I wrote this a while ago for practice, inspired by the prompt "hiding," and figured I might as well post it. It's worth a chuckle.
In the massive basement of the convention center, a small Autobot huddled in the shadows. Not for the first time that day, he cursed his paint job. The bright yellow color was visible even in the dark. But he couldn't do anything about that now. He scooted further into the corner, making himself as small as possible. He was used to hiding—when you were a scout, concealment was a necessary skill. But he feared that skill wouldn't be enough to save him from the threat he now faced.
This wasn't supposed to be dangerous, Bumblebee thought bitterly. A 'public relations' event, Prime said—just show up and shake hands with humans for a few hours. Nothing could possibly happen. Yeah, right. He let out a quiet snort. To be fair, when his leader said it wasn't a dangerous mission, he'd probably meant that Decepticons weren't involved. The two terms were practically synonymous to an Autobot. And Prime had been right—Decepticons weren't the problem this time. But the little mech would rather face an entire Decepticon army than deal with this.
A distant clatter made him jump. Had they found him? He'd been so careful to hide himself—then again, his pursuers had shown an uncanny ability to hunt him down. It was if they had some sort of Bumblebee-radar. He strained his audio receptors for any sounds that might betray their arrival. Another clatter echoed through the storage room—then the creak of an opening door.
"Are you sure he came in here?"
"That guy said—"
Bumblebee's oil ran cold. The voices were high-pitched and lilting—human females, and young ones at that. The other Autobots would laugh themselves into stasis if they could see their comrade now, cowering before a flock of adolescent humans. But these humans weren't normal—the other Autobots hadn't seen them in action like Bumblebee had. An involuntary shiver ran through him as one of the girls called out.
"He must be in here somewhere! Track him down—I never got to take a picture with him!"
"And I didn't get to hug him!"
"I wanted to show him the fanart I drew—"
Other females joined in the chattering as they enter the basement. Bumblebee could hear them maneuvering through the clutter, slowly but surely getting closer to his hiding place. He hugged his knees against his chest. Half of him prayed for a miracle while his more realistic half braced for the coming onslaught.
One thing was certain: public relations or not, Bumblebee was never coming to a "comic con" again.