Disclaimer : Transformers is owned by HasTak, or whatever they're calling themselves these days.

Credits : In this story I will be referencing Bumblebee's origins as developed by Karategal in her stories, as well as the destruction of the Youth Sectors, coined as 'Floatila' by Lady Tecuma in 'Sparks and Plasma'. I will also be using the concept of 'carrying' as developed by Litahatchee in her story 'Night Fire', as well as referencing her depiction of the Floatilla Massacre. These ideas are used with permission. If you wish to use them, do not ask me. You must obtain permission from these authors. That said, I reccommend that you read each and every story mentioned here, especially if you're a fan of Ironhide/Chromia, sparklings in general, or Bumblebee.

File Recovery

Chapter One - Awake

His optics felt strange, like they had somehow readjusted themselves when he wasn't paying attention. This was the first thought that rose up as his processor rebooted and he tried to bring his visual centers online. It was the only thought that soaked into his mind before every sensor in his body started to scream in pain. Several sub-systems immediately shut down again, though not quickly enough to stem the harsh shriek that broke through his vocalizer. His body reacted subconsciously, back arching upwards, limbs convulsing, but he found himself restrained, weighty straps holding him against a cold surface.

It was then that he realized that two of his limbs were missing, the sensors where they had attached having been the first to have gone numb.

Then the world reasserted itself in a blinding fashion, bright lights shining down over his unfocused optics. He recognized the glare as the type used in medical facilities, which explained where he was but not how he had gotten there. He blinked, turning his head away from the light to try and focus on something, anything else but everything was blurred.

"He's awake!"

The shout sounded distant yet close. It was followed shortly by other voices, hurriedly speaking, all with the same muffled quality. It appeared that his audio sensors were also malfunctioning. There was movement around him. He caught a flicker of reflective green as it passed in front of his blurred gaze, and then suddenly more weight than the straps was pressing him into the table.

He made a conscious effort to stop moving, having realized that he had still been thrashing about uncontrollably. He turned his head, trying to see who was holding him down. His optics, still unfocused, found only the nearest splashes of color. An arm, pushing down on his chest, blue and red intermixed.

His brother.

He relaxed, though the pain still raged in his systems, finding some small comfort in the thought that at the very least the one mech he trusted over any other was there. He sought out his brother through their bond but found it difficult, as if they had been closed off from each other for an extended amount of time. This confusion was only compounded upon by the surprise and suspicion his brother's spark threw back at him the moment the connection between them was re-established. It was accompanied by a powerful, underlying anger.

Anger that, for the most part, was aimed directly at him.

He recoiled from the connection, too stunned to prevent it from closing again. Squirming, he struggled to gain control of his vocalizer, pain lancing through him as he attempted to use it. He forced himself to ignore it, focusing his optics as best he could on his brother's armor.

"O—Op—Opti—mus," he managed to choke out, pausing in surprise at the sound of his own voice. It was coarse and somewhat deeper than it should have been. Maybe it was his injury, causing this difference, but a nagging horrible feeling at the back of his processor said, no, this was not the case. He saw the sharp blue of his brother's optics turn to him, burning with the same restrained anger he'd felt trying to contact his spark. He felt an unfamiliar terror well up to join the confusion already running rampant in his CPU. "Wha—what...what did I do?"

Surprise replaced the anger in Optimus's gaze for a moment, but it faded a second later as he quickly looked away.

Shuddering, he felt the cold prickle of something being injected into one of the main energon lines in his neck. He turned, the reflective green armor again within the blurred range of his vision. He couldn't recall ever having met someone with that particular paint scheme let alone a medic. He felt the pain start to lessen somewhat and the haze of a sedative start to invade his processor. He fought against it, whipping his head back towards his brother again.

"No, wait...tell me—tell me, please, what did I do? What did I do!? Why...why..."

He trailed off, no longer able to put the energy into resisting the sedative. Darkness flooded his processor, systems shutting down again one by one, until nothing was left but the void of a forced recharge.