Disclaimer: Transformers; do not own. His Dark Materials/Golden Compass; do not own.
Summary: Semi-crossover; oneshot series. Bumblebee; If any of the Autobots ask, Bumblebee will lie and say that his first memory file is of Optimus carrying him off the battlefield.
Timeline: Set after Sam's oneshot, but before Lennox's.
Author note: I hate this crossover bunny. I really do. I can't outrun it!
Warnings: Liberties; many liberties.
After
Bumblebee
It had been a few weeks since Mission City. There was still a government frenzy going on in the background, covering up the fact that they were not alone in the universe, and there were still plenty of questions and too little answers. However, things were winding down. Sam and his family were home. Sam and Mikaela had started going back to school. While Optimus, Ratchet, and a newly fixed Jazz were at the makeshift Autobot base, Ironhide had opted to stay with the Lennoxes.
Bumblebee had officially moved in with the Witwickies.
It was well into the afternoon, and the Autobot had just driven Sam home from the lake. He could see the boy from the kitchen window, probably procrastinating on that school assignment, and chugging milk straight from the carton as his cougar dæmon half-heartedly and gently wrestled with Mojo.
When Bumblebee had first landed on earth, he had thought that dæmons were pets of sorts, something like the symbiotes of Cybertron. It didn't take him very long to realize that calling dæmons pets was akin to calling sparks spare parts. After that, he had then thought that the bond between humans and dæmons were like the bonds that existed between twins—between spark-split individuals. That idea had stayed with him up until he had finally found Sam.
Now, after watching Sam and Tristanne for a few weeks, Bumblebee knew that spark-splitting wasn't the answer. A split spark became two different beings. One only had to look at Prowl to see that. When Bumblebee looked at Sam and Tristanne, he didn't see two sparks split into two; he saw a single spark, split but not completely so. In each of them, there was a half-spark, and only together were they whole.
The idea filled Bumblebee with dread. Though the afternoon sun warmed his metal armour, there was a coldness that comes from his spark and seems to fill his very processor, shell, and core.
Bumblebee didn't feel lonely often. He had been found by the Autobots when he was only a few vorns old, so he was almost always surrounded by comrades and companions. Even if he was alone, Ironhide or Jazz or someone else was always just a radio call away. And even if his communications were down and he was lost in someplace, he didn't feel lonely either; oftentimes, a soldier's life was to be alone.
And yet, it was only here in the midst of almost normalcy and in the midst of calm, it was only after the whole running-for-your-lives bit did some form of loneliness set in.
Judy comes around from the backyard, pulling off her gardening gloves. Her stellar jay, who Bumblebee has recently learned is called Caedmon, is perched on her shoulder. She smiles at Bumblebee, and Caedmon chirps a greeting, and she turns to go into the house. She pauses, and turns around, her brow wrinkled. Caedmon tilts his head questioningly, his black dewdrop eyes glinting as he gazed piercingly at Bumblebee.
"Are you alright, Bumblebee? You seem…out of sorts," Judy says.
Bumblebee starts, wondering how a seemingly insentient car could look out of sorts.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Witwicky."
Judy smiles gently, and Caedmon gives a low, soothing tone. "Oh, enough of that. Call me Judy."
"I apologize. Thank-you, Judy. I assure you that I'm perfectly fine."
Bumblebee can tell by Cademon's ruffled feathers that Judy is unsatisfied, but she just smiles in a motherly, sad kind of way.
"Well, if you need anything, don't hesitate to call."
"Alright. Thank-you."
Bumblebee was found alone. He was rescued from a battlefield, the only life amidst the dead mechs, femmes, and cassettes. Bright sparks that had faded long before their time, faded and drifted away, like atoms of smoke.
If any of the Autobots ask, Bumblebee will lie and say that his first memory file is of Optimus carrying him off that battlefield. His questioners would not have been surprised at his answer, though Cybertronian sparklings were not at all like human babies, and though he was still a sparkling, he should have had plenty of memory files in storage.
However, Bumblebee had been sparked at a time when parts for protoforms and sparklings and younglings were becoming rare. Thus it was expected that he would only have a very few memories before Ratchet had installed a proper memory system. The fact that he could remember Optimus rescuing him at all was amazing by Autobot standards.
But, despite what the other Autobots thought and despite what the mech himself wanted to believe sometimes, Bumblebee did remember a before. He did remember a time where the arms that held him weren't those of Optimus or Ironhide or Ratchet.
He remembered two protoform pods. His creator had been ecstatic. The Lord High Protector, the one who allowed mechs and femmes and cassettes access to the Allspark and thus to sparklings, had finally granted him an audience.
He remembered two small beings, a mech and a cassette. They were small, just slightly taller than the average male human. Many sparklings were, since the time that the Allspark stopped functioning correctly was followed by the time that parts were becoming rarer and rarer. Cybertron's cycle of metal and forge, of which the Allspark was as integral part, just wasn't working properly anymore.
He remembered holding them in arms devoid of armour. Bumblebee had been the first to hold them. They were all just sparklings, then. His creator told him that his siblings were twins—beings who were split from one spark.
His creator told him that he was their guardian.
The sound of a garage door opening pulls Bumblebee from his musings. Ron has returned from work. He stays in his car for a moment, talking softly to his dæmon. He gets out of his car, and instead of going through the garage door adjoining the house, he passes by Bumblebee on his way to the front door.
"You okay?" he asks. Ron's expression is carefully guarded, and the dæmon on his shoulder isn't giving anything away. Like Ron's trust, the badger's name is something that Bumblebee has not yet earned.
"I'm fine, Mr. Witwicky," Bumblebee says.
Ron looks like he is about to say more, but the badger whispers something in his ear, and the man nods. He is not yet familiar with Bumblebee, though he had been living with them for a few consecutive days now. Ron is not awkward about many things, but talking to the alien robot in his driveway is one of them.
"Goodnight, then," Ron says, turning to go into the house. The badger gives Bumblebee a long, blank look over Ron's shoulder.
"Goodnight."
He remembered his creator…not exactly crying, but wailing in pain. Bumblebee remembered being scared, because he had thought that his creator was the strongest mech on the planet. Looking back at it, Bumblebee realized that it wasn't physical pain. The pain that his creator felt came from his spark.
He remembered his creator trying to explain to him that there was something different about his siblings. Even before his creator told him, Bumblebee knew already. Capslock didn't like changing into alt-mode, whereas Backspace didn't like changing into bipedal-mode. Capslock was a chatter bug, but Backspace was silent, preferring action and gestures over words. No matter what form Bumblebee was in, either Capslock or Backspace would hate being touched. They seemed absolutely riddled with glitches, and his creator would wail, spark pulsating with confusion.
His creator told him that his siblings weren't twins after all. They weren't single mechs either. They were something in between.
Like the humans and their dæmons were.
Bumblebee wakes with a start. He hadn't known that he had gone into stand-by mode. The sun has set already, and darkness looms heavily over the suburban town.
Quickly, he scans Sam's bedroom. The boy is still there.
Another wave of panic overtakes him, and he scans again. Yes, Tristanne is still there too. The boy and his dæmon are curled up with one another, as they should be.
Bumblebee calls Jazz, who, that night, was assigned to watch Mikaela. "What's up, little buddy?" Jazz asks.
"Where's Mikaela?" Bumblebee can hear Jazz's surprise. He hears a faint humming sound, noiseless to human ears as Jazz, caught off and unnerved by Bumblebee's tone, scans Mikaela's bedroom.
"In her room," Jazz says, relief evident in his tone.
"And Adair?"
"Who?"
"Her dæmon," Bumblebee supplies impatiently. Jazz scans again.
"With her, of course."
"Oh." Bumblebee feels ashamed now, for being so panicked. Of course they were okay. They were safe and sound, and, most importantly, whole. "Thanks, Jazz."
"No problem, little buddy." Bumblebee knows by Jazz's tone that he was worried about him, and Bumblebee cuts off the line, hoping that Jazz will leave it until the morning.
The war broke out when the half-twins were barely a vorn old. Bumblebee did have a memory of how they got separated from their creator. It was buried, deep within other files. Bumblebee thought about it sometimes, wondering when the file will open. Part of him wished that it would, the other hoped it wouldn't.
He remembered holding his siblings closely. "Where are we going?" Backspace had asked. Bumblebee remembered those words clearly, because they were one of the only things that Backspace had said to anyone but Capslock. Bumblebee didn't remember what he answered.
Bumblebee didn't remember what happened next. He just knows that, somehow, he was separated from his siblings. And he was found alone.
Bumblebee was a soldier, but he did feel lonely sometimes. He felt ashamed, because he was found alone, and that could only mean that he had failed his siblings as a guardian, and as a brother. When he thought of his lost siblings, there was an ache inside him, a void where his spark should have been. And Bumblebee knew how his creator felt.
"Bumblebee?"
"Sam?" The boy makes his way to the Autobot, banging and tripping over every thing possible, and completely missing the path. Tristanne is close behind, stopping him from falling backwards completely.
"What's with the light show?" he asks groggily, squinting in the darkness. Tristanne staggers beside him, her eyes half-closed.
"Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
Sam rubs his eyes, and Tristanne shakes her head, trying to fend off sleep. "Are you okay?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
Sam places a warm hand on his hood. His eyes are open now, and he regards Bumblebee with a small frown on his face. Tristanne hesitates, then gives Bumblebee's door a small, quick rub before curling around Sam's legs. Sam doesn't say anything, but he opens Bumblebee's rear doors, and climbs in. Tristanne is a heartbeat after him.
"Sam?"
"Shhh…less talking, more sleeping," he orders softly. Tristanne gives a low purr, her vibrations almost tickling Bumblebee. Bumblebee can't help but feel…comforted.
Bumblebee was a soldier, but he did feel lonely sometimes. He felt ashamed, because he was found alone, and that could only mean that he had failed his siblings as a guardian, and as a brother. When he thought of his lost siblings, there was an ache inside him, a void where his spark should have been.
He doubted that the feeling will ever go away. But now, with a tiny spark resting easily and trustingly inside him, the pain was a little less unbearable.