Chapter Text
“I dunno Elita, they don’t seem dangerous to me,” Bee said, servos fidgeting in his lap.
“You sure Bee? They were literally staring at you and stalking you,” Elita gave him a serious look. “Doesn’t that sound at least a little suspicious to you?”
“I mean, yeah, kinda,” he admitted, “but I do a lot of staring too, and I don’t mean anything by it! Besides, most miners know each other, and they’re probably just following me because they don’t get why they don’t recognize me!”
Elita gave him a look that said she didn’t quite believe him, but she sighed and pressed her palms flat against the desk. “Listen, Bee, as long as you feel safe around here, I’ll let it go, but if they do something I think endangers you, I’m bringing them in here, okay?”
“Sounds fine to me!”
Smiling as Elita shook her helm fondly, Bee sprung up from his chair and zipped towards the door. “Thanks for chatting with me!” he called behind him.
“Anytime Bee!” Elita called after him, her voice already faint as Bee swung around a corner and headed down the hallway towards the turbolifts.
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A couple hours ago, he’d gotten a ping from Elita, asking him to meet her for a ‘private talk’ in her office. As the new commander of the Autobot security force (and military, but Orion—no, Optimus—was looking for a different bot to take that job off her shoulders) it had to be important, so Bee had sped to her office as soon as he could.
Apparently, security cameras had caught sight of two bots tailing him: a white bot with red and green accents who stared at him whenever he was down in the new R&D building, and a bright red one who would follow him around the new training facilities. She actually credited a young bot named Red Alert for noticing it, but as she’d said, that “wasn’t the point”. Elita had called him to her office to ask if he thought they were a threat, and if he wanted anything done with them.
As far as Bee was concerned, if they’d wanted to hurt him, they’d probably have done so by this point, so he didn’t think they meant any harm.
Besides, like he’d said, they were probably just curious about him.
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Pede tapping impatiently against the floor of the turbolift, he let out a huffy exvent. Maybe he was acting a bit like a newforged, but after who knows how long of being cogless, now that he had his own T-cog (and a Prime’s nonetheless) he was always itching to try out his altmode whenever he got the chance. For once in his life, it felt like he could out speed all of his problems, and it felt so good to feel the wind on his frame as he sped around Iacon City.
Now that energon was flowing again, Optimus was looking to expand the city’s limits—maybe even breach to the surface as a show of force against the Quintessons (and the Decepticons, not that that was ever said out loud)—and as such, there were always new places for Bee to explore. He’d gotten a glimpse at the first new city, dubbed Crystal City after the plethora of energon mines that had existed there before (and as a tribute to the miners who had worked there). It was bare bones at the moment, but he’d caught sight of the scaffolding of great, spiraling towers that reached towards the cavern’s ceiling like gigantic stalagmites.
The lift finally dinged open to the ground floor, and the doors were barely parted before Bee was speeding out onto the open streets in altmode, dodging a few surprised pedestrians. He knew Elita would heavily disapprove, but now that he knew he had shadows, he wanted to at least see what they were like for himself.
His first stop: Iacon’s new Research and Development Institution (it used to be where miners were sent to have their cogs removed before they first awoke, and it was one of the first repurposed buildings in Iacon).
Striding through the doors with a cheerful confidence, he greeted the receptionist, a stocky grey and black bot with a red chevron who inexplicably had the name Bluestreak. Not that Bee cared much about the semantics of it. The bot was a great conversationalist who loved to chat during his break, just like himself.
“Hey Blue!” he called as he darted towards the double doors labeled “Caution: Experiments in Progress”. “Love to chat, but I got a bot to find!”
“No problem!” his friend called back, “Talk to you later, Bee!”
Turning to wave one last time, Bee slipped through the double doors and into the lab spaces behind them. Careful to vent through his mouth—having learned the lesson that whatever experiments were running usually smelled foul, even to his nasal receptors—he walked between the rows of partitioned labs, scanning each for a bot that looked like the one Elita had shown him. It wasn’t until he reached the end of the walkway that he finally spotted a bot who matched the description over by a cleaning station.
At least, Bee was pretty sure he matched it.
His main frame color was white, check. He had small red and green accents, check. And, to top it off, he had the same helmfins too! The only problem was that the bot was presently sans his right arm and looked very scorched—not that he seemed all that hampered by either though.
“Hey, uh, you good over there?” Bee called, jogging up to the bot with a wave.
“Naw, I’m all good…” the bot’s voice trailed off as he turned to look—and then stare—at Bee.
Checking his shoulders in case there was somebot behind him who needed to get past, Bee looked back at the bot and asked, “What? Do I have a stain on my plating?”
The white bot blinked at him, his remaining servo twitching like he wanted to reach out and confirm that Bee wasn’t some sort of apparition. “Bee…?” he whispered in shocked awe.
“Uh…yes…? That’s my name…?” Now very confused, Bee took a half step back as the bot stepped into his space, optics still wide in shock.
“Bee, it’s me, Wheeljack!” An odd sense of déjà vu washed over Bee as the bot’s helmfins flashed yellow with excitement—though how he knew that, he had no idea. “Remember me? Sub-level 20? We used to talk all the time after lights-out and-”
Bee cut the bot—Wheeljack—off with a hastily held up servo. “Hey, listen, I’m flattered, but I think you’ve got the wrong bot.”
Wheeljack’s helmfins flashed a muted blue color (instinctively, Bee knew that meant he was sad, but again had no idea where the knowledge came from) as he added, “I can try and help you find your friend if you want, but I don’t know you, sorry.”
“But, you do know me, we-”
An uncomfortable guilt churned in Bee’s tank as he cut Wheeljack off again. He really didn’t want to get the bot’s hopes up pretending to be the bot he thought he was. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t. You seem like a cool bot, and I’d love to hang out if you’re up for it, but I’m not the bot you think I am.”
Sending Wheeljack a quick ping with his comm channel link, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Listen, I’ve gotta go now, but if you ever want help finding your friend, send me a comm!”
Turning on his heel struts, Bee darted out of the lab space, wishing Bluestreak a good cycle as he left.
He did feel bad, running out on Wheeljack like that, but it was really awkward trying to convince the bot that he’d mistaken him for someone else. As he sped back towards the Iacon’s central plaza, where the Autobot (formerly Iaconian) Military Academy was located, he hoped that finding the other bot wouldn’t be half as awkward.
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Although the building was technically a military training academy, it was also open to the public for anybot who wanted to use its recreational centers.
Flashing a bright smile to the security bot manning the doors (A white bot named Prowl who looked uncannily similar to Bluestreak), he walked through with little fanfare. It was times like these that Bee was glad his position as one of Optimus’ advisors granted him exclusive access to otherwise blocked off locations. He could do without all the publicity it came with (he’d spent almost his entire life alone, and being the center of attention now was a bit much for him), but it did have its fringe benefits.
Beginning his second search of the day over by the firing range, he let out a long sigh at how much ground he had to cover. Chatting with himself under his vents, Bee slowly began walking the length of the range, checking each booth for the stranger who’d followed him around. After about half an hour, he was about ready to give up and move on.
Thankfully his mystery bot found him first.
“Kid…?” a rough sounding voice asked from behind Bee.
Turning to look, he came face-to-face with a large, imposing bot with a solid red paint job and an impressive helm crest. A dead ringer for the bot he was looking for.
“Oh, hey!” he said excitedly smiling at the other bot, “You have no idea how long I’ve been looking for you! Okay, that came out wrong. I’m not, like, some stalker or anything. I’ve been looking for you because-”
He trailed off when the older bot laughed jovially, shaking his helm in amusement. Watching him curiously, Bee’s confusion only grew when the bot asked, “Guess yer still a chatterbox after all, huh, Kid?”
His confusion must’ve been plain on his face because the bot clarified (or, tried to) “Oh, right, my frame’s changed a bit hasn’t it? I’m Ironhide, r‘member? Sub-level 15?”
Laughing again, the strange bot clapped him on the shoulder, “I still remember watchin’ ya try an’ heft those heavy-aft crates onto th’ trains! Primus, I thought you’d snap in half th’ way ya were liftin’ ‘em!”
Pulling himself free from Ironhide’s grip he put a few meters of space between them. “Again, you’ve got the wrong bot,” he said, somewhat exasperated. “Yeesh, I thought it was weird when that bot Wheeljack thought he knew me, but now it’s getting creepy.”
“Uh, Kid?” Ironhide asked, and again, the nickname seemed so familiar when he said it. Any other bot and it would sound condescending, but in Ironhide’s voice, it sounded like the kind of endearment an older bot might use with their kid sibling.
Taking another step back from him, Bee raised his servos defensively. “Listen, I have zero-zip-zilch no problem with helping you find whatever bot you’ve mistaken me for, but I’m really getting tired of everybody thinking I’m someone I’m not!”
“Whoa, hey, Kid, calm down.” Ironhide held out his servos in a nonthreatening gesture. “I get that it’s been a while, but trust me, ya know me.”
“No I don’t!” Bee shouted, internal fans whirring to life to combat the heat building in his frame. “I really, really, don’t know you! I don’t know you, or Wheeljack or anybot else claiming otherwise!” He knew he was starting to sound hysterical, but he was confused, and frazzled, and tired, and honestly just wanted to try and recharge all this nonsense away.
He was also starting to attract the attention of the other bots in the area, and could feel their stares in the back of his helm. Against his better judgment, he sent Ironhide a ping for his personal comm channel and muttered, “If you want help finding your friend, send me a comm.”
Slipping around the bot as he stood stunned, Bee bolted for the doors before anybot could stop him. Blowing past Prowl with a “Sorryaboutthishaveaniceday!” he transformed and peeled out onto the main road.
The mech’s voice still echoed in the back of Bee’s helm like an unreachable itch. Like he should've been able to place it but couldn’t.
***
Back in his apartment, Bee opened a comm line to Optimus. :: Hey, Optimus? When you get a moment, can we talk? I need somebot outside this to weigh in. ::
After a few moments he got a return ping. :: Of course, Bee. Want me to bring Elita too? ::
Bee pondered the question. He didn’t really want to be chewed out for going against her (unspoken) advice, but he also desperately wanted both the sanity of having his friends around and the comfort that came with being near them. Sighing, he commed back :: Yes, but give me a couple hours please. ::
:: No problem, Bee. ::
Flopping back against his berth, Bee blew out a harsh exvent before rolling over to lie face-first into his pillow. He felt tired, wired, and stressed all at the same time, but with no energy to try and solve any of it. Letting out a frustrated groan, he turned his helm so that he could vent freely and squeezed his optics shut. Maybe if I get some recharge I’ll feel better.
Of course it was just as he was getting settled into his new life—one that was so vastly different from his old one, it might as well be happening in a parallel universe—that something had to come and shake its foundation. Again.
It was times like this that he wished D-16 was still with them. Optimus (and honestly, he still called the bot Orion when he wasn’t thinking about it) was great at picking his spirits up and listening to his ramblings, but Dee had actually listened. He paid attention to what Bee said and always tried to offer advice for what he could do.
At least, he had before Alpha Trion had revealed the depths of Sentinel’s betrayal. After that, Dee had shut him out like he didn’t exist. Only half-listened when Bee wanted to ask him important things or offer his advice. Some cycles, he wished that they’d stayed together in waste management instead of leaving.
With that on his processor, Bee drifted off into a fitful recharge.
______________________________________
A loud pounding noise brought his optics back online after what felt like only a few seconds of shut-optic. Blinking blearily around his apartment, it took Bee’s audio receptors a second to process what had, at first, just sounded like wordless noise.
“Bee, if you don’t open this door soon I’m going to break it down!”
Elita’s warm but forceful tone brought his processor fully online as he flailed trying to get out of his berth. “One second!” he called out right before tripping over his own pedes and landing on his skidplate.
Muffled from behind his door, he could hear Orion—Optimus—scold, “Elita, that was a bit harsh.”
Quickly righting himself, Bee darted over to his door, disengaging the locks and keying in the code to let his friends in.
No sooner had the door slid open than Bee jumped up to hug Optimus, smiling when the bot hugged him back with a chuckle. “It’s good to see you too, Bee.”
Then, from Elita, “What? I don’t get a hug too?!”
Optimus set him down, and he ran over to give a quick hug to Elita. “It is so good to see you guys again!”
“Bee,” Elita laughed, letting go and stepping into his apartment, “You literally saw me earlier this cycle.”
“Yeah, but that was, like, hours ago,” Bee corrected, “Besides, I haven’t seen Optimus in ages.”
The new Prime just laughed as he said, “Bee, you saw me a cycle ago.”
“Yeah. Ages.”
Both his friends laughed with him as they settled into his living room. Elita claimed the chair by the heating vent, while Bee and Optimus took the couch. “So,” Optimus began, worrying seeping from his field, “What did you want to talk about that needed an impartial audial?”
Before Bee could respond, Elita cut in with, “Is this about the two bots from earlier? Did they do something?” There was a protective edge in her voice, and it warmed Bee’s spark to know that his friends would never let anything or anybot harm him.
What didn’t, though, was the embarrassment that came with Optimus turning towards Elita and asking incredulously, “The two bots from earlier? Bee did something happen to you? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he assured his friends, servos up placatingly. “All I did was try and talk to them.”
“Bee!” Elita squawked as Optimus asked, “I’m still confused. What’s going on here?”
“Okay, waitasec. I can explain.”
When Elita and Optimus’ optics locked onto his, he felt the urge to recoil into his frame, but did his best to hold their gazes. “Okay, so, I know you didn’t want me to, but I didn’t think they were all that bad, so I went to try and get to know them,” he said to Elita. Then, turning to Optimus, he explained, “Elita noticed that these two bots, Wheeljack and Ironhide, were kinda following me around, so she wanted to make sure they hadn’t done anything to me!”
“You’re damn right I didn’t want you going near them, what if you'd gotten hurt!?” Elita asked incredulously as Optimus winced.
“Everyone, can we all take a vent?” the Prime asked, looking pointedly at Elita. “Bee asked us here to listen to him, not to criticize his actions.”
Sighing, Elita sat back in her chair, sending an apologetic teek to Bee. “Sorry, Bee.”
“It’s alright,” he assured, smiling sheepishly. “It wasn’t the best idea anyways.”
Taking a deep vent, Bee tried to figure out how to put his problem into words. It helped that Optimus was projecting a field of confidence/comfort/understanding, and Elita was giving him a subtle thumbs up.
Drawing in a deep vent, Bee slowly tried to piece the cycle’s events together. “Okay, so, I went to the new R&D building, y’know, since that’s where the white bot, Wheeljack was,” he started gesturing absentmindedly as he talked, “and it was going alright at first!”
When Elita gave him a disapproving stare, he defended, “Okay, so maaaybe he was missing an arm, but he seemed totally chill about it!”
She stopped glaring when Ori-Optimus gave her a sharp look, then gestured for him to continue. “Anyways, he thought he knew me—like, thought we were friends—which was weird ‘cause I don’t remember ever meeting a bot like him, but it was also weird ’cause-”
“Bee, I need you to slow down.” Elita’s voice cut him off, his friend giving him a tired smile. “We don’t all have audial processors that work at Mach 10.”
“Sorry, ‘Lita,” Bee apologized. “I was trying to say that it was weird ‘cause I don’t remember ever meeting a ‘Wheeljack’ before, but something about him seemed….familiar…?” he trailed off, scratching the back of his helm. “And the same thing happened when I met Ironhide. He thought he knew me too, and I got that same, ‘can’t-quite-put-a-digit-on-it’ feeling again!”
Wringing his servos anxiously, he asked, “Is something wrong with me?”
He was pulled from his spiral when a warm pair of servos wrapped around his own, Optimus’ rich timbre soothing his nerves. “I promise, there is nothing wrong with you, Bee." Taking a deep invent as his friend pulsed comfort through his field, Bee tried to calm his racing spark. "Why don’t you try telling us why they thought they knew you, and we can go from there?” Optimus asked in his familiar reassuring tone.
Sighing, Bee took his servos back, opting to let them fidget with his leg plating. “Well, Wheeljack said he knew me from sub-level 20—said that we used to chat a lot—and Ironhide said he knew me from sub-level 15.” Turning to look at each of his friends in turn, he finished with, “And the weirdest thing is, they were, like, really specific about stuff, but I don’t remember any of it, so they have to have the wrong bot, right?”
Optimus and Elita exchanged looks, and then turned to Bee, Optimus speaking first. “Bee, do you remember when…” he trailed off, optics muting for a second before shaking his helm and continuing, his voice notably strained, “...When Dee and I asked you how you got to sub-level 50?”
“Yeah? Why?”
“Well, you told us that you’d been transferred to a few other levels before that, so is it possible you could’ve met them then?”
“Wait, there’s a sub-level 50!?” Elita’s shocked outrage cut through the ensuing tense silence.
“Yep!” Bee confirmed. “And trust me, I didn’t think it existed either ‘till I got sent there!”
His smile faltered when he caught sight of the stunned horror on Elita’s face. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“Bee, how long were you down there for?” she asked, sympathy and horror in equal measures in her voice. Out of the corner of his optic, Bee noticed Optimus open his mouth to say something but cringe back after a second.
Shrugging, he said, “I dunno, lost track forever ago and no one ever stopped by to tell me the date.”
Clearly, that wasn’t the right answer since Elita’s optics blew wide with shock. “What? It wasn’t that bad. I had friends! Well, Steve wasn't really alive—I just built him to keep me company—but then Pax and Dee showed up, so I’ll call it a win-win.”
Now turning to face Optimus, Elita asked incredulously, “That’s who Steve was!?”
Recoiling slightly from his former team lead, Optimus offered a hesitant, “Yes?”
“Why did I never hear about this!?” Yelled Elita, gesturing to Bee who was now feeling very uncomfortable.
“We didn’t exactly have the time when we were trying to find the Matrix!” the Prime defended, anxiousness and frustration palpable from his field, “And that isn’t the point right now. We’re here to help our friend, not pick his processor.”
“Really? Because I just heard him say he spent Primus knows how long by himself-”
As his two friends argued, their words were drowned by the sound of Bee's own racing spark. He could almost feel his sparkpulse in his audials, deafening him as Elita’s words were drowned out in an ocean of static. You’re alone, his helm whispered, pitch blackness filling his HUD as the roar of a giant furnace replaced the static in his audials, You’re alone and no bot is coming for you. No bot knows you’re down here. No bot is coming to save you. You're going to die here. you’re alone, you’re alone, you’re–
He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen from the couch and tucked himself into the far corner at the back of the room until something—a servo he realized in the aftermath—touched his shoulder plating. Recoiling with a static-filled scream, his helm slammed against the living room wall, pain exploding in the back of it as his HUD scrambled to bring itself back on line.
Optics blinking away interference, he made out the wobbly shapes of Elita and Optimus crouched near him. Their voices were still nothing more than garbled nonsense to his audio receptors, and Optimus’ servos were reached out like he wanted to support Bee in some way, but didn’t know how. As the picture of his living room became more clear, he could make out that guilt-ridden look on Elita’s face and the worry in Optimus’ optics.
“-ee can you hear me?” the Prime’s voice finally registered in his audials, quiet and low.
“I-I’m-” Bee’s vocalizer gave out, spitting static as he raised a servo, silently asking Optimus to give him space.
Taking deep vents, holding them, then letting them out, he slowly tried to dismiss the redundant error messages in his HUD.
The only noise to fill the room, aside from the high pitched drone of his fans, was the low, electronic hum of comm chatter. No doubt it was between Elita and Optimus, and judging by how Optimus’ antenna was titled back, it was also an argument. Elita grit her dental at Optimus and the Prime leaned forwards, glaring at her in return. Another flash of panic tore through Bee’s chassis as Elita dropped optic contact with Optimus, an image of a furious D-16 grabbing Optimus—Orion—by the chestplate filling Bee’s HUD.
“STOP!”
Silence reigned as both Elita and Optimus turned to stare at him, the whine of his overtaxed fans filling the air. “Just stop, please,” Bee pleaded, coolant pricking at the corners of his optics, “I don’t want to lose any more friends!”
“Bee, I-” Optimus started, servo reaching out before he pulled it back, “I’m sorry.”
Sniffling, Bee slowly dragged himself to his pedes. “I… I think you both should leave now,” he said, optics locked on the floor, “I thought you could help, but…” his gaze flickered up to see Elita and Optimus’ sparkbroken looks, “I think I can to work this out on my own.”
When neither bot made a move to leave, he added, “Please, you—neither of you are helping right now. I think it’s best if you go.”
“We… we understand, Bee,” Optimus finally said, turning to help usher Elita out the door. Pausing at the threshold, he turned back, mouth opening like he wanted to say more, before closing it as he sent him an apologetic teek and walked away from his apartment.
Elita lingered in the hallway, guilt heavy in her field. “Bee, I’m… I’m really sorry, Bee. I didn’t mean to-”
“I don’t want to hear it right now, Elita,” Bee cut her off, tears beginning to track down his face as he rounded on her. “You aren’t helping, okay?! I asked you to go so can you please,” he took a deep vent, trying to quell the hysteria seeping into his voice. “Can you please just go?”
“Sure thing, Bee.” Elita stayed where she stood for a second longer before finally turning towards the hall too. Just before she left though, she quietly said, “Our comm channel’s still open if you need to talk, though, okay?”
Not looking up, Bee said, “I know,” and kept his optics fixed on the floor until he heard Elita’s pedesteps disappear down the hall.
Trudging back into his berthroom, he flopped against his berth and shut his optics, trying to ignore the feeling of tears tracking down his face. Another fitful bout of recharge was quick to take him, visions of his friends tearing each other apart and long, endless, pitch black tunnels he couldn’t escape from plaguing his dreams.