Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers. Just the plot and OCs.

Yeah . . . I'm gonna go hide behind Trickster now. It'll be safer there.

You guys have fun now. :)

Chapter 16

Giggling Bee kicked his little feet up at Ironhide while the big black mech tried to cover him up in his fluffy yellow blanket.

"Come on now, Bee." Hide murmured quietly, letting his spark pulse slowly toward his charge trying to get the little mechling to go to recharge or at least calm down enough so that he could be covered up and start getting him that way. Bumblebee was having none of it though. He kept on wiggling and giggling around in his blankets still wound up from dinner in the rec room with Optimus, Ratchet, Jazz, and the twins. It had been fun, climbing all over Jazz while Ironhide tried to get him sit still long enough to eat something. Eventually—after Sunstreaker scruffed him and plopped him back in Ironhide's reach—he'd settled down and sipped at his low grade energon. Content to wiggle his little toes and antennas while the big mechs stewed about something.

He hopped it wasn't him they were mad at, at first he thought they might be, but the way that Jazz's spark wouldn't let go of him the whole time through dinner it was hard to think they were upset at him. So he concluded that it had something to do with missions, battles, and strategies he didn't understand nor did he have any interest too. As far as he was concerned he was snuggled between Ironhide's arms, Jazz was warmly wrapped around his spark, and his energon had extra minerals in it that tasted amazing.

All was right with his little world.

But all was far from right with his families. He just had no way of understanding that.

In the end, Ironhide did finally get the little mechling settled in and wrapped snuggling in a pile of fuzzy blankets in the middle of the mech's massive berth then allowed Bluestreak to hope up and take the guardian's normal place curled around the youngling who giggled and clicked at getting to have a 'recharge over' in his own room with Bluestreak.

The only thing that mattered to Ironhide is that the yellow mechling hadn't questioned it and since he hadn't questioned it he could slip back down to Prime's office to beat some answers out of his lifelong—at the moment very stupid—friend.

Kissing Bumblebee between his flicking antennas and getting pecked on the cheek in return Hide left his most precious gift in Blue's capable care before slipping out into the quiet, dark halls.

It didn't take him long to climb a few sets of stairs, wind down a few long halls, and then slid into Optimus' largest open office where he found he was the last one to arrive.

And Jazz was beating him to beating some answers out of Ratchet.

The two mechs were toe to toe in the middle of the room, Jazz's shorter size making him have to glare up at the medic, though it didn't make the ball of silver protective instincts any less threatening as he curled his lips up in a snarl as his visor flashed. Ratchet didn't seem all that impressed though—it took a lot to rattle him—as he growled right back at the silver saboteur the only real thing keeping the two from most likely tearing each other to shreds was Optimus' and Wheeljack's grip on Ratchet and Prowl's on Jazz.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker seemed content to just sit on Prime's desk and watch. Neither looked really that interested in getting involved.

Or maybe it was they hadn't decided which side to take.

That was the more likely problem.

They were also the only ones that notice Ironhide's return.

Sunstreaker offered him a nod while Sideswipe just tilted his helm toward the pair of snarling best friends in a silent plea for Ironhide to do something about it.

And so, he did.

In half a nano his cannons whirled to life the sound drawing the Prime's, Jack's, and Prowl's attention before he snarled.

"If anybot here is laying into Ratchet it's me!" He bellowed letting the door slam shut behind him as he stalked up to the two snarling mechs that turned at his words. "Lay off Jazz!"

"Lay off!?" The saboteur swung on the ebony mech. "I'll lay off when somebot here tells me what the pit is going on!"

"I'm trying if you would just mute it!" Ratchet hissed right back.

"We've been playing nothing is wrong all damn orn!" Jazz twisted back with an even deeper growl. "You had him in a damn IS machine! Tell me why the frag he was in a damn IS machine! Tell me right fraggin' now!"

"I will if you will calm the frag down!" Ratchet's own growl was a far deeper pitch then anything Jazz was ever going to be able to muster with his smaller size, but the silver mech didn't back down. Never in his entire life had he ever backed down, and he defiantly wasn't now that nobot would tell him what the pit was wrong with his littler brother.

"We all want to know, Jazz." Prowl yanked on the slightly smaller mech even more until he finally got him pulled away a few meters. "Now calm down so he can tell us!"

"Don' ya slaggin' tell meh to calm down!" Spinning around with another deep hiss Jazz's accented tone dipped into a level that none in this room had heard him use since a few orns after he came to be in Iacon. The accented of his home. His tribe. It had never truly left him. His normal way of speaking held a different, richer, smoother, more feral flow then really any other bot on his ship—Ironhide was the only one who's accent was still sometimes heard—but normally it wasn't as thick as it had once been.

Time had taken nearly every old connection the silver mech—along with the black one—had of his former self, his accent had never faded, but he had come to speak much more like those from 'civilized' Iacon because it had made his place in the Prime's palace easier. He and Ironhide had figured that out very soon after they came too in that medical bay.

Now, the accent—the last real connect to the Sea of Rust and the tribes—only ever showed itself when his emotions were running hot, or when he was excited.

But it came out now and again when he was mad to the point he was willing to take those very sharp claws of his and slice one of his friends to ribbons.

And at the moment he was really considering it.

"Enough, Jazz!" Optimus finally ended it with a commanding shout that snapped them all to attention. It wasn't often the massive red and blue mech used that tone on any of them, but when he did they took notice.

It was that or be reminded just why Optimus was the one his Sire chose.

Jazz let his tense frame relax, Ironhide let his cannons cool, but Ratchet just crossed his arms and glared at them all.

Optimus figured two out of three wasn't bad.

"Now will you all sit down, mute it, and listen to what the mech has to say so we can figure out what is going on?" He pleaded, rubbing his index finger and thumb between his optics. He could already feel the headache coming on.

A few tense klicks of uneasy quiet and they were circled around his conference table staring at Ratchet while he drummed his fingers in an uneasy rhythm against the metal surface before finally the yellow and red medic let out a sigh, lifted his troubled blue optics, and laid it all out on the table.

"He's premature."

And every spark in the room hit the floor shattering into millions of little shards.

There was absolute silence.

A silence so thick that they could hear their own energon thudding in their audios while they just stared down the table at the tired looking medic whose gaze fell back to the cold grey surface that his fingers curled into a fist against.

There was nothing else for him to say.

No other way to explain.

They all knew what it meant.

It actually surprised Ratchet, who was the first one to choke out any type of syllable after that.

He figured it would be Ironhide, Optimus, Jazz, maybe Prowl, Jack came a little bit later on the list, but he figured if anybot there wasn't going to be able to find his voice after that it was the twins.

But no.

Once again the terror twins surprised him.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both sucked in a breath and coughed out a question in one shared gasp. "What?"

Ratchet let his optics drift to the pair.

Taking his own deep breath he sighed. "There isn't much more too it then that."

"How can there not be much more too it then that!?" Sideswipe jumped to his feet with a shout. "H-h-ho-how is . . . ." He glanced wildly at his golden twin who now just sat there and stared down the table at the medic. Spinning back to him Sideswipe shook his head back and forth rapidly. "NO! That isn't even . . . ."

"Possible?" Ratchet didn't mean to snap at him, but he did. He was frazzled and hurting. There wasn't much of a filter working for him right now. "Well it is possible. Not likely—damn chance in a fraggin' billion that a premature spark survives actually being sparked—but it is possible! The problem is that it just shouldn't . . . ." He let his gaze return to the table, and hated himself for what came out next, but knew very well that it was true. "Better off if they didn't."

And that was when Ironhide came undone in the worst way possible.

Slowly.

"You take that fraggin' back." The low rumble that rose up inside him was enough to make lesser mechs turn and run, but it was the look in his dark blue optics that actually had Ratchet leaning back slightly as he met his best friend's gaze. That was the look the weapons specialist wore before he tore frames into tiny pieces and brutally gutted bots on dull daggers. That was his 'they're going to die, slowly and painfully' look.

And right now it was burning holes in Ratchet's armor as Hide's upper lip curled back in a snarl.

"Take. It. Back!" He was out of his chair by then, growling deep in his chest, his cannons whirling and sparking as he braced his thick arms on the table, more to keep his fraying temper in check—to have some kind of physical barrier between him and his best friend that he currently wanted to gut—then anything else. Because he was one more wrong word from blowing this whole damn room to the Well.

"I can't change what it true, Ironhide." Ratchet had tensed in response to how very vividly that massive mech was holding himself back, but he wasn't about to back down from him.

"Don't you fraggin' tell me HE SHOULDN'T BE ALIVE!" Ironhide was full on ragging now.

"I didn't say he shouldn't be alive, I said premature sparks shouldn't."

"YOU JUST CALLED HIM—!" He cut off with a choke not able to force himself to say it. Because he couldn't. He just couldn't. He could not say that Bumblebee—that his son—was premature. He could not put that death sentence on his tiny, flicking antennas topped, adorable head. He just couldn't do it! He wouldn't do it. And that fraggin' medic down there couldn't make him. "THAT! YOU JUST CALLED HIM THAT!"

"BECAUSE HE IS!" Ratchet snarled right back at him, his own temper finally snapping. "I can't change that fact, Ironhide! NO MATTER HOW BAD I WANT TO! Okay!? I can't fix that! I can't do slaggin' anything about it! I should have seen it vorns ago and I didn't! Though all of it certainly makes sense now! Why he's so small, why he's developing so slowly, WHY HE CAN'T FRAGGIN' FIGURE OUT HOW TO SAY SLAGGING 'I'! Well by Primus there's you're slaggin' reason! He's fraggin' premature! He's underdeveloped! He's . . . a miracle to even still be breathing."

The medic's head fell down into his hands and he clutched at it trying to keep himself from shaking, or crying, or glitching, or blowing a damn gasket. He didn't even care enough to be worried that at this point Ironhide might shot him even if they were friends. He just couldn't bring himself to care.

Didn't even care enough to look up when he heard Ironhide's bulk crash back down into his seat or look up when he heard said mech's thick head bash into the table.

Because what was there to care about?

There was nothing he could do to make this better . . . and he couldn't find an upside.

"Well," Prowl was the first to break the silence after they all had started staring with horror filled optics at the table. "I think we've all known pretty much the whole time that Bumblebee was a miracle."

And every optic slowly turned to him.

Ratchet's defeated ones, Hide's brimming with tears ones, Sides and Sunny's confused and conflicted ones, and the stalled in shock ones of the mechs that couldn't seem to find use of their vocal processors; Jazz, Wheeljack, and Optimus.

"As far as I can tell, this doesn't change anything."

"Doesn't—" Ratchet snorted at him. "Did you even hear what I said?"

"Bumblebee is a premature spark." Prowl nodded, saying the words as if they were nothing making the twins, Hide, Optimus, and Jazz flinch.

"And that doesn't change anything?" Ratchet glared.

"I think each of us know enough about premature sparks to understand what you're saying. It is the work of Primus if a spark brought into this world before its time—a premature one—even survives the process of being sparked. Most are stillsparks."

Each of them—even Prowl as he said it—went a little cold inside at that. At the thought that bright, beautiful, bubbly, brilliant, little Bumblebee could have been a stillspark. That he could have never even lived. It was just too awful of a notion to fully be able to processes.

A world—their lives—without Bumblebee . . . they couldn't even picture it now.

It just didn't make any sense.

"Yes, Prowl." Ratchet said warily. "Most are stillsparks. They're not even alive."

"And you said that the chances are most likely around one in a billion that they actually do survive being sparked. They're odds so poor because they are underdeveloped in every way possible. Antiviruses that most sparklings are sparked with, they do not have. Their protoforms are not fully formed. Motor functions are weak and below that of what a normal sparkling should have. It's truly everything about them that is too young to be a part of this world. Down to their very sparks. The spark is too small and too weak to be able to be what it has to be, so nine times out of ten times it will never make it outside the carrier's frame. They fade out either before they are fully sparked or nanos afterward. And those that beat those odds and actually do make it past their first few breaths—the very few—they fade out before their first vorn is completed either because their sparks were too weak to power a growing frame, or they fall victim to all the viruses their systems cannot possibly hope to compete with even with medical care."

"We all know what premature sparks do, Prowl." Ratchet growled lowly at him. "Basic structure 101."

"Yes," The black and white nodded. "I thought as much. Which leads me to my point, Ratchet. You said premature sparks are better off being stillsparks because then they do not have to go through the agony that it is slowly fading out of existence."

"Yes," The medic glared, the rest of the mechs just stared.

"And I agree with you. Better for a sparkling to never be sparked then to die painfully."

"What is your fraggin' point!?" The CMO hissed.

"My point is." Prowl sat up straighter. "Bumblebee is neither dead nor dying as far as I can see. He's certainly older than one vorn old. Last time I checked he will soon be thirteen vorns old. But the thing above all, is this. In all my orns—and I've had quite a few—I have never, ever, known a spark as powerful as that mechling's. Sentinel, Optimus, and Megatron included. If that is a premature spark—and I do not doubt your medical knowledge Ratchet, nor the correctness of what your scans found—but if that is a spark that was too weak to survive being brought into this world . . . then I'm going to fry a logic chip because I don't know one stronger. Premature he may be, but weak sparked he is not. And I know what your point is Ratchet. His spark could fade tomorrow for all you know, premature sparks shouldn't make it as long as he has, but this is Bumblebee we're talking about. That spark isn't fading anytime soon. At least that is my belief. It's what I'm going to go on believing."

With that he leaned back in his chair his optics clear and steady. He meant every syllable he had said, he believed ever word. The logic centered strictly reason mech was believing what no facts could explain nor backup.

According to the rules of their very existence premature sparks faded within orns.

They didn't make it to nearly thirteen vorns, and they certainly didn't pulse as powerfully as Bumblebee's did.

Then again, there was that one little fact about Bee that the others had let themselves forget in the shock of what those words had done to them.

That it was just as Prowl said.

This was Bumblebee they were talking about here, and when it came too little Bee no previous rules really applied.

He was one of a kind and that just might be the reason he was still breathing.

"So," Sideswipe slowly mumbled looking between Prowl and Ratchet. "He's not gonna fade out?"

"I am not a medic." Prowl shrugged. "I just know how bright that spark of his is."

"Ratchet?" Hide choked out staring hopefully at his friend.

"Prowl has a point I . . . I'd been too caught up to really think about it." Ratchet was staring down at the table the wheels very visibly spinning rapidly in his head. Every bit of information he knew told him that it shouldn't be possible that a premature spark live as long as Bumblebee had, and yet the youngling was recharging safely a few floors down with Bluestreak keeping careful watch over him.

It shouldn't be possible.

But it was.

True it was that little episode after his fit that got him in the IS machine in the first place—when wheels of panic had started spinning in Ratchet's processor as that tiny inking of doubt had crept in, when all the puzzles pieces started to fit; his size, his speech, everything—but other than the scan conforming to him what he had feared there was nothing necessarily wrong with Bumblebee.

He was . . . fine.

Healthy—small and underdeveloped—but otherwise a growing, laughing, learning, perfectly fine little mechling that was approaching his thirteenth sparkorn.

Prowl was right.

That spark of his was as strong as ever.

The medic could feel it now.

In the place it had come to claim in his spark. A whole large chunk of it that that burning light resided in as the bond that linked them together.

Ratchet had panicked about what normally was a death sentence—and a small dark part of him did and always would fear that it was—of a title.

The tiny yellow youngling was a premature spark.

But was it really possible that he wasn't going to fade out?

True, there was no way Ratchet could ever know. Sparks fading was not a science. It just happened. No bot really knew why or how it was that a spark just stopped being. With premature sparks it was more understood. They were too weak to cope with powering life and it was trying to live that inevitably drained them into nothingness slowly and painfully. But other sparks fading out was not understood.

It really . . . just happened.

One klick the spark was there and the next it wasn't.

It wasn't common; but it happened.

When sparkmates were torn away some times the one left behind just couldn't exist without their other half. So they just slipped away.

Or sometimes it happened when a spark was old.

Really old.

Far older then anybot alive now. The elders had long since all fallen. They would not fight this brothers' duel and so they fell on Decepticon claws. But back when the Golden Age had thrived and long before it. An elder just fading away in recharge had been known to happen.

It was true that as a race Cybertronians could live . . . forever if given the chance. If they took care of themselves, and had something worth living for, they were practically immortal.

But not all craved immortality. And after a while some were content to find out what was on the other side of the Allspark's wall to the Well.

So they just faded out.

It was a fact. It happened. It wasn't understood, but it happened, and there was no amount of medical knowledge or experience that could fetch a spark back once it faded away like that. No amount of shocks or surgery or praying was going to call back a spark that either was not strong enough to support its own life or had grown tired of doing so.

And that was what was scary about it.

For a mech that was use to being able to fix pretty much anything—that was too stubborn to ever give up that which he believed was his—to be able to have to admit to himself that a fading spark that faded in that way was not something he could change.

What it did to Ratchet was not something that he could even put into words. It hurt on a level that was too deep from anything other than a Cybertronian to understand. To not be able to do what he was meant to do when it matter the most to him.

It terrified him.

The not knowing what would happen.

But even more so the knowing that if it did he wouldn't be able to stop it.

It was possible it could happen tomorrow and the mechling would just be gone and there would be nothing Ratchet would be able to do.

And that was enough to make his spark grow cold right there.

However, the longer he sat there mulling it over the more it started to make sense to him.

How much of a point Prowl actually had.

There was really nothing wrong with Bumblebee.

"Other than the obvious premature-ness he's as fine as he as before." The CMO finally let out softly. "I'm not sure how that is . . . but it is."

"If he's," Wheeljack swallowed harshly before he got the word out. "Premature how is he . . . well alive?"

Optimus, Ironhide, Jazz, and the twins glared at him.

"It's just . . . I'm confused!" The inventor snapped back to the glare. "How does that work?"

"I haven't the slightest." Ratchet rubbed a finger between his optics trying to get the ache behind his optics to go away.

"Well that about sums up Lil' Bee don't it?" Jazz snorted softly.

"Pretty much," Sunstreaker said.

"But . . . ." And it was then that Optimus finally found his voice. "He's alright . . . he'll be alright?"

Ratchet held his optics. "I'm not sure."

A shiver ran through the lethal rich sky blue colored femme accented in purple and green as she sat atop the fallen tower pillar. Legs drawn up to her chin and her arms crossed over her long legs she stared into the gathering clouds with glittering green optics.

The storm that had been gathering was coming to a head.

In more ways than one.

Tilting her elegant head topped by a bright, lime green chevron she watched the purple lightening scar the sky before thunder rolled over the barren graveyard that had once been the powerful empire of Tyger Pax. Two ships were already hidden in the archeological tunnels beneath the grey, dead, landscape of crumbled buildings, homes, shops, and race tracks. There had been a time when this city on the outskirts of the 'noble' parts of Cybertron had been the entertainment capital of the whole world.

Next to Kaon it had been the place everybot wanted to see at least once in their life time. It was home to the wealthy and stupid that had a little bit more moral compass then those that funded the Gladiator Rings—not that there hadn't been a Ring in Tyger Pax, because there had been—but most of this city belonged to the flashier side of public entertainment.

This had been the racer citrus, the circus performers, the stunt mechs, the singers, the dancers, the talented.

This was where they came together to sell themselves for a living.

Evermore had always liked this city.

On the orns she was allowed to venture into this realm and observe those she protected up close she normally found herself here.

If she wasn't in Crystal City then Tyger Pax was where she could be found.

She enjoyed the life this place had once had. Even if it had been just another city fueled by the greed and wealth of others driving the world around them. That had been a kind of glitch in all of Cybertron ever since the Second Council came to power.

The wealthy—the superior —had decided everything, they ruled everything, even guided the actions of a foolish and uppity Prime.

Evermore never had liked that big red glitch Sentinel, but even if he thought he as better then everything around him—at least everything that wasn't noble breed—he had done some good things for Cybertron. He ended the slaughtering in the Sea of Rust, the brought an end to the Tribal wars.

Even if by doing it he whipped most of them off the face of the planet.

She had always questioned why that had been allowed to happen.

But her Master had never given her a reason.

He very seldom did.

It had been in her best interest not long after her creation to accept that.

It was easier said than done.

"You're back?" It was an odd question, though coming from its source Ever didn't really find it in her to be surprised. There was something about Trickster that just meant he could do and say whatever he wanted when he wanted and it would all make perfect sense.

Even if it didn't.

"I never left." She replied, not even glancing toward him when the large black mech with ice blue optics sat himself down beside her with hardly a sound. He was in bi-ped form but Evermore knew her brother well enough to be able to hear the inner whirling of over worked hydraulics and transformation mechanisms.

He had been running a long way in one of his many forms—most likely his large canine like one, he was overly fond of that one—she was positive of that.

Probably for the same reason she had 'come back' as he said.

He had heard it too.

"Well you have a way of disappearing on us, sister." Trickster chuckled.

"We all have our purposes, brother." Evermore replied.

"This is true."

And with that they sat together quietly listening in secret to the bots that milled beneath their feet none of them even knowing they were here.

"Where is Impulse?" Evermore tilted her chevron topped helm at the large black mech taking into account when his large canine like audio receptors twitched and flicked when he registered her words.

"He is watching the proceedings." Trick answered leaning back on his palms, his long clawed fingers fanning out to support his massive bulk as he stared through his large optics out into the ruble around them. His sister might have loved Tyger Pax in its prime, but he had not been so fond of it.

Perhaps she was right in her teasing that he had been spending too much time with Pulse lately.

He didn't know, and he really didn't care.

All he knew was he had hated what the world he watched had become far before it fell into disastrous war. Because being what he was he knew quite well that Cybertron fell long before Megatron blasted his Sire out of the sky.

And that it was going to take a long time yet before anything was ever set right again.

There was a light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel now though. Trick, Ever, even Pulse could see it.

All because of that bubbly spark that belonged to their newest, tiniest, brother.

Bumblebee.

"I was under the impression that was what we were doing?" Evermore questioned.

"Well we are." Trick nodded. "We always are, aren't we?"

"I do believe that is part of the job description yes." She smiled.

"Job description." The black mech snorted a laugh, his blue optics glittering with mischief. "Please remind me of the time we actually applied for these positions."

The bright femme made a big show of thinking over her response very carefully. Bringing her long elegant fingers up to stroke her chin thoughtfully for a few klicks sending her older brother into a fit of laughter until she nodded once she was sure of her answer and turned back to him. "First breath we each took I do believe was our application as well as our acceptance to everything we are and much more."

Trickster smirked. "Well spoken."

"Being older than most space dust can give you quite a silver tongue I hear. You gain perspective."

And Trickster went back to cackling like mad.

In fact it was quite a few klicks before the big mech got a hold of himself well enough again to actually say something in response. Not that Ever minded really. Hearing her brother laugh was something she enjoyed; it was much better then listening to her other brother complain.

"So," Trick started absentmindedly kicking his clawed feet. "How have the bots been doing?"

"As clueless and blindly drive as ever." The femme rolled her optics. "Still not looking at the big picture."

"Well none of them ever do." The black mech sighed. "Even the Prime rarely bothers to look outside the box these fools have put themselves in."

"You know I kind of hoped sooner or later one of them—especially Optimus—would realize there is more at work here then petty vengeance, but none of them ever do." Ever rested her chin on her knees listening to the laughter, the fighting, the meaningless conversations, the breathing, the just over all living that was going on beneath them.

"They do not have the, what did you all it, ah yes perspective. The perspective that we have gained little sister. Besides they are not meant to see what we see anyway, Ever. If they could we would be out of a job."

"What?" She balked in fake horror.

Trickster shook his head solemnly his faceplate fake in its misery yet oddly convincing while his optics sparkled with mirth. "Yes, sadly. If they figured out there were higher powers at work here then what purpose would we have to run mediator anymore?"

"Well that just wouldn't do at all." Ever said. "Guess we'll just have to pray they all stay blinded by hatred then."

"One can only hope." Trickster concluded.

And they sat there, the picture of power and seriousness, well until they busted out laughing for a good long while until they let their optics find each other and shared a smile.

"I've missed ya while you've been gallivanting around the stars, Ever." Trick told her.

"And I you, big brother." She reached out and lightly punched him in his thin yet strong arm. "But I was out there looking for a reason just as you were here looking for a reason."

"Yes," Tick nodded looking back toward the landscape. "But I found my reason, didn't I?"

"You found our reason."

"Yes, 'our' reason." He used air quotes.

She glared at him.

He smirked back though never looked at her.

"Did you just use air quotes?"

"Maaaaaybe." He chirped.

"Gah," Rolling her optics again she shook her head and went back to listening until he found the need to actually brig up something of importance. Because they were going to have to talk about it sooner or later. Whether he wanted too or not, and since she had to keep an optic on the Autobots here, Impulse was currently engaged in 'sparkling sitting blasted idiotic glitches that don't know when to die, pour excuses for bounty hunters'—his words not hers—that meant Trickster was going to have to address the issues that had come up.

"Impulse says the mechs are tracking Eternity now. Along with the long lost returnees. Though they are a good ways behind. They'll make it eventually." Trickster informed her after another long bit of silence.

"Good," She answered. "Sooner they all reunite the sooner things can get under way."

Trickster let his ice blue optics slide to study her profile. "I would have thought you were against the mechling strolling down memory lane."

"I am." Her optics slid to hold his. "But I know just as well as you do that everything happens for a reason. I might not understand our Master's reasoning, but I know what he does is for a purpose. Every spark must face its past before it can hope to have a future. And though I believe he is too young I know just as well as you do that he is capable of far more then even we give him credit for. He will be fine. We have been ordered not to step in once it begins, so I have to believe that he will be fine."

Those ice blue optics saddened as they held her galaxy filled green ones. "You already care for him so?"

She smiled softly. "And you don't?"

Trickster hid his own soft smile by turning away.

"Trick," She almost purred at his caring spark. "He is your sparkling brother."

"Of course I care." He rumbled out warmly. "I have faith in him as well."

"Good." She nodded. "So that means you're going to go stop the caretakers from having a melt down over what he is, yes?"

And the smile fell right off the bit mechs lips.

Growlling out lowly he let his weight flop backward until he crashed into the metal below him and just lay there on his back staring up at the building clouds and streaking lightening as another bash of thunder echoed all around.

"My warping skills are rusty." He grumbled.

"Just make sure you end up in the right room, Trick. You'll be fine." She reached over and patted him on the slightly softer slick black armor that made up his abdomen.

He snorted. "It's not like they can harm me, Ever."

"No it's not." She agreed. "So why don't you want to go? I thought you loved playing games."

"I do." Trickster sighed. "I just don't like discussing that which will make them ask even more questions they are not yet ready for. There is a reason they have not seen hide nor wire of us since we gave him back, Ever."

"You don't think I know that?" She narrowed her optics at him. "It is our purpose to watch and never be seen. None of us—well besides Impulse—are all that big on confrontation. You're words are your weapon as are mine. And words aren't going to do you much good as worked up as they are at the moment."

"Oh my tongue will not fail me little sister," He grinned. "It is my gift. What concerns me is that when I answer the questions they will get to wondering. And if they wonder too much they might just figure out the reason he is still breathing."

"That is not the reason his spark is so powerful, Trick." Ever let her gaze drift back to his that was locked on the swirling clouds. "His gift is his spark and all that it can do. That is not Star."

"I know that." Trickster rolled his optics. "But it was Star that saved him after our bastard pulled what he did."

"Star would have been where he is whether the mechling was premature or not." Evermore argued.

"Yes," Trickster agreed. "You know that, and I know that, and Impulse knows that, and Shootingstar knows that, but Bumblebee's family does not know that. They do not know where Shootingstar is. They do not know what Bee truly is to us and the whole universe. And they can't know. For a very long time."

"So do not let them know." She told him. "You're a talented truth weaver, Trickster. Go do what makes you what you are. And don't make any of them glitch while you're at it."

Closing his optics the big black mech knew that the smaller brighter colored femme had him. They both knew he was fully capable of telling the truth while not telling the truth. So he just came out with what was really bothering him. "If I go I want to see the youngling."

Her green optics flashed. "Awe . . . so that's what this is about."

"I miss him." Trickster whispered.

Taking a deep breath Ever lowered herself backward to lay down beside him, snuggle a bit closer so that they shared the warmth of their armor, and took to watching the lightening dance across the sky. "I miss him as well."

"It's not fair, Ever." Trick growled. "He is our brother. He belongs with us. I do not like this arrangement."

"We cannot give him what he needs, Trickster." She reminded him.

"We're a family!" He snapped.

"Yes," She admitted. "But we are also the Guild. We are his siblings. We are what he needs to right it all in the end, but we are not the ones that are meant to raise him. Our Master does everything with a purpose, Trickster. You know this. Accept this and go on. He will know us in time, you know that to be true just as I do. Do not doubt our Master."

"I do not doubt him." Trickster grumbled. "I just want the mechling to know us."

"He cannot know us witho—"

"Without knowing what he truly is, that which he is too young to know, and it is not fair to cheat the young thing out of the gift to have a real life that he has been given." His optics cut to her as he tilted his head to the side against the cold metal to meet her optics. "Was that what you were going to say, Evermore?"

She smiled at him, her optics glittering with warmth. "Go put their sparks to ease, brother. And pop in to see him. Just do not be seen."

Ice blue optics flashed with excitement. "Consider it done."

And in a brilliant flash of bright blue he was gone.

Optimus was pacing.

Which was never a good thing, but at the moment he didn't know what else to do.

He felt like screaming, or crying he couldn't really decide, but since it was quite un-Primely like thing for him to do he just took to pacing the back of his office trying to figure out where they were going to go from here.

Because he had to figure out something.

None of them could go on living on the slight chance that Bumblebee's spark could fade out at any klick. He knew—he wanted more than anything in the universe to believe it—that Prowl had a point.

Bumblebee's spark was stronger than even his in its own ways.

And the mighty two tone mech found it hard to believe that he could ever fade away, but IS scans did not lie, and Ratchet had never been wrong . . . even though this time Optimus knew how badly the medic wanted to be wrong.

So it was something they were just going to have to deal with.

Adorable little Bee was a premature spark, and by all accounts of history should not be alive.

Yet he was.

And they had no idea for how fraggin' long.

And that . . . that was going to drive Optimus mad . . . and quite possibly make Hide and the twins shot themselves.

Because none in this room were doing good at the moment and he wasn't the only one pacing.

The only one that wasn't pacing was Wheeljack and that was just because the inventor was writing probabilities, odds, percentages, and other things Optimus was sure he didn't want to see all over the table before him.

Because when good old Wheeljack panicked he always ended up doing the same thing.

He reverted to science and math.

Because that was what he knew.

That was what he could rationalize and most of the time find a way to bend to suit him.

By all the scribbling out and grumbling he was doing with the charcoal pencil he'd been handed by Sunstreaker though it didn't look like he was doing all that much good.

Optimus tried not to let that unsettle him even more then he already was.

So far . . . it wasn't working so well.

Spinning on his heel again he made another trip down the back wall of his office, racking his processor for anything and everything that could possibly help him now. Possibly give him some kind of reassurance.

Something to tell him that Bumblebee's fate was something he—they—could protect with every molecule of what they were.

He was so caught up in the maze of his thoughts that he almost didn't register the dull blue flash at the closed door across the room.

Almost.

It registered to a part of him—the battled hardened warrior, that at all times was aware of what was round him—and he found himself glancing even if the full processing of his mind wasn't behind it.

When the voice drifted too him though, he snapped to attention.

"Well well, look whose gone and worked themselves into a state."

The mighty Prime's jaw dropped open as every other set of optics in the room darted to the massive, relaxed, black frame that lounged in the doorway with ice blue optics glittering with mischief.

Trickster.

It was fraggin' Trickster.

And he was grinning like the robo-cat that caught the glitch mouse.

Even when a whirling plasma cannon to his left got pressed to his temple.

He didn't even flinch. Just let his ice optics slid to the side and if possible that smirk on his lips grew even more at the anger glittering in Ironhide's darkened orbs.

"Hello, Ironhide." Trickster practically purred. "Long time no see, buddy."

"I am not your buddy." The WS snarled through clenched teeth.

"Awe, mech." Trickster shook his head as much as he could with a massive heating cannon pressed against it. "We're all on the same side here, my friend."

The ebony mech just snarled deeper.

And so with no fear what so ever of the massive mech's weapon the Guild Member let his gaze circle the room.

"All these unhappy faceplate." He stated. "Figure out the mechling is one in . . . well one because there is nothing else like him. Figure all that out did ya?"

Jazz let loss a snarl of his own stepping closer to the myth made real as the twins growled next to him. The trio only stopping when Ratchet stepped between them and Trickster.

The latter lifted his optic ridges in surprise at the medic's movements though he wasn't surprised for long.

"You knew he was premature?" The two tone CMO mumbled.

Trick snorted. "Duh. He's one of us. We know everything there is to know about him. It's part of the job description."

"And you didn't say anything!" Sunstreaker yelled.

The ice blue orbs sliced to him. "What was there to say?"

"How about that's not fraggin' possible!?" Ironhide pressed the heating cannon just a bit harder and Trick made an effort not to roll his optics. He reminded himself that they were justified in their fear, of him and of everything that he meant. Also of their fear for what they didn't know.

They were still under the impression that the mechling was quite likely to fade.

Well, that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Something he figured they could be told and the universe not come crumbling down into ruin over his head.

It was worth a shot at least.

"Are we talking about the same mechling?" Trickster tilted his head slightly before in a blur of black armor he'd lashed out and shoved the whirling weapon and the mech that wielded it half way across the room.

It got him a flinch of movement all around before he let his frame go slack and relaxed again as he glared down at the guardian of his youngest sibling.

"I am not your enemy." He rumbled lowly. "It's time the lot of you Autobots learned that."

"Forgive us if everything you claim makes us a bit nervous." Optimus strolled from the back corner of the room to come and stand before the large black mech with his arms crossed and his optics weary. He didn't know why the Guild mech was here, but now that he was there were some things that Optimus was going to have answered.

Like where the pit they had gone after they gave Bumblebee back, and what he knew about Bee being premature.

"Nervous?" Trick crossed his own arms, mirroring the posture of the Prime. He'd never admit it out loud, but of all the Prime's he'd had the displeasure of dealing with over the vorns this one certainly was his favorite.

He was just so different then all those that had come before him.

This one actually had a spark in there somewhere.

Of that Trickster was quite sure.

This one cared.

He did not think himself better than those around him. He cared nothing for the divides between high class and low class.

Actually, for all of Trickster's watching, he'd never seen the big red and blue even take into account the ranks and rights that most thought he was sparked with ever even accrue to him. His best friends in the universe were a collection of tribal outcast, mid class wannabes, creators' disappointments, and gutter scrap that had crawled its way up from nothing.

And none of this seemed to bother him.

He didn't even seem to notice.

He didn't care.

And as much as it pleased Trickster at the same time it confused him.

Never had there been a Prime that hadn't looked upon the lower classes and thought himself better and entitled to rule everything around him.

Of course, Cybertron had been circling in the drain for a long time now.

So that aspect of things wasn't all that surprising.

It gave the watcher hope though; that maybe this glitched up scheme of their Master's might actually work.

Maybe the tiny one had a chance.

"Yes," Optimus tilted his head. "Nervous."

"You think I will swoop in one night and disappear with your youngling." It wasn't a question.

It was a fact.

Because sooner or later that is just what was going to happen.

So, with that silver tongue of his. Trickster told them so.

"Because I will. One orn."

A chorus of snarls rose up around him.

"You can try," Optimus' optics darkened until Trickster hardly recognized them. It was reassuring in a way. It proved how much Bumblebee meant to him, to them.

It warmed Trickster in ways they would never understand.

And so he offered the Prime a sideways grin.

"That orn is in the very distant future." He assured him. "And in the end, coming along with us, that will be what he chooses."

"You don't know what he'll choose." Ironhide growled.

"Oh and you do?" Trick laughed.

A dark glare.

"Hated to break it too you, Hide." He snorted softly. "But I do know what he will choose when the time comes. Because he is one of us, and he is being raised right. So in the end he'll do what is right. And we are what is right. At lest we will be when this all gets where it's going. You can refuse to believe me all you want, but that is what will happen."

But they all just continued to glare at him as he stood there before them and he let his ice optics drift over to the medic.

"So you finally went to digging around in there and found out he's a premature spark, did you? I'm impressed. We kind of figured it would take a good few more vorns before you'll got curious enough to start trying to figure out if he wasn't normal."

Ratchet was torn between wanting to toss something very sharp and heavy at the mech's head or begging him to tell him what he knew about Bumblebee's spark.

Since the youngling was the foremost of his concerns though he opted for the questioning. Besides Sides, Sunny, and Jazz looked like they would hit the glitch pretty soon anyway. Ratchet probably wasn't going to have too.

Oddly enough, he was okay with that.

"You really do know?" He questioned.

"More than you might think." Trickster smiled honestly. "So go on. Ask your question. It's the reason I'm here."

Ratchet took a breath. "Will he be okay?"

The black mech let his optics trace the room before he settled them on the Prime. "He is a tiny runt being forced to grow up in the middle of a war that is destroying everything around him, he is an orphan from a place that makes Pit look like a stroll through the Crystal gardens, and eventually he will have to face a destiny that will not be a choice so that he can right the wrongs that he had nothing to do with. Okay? It a loose term I'm afraid. There are things that will happen to the Tiny One that I would not wish upon anybot. Things I cannot change no matter how much I want too. And you might not believe me, but it's true mechs. I do wish that I could change it. I do care about the little thing. For more reasons they you could possibly imagine."

He let out a heavy sigh.

"There is a long and twisted road laid out before that little mechling I'm afraid, but to answer your question. His spark is no danger. He's not going to fade out. Premature he may be, but that spark of his . . . ." Trickster felt the grin dance up his faceplate and he did nothing to stop it. For he loved that little spark, and he was not afraid to show it.

Even if Impulse still was.

"He's not going anywhere. He is still where he belongs."

There was an answer in there to more than just Ratchet's simple question.

And if one dug around long enough, they would find out just how true it was when Evermore and Impulse said that Trickster could tell the truth without telling the truth. He answered a million and one questions that most of which hadn't even been asked in less than a klick and an half, but without knowing the little bits that Trickster did that tied all those words together.

There was no hope of the Autobots ever fully understanding what he was telling them . . . and then not telling them.

Optimus had come to realize that.

He understood the gravity of what Trickster said. It had only taken one encounter for him to know that the mech never talked just to hear himself speak. If the words left his mouth they were for a purpose. They were important.

They meant something.

Even if at the moment they might not make sense, there was a purpose to what he was saying.

All of it meant something.

The Prime just had to figure out what that something was. He had to figure out what it was these myths wanted with his youngling.

Which was something he would do—he had promised himself that one of the many nights he had relaxed in the calm quiet of his quarters with Bumblebee curled up purring deep in recharge in his arms safe and content—but for now the ice blue optics that held his own light blue ones were sincere in the words they had said and he had answered at least one question that Optimus knew what meant.

He'd said that Bumblebee's spark was fine.

He said that he would be fine.

Optimus felt a breath he hadn't known he was holding finally rush out.

Bumblebee would be okay.

And the Prime didn't know what to say.

The Guild Member had come here—somehow known that they had all about to been ready to tear themselves to pieces over this—to tell them that Bumblebee would be perfectly fine.

And a part of the Prime did not understand that.

Because he still didn't understand what it was they wanted with his little yellow source of hope, but for now he was resigned to just thank him. And so he did.

"Thank you," He whispered letting his optics fall slightly as a breath was let out all around him. Ironhide sagged, the tension melting out of his frame. Ratchet and Prowl—who had been with the medic in stepping between the Jazz, the twins, and the myth—let their heads fall down in a grateful sigh. The twins suddenly found themselves leaning against each others shoulder as they felt the spark start beating again now that it wasn't trying to short out in panic between them. Jazz caught his weight on the conference room table the relief that had flooded through him taking the strength from his legs. Had the table not been there to catch him he probably would have ended up on his aft, and he wouldn't have even been trying to get back up. And Wheeljack. He too found that if the table hadn't of been there to catch him he would have fallen too as he rocked forward his sprayed fingers catching him by his palms as he stared down at the odds and figures sketched on the table before him that no longer matter.

They no longer mattered.

Because some myth made real that his spark couldn't help but believe said that their precious little Bumblebee would be fine.

"Thank you?" Trickster titled his audio pointed head drawing their attention back to him. "Thank me for what?"

Optimus' faceplate scrunched a little in confusion. "For telling us that. You didn't have too."

"You didn't have to believe me." Trickster shrugged. "But you do. So I did. See a pattern forming here, my friend?"

It was Prowl that spoke up. "I'm beginning too."

He grinned brightly. "Well that's good. Truly wonderfully good."

"I'm right in assuming that that's all you'll be telling us though, correct?" The SIC went on.

The black mech just inclined his head.

"Until you deem that we are in need of answers again?"

"You'd be correct there."

"Why?"

"Because that is the way my Master says it will be. So that is the way it will be." And that was truly the only answer Trickster had to give them. It was the way it was because that was the way that it was. He'd stop questioning such things millenniums ago.

Asking such questions didn't do anything but drive you glitchy and get you nowhere why you did it.

"That's not all that comforting." Jazz grumbled.

"Since when was fate ever confronting?" Trick felt one of his audios flick. "It is nothing but the way that is. That is all there is too it. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"And you won't tell us anything more that you know about him?" Optimus pressed. "Even though you know it all apparently."

Another nod. "Secrets are secret for a reason, Optimus Prime. I would think that you of all mechs would understand the honesty in that statement."

Ironhide let out a warning growl. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means nothing other then what you want it to mean, adopted Sire." Trick's optics darted back over to the massive brute of a black warrior. This was the mech that made his youngest brother so happy. This was the one that opened up his spark—not that they all hadn't, they had, it was just different and Trickster knew it—and took the little one inside to be something that he had sworn he would never be again because he cared about the little yellow thing that much.

That warmed the mech's spark as well.

It seemed this bunch of bots did that a lot.

"I'm the one that should be thanking the lot of you. Because without you . . . he'd have been gone before I ever found him. You're the ones that saved Bumblebee thhose few vorns ago. We've not forgotten that, and though he will always be one of us . . . ." He weighed the words that were on the tip of his tongue before he knew they were true and that they deserved to hear them.

Because they did love Bumblebee.

As much as he did.

"He will also always be one of you. So take care of him. Because we will not always be able too. We our limited after all." With a nod more to himself then to them Trickster turned toward the door even if he wouldn't need it to go where he was headed next, but before he summoned up his warp a thought that was not his own flashed across his processor.

He took a sharp breath as it sunk in.

A command, but more than that, permission.

His optics narrowed in confusion for a moment. His Master wanted him to tell them that?

Well, it wasn't his place to argue.

Besides.

This would be fun.

More things for them to wonder over.

"Oh and Prime," Glancing back over his shoulder he found the massive mech's optics and grinned. "He'll be the one to find it."

Optimus' optics narrowed. "Find it? Find what?"

In response he just flashed them a half smirk and mumbled. "We'll be seeing ya soon."

Then with a flash of bright blue he was gone.

The room was pitch black, but to his ice optics seeing through the blackness was not a struggle. Neither was moving silently through the darkness until he was close enough to see without hindrance the little yellow form curled up safely, purring deeply, in the safe protective arms of a young grey mech that held him just over his spark.

The two were deep in recharge.

Breaths almost synchronized as the youngling's current caretaker kept him safe from all that was the big bad world out there with an unbreakable wall of brightly colored fuzzy blankets.

That one of a kind spark burning inside that tiny chest shown and pulsed light like nothing Trickster had ever known and without the mechling even knowing he was doing it, it reached for his.

The black mech could feel it.

The powerful ball of life knowing the familiar feeling of Trickster's spark even if Bumblebee did not. The pulsing call that he could not answer now drew a small smile to his handsome faceplate and for now he was content.

Bumblebee was happy.

And with all that had been laid out for the little one that was none of his doing in the first place; Trickster thought he deserved the right to be happy.

Even if it wasn't with the Guild.

Because the orn would come, he knew that very well, that Bee would know the truth.

So for now.

Happy is all that he needed to be.

See, it ended happy . . . after I gave them all spark attacks.

Yeah. They needed to figure that little part out and it was time for some of the Watchers to drop by again. So there you have it. That lead to this chapter, and believe it or not I really love this one. It was fun making them panic while Trickster just stood there shaking his head.

Those poor bots, they have no idea what they are in for.

But that's yet to come.

Your reviews meant the world to me, as always, so thank you. Thank you forever. I hit 100! Can you believe that? 100.

Dang.

Never saw that coming.

Anyway, I still haven't decided what to do for the 100 mark. Give me ideas people. You made it happen, what do you want?

As always please review and let me know what you thought about our little spin through crazy town for a chapter. I love to see what you have to say.

Next chapter is nothing but youngling adorableness so I guess that's something to look forward too. :)

See you guys next weekend.

-Jaycee