Chapter Text
When Decepticons and Autobots fight, the world turns into chaos, where Death is sudden and merciless.
Death usually mows right and left indiscriminately, but sometimes Death is selective, the shadow of its scythe falls on the one who is dearest.
And again, a new day is here and today, a bony finger points at the brightest mесha. Laughing, Death chooses the son of Optimus Prime.
Optimus Prime is in the middle of a battle where danger breathes right into his back. His son is fighting somewhere nearby. Prime keeps one eye on his enemies and the other on the yellow minibot. He is always ready to help Bumblebee.
After a brief punchfest with three Decepticons, he looks for a small yellow frame. He quickly finds Bumblebee. His insides shrink when he notices a large hole on his son's body. As in slow motion, Optimus sees Bumblebee falling to the ground. The light goes out in Prime's optics. No barrier can stop him while he runs to his fallen firstling.
The leader of the Autobots bends over young Autobot, he positions his body so that no one else can hurt Bumblebee. He conducts a quick scan of the damaged area. Extensive damage to important internal systems is detected. Optimus does not lose hope. He is confident that Ratchet will be able to save his son.
"Sire..." The young bot's optics glow with a faint light, and his voice is very quiet. "It hurts..."
Bumblebee's so weak. Life barely glimmers in him.
"Bumblebee! Please, hold on!" Optimus picks him up and carries him towards the medical post. "Ratchet will ease your condition very soon."
Bumblebee's body is shaking, and the ventilation system is working with an uncharacteristically loud noise. Unexpectedly, the yellow minibot stiffens, the sounds and feverish twitching disappear.
The change in Bumblebee's condition don't escape Optimus' attention. The leader of the Autobots quickens his pace, but in vain. The young mech yellow as the sun turns gray as ashes. At first, Optimus doesn't understand what happened. More precisely, he knows exactly what happened, but he does not want to understand that it happened to his son. He's seen a lot of deaths. His soldiers died every day, some of his friends died every month.
His firstling dies right in his arms. It's so wrong. Children should not die in the arms of their parents. Children should not die before their parents.
His pain is not unique, not special, because he is not the only father whose sparkling died in this war, but he feels it for the first time. Until today, he considers himself the favourite of fate, since all members of his family and his closest friends are alive.
Bumblebee is dead. Prime must acknowledge this truth. Also he should tell Elita about this. He is afraid to even imagine what the reaction will be to his words.
Optimus replays all the memories associated with Bumblebee in his memory. He remembers well how his sparkling smiled for the first time, and how he laughed and how he chose his first altform. Each of these memories is his treasure. This is the only thing that will remain forever after the death of his son.
Someone's battle cry remind Prime that he is still on the battlefield. He doesn't have time to mourn.
He allows himself to be weak just once. Just once. Pressing Bumblebee's cold frame to his spark, he lets out a stream of feelings for a couple of kliks.
In the midst of the battle, no one notice the cry of the father who lost his son.
During their reunion, Elita One is silent, although her pink lips quiver with pent-up words. The time for words will come later, when tears will not interfere with speaking.
Optimus fling himself on his knees in front of her, his hands gripping her waist. He sighs loudly, pressing his forehead against her smooth abdominal plates.
Lita's warm fingers touch his helm, her fingers, which know how to hold a weapon and have almost forgotten about tenderness, tremble.
Suddenly, she pulls him away from her, frightened by her action, he stops venting. He is ready to be rejected, he believes that he deserves it.
Elita One falls to her knees next to him. She doesn't hesitate to pull him into her arms. Optimus wheezes something like gratitude, resting his head on her shoulder.
Through their spark bond, Optimus and Elita share a sense of irreparable loss. At first, their shared pain reach its peak, then conjunxed couple strangely feеl a little better. Still, grieving together is easier than grieving alone.