacle course.”
The mechling smiled slightly. “Jazz was grinning like a maniac and Wasp looked like he was going to blow a fuse. Soon, when Jazz wasn’t looking, he challenged me to a rematch. I felt like I could do anything at that point, so I said yes. He told me to meet him at the course earlier today.”
The smile faded. “So I came. Nobody was around. I was about to leave when I thought I heard someone screaming in here. So I ran in and…” Bumblebee shivered. “They were waiting for me. Wasp and his whole gang. He said they were going to teach me a lesson about showing him up.”
He took several deep vents before continuing.
“They beat me up. Wasp nearly punched my optic out and his friends took turns kicking my leg. Eventually they threw me in there and Wasp welded the door shut. Said he’d like to see me stay on top after missing a solar cycle or two of classes.”
“Then they left and I started yelling for help but no one came,” Bumblebee finished, voice shaking almost as much as his frame. “Until you did.”
Optimus tightened his grip on Bumblebee’s shoulder plate as the pieces fell into place within his processor. When he saw Wasp and his friends leaving the building earlier, he had assumed they were merely socializing within its confines. But now…
They had just finished attacking Bumblebee.
No wonder some of them looked afraid when they saw us.
He told us he had not even seen Bumblebee. Wasp looked at us right in our faceplates and lied .
He did this to Bumblebee and was laughing about it.
“Um, Optimus?” Bumblebee’s timid voice pierced the Prime’s thoughts. “Are you okay?”
Optimus blinked, pulling himself out of his tumultuous thoughts. He was startled when he realized that his battle mask was activated and his grip on Bumblebee’s shoulder plate had tightened significantly. The mechling was looking up at him with anxious optics.
“I...am alright, Bumblebee,” Optimus said, loosening his grip and deactivating his mask. The already-present guilt increased significantly with the idea that he had frightened the injured mechling. “Why did you not tell me about this before, if this had been happening since you came here?”
“It only got really bad this past year,” Bumblebee said, avoiding the Prime’s gaze in favor of examining the floor panels. “Besides, I figured you’re kind of busy with the Decepticons. I can handle some stupid bullies.”
“I am sure you can,” Optimus replied. “But there is never anything wrong with asking for help, Bumblebee. I want you to know that you can come to me with anything, no matter how serious or trivial it may seem. I know you take great pride in being able to handle yourself, and that is an admirable quality to possess.”
He put extra emphasis on those last few words, looking at Bumblebee in the optics and gently squeezing his shoulder plate.
“But even the strongest, most self-reliant Autobots occasionally need help, and there is no shame in that,” Optimus finished. “Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Bumblebee said, leaning into the Prime’s hold and smiling slightly. “Does that include you?”
Optimus rose an optic ridge. “Why do you think Ratchet insists on accompanying me almost everywhere?”
The scout-in-training snorted, frame shaking with laughter even as he grasped the Prime for balance. Optimus felt a chuckle (or two) escape from his own voice box. Bumblebee’s snickers were suddenly cut off with a hiss of pain as he accidentally put weight on his injured leg.
“Ow!” Bumblebee yelped. “Ow…”
“We should go see Ratchet,” Optimus said. Picking up his borrowed flashlight, the Prime proceeded to carefully gather the mechling into his arms, doing his best not to jar his damaged leg any more than necessary. Bumblebee still let out a soft whine of pain, frame rigid and optics tightly shut. Moving as cautiously as he could, Optimus made his way back down the dark halls of the academic building, not bothering to pause and replace the flashlight (He would bring it back later, when he wasn’t busy carrying his injured mechling).
As the Prime exited the structure and walked out in the star-lit night, he felt Bumblebee relax in his arms. The mechling’s helm was soon resting on Optimus’ shoulder plate, bright blue optics blinking slowly.
“Are you in need of a recharge?” Optimus asked quietly.
“Kinda…” Bumblebee managed to say before a yawn escaped his frame.
“Then get some rest,” Optimus gently ordered.
The scout-in-training didn’t reply, apart from curling closer to Optimus’ frame as he dozed off.
Wasp had to keep himself from prancing as he made his way across the camp. His combat class with Lieutenant Jazz had gone exceptionally well - he had successfully executed an offensive scorpion kick and defended himself against three opponents all at once. Most importantly, that smart-intake Bumblebee had been nowhere to be seen.
The green mechling gritted his dentas in spite of himself. Ever since that irritating little bug-bot had arrived, he had been showing Wasp up at everything. Wasp had been training ever since he had been capable of holding a weapon and had fought for every one of his achievements as an Autobot scout-in-training.
So what if he had to occasionally remind some cadets that he had earned his place above them? If anything, his reminders were probably helping toughen them up.
Then this spawn of a glitch showed up out of nowhere (Literally! Wasp hadn’t even heard of the settlement he had come from) and started beating every single record and achievement Wasp had ever accomplished. More irritatingly, Bumblebee kept trying to but in on his and his friends’ activities, attempting to get them in trouble.
Slagging goody two-pedes…
But Wasp felt confident that the scrawny mechling had learned his lesson after yesterday. The already-cheerful cadet had then been treated to even more good news; Lieutenant Jazz had told him after class that Optimus Prime himself wanted to see him.
Optimus Prime! He thought to himself excitedly. Even if the leader of the Autobots simply wanted to offer him congratulations for his performance, Wasp considered it a much-earned reward.
Jogging up the steps to the administration building, Wasp swept open the door and made his way into the structure. Lieutenant Jazz had told him that the Prime was waiting for him in an unused office at the end of the western hall. Trotting along, only briefly pausing to salute passing Autobot officers, Wasp quickly found the office and knocked smartly on the door.
“Enter,” a voice within called. Spark tingling with excitement, Wasp opened the door.
Optimus Prime was seated behind a large metal desk, only visible from the torso up. His posture was straight-backed, servos folded on the desk’s surface and his blue optics trained on the green mechling as he entered the room.
“Thank you for coming, Cadet Wasp,” Optimus said, gesturing at the metal chair in front of the desk. “Please be seated.”
Shutting the door behind him, Wasp ambled over to the chair and sat down. “Thank you for asking me to come here, sir,” Wasp replied, drawing on his well-practiced charm. “Lieutenant Jazz said that you wish to discuss my future in the Autobot army?”
“Indeed,” Optimus said, glancing down at a datapad he had placed on the desk. “Your progress reports are quite impressive and all of your instructors have given you high praise for your abilities.”
Wasp grinned in proud pleasure. “Thank you, sir,” he said.
“In fact,” Optimus continued as he peered at the datapad. “It appears that you are currently one of the top students in your class - second only to one Cadet Bumblebee.”
“Oh, yeah,” Wasp said, fighting to keep his smile fixed on his faceplate. That was another irritating thing about Bumblebee - he was always stealing the praise, no matter how exceptionally Wasp performed.
“I hope that the two of you work together well,” the thankfully-oblivious Prime said. “Friendly collaboration with one’s allies is important both on and off the battlefield.”
“Yes, sir,” Wasp replied, leaning back slightly in his chair and grinning. “I mean, Bumblebee and I do compete a bit, but we keep it friendly.”
“I see…” Optimus said. He looked up from the datapad, his expression suddenly sharpening. “So if I were to tell you that Cadet Bumblebee was found injured and trapped in a locker last night, you would not be able to tell me anything about it?”
Jerking forward into a straight-backed position, Wasp’s optics widened. The fact that they had found him didn’t surprise him too much - he just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. He thought he’d have at least a solar cycle.
“What?!” Wasp exclaimed, using his genuine startlement to his advantage. “No, I hadn’t heard! Is he alright?”
To Wasp’s surprise, the Prime’s suspicious expression didn’t change. If anything, his light blue optics seemed to sharpen, as if they were piercing straight through Wasp’s mask of innocence and scanning his very thoughts.
That’s impossible, Wasp chastised himself. As long as you don’t admit anything, he can’t prove anything.
“Cadet Bumblebee will recover,” Optimus said. “He was able to give a statement last night. He claims that you were involved in the attack on him - that you were the main perpetrator, in fact.”
“Bumblebee must have made a mistake,” Wasp said, fighting the urge to squirm under the Prime's scrutiny. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday when he was heading for the shooting range.”
“Cadet Bumblebee never went to the shooting range,” Optimus replied, his tone hardening. “He went to the advanced obstacle course before being lured into the central academic building. He was then physically assaulted by a group of cadets led by you before being thrown into a locker and abandoned.”
“Or, at least, that is what Cadet Bumblebee claims happened,” he concluded. The Prime leaned back slightly in his seat, still keeping his optics locked on Wasp’s.
A surge of relief went through Wasp’s circuits at that last statement. He could still get out of this.
“Well...maybe he’s just confused,” he suggested. “My friends and I were hanging out around the academic building yesterday - maybe he saw us at one point and that got mixed up with who attacked him.”
“It is well that you mention that,” Optimus said with a nod. “I remember seeing you and your fellow cadets leaving the building.”
“Yes, sir,” Wasp said.
“However,” the Prime added, “if one compares the time I saw you to the timeline Cadet Bumblebee was able to provide, one would find that Cadet Bumblebee’s attackers left the building at roughly the same time you did.”
Wasp’s spark dropped straight into his tanks. “I-I’m sorry?” he stuttered.
“I am saying, Cadet Wasp, that you were seen at the scene of the attack right after the attack took place,” Optimus said. “That, along with Cadet Bumblebee’s statement, is enough evidence for an investigation into your possible involvement in this assault - and other alleged offenses.”
Panic was starting to set in. Wasp felt his spark hammering in his chestplate, his venting starting to increase rapidly. He had been able to get away with this for so long because he had made sure that none of the instructors suspected him - if a professional investigation took place, he was finished. The extensive lectures all recruits received on the consequences of attacking fellow cadets were now ringing in his audio receptors. He could not let it end like this - not after everything he worked for!
“There must be a mistake!” Wasp said, struggling to keep the desperation out of his voice. “Are you sure Bumblebee was right about the time he was attacked? He could have come back later, after we all left. Couldn’t that blow to his helm be affecting his processor?”
There was a brief pause as the Prime stared off into the distance, considering his words. Wasp forced himself to vent.
He can’t fight that argument easily!
“Cadet Wasp,” Optimus said. He returned his gaze to the green mechling, his optics as cold as ice. “I did not tell you that Cadet Bumblebee suffered a helm injury.”
Wasp’s entire frame seemed to freeze, optics wide and intake gaping. His processor briefly scrambled to think of an explanation, an excuse, anything . But no ideas came.
Optimus stood up from behind his desk and slowly stalked around it until he was standing right in front of Wasp. Craning his neck to look upward, Wasp couldn’t help but note just how large the Prime suddenly seemed to be.
“Cadet Wasp,” Optimus said, his baritone voice shaking the room. “You will report to Lieutenant Jazz and the correctional officers in room 23A immediately for further questioning regarding the assault on Cadet Bumblebee. You will also be questioned on other violations to the Autobot code that you and your friends are reported to have participated in. The penalties for your actions will be described to you there.”
“S-sir, p-please…” Wasp gasped out. If it came down to it, he was fully willing to beg.
His voice left again as the Prime’s glare somehow became more furious. The mechling was practically swallowed by the larger mech’s shadow. In that moment, Wasp suddenly understood why the Decepticons feared Optimus Prime.
“Cadet,” Optimus said, optics still flashing. “Your behavior has been destructive, appalling, and most unlike the actions of a true Autobot. Taking advantage of those weaker than you and attacking others when they have done nothing to you are dishonorable acts that will not be tolerated in the Autobot army.”
“However, there is always a chance that the evidence will not be enough,” Optimus mused as he turned and walked back behind the desk. “There is a possibility that you will not be convicted of doing anything wrong.” He sat down, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his digits together. His frigidly blazing optics remained locked on Wasp’s.
“That being said,” he continued, “I expect appropriate behavior from my Autobots and I will do everything I can to protect them from any form of harm. So if I hear from any of your fellow cadets that you or your friends behave in a cruel or unjust manner ever again, I will personally ensure that you suffer the consequences. Am I understood, Cadet?”
“Y-yes, sir,” Wasp whispered, any form of bravado long vanished.
“Then you are dismissed.”
Ratchet was only somewhat surprised when he took in Cadet Wasp’s appearance as the green mechling stepped out of the office. He looked like he was going into shock, barely nodding at Ratchet as he stumbled past. Normally, the medic would have been concerned for the young bot and disturbed by the knowledge that Optimus had caused this.
The memory of Optimus standing in his doorway cradling a wounded and trembling Bumblebee in the middle of the night banished any such sympathies.
Stepping into the office, Ratchet found the Prime still seated behind the desk, his expression unusually smug.
“I take it that it went well?” The medic asked, plopping himself down on the chair Wasp had just vacated.
“I believe Cadet Wasp understood the message,” Optimus replied, leaning away from the desk. “I will have to thank Jazz for holding off his disciplinary meeting until I could speak with him.”
“Yes, that was the hard part,” Ratchet muttered, remembering how the usually laid-back Jazz had nearly blown a gasket when they had informed him of Wasp’s actions. “I never thought I would witness Jazz being as leaked-off as Ironhide…”
“Indeed,” Optimus said with a small chuckle.
“Are you going to go tell Bumblebee?” Ratchet asked. “I imagine he’ll be thrilled by this.”
At that moment, a soft clunk issued from behind the desk. Ratchet would have thought nothing of it if he hadn’t noticed the way Optimus’ optics widened slightly. Suspicious, Ratchet stood up and walked around the desk to stand beside him.
There was a space under the desk for the legs of the user. The left half of this space was occupied by Optimus’ legs. Squashed into the right side of the space was Bumblebee, splinted leg sticking slightly out from his hiding place. It was the only one of his repairs that Ratchet had not been able to complete last night, the damage requiring a few solar cycles to heal from.
“Uh...hi Ratch’!” Bumblebee said, grinning sheepishly up at him.
The medic glanced wordlessly at the Prime.
“He said he wanted to listen in,” Optimus said, looking rather sheepish himself. “I did not see any harm in allowing him.”
“Perhaps, but there are more comfortable positions he could be recovering in!” Ratchet huffed. There was no real anger behind it; he was choosing to fuss mostly to avoid bursting into laughter.
“It was worth it,” Bumblebee declared as he scooted himself out of the space, dragging his crutches out with him. He accepted a servo from Optimus, who easily hoisted him to his pedes.
“I would have thought that you’d had enough of confined spaces for a while,” Ratchet said, peering at the mechling in both amusement and confusion.
Bumblebee stiffened slightly, but he quickly relaxed as he gripped Optimus’ servo.
“Yeah...” he admitted. “But, I wasn’t alone this time, so it was fine.”
Ratchet was fairly certain that his spark melted a bit at that remark, but he was not about to let that show.
“If I remember correctly, Ratchet and I have a meeting to attend this morning,” Optimus said. “And I believe that you mentioned having a strategy class starting in about 15 minutes?”
“Oh cogs, yeah!” Bumblebee exclaimed, shaking himself and getting balanced on his crutches. He glanced timidly back at Optimus. “Um...can we talk more later today? Normally I’d have an agility lesson, but…”
There was a smile on the Prime’s faceplate, small but utterly fond. “Of course, Bumblebee,” he said.
“Great!” Bumblebee said, grinning. Hopping on his crutches, Bumblebee left the room at an astonishingly quick pace, only pausing long enough to shout a “Thanks again Optimus! See you Ratchet!” over his shoulder plate.
For a few seconds, the two mechs stared after him in pleasant silence. Then Optimus seemed to shake himself and grabbed his datapad.
“We should get moving,” he said.
“Right,” Ratchet replied.
The pair left the office and headed down the empty hall. Ratchet didn’t bother to hide the grin stretching across his faceplate. They had only gone a few steps when Optimus noticed.
“Is there something on your mind, old friend?” Optimus prompted, raising an optic ridge at him.
“‘The amount of emotional availability allowed for a Prime and the amount required to care for a young mechling are not compatible,’ you say?” Ratchet said, giving the Prime a look that was both smug and fondly exasperated.
Optimus promptly increased his walking speed so that he overtook the medic, but Ratchet was satisfied - happy even - to see that his friend wasn’t bothering to hide his smile. Even if it was accompanied with a roll of his optics.