A loud bang could be heard from one of the Ark’s living quarters. A sound that had become all too familiar to the crew during their long voyage. Quickly, Ratchet and Knockout raced to the source, nearly knocking over at least 3 other bots as their tires left long black tracks along the ship’s floor panels. Usually, Ultra Magnus would have given them an earful for reckless disregard for the rules, but this time, he could tell something must have been seriously wrong. Knockout carelessly almost crashing into people’s legs seemed in character for him, but Ratchet? Magnus quickly followed after the two medics. 

In the residential section of the ship, people were not up and about, looking for what could have made the noise. They already knew. The eerie silence in the hallways was only broken by the sound of speeding engines. 

Ratchet, not even bothering to break, transformed at high speed, causing the old mech to slip over and land on his side. Magnus offered to help him up, but he didn’t even turn to look at him before he jumped up to his feet and began frantically knocking on people’s doors. Knockout didn’t take long to join in the effort. Magnus now knew what had happened, and part of him wanted to transform and drive away right there, but he knew he needed to stay and help.

Ratchet frantically banged on a door, and a bleary-looking seeker answered.

 “Ugh, this better be important, Ratchet.”

 One look at Ratchet’s face and Starscream could already tell. Without saying anything, he closed the door and left Ratchet to do his job. 

 “Ratchet!” Knockout shouted for the other medic. 

 Ultra Magnus saw the scene before Ratchet did. “Dear Primus… No…” he muttered, taking a step back.

 He blocked Ratchet from entering. “You don’t want to see this, Ratchet.”

 “Magnus, get out of my way!” the old medic said.

 “You can’t, Ratchet! It’s…. You can’t see him like this!”

 Ratchet had never seen Magnus look so visibly shaken before. He had known this bot for over a century and rarely saw so much of an eyebrow crease on his face. 

 “Magnus…” He told the larger mech in a calm voice. “Let me do my job.”

 Ultra Magnus reluctantly allowed Ratchet to pass by and witness the horror for himself. The moment he stepped inside, he was hit with the blinding glow of neon pink splattered all over the walls. When he looked down, a red heap of metal lay on the floor, with half his head scattered around the room.

 “No… NO!”

 Ratchet rushed over to the heavily wounded mech. His color was still visible but quickly faded into that all too familiar dull grey that Ratchet was so sick of seeing. 

 “WHY?! PRIMUS, WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE YOU?!”

 Knockout had already left to get more medics, but now a crowd of bots had huddled around the doorway to see who was inside. 

 Magnus attempted to block the view with his large frame, but it didn’t prevent Sideswipe from catching a glimpse.

 “Is that- no…. He didn’t. He fucking DIDN’T.” The young Autobot cried out as he averted his optics from the scene.

 Then, a blue fembot barreled through the crowd and slipped into the room, ducking under Magnus’s legs. The screams from her made Ratchet feel like his spark was being torn out of his chest. 

 “IRIONHIDE!” she screamed out. 

 She shoved Ratchet out of the way and attempted to shake her conjunx awake.

 “HIDE! HIDE! WAKE UP! You can’t do this, WAKE UP!”

 Ratchet tried to pull her away, but Chromia shoved him off. Her blue optics glowed so bright with emotion that her pupils were no longer visible. 

   She pounded her fists against Iornhide’s chest. ”You big idiot! Why didn’t you say something!? Why didn’t you just talk to me!?”

 Magnus, although pained by the sight, needed to step in. He practically had to pry Chromia off Ironhide. She fought a hell of a fight, thrashing and kicking with all her might. But Magnus's strength greatly overpowered her. She eventually resorted to dirty tactics like biting and trying to bend his antennae. This caused Magnus to drop her, but not before Ironhide was taken away by medics. She was able to catch up with them quickly, but this time Ratchet warned her to stay back and let them do their thing unless she wanted her conjunx to die right there. 

 Chromia collapsed and watched as Ironhide disappeared behind the med-bay’s doors. She wanted to go in badly but knew it was a bad choice. Once Magnus caught up, he put aside the sore pain in his antennae and knelt beside her. He put a large hand on her arm, which she returned by falling into his arms and sobbing. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he attempted to soothe her by rubbing her back. He took a mental note to request that Elita One transfer to the Ark immediately. She had been purposely avoiding any vessel that Optimus was currently on, but Magnus knew that she would never allow Chromia to suffer through this ordeal alone. And she would certainly be a much better comfort than Magnus knew how to be. 

 Optimus could have practically teleported there in the operating room with how fast he showed up, which irritated Ratchet. The medical team quickly rushed him out. Optimus, the ever stoic leader, held a strong composure. But the worry in his optics betrayed his efforts to keep it. He was given special permission to wait just outside the operating room. Inevitably, Chromia was also granted this permission.   

 The Prime held Chromia’s hand and tried his best to offer as many words of comfort as possible, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed what he was saying. He was so utterly exhausted from this happening in the fleet so often. Now, one of Optimus’s oldest close friends has done it. Aside from Jazz and Megatron, Ironhide was the only other still-living sparklinghood friend that Optimus had left. Ironhide was family. Chromia was family, too. Optimus’s mask of stoicism might as well have been welded onto his face. He never cried in front of others. Even Elita seldom ever saw the mech shed a tear. But this time, it was almost too much. It took him all of his will to not cry as much as he wanted to. 

 Optimus’s spark felt an ever-so-slight jolt of electricity about two hours in. He knew what that meant. And just as he suspected, barely a moment later, a deep yet effeminate voice rang out through Optimus’s helm. 

 “Where is she?”

 “Elita!” 

 Chromia ran into her best friend’s arms and clung to her for dear life. Elita stroked the top of her helm while her face was buried in her neck. Elita hadn’t yet acknowledged Optimus, and he took this opportunity to slip away and sit in the corner of the room. He was glad that Elita was there to help but still preferred not to look at her or hear her voice for too long. He could already feel his spark begin to painfully tense up.

 Everyone leaped from their seats when they saw Knockout leave the operating room. 

 Chromia spoke to him. “So? Is my big guy okay? Please tell me he is!”

 Knockout scratched the back of his helm. 

 He muttered under his breath before speaking, “Primus, I hate that they make me talk to people.” He cleared out his throat and began reciting what Ratchet had told him. “Er, he’s not doing great, I can tell you that. But he’s not dead…. Not yet, anyway.” 

 Though still highly concerning, the news of Ironhide’s survival made everyone feel like someone had just lifted a Unicron-sized weight off them.    

 Knockout continued, “He unfortunately lost his right optic, but the left one seems intact and responds to light. And it’s going to take a very long time for him to heal from his injuries. I’m… honestly shocked that he managed to miss hitting his brain, but I won’t lie to you, the brain damage is-“

 Knockout scratched the back of his helm again in his discomfort. 

 “I won’t lie to you. It’s bad. Real bad. Ratchet isn’t sure if he will ever be the same again, mentally. Even if he completely heals, there is undoubtedly going to be some degree of extreme disability. He’s likely going to need help just to-“

 Elita One interrupted him. “Thank you, Dr Knockout. I think she’s heard enough.”

 Chromia was inconsolable and sobbing heavily into Elita’s chest as she held her. 

 “Thank Primus they never merged sparks…” Elita One thought silently to herself. 

 Breaking a spark merge without a death involved is already one the most physically, mentally, and emotionally painful things a transformer could live through. If they had been merged and Ironhide couldn’t heal, a merge break in this manner would have likely killed Chromia, too. 

 The three were allowed into recovery to see Ironhide. Chromia gazed down at the hospital bed, saying nothing. The right side of the head was almost destroyed. One would be able to see the dim glow of his heavily damaged brain through the massive gaping wound. Optimus left the room, and Elita had to turn away. Chromia gently caressed what was left of the crest on his helmet. It was at least somewhat of a relief to see the deep red hue of his armor had started to return. 

 “May I please be alone with him?” Chromia asked Elita.

 The larger femme gave a silent nod and left her friend to tend to her injured conjunx. 

 Outside, the crowd had dispersed, yet one little yellow mech remained. He wiped a tear off of his optic before greeting Elita with a warm embrace. Optimus was there, too, sitting down with his head down and his hands covering his face. He had already explained Ironhide’s condition to Bumblebee. 

 Leaning down to the much smaller transformer’s level, Elita welcomed his affection with a barely visible smile. Despite the current situation, smiling for the first time in cycles felt nice. 

 “My little Bee…” She said softly. “It’s so good to see you again.”  

 Bumblebee placed his hands up against Elita’s. Due to the size difference, it was somewhat tricky for him to communicate with her via chirolinguistics. It took him a few moments to explain what had happened to Ironhide since she hadn’t been there for the incident earlier that day. 

 Her optics lit up in horror. “What?! He… He shot himself?!”

 She could feel Bumblebee’s hands shaking in her palms. He tried to speak to her again, but he was beginning to lose his composure. Elita could see more tears roll down his cheek, and she used her finger to wipe them away for him.

 Elita stood up. She began pacing around restlessly. 

 “I can’t take this anymore.” She said. “This cannot keep happening! We’ve lost far too many like this, and now Hide? We need to do something about this, Optimus!”

 She looked at Optimus, sitting in the corner with his head down. 

 “Optimus? Optimus, Hey!”

 He didn’t take notice of her.

 “ORION PAX!”

 The old Prime slowly raised his head to meet her gaze. The grief-stricken look in his optics caused Elita to soften her tone.

“We can’t just let this keep happening, Optimus.”

 Optimus stayed silent for a few more moments before he sighed and finally spoke. “You’re right, Elita. We need to find some way to prevent this from continuing to happen. But-“

 “But, WHAT? We can’t afford to make excuses! There are less than seven  thousand transformers left in this entire Primus-forsaken universe, Optimus! At this rate, there won’t be any of us left by the time we get to Theta-3!”

 “We don’t have enough resources.” Ratchet suddenly butted in.

 Nobody even noticed him exit the medbay. Irionhide’s blood-energeon was still smeared on his chest and torso, and he looked like he had aged about 50 vorns in the time it took to operate on his friend.  

 “We have one overworked licensed therapist on this ship, which has a crew of over 500 fucking people, might I add. And some of the fleet’s ships don’t have a licensed therapist, period. We also can’t afford to keep prescribing medication! We’re running out of the materials we need to make them! We’re even running out of the chemicals we need for anesthetic!” 

 Ratchet’s volume started to rise. “And we need more energon, goddamn it!” 

 The medic slammed a fist against the metal wall,  causing a loud “BANG!” that resonated down the hallway. At this point, Bumblebee silently excused himself.

 Bumblebee, not wanting to be alone, headed towards the lounge instead of his quarters. On the way, he had briefly bumped into Jazz. He didn’t look like his usual energetic and upbeat self. Though his visor covered his optics, his doorwings drooped down, and his body seemed uncharacteristically tense. Despite this, he attempted to keep a friendly tone.

 “Hiya, Bumbles. How ya holdin’ up?”

 Bumblebee gave a half-hearted shrug, but his face told the truth. Jazz leaned down and gave him a gentle stroke on the crest of his helmet with his index and middle fingers. The smaller mech closed his optics and leaned into the comforting touch. A low rumble came from deep in Bumblebee’s chest, a transformer’s way of purring. 

 “I’m so sorry, buddy.” Jazz said. “I feel ya, I feel ya…”

 Jazz let out a pained sigh before standing back up. 

 “Does your brother know what happened yet?” he asked. 

 Bumblebee gave another shrug. He hadn’t seen his brother that entire day. 

 “Dang, well, if I see him, I’ll let him know.” Jazz said. 

 The two friends soon said their goodbyes and parted ways. 

 Once Bumblebee arrived at the lounge, his olfactory sensors were blasted with the pungent scent of pheromones and high-grade oil. 

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

 “Oh god.” Bumblebee thought. “What the hell happened in here last night?”

 “BEEBOOOOY!” a voice shouted out from behind the bar counter. 

 It was Swerve. He had spent all morning cleaning up the trashed lounge. Usually, this was Blurr’s job at the end of his late-night shift, but Swerve still had that usual big goofy smile, regardless. It is evident to Bee that he had no clue of the tragedy that had taken place.

 Bumblebee approached the other small mech. He had to tip-toe his way over trash, broken bottles, passed-out bots, and Primus knows what else. He looked at Swerve and tilted his head to the side in confusion.

 “Oh, yeah, this. Er, I gotta clean up for Blurr because he got a little too into high-grade last night. He gave me his tips, though, so it’s cool. And I don’t think many customers are going to come in today, anyway. The usuals are all-“ He looked across the sea of unconscious frames scattered about the lounge before him. “-a little busy, at the moment.”

 The bartender noticed the dim glow of Bumblebee’s optics.

 “Hey, you okay, buddy? You don’t look so good.” He asked. 

 Bee just gave a slight smile and nod. He didn’t want to be the one to ruin Swerve’s happy mood. 

 “Okay… if you say so, Beeboy,” Swerve said, sounding rather unconvinced. 

 Bumblebee began making his way towards the rec room before Swerve stopped him.

 “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you!” he called out after Bumblebee. “Some vehicons went in there last night and haven’t come out since. Let’s just say I don’t think the pheromone smell is coming from inside this room.”

 Bumblebee’s face twisted into a grossed-out expression, the sight of which caused Swerve to let out a chuckle. 

 “Last night got a bit wild, but I think you might have already noticed.” Said Swerve. “There wasn’t enough high grade left to last for the next few days, so Blurr told everyone in here they could go ahead and knock themselves out with the stuff. Although, I’m not sure he intended for them to take his words as literally as they did, heh.” 

 Swerve stepped out from behind the counter with a broom and started sweeping away trash to make a path between the bar and the door. 

 “Man, I’m so pissed off I didn’t know about the party. Apparently, Blaster tried to message me, but I had passed out on my couch watching TV. Sometimes, I hate being such a heavy sleeper.”

 Bumblebee was glad to hear that Swerve wasn’t woken up by the gunshot. 

 With little else to do, Bumblebee decided to help Swerve clean up the lounge. They went from bot to bot, shaking them awake. Some were out so cold that Bee and Swerve had to physically jump up and down on top of them. And some bots were so out of it that they almost looked like they were in a coma. 

 “Oh, gosh. I hope nobody threw up in here.” Swerve said out loud.

 As it turned out, somebody threw up in there. 

 “Aw, dammit, Seaspray!” Exclaimed Swerve. 

 Seaspray slowly lifted his head from the floor and looked up at Swerve, “S-Sorry…” he mumbled. 

 Swerve stopped for a moment. “Oh, wait, that reminds me! I have the perfect thing for clean-ups like this!”

 Bumblebee curiously observed as Swerve scurried back to the bar counter. He grabbed a large megaphone behind it and yelled, “OKAY, EVERYONE RISE AND SHINE! ANYONE WHO CAN STAND UP, GET THE HELL OUT, PLEASE.” 

 He then turned on the megaphone’s siren for good measure. Before long, the lounge started to sound like one of Wheeljack’s horror movies. The tired groaning and moaning reminded Bee what a horde of spark eaters might sound like. Thankfully, it was just a bunch of drunk idiots, not undead cannibals. 

 Almost everyone left, save for the few who were out cold.

 “Eh, we can leave them there for now.” Said Swerve. “They’ll get up eventually. That high grade was some strong stuff, so they’ll probably be out for most of the day. Just try moving the ones on the floor to the couches.”

 Bumblebee and Swerve were both pretty small and moving the dead-weight bigger bots proved harder than they thought. They ended up having to drag most of them across the floor. Bee did not find the screeching metal-on-metal scraping sound of bodies being dragged across the floor to be very pleasant. 

 “I’ll give you half my shift’s pay, Bee. I really appreciate you helping me out here.” Swerve said to Bumblebee.

 Bumblebee felt bad for taking some of his pay, but he couldn’t really communicate that through body language, and his hands were already full of drunk people. So, he just nodded and smiled. 

 The last one they had to dump on a couch was Eject. He was a teeny tiny bot, making it easy for Bee to pick him up and flop him onto the couch. But then, something caught the yellow mech’s optic. Next to where Bumblebee had placed Eject, there was this pile of what looked like maybe 4 or 5 bots who were already passed out on the couch before Swerve had clocked in. Bumblebee recognized all of them. He was good friends with them, but they were a lot closer to-

 “OF COURSE you would be here!” Bumblebee thought.

 He could recognize that yellow spoiler anywhere. It was barely sticking out from under the pile. He had to wake him up. He couldn’t be just passed out in there all day, not knowing what happened. 

 First, he pulled off Sunstreaker from the top of the pile. His body hit the ground with a loud metal “CLANK!”.

 “Sorry, Sunny!” He thought. 

 Swerve questioned his actions. “What are you doing, Bee?” 

 Bumblebee momentarily stopped what he was doing and walked over to Swerve. He held his palms out. Swerve, knowing what this meant, placed his hands against Bee’s.

 “There’s a certain dumbass I need to talk to, and he’s under that pile.”

 “Ah,” Swerve said in acknowledgment. “Need any help?”

 Bumblebee shook his head. “I think I should be the one to do this. I need to talk to him about a family-related issue.”

 Swerve nodded. He tanked Bumblebee for helping him with the cleanup and got back to work. Meanwhile, Bumblebee was occupied with dragging Moonracer off from on top of Inferno. They were in an…. exciting position. Bee didn’t even see Hotshot initially, and even Wheelie somehow got buried in the pile, too. His suspicions were confirmed when he got to Drift, who was snoozing away while straddling his conjunx’s lap.  

 Bumblebee gently pushed Drift to the side so he could lay out on the couch instead of on the ground with Sunstreaker. He walked up to the one person left on the couch—his brother.

 He tapped Hot Rod on the helm a few times. He then moved on to aggressively trying to shake him awake. When that didn’t work, he kicked him in the leg, which made him fall to his side, directly on top of Drift. Bumblebee rolled his optics and threw his hands up in the air out of frustration. 

 Swerve chimed in from the bar. “Maybe you should just let him sleep it off and talk to him later?” 

 Bumblebee shook his head. He needed to get Hot Rod to wake up, somehow. He rubbed his chin, thinking of what his next move should be.

 Swerve chimed in again. “Bee! The megaphone!”

 Bee smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. 

 Swerve rushed over to him with the megaphone.

 “Allow me to do the honors yet again?”

 Bumblebee shook his head and took the megaphone from Swerve. He held it up directly to Hot Rod’s face, leaned in as close as possible, cleared his throat, and then let out an awful, high-pitched static sound. Swerve had to cover his audio processors. 

 “DUHWAAA!! WHA????”

 Hot Rod’s optics shot open. He tried to get up but stumbled and landed face-first on the ground. 

 “B-Bee! What the hell, man?!”

Drift slowly opened one optic, slightly lifted his helm, and looked up at Bee. 

 “mhm. Bomplebeeb” 

 Then, he went right back to sleep. 

 Hot Rod rubbed his temple.

 “Ugh… My head feels like Unicron chewed on it.”

 He tried to stand up again, using the couch as a support. He unsheathed his battle mask to shield his optics from the light. 

 He noticed Drift and others. “Oh, Shit! are they good?”

 “Yea, just let 'em’ sleep it off.” Assured Swerve. “Oh, and, uh, Bee wanted to tell you something.”

 The reminder of what he was there for caused Bumblebee’s horns and doorwings to involuntarily droop down. Swerve took notice.

 “Ah, I take it that you’d prefer to talk about this privately.” 

 Bumblebee gave a slow nod, and Swerve went back to the bar. But not before thanking Bumblebee for the help once again.

 Hot Rod looked down at his brother.

 “Uh oh. Am I in trouble?”

 Bumblebee took him by the hand and pulled him towards the lounge’s exit.

 “Oh, oh. Look, I SWEAR that seat inside of Magnus’s alt mode was already broken when I went in there!”

 Bumblebee turned to look at him with a very puzzled expression but then quickly chose to brush it off and keep going.

 “Wait! I forgot something!”

 Bumblebee let out a silent sigh.

 Hot Rod wobbled over to where Drift was lying, then bent down and kissed him on the forehead. 

 “I’ll see you later, babe. Sweet dreams.” Hot Rod whispered to him in a sultry tone. 

 Bumblebee tugged on his arm.

 “Okay, Okay! I’m coming!”

 Bumblebee had to help Hot Rod keep his balance while walking, which wasn’t very easy considering their significant size difference. Bee inevitably got tired of carrying his brother’s weight, so he just let him sit down in the hallway. At least now they were at eye-level with each other.

 “Dude, what is going on? That was a real dick move you pulled back there! Gah! My head is pounding!” Hot Rod said, rubbing his temples.

 Bumblebee grabbed Hot Rod’s hands and placed their palms together. “Irionhide almost died last night.”

 “Wait, wait, wait—WHAT?! I just saw him yesterday! Is he okay?!”

 The look on Bumblebee’s face told him everything he needed to know..

 “Oh no…”

 He could feel his brother’s hands start to tremble. “He shot himself in the-“

 Hot Rod yanked his hands away, the words hitting him like a punch to the face.

 Frequent suicides have been a problem in the fleet for a while now. Over the years, Hot Rod met a lot of people. Made a lot of close friends. He knew that, at some point, someone he knew personally might do it. But he had constantly shoved that thought far into the back of his mind. He never imagined that Ironhide, who practically helped raise him, would do such a thing.

 Hot Rod’s ventilation quickened and his sparkbeat rose. “But… He- He’s okay now, right?”

 Bumblebee’s dimly-lit optics looked into Hot Rod’s. The look of grief in them was almost too much for Hot Rod to bear. 

Then, Bumblebee pulled him closer in a comforting embrace. Hot Rod hugged him back tightly. He could hear the small autobot’s frame shaking. Being unable to vocalize properly, his cries sounded like a toy whose batteries were running out. It was warped and choppy but still filled with sorrow. It didn’t take long for Hot Rod to lose composure as well, not being able to contain the flood of emotions as buried his face into Bee’s shoulder. He had already lost many comrades in the war, but this hit harder than all of them. Ironhide was more than just a fellow Autobot, he was family. He helped take care of he and his brother as a sparklings, taught him how to use a gun, helped train him to fight, and gave him some much needed stability while growing up in a world that was quite literally falling apart.

    “Why… why would he-“ Hot Rod whispered, his voice breaking. “Why would he do something like that?”

   Bumblebee pulled back slightly, still firmly gripping his brother’s arms. He touched foreheads with him, which was a common act of comfort and affection between Transformers. The small yellow Autobot may have been unable to speak with words, but his pain was palpable. 

    “Why didn’t I see it Bee? Why didn’t I do something?”

   Bumblebee shook his head rapidly and hugged his brother tightly. 

    “I know you’re trying to tell me it’s not my fault, but… Man, I could have hung out with him more often or… Or SOMETHING.”

    Hot Rod sank back against the wall. He stared at the ground, trying in vain to think of solutions. His mind   was a tangle of regret, sorrow, and fear. 

          Hot Rod began rubbing his hands across his face.

    “Dammit, Bee,” He muttered. “I should’ve able to notice something was wrong!” 

     Bee pulled back and shook his head again. It wasn’t Hot Rod’s fault and Bumblebee wanted desperately for him to realize that. Itonhide had been fighting more than just decepticons all this time. He had his own personal battles that he refused to let anyone help him fight. Not even his own Conjunx Endura knew about the other war going on in her partner’s mind. 

     After a long silence, Bumblebee took one of his brother’s hands and held it tightly with both of his. All he could do was show his brother that he was there, and that both of them would face this together. 

      Bumblebee and Hot Rod did not split from the same spark, but their bond still ran deep. They were born in violence and chaos. The day the well collapsed into rubble. The first thing Hot Rod ever saw of the outside world was a war-torn battlefield. He had pulled Bumblebee—Tiny and defenseless—out of the rubble and saved his life. For days, they ran around and played with other innocently unaware survivors amongst a field of death and destruction. But it didn’t take long for them to start starving. When an autobot search and rescue team found them, the sparklings were in a weakened state. They were frightened by the adults, but most were too weak to run very far.

    Bumblebee was terrified. Never having seen an adult before, and being roughly around the size of a stuffed toy, all the tiny bot could see were large hands reaching down to pick up his friends like they were inside a nightmarish crane game machine. Hot Rod fearlessly defended Bee. Clinging onto the little newspark, he ran from, bit, and kicked at any of the adults trying to rescue them. When they hid in a narrow crevice, the adults struggled to reach them. This is when Hot Rod learned his first ability; shooting fire from his arms. The force of the blast was very weak, but enough to singe some fingertips. Eventually, the adults went away and Hot Rod thought it might be safe to come out. Bumblebee, however, was still terrified and clinging onto Hot Rod so tightly that it was starting to hurt. He had his optics shut tight and his face buried into Hot Rod’s shoulder. They stayed in the crevice together until a new adult approached. Hot Rod bagan to charge his fire again, but the new bot didn’t attempt to grab them.

   The sound of a fembot’s deep, yet soothing voice broke through the fear.  “It’s okay little ones, you’re safe.”

    Bumblebee hesitantly opened one optic and turned his head towards the sound. 

    “Oh my, there’s two of you! I thought you were holding a toy.” The fembot chuckled softly. 

    The fembot slowly reached in her hand, which caused Hot Rod to inch back as far as he could. But she didn’t touch them. She only held out her hand and said, “Come on, we’ll take care of you. You don’t have to be afraid.” Her eyes softened with worry. “You poor things must be starving.” 

    Bumblebee’s fuel processor clicked with hunger as looked at her hand. Slowly, released his grip on Hot Rod. He cautiously approached the hand. When he saw that nothing bad happened when he touched it, his instincts finally kicked in and he climbed on board. Seeing the much smaller and more vulnerable bot being unafraid of this stranger eased Hot Rod’s fears as well. He too soon grasped onto a finger before both of them were lifted to meet the fembot’s kind blue optics.

     “Finally! I was gettin’ real worried we wouldn’t be able to get that last kid. Thanks, Elita!” A large mech said as he approached.

     “There’s two of them, Ironhide. What a lovely surprise this is!”

      Again, instinct took over and Elita opened her chest to allow the two sparklings to climb inside. Her nursery chamber was warm and padded with soft alloy that gave the two sparklings a comfort they had never known. 

    Ironhide approached closer, his face lighting up with glee. “Well, rust my gears! There really are two of em’! That yellow one sure is tiny, ain’t ya, little feller?”

     The large red mech’s enthusiasm made Bumblebee, overwhelmed by the attention, sank down into the warmth of Elita’s nursery chamber.

    “Sorry! Didn’t mean to give you a scare!” Ironhide said, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

     Hot Rod noticed some movement coming from Ironhide’s chest and saw several of his friends pop their little heads out to look at him. A pink and white little sparkling mech, that would grow up to become Arcee, happily waved his little hand at them. They were safe, and Hot Rod had nothing to worry about anymore. 

      Hot Rod and Bumblebee were soon taken back to the Autobot base. And they had been together through everything ever since. And whatever Ironhide’s fate was, Bumblebee was determined to stick together with his brother and get through it together.

   In the Ark’s medbay, that atmosphere remained  bleak. Ironhide was moved to a hospital bed, but then had to be rushed back into surgery within an hour after destabilizing. By the time Ratchet was able to fix Ironhide, or what was left of him, again he was so tired that he was about ready to pass out on one of the operating tables, still covered in energon. Despite this, Ratchet refused to leave Irionhide’s side.

        “Ratchet, go rest.” Optimus said firmly. “You've Done all you can.” 

     “But Prime!” Ratchet tried to protest. 

      “That’s an order, soldier.” 

      Ratched sighed and bowed his helm. “Yes sir.” 

       Ratchet reluctantly left, frame still covered in bright pink smears.

        Chromia wasn’t fairing much better. Since Ironhide’s second emergency operation, all she had been doing was sitting in the waiting room, not doing or saying anything. She didn’t feel happy or sad, just numb. 

     “Come on, Chromia. Let’s go home for now. You look exhausted.” Elita suggested, deeply concerned for her friend. 

      “Alright…” Chromia replied softly. She allowed herself to be guided out. 

      The room grew silent. Optimus was the last bot remaining in there. He hadn’t seen Irionhide since before his latest surgery, and scolded himself for being too cowardly to face his friend’s condition. Nevertheless, he forced himself to see him. To Optimus’s surprise, Iornhidelooked better than before. He was still in very rough shape, but at least now the exposed part of his head wound had a temporary protective metal plating framing screwed onto the area. A small relief in an otherwise grim situation.

     Optimus gently held Irionhide’s limp hand and rubbed it with his fingers, as if to give some kind of comfort to the unconscious autobot.

     “Hey buddy.” Optimus said quietly. 

     The only thing to break the medbay’s eerie silence were the beeps and hums of the machines keeping Ironhide alive. It pained Optimus deeply to see his friend in this state. Irionhide was a strong, indomitable bot. He was tough as nails and only exposed his soft interior to those he trusted most. 

   Optimus tightened his grip around his friend’s hand, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t even really certain if Ironhide could hear anything or if he would even understand anyone if he did, for that matter. Optimus had known the mech ever since he was very young and had fought countless battles by his side. Now, the mech who once stood tall and proud was a far cry from the warrior he once was. Deep down, Optimus couldn’t help but feel like he could have done something to prevent this. He could have been more observant of the warning signs, spent more time with him on the ship. or maybe even convince him to open up to Optimus or Chromia about his struggles. 

    “I failed you, my friend. I’m sorry.”

   He knew what Ironhide would probably say

   “Just another battle scar, Prime. Barely even hurts. Quit worrying about me so much, ya rusty old screw!”

   But it wasn’t just a battle scar. It never was. The war had deeply affected the warrior in ways that no one saw, and that even he likely didn’t realize either. 

    “I’ll help you, I promise. We’ll all help you.”

    Being completely helpless, in that moment,  to do anything to ease his friend’s pain greatly frustrated Optimus. But he couldn’t lose faith that Ironhide would recover. Optimus just needed to be patient. It was one of the only things he could do for him. Wait, and hope.