Oh my goodness, it's been ages since I've updated, and I really, really, really am sorry for that. I've been really busy with schoolwork, new clubs for after school, homework, Karate, music lessons...the list drags on. I apologize for anyone I've upset or any of that! But, over that longggg time, I had been writing a little each day - some days getting alot more done than others. I would like to thank Karategal again for helping me edit and fix grammar. ) Thank youuu so much!

And this chapter - Ehh', it's okay to me. Tell me what you think. Please enjoy, read, review, all that jazz. Thanks.

Canti Sixx.


Chapter Thirteen: The Battle for Bumblebee, Part II

Outside the Decepticon Base: At the Outskirts of the Battle

His spark fell like a dead weight, a dull thud inside him. Some sense of guilt took its toll like a looming shadow, covering him, slipping its way through crevices in his bright on sharp-accented armor plating. It weaved to his lifesource, constricted and sunk its fangs into the core of his heart. Pain swelled under the yellow metal of his chestplate, and he splayed his hand across it, attempting to kill the throbbing.

Primus, why wouldn't it stop? He grimaced.

"Ugh," he breathed, clutching his ache with a grimace. With a sigh, he lifted his optics.

Jaryn's features were hard-edged, his mouth drooped in the parabola of a frown. Electric blue optics skimmed over the battlefield laid out before him in a slow, sorrow-filled manner, to the Autobot regiment combating the pressing Decepticon forces. Red hot nullray blasts soared through the air in the blinks of optics and seared once flawless ground, spewing laser fire being its instantaneous reply.

Look at it all.

He soaked all of in it like little Bumblebee orns before, taking in every bit of Auto-Con war footage on the holoscreen. There was the Seeker trio dancing the skies, roaring engines, returning fire, barks of orders, the oh-so-thick and unwavering pitter-patter of a helicopter's rotary blades beating in the air…

Where we stand.

Jaryn winced at it all. He hated it all. Hated it, hated it, hated it.

Words were way too kind to express his abhorrence. He hated warfare.

Swallowing down the tears that painfully rose up along his throat, the mech continued scanning the field, although knowing the pain it caused him. All he could hear were the sounds of battle, could see the sights, but the one bright frame he longed to see was not here.

No Bumblebee.

I don't understand how this came to be.

Jaryn cursed under his breath, intakes huffing angrily as he curled the digits of one servo into a fist. He forced himself to turn from the battle, shutting his optics, cursing over and over and over until his throat funneled too tightly for words to be spoken. They hitched and he could only painfully swallow again, watching his vision blur with tears.

How could you fall so fast?

Every emotion was a part of a horrible jubilee inside his mind – There was the anger, the spark-wrenched pain, the fear – and each one kept Jaryn rooted to the ground. With an energon tear trickling for the first time in so long, Jaryn let his processor drift as it wished. Bowing his head, he remembered only a few orns ago, to when his precious mechling was whirring for reassurance, whispering to him to hear a promising coo in return.

How could I?

He damned himself for lying that very orn…

"Dada, are we gonna be okay?" the bot had whispered in his father's embrace.

Jaryn remembered smiling into wide blue optics like his own. "Bumblebee…Everything will be okay, alright? Daddy and Mommy will be here for you..."

Jaryn cursed. He had lied to his son. His own mechling.

He had said everything would be alright.

Look where they all were now, he forced himself to realize.

Look at now.

Two of their family unit were already extinguished, gone forever, dead; It was as if warfare's gruesome silhouette of death towered over him wherever he went.

Leave me alone, Jaryn grimaced in thought.

All Hell is lose.



If Bumblebee were to die, if the Autobot squadron were to fail their mission - …Primus, he didn't know what he would do. Bumblebee was all he had left. The mechling had been the reason he wanted to wake up before the Cybertronian sun rose in the east, before the slightest trace of light spilled over their district.

And I remember those days.

His digits twitched, remembering how Bumblebee's tender frame felt in his palms – that squirming little life. Jaryn remembered stroking the small, angular valley of Bumblebee's chestplate, feeling the soft beats of his tiny spark.

When none of this existed.

He began to wonder how his own servos felt sliding along Bumblebee's frame.

Jaryn sighed, his shoulder panels rounding. He dropped the thought.

How if you told me, days before, that this would happen…I would have laughed.

Every feeling returned to him, and his optics melted on his faceplate. Tears fell a little more, then faster, and he didn't bother to wipe them, finally letting out every harvested emotion of pain, sorrow, and fear escape him, flood down, and away. Away and away.

Just go.

xXx

Inside the Decepticon Base: Bumblebee's Confinement Cell

The mechling's soft cries only made Mirage grimace.

He couldn't even believe he was hiding mere feet away from the Decepticon leader himself, practically making a futile attempt to shy away from death at the doorstep. He struggled to find any motivation at a time like this, besides the shuddering youngling wound in his grasp reminding him of their ultimate objective. In a few short breems, he would be faced with one aspect of combat he almost always became unwilling to confront – Direct combat.

He was a spy, for Primus' sake. Observations, patience, silent inquiry – It was all a part of how his spy nature was wired.

And direct combat betrayed all of those spy natures.

An agitated groan left him.

Spark beating quicker, Mirage closed his optics, slowly wrapping his servos protectively around the tender being against his chestplate. He cupped him gently with arms winding tighter to secure Bumblebee. Miniature servos latched to his forearms, a round head nudging an audio receptor into his warm chestplate. Bumblebee hiccupped between sobs at Mirage's frantic sparkbeat.

"'Age…" the bot barely whispered, slowly brushing Mirage's chestplate with his digits. "I don't like this, M-Mirage." His wide optics cast upward. "M-Mirage, I wanna go home."

Mirage swept his own along the tiny frame, shaking his head with no words and no optical contact. He pressed his lips against the mechling's cheekplate, stroking quicker until every whimper died in Bumblebee's throat.

Megatron's mighty footfalls betrayed the following silence.

"You imprudent fool, how dare you hide from me," the Lord rasped, his looming frame entering the confinement cell. "No matter…I will find you otherwise."

The shing of an unleashing steel flail sent shivers up Mirage's metallic spine, and caused his digits to dig deeper into Bumblebee, harnessing his tiny frame. The bot shut his optics and gulped down a whine, quaking in horrible thrashes.

"None of your kind have ever hid from me…And lived to see another orn."

Frag the risk; Mirage opened his mouth.

"Quiet, quiet," he spoke to Bee in a voice that barely passed as a whisper, a voice practically dry. Bumblebee's servos clawed at the mech's chestplate, little, short whimpers skipping from his tiny throat, pleading. He was extremely terrified.



Mirage cupped a hand beneath the mechling's bottom, sliding him up his chestplate until he reached the crook of his neck. Caressing lightly the bot's helm, he tucked Bumblebee against his neck with a soft hush. Gentle sways sent Bumblebee's whimpers to shaky hums.

Bumblebee extended and craned his neck as Mirage thumbed over his foreplate. His guardian's fingers made a small journey to a tiny shoulder panel, dancing on top of it oh so tenderly.

A large hand covered Bumblebee's backside like a giant, protective blanket, and the bot felt incredibly secure – As if the hand were an impenetrable cape.

Nothing could go through it, and harm him.

His tiny spark fluttered against Mirage's shoulder, and the guardian mustered a small smile. Bumblebee smiled back with a tiny giggle.

Though the smiles seemed like nothing, it gave them that much more of a boost.

New determination surged through Mirage as he turned his optics to Megatron, mere feet before him. The Autobot sunk deeper into the shadows and activated camouflage, both servos attached to Bumblebee. Slitting his optics, Mirage watched every movement the Lord made, hard-edged fortitude sculpting his every feature.

"Bring it," his mouth barely growled.

"I know you're there, Autobot. Hand over the youngling," Megatron demanded, scanning the cell with the flail lifting high. "…and perhaps I may spare your pathetic life."

Mirage's optics narrowed even further. "Over my dead body."

xXx

Outside the Decepticon Base: At the Outskirts of Battle

Hot Rod pressed his weapon against one red shoulder panel, taking advantage of the first quiet – well, at least somewhat quieter – moment since the Decepticon confrontation had began only breems earlier. Dropping to one knee joint, his blue optics admired the weapon clasped between his digits, his forefinger brushing slowly across its trigger. Smoke still snaked from the muzzle, and he rushed a breath from his neck's intake valves to disperse the dark air.

"There," he sighed. "Perfect."

Arcee rolled to his side, grunting softly. Hot Rod watched as the candy colored femme lowered two dark, pistol-like weapons from above her shoulder panels, laying the fronts of her digits lazily across each one's triggers. Feeling the mech's optics on her as she dropped her weapons by her hip compartments, her metal lips curved into a smile.

"What're you starin' at, Hot Rod," she spoke playfully, turning her blue optics to his. They upturned. "Never seen a femme dual wield before?"

Hot Rod blinked, making a face. He cleared his oral circuits. "Please," a scoff.

"Is that a, 'Yes,' or a, 'No.'" She was teasing him.

"No," grunted the reply. "I have seen a femme dual wield."

Arcee rested her case, still smirking.

Her blue optics slowly shifted back to the battle splayed a small distance before them. The roar of the Seeker trio's engines could still be heard as they retreated in accorded fashion to the far skies, leaving trails of smoke from their powerful engine thrusters. Arcee's shoulders rounded inward as she sighed, pale red lips drooping to a soft frown.

"What cowards, huh?" she sighed.

Hot Rod chuckled, rising to his normal stature. "What? You wanted to fight 'em?" He held out a palm to the femme. "Nice one..."

Arcee set her servo in his palm, letting his digits curl around it and hoist her to her feet. Her blue optics still watching the dark, blue-black heavens, her frame shifted subconsciously into a one-armed embrace around her shoulder panels. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, to the sweet spot where his jawline could prop against her cheekplate, to where she could feel breaths of air from his neck's air intake valves wash coolly onto her helm. He squeezed her shoulder, rubbing her arm slowly.



She finally got to answering his question. "No, well...Why not?" she murmured, smiling a little. "You're afraid of a couple fighter jets, I see."

A corner of Hot Rod's mouthplate curled upward to a smile. "Wisdom will always defeat firepower," he grinned widely, sliding his digits down her arm until he reached her servo, clasping it. "Who needs artillery when you have one of the best logic processors in the galaxy?" His servo lifted to caress her helm.

Arcee looked toward his optics, and smiling, she shook her head. "You always say that."

xXx

He didn't know what to do anymore – He didn't know anything.

Faceplate bland, Jaryn descended down the even slope of the hill with his gaze locked the storm-heavy bottoms of clouds, the haunting obscurity of the skies. He stared as if something were to fall right out of the sky, as if the clouds were to part and give way to spill…Frag, he didn't even know what. He wanted hope to fall down, some courage, a little more determination, some sort of ambition maybe, a motivation, and something to kill the fear that refused to let him be.

Primus, the list dragged on. And perhaps his wish was too much of a package.

"You're afraid of a couple fighter jets?"

Jaryn's optics shot up at the sound of a femme's voice, blinking twice. He moved behind chunks of rubble and debris that littered the Decepticon base's turf, pressing his side against one as he peered ahead of him. A red and golden mech leaned back against a hunk of debris, a femme slung under his arm. Jaryn felt his spark sink at the sight – How simple it was to bring back memories of Lexine. He choked down the tears along his throat and forced the images away, lifting a servo against the rubble beside him.

"Wisdom will always defeat firepower," the mech was saying. "Who needs artillery when you have one of the best logic processors in the galaxy?"

"You always say that."

Jaryn's optics rounded as he caught the glimpse of an Autobot insignia fixed at the center of the mech's broad, red chestplate, the symbol set between swooping, golden flames. Hot Rod eased Arcee against his chestplate, winding his arms securely around her pink and white frame. The insignia was swallowed up in the embrace, but Jaryn knew he had seen it. He didn't need a second glance.

"Autobots," his mouth barely formed, optics dropping to the ground.

Was it possible that they, somehow, knew where his son was?

That they had seen Bumblebee?

xXx

Arcee nudged her head into the broad chestplate of her mech, feeling a low sound resonate inside him with the warm hums of his spark. His servos splayed across the soft backs of her shoulder panels, stroking slowly, deeply, massaging her. Arcee giggled out a small purr, and Hot Rod returned the throaty sound, pressing his foreplate against hers. With two smiles, their pairs of optics gazed deeply into one another's, each seeing a pool of blue upturn lovingly. Hot Rod latched his mouth with Arcee's, watching her optic lids flutter.

They turned from his closing pair, then widened.

Someone was watching.

She twisted her lips from their kiss, gesturing to rubble and debris behind Hot Rod.

"Hot Rod! Look!" she gasped.

Hot Rod spun.

His optics locked to where she indicated, scanning, darting left and right.

Nothing.

Slowly, he arched a skeptical optic ridge, turning back to his sparkmate, although maintaining a gaze on the suspicious spot.



"What is it?" he whispered, drawing her into his chestplate with palms against the backs of her shoulder panels. "There's nothing there…" He looked to her.

"S-Someone was watching us," she trembled in his arms. "I-I saw optics, Rod."

Hot Rod furrowed his brow, half smiling. "I'm sure you're imagining things, Arcee." He grinned widely at her, running his servos along her metallic spine. "There's no one here besides – "

"No," a smooth voice interjected calmly from behind them. "She's right."

Perplexity played across Hot Rod's faceplate.

He turned.

Soon, he found himself squaring his broad set of shoulder panels with one identical -ones of a mech only very slightly below his stature, with a frame of primarily rich yellow. Individual platelets of his armoring were accented a sharp, jet black – Along his forearms, chestplate, his legs and angular pair of doorwings, and even minute facets of his faceplate. His optics were ocean blue and sat melted on his face, weighed with evident feelings of guilt, sorrow, and worry that lay harvested inside him. The somewhat awkward configuration of one forearm was an automatic divulge of a plasma cannon, and it was obvious by his broad set of shoulders that he carried with him a pair of shoulder cannons.

The mech was loaded. Was he a warrior?

Neither one of them had laid optics on the guy before.

Hot Rod assumed the mech was an Autobot, judging by his blue optics and the coloring of his armor – but it was the assumptions that killed. Decepticons deceived Autobots, and disguise could very much be one of their witty tricks. He wouldn't fall for anything too easily.

Hot Rod stepped before Arcee, shielding her from this friend, or foe.

"And who might you be?" he questioned, optics narrowing slowly with servos against his hip compartments.

The mech's optics stared deeply, and it was then when Hot Rod noticed the age they carried, yet some sort of youth submerged in the pools of ocean blue.

"Jaryn," the mech replied, adverting to the Decepticon base. "M-My son…" He paused, choking down tears along his throat. "Please, have you two seen him? Tell me you have..." As his gaze returned, rivulets of energon built up along the bases of his optics, flooding the ducts as they threatened to spill. Hot Rod nearly winced at the sight.

"Hot Rod," Arcee murmured from behind. "He must be… the youngling's father." She grabbed his arm and shook it. "The one we're rescuing."

"Y-Your…Your son?" Hot Rod echoed the mech, eyeing Arcee with a small nod of acknowledgement. He looked back to Jaryn. "Sir, you're telling us you're the bot's father?"

Jaryn nodded simply.

"Dear, Primus," Arcee breathed, stepping from behind. "You're the youngling's father…" she echoed yet again. Her servos latched to her sparkmate's forearm, digits digging in. "Hot Rod, we have to report to Optimus. When he discovers…Primus, just imagine - "

"No," Hot Rod interrupted, his voice suddenly edged. "I'm not convinced…"

Arcee blinked and stammered back, her words hitched in her throat, as she nervously made optical contact with Jaryn. The mech stood frozen.

Hot Rod optics electrified heatedly, turning to Jaryn as if they could see right through him, as if they could see right to the core of his very lifesource and beyond – perchance even catch sight of his haunting pastime. Jaryn's shoulder panels rounded as he stepped away, almost cowering in silent surrender, watching the red and golden mech in a form of fear.

Jaryn opened his mouth. "What're you - "

"For all we know, this supposed father of that youngling could be a Decepticon in disguise," Hot Rod growled lowly under his breath, lifting his weapon against a shoulder panel.



Arcee felt her air intakes hitch, and she subconsciously flailed her servos out to the weapon, clutching it and pulling it down to Hot Rod's chestplate. "Stop this!" she protested, glowering at her sparkmate. "Why would he lie about such a thing?!"

"Arcee!" Hot Rod glowered.

The femme grunted as the weapon was thrusted from her digits' grasp, her optics rounding in disbelief once it was raised and aimed for Jaryn, who stood stagnant in dismay with a fear glazing his optics. Hot Rod rested his forefinger across the trigger.

"Stop it," he finished his femme, then divided his attention. "What proof do you have?"

Jaryn swallowed nervously, straightening. "Proof of wha-"

"Proof that you're an Autobot," Hot Rod gritted, optics slitting.

Enough was enough. With a straightening stature, Jaryn drew in a deep breath into his intakes, lifting a servo to swipe the weapon against the muzzle, adverting its aim to the ground. Hot Rod's hair trigger reaction caused the fore of his digit to curl around the trigger suddenly in his alarm, snapping it inward with the least bit of force. The beam of a laser projectile seared the ground, the red hot burst of energy sending Hot Rod to his aft.

Arcee watched in silence as he eyed his weapon with almost an angry look about his faceplate, the expression only growing as he adverted to the mech standing above him. His optics narrowed.

"You - "

"If anything, I know that such behavior towards a fellow Autobot is completely unacceptable. That Autobot being myself," Jaryn hushed him, his voice barely a murmur. Though his tone of voice was clearly unsentimental, his optics still hung melted on his faceplate, rich pools of blue that held no shred of anger whatsoever.

It was…awkward. Arcee furrowed her brow at the sight. How he could hold frustration and the negative emotions it brought with it, being faced with the fact that his son was nowhere near their location, and still manage to contain every trace of anger in him pretty damn well. Kudos to Jaryn for that, she joked in the back of her mind.

Jaryn held out his palm to Hot Rod.

"I had no intentions of hurting you, Sir," he apologized.

Hot Rod ignored the mech's courteous gesture, bringing himself to his normal height with his optics locked on the weapon clasped between a servo of digits.

"You didn't," he muttered, meeting Jaryn. "I guess you're really not lying."

"I told you," Arcee teased softly without the trace of a smile, nudging her sparkmate's side with an elbow. She was surprised when Jaryn mustered the smallest smile, although his optics kept their ocean-blue heartache unaltered.

But, in an astrosecond, the grin was gone, as if it had only been a fragment of her memory circuits.

"My question, bring that back to processor," Jaryn evoked in a surfacing whisper, lowering his melted optics to the ground. "Neither of you have seen my son?" He choked down the tears again, curling his servos in the struggle. "Yellow, black, blue optics…" He looked to them. "Like me…"

The sparkmate couple grimaced, waiting for the other to deliver the bad news.

And...no one volunteered. Hot Rod cleared his oral circuits.

"We're - "

"We're sorry…Jaryn," Arcee stepped forth, sympathy and a great sense of sorrow weighing inside her spark, like a heavy-hanging bell with little strength to produce the slightest bit a song, only ringing out a doleful note. She forced words from her oral circuits. "The entire squadron here is fighting for our rightful custody of your son, Autobot safekeeping."

"You know for certain that he is in Decepticon hands?" Jaryn said openly and hung his head, then looked away.

Arcee nodded slowly. "Sir, you could gladly join us…A-And reclaim him - "



Jaryn's head shook, stopping her. His optics lifted to the Decepticon base, to the Autobots combating a distance away from their position in a litter of rubble.

"For some reason, I just can't will myself to go out there," he admitted in a whisper. Jaryn dropped his optics, closing them before he opened his mouth to confess, to correct himself. "My sparkmate… and eldest son were murdered by Decepticons, each in the same day…One in the morning, the other at nightfall." He met their gaze, looking from Arcee to Hot Rod. "I blame myself for part of it, for my mate's death…We had known that there had been a high chance of an attack…" He suddenly looked to a fist. "I should have taken her word, and left our district…It's my fault. All of it."

Catching a falling tear, Arcee forced herself to look away. Finally, those optics, the ones that seemed as if they were to fall off of his faceplate with every tear that was weighed in them, dumped rivulets onto his cheekplates. Jaryn swiped them away angrily, turning from the two too quickly. Hot Rod stammered forward with a servo already outstretched.

"Wait a sec - "

"No," the mech silenced, beginning to disappear behind littered debris.

"Let us help you…"

Jaryn didn't respond.

This fear, it was a wall Jaryn thought he could never climb, and would never be able to. The fear acted as a horrible inferno, flames from the Pit itself, rising up to him until his beating spark became scorched to the core. The fear was like looking up to the heavens at night, looking up at darkness, knowing a star was there, though never seeing it.

It was the thought that if he even made an attempt to go into battle, he would only end up in the Well of Allsparks, leaving his defenseless son behind.

A cold touch of dread against his spark.

xXx

Outside the Decepticon Base: About a Breem Later

Finally, it was all over – At least, for now.

Pressing his weapon against a shoulder panel, Sideswipe huffed out a breath of exhaustion as he sat on his aft, leaning back against one of the many pieces of debris that littered the Decepticon base's lawn, so to speak. His golden twin paused in mid-stride, an optic ridge arching as his gaze fell to his worn out brother. He tsked.

"Surely you can't be tired already," he sighed disappointedly. "We're just getting started! C'mon. Let's go kick their afts to the fraggin' moon!"

Sideswipe sat his weapon beside his hip compartment, glaring the evil optic with a sigh. "Mute it. I know I'm not moving yet." He fiddled with his weapon.

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. "You sure are in the prime of your youth, aren't you," he muttered sarcastically.

"I say again, 'Mute it.'"

Sunstreaker huffed and plopped beside his brother.

The rumble of roaring engines returned to the blue-black skies, seeming as if it came from the Heavens themselves, as if some sort of anger could no longer be contained. But then, infamous aircraft frames could be seen as they swooped from the hearts of the clouds, nearing the thinning, dark bottoms until they rendered themselves perceptible. Sunstreaker nearly leaped to his feet, not hesitating to hoist his twin up with a servo clutching his shoulder panel, his optics locked on the fighter jets the entire time.

Sideswipe protested. "What're you doing?"

"Hey, look," the reply with a digit at the Seekers. "C'mon, Sides. This is our chance."

Sideswipe didn't answer yet, sulking under the weight of his brother's palm. The fighters soared in an elegant array about their airborne arena, in a kind of aerial dance, a smooth, harmonious waltz. It was a sight indeed, almost beautiful to the optic…in a weird way.



It was then when the roar of the engines suddenly quieted, becoming replaced with the whirr of warming energy cannons, the freakishly unwavering hum of three pulsing-to-life pairs of cannons, the crackling energy, then the sound of spewing fire – Knife-edged, each one seeming sharp, red-hot as they pierced the ground. They were threatening.

Sideswipe clicked on a private communications channel. "We're gonna need backup and you know it, Sunny."

"No! Don't you even - "

The twin ignored. "Sideswipe to Optimus Prime," he said, watching the Seekers redirect their route toward them. "…Please, come in."

A, "What're you doing? We can take them on ourselves!" was also disregarded.

Hissing static crackled loudly in his audio receptors, finally clearing after a few astroseconds more.

"Optimus Prime," the acknowledgement.

Sideswipe watched red hot energy as it cackled at the muzzles of each pair of energy cannons, building with every astrosecond until the laser fire pleaded to unleash, begged to spew. He stood frozen, rooted to the ground.

"Seekers are back…"

xXx

Bonecrusher bore his weapons, shifting in swaying stature to a small right, keeping an even balance on his wheeled talons. His optics gleamed like pools of blood in the light of a moon, as did his bladed forearms in even the faint rays of the Cybertronian suns that penetrated through the thick, blue-black clouds. A low, barely audible chuckle rattled his chestplate.. The Decepticon felt anger and hate build – brew inside him to the point where he wanted to scream to the Heavens, roar with the hatred thudding in his chestplate. Yet, he mustered a smirk.

The twin Autobots spoke without a clue of his presence – His oh so near presence.

How foolish they were, to let such a mighty threat sneak under their radars.

Blades risen, Bonecrusher took two mighty steps forth, though remaining veiled in the dreary shadows of the littered rubble. Sweet anticipation made his claws click too eagerly, and adevious grin spread across his malevolent faceplate.

Fate had yielded its reward.

xXx

You had to blink to miss it.

In a meager moment, a duel blast of detonation impacted the rear thrusters of the Decepticon Second, although doing little damage at all to his mighty frame. Another couple followed, impacting Skywarp and Thundercracker against the stern of their metallic bodies. The daughter blasts instigated their sputtering and coughing engines to vomit clouds of smoke, whirring and chirring as they struggled to recover normal status.

"After them," Starscream ordered in a hiss.

Each fighter jet slowly adverted their aim. Who dared to interrupt their brilliant plan of commencement with their Autobot hostilities? The crackling red hot energy returned and surrounded their energy cannons' muzzles, red hot, as they jolted forward toward the ground, preparing to fire in accorded fashion.

Sunstreaker caught a glimpse of the Autobot – make that, Autobots – risking the chance of getting their armor plating completely seared by the nullray fire. Ironhide, Chromia, and Ratchet.

"What're they waiting for?!" he whispered madly. "Shoot already…"

He found himself grimacing. There was a possibility that the trio could take the Seekers on, if each chose one opponent. But, Starscream, he would definitely take on more firepower than his subordinates.

They had to help.

Lifting his weapon before a golden shoulder panel, Sunstreaker started forth.



Sideswipe arched an optic ridge, goodbying Optimus Prime properly before killing the communications channel. "And just where do you think you're headed?"

Sunstreaker huffed. "To help our fellow Autobots and show these Decepticons that they chose the wrong target to mess with," the golden twin answered bluntly. His optics turned to his brother's. "Where else would - "

Words hitched.

He froze.

Blue optics rounded slowly in disbelief, in fear, in, "Dear, Primus Almighty."

A blade, so sharp, so sleek, glimmered from the shadows of the littered region behind his twin brother. Sideswipe stood without the slightest bit of an idea of how close his head was to being separated from his neck.

Yet, the words from his throat refused to slide out.

The shining weapon eased with great caution, and the beast to which it was possessed by revealed its blood red optics from the murky depths of the darkness, along with a faceplate cold enough to make a spark still instantaneously.

The golden twin's jaw dropped, and still no words uttered out from his throat – only meek hiccups of horrible perplexity.

Sideswipe rolled his optics at his brother's sudden flabbergasted behavior, leaning back against a chuck of rubble. He watched his servo stroke his weapon with a tender care, digits brushing against its smooth frame to and fro. His blue optics lifted back to his golden twin, an optic ridge arching. The mech was still staring like he had seen a spawn of the Pit itself.

"Alright, the frag is wrong with you, Sunny?" Sideswipe questioned touchily. "What're you lookin' at?"

Sunstreaker stuttered out a small, choked squeak, then clamped his jaw shut. His optics remained wide on the slowly nearing blade and he winced as it seemed to graze his brother's neck, brushing against highly sensitive wires exposed in crevices of his armoring.

No, wait – It did.

Sideswipe stumbled away from the tree with a cry, optics darting toward whatever had just grazed his neck. From the depths of the shadows stepped a roaring Decepticon, blades held high in its murderous yells. It shouted and cursed at them in their native tongue, easing toward the twin bots with piercing red optics.

Sideswipe began firing at point blank. Sunstreaker lunged for his brother and pushed him into the debris-littered area, colliding alongside. Sideswipe's breaths went sharp and fast to and from his intakes, his digits trembling as he armed his weapon and aimed. His forefinger sat across the trigger. It was barely believable that death had just brushed him, literally, right at the neck.

Yet, had a certain someone said something…

Sideswipe growled with mad optics shifting, glowering at his twin.

"Why didn't you open your audio unit and tell me that there was a blade heading straight for my neck?!" he spat heatedly, resisting the urge to lash out as his twin. "Did you want that thing to decapitate me?"

Sunstreaker brandished his weapon. "I froze up!" he yelled back. "…For once in my lifecycle, I froze up, alright? Primus, the best of the best have to sometimes."

Sideswipe scoffed. "Yeah, right. Whatever you say…"

Bonecrusher thwacked aside the hunks of rubble in his path as if they were nothing, roaring in a great vehement rage. His optics locked on the perplexed faceplates of the Autobot twins, the hideous smile on his faceplate only stretching further. Bellowing again in absolute hatred, he jolted forward with a Cybertronian cry to the skies. Both Autobots fired aimlessly – at point blank with fear – shutting their optics as the beast pounced for them.

"Arghhh!" an angered roar.



It grew louder as Bonecrusher neared, then suddenly skipped to a bellowing cry of protest – one almost drenched in fear. The twins both opened their optics.

Jazz and Prowl fired at the back of the beast. Bonecrusher slowly straightened, turning to the two brave Autobots who dared interrupt his evil doings. Sunstreaker turned to look at his brother and the other did the same. Determination now ghosted over their faceplates like a glow, and with a smile to conceal it, the two nodded.

"Sides, fire for the center of his chestplate," Sunstreaker told as he rose, shouldering his gun. "It's the sweet spot on every Cybertronian – The spark. If we continue fire there, he'll be out in a breem. Not even."

Sideswipe nodded and clicked on an open communications channel to Prowl and Jazz, aware of the risk of Bonecrusher intercepting their speech. Luckily, the Decepticon was too busy roaring at them to pay their little communications channel any attention. "Fire for the spark chamber, per orders of Sunny," he said, shooting a wide smile at his brother. "We've got to take this 'Con down as quick as possible, then help the others fight off those jets for good."

"Gotcha," Jazz replied coolly.

Prowl grunted a stern acknowledgement.

The communications channel clicked off.

The Autobot twins broke separate directions, both aiming for that one spot. In one, all four fired and froze the Decepticon in his tracks. His foreblades doing nothing to aid his rage that spewed beyond its limit and ultimately blinded him in the red-hot fury. A roar to the Heavens shook them all – and then all was silent.

A mighty thud was obvious evidence of the beast's fall, his internals revving their last. Prowl frowned as he approached the defeated monster, slitting his blue optics with a shake of his head.

"You're lucky Jazz and I saw you two," he sighed, turning away from Bonecrusher to meet the optics of the twins. "Had we not come to your position, Primus knows what could have happened."

Sideswipe blinked the thought away, adverting his gaze to the weapon cradled in his hands. His digits nervously fluttered across the barrel. "Yeah, yeah, we know…" He looked through the littered area to the Decepticon base, sulking at the sight of the still-fighting aircraft trio. "What's next…?"

Sunstreaker grasped his weapon tightly. "I say we find more Decepticons and pound them to scrap metal!"

Prowl sighed. "Calm down and lay off the accelerator for once in your lifecycle. We still haven't gotten a single clue as to where this youngling is…He could be anywhere."

"He's gotta be inside," Jazz said. "I mean…Decepticons. They've got confinement cells and alla' that, don't they?"

Sideswipe scoffed. "You expect us to know?" He eyed the base. "I've never been in one of those…And certainly don't plan on it."

"It would be logical to keep the bot inside," Prowl interjected, giving a look to Sides. "Bringing him outside would only jeopardize his life."

"And, your point?" Sunstreaker twisted his lip. "Decepticons are ruthless, in case you've forgotten."

"I don't think they'd wanna kill 'im," Jazz said slowly, crossing his arms. "I mean…Wouldn't they wanna keep 'im for trainin'? Make 'im one of them?"

Prowl nodded. "It seems that we wish to do the same with the youngling, I don't see why the Decepticons wouldn't attempt the same."

"Common sense, Sides," grinned Sunstreaker.

The twin ignored, optics dropping. "I just wonder what they're doin' to the little mech, y'know? It could be anything."



Every Autobot's optics shifted to the Decepticon base, images of a suffering youngling clawing at their sparks. Not one of them needed to neither see nor meet the little one to feel his fear, and pain for all they knew.

Was the youngling online?

They didn't know. They only knew there was one way to find out.

If Bumblebee was online, would he still be by the end of this battle?

Would the Decepticons be so merciless as to extinguish such a tender lifesource?

Who knew…

xXx

Inside the Decepticon Base: Bumblebee's Confinement Cell

His audio receptors rung and echoed for astroseconds upon end, as if his processor were one never ending cavern, letting whatever sound bounce off its dense walls to the next – over and over and over again.

Voices. Voices of Megatron's previous threats reminded of a horrifying likelihood, a fate not to leave his processor. The preservation of Bumblebee's tender lifesource was essential. It was the goal of this entire mission.

Megatron was right on one thing; Mirage could not hide forever. Primus, he had to get out of here. He could only imagine how the sensitive mechling, clutched against the crook of his neck, felt at this time.

How did the world look, when it was so much bigger than you? How did it feel when all you could do was rely on someone else? How did it feel to put your lifesource in someone else's servos?

Mirage suddenly blinked, letting his head bend down with the soft sound of a sigh.

How was he to do this?

Well, moving would be a nice start.

A foot was lifted, then the other, set them next to each other, then Mirage looked around.

He hadn't moved.

It wasn't his fault that legs refused to move, no matter how loud his processor screamed at them and barked orders at his metallic joints to loosen up.

Just one step, Primus.

Why was it so fraggin hard?

All the fear – Mirage knew it. The fear that he would screw up and end them both up as a pile of scrap metal.

To try to calm down, he reviewed the gameplan: Stay in the shadows, ease closer and closer toward the cell bars, and get to that switch on the wall, the one barely unveiled by the shadows. That switch was their one source of freedom. If he could reach it, and press it, they would be out of this Pit-slaggin' cell.

Mirage gazed down at Bumblebee, digiting over the bot's faceplate oh so tenderly. The bot's mouth wriggled beneath a finger, a small huff of warm air leaving Bumblebee's tiny neck's air intake valves.

So precious.

The guardian smiled. Mirage stroked tender, again, the Bumblebee's yellow foreplate. "We can do this," he grinned widely at the camouflaged mechling. "…We can do it, Bee." His servos cupped completely around Bumblebee, and eased him into a warm, thrumming chestplate.

A gentle whirr.

"Hang in there…"

A roar soon killed the determination Mirage's words had aroused in Bumblebee.

"Your end is nigh!"

The threat from Megatron hitched his intakes.



"Worthless," the Decepticon snapped. "Come on out…I promise you. Your death shall be quick and painless."

Megatron was testing him, so Mirage concluded – Seeing how many daunting and unnerving threats it would take until the he cracked completely, until he was on his knee panels begging for mercy.

Yeah. That would be the orn.

Mirage clutched the sparkling even tighter as the little one began to shudder and whimper. The tiny cries were muffled by a digit curled gently across a mouth. Bumblebee whirred into the curve of the digit, his servos lifting to grip Mirage's finger.

Bumblebee stirred and let out another whine, his form burrowing against Mirage's chestplate. He felt a large servo fall against his back and cup him securely. Mirage spoke nothing to the trembling little one, fighting the horrible urge to open his mouth and coo affection into those small audios.

Soon, that battle was lost. "Don't be scared," he barely murmured, voice practically absent. "I'm here. I'm here…You have nothing to fret over, got that?"

Bumblebee murmured undistinguishable words.

Mirage echoed, "You have nothing to fret over."

Why did he feel like he was just saying that? To make Bumblebee feel better…

A lie…

Did Bee believe him?

His thoughts were cut short. Growls rumbling in his chestplate, the bloodthirsty Decepticon leader loomed to the center of the dark chamber, his flail dragging with a horrible screech. Mirage had to cover Bumblebee's receptors from the terrible sound, yet Bumblebee still wriggled in thrashes.

Megatron's optics slowly scanned the room, complete fury shifting his scanners to near overdrive. He hissed heatedly, noting that Bumblebee was nowhere to be found, nor the Autobot that had taken this bot and attacked Soundwave.

Soundwave

Megatron cast his optics downward to his trusted Decepticon who lay cold against the ground, his limbs and joints splayed awkwardly in his "offline" status. Megatron scowled and eased the tip of a finger against Soundwave's chassis, narrowing his optics in disgust. The subject was barely online, unconscious for who knew how much longer. That only pissed him off even more.

"Autobot, I will find you…" Megatron spoke in low resentment. "Do not think you can hide from me." His claw curled.

At this, Megatron's optics slowly turned to a corner of the room – The exact corner in which Mirage stood camouflaged. The Autobot instantly, without thinking twice, hitched his intakes, widening his optics as Megatron's own bloodied pair seemed to pierce his very lifesource. He worried in the oh-so-heavy silence, shuddering in his chills as silent as possible. Mirage wondered if Megatron could hear Bumblebee's and his own thudding spark, each pounding inside and against their chestplates. And dear Primus, he prayed that Bee would remain silent.

He grimaced.

Not a word, not a sound, nothing, nothing, nothing…he pleased, optics shutting. Primus, please.

Just the thought that Bee could make a sound at any astrosecond…It killed him.

A curse formed on his lips. He bit it away.

Please, stay quiet, he pleaded in thoughts. Please, Primus…Don't say anything.

Megatron slitted his optics at the shadows, elongating his deadly mace even further, little by little with a menacing smirk. Bumblebee whimpered under the metallic shing of the flail, shivering in sharp thrashes. The weapon swayed to and fro, back and forth like a spiked pendulum ready to halve them in any moment.

Had they been spotted?

Astroseconds passed. A minute or two…

Finally, the Decepticon adverted his gaze with the mace swinging by his side, with growls rumbling the ground below. Each was mighty enough to rattle Bumblebee in his guardian's arms, his doorwings even fluttering.

"Since you refuse to reveal yourself to me, and you refuse to do this the easy way…Autobot," the 'Con leader grinned. "Then, you leave me with no choice."

Mirage grasped Bumblebee in his digits, pressing the bot into his spark, knees bending.

He braced himself for whatever was ahead.

Bumblebee hummed in complete fear, casting his optics upward to his guardian.

No words wished to leave the mech's throat.

The flail swung like a metallic lasso after a snap of Megatron's wrist, revolving in deadly orbit inside the interior confinement cell. Any Autobot in the path of its deadly revolutions would be caught in the spikes, until they cut into the spark chamber itself, killing the victim in mere astroseconds.

Mirage winced at the images in his head, pressing his shoulder panels against the vertex of the corner he hid in, praying with every fiber of his being. Bumblebee's head nudged into his chestplate, optics shutting, refusing to look at the terrible sight. With a hanging head, Mirage slowly cupped a servo around Bumblebee's helm, covering the tender audios that needed not to be subject to such a fright.

Mirage lifted his optics back to the flail, and the rage-blinded Lord.

The weapon's razor-sharp spikes abraded the dark walls, chipping off flakes and shards of gray metal until they fell like rain against the Autobot mech's armoring, only causing him to hug the bot tighter. The sounds of metal sliding down his slick frame were muffled underneath the mace's rattling chain, and the ferocious roars that barked from the Decepticon Lord.

"Why do you continue to hide?"

Mirage closed his optics as he clutched a violently trembling Bumblebee against his chestplate, his own form pressing even deeper into the very depths of the shadows, against the corner of the cell.

"Shh, shh," he managed to coo, listening with a grimace as he heard the bot's faint crying. "Don't be afraid…Don't be scared. Please…Shhh, shhh." He planted a soft kiss against the yellow helm. "I'm here."

Bumblebee's servos clawed at Mirage, a tiny form wriggling in absolute horror. He shuddered with the sound of a sob choking in his oral circuits, hitching abruptly as his throat funneled with tears. Bumblebee's intakes fluttered in his chest, hiccupping each breath in and out of his small mouth.

"I will get you, Autobot."

Bumblebee cried louder.

Mirage's faceplate contorted with grief, and he only managed to brush his fingers in light touches against Bumblebee's frame. He began to barely murmur soft words of affection into one of the bot's audios, whispering to the point where he found himself ranting, found himself cooing words and phrases he didn't even understand any longer.

At another roar, his optics returned to Megatron.

The flail barely missed him and he instinctively curled inward, sheltering Bumblebee more. His spark thudded painfully inside him, only horribly arousing a fear to brew inside Bumblebee. The little bot could feel every beat of his guardian's humming heart, and he wished his own would refuse to hum in the same furious sync.



Mirage hated to admit that he was frozen in this situation – His ideas as to what to do were scarce. He tried to betray his fear, closing his optics, controlling his processor and spark to calm…

Yeah, that was only a failure.

Megatron growled, lowering the weapon for only a moment. "Come on out…And we will end this once and for all."

Mirage huffed out a quiet breath.

As if Bumblebee could sense his insecurity, miniature servos wrapped around collections of two or three of Mirage's digits. He squeezed just slightly, but enough for a small surge of determination to rush through Mirage's internals like an energy boost from a shot of high grade, electrifying his optics and his spark.

Bumblebee smiled to the invisibility that cloaked his guardian, knowing it smiled back.

"Let's go," his mouth worded.

"Come out, Autobot…!" Megatron rumbled again angrily, the mace rattling. "You cannot hide forever…"

Mirage gazed down to where the bot was hidden in camouflage in his servos, smiling wider at Bumblebee, at his tender bundle of ambition. He tried his best to ignore the threat that rung in his audios, picturing a wide-opticed, bright youngling.

He pictured the reward: At home, and Bumblebee - the youngling in their due custody.

He knew he was Bumblebee's only hope, the one and only the mechling's' yet-to-be-determined fate.

A tiny, blue lifesource rested in the servos of this one mech.

xXx

Above the Decepticon Base

Starscream swerved in the downward curve of a parabola, away from his subordinates, descending at the perfect incline against the breeze perfectly with his broad set of angular wings. Red-hot energy crackled at the tips of the muzzles of his energy cannons, aiming for the one band of Autobots that he had left undealt with.

The fighter jet barrel rolled, unleashing his metallic silver arms and legs, letting them dangle from the underbelly of the aircraft as they wished. His claws clicked, his optics locked on a target – small, pathetic, so easy - and he grinned from receptor to receptor. He longed for what was to come, his blood red pair of optics upturning in his great anticipation.

Claws extended for the unsuspecting Autobot, thrusting forward at the very last moment, gripping him in his claws, and swooping upward in an astrosecond toward the Heavens.

The bird had caught its prey.

xXx

"Jazz!" Prowl's cry resounded with a servo cast toward the sky. "Primus, no!"

The sight of the image took the breath from the trio's air intakes and rendered them speechless. Each wished what they were seeing was an atrocious fragment of their memory circuits. Every pair of Autobot optics lifted to the dreary blue-black Heavens, watching as Jazz wriggled desperately in the sharp-clawed grasp of Starscream. The sound of the laughing Decepticon above Jazz's protesting grunts was ever present.

The Decepticon Second refused to let go or weaken the tight clutch he had on the Autobot, his blood red optics glowering down with a ruthless smirk. As his claws fixed themselves on either end of the Autobot's frame, dug into the metallic skin, and tensed.

It was then when Jazz's fate had been sealed.

Arcee, with Hot Rod at the outskirts of battle, turned away and buried her faceplate into her sparkmate's chestplate. She felt him embrace her tightly too suddenly, and it was at that moment that her worst fears were realized. Every Autobot spark sank at the sounds of a dying fellow warrior, and some at the sight of a halved Jazz dangling from either claw of Starscream.



The roar of fighter jet laughter instantaneously took the skies, and within astroseconds, the subordinates joined their Second's sides. In astroseconds, the Seekers were gone, leaving the heavy sense of grief toiling in the air.

Arcee slowly turned her faceplate at a sudden silence – the first pure silence - her optics drooping at the sight of Autobots ambling to their fallen brethren. Hot Rod's servo gently turned her faceplate back into his chestplate, soon sliding down the curve of her back in tender understanding.

No words were traded.


Yes, I know, I'm kinda dragging out this whole Mirage + Bee vs. Megatron aren't I? Don't worry. There'll be way more action next chapter, which is already more than halfway done. Review guys.