Chapter Text
---------
The medbay lights were low.
Not dark—but dimmed just enough to be gentle. Warm. Knockout had to tone it down. Too much glare, he’d claimed. Totally for aesthetic reasons.
Not because Bee looked like he might implode.
Bee sat on one of the platforms on the back — quiet, slouched, still processing.
Knockout paced nearby, typing something into a datapad with deliberate force. He didn’t say anything. Not yet.
Until—
Thunk.
A large, vaguely lumpy object hit Bee in the chest.
He jolted.
“Wha—what the—” He looked down.
It was... a cushion.
A massive, overly plush, definitely not-Cybertronian square cushion. Slightly worn. Faded pink.
Bee stared at it.
Then at Knockout.
“You… I thought you were joking,” he said, stunned.
Knockout, without looking up, replied, “I stole it from a human apartment during a recon. Don’t ask me why they had ten of them. I kept one.”
Bee blinked again, slowly. “It’s… so big.”
“They normally call it a ‘pillow’. Such a weird name.”
Bee looked back down at it in pure suspicion. “Why... this one is so puffy?”
Knockout finally turned to face him, arms crossed. “You can now aggressively pretend you’re not frustrated about your feelings. That’s what it’s for.”
Bee slowly looked at him, wide optics.
Looked back at the pillow.
Then—before Knockout could deliver another sarcastic comment—
Bee gently hugged it.
Like, full-on hugged it.
Arms wrapped tight around the ridiculous cushion, chin tucked in slightly, optics wide and blinking like someone had just handed him a cat.
“...How is this so soft?” Bee muttered, resting his helm on it.
Knockout blinked.
Stared.
“That… was not what I expected.”
Bee didn’t respond. He was still gripping the cushion like it might escape.
Knockout slowly walked over, peering down at him. “Are you imprinting on it? Is this a problem now?”
Bee, muffled by the fluff, whispered, “I’m not letting this go.”
Knockout threw his claws up. “Fantastic. Great. You break every simulation on the ship, traumatize Starscream, get 'complimented' by Megatron, and now you’ve emotionally bonded with a pillow.”
“I didn’t break every simulation,” Bee muttered.
“You broke Megatron’s. I count that as every.”
“…Not fully.”
Knockout shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I’m adding this to your file. ‘Patient responds well to excessive fluff and unauthorized Earth textiles.’ It will look great near your kill counter.”
Bee just closed his optics and hugged tighter, his vents finally beginning to slow.
A few kliks have passed. Maybe even more.
Knockout stared.
Arms crossed. Optics narrowed.
Silent.
And Bee was still curled around the oversized pink cushion like a cat who’d just discovered a sunbeam and dared anyone to move him.
He wasn’t shaking anymore. Wasn’t muttering. Just… still. Holding it close.
Knockout tilted his helm.
“How,” he muttered out loud, “does someone so violently allergic to physical contact become best friends with a pillow?”
Bee didn’t answer. Might not have heard him. He had that look—like he wasn’t all the way here.
Knockout stepped closer, quietly.
He’d seen Bee flinch when someone touched his shoulder. Seen him throw elbows when a Vehicon brushed past. Seen him freeze when Breakdown clapped him on the back, like he was bracing for—
Oh.
Knockout’s expression shifted.
Slightly.
He studied Bee more closely now.
The way he hugged the pillow wasn’t performative. Wasn’t for effect. It wasn’t even comfort, not exactly.
It was need.
Desperate. Quiet. Confused.
Not affection. Not indulgence.
A kind of sensory grounding.
He needed to feel something soft, safe and close—but didn’t know how to ask for it. Maybe didn’t even know why he needed it.
And of course he didn’t.
Because when you live long enough in fear of touch, afraid every brush will burn, break or betray you—softness becomes alien.
And when you finally find it?
You latch on like it’s the first breath you’ve taken in megacycles.
Knockout sighed softly.
Bee’s optics cracked open.
He looked up, only a little, still half buried in fluff.
“...What?” he asked, quiet. Not defensive. Just tired.
Knockout shook his head, gentle for once.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just… decoding a paradox.”
Bee blinked in confusion.
“I mean, I get it now,” Knockout added, dropping onto the platform nearby. “You push everyone away. Bristle at contact. Flinch like we’re going to strike. But you’ll cling to a cushion like it’s your spark casing.”
Bee didn’t say anything.
Knockout leaned back on his palms. “It’s not that you hate touch. You just… don’t trust it.”
Bee’s field flickered. Subtle. Guilty.
Knockout continued, quieter now.
“You don’t know what to do with softness. You don’t believe it. But your frame still remembers needing it.”
Bee’s servo curled a little tighter around the pillow.
He didn’t deny it.
Didn’t growl or deflect.
He just looked away.
Knockout gave a small smile.
“Guess even war-forged mechs still need something warm to fall into sometimes.”
Bee muttered something unhearable into the cushion.
“What was that?” Knockout asked.
Bee’s voice was muffled. “...I hate how right you are.”
Knockout smirked. “You’ll live.”
A beat.
Then—
“It’s not that I don’t want it. Sometimes I want it so bad it hurts. But every time someone’s touched me, it felt like—like a test. Like I have to brace for something.”
Knockout’s expression shifted. Just a little.
Bee kept going. “Even when it’s not meant that way. Even if it’s gentle. My system just... panics. Like it’s wired wrong. I get cold. Tight. Everything locks up.”
Knockout tilted his helm, voice soft but not pitying. “How long’s it been that way?”
Bee was silent for a long time. "It's complicated."
Knockout’s jaw tightened—just for a moment.
“...I thought maybe it’d get better,” Bee continued. “After I finally got out. But it didn’t. And I kept thinking if I trained harder, fought harder, maybe I could just... override it or outrun it.”
“And?” Knockout asked.
Bee buried his face in the pillow for a second.
Then answered, muffled: “I’m still hugging a giant cushion like a sparkli—”
“Like a mech who desperately needed one and never had the chance,” Knockout interrupted gently.
Bee blinked.
Didn’t respond.
Knockout sighed and stood slowly, crossing the room, stopping just beside the berth.
He didn’t touch him. Just knelt down to Bee’s optic level. Quiet. Present.
“You’re not wired wrong, Shades,” he said. “You’re wired defensively. Because somewhere along the way, your system learned that touch meant pain. Or betrayal. Or loss. And it did what it had to do: it adapted.”
Bee’s optics flicked toward him. Wide. Unsure.
“Half the time, I don’t even know if I’m scared of getting hurt or scared of hurting someone. But how do you...?”
Knockout offered a tiny, sardonic smile. “You know, as much as I love being flawless, I do actually read psych journals when I’m patching people up. Occasionally. Accidentally.”
Bee laughed. It was small. Fragile. But real.
Knockout stood again, brushing invisible dust from his thigh plates.
“No rush,” Knockout added, tone light again. “We’ll work on it. If the pillow lets you.”
Bee stared at it. Then nodded solemnly. “I think we’re bonding.”
“Terrifying,” Knockout deadpanned. “If it develops sentience, I’m kicking both of you out.”
Knockout reached a claw in front of him mid-air. "Come on," he said warmly. "Try touching me. And you'll see for yourself that nothing bad will happen."
Bee looked at him hesitant, optics flickering.
Knockout smirked. "Don't worry. You're not dangerous."
Bee gave him a look like he didn't believe him. But his servo hovered mid-air anyway. His EM field brushed over Knockout’s in quiet panic, then quickly closed onto itself. Those few nanoseconds felt like forever to him. But he reached, delicately as if he was scared of himself.
And he gripped. Slightly embarrassed by the whole situation.
Knockout laughed shortly. "Touch is not something to be ashamed of."
Bee averted his gaze, his cheeks faintly blushing in blue. "...But it feels like burning."
Knockout tilted his helm lazily, smiled softly. "Small steps."
-----
It started, as most catastrophes did, with Starscream being nosy.
He wasn’t snooping, obviously. He was merely passing through the medbay corridor on official Second-in-Command business. Not that he was keeping tabs. Or counting how many megaklicks Shadestrike had spent in there after 'the accident'.
Definitely not that.
He just had concerns.
Valid. Tactical. Professional.
So naturally, when he reached the medbay doors and they slid open—
"Knockout, my left wing joint lubricant needs—"
He stopped.
Mid-step.
Mid-word.
Mid-everything.
Because on the platform near the back wall sat Shadestrike. Calm. Quiet.
And beside him—Knockout.
Not arguing. Not throwing datapads.
And between them?
Their servos.
Touching.
Not clasped. Not dramatic.
Just resting. Quiet. Casual.
Soft.
Starscream stared.
He didn’t speak. Not yet. His processor needed to buffer.
Knockout was the first to look up.
He blinked. “Oh. Screamer.”
Shadestrike immediately pulled his servo back like he'd been burned.
Knockout rolled his optics. “Really? We were making progress.”
Starscream took one slow step into the room.
Then another.
Then raised a claw and pointed between them.
“WHAT,” he demanded, “is this?!”
Shadestrike blinked startled. “...Touch?”
“TOUCH?!” Starscream shrieked. “You—you don’t touch anyone! You threaten to offline anyone who so much as breathes too close to you!”
Knockout muttered, “Well, if he breathes aesthetically—”
“And you!” Starscream spun to Knockout. “You once filed a formal complaint because Breakdown leaned against your shoulder for too long!”
“You clearly not know what a joke—”
“You—touched!” Starscream jabbed a claw at both of them, eyes wide with betrayal. “Are you bonding?! Are you fragging enduras?! What is this?”
Bee opened his intake. “I—”
“No,” Knockout said dryly. “We’re not—whatever you just said. I gave him a pillow and now he’s trying to work through years of tactile trauma. Kindly get a grip.”
Starscream flailed his arms. “YOU GAVE HIM A PILLOW?!”
Bee, flustered, glanced between them. “It’s not a weird thing! It’s a—normal—pillow!”
“That doesn’t make it less suspicious!”
Knockout stepped in, entirely unimpressed. “Do you want to take this up with HR, or are you going to keep shrieking in the doorway like a bitter ex?”
Starscream narrowed his optics.
“...I will be watching you.”
“Feel free,” Knockout deadpanned. “I’ll even hold his servo again just to spite you.”
"Unvelievable." Starscream made a strangled noise and stormed out of the medbay.
The doors hissed shut behind him.
Bee sat there, optics wide, terrified.
Then looked slowly at Knockout.
“...Was that a threat or an offer?”
Knockout smirked. “Yes.
______________
Megatron stood at the command console, reviewing deep-field resource projections. His vents were low, controlled. He hadn’t slept in a full cycle, but his focus hadn’t wavered.
Until—
Soundwave appeared beside him, silent as shadow.
The Warlord didn’t look up.
“Report,” he ordered.
Soundwave’s visor flickered.
> : File transmission: SUBJECT – Starscream :
: Sub-header: Unauthorized manipulation of unit: Shadestrike :
Megatron’s gaze sharpened.
The screen shifted.
Footage. Logs. Comm intercepts. Recorded moments.
Starscream, subtly needling Shadestrike into a confrontation with Airachnid. Quiet implications. Dangerous suggestions.
A phrase:: "Well then, Shadestrike—since you’re so in control—why don’t you prove it?" :
: "What’s wrong? Afraid she’ll push you?" :
Another: :"Since you’re so eager to know—yes, I was hoping you’d deal with Airachnid. But clearly, Megatron’s leash is tighter than I thought." :
Megatron’s jaw tightened.
“Clearly, Starscream is more foolish than I thought,” he huffed.
Soundwave’s screen blinked again.
> : File transmission: SECONDARY VIOLATION :
: Resource siphoning: Energon MINES – Sector 14, Subgrid 9 :
: Unauthorized withholding confirmed. Timeline: 3.4 cycles :
: Recipient: Starscream. :
Silence.
Dead, cold silence.
Megatron slowly turned to face the full report. Optics glowing faintly.
“Interesting.”
No response. Soundwave stood motionless.
Megatron’s voice dropped, quiet as a weapon being drawn.
“He lied. He manipulated a soldier under my command. And he stole from the very mines we bled to claim.”
He stepped away from the console.
One claw flexed. Then clenched into a fist.
Soundwave remained still. Watching.
“I have forgiven failure,” Megatron said softly. “I have tolerated ambition. But this—”
He turned sharply with deadly glare.
“This is treachery.”
-----
Ping.
Bee checked lazily. As always.
Megatron?
> [Megatron]: This is merely a precaution. If I do not return within three megaklicks, verify my last known coordinates. :
Bee blinked once.
Then sat upright, helm tilting slightly, like a predator sensing a shift in pressure. His optics narrowed.
He typed back.
> : What are you about to do? :
The response came quickly. Too quickly.
> [Megatron]: Attend to a matter long overdue. :
His field jolted.
Knockout looked up from the diagnostics station. “What is it?”
Bee didn’t answer.
He was already moving.
Knockout scowled and followed. "Shadestrike!”
----
They stormed the corridor.
“Would you slow down and talk to me?” Knockout snapped, jogging to keep up.
Bee didn’t even glance back.
“I’m not playing the guessing game, Shades. Not again.”
Still no answer.
Knockout’s vents flared. “You know something. I can feel it in your damn field.”
They turned the corner—Soundwave stood at the data core, silent as ever.
Shadestrike didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the space like a shadow.
“Megatron messaged me."
Knockout’s optics flared. “Excuse me?”
Shadestrike kept going. “Told me to check in if he doesn’t come back."
Soundwave said nothing—but his visor flickered.
The screen lit up with a single phrase:
> : Not your battle. :
Knockout stepped up beside Bee, folding his arms. “Starscream’s with him, isn’t he?”
Silence.
Bee stared hard at the console, his optics flickering. He didn’t need confirmation.
No groundbridge. No detail. No witnesses.
Only a time limit.
Only three megaklicks.
His jaw tightened. “He’s going to finish something.”
Knockout scoffed. “Please. Megatron doesn’t ‘finish’ things. He ends them.”
He ran the numbers in his head. Optics darting. Processing. The phrasing. The timeline.
Then it clicked—sharper than any blade.
The collapse of the energon mine.
In his timeline everyone made it. But what if in that one they wouldn't?
He turned back to Soundwave.
“I’m not going to interfere,” Bee said. “I’ll just make sure there aren’t... complications.”
A long pause.
Then Soundwave responded, slowly:
> : One condition. :
Bee nodded. “I don’t interfere in the punishment.”
> : No allies. You go alone. :
Knockout barked turning to Bee, “Absolutely fragging not.”
Bee ignored him and nodded. “Understood.”
Bee stepped toward the forming bridge. The vortex spun open.
Knockout grabbed his arm. “You’re not just walking into whatever this is alone!”
“I’ll explain later,” Bee muttered.
“Not good enough!”
Bee tugged his arm free. “Then you’ll have to wait.”
Knockout’s expression twisted in disbelief. "Don't you dare."
Bee was already at the threshold. Then turned back, walking backward into the glow.
“Oh yeah?,” he said smirking. “Watch me.”
And with that, he disappeared into the portal.
Knockout only stared after offended. Then after a while of silence scoffed.
"...Glitch."
______
Bee arrived first at the place.
Soundwave’s coordinates had been close, but not precise. He had to drive a few kliks out—silent tires slicing through dry dust, distant cliffs looming like teeth on the horizon.
He didn’t mind.
Being early gave him options.
He hid near a ridge overlooking the cave. Not too close—not stupid—but close enough for surveillance. His frame crouched low behind craggy boulders, one pede braced, optics narrowed.
That’s when he saw them.
The Autobots.
Bulkhead, Arcee, Jack and Miko. Their voices echoed faintly—muffled, distorted by stone and distance.
Then moved toward the cave. Well, Miko ran off and they went after her.
And then—
Jet engines.
Thunderous.
Bee had to press a servo to his intake to muffle the bark of laughter threatening to escape. His vents shook from trying to hold it in.
Megatron and Starscream. They landed just a nanoseconds after the Autobots entered the cave.
“Oh—you were this close to walking into Arcee,” he muttered under his breath, nearly vibrating with suppressed cackling. “This is fragging gold. Why didn’t anyone in my timeline know about this?”
He tried to ex-vent quietly, shaking with the effort of holding it in.
Still hunched low, Bee leaned against the stone and dialed up his audials for precision tuning. His hearing expanded, like the world inhaling around him.
One of the perks of being a scout.
"Lord Megatron. Far be it for me to question your intentions," Starscream began, the tremor in his voice almost obvious. "But I do not understand why we've returned here after all this time. Alone."
Megatron briefly looked at Starscream. Then moved towards the cave.
Starscream nervously trailed behind him. "Every last trace of Energon was extracted from this mine. There's nothing left."
Another silence.
Megatron finally turned, tone sharp and calm. "Indulge me, Starscream. Won't you?"
Starscream hesitated. But stepped forward.
Bee frowned, glancing at the cave entrance. He wasn’t going in. The collapse would happen soon.
He knew it.
So he stayed out of the kill zone, optics tracking every movement.
And a few moments later—
Rumbling.
Bee’s optics widened. The ground started shaking.
“Maybe I should’ve stood further,” he muttered to himself.
Then mockingly added, “No, really?”
He transformed instantly and peeled back from the ridge, tires screeching softly against the rocky ground. A moment later—
CRASH.
The mine imploded. The shockwave shook the very stones. Debris roared, air cracked, dust flew. Bee braced behind a rock as jagged rubble exploded outward from the collapse.
Silence.
Then—
He walked out slowly, stepping towards the shattered entrance.
----
Starscream crawled out of the dust and ruin, vents shuddering, frame scorched and scraped but—miraculously—intact. He staggered, caught himself—
—and laughed.
Madly. Gleefully. Like a mech freshly unshackled from fate itself.
"Predictable, Master?!" he crowed, talons thrown wide with theatrical flair. “Is that what you called me? Well now who has hit rock bottom?”
His voice dropped into a growl, smug and venomous. He pressed a claw to his audial, optics gleaming. “What’s that? I'm sorry. I can’t hear you beneath all that rubble!”
He laughed again. Triumphant. Wild.
“Farewell, Lord Megatron!” he bellowed toward the collapsed entrance proudly. “May you rust in peace!—”
He turned—and froze.
Shadestrike.
Standing right there.
Silent. Still.
He didn’t even make a sound when he arrived. How long had he been standing there?
Wide optics flickering. Face unreadable—but his field carried the distinct scent of barely suppressed amusement.
Starscream recoiled instinctively. “Sh-Shadestrike.”
He tried to recover—cleared his intake, puffed up his posture. Theatric bravado snapped back into place.
"I wonder... how much you heard.
Shadestrike smirked. “I’ve spoken to myself before,” he said flatly, mimicking Starscream’s earlier flourish with a sweeping servo. “That's perfectly normal and stable.”
Starscream scrambled, exaggerating his panic. “I—You—You have to help him! Yes, that’s it—Megatron’s trapped under all that! He—he needs assistance!”
Shadestrike sighed tiredly. "Starscream."
Starscream flailed. “Well?! Go on! Do something!”
Shadestrike stepped forward, his voice low but pointed. “I’m not telling anyone.”
Starscream froze mid-drama. “You… won’t?”
“No.” Shadestrike’s expression twitched toward faint amusement. “But if you’re thinking of leaving him here, don’t bother. Megatron’s survived worse. One cave collapse won’t even scratch his list of near-deaths. You’ll only buy yourself five klicks of peace—and a lifetime of revenge.”
Starscream fidgeted. Visibly.
“…Yes. You do have a point.”
His gaze darted to the cave.
His wings twitched.
Shadestrike gestured toward the debris. “Well?”
Starscream hesitated. “As much as I would be delighted to assist—”
"You'll take the credit." Bee cut in, tone dry.
Starscream stiffened.
Bee added, evenly, “You’ll save him. You’ll earn trust. Or at least avoid death.”
Starscream stared, like he couldn’t tell whether he was being mocked or pitied. Both, probably. And he hated both.
He narrowed his optics, voice dropping low. “Why are you helping me? What’s your angle? What do you want?”
Shadestrike gave a helpless shrug. “Everyone deserves a second chance. Even you. Even if Megatron doesn’t think so, it doesn't mean I have to share his views."
Starscream’s voice turned sharper. “What do you gain?”
Shadestrike looked at him flatly, slightly smirking. "Peace of spark, I guess."
Starscream gawked. Visibly recoiled. “What is wrong with you?”
Shadestrike deadpanned harder. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
He turned, stepping toward the debris.
Paused.
“Oh—by the way. Autobots were here earlier.”
Starscream jolted. “What?!”
Bee smirked, casually. “Mmhm. Arcee. Bulkhead. The kids. Missed you by—” he held up two digits and pinched them together, “that much.”
Starscream let out a strangled noise. “I hate this planet.”
Bee casted a flat look over his shoulder. “You helping or not?”
Starscream groaned. “Fine.”
He stalked toward the rubble, muttering to himself.
“Second chances, he says. Peace of spark. Insufferable little—”
Shadestrike chuckled under his breath, lifting a boulder with ease. “Come on, featherbrain."