[G1 fic] Lifetimes
Title: Lifetimes
Author: Jen "Newsy" Kerner
Series: G1
Characters: Bumblebee, Spike and family
Rating: G-PG
Word Count: 1835
Summary: The entire life of a human being is only a fraction of a Cybertronian's life span... a fact that makes Bumblebee's closest friendships painfully bittersweet.
Inspired by a plotbunny put up for adoption by cheysulinight at tf_bunny_farm... "Living millions of years on a world that is slow to change and whose population is equally long lived is very different than living millions of years on a world that changes every generation and whose population lives only a fraction of the time you do."
Spike Witwicky invited himself into the Ark’s common room and startled the lone mech who was trying to relax there. “Hey Bumblebee - you think Wheeljack was serious about making me a vehicle mode?”
“Yes, Spike,” Bumblebee patiently answered the adolescent human. “And I also hope you were serious about waiting until you’re old enough to drive.”
“But I am now!” Spike said with far less patience than his Cybertronian friend displayed. “Well, almost… and didn’t Dad tell ya?”
“Didn’t he tell me what?” The question filled Bumblebee with dread.
“He volunteered you to teach me.”
“Oh, no. Sweet Primus, no,” Bumblebee emphatically said, beginning to pace around the room. “I’ve heard stories of humans of your age - your brains aren’t fully developed, you’re impulsive and awkward and uncoordinated and have a complete lack of ability to control your own bodies, let alone a vehicle!”
Only after that diatribe did Bumblebee notice the crestfallen look on Spike’s face. The roundish yellow mech quickly backed off from his rant. “I mean - not that you’re like that, Spike. You’re different. And… besides… how can I teach you to drive? I drive myself!”
Spike brightened. “Dad said something about shutting off your guidance systems, or something.”
Bumblebee tried one more evasive maneuver. “I didn’t have to teach Chip to drive.”
“Chip’s car is fitted with all hand controls,” Spike explained, brightening further.
Bumblebee groaned, but smiled. “You’re not gonna give this up.”
“Nope,” Spike vowed with no small degree of pride.
“I guess it’s time for driver’s ed,” Bumblebee said with no small degree of resignation.
***
“I, Samuel, take you, Carlene…”
“Carlene? Samuel?!” Hound whispered as the quartet of Autobots peered into the building constructed too small for them. Bumblebee simply chuckled at the couple’s almost unheard-of use of their formal names.
With Hound looking over his left shoulder, Jazz over his right and Optimus Prime straight over his head, Bumblebee sat as close to the entrance as possible and happily watched the impeccably dressed humans. Spike was clad in a complicated collection of fabric known as a “tuxedo,” as was his father Sparkplug, who stood to his right. Carly wore a long, flowing white garment complete with a matching headdress; her best friend stood to her immediate left, wearing a simpler covering of bright red. Indeed, it seemed that everything that was not black or white was the crimson hue of the Autobrand.
Bumblebee directed his optics to zoom in until his entire visual field was filled by the five figures at what Spike and Carly had called the “altar.” The fifth figure, dressed in some sort of ceremonial garb and labeled the “minister” by Spike and Carly, guided the couple through a series of promises to each other and a brief ritual in which they exchanged small circular pieces of jewelry.
The minister said something incomprehensible about power and vests and Oregon before uttering the phrase for which everyone assembled had apparently been waiting: “You may kiss the bride.” Amid a round of applause, Spike and Carly embraced and passionately locked lips.
“Awww,” Jazz said with a melodic laugh. Hound and Prime joined him in the laughter. Bumblebee smiled proudly, but found his vocal circuits unable to produce a sound.
***
“Faster!”
“I’m goin’ faster!”
“Then go faster!”
“But I just -”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
“Breathe, honey, breathe -”
“I want my epidural now!”
“What’s an epidural?”
“Not now, Bumblebee!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
“You’re doing great, honey, keep breathing, keep breathing, breathe…”
“Why didn’t you get Ratchet to do this? He’s the ambulance. Primus, he’s the whole hospital.”
“Not now, Bumblebee!”
The hospital finally came into view. If he’d had a true respiratory system, Bumblebee would have heaved a sigh of relief. “We’re here.”
A man wearing a uniformly colored greenish-blue outfit sprinted out of the emergency entrance of the hospital, pushing a four-wheeled seat in front of him. Spike rushed to help Carly - bulging around the middle and hunched over in pain - into the seat, and the three humans bustled into the hospital. Mere moments later, Jazz arrived, pulling into a parking lot across the street from the emergency entrance and opening his door so Sparkplug could disembark. The two mechs met each other in the back of the parking lot, transformed and watched the anxious human run into the hospital, faster than either of them had ever seen him move.
Bumblebee paced anxiously back and forth, worrying over the welfare of the humans he could no longer watch. Despite dozens of assurances that Carly was not ill, he was hardly comforted; after all, a hospital was a place for ill humans, wasn’t it?
Jazz stepped deliberately in front of Bumblebee and placed one hand firmly on each of his shoulders. “You’re not gonna make it go any faster,” he mildly scolded. “Now quit pacin’ ‘fore you start an earthquake.”
“But Jazz, she was screaming all the way here,” Bumblebee fretted.
“The way they tell me, this childbirth thing’s no picnic,” Jazz acknowledged. “But it’s not s’posed to be a picnic… I guess.”
Bumblebee’s communicator buzzed before Jazz finished his sentence. “Bee, Jazz - he’s here!” Spike exulted.
“Who’s here - and who’s that?” Bumblebee asked, filled with concern for what sounded like a hysterically crying human in the background.
“My grandson,” Sparkplug proudly replied.
“My baby,” Carly whispered.
“Daniel,” Spike said in a voice heavy with emotion. “My boy… my son.”
***
“Ready… aim… fire.”
At the crisp command of their senior officer, seven uniformed men fired rifles loaded with blank bullets in unison, producing the loud crack that signaled the beginning of the traditional gun volley.
“Ready… aim… fire.” Crack.
“Ready… aim… fire.” Crack.
A ninth uniformed man played a simple, slow tune on a horn. Carly gripped Spike’s arm tightly and lowered her head. As the tune played, a man and woman in uniform lifted the red, white and blue banner from the brushed steel casket and folded it into a compact triangular shape. The uniformed woman held the flag; the man across from her saluted; the woman turned sharply and knelt in front of Spike, presenting him the folded banner.
“Sir,” she said in a low and somber voice, “as a representative of the United States Army, it is my high privilege to present you this flag. Let it be a symbol of the grateful appreciation this nation feels for the distinguished service rendered by your father.” Spike nodded slowly in silent reply and took the flag from the uniformed officer, clutching it to his chest with one arm while wrapping the other around Carly.
As the friends and family - Dr. Chip Chase first among them - made their way toward the grieving son and daughter-in-law to offer private condolences, Daniel slipped out of his mother’s lap and ran toward Bumblebee. The mech knelt as closely as he could to the level of the nearly four-year-old boy.
“Bumbee, where’s Papa?” the child plaintively asked.
Bumblebee ordinarily would have corrected Daniel’s fumbling of his name, but now was certainly not the time. “Where do your mom and dad say he is?”
“In heaven,” Daniel sniffled.
“Then that’s where he is,” Bumblebee said, gently lifting the boy onto his shoulder. He felt Daniel’s tiny arms clinging to his neck and heard quiet whimpering sounds coming from the child’s body.
Carefully, making sure not to jostle Daniel, Bumblebee settled into a seated position on the ground while he waited for Carly and Spike. The couple stood arm-in-arm in front of the casket that contained the body of the man variously known as Dad, Papa, Samuel Witwicky Senior, Specialist Witwicky, and Sparkplug. He had gone offline - died - at the age of only sixty-three years by local time… not even a single vorn by Cybertronian time. The entirety of Sparkplug’s life was but a tiny fraction of Bumblebee’s existence.
Bumblebee pondered that uncomfortable thought as he looked even more intently at his dear friends Spike and Carly and began swaying gently back and forth to comfort the sobbing Daniel. All of their lives would amount to a few kliks compared to his.
Bumblebee wondered if the “heaven” the human family described was like the Well of All Sparks… perhaps even the same place. He desperately hoped so.
***
“Spike, you don’t have to come with me,” Bumblebee tried to insist. The human would have none of it. Spike finished assembling his exo-suit after a lingering kiss with Carly and a tight hug with Daniel.
“Yes, Bumblebee,” he said, “I do. The Decepticons want Cybertron and Earth… I’m one of exactly two humans who know both places… case closed.”
“You could stay here. With Chip. With your family.”
“Chip’s got a science brain. He can do the most good here, in the lab. I can do the most good coming with you.”
“Spike -”
“Bumblebee,” Carly said softly, “he’s coming with you.”
The family clustered together for a few final embraces and parting words. Spike boarded the shuttle bound for the Autobots’ twin moon bases, and before Bumblebee could follow him, Spike’s wife and son rushed toward him. The mech dropped to one knee and wrapped one arm around each of them.
“Take care of him,” Carly implored.
“I will,” Bumblebee soothed.
“I’ll miss you, Bumbles,” Daniel said. Bumbles was not ordinarily Bumblebee’s favorite nickname, but it sounded sweeter coming from the human child.
“I’ll miss you too, Dan-O,” Bumblebee replied.
“Bee!” Cliffjumper shouted from the shuttle as his final warning to board or be left behind. Bumblebee reluctantly released his two friends, now crying quietly in each other’s arms, and walked slowly up the ramp into the spacecraft.
Spike watched out the window of the shuttle after liftoff as first his family, then Autobot City, grew smaller and smaller to the point of invisibility. He leaned against Bumblebee for support and shed a few tears of his own.
Bumblebee looked sadly at Spike and recalled some of his words upon his decision to come with the outbound mechs to Cybertron: “Bee, you’ve been there for my entire adult life.” The mech wondered how much longer the man’s adult life would be; regardless, if Bumblebee survived for even one more vorn, he knew he would see Spike die before him… and Chip, and Carly, and probably even the young Daniel. The very idea of their deaths was uncomfortable. Physically uncomfortable.
“I wish I could do that,” Bumblebee said mournfully, watching Spike brush the last of the tears from his face.
“Why?” Spike asked.
Bumblebee looked intently at the shrinking image of Earth. “Maybe it would help.”
“Maybe,” Spike agreed before quickly coming up with another idea and elbowing Bumblebee several times, just as he frequently had years before. “Hey - remember when you taught me how to drive?”
Author: Jen "Newsy" Kerner
Series: G1
Characters: Bumblebee, Spike and family
Rating: G-PG
Word Count: 1835
Summary: The entire life of a human being is only a fraction of a Cybertronian's life span... a fact that makes Bumblebee's closest friendships painfully bittersweet.
Inspired by a plotbunny put up for adoption by cheysulinight at tf_bunny_farm... "Living millions of years on a world that is slow to change and whose population is equally long lived is very different than living millions of years on a world that changes every generation and whose population lives only a fraction of the time you do."
Spike Witwicky invited himself into the Ark’s common room and startled the lone mech who was trying to relax there. “Hey Bumblebee - you think Wheeljack was serious about making me a vehicle mode?”
“Yes, Spike,” Bumblebee patiently answered the adolescent human. “And I also hope you were serious about waiting until you’re old enough to drive.”
“But I am now!” Spike said with far less patience than his Cybertronian friend displayed. “Well, almost… and didn’t Dad tell ya?”
“Didn’t he tell me what?” The question filled Bumblebee with dread.
“He volunteered you to teach me.”
“Oh, no. Sweet Primus, no,” Bumblebee emphatically said, beginning to pace around the room. “I’ve heard stories of humans of your age - your brains aren’t fully developed, you’re impulsive and awkward and uncoordinated and have a complete lack of ability to control your own bodies, let alone a vehicle!”
Only after that diatribe did Bumblebee notice the crestfallen look on Spike’s face. The roundish yellow mech quickly backed off from his rant. “I mean - not that you’re like that, Spike. You’re different. And… besides… how can I teach you to drive? I drive myself!”
Spike brightened. “Dad said something about shutting off your guidance systems, or something.”
Bumblebee tried one more evasive maneuver. “I didn’t have to teach Chip to drive.”
“Chip’s car is fitted with all hand controls,” Spike explained, brightening further.
Bumblebee groaned, but smiled. “You’re not gonna give this up.”
“Nope,” Spike vowed with no small degree of pride.
“I guess it’s time for driver’s ed,” Bumblebee said with no small degree of resignation.
***
“I, Samuel, take you, Carlene…”
“Carlene? Samuel?!” Hound whispered as the quartet of Autobots peered into the building constructed too small for them. Bumblebee simply chuckled at the couple’s almost unheard-of use of their formal names.
With Hound looking over his left shoulder, Jazz over his right and Optimus Prime straight over his head, Bumblebee sat as close to the entrance as possible and happily watched the impeccably dressed humans. Spike was clad in a complicated collection of fabric known as a “tuxedo,” as was his father Sparkplug, who stood to his right. Carly wore a long, flowing white garment complete with a matching headdress; her best friend stood to her immediate left, wearing a simpler covering of bright red. Indeed, it seemed that everything that was not black or white was the crimson hue of the Autobrand.
Bumblebee directed his optics to zoom in until his entire visual field was filled by the five figures at what Spike and Carly had called the “altar.” The fifth figure, dressed in some sort of ceremonial garb and labeled the “minister” by Spike and Carly, guided the couple through a series of promises to each other and a brief ritual in which they exchanged small circular pieces of jewelry.
The minister said something incomprehensible about power and vests and Oregon before uttering the phrase for which everyone assembled had apparently been waiting: “You may kiss the bride.” Amid a round of applause, Spike and Carly embraced and passionately locked lips.
“Awww,” Jazz said with a melodic laugh. Hound and Prime joined him in the laughter. Bumblebee smiled proudly, but found his vocal circuits unable to produce a sound.
***
“Faster!”
“I’m goin’ faster!”
“Then go faster!”
“But I just -”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”
“Breathe, honey, breathe -”
“I want my epidural now!”
“What’s an epidural?”
“Not now, Bumblebee!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
“You’re doing great, honey, keep breathing, keep breathing, breathe…”
“Why didn’t you get Ratchet to do this? He’s the ambulance. Primus, he’s the whole hospital.”
“Not now, Bumblebee!”
The hospital finally came into view. If he’d had a true respiratory system, Bumblebee would have heaved a sigh of relief. “We’re here.”
A man wearing a uniformly colored greenish-blue outfit sprinted out of the emergency entrance of the hospital, pushing a four-wheeled seat in front of him. Spike rushed to help Carly - bulging around the middle and hunched over in pain - into the seat, and the three humans bustled into the hospital. Mere moments later, Jazz arrived, pulling into a parking lot across the street from the emergency entrance and opening his door so Sparkplug could disembark. The two mechs met each other in the back of the parking lot, transformed and watched the anxious human run into the hospital, faster than either of them had ever seen him move.
Bumblebee paced anxiously back and forth, worrying over the welfare of the humans he could no longer watch. Despite dozens of assurances that Carly was not ill, he was hardly comforted; after all, a hospital was a place for ill humans, wasn’t it?
Jazz stepped deliberately in front of Bumblebee and placed one hand firmly on each of his shoulders. “You’re not gonna make it go any faster,” he mildly scolded. “Now quit pacin’ ‘fore you start an earthquake.”
“But Jazz, she was screaming all the way here,” Bumblebee fretted.
“The way they tell me, this childbirth thing’s no picnic,” Jazz acknowledged. “But it’s not s’posed to be a picnic… I guess.”
Bumblebee’s communicator buzzed before Jazz finished his sentence. “Bee, Jazz - he’s here!” Spike exulted.
“Who’s here - and who’s that?” Bumblebee asked, filled with concern for what sounded like a hysterically crying human in the background.
“My grandson,” Sparkplug proudly replied.
“My baby,” Carly whispered.
“Daniel,” Spike said in a voice heavy with emotion. “My boy… my son.”
***
“Ready… aim… fire.”
At the crisp command of their senior officer, seven uniformed men fired rifles loaded with blank bullets in unison, producing the loud crack that signaled the beginning of the traditional gun volley.
“Ready… aim… fire.” Crack.
“Ready… aim… fire.” Crack.
A ninth uniformed man played a simple, slow tune on a horn. Carly gripped Spike’s arm tightly and lowered her head. As the tune played, a man and woman in uniform lifted the red, white and blue banner from the brushed steel casket and folded it into a compact triangular shape. The uniformed woman held the flag; the man across from her saluted; the woman turned sharply and knelt in front of Spike, presenting him the folded banner.
“Sir,” she said in a low and somber voice, “as a representative of the United States Army, it is my high privilege to present you this flag. Let it be a symbol of the grateful appreciation this nation feels for the distinguished service rendered by your father.” Spike nodded slowly in silent reply and took the flag from the uniformed officer, clutching it to his chest with one arm while wrapping the other around Carly.
As the friends and family - Dr. Chip Chase first among them - made their way toward the grieving son and daughter-in-law to offer private condolences, Daniel slipped out of his mother’s lap and ran toward Bumblebee. The mech knelt as closely as he could to the level of the nearly four-year-old boy.
“Bumbee, where’s Papa?” the child plaintively asked.
Bumblebee ordinarily would have corrected Daniel’s fumbling of his name, but now was certainly not the time. “Where do your mom and dad say he is?”
“In heaven,” Daniel sniffled.
“Then that’s where he is,” Bumblebee said, gently lifting the boy onto his shoulder. He felt Daniel’s tiny arms clinging to his neck and heard quiet whimpering sounds coming from the child’s body.
Carefully, making sure not to jostle Daniel, Bumblebee settled into a seated position on the ground while he waited for Carly and Spike. The couple stood arm-in-arm in front of the casket that contained the body of the man variously known as Dad, Papa, Samuel Witwicky Senior, Specialist Witwicky, and Sparkplug. He had gone offline - died - at the age of only sixty-three years by local time… not even a single vorn by Cybertronian time. The entirety of Sparkplug’s life was but a tiny fraction of Bumblebee’s existence.
Bumblebee pondered that uncomfortable thought as he looked even more intently at his dear friends Spike and Carly and began swaying gently back and forth to comfort the sobbing Daniel. All of their lives would amount to a few kliks compared to his.
Bumblebee wondered if the “heaven” the human family described was like the Well of All Sparks… perhaps even the same place. He desperately hoped so.
***
“Spike, you don’t have to come with me,” Bumblebee tried to insist. The human would have none of it. Spike finished assembling his exo-suit after a lingering kiss with Carly and a tight hug with Daniel.
“Yes, Bumblebee,” he said, “I do. The Decepticons want Cybertron and Earth… I’m one of exactly two humans who know both places… case closed.”
“You could stay here. With Chip. With your family.”
“Chip’s got a science brain. He can do the most good here, in the lab. I can do the most good coming with you.”
“Spike -”
“Bumblebee,” Carly said softly, “he’s coming with you.”
The family clustered together for a few final embraces and parting words. Spike boarded the shuttle bound for the Autobots’ twin moon bases, and before Bumblebee could follow him, Spike’s wife and son rushed toward him. The mech dropped to one knee and wrapped one arm around each of them.
“Take care of him,” Carly implored.
“I will,” Bumblebee soothed.
“I’ll miss you, Bumbles,” Daniel said. Bumbles was not ordinarily Bumblebee’s favorite nickname, but it sounded sweeter coming from the human child.
“I’ll miss you too, Dan-O,” Bumblebee replied.
“Bee!” Cliffjumper shouted from the shuttle as his final warning to board or be left behind. Bumblebee reluctantly released his two friends, now crying quietly in each other’s arms, and walked slowly up the ramp into the spacecraft.
Spike watched out the window of the shuttle after liftoff as first his family, then Autobot City, grew smaller and smaller to the point of invisibility. He leaned against Bumblebee for support and shed a few tears of his own.
Bumblebee looked sadly at Spike and recalled some of his words upon his decision to come with the outbound mechs to Cybertron: “Bee, you’ve been there for my entire adult life.” The mech wondered how much longer the man’s adult life would be; regardless, if Bumblebee survived for even one more vorn, he knew he would see Spike die before him… and Chip, and Carly, and probably even the young Daniel. The very idea of their deaths was uncomfortable. Physically uncomfortable.
“I wish I could do that,” Bumblebee said mournfully, watching Spike brush the last of the tears from his face.
“Why?” Spike asked.
Bumblebee looked intently at the shrinking image of Earth. “Maybe it would help.”
“Maybe,” Spike agreed before quickly coming up with another idea and elbowing Bumblebee several times, just as he frequently had years before. “Hey - remember when you taught me how to drive?”