Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers or any of the characters, Hasbro & Paramount Pictures does.
This was just something that popped into my head when I saw the movie in the theaters. Just how did Optimus Prime and the other Autobots cope with Bumblebee, the last of the younglings, when he had a nightmare? Protocol only goes far when a youngling is involved...
I'm not very familiar with the series, so please be gentle. What I know is either from the movie or from quick, random reading. This is a small series focusing on Bumblebee's childhood and side-story of my earlier stories Little Brother and Youngling I would suggest reading those stories first to give you an idea of the storyline, but constructive criticism is welcome. Whenever an idea pops into my head, I'll write about it. Thank you and please enjoy reading.
Now remember, Bumblebee may seem OOC here because he is very young, practically a baby-bot. This is how some of my very little cousins and much younger brother would probably act in a situation like this, so be open-minded and nice, please. Bumblebee would want that.
Sparkling - Newborn
Youngling - Child
Italics - Thoughts
Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes
Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours
Orn - About 13 Earth day
Vorn - About 83 Earth years
Nightmare - Chapter I - The Orn of the Dead
The sleek silver exterior of the titanic Autobot battleship, Artemis I, had shone brilliantly as the bright rays from the sun in the far-off distance reflected off of its smooth outer surface. Thousands of stars hung in the darkened expanse of outer space, their vivid light pouring through the bay windows of the immense ship and catching the attention of a little Cybertronian minibot.
Bumblebee gazed out the passing windows with mild fascination, his small frame snuggled securely into the burly chassis of his broad-shouldered guardian. The impatient mech had finally picked the youngling up after incessant amounts of pleading, his short temper wearing thin and his need to blow some holes into a couple of holo-'Cons getting the better of his usually strict parenting regime. Besides, Bumblebee was still very young and a little bit of indulgence wouldn't do any harm, would it?
Makes my life easier, thought Ironhide, unconsciously running thick fingers down the youngling's little head, So who gives a slag.
Ironhide didn't need to read some Pit-fragging parenting-chip published by some glitching doctor to know what his youngling needed and wanted, after all, the youngling usually made his needs and wants quite clear to the entire ship if he so desired. The old mech had learned that the hard part about parenting was keeping a nice, even balance so that the youngling was kept happy, healthy, and not spoiled rusted. And that was quite a feat to accomplish considering Bumblebee was the last of the younglings and had the full attention of every mech onboard during their off-shifts.
Of course, everyone was willing to watch Bumblebee until recharge time came around. Yep, once that cranky little grimace and droopy look came over the youngling's face he was handed right back to Ironhide and every big, tough mech onboard went running with their tailpipes between their legs.
Slaggin' cowards, Ironhide thought, They're all willing to take on big-aft Decepticon punks, but the instant Bee starts scowling they all run for the hills. Primus...
Bumblebee clicked quietly at the feel of his guardian's soothing fingers, his optics closing and his head slowly drooping down to lay on the mech's huge shoulder. Ironhide smirked, his fingers little by little lulling the tiny bot into a much needed recharge. The little youngling still spent over half the orn in recharge and Ironhide had learned long ago that Bumblebee was miserable if he didn't get enough rest.
A tired Bumblebee was a cranky Bumblebee and a cranky Bumblebee meant that Ironhide and the entire ship would be nursing their auditory receptors for at least a joor. Little bugger had the vocal capacity to rival that of Siren's when he wanted to.
Primus, thought Ironhide, I didn't bargain for this when I signed on for active duty.
At this point in time, Bumblebee was no more than the Cybertronian equivalent of a two-year-old Earth child and needed to be watched constantly by sharp optics. The tiny bot was a tricky little thing and frequently managed to sneak out from beneath the sensors of his caretakers without them noticing until it was too late. Thankfully, the little bot's favorite destination seemed to the Autobot commander's office, so Bumblebee was usually fairly easy to track down.
Ironhide had lost count of the number of times he had found Bumblebee sitting atop Optimus' enormous desk, happily chattering away without a care in the universe.
Not that Optimus would ever deny the youngling anyways. All Bumblebee had to do was bat those baby blue optics and the Autobot commander would be at the devious little bot's beck and call, often having to listen to his endless chatter for joors.
Optimus Prime, the charismatic leader of the Autobots and one of the most powerful beings in the universe, had single-handedly become one of the youngling's favorite playmates.
A most illustrious honor and title indeed.
"Well, ain't tha' precious," snickered Jazz when Ironhide strode into the rec room and carefully deposited the slumbering youngling onto an empty couch. "Lil' bot's like a chronometer, conks out at the same time every orn."
"Thank Primus for small miracles," Ironhide murmured whilst walking across the room and ordering everyone in the room to, "Watch him," before he disappeared behind the firing range doors.
Jazz and the twins turned back to watching the holovid, their optics occasionally shifting every breem or so to check on the slumbering youngling. Trailbreaker, Nightbeat, Smokescreen, and Blurr sat at a table not too far off, talking animatedly and drinking their energon cubes. Cloudburst and Seaspray sat at another table only a few paces from the little bot, both deeply engrossed in a game of poker-chips whilst Streetwise and Warpath divided their attention between the game and the holovid.
After a few more breems, Jazz and the twins began to grow disgusted with the melodramatic and increasingly sappy turn of events that were occurring in the movie they were currently watching. The Special Ops Agent scanned the listings and was thrilled by what he saw on one of the stations, excitedly remarking, "I haven't seen this holo in vorns, it's a classic."
"If it ain't got energon and bolts in it, I don't want to watch it, Jazz," growled the ever petulant Sunstreaker.
"It's a horror holo, ya glitch-head," defended Jazz, "O' course, it's got plenty o' energon an' bolts." The lieutenant cast a disbelieving look at the cranky twin, muttering incredulously, "It is called the Orn of the Dead fo' a reason, Sunny."
Sunstreaker's optics narrowed and his internal systems revved, the only thing that stopped him from smacking Jazz good and hard was the sharp elbow that rammed into his chassis. His twin brother gave him a warning glare and pointed ominously towards the shifting youngling. Every mech in the room froze when they heard the quiet clicks of the little bot, the adult mechs holding their breaths before Bumblebee finally appeared to curl himself into a more comfortable position and drift back into a deep recharge.
An audible release of tension resounded throughout the room, none of the mechs desiring to contend with a miserable youngling who had been prematurely awoken from his recharge. The little bot could raise his voice to decibels that Jazz didn't even know existed before he had had to put Bumblebee into recharge once…
Absolutely terrifying experience, to say the least. Jazz could have sworn that he had felt his auditory receptors blow a few circuits that orn. Never again…
"That was close," whispered Sideswipe, his cooling systems trying to calm his nerves and wires down. "Lil' bot's scarier than ol' Megahead when he wakes up early from a recharge."
His fellow Autobots nodded their heads in an affirmative and Sunstreaker grunted, "Just start the holo, slag-head."
Several breems later...
The Autobots watched the horror holo with mounting fascination, completely engrossed in the bloody carnage and terrible horror of the recently dead coming back to life and eating the living. The couches and nearby tables were now crammed with mechs who had just gotten off-shift. Energon cubes littered the tabletops and poker-chips lay discarded on a number of far counters.
Unfortunately, the older mechs were so immersed in the zombie-slaughter on the wide screen that they never noticed the restless shifting of a particular youngling. The tiny bot stared at the crowd of mechs through sleepy optics, slowly rousing from slumber as a result of hearing their loud voices and the high volume of the holovid. His quiet clicks went unheard and his slight movements went unseen, the older mechs' optics glued onto the screen and totally unaware that Bumblebee was watching the exact same bloody carnage they were.
"Poor fool," murmured Warpath, who stood directly to Bumblebee's right, "The funny bot always gets killed at some point. It's like a horror holo rule or something."
"That's because they're always annoying, 'Path," retorted Streetwise, his large frame sitting at the table directly behind Bumblebee, "You're supposed to feel relieved that they get their heads blasted off."
"Or chomped off in this case," Seaspray remarked dryly, his voice not as thrilled as his fellow Autobots. "How very pleasant..."
Bumblebee watched the wide screen with increasing fascination; he was rarely allowed to watch holos with the adult mechs. His recharge time was too early and they always said that the holos were 'far too violent for a little bot and would give him nightmares.' Bumblebee frowned, his optics clearing as he tried to see what was going on on the screen.
He wouldn't get nightmares! He wasn't scared of any holo! Ironhide said they weren't real anyways, so what was there to be scared of?
The sudden sound of a loud, shrill scream echoed from the screen and Bumblebee jumped slightly in surprise. His optics widened at what he saw…
"Told ya she was gonna die!" taunted Sideswipe, elbowing his twin in the side and holding out his hand. "Ya owe me some of that brand name wax of yours, Sunny!"
"Mute it, Sides!" growled Sunstreaker, shoving his brother into Jazz and then being shushed by the others in the room. The psychotic twin grumbled and turned back to the movie with a dark glower.
"Be quiet, the good part's coming!"
Bumblebee watched the holo with wide optics, his tiny frame shuddering when he heard the shrill screams as the zombies bit into numerous people. Some of the people may not have been of the same species as him, but seeing them mauled and mutilated was equally disturbing as the wrecked Cybertronian frames to the little bot. Bumblebee unconsciously pressed himself deeper into the couch, a quiet whimper escaping from his voice capacitor when another woman was assaulted by a staggering zombie.
Bumblebee didn't want to watch this holo anymore. He wanted 'Hide or Optimus or...
Jazz's auditory receptors swiveled on the side of his head, the faint sound of a whimper drifting through his circuits and making its way into his processor. The silver mech slowly turned his head to gaze at the couch to his far left, optics locking with the frightened ones of the youngling. Jazz felt his spark freeze at the sight of the trembling little bot…
The mechs yelled uproariously when the holo was suddenly turned off mid-bloody-zombie-attack-and-annoying-screaming-female-scene, their angry optics turning to glare at the mech who had been foolish enough to turn it off and mentally planning ways to fry his circuits…
Until they saw the reason why Jazz had turned it off.
Jazz ignored everyone else in the room and quietly knelt in front of the terrified youngling, one of his hands soothingly stroking the tiny bot's head. "Aww, Bee..." The youngling immediately leapt into Jazz's arms and cuddled into the larger mech, eager to be held by one of his caretakers. "Come 'ere, lil' buddy."
His fellow Autobots glanced between the little youngling in Jazz's arms and the ominous double doors of the firing range. Bumblebee buried his tiny head into the older mech's shoulder and let out a quiet whimper.
"This isn't going to go over well," remarked Sideswipe, his fellow Autobots fixing him with annoyed glares. "What?!"
Jazz sighed, motioning for Trailbreaker to come over and pick up the little bot before he became too upset. Why did I have to be so stupid? he thought, reluctantly handing the youngling over to the broad-shouldered mech. I was supposed to be watching him! How could I be so slaggin' stupid?!
"'Hide's gonna turn me into scrap-heap when he finds out 'bout this."
The little bot curled into the defensive strategist's warm arms, his young processor plagued with the images of zombies and blood. Guilt swept through everyone in the room, they had all been warned by both Ironhide and Ratchet not to ever let Bumblebee watch gory holos. The hiss of the firing range's doors made the crowd of Autobots cringe and turn to stare at the silhouette of the massive weapons specialist.
Primus, thought Jazz, I hope Ratchet's in a fixing-mood cause this is gonna get ugly.
This is exactly what happened to me when I was three years old and watched the Night of the Living Dead with my older cousins and brother, all of whom forgot I was on the back sofa. Apparently they all thought I was taking my daily nap a little late that evening. To say the least, I was terrified of all zombie and horror movies until I was nine, I thought there was a zombie beneath my bed waiting to get me, and I wouldn't sleep for nearly week. My mum says it was one of the worst parts of my childhood, cause I was screaming and crying almost every night for two weeks straight. Pleasant time. So, Bumblebee's kinda based off of me here, if that's alright. Hope you like the story so far and thank you for reading! Please enjoy!