I was listening to music on Youtube and realized I really just wanted to write. So I got on Write or Die, fixed the settings, then realized I had no idea what I wanted to write. So I jumped on fanfiction, checked my list of incomplete stories, and decided a one-shot would be a piece of cake. Then 15mins turned into an hour, and 1,000 turned into 2,500 and I began editing and well... have a present, long overdue.

The cave was dark, but at least it was dry. Bumblebee thought as he eagerly sat down and sighed in relief. The acid rains were getting worse, they were occurring at a more frequent rate, making his escape from the Cons all the more difficult, so he decided that next time there was a rain, he was going to ignore it and try to reach the base faster, marks on his paint be slagged.

That decided, he turned on his external sensory arrays and powered off his optics. It wasn't likely that many Cons would be out in this weather, but they may have similar mindsets to his, as in, FIND SHELTER NOW, before their wing-plates were melted off. So it was better to be safe than sorry. And besides, if they none showed up, at least he'd be warned when the stormed eased up.

Sighing contentedly, Bumblebee powered down for a light recharge. He hadn't refueled in CYCLES and his tank ached, but that was okay, because in a few more cycles he was planning on arriving at the base, debriefing with Jazz, and happily grabbing a cube before falling onto his berth in recharge. Primus knows he deserves it.

A cra-aack! startled the little spy awake, causing him to online suddenly with his pistol transforming at the ready. After a few breems on alert-mode, he realized the noise wasn't anything but the forming electrical storm. Well frag. It looked like the storm wasn't planning on letting up any time soon.

Plopping his helm back against the hard wall, his servo transformed out of his gun form as he reach up to scratch his left optic. He was still exhausted as the pit, but with his battle sensors on high-alert from sudden noise, he knew there was absolutely no hope for him returning to recharge.

So now what? Releasing a quiet huff of air, and ignoring the rumble in his tanks declaring them almost completely empty, Bumblebee rolled his shoulder plates and turned his optics down a level. It was best to save all of his energy, now that his HUD was flashing with warnings. As if he didn't already know his tanks were on fumes! Frag it to the pits.

Then he huffed in mild amusement, if any of his companions could hear his thoughts... one, he would be found fairly quickly (but that was besides the point); two, they'd be surprised at his choice of language. Happy Bumblebee, knew curses? How the slag? Those two damned front-liners might show him some respect for once. Yeah right.

Both sets of bots were equally as important. Bumblebee recognized this from Orn One. But the Pit-Spawned Slaggers never seemed to twitch a digit in thought. Spies were slagging important, they found all the important details that helped the front-liners in their battles. Okay... so they did recognize spies' importance, they just never seemed to recognize Bee's.

And that was the root of his distress, wasn't it? No matter how much he might be annoyed by their constant games of "Let's punt the minibot!" he never got angry, not in front of them. He always laughed, said it was a great game, "Thanks for playing with me!" but never, ever, reacted in a negative manner. Why? Because he was so slagging in love with the Terrible Terrors. They were fierce, they were powerful, they were strong, and they were absolutely in love with each other.

If Sunstreaker was injured, guess who was at his side? Sideswipe. he refused to leave the Med Bay, even facing the wrenches that 'Ratchet the Hatchet' would throw his way. In the very end of it all, Bumblebee wanted that loyalty, he wanted someone to sit by his bedside and face Ratchet for him.

It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with Ratchet! Bumblebee found himself backpedaling his own thoughts, no it was just... well he was lonely. Ratchet had Wheeljack and Perceptor, the Twins had each other, Prowl and Jazz, Prime and Elita One, Ironhide and Chromia... everybot and a SO, and Bumblebee was letting it get to him.

Sighing sadly, the small bot placed both servos on either side of his helm and held it in place as he berated himself. As a spy it was best not to have someone who cared, that way, when he inevitably disappeared one orn, as his job decreed he likely would, no bot would be left wondering what happened, where did their partner go to? For that very reason Jazz had refused all attempts that Prowl - PROWL - had made toward him. In this time of war, it was just a bad idea.

Therefor, Bee had to get all of these longing thoughts out of his processor. So what if he did find an SO? What if he had found one prior to this orn? They would be worried, trying to find him, going against their Prime's orders. If the Autobot cause was to win, Bee would not allow that. After all - his HUD flashed brightly with warnings - it appeared his deactivation was close as it was.

Silently he laid down flat on his back and stared up into the muted darkness of the cave he'd trudged inside earlier on. Only the brief flashes of electrical bolts gave him soft lines of the ceiling, leaving much up to his imagination. Darkness, that was his life, wasn't it? Even if he did make his way back onto the base, when he laid his helm down on his own berth, he'd just be greeted by the same view: nothing.

Saddened and angered by his depressing thoughts, Bumblebee tilted his helm to the left. Had the storm abated in anyway? Was it possible for him to go out and head home yet? Rolling back onto his front so he could push himself up, Bee wandered to the entrance and peeked outside.

While he had pondered his life and feelings, the storm had only gotten worse. No sensible mech would go out in that weather, not if they wanted to get anywhere safe and undamaged. But as Bee looked at his chronometer and guessed the length of the storm, he realized that either way, he was royally slagged.

Gathering his strength, and taking one last glance at his internal map of the area, he transformed into his alt mode and began to make his way back to base.

The very klik he exited the cover of the cave he wondered if he'd just made the worst mistake in his existence. True the acid rain was sparse, but the electrical bolts were not, and with every ten kliks he nearly found himself fried by one, attracted to his protoform as they were, slagging bolts.

Swerving left and right and ignoring the liquid that began to burn its way through his plating, Bumblebee's HUD began flashing with extra loud warnings, his energon was low, his inner circuits were melting, his back-plating was getting holey - heh, holy - the list went on. There was no turning back now, anyway, he'd already decided that staying in the cave was pointless.

Starvation or frying, now there was a choice. He'd chosen frying, cause at least that way he was TRYING to do something.

A signal blared to life in his helm, the prompt for designation. Ah right, as a spy his affiliation was hidden from all. Processor going fuzzy, the minibot attempted to retrieve the dat- ah... that would be a problem. Closely following him was... nothing... figments of his haywire processor maybe? Oh slag he didn't recognize any of that slag. Where in the pit was he?

Skidding to a stop, Bee ignored the probable pain that would result from transforming and changed back to root mode, yup, slag that burned. He had no idea where he was. Slagging pit, when did he go the wrong way? How the frag was he lost? He had the stupid map ingrained in his processor, he should have been able to find the base with no optics and missing all his tires.

"Aw pit." He rasped, vocalizer hitching when rain slipped into his mouth and down his throat. How the slag was he supposed to find his way back to base now? The stars were covered by the oppressive smog, it wasn't like his internal map had a giant "You are here!" with a little dot of him on it - speaking of which... "That would b-chzzzk fr-zzz-ng kzzzhd-dea!" He wrapped a servo around his vocal chords and felt his shoulders shaking.

Couldn't even talk to himself now. How was a bot supposed to go on? If he ever got out of this, which he- slag that was close! He leapt and rolled to the side when a bolt nearly fried his circuits. What in the pit was he even DOING? Standing in the middle of an acid-electrical hybrid like a fragging moron! There was no way he was going to survive if he just stood around and waited for his imminent death. He was a soldier Primus-fragging-slaggit! And soldiers don't accept their fates, no matter how hopeless they may be. Slagging wandering like a buffoon he might be, at least he might find his slagging base if he moved!

Processor shifted back into gear, he took one step forward before the entire world went insanely bright and then silence exploded in his audio-receptors.

Systems rebooting found a very slagged minibot laying in the middle of a pile of slag, completely melted by the acid rain. Thank slagging Primus for that slag! After his systems fully onlined and his left optic refused to function, the minibot attempted to figure out a) what the slag had happened, and b) how the frag he had survived. But first, how was he going to get the stuff off of his frame? Ah too many questions. Transforming his servo into his blaster, he prepared to charge it before his HUD yelled at him in a very Ratchet-like voice. What the in the pit-slagging frag was he doing? There was no energon left in his tanks. Basicallt, he was well and royally fragged.

And pit if that was a Decepticon spark symbol he was reading coming toward him. WELL PIT.

Shutting off his systems, Bumblebee prayed to the every chaos-loving Unicron that his Decepticons would just leave the poor minibot alone and let him die in fragging peace!

Sadly, that was not to be. But fortunately enough, it seemed he was close enough to base that the Decepticon symbols were going to call in the cavalry! Because those were definitely Autobot spark symbols coming as well. So now... he had to wait. Well pit.

Powering down his tracing device, Bumblebee raised all his prayers once more to the ever-annoying Unicron and pledged his spark to the overlord of the underworld that the Autobots would reach him first - or at least reach the cons before the cons reached him...

Three breems later found sounds of gunfire underway. Maybe the cons had found the bots before the bots found the cons, meaning Bee didn't, in fact, owe his spark to Unicron now?

After silence surrounded the area, Bumblebee opened his universal , seeing as he couldn't quite remember why he didn't use his in the beginning, but definitely didn't remember the Autobots's private channel now.

::A little help would be nice.:: Damn his voice sounded like a fragging sparkling's!

The 'bot that was undoubtedly standing next to his pile of slag clattered, possibly in startlement, before opening a private with Bee. ::Slaggit! How the frag did you get under there?::

Ah, it was one of those pit-spawned twins Unicron had sent him. What a fragging curse.

::Well, we could just leave you here.:: A sour voice replied to his thoughts.

No wait his thoughts, how in the pit was the yellow - his processor supplied the sour tone with the more volatile of the twins - one reading his thoughts?

::Hey Sunny, I know he's being a bit of an aft, but I'm not sure he's entirely conscious.::

Conscious? Of course he's conscious you fragging slaggers! He's perfectly alright!

::Probably not for long, though.:: The calmer of the two replied. What was his designation again?

And how in the fragging pits were they doing that?

::What, replying?::

Yes! That!

::Maybe,:: the yellow one was back, ::it's because you're broadcasting it back to us.::

Was he, really?

::Yes.::

Wow.

Bumblebee promptly lost all consciousness at that point. His likely offlining being the only thing that had kept him online for the time.

Bumblebee was in the Med Bay; and Ratchet was grumbling in the corner; and Jazz was probably by the door ready to approach him; and Prime and Prowl were in their offices; and Red Alert was at the ready; and Wheeljack was walking by with one arm in the other servo; and Sideswipe was sitting on a berth with new welds running down his side; and Sunstreaker was standing next to him sporting a new wrench dent on his helm, refusing to leave his brother to face Ratchet the Hatchet.

And Bumblebee let himself pretend that Sunstreaker was there for him; that Sideswipe wasn't sitting on the berth because Ratchet threatened to dismantle him, but because he was waiting for Bee to get better.

And just this once, Bee pretended that everything was right, just as it should be.