Comfort Food
Why Bumblebee stays chubby.
Lead sulfide crystals. Big and flavorless and gritty with ores the dull gray of most Earth metals, but Bumblebee mercilessly tore into it anyway. His mouth was so stuffed with pulverized lead he could barely chew, just the way he like it. If only he had time to savor it.
It was late.
Very late.
So late he'd probably get time in the brig if he was caught.
He hadn't gotten caught yet, though, and that knowledge kept him lazing in front of the Big Fridge night after night. Of course he hadn't gotten caught yet. Nobody on the entire ship cared enough to check on him when he was awake, much less when he was trapped in the recharge chamber, quivering from nightmar-
Tubing threatened to burst in the corners of his optics. He flinched and stuffed more galena in his mouth, drowning out the sorrow in meager flavors and textures.
He slumped in his spot in front of the Big Fridge, his arms near-freezing from constant contact with the food inside and his tank burning hot trying to burn off as much fuel as it could before Bumblebee could eat more. He allowed himself to stare at the Big Fridge for a few precious seconds, his mind finally contented and quiet.
This is why you're always captured. Because you're slow, weak, and fa-
He dove in for something to drown out the sobs collecting in the back of his throat. Congealed energon (Spike called it Lightning-Flavored-Jello, whatever Jello was) was the closest, meaning it was soon being poured down Bumblebee's throat tubing without any regard to taste. He only stopped when he felt his capacitors freeze up and energon collecting in the back of his neck. He forced back the urge to vomit. He really liked his teeth.
One of the few parts of me I do like.
He almost reached for the last thing in the Big Fridge, a huge slab of oil cake Jazz had made for Optimus Prime's birthday (Carly's idea; Optimus' true birthday wasn't for another 6,000 years on her calendar), before a lurching in his tanks forced him to the floor. He tucked his limbs in and rode out the contractions of his tanks trying to expel the horrid mix of stale energon, lead crystal powder, and even Cadium acryllic paint he had stolen from Sunstreaker in a moment of desperation. Meanwhile, he mentally screamed at himself, you almost stole Prime's cake! Prime! The one person on this Primus-forsaken ship that acknowledges you outside of battle, and you try to steal his food? Bumblebee, how could you? You really are worthless. You don't belong on this ship, you belong in some old lady's garage so you can drive her to the Bingo hall on Saturdays, what kind of a warrior are y-
His cheek was wet. His optics snapped back on (when had they turned off?), hoping to see spilled high-grade or melting oil cake or something other than-
Tears. He was crying, and he was too sick to eat it off.
The ball he had rolled himself in became tighter, the spasms got worse, and Bumblebee was too ashamed to move.