[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Tethered [Closed]

[Bumblebee]

Episode 3 | Week 2 | Day 7 
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Bumblebee wasn’t quite sure how long he’d been pacing up and down the corridor. Ten minutes? Thirty? No matter the number, he realized that it’d probably gotten to the point that he should stop and get this over with.

It’d been a long two days indeed. He’d tried to keep himself busy, rearranging his own quarters, fixing and cleaning the odd little thing around Omega One where he could, yet that hadn’t gotten him far in terms of distracting himself from his thoughts.

He’d been worried about Carbine. Not just from the events days earlier where he’d seized in the Control Room, but just the general state of him - namely his helm. While the other mech had evidently gone to finally see Patch about it, Bumblebee couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of guilt for not going there first.

Obviously it’d been bad, bad enough to the point that something was wrong - yet he’d given the helicopter mech his word, a promise not to tell or even mention it to Ratchet or Patch. But should he have broken that word, that trust? What if that extra week was enough time to prevent the seizure and unnecessary panic in the Control Room? Though surely that would’ve added to any anger the helicopter mech felt - after all, Bee had helped Patch in restraining him, holding him down.

If there was any anger at all over that.

So, he found himself pacing. Mulling over his thoughts, wondering how to even go about this. He’d wandered by the Medical Bay the day after things happened to find Carbine no longer there, which while it was a good sign indeed? The fact he hadn’t left his room at all in that time (that Bee knew of) had him worried.

Eventually, his pacing stopped, and he found himself staring up at the door to Carbine’s shared quarters. He wasn’t sure of the door code, though even if he did it wasn’t like he’d just walk on in unannounced - but now he was here he wasn’t quite sure what to do or say.

You’re just checking on him, it’s not a huge deal. See that he’s okay, ask if he needs anything… double check he’s not furious with you…

Opting against sending an unprompted comm, Bee’s left servo would curl gently into a fist. A moment of hesitation was given before he knocked twice, though he wouldn’t remove his servo from the door.

--Hey, Carbine? It’s me.-- the beeps alone would be an obvious clue as to just who it was, but before they trailed off into a stop, he would speak again.

--Uh, it's Bumblebee- it’s Bee.-- maybe ‘Squeakers’ would’ve been better, given that was what Carbine called him, but it was too little too late now.

[Carbine]

When did things go so upside down...?

Was it when he showed his weakness by having a mental collapse in the Medical Bay?

Perhaps it was when he talked shit in front of Avalanche to be antagonistic?

It could be before that, when he relented and showed what was wrong with his helm to Bumblebee.

Or maybe what landed him in lockup to begin with.

Punching Windshields face half off.

He dreamt of that moment nearly every night since. It didn't leave him. It couldn't be shoved to the side. A pivotal point on Earth that completely derailed his entire course down a spiraling fall. The memory was a noxious mixture of joy and regret, all painted with a veneer of anger and spite. Whether such anger was directed at himself or Windshield was uncertain. It felt so good to feel his fist collide with what he imagined was the Warden, the plating giving in before his helm was snapped back violently from the force used. It triggered every bit of joy possible in his processor, the attempted closure of a long book in his life, only for a new one to be opened.

Yet, even before that, was that even the problem? Was that what landed him where he was now? Or was it simply a new version of the same stone he kept tripping over since the onset of his creation. His perpetual chase for what HE wanted rather than what was the right thing to do. It was a hard thing to think about, and it was now a concept he couldn’t turn his back on and ignore for more than one reason. He was trapped in a loop, just as much as he was trapped in his own room.

Carbine was laying on the metal slab in his new prison, his back crooked awkwardly forward due to his anatomy with the rotor and hip posts, as well as the hooked arch of his spine without Bolo. His right hand was resting along his stomach, the corresponding leg hanging off the side of the ledge to let the triangular toe tip lean on the floor. His fingertips would lift and click down occasionally, feeling the ache that ran through the digits, the same ones used to rip Windshield apart. Yet, they were minimal compared to the ache that skittered across his helm, both internally and externally.

His head hurt, exhaustion shifting through a bogged down processor that just wanted to sleep without the ability to do so any longer. Boredom was something he coped with, letting himself slip into a sort of daze to let hours to days coast past in Garrus. Nothing to do rather than imagine the steady click of time easing forward. However, this time his mind was stuck on what he had done, and how close he may have been to death with his damage, wondering if the rot had permeated the plate on his skull and that was what hurt so much.

As for the exterior, it felt like it had been ripped raw, a layer peeled clean off. Another few millimeters, another sheen of 'skin' stripped away... How long until there was nothing left? The attaching plates having nothing more to bite into as cleaning resulted in the perpetual eating of its surface. At this thought, his left hand would raise, gingerly touching the side of his face, feeling over the all too familiar cheekbone braces and bared teeth that framed a gaping hole that led to his throat. This action however was interrupted as something at his side moved, half closed yellow eyes shifting over to look at Bolo.

The canine had stood up long before any sounds were discernible to his Carrier, his ears upright, posture straight and stiff as if doing so let him hear better. Bolo's own yellow eyes pierced at the door frame, a faint low growl slipping out as whatever it was stopped... only to then rip out into snarled growls and barks the very second the door was knocked upon. Barking would be alarming enough, only he didn't stop there, and in an instant his paws rammed into the panel with a heavy bang, trying to bash it aside to see who dared.

Scrabbled clawing, snarled barks... the door would rattle which wasn't enjoyable in the slightest to his owner. Carbine's helm was throbbing even before the noise, his hand slowly dragging down the damage as he heard just who it was that lurked on the other side. The dipshit Golden Child who thought he had to introduce himself by name despite his handicap making it abundantly clear.

He didn't want to talk to Bumblebee, he didn't want to talk to ANYONE, and only tolerated Thunder because he had to, and Patch because he also had to in order to have her check and follow up on things. Yet, he couldn't live in purgatory, and with an unheard command passed through the link, Bolo's barking subsided, and the growls lowered in volume.

"Wh̷a̸t t̛he f̨uck ͟d͏o y͏ou wa̵nt!"

A yelled bark of his own that cut into the quiet that had followed.

[Bumblebee]

The sudden bark was to be expected, and Bumblebee had mentally prepped a sort of apology ahead of time for not only disturbing Carbine, but Bolo too. After everything that happened, it was no wonder the cassette was on high alert and upset, and his processor instantly went back to similar warning barks when he’d visited the helicopter mech down in the brig.

It was a familiar noise indeed. Only this time he couldn’t see the canine, and as such had no idea at all that Bolo had moved toward the door.

At least, not until paws were rammed against the metal panels in what felt like no time at all after that first bark. A loud, sudden noise that caught Bumblebee by surprise. He scrambled back, with arms held up in a defensive motion, slamming with a thud as he pressed flush against the opposite wall. He’d moved so quickly, to the point he’d forgotten about his doorwings, smushing them slightly against himself as he leaned back; though not to the point of crushing them entirely.

It still hurt, but was a small price to pay, really - the last thing he wanted was to be too close to the door, just on the off chance that Bolo did manage to break through. With how angry the cassette sounded? He wasn’t taking any chances, and his optics were fixed on the door itself as he heard the sounds of scratching that added an extra layer of terror to it all as he wondered how long the slab of metal would hold.

All of this should’ve been sign enough that he probably wasn’t welcome here, that his fears were correct in that Carbine was angry at him for his part in the events just days earlier. Yet just as quickly as the angry barks filled the air did they fall silent - a quiet followed that may have only lasted mere seconds, yet felt like far too long.

It was Carbine that broke through that silence first. A yell, a question - he sounded mad, but… At least he was talking.

It was then that Bee realized he probably should’ve brought something with him. A comic, a ration of Energon, just something to break the ice. To say he was here to talk just sounded so weirdly pathetic, and both servos would pat down at himself almost-nervously, just on the off chance he had absently picked something up on his way here.

He hadn’t. Which meant- well, talking it is. Carefully, he would make his way closer to the door so he didn’t have to beep quite so loud to be heard. From this distance, he could hear the gentle growls that were very much still there, just quieter.

--Just wanted to check on you, ya know?-- the entire apology speech he’d mentally prepped had completely vanished, and so with stumbled beeps, he was winging this.

--Can I come in? I’ve been worrying about you- uh, well, that and talking to a door is just weird.--

[Carbine]

Violently, with little warning, the door in front of the scout would slam aside with a noisy bang, the panel rattling in its housing from how roughly it had been maneuvered. In its place Carbine now stood, towering above Bumblebee, looking down at him intently with no helmet to speak of that once covered his injury.

The damaged side of Carbine's face was profoundly better since the last time it had been viewed. Rusted tarnished layers, blackened chunks and general dirt and grime... it was all cleaned away to reveal the sharp metals below. The shade of grays of his own strut system, overlayed with lighter plates of a different metal blend that the brackets were made from, paired with a few other tones of black from the reel that controlled the simplified hinge or the bits of rubber around the underside of his left eye... There was some other discoloration here or there, staining of sorts, but all these tonal shifts from material to surface or textures, were all profoundly better than what it once was. A sort of sterile look to it that was void of any oranges or reds.

The contrasted side, the portion of his face that was fully functional, was sporting a rather hostile look. His lips were slightly parted to expose the non-mangled teeth into a sort of sneer, while his gaze was fierce and unrelenting, staring down into Bumblebee's eyes as if the action could make the Scout's optics rupture. During this, he didn't pass his attention elsewhere. No flick of the eye up to see if anyone was behind the yellow mech, nor any glance to the side to look to see if someone was down the hall who could see him without his helmet... No. His full focus drove down, a challenge being set, showing he was not weak and did not FEAR the individual that participated in his capture.

Carbine did not speak. While no snarled verbal confrontation could seem good, the raw aggression shown in look and posture spoke volumes. This pause between them, it likely only lasted a moment, if not two, though the unspoken communication was precise.

Don't fuck with me.

With a snorted huff, Carbine's frame turned away, leaving the door open in his wake for Bumblebee to be able to pass through. The action could be seen initially as a good sign, the mech permitting his back to be turned to one of the only people he seemed to have trusted, only it wasn't the sign of trust that may have been hoped for, as Bolo intervened.

The large Cassette cut forward to stand between them, severing Bumblebee's path from reaching his Master's back should that have been his goal. The canine's mouth was open to show off its sparse teeth, the minimal lighting catching across the scrapes and chips on its surface from years of punching through objects. These would be on display as Bolo followed Carbine back into the room, being sure to separate them.

The living area was a mangled mess of a place. Two rooms with a rough cored opening that joined them to try to make one larger living space. There was a single bed with only room for one, while the other was pushed up against the wall and part dismantled, seemingly to poach raw metals to use for one thing or another. This sawed into mess was joined by some industrial containers with the labels scratched out of, paired with some mismatched hoses and other 'chemistry' sort of effects that seemed to be more suited to having been in a dumpster. Possibly stolen from a dumpster.

The ceiling held filigree like etchings, meticulous work that seemed to replicate some constellations that were joined by other decorative patterns. It stretched a good portion across the surface, before abruptly stopping, the art style distorting to a messier careless approach. Hard lines, gouged chunks rather than even etches... this decimated style halted in a short span, leaving the rest of the ceiling blank. While the ceiling held some decorative edge because of all of this, the walls were another story.

Indents and scraps, chew marks on anything ground level. There were some impact points at one patch, heavy strikes having been applied in a cluster that was flecked in black, blue, white, and silver. Around this and a few other points were stains, possibly Energon that had long past moved beyond the point of glowing, or grease and oil of some kind as well. Some of this unknown liquid smeared at points to mark some patterns and nonsensical writing.

It was a conglomeration of such 'art' mixed with a mishmash of odd things taken from here or there, no real organization or attempts made to make it more 'homey' as a retreat. Whatever the case, Carbine's steps abruptly halted when he got to his berth, frame wrenching around for him to then sit down roughly. Now that he was facing the other mech again, his gaze returned to lock onto the fool.

Carbine didn't say anything at all, leaving it an open void for Bumblebee to try to grapple with.

[Bumblebee]

The sudden, violent slam of the door made Bumblebee flinch, and he scrambled back a couple of hurried steps as if expecting the aggressive motion to be followed through with a punch or some sort of tackle. Despite this hurried motion, he wasn’t quite to the point of pressing himself flush against the other wall again. The rattling of panels drowned out the gentle whir of optics as he took a second to take in Carbine’s form - staring up at him in silence.

The first thing he noticed was the fierce, almost unrelenting gaze. A look of hostility, anger - and while he wouldn’t go as far as to say it was a stare filled with outright hatred? He could absolutely tell that Carbine was furious.

His own expression was one of worry, concern - optics wide, though the aperture-like lenses shifted as he struggled to maintain and hold that eye contact. He didn’t want to look away, yet his own look was not a challenging one in the slightest.

The second thing he noticed was Carbine’s face. It certainly looked a lot better than the first time things had been revealed. It still wasn’t exactly perfect, but with the damage that had been there? He wasn’t sure it ever would be. Patch had seemingly done a good job, though he wondered why the injury was still out in the open like that.

Where was his helmet?

Things to worry about later, of course, and slowly the tension in his frame would bleed out as he tried to relax as best he could. His posture was no longer quite so rigid as he waited for Carbine to say something. Be it a yell, another question - or simply telling him to go away entirely. Yet the words never came, at least… not vocally.

The look between them, even though in reality it did not last long at all? Said so, so much - and the message was received loud and clear.

The huff was the only noise, cutting through the silence before Carbine turned. Bee found himself unmoving at first; simply watching as the other mech made his way into the room. More movement followed, with Bolo shifting to stand between them.

Even though he had technically been allowed to step inside the room, he didn’t feel welcome. His gaze lingered on Carbine’s back, wondering if Bolo was protecting that - his thoughts wandering back to just days earlier when the helicopter mech had been unconscious and so very exposed on the Control Room floor.

Though he understood the complete lack of trust.

Frowning, a moment of hesitation followed before he took a cautious step forward - and then another into the room itself. With his back to the door, he eased one arm back to carefully - and somewhat awkwardly - close the door behind himself.

It was then he took a moment to look around the room itself. He’d, uh- never actually been in here before and he wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting. He knew that Carbine shared a room with Thundercloud, yet there was only one functioning berth. The weird chemistry experiment brought up a lot of questions, though he knew better than to ask.

The ceiling was pretty, though - or at least part of it was. It seemed whoever had etched into it had given up partway through, and again more questions could be asked – like what the etchings were, why had they stopped – though again, he knew better.

The scraped up walls and general mess were honestly to be expected, and so his attention shifted back to Carbine. The other mech still hadn’t said anything, meaning that it was up to him to break this silence before it became more awkward than it already was.

--Thanks for letting me in.-- honestly, he’d half-expected Carbine to punch him the second the door had been opened - and while that was still a possibility, the fact Carbine had sat down was a good sign, and would at least give him time to run should this somehow turn bad.

--So how are you feeling? You look pretty good. I uh- I wanted to say sorry for what happened in the Control Room.-- he’d leave it open-ended for now, wanting to see how Carbine reacted. He’d been in the right place at the wrong time, and while he didn’t feel bad for assisting Patch in helping Carbine, the sight of the helicopter mech having the seizure had stuck with him.

[Carbine]

Carbine watched Bumblebee's actions with a dagger gaze. Every movement, every glance around the room... He saw how the interior was being evaluated as details were trying to be figured out. What the other mech was thinking was unknown, but where his focus settled and for how long was abundantly clear given how large his eyes were, the apertures twitching and spiraling as they cast over the varied objects. Once the little look-around had completed, eye contact was made again, and Carbine's gaze narrowed slightly at the awkward thanks for being permitted into the room.

Bolo had moved back with his Carrier as positions settled, the canine sitting down slightly ahead of him to partly separate them in a defensive motion. Like Carbine, his attention didn’t waver, the flat panels that composed of his eyes locked onto Bumblebee as if searching for an excuse to teach a lesson. The tense jaw ratcheted open a couple degrees, the clicking snaps of the locks sounding out as things went under pressure, before releasing some tension with a hiss and closing slightly.

Then, more words were offered, and Carbine's brow hiked when Bumblebee said he looked good. Really? Was that what he wanted to start out with? Perhaps it was true to some extent. The side of his helm no longer looked like a rotting abomination brought to life from that Dark Energon nonsense he heard about... but that didn’t mean he looked 'good' in any sense of the word. He still was missing half the cover plate that acted as a face. An object that so many took for granted.

Oh, how wonderful it would be to form a real expression that wasn’t severed in half.

With his helmet he at least felt semi normal. He couldn’t rely on smiles or grimaces, and some expressions were completely lost altogether, but he did well to accent and exaggerate to compensate. Widen his eyes a small amount more than typical, pull the undersides up more for a smile, or really narrow them when hostile... whatever was needed to make certain the projected illumination was legible as real expressions. It was a mask he felt comfortable with, even if it could be limiting, yet now? Now he couldn't even rely on it and it ate him up inside.

He couldn’t hide what bothered him, he couldn’t leave this room. He refused to try to cobble some pathetic alternative together from who-knows-what he could get his hands on just so he could try to act like everything was alright and that he wasn’t two steps away from another nuclear incident.

Carbine had resolved himself to be good once the truth of what happened to Windshield caught up to him in full and he had an inner crisis. He wanted to try to make real change, and had told himself he would make a real attempt. Primus however they were all making this difficult. It was as if they took one look at him trying to be a different mech, and suddenly challenged his temperament at every turn, prodding at him until he had a mental breakdown... only to then prod more. Jabbing at his fears, a domino line of terror that took everything down as it went including his dignity.

From the Medical bay, to someone attacking his back and grabbing onto him, to injections, to Bolo being messed with in his dock...

Oh... Carbine was MORE than aware that just before he lost track of himself that he had Bolo docked. He didn't really have all the details of what had occurred, but he knew he had his dog and that was a fact. When he woke up? He most certainly did NOT... which meant his Cassette had to have been pulled out of him when they were both unconscious. If not, Bolo would have likely caused issues and damage to try to protect him, and Carbine hadn't seen any evidence to the latter.

"I am tryin̛g. S̕o incredíbly har̶d. To no̕t lose. ͏My abs̵olu̷te. S̷hit."

Stilted words, abrupt stops as each chunk were punctuated clearly. His tone of voice betrayed how angry he was, a boiling rage that was pushed down under a lid that he was trying to keep closed. He had to keep telling himself what he had decided before, the resolve he had that this wasn’t some hollow promise. He COULD change if he really wanted to! He knew it! But fuck. Nothing he wanted ever came easy to him.

[Bumblebee]

Even though he’d spoken first to break the silence, it didn’t seem to clear any of the tension. The air was thick with it, and his frame felt stiff, even if moments earlier he’d tried his best to relax some. It didn’t help that both Carbine and Bolo were staring so intently. One silent, unheard command from the helicopter mech and the cassette would be over here in a moment on the attack.

Would he do that, though? He wasn’t sure. They were technically in Carbine’s domain here, and while he was certain the other mech wasn’t stupid enough to attack him inside Omega Base? They had come to blows before over less.

Despite this tension, this awkwardness, this feeling that he should just leave Carbine alone? He didn’t want to leave this unresolved. Even if this conversation ended with Carbine somehow hating him even more, it would be some sort of closure to what’d happened in the Control Room. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, of course, but he wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if he didn’t at least check in.

Making a point to stand just far enough back that he could move quickly should Bolo decide to lunge, there was a familiar gentle whir of his optics as he looked over both of them. He wasn’t left waiting long for a reply to his question, though he could only frown gently once the response did come.

Angry, stilted words. Making a point. Taking care to make sure he was heard.

A vent inwards, then a slow exhale. Bee nodded, thinking for a moment.

--Cos of what happened in the Control Room? I mean, uh- if it’ll make you feel better you can punch me if you want. I held you down, you can punch me - kinda a fair trade, yeah? I know I had a part in things there, though um,-- a servo would move to rub at the back of his neck. --I want to just make clear that I didn’t tell Patch about your face. I didn’t, I promise.--

His beeps stumbled in places, not wanting to say the wrong thing, not wanting to upset the helicopter mech further. His nervousness was evident, both in his tone and the gentle sagging of his door wings. The anger that Carbine had toward him was probably justified, of course it was - he’d pinned him down while Patch had injected him with a sedative, but surely he had to know that he was obeying orders given by their acting CMO in a moment of panic. He was helping Carbine and doing what was best for him in that moment.

Enough time had passed for him to realize that, surely?

Which was why the seemingly extra anger had to be because of an assumption that he’d broken his promise made in the brig.

[Carbine]

He could punch him? REALLY!? That was what Bumblebee was going to go to!? What he felt was a valid offer in some misguided attempt to make him feel better!?

Carbine's reaction to this was not simply inner revulsion, but was manifested externally as well. He reeled back abruptly with gritted teeth, his partial lip peeling up high as the artificial reel on the bad side tightened with a faint slipping sound of the wheel not catching the band solidly. A sharp intake slipped through the hollow on the side of his face, a gasping snort that crackled with some of the fluid that still collected in the damages. His optics had widened during this, a sort of shocked alarm, it almost as though Bumblebee had simply slapped him hard from out of nowhere with his horrifically moronic suggestion.

Punching someone to try to relieve stress... punching someone to act as a means to sate an inner rage and hate... that was the very thing that landed him into this hellhole he was stuck in right now! Ever since that one pivotal second in which he struck Windshield, his life had started a downward spiral as he tore himself apart internally, and he ended up being humiliated and ruined externally. He had to face some agonizingly hard truths about himself, realizing he may be a monster, while also starting to see others around him in a different light. It all began from that one singular second in his existence here on Earth.

That incident was striking down a defected Decepticon.

And Bumblebee wants him to punch the golden child that everyone loves and adores in this base?

"What i͠s W-WR̕O̡N͟G WIT̷Ḩ-̴z̧kkg̶h-Y͟O̸U!͝?͘"

A sudden screeched roar, Carbine's frame wrenching upright instantly as he heaved into a stand without even thinking about it. His shocked expression from before was painted over by appalled rage, though there was an element of fear, a shine of truth as he wasn't used to not having his visor to hide behind. Accustomed to exploiting his limitations and ability to hide behind that all too familiar dark plate of glass.

"Punch you?! Reall͜y!͏? ̢Á-aftęr ev͢eŗy̨ţh͏-͞th̛-everying that has happ͝ȩn-ed... THAT is what yo̢ų off̧er̡!?"

Bolo had stood up as well during this, the snarling having started back up ten fold the second Carbine wrenched up into a stand. His jaw ratcheted open with a crackle of the locks, the press and systems controlling its bite activating with a mechanical growl of its own. The canine seemed absolutely ready to go for things, ready to act, yet that invisible tether kept him held back at the moment since Master hadn’t actively made a step forward. Once a motion of progression however... an inkling of attack... and Bolo was more than willing to burst through the gate first.

Just then seeming to realize he was standing, Carbine's expression twitched slightly as if he didn’t know how to work the facial mechanisms well, his visible emotions disengaging, seeming disjointed a moment while his gaze flicked down to Bolo. He nervously looked over the Cassette's body language, realizing how close to the line he was dancing here. The ex-cop may choose to not hurt the Golden Child, but that didn't mean Bolo would comply with such ideas if he was pushed too much. It was with this thought he would ease back down to sit upon the edge of the berth again, reaching forward to grab onto the sturdy harness just in case with a firm grip. He wasn't feeling friendly enough to dock the canine, but he could at least hold him back if Bumblebee continued down this suicidal path.

Carbine rubbed at his eyes with his free hand, a hissed growl slipping between his teeth that crackled slightly with a mechanical clicking from his damaged voice systems.

"W-̴wh͘y ar̀e̡ all͏ of you͏ ͏s̕o ̵bl͝i̴n̶d..."

[Bumblebee]

It didn’t even click how idiotic his suggestion was until Carbine lurched upright into a stand. The sudden movement was bad enough, but the roared words made Bumblebee flinch. His entire frame jerked back, optics whirring as the aperture-like lenses widened. He half expected the helicopter mech to keep moving forward, carried partly by momentum and partly by rage, to follow through with a punch that was probably deserved.

Though… that didn’t happen.

It was almost as if he’d been stunned into momentary silence, optics not leaving that of the other mech. Even if Carbine wasn’t moving any closer, he looked furious - something that Bee noticed almost instantly. There was no helmet to hide behind anymore, meaning the emotion was apparent.

While it wasn’t scary to look at, it was certainly jarring in a way, if only because he wasn’t accustomed to seeing Carbine’s face. So used to seeing the projection for ‘eyes’ conveying happy or sad - and not much else, it was a little disconcerting to see things so open and exposed like that.

Showing just how angry he was.

Which was why he suddenly felt so terrible about what he’d asked. The last thing he wanted was to upset Carbine, things were already on edge after everything that’d happened - and he knew he was walking a fine line here. He didn’t want to get thrown out of the room now that he’d gotten the courage to actually reach out, meaning he had to choose his next words carefully.

Realizing that he’d curled both servos into tight fists the moment Carbine had moved, he took a second to relax; shaking his arms out carefully as he vented out a gentle sigh.

--Okay, admittedly not my smartest moment, huh.-- quiet beeps, almost as if testing the waters.

A glance was given to Bolo, though his gaze did not linger on the canine for long. The cassette could be over here to maul him in the blink of an optic should he want to, and while he noted that Carbine had grabbed ahold of the harness - it was of little comfort.

Turning his attention back to Carbine, he would speak again.

--Sorry, I didn’t think that through.-- while he would’ve been absolutely fine with Carbine hitting him as some sort of equalizer to being grabbed and restrained just days earlier, it probably wouldn’t have looked good on paper should anyone have asked about it. Carbine had been in enough trouble for hitting Windshield without smacking someone else - even if that person was okay with it.

A quiet hum was the only response at first to Carbine’s next words, another gentle whir as his expression softened. He wasn’t quite sure what the other mech was talking about, and carefully he would re-take the step forward that’d been lost when he’d jerked backward moments earlier.

--Blind? What do you mean?-- his beeps were soft, truly curious - he wanted to know what was going through Carbine’s processor, though didn’t want to ask in such a way that’d make the other mech angry or upset. He’d already done that enough today, and so would try a different, less stupid approach.

[Carbine]

Not one of Bumblebee's smartest moves was an understatement.

Carbine was more than simply 'not happy', and he was trying his damndest to keep himself from falling into old habits. This wasn't Garrus, this wasn’t any of the other rougher outposts he served on with Thunder. No. This wasn't anywhere close to those. Grudges couldn’t be settled by spilled Energon and people had to play nice since they were so seemingly alone on this world. The entire scenario in Omega One held dynamics to it that his lifetime of experiences wasn’t lining up nicely with. Yet, he was trying. He resolved himself to try harder! Only... now he was barred from even TRYING and that added fuel to an already seething fire.

The black and white mech felt alienated from the team, isolated, this feeling surpassing emotional to now being physical since he had been locked up from his friendly fire incident, and now he was self-incarcerated in his room without his helmet. It hadn't been very long at all in the grand scheme of things, yet this wasn’t just letting days slip past zoning out, this was days ticking past as others moved in then moved on without him.

Trying to settle as best he could, Carbine remained seated as Bumblebee spoke, yellow optics trained upon his every action to savor the pathetic way he backpedaled about how foolish he was. There was no response offered at the Scout's apology, simply a silence given in turn as Carbine completely ignored the sentiment entirely. To respond and say it was alright would imply he was truly okay with what had been said and done, casting it aside, but he wasn’t feeling that lenient. His choke chain of tolerance wasn’t that loose yet, however he did well to throttle himself enough. Just enough.

"B͏l̴ind̀."

A biting single word reply to the question.

"Igno͝rant. Oblivious. Stupid. A-͏any̵ ǫf̢ t́h̴ose ring a bell?"

Carbine's tone of voice was even, with a bitter edge to it, keeping himself as stable as he could so he did not fling off the handle or fall prey to his glitched voice. He couldn’t afford to start yelling again. He couldn’t afford to let himself cut loose. He simply HAD to throttle himself, and he certainly was trying to do so. Yet, try as he might, some unintentional pitches were thrown in every now and again. Fluctuations in which he wanted to transition to a yell, only to stop himself abruptly and reel back to the base level. Calculated. Stilted. Taking on each statement with caution.

"T-trying to help by kicki̛ng me ́įn t͡he teeth. Ignoring act-̨c-̕k͠zt̡-ion̡s. Not listening to what I am ̢sa͜ying. Trying to p-push me into a little mold. Re̕f́-f-using to do what has to ̨b̶e d̛oņe."

Thunder dismissing his new view of himself, attempting to shove him back where he was and to ignore his new concerns and problems. Passing them off as nothing of value. That he was incapable of change.

Patch ignoring all his cues and demands not to coddle him, turning around to act soothing and belittling. Placing her hand upon his arm... speaking down to him... doing everything that repulsed him to a point the mere memory made him feel sick.

Avalanche trying to make him into an obedient soldier by giving a taste of hard labor as an alternative. Luring him into saying something that he didn’t know he felt, spinning his vile words that were spoken out of anger into a reportable offense.

Javelin baiting him into a more candid discussion from days long past, a new game he was eager to play as his interest was clawed into, only to then flippantly cast him aside with no reciprocation.

Optimus looking down at him for trying to do what was right for the war. For wanting to snuff out the spark of an enemy soldier that could create issues in the future. A foe that could possibly cause the death or great injury of an ally.

Ratchet pushing aside his concerns with the deceased unnamed Autobot, leaving a loose end that burned into him and caused him duress. Mishandling of the evidence, a chase bleeding away as the scent dissipated.

Bumblebee being so pathetically innocent that he didn't know what to do with him.

Carbine was caught in the void where he couldn't decide if he wanted to throw the Scout aside as a pest that wasn't worth his effort, and wanting to pull him under his metaphorical wing to corrupt and mold. He was so infuriatingly ignorant and a good little soldier that it caused a nauseous feeling in his tank. Disgusted at how he was acting, even at this moment.

"Do you̵ ͟n-n͝éed t̶o ́be s̵poon fed more? Or d-do you think you go͡t t̨he drift?"

A deep snarl sounded within his last words, a sort of growl that was mirrored by Bolo's own.

[Bumblebee]

The lack of responses to his comment and apology was a little awkward (though somewhat understandable), and further tension grew in the silence that followed his beepy words. Should he just leave? He’d never been good at this kind of thing, and his presence here - so far, at least - had probably only made things worse.

Things had changed so quickly. Things that Bumblebee hadn’t even realized. The punch to Windshield had seemingly been a catalyst into a spiral downward for the helicopter mech, and while he wasn’t aware just how isolated and bitter the other mech had become, he could see the anger that would’ve normally been masked by a helmet.

Hence why he decided to stay. At least until Carbine either told, or forced him to leave. As awkward as this was, it wasn’t exactly unfamiliar. He’d managed to get through to the other mech eventually in the brig. His words then had been careful, walking a minefield almost, with tensions high. The only difference there was that Carbine and his cassette had been behind a wall, unable to lash out.

While he didn’t think it would get that far, there was a certain fear in knowing just how quickly Bolo could cross the room should he want to.

He just had to be careful. He could do that again. Talk to Carbine, awkwardly stumble to mend metaphorical bridges, that while weren’t burned? Were probably on fire, even if he did not know why.

A single word broke the silence, and while his attention had never left the other mech? There was a gentle whir as his optics refocused on him.

He knew what blind meant, of course he did, but he didn’t understand just what he had missed here. He was not privy to everything that’d gone on, only what he’d seen first hand. While he considered Carbine a friend, he wasn’t around him all the time to really notice anything amiss. They each had their own schedules and things to do - and with the other mech doing what he did to Windshield? It felt like he’d rarely seen him at all aside from that time in the brig and then just days earlier when he was helping to pin him down.

He could tell Carbine was trying to keep his tone even as he elaborated, though this anger and resentment toward whatever it was - was it him? - made his voice fluctuate some. No attention was drawn to this, Bee paying it no mind. He simply listened.

Though he did not understand.

A mold? What mold? To be a perfect Autobot? They all had flaws. Every single one of them. Optimus knew that, he understood that. People could be worked with, and helped. Not one of them was perfect, as much as they probably wanted to be.

What needed to be done?

Should he know the answer? Should he realize what Carbine was talking about? Maybe if he’d paid more attention to things, checked in on him sooner… no. This wasn’t his fault.

Taking a half step forward in some attempt to start slowly begin closing the gap between them, he would shake his helm. He did not move any further, keeping his arms by his sides to show this move wasn’t done with any sort of malicious intent.

A glance was given to Bolo after he settled in this new spot, though once more he would turn his attention back to the other mech as he spoke.

--I…-- he hesitated. --I still don’t understand what I’m missing, Carbine. How did we go from you punching Windshield, to this? This here and now? What’s wrong.-- there was some emphasis on the last word, the beepy trill rising in pitch. He would be the first to admit when he didn’t get something, but he felt like he’d missed something here that he should somehow know - which wasn’t fair.

--I want to help you, but I don’t know what to do.--

He was at a loss.

[Carbine]

He didn't understand!? Wasn't it clear!? How stupid was this Scout? How could he even compile two sentences together into a fucking report to take back home!?

Carbine's right hand would raise as he pulled back to his feet sharply, pointing out at Bumblebee with an accusatory movement that was made with a snapping jerk. His grip on Bolo remained firm as he did this, keeping the canine from translating his stand as a command to attack, though it did not stop the dog from snarling. It was with this lurching jab of a gesture he spit out a single word as if he was two steps away from flying off the handle.

"Yo̧ù͢͟-!"

Abruptly stopped, clipped short just as fast as it started.

"Ju͢s̶t-!"

His teeth gritted with another creak of the damaged spool slipping on the reel.

"t̷ch̸-͜ The-!"

A sort of heaved vile war within Carbine's mind manifested physically then as he couldn’t seem to cobble together a full sentence in reply to Bumblebee's rather simple question. Every attempt, every slight notion was aborted the very second after he started to run down one path or another. He didn't know how to articulate himself here, and he as such locked himself into a form of loop while kicking for traction in futile lurches. His voice elevated then.

"They-!̡ K͜T͡C̵H ͜chc"

Bumblebee's innocent question was almost a punch to the throat where he couldn't spatter out coherent statements between choppy pulses through radio like chatter. The complete locked up state wasn't physical however, it had nothing to do with his processor damage, and had more to do with the damage that was written into its data centers, including the fresh layers that were only recently burned in. His mind raced and warred with itself in surging pulses, choosing something to say, only to backpedal after a spatted sound, talking himself out of it. Then, leaning in a different direction, ready to say those words, only to declare they were too KIND for him to even try to let them roll off his tongue.

It was a sort of irony he belittled Bumblebee for not understanding him, when evidently, he didn’t even understand himself.

"Gąrrús ̧w̵-̀w͘a̢s̵-!"

A heavy borderline yell of words that were followed by a heaved vent from the slats on his back, a snorted angry sound. The fluid crackle it had once held was no longer there thankfully, no audible issues that had existed before Patch got hold of him. It was further evidence of how much he had been assisted since he relented and let himself... no... was forced to get help.

"Th-c̷h̷h͠ War-!"

Yellow optics flicked across Bumblebee's features, unable to even formulate what path he was going to run down. He didn't know what slight he should focus on, each one warring for control in his mind. To choose to speak about any one of the ill programmed rejected morons over another was putting that one on a higher mantle of importance, when they were all pieces of mangled scrap to him as far as he was concerned in these moments. He couldn’t talk about Thunder, didn't want to bring up Javelin, didn't want to reveal further weakness speaking about Patch, didn't want to tip his unstable hand with Avalanche, or speak about how Omega wasn't going to win the war with how Optimus was running it.

"M̀-z̛z-͘an̶y͜ ơf-͠!"

He wasn't coping well AT ALL, his voice elevating to straight up yells in their popped bursts.

"In̡s̴-͟i̢nśu͏l-͟gh͞t̵-͢t̀e̸-zz͝z-d-!"

No... He couldn't even remain level headed for three minutes... what was wrong with him?

"Can't ̕gh͢c͟h̨h ̕s-s͠pe͟a͢k-!"

Bolo was barking again as he fell to his glitch by letting himself spiral to stress and anger. Why did he do this? He told himself he wasn’t going to fly off the handle. He knew if he did this, that this would happen.

"Cá-n͢-çc ̸an͜-̕ńt͠ ̀g̀c̷h͏ghc-sp-z̢͠z̷̨͢ţ͘ḩ̕f̷̢f̕-f̕͜-͞͝t͢͞c̕h̡-U̵̧Ç̸͝K-̷zz͓̜c̢͏͕̤ḩ̞̫̣K̦̙͞Ţ̶̰̰͚ͅs̢̖̪͕͘h̖̝̟͇̕͢h̥̥͓h̛͕̲́-"

Carbine leaned forward, grasping above his right knee with his hand to almost brace himself, partly using Bolo's harness as a grip as well. Without his visor to protect him, and his lack of practice with hiding and using expressions properly, there was a level of frantic angered energy seen, his thin white lens plates locked on the ground as he tried to stabilize and figure out what his processor was doing. He didn't like this, and he liked a witness to it even less.

His heavy vents were paired with a couple snaking webs of runoff from the side of his mouth that hung off his jaw, a crackle sound of broken words croaking.

[Bumblebee]

Any progress Bumblebee had made in getting closer with that half-step forward was erased in an instant. The moment Carbine pulled into a violent stand, Bumblebee took a full step back - and then another. Even if the helicopter mech wasn’t appearing to move any closer despite the rushed, sudden movement? Bumblebee was wary, expecting some sort of physical retaliation to quickly follow, be it either through Bolo or Carbine himself. His frame tensed, optics darting as he struggled to maintain eye contact as his servos curled into gentle fists at his sides.

He wanted to look away. Avoiding eye contact was a sign of submission, a sign that he wasn’t here to cause trouble or to pick any sort of fight - that whatever he had said wrong in the last five seconds hadn’t been done with the intent to upset Carbine. He really, really, really did not know what was going on here, and his confusion was genuine.

But he didn’t avert his gaze. No. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and didn’t want to look away should the other mech start to move. From where he stood, he could tell Carbine’s grip had tightened on Bolo - a good sign, at least for now, even if it wasn’t met with any feelings of relief.

If Carbine yelled at him and call him stupid - or worse - so be it, but at least then with that anger, maybe there would be some sense put into all of this. Even through screamed words as the other mech’s rage was directed into the wrong target, at least then he’d know what was wrong.

And then maybe he could try and actually help.

The first few words started, paired with an accusatory motion as if making a point. The words slow. Decisive. He listened.

But there still wasn’t any sense behind what was being said. Bee understood, and was more than patient with the other mech’s glitch - sometimes the words hiccupped, twisting things out of order, or at times drowned them out entirely with static pops. But he would always wait, listening carefully to make sure he heard everything. Not wanting Carbine to repeat himself and feel some sort of shame for something that was out of his control - he felt enough of that of his own, unable to communicate with humans except Raf, a sense of not really fitting in because his own way of talking was so very different.

The stumbled words that came next were confusing. Jumbled. Yelled. Together they may have made some sort of sense, but it was almost as if Carbine was starting one train of thought before angrily beelining onto another. Garrus. The war. Heaved vents, angry snorts - yet Bee was just as confused as when he’d first entered the room.

It showed, too, a look of confusion - optics wide as he tried desperately to make sense of what Carbine was trying to say here, without interjecting with beepy words of his own to say that he didn’t understand. The other mech's voice had become louder, the glitch becoming more pronounced as Bolo began to bark.

Insulted.

Can’t speak.

Oh slag…

--H-hey! Carbine! It’s okay, it’s okay!!-- beeps as loud as he could manage, not to yell for the sake of yelling to be noticed, but to be heard over the snarled barks.

While his frame was still tense, both servos would uncurl - easing them up in front of himself in a ‘don’t shoot’ motion. He meant no harm, he… he wanted to help. If Carbine was still sick, what if he had another seizure? He’d stressed himself out and at the same time, made things so much worse because Bee still didn’t understand.

--You’re okay, just take a minute. It’s okay.--

Primus, stop saying it’s okay…

A step forward was taken. Then another. A third - though this was far more hesitant than the last. He wasn’t sure if he should move in and try to help calm Carbine by encroaching into his personal space, or if he should stay where he was and give him the time to fix himself. He didn’t know if he should get Patch to come and help, he didn’t know if he should just leave.

He didn’t know what to do.

[Carbine]

If it were anyone else, there was a good chance that Carbine may have struck out at them... that is, if he didn't just block them from entry to begin with. There was something about Bumblebee that made him a perfect balance of absolutely infuriating, while also being barred from repercussions by being too pathetically stupid to hate. If the mech tipped further towards the latter, at least it would be easy to pan off. Redirect, make things a game that his childish mind would get distracted with... forget the issues at hand... Only, Bumblebee had that other half that propelled him to prod and pressure under the guise of good nature and wanting to 'help'.

The golden child was an invulnerable figure, one Carbine could see himself punching in jokes and their mock duels, but he couldn't see himself TRULY lashing out at him with full malice behind it. He couldn’t strike him down, he couldn’t knee him and kick him to the ground... he couldn’t let Bolo go, couldn’t let the hound rip into him and break panels of armor off in the process. He was incapable of doing any of the sort, and that was a problem, Carbine used to resorting to violence when he truly was cornered. It was why he likley 'barked' as he did, yelling as an outlet instead.

It was hard to say. Carbine couldn't understand himself.

It may be trying to add logic to nonsense.

This situation was far from ideal. There was no way to talk around this. Well, no... there always was. If he was calm enough, if he could let his racing thoughts settle, he knew he had the experience and ability to manipulate and spin things in his favor. The issue was, he was too emotionally bound at the moment, and it was so easy already to fling himself not just out of line, but off to a different book altogether. Realizing this, understanding his shackles where he couldn’t... in good conscious... hurt Bumblebee beyond surface levels and hateful words? Carbine was trying to wrangle himself back in line... again... for the whatever'th time... the same song and dance the last few weeks of yoyoing emotions that he was getting PROFOUNDLY sick of.

Only for Bumblebee to tell him it was 'ok!' multiple times like he was trying to calm down a dog.

That little piece of...

A static crackled snort formed, Carbine wishing Bumblebee didn't go such a route. Wishing he phrased it any other way! Alas, he drew in a deeper vent, holding it a moment, only to heave it through the slats on his back once more in a heavy huff. Trying to do what was said. Not for the Scout... no... but for himself, so he could articulate. He didn’t want to lose himself entirely, and he already almost did, his vocal systems making odd grating sounds, a few clicked pops thrown in here and there as he forcibly tried to reset them a few times.

White tipped fingers dug some at the inner corners of his eyes, a stressed sort of rubbing motion made before the pointer smeared down on the lower lid of the left side of his face. The mesh moved as if it wasn't fully attached, almost pulling away from the optic a second before his hand let go and he took in another vent. Evidently it didn’t hurt, as he didn't seem to react to it.

Easing upright into a loose stand, Carbine looked out at Bumblebee, squaring off with him with a hostile stance so he didn't approach further. Bolo heaved out growls during this, though had somewhat quieted into not barking. It wasn't out of complacency. No. He was simply waiting again, jaw ratcheted open at the ready, judging how close his target was and if he could reach it at the end of his short lead.

"Tḩ-͘t̛h̶ȩre̕ ̢i͠s̶ s͡-̷s̨o̶ ̨much w͠r͢o͟n̛-g͘!"

A noisy crackled growl of a shout, his voice trying to be modulated again, letting the 'its okay!' coddles throw over him best he could, even if they irked him.

"Don't kno̴-o̸w-k̢c͝h͝h͜- ̨ǹo͟w ̕wh̸er̀e ̨t͞o ̶st̡a̶rt."

Yellow optics were latched onto Bumblebee's fiercely then, hostility still burning strong.

"I'̕͜͝M ̛͝N̨̛̛O̵͜T ̕͞ÇR̷͡ĄZ͘Y͜! I c-c͞a̕n z͢z̧h c͠ha̷n-ge i͞f I ͏w͟-w͝a͘nt ͘to̢!"

[Bumblebee]

‘It’s okay’ was such a simple, simple phrase that in the moment of panicked anger felt like the right thing to say. Younger than everyone else, Bumblebee lacked the life experience of others, and as such wasn’t quite sure how to deal with some things. During the war when it ravaged their home, he’d tried to give words of support when things looked bleak, trying to prop up a quickly fading morale with hopeful words - just as others had done for him. Others that were long, long since dead.

‘It’s okay’ had worked then, and in his own moments of grief and worry it’d worked for him, too. Why hadn’t it worked now? A silly question. This was… it was different. It wasn’t wondering if this day would be your last before running onto the frontlines, this was Earth, where things were relatively calm, quiet. The group of Autobots here were smaller, tighter-knit, a family. ‘It’s okay’ was so very hollow when things absolutely weren’t, and even someone like Bumblebee could see that Carbine had fallen through the cracks somewhere along the way.

But how? And more to the point - when. While his interactions with Carbine had been volatile at times, they’d been playful, fun - like brothers, almost. Even if the other mech did not see him as anything like that, Bee looked up to him. Trusted him. Now though, when Carbine needed him - or, well, just… anyone? He’d failed with his stupid, hollow words because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The crackled snort, followed by the heavy huff of a sigh… while it wasn’t the best reaction, it was far better than how he expected things to go. Carbine wasn’t getting angrier. He wasn’t yelling, or telling him to leave through more screeched, staticky words.

He had to be careful with what he said. He’d already messed up a few times since arriving into the room, heck even his little speech outside the door wasn’t exactly winning him any points.

All he could do was try.

He wouldn’t move as Carbine moved into a stand, the hostile stance of the other mech was loud and clear to begin with, and while he had moved closer only moments ago? That was by instinct almost, a precaution in case Carbine started to seize and needed his help.

A glance was given to Bolo, his optics softening some. He didn’t like to see the cassette so riled, and found himself wondering if the canine was betraying some of how Carbine really felt toward everything, even despite the fact things had slightly calmed.

While he had been expecting Carbine to say something, the crackled growl - the shouted words that came next - it made him flinch, snapping his attention back to the other mech, optics locking onto his.

So much wrong? How- what? This was good, well, no, it wasn't good, but it was a starting point.

A chance to start over.

--I get it, I do.-- he started, slowly. There was obvious concern beneath the beeps, and he took a cautious step backward as if to show further that he wasn’t trying to be pushy. No, they could do this on Carbine’s own time and terms.

--If you don’t know where to start, just… start talking. Ramble, y’know? That helps sometimes in getting stuff out even if it’s like nonsense at first.--

He was curious as to the words that’d started forming earlier - Garrus, War… Insulted - he didn’t understand it, but as curious as he was? He didn’t want to pick one and tell Carbine to explain. They were obviously pieces of some larger puzzle, and while he probably couldn’t do much to help resolve any major issues, he could listen.