Oneshot - G1, Playtime
Disclaimer: do not own Transformers.
Summary: G1 oneshot, a glance into a mirrorverse. Bumblebee goes to see if Spike wants to play.
Rating: T
Note: For someone over at tfbunnyfarm (sorry, forgot who!) who wanted a mirrorverse where the humans were just as twisted as the Autobots.
Playtime
The little Autobot Bumblebee whistled a merry little tune as he went down the long, shadowy corridors of the Ark, chugging along in his oft-mocked chubby VW form through secret passageways and hidden cameras. He came to an intersection, and after a moment’s pause turned right, and then kept driving along.
He could hear the swivel of cameras as they brought him into focus, the soft whirring of gears as spark-less drones were automatically brought online by Teletran-1, but no alarms were sounded and the drones left him alone.
He went in deeper, entering a highly protected sector. The corridor was sealed shut, and Bumblebee waited patiently for the sensors overhead to confirm his identity and let him through. The thoughts of the collective whispered in his mind, and his viewing-screens strayed to the tall red letters etched into the doors before him, bearing the words: “Until all are one.”
This was the Autobots’ mission, to make the universe at peace with itself by any means necessary. There were dark times of before, times that Bumblebee was too young to remember. There was a time when Cybertron itself was engulfed in war and famine before the first Prime rose above it all and united its people.
The Prime saw how individual thought were making his people suffer, and so he united those thoughts, mingling them with his own, freeing sentient beings from the prison of individual thought.
The whole of Cybertron was now one, ruled under the guidance and being one in thought of a great and benevolent Prime. Ratchet, who thought with Prime’s compassion; Prowl, who thought with Prime’s logic; Bumblebee, who thought with Prime’s innocence. Each and every one of them, all one with Optimus Prime.
Except for the Decepticons. Those troublesome beings would seek to keep their people trapped under the burden of individuality, trapping them in a more primitive, violent state.
It was actually quite sad. They would squish this rebellion, and then show other races that they, too, could achieve such paradise.
Bumblebee was torn from the Autobots’ musings when Teletran-1, confirming that his thoughts were of the correct frequency, opened the doors.
Bumblebee went through, resuming his merry little tune, whistling a little louder as the collective’s whispers increased in volume, as they often did when the Prime was in deep thought.
His highly-advanced audios picked up the voices of the humans, all of them living inside Optimus Prime’s own private quarters. A low murmur, a harsh word, a trilling giggle, a soft whimper.
He transformed, and then entered into a room at the far end, one of the few rooms closest to Optimus Prime’s own recharging quarters.
Bumblebee’s viewing screens adjusted to the dim light. The entire room was enshrouded in shadows, the dark illuminated only by the little night-light by the side of the bed. Photographs of Spike and his father and Carly and even Bumblebee were on the side-tables. Papers and toys littered the ground, carelessly discarded after Spike had finished playing with them.
The most striking sight in the room was that of the plush dolls of various Decepticons lined the toy shelves. A grey stuffed Megatron pouted at Bumblebee from the top shelf, right next to a colour-faded Starscream. The dolls modeled after Soundwave and his main cassettes were the most loved, and thus the most worn, with the stuffing peaking out from torn stitches.
A little Laserbeak plushie was clutched in Spike’s arms. The boy was atop the bed, lying on his side, having been tucked in by Sparkplug a couple of hours ago.
Bumblebee crossed the room very quietly, and perched at the edge of the bed. “Spike?” he asked, gently nudging his friend. “Spike?”
The human groaned, and then turned to face him and getting up slightly. Eyes, as hard as glass, flashed with something that made Bumblebee’s spark tremble, before going wide and innocent, like the optics of a newly-sparked cassette.
“Bumblebee,” he protested, disentangling himself from the sheets and rubbing his eyes in tiredness. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Wanted to come and see you,” Bumblebee said, grinning. “Heard you got your implants in.”
Spike grinned, almost all traces of fatigue gone in an instant. “Yup,” he said, nodding. “Me and Carly went in today.” He craned his neck a little, and Bumblebee could easily see the line of implants that criss-crossed his neck and snaked downward, hidden by the PJs. “Look, Bumblebee,” he said, turning around to face him again. “Now you, me, and Carly…we’ll never grow up! Never!”
“Couldn’t ask for anything more,” Bumblebee said, smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm. The implants were one of the many gifts to the humans, and gave them life-long youth. And Bumblebee was happy that Carly had joined in the fun as well.
“Carly’s parents had to take us. Dad wasn’t there,” Spike continued. “He was working on something with Wheeljack. Something about Dr. Archeville.”
Bumblebee laughed. “Oh, come on! That washed-out scientist?”
“Yup. Apparently him and his rebels and the ‘Cons are thinking about working together, but they’re fighting more than anything else.” Spike giggled. “It’s kinda funny, watching them point fingers at each other.”
“So Earth is having a hard time with its rebels, too?”
“Pretty much.”
“We know the feeling,” Bumblebee said.
“Nah, you don’t,” Spike said. “You guys assimilate and make things better. The ‘other’ doesn’t exist anymore. Us? We have to deal with those things.”
“If you’re so disappointed, we can assimilate you, too,” Bumblebee joked. He gave Spike an affectionate pat on the head, and Spike pulled a face at him.
“Please. You’d miss us.”
“Yeah,” Bumblebee admitted. “You’re one of the few races who are more interesting being primitive.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Spike was about to say something else, but was interrupted when he had to yawn. Bumblebee’s viewing screens strayed towards the plushie Laserbeak clutched in Spike’s right arm. The cloth was faded, and torn here and there with the insides spilling out. But it was the optics that caught Bumblebee’s attention. One was stitched in, a circle of red thread. The other was a large, glass-like sphere, and clung to the cloth by a few strands of thread attached to the back where wires should go.
“You’re doll’s eye…it looks real,” Bumblebee said.
“It is real.”
“Oh?” Bumblebee asked, raising an optic ridge. “How did you get it?”
Spike laughed. “Remember when Laserbeak tried to sneak in here?”
Bumblebee hadn’t been there in body when that incident had happened, but he delved into the collective’s memories and nodded. “Yeah. He was here to try and bust out Ratbat, and we caught up to him and he tried to take you hostage.” He smiled as the memory played out in his mind, feeling a surge of affection for his human companion as he saw how Spike, with an utterly bored look on his face, took a blade to a grounded Laserbeak’s optic sockets. The Decepticons had taken to using the humans as hostages against the Autobots. What they didn’t know was that humans were gentle, harmless, and utterly defenceless only if they wanted to be.
Spike’s grin only widened. “He didn’t want to play nice,” Spike said sweetly.
“And the other optic?”
Spike pouted. “Laserbeak escaped before I could get it. I wanted to give it to Carly.”
“I’m sure she would have loved it.” Bumblebee laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll help you get it.”
“Thanks, ‘Bee,” Spike said. “You’re a pal.”
“And, as a pal,” Bumblebee said, bringing up his original purpose for being here this time of the night. “I was wondering if you wanted to play with me.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What game are we going to play?”
“The catch-the-‘Con-cassette game.”
“Is it Laserbeak?”
“Not today.”
“Eh, guess I can’t have everything. But this sounds interesting. How do we play?”
“As we speak, Frenzy is making his way through our ventilation shafts, trying to gather information about our upcoming strike on the Nemesis. We’re supposed to find him and bring him over to Ratchet. What happens in-between…well, it’s not like the Hatchet is going to wonder why some parts are missing.”
“Well,” Spike said, petting his Laserbeak plushie demurely. “I don’t know…it’s really late…”
“Aw, come on Spike,” Bumblebee said, and gave him his best puppy-eyed look. “Play?”
Spike tried and failed to look stern. “Fine,” he said. “But you know,” he added lightly, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “One of these days, I’m going to say that I don’t want to play with you. And then you’ll probably try and make me do it anyway.”
Bumblebee grinned back at him, amused at the little joke.“Not when it takes so little to make you happy. Besides,” he added, getting up easily and walking over to the stuffed toy shelf. He picked out the Frenzy doll, and handed it to his little buddy. “I think your little Frenzy plushie wants some real optics, too.”
Summary: G1 oneshot, a glance into a mirrorverse. Bumblebee goes to see if Spike wants to play.
Rating: T
Note: For someone over at tfbunnyfarm (sorry, forgot who!) who wanted a mirrorverse where the humans were just as twisted as the Autobots.
Playtime
The little Autobot Bumblebee whistled a merry little tune as he went down the long, shadowy corridors of the Ark, chugging along in his oft-mocked chubby VW form through secret passageways and hidden cameras. He came to an intersection, and after a moment’s pause turned right, and then kept driving along.
He could hear the swivel of cameras as they brought him into focus, the soft whirring of gears as spark-less drones were automatically brought online by Teletran-1, but no alarms were sounded and the drones left him alone.
He went in deeper, entering a highly protected sector. The corridor was sealed shut, and Bumblebee waited patiently for the sensors overhead to confirm his identity and let him through. The thoughts of the collective whispered in his mind, and his viewing-screens strayed to the tall red letters etched into the doors before him, bearing the words: “Until all are one.”
This was the Autobots’ mission, to make the universe at peace with itself by any means necessary. There were dark times of before, times that Bumblebee was too young to remember. There was a time when Cybertron itself was engulfed in war and famine before the first Prime rose above it all and united its people.
The Prime saw how individual thought were making his people suffer, and so he united those thoughts, mingling them with his own, freeing sentient beings from the prison of individual thought.
The whole of Cybertron was now one, ruled under the guidance and being one in thought of a great and benevolent Prime. Ratchet, who thought with Prime’s compassion; Prowl, who thought with Prime’s logic; Bumblebee, who thought with Prime’s innocence. Each and every one of them, all one with Optimus Prime.
Except for the Decepticons. Those troublesome beings would seek to keep their people trapped under the burden of individuality, trapping them in a more primitive, violent state.
It was actually quite sad. They would squish this rebellion, and then show other races that they, too, could achieve such paradise.
Bumblebee was torn from the Autobots’ musings when Teletran-1, confirming that his thoughts were of the correct frequency, opened the doors.
Bumblebee went through, resuming his merry little tune, whistling a little louder as the collective’s whispers increased in volume, as they often did when the Prime was in deep thought.
His highly-advanced audios picked up the voices of the humans, all of them living inside Optimus Prime’s own private quarters. A low murmur, a harsh word, a trilling giggle, a soft whimper.
He transformed, and then entered into a room at the far end, one of the few rooms closest to Optimus Prime’s own recharging quarters.
Bumblebee’s viewing screens adjusted to the dim light. The entire room was enshrouded in shadows, the dark illuminated only by the little night-light by the side of the bed. Photographs of Spike and his father and Carly and even Bumblebee were on the side-tables. Papers and toys littered the ground, carelessly discarded after Spike had finished playing with them.
The most striking sight in the room was that of the plush dolls of various Decepticons lined the toy shelves. A grey stuffed Megatron pouted at Bumblebee from the top shelf, right next to a colour-faded Starscream. The dolls modeled after Soundwave and his main cassettes were the most loved, and thus the most worn, with the stuffing peaking out from torn stitches.
A little Laserbeak plushie was clutched in Spike’s arms. The boy was atop the bed, lying on his side, having been tucked in by Sparkplug a couple of hours ago.
Bumblebee crossed the room very quietly, and perched at the edge of the bed. “Spike?” he asked, gently nudging his friend. “Spike?”
The human groaned, and then turned to face him and getting up slightly. Eyes, as hard as glass, flashed with something that made Bumblebee’s spark tremble, before going wide and innocent, like the optics of a newly-sparked cassette.
“Bumblebee,” he protested, disentangling himself from the sheets and rubbing his eyes in tiredness. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Wanted to come and see you,” Bumblebee said, grinning. “Heard you got your implants in.”
Spike grinned, almost all traces of fatigue gone in an instant. “Yup,” he said, nodding. “Me and Carly went in today.” He craned his neck a little, and Bumblebee could easily see the line of implants that criss-crossed his neck and snaked downward, hidden by the PJs. “Look, Bumblebee,” he said, turning around to face him again. “Now you, me, and Carly…we’ll never grow up! Never!”
“Couldn’t ask for anything more,” Bumblebee said, smiling at his friend’s enthusiasm. The implants were one of the many gifts to the humans, and gave them life-long youth. And Bumblebee was happy that Carly had joined in the fun as well.
“Carly’s parents had to take us. Dad wasn’t there,” Spike continued. “He was working on something with Wheeljack. Something about Dr. Archeville.”
Bumblebee laughed. “Oh, come on! That washed-out scientist?”
“Yup. Apparently him and his rebels and the ‘Cons are thinking about working together, but they’re fighting more than anything else.” Spike giggled. “It’s kinda funny, watching them point fingers at each other.”
“So Earth is having a hard time with its rebels, too?”
“Pretty much.”
“We know the feeling,” Bumblebee said.
“Nah, you don’t,” Spike said. “You guys assimilate and make things better. The ‘other’ doesn’t exist anymore. Us? We have to deal with those things.”
“If you’re so disappointed, we can assimilate you, too,” Bumblebee joked. He gave Spike an affectionate pat on the head, and Spike pulled a face at him.
“Please. You’d miss us.”
“Yeah,” Bumblebee admitted. “You’re one of the few races who are more interesting being primitive.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Spike was about to say something else, but was interrupted when he had to yawn. Bumblebee’s viewing screens strayed towards the plushie Laserbeak clutched in Spike’s right arm. The cloth was faded, and torn here and there with the insides spilling out. But it was the optics that caught Bumblebee’s attention. One was stitched in, a circle of red thread. The other was a large, glass-like sphere, and clung to the cloth by a few strands of thread attached to the back where wires should go.
“You’re doll’s eye…it looks real,” Bumblebee said.
“It is real.”
“Oh?” Bumblebee asked, raising an optic ridge. “How did you get it?”
Spike laughed. “Remember when Laserbeak tried to sneak in here?”
Bumblebee hadn’t been there in body when that incident had happened, but he delved into the collective’s memories and nodded. “Yeah. He was here to try and bust out Ratbat, and we caught up to him and he tried to take you hostage.” He smiled as the memory played out in his mind, feeling a surge of affection for his human companion as he saw how Spike, with an utterly bored look on his face, took a blade to a grounded Laserbeak’s optic sockets. The Decepticons had taken to using the humans as hostages against the Autobots. What they didn’t know was that humans were gentle, harmless, and utterly defenceless only if they wanted to be.
Spike’s grin only widened. “He didn’t want to play nice,” Spike said sweetly.
“And the other optic?”
Spike pouted. “Laserbeak escaped before I could get it. I wanted to give it to Carly.”
“I’m sure she would have loved it.” Bumblebee laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll help you get it.”
“Thanks, ‘Bee,” Spike said. “You’re a pal.”
“And, as a pal,” Bumblebee said, bringing up his original purpose for being here this time of the night. “I was wondering if you wanted to play with me.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What game are we going to play?”
“The catch-the-‘Con-cassette game.”
“Is it Laserbeak?”
“Not today.”
“Eh, guess I can’t have everything. But this sounds interesting. How do we play?”
“As we speak, Frenzy is making his way through our ventilation shafts, trying to gather information about our upcoming strike on the Nemesis. We’re supposed to find him and bring him over to Ratchet. What happens in-between…well, it’s not like the Hatchet is going to wonder why some parts are missing.”
“Well,” Spike said, petting his Laserbeak plushie demurely. “I don’t know…it’s really late…”
“Aw, come on Spike,” Bumblebee said, and gave him his best puppy-eyed look. “Play?”
Spike tried and failed to look stern. “Fine,” he said. “But you know,” he added lightly, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “One of these days, I’m going to say that I don’t want to play with you. And then you’ll probably try and make me do it anyway.”
Bumblebee grinned back at him, amused at the little joke.“Not when it takes so little to make you happy. Besides,” he added, getting up easily and walking over to the stuffed toy shelf. He picked out the Frenzy doll, and handed it to his little buddy. “I think your little Frenzy plushie wants some real optics, too.”