Chapter Text
The middle of the night, Prowl finds, is Lockdown's prime time to complete his jobs. Before the war, he could remember finding the remains of bots, their mods stolen, or nothing left of them entirely. The latter group haunts him more than any death in the war. (At least he knows what happened to his fellow soldiers.)
The movements come easily to him, rushed by a rage that's been simmering for far too long. Or maybe it's loneliness and heartbreak, or insecurity. Either way, it's easy to dig his bare digits into the transformation seams of Lockdown's armor, twist until they're forced to bend. The curved bend of the metal makes it easier to pull it off and drop it to the side. The joints were the first to go.
In the quietness of the Malto property, Prowl fears the worst. He's tense and hunched over in a way that will make his shoulder struts stiff, come the morning. All of his processor is working through the simulations, designed after everything he knows about Lockdown. He's dangerous, and when he's around, situations tend to become more prone to death. He has to force away the more morbid results, dismiss them from his processor, which claims that he will find only the remains of what used to be the Maltos and Bumblebee.
There's only so much he can do in fifteen minutes, Bumblebee absently thinks as he begins tearing the wires apart with his bare digits. The metal of the wire is rapidly overheating, leaving behind scorch marks. The individual copper seethes as it's peeled apart, making Lockdown dig his pedes into the ground and clamp his voice box off himself. Good, saved Bumblebee the trouble of doing it himself.
The rest of the Autobots arrive on the scene moments later. Prowl admits he may have sped ahead just at the mention of Lockdown. (They have a history, somehow just as messy as his one with Tarantulas.)
"None of the Maltos are awake," Megatron notes quietly. Prowl sighs in relief at that. Wheeljack reaches to squeeze his elbow, and he allows it, needing the comfort. "They're alive is what I'm saying."
"There was a fight," Arcee calls out. She's kneeling down, her servos gently running over some scuffs in the ground. 'Scuffs' is an understatement; the scratches in the ground are deep and messy, with some roots sticking out. The ground is full of dents and holes. There was a fight.
Prowl runs past her and looks around, analyzing. The scenarios are more hopeful now. (Bumblebee and Lockdown are both knocked out, Bumblebee is being held hostage...) He scowls, dismissing the scenarios as he turns his optics away from the barn to survey the area. Any sign of Bumblebee.
This whole...torture session should scare him. He's behaving no better than Lockdown or Swindle, or even Mandroid. At least he's not stealing the parts he's tearing off. It's not as if he enjoys torturing people. It's just, if this mech were anyone else, he would feel the slightest bit of pity. But this is the same mech who hurt Ratchet, Prowl, Drift, and many, many more people that Bumblebee cared about.
Arcee stands, straightening. Clicking her vocalizer, she narrowed her optics afar off. "I think I see him. He's not too far away." At her words, he sprints forward. "Prowl!" A few seconds later, she's right behind him. He nearly trips over a hole, one that was obviously formed by Lockdown's hook, but he runs on and finally finds them.
Prowl skids to a stop. It took him a moment to even realize the true situation, his focus on Bumblebee. He lunges, wrapping his arms around Bumblebee. Oh. Oh. He had been worried. A few subroutines he had ignored were dismissed. He was worried.
Arcee gasps sharply. "Bumblebee..."
The way she says his name is in horror. Prowl pulls away from him and stares at him in confusion, then he notices Lockdown. Lockdown, who is trapped beneath Bumblebee, and now Prowl. The bounty hunter is dazed and in pain, barely conscious and aware. Bumblebee took off the pain dampeners in the first few minutes.
"Yeah," Bumblebee asks. The minbot answers with such casualness for the situation at hand. Guilty, not guilty. Prowl finds himself satisfied rather than horrified. There are two piles forming, one for Lockdown's armor, the other for various mod pieces that were stolen long ago. Lockdown really wasn't one for honor.
"Bumblebee..." Her voice trails off.
"What?" Bumblebee turned his optics away from the bounty hunter to Prowl. "He was after the kids," he said faintly. "I had to do something."
Prowl forces his optics away from Bumblebee's, glancing down at Lockdown. He twitched and whirred softly but made no further pained noises than that. "I suspected as much," Prowl admits with a sigh. "I'll have to put this in a report. It will be redacted, rest assured, but please don't make it a habit of doing this." Arcee scolds him softly. Then she stiffens in his peripheral vision.
Bumblebee must be quite the sight. His legs locked around Lockdown's now useless arm. What was once a struggle is now a bleeding, pained mess under him. Energon stains his servos, with one servo scratching at the exposed protoform. He doesn't smile, averting Optimus' gaze, which probably helps his leader's opinion of him.
"This is different," Optimus says faintly. The sight of his scout, who was known to be the friendliest and kindest mech, was on top of the remains of Lockdown. No, the mech was still alive, but still. "Bumblebee-"
The scout held up a hand to stop him. "Not right now, Optimus. Lockdown needs medical attention," he says. Lockdown startles at his voice, then sighs, surrendering, his voice box unclamping with a resounding clank. With Prowl's help, he slides off of Lockdown, his legs wobbly from the rigid position.
"You're soaked in energon," Megatron notes. He's glancing between Bumblebee and Lockdown, confusion and some fear rife on his faceplate. "Not yours, I suspect?" Bumblebee wordlessly shook his helm. Prowl sighs in relief, pulling him closer. He, with the help of Wheeljack, brings Bumblebee off to the side so Grimlock can better carry Lockdown. The Dinobot doesn't seem to have a personal opinion on the bounty hunter's fate. "That's good," Megatron says awkwardly.
Elita sighed and patted Optimus' arm. She held out her hand. "Come on, soldier. We'll take it from here. You need to get cleaned up. The Maltos shouldn't see you like this." Bumblebee reaches for her servo only to let it drop to his side. Exhaustion was taking hold of him. Prowl and Wheeljack kept him upright and on his pedes. Wheeljack seemed disturbed, but overall relieved by the outcome.
"Sure," he said. There didn't seem to be any joy that came out of the torture session, which was interesting, but not something Elita would question, feeling a sense of relief.
They didn't realize something about Bumblebee.
There wasn't enjoyment in the torture session because Bumblebee didn't torture for his own enjoyment, but for the safety of his students.
There was a big difference.